"Seven Shards crafted in Nûlbarador. One shard for the dwarf-lord of the empire beneath the mountains, five for the elves; one to the Sealord on his hallowed isle, one for the King of the forest, one for the High King in his white tower. One for the king in the cold north and one for the Elven marcher-lord beneath the shadow of the mountains. The seventh shard kept by the Lady of Nûlbarador to manipulate and dominate the others.”
Chapter One: Comfort of Crows
1280 AT
Aenerct
275Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡIxbpqT3jTp
“Where is that damn girl? Always sneaking off that one.”
Aenerct smirked at the old Vaelhawen. “Maybe she wouldn’t sneak off if you didn’t fall asleep during lessons.” He bent over and picked up the book that had fallen off the oak table. “Ancient Creatures in our World,” he read. “By Beofrey of Elfthorpe. Poor kid. No wonder she fled the study.”
Oberthold muttered to himself and got out of his chair. “I know he’s not the most interesting read but he studied Chorts, Moras, and other beasts more than anyone else. There are few works with as much detail.”
“He lacks an understanding of punctuation. Barely use them.” It was an eternal flurry of and, and, and, and, and so on. Always a slog to get through. He remembered it all too vividly.
“Just find her. I’ll have her reorganizing the old library.”
“Poor kid.”
He left the tower down and headed down the stairs to the castle’s great hall. It sometimes left him sad to walk into the great hall these days, where he was met by the scent of food. Sausage, beef, bacon, mash potatoes, and eggs. The deliciously alluring scent reminded him that he hadn’t had dinner yet. As a boy they had full of life, hundreds of Vaelhawen stayed there at a time between their hunts. As he passed only two men dined. This hall hadn’t been even a quarter of a hundred full for half a hundred years. Only Robrect and Mikkel dined as he passed. The wooden pillars in the northern corner had collapsed long ago and half the inner wall had followed. A thin timber wall had been constructed in its place. He continued outside, to gaze around the courtyard. The battlements were old and in various states of disrepair. Cracks, broken-off chunks, and wooden beams raised to support half-collapsed towers and sections of wall. Sparsely arrayed along the walls were cannons older than Aenerct. Even Oberthold. He looked at the old keep. She didn’t go there anymore. She had grown out of exploring the ruin half a decade ago. There was no reason she would head to the great stables either. He turned left and marched around the keep he had walked out from. He passed a short and thinner wall into the cemetery and there he found her, sitting on her knees by a gravestone a stone’s throw from the entrance to the underground crypts. Her head was tilted down. He slowed his pace and stroked his small circular beard. A breeze flowed through his mane of snow-white hair.
“Atarielle.”
She raised her head. “Aenerct?” She looked over her shoulder and up at him with her young brown eyes. “How long have you been there? I didn’t hear you approach.”
“I just got here.” His voice was low and gentle, or at least as much as his gravelly voice could manage.
Atarielle gave a small nod on acknowledgment. “Did Oberthold send you to find me?”
“He did. You need to stop disappearing when during class.”
She rolled her brown eyes and turned back to the grave and drew a fair hand through her shoulder-long blonde hair. She then touched the pendant around her neck. On a thin silver chain hanged a small crystal of bright white light, and she caressed it thoughtfully.
“It’s not my fault he fell asleep.”
“Doesn’t mean you have to sneak off.” His lips curved into a small smirk.
“I wouldn’t if he picked a readable book,” she complained. “Beofrey didn’t understand how to write properly.”
She wasn’t wrong. “I know. He won’t accept that explanation you know. I tried it when I was young.” Ever Vaelhawen did that. Part of the course.
She didn’t speak for a moment. He stepped over to stand on her right side and took a knee. She sighed.
“Will I ever know who she was?” Her voice was sadder and any joy had washed away.
“I don’t know,” he said sombrely.
“Why did she take me here if she wasn’t a Vaelhawen?” She said.
He wasn’t sure if it was rhetorical or not. It sounded like that kind of question. He placed a gloved hand on her shoulder and squeezed gently. She raised a hand of her own to touch his and leaned against her right. There were a lot of questions from that night and no answers. Why had she brought the child here? Who was the mother and where was she? The elf woman clearly hadn’t her. Who had caused her mortal wounds and why did they seek the new-born babe?
“If she rode all this way she could have had the decency of saying something more than my name before dying.” An elven name at that. She sighed again and slowly stood up. She turned to him and dusted off her brown wool trousers. “I guess I have to face Oberthold, huh.”
He smirked. “Worried?”
“I don’t suppose I can convince you I went to the library?” She put her hands together hopefully and flashed her brightest and most charming smile.
“No.”
Her smile faltered and she pouted. “Traitor.”
He shrugged and said, “Not my fault you snuck away. Come on.”
The poor thing looked terribly nervous as she saw the doorway to the keep where Oberthold passed down the stairs on a course toward them. Like Aenerct his hair was white, albeit thinner and more grey by the year. His hairline had receded decades ago and his wrinkled face glared at Atarielle. His deep sanguine eyes looked down at her and as he stopped he crossed his arms over his plain grey doublet. Aenerct stopped and gave him a look of ‘go easy on her’ before he looked at Atarielle that had slowed down and joined them a moment later. A ploy to buy valuable seconds.
“Well, what do you have to say for yourself, little slayer?” Oberthold demanded.
Her brown eyes were focused on the ground when she spoke. “I’m sorry, but that book is terribly slow and just plain difficult to get through.” Her feet shifted and she fidgeted with her fingers behind her back nervously.
“If this was the first time I might have accepted that weak apology. But it’s not. You’ve snuck away before. I won’t tolerate it.”
“Maybe it would help if you stopped falling asleep,” she said – or whispered, as she glanced up at the old Vaelhawen master.
Aenerct saw the hint of a smile curved at the edges of his lips and a certain spark in his eyes, though he maintained his tern expression. She anxiously touched the bright crystal around her neck.
He muttered something below his breath. He heard “Suppose that’s fair,” thanks to his increased senses. Then Oberthold said, “Don’t try to slither out of this. The library needs organizing.”
It was amusing to see Atarielle’s eyes widen. “What?”
“I think two days is fair enough.”
“But that’s-” she started to protest.
“I suppose it could be longer.”
“-is fine. Two days sounds reasonable.” She looked up at him. “I don’t have to start today, right?”
Oberthold tilted his head and lowered his arms to his side. “You will start this afternoon. Until then you have more studying to do, little slayer.”
She released a groan and her head sloped forward in defeat. “Can’t I clean the arms in the armoury or something more fun instead?”
Oberthold merely rolled his eyes. “This is punishment. Not a reward.” He gestured for her to follow him inside and Aenerct joined them to the great hall where he felt the call for food and strode across the large hall to the table where the fellow Vaelhawen was already there. The taller of them, Robrect, told the end of one of his exaggerated tales and Mikkel laughed and spilled cheap ale from his tankard.
“Hi, Aenerct. Feeling hungry?” Robrect said, gesturing to the table with plates near the fireplace.
“Yes. Are you telling one of your tall tales?”
Robrect looked mildly insulted. “Excuse me? Every bit of it’s true.”
“Sure, sure,” Mikkel laughed and attempted to wipe the ale dripping from his thin white beard. “I can believe you’ve seen a White Woman, but that the spirit wanted to bed you I know you made up.”
Robrect shrugged innocently. “What can I say? I have charm.”
“I doubt you could charm a goblin – much less a White Spirit,” Mikkel said, still laughter turned to chuckles.
Robrect picked up the last of his sausage, dipped it in the mashed potatoes, and thrust it into his mouth. Spitting food he said, “Maybe it was a Huldra.”
Aenerct picked an empty plate from the old oak table and picked a pair of sausages, a few spoonful’s of mash potatoes, a piece of beef, three eggs, and a handful of bacon. He poured himself a tankard of ale and returned to sit down next to Robrect.
“If you can’t see the difference between a mischievous spirit of wisdom and a Huldra you might want to join Atarielle in Oberthold’s classes,” he said with a small smirk.
“Besides, that’s not how they work either,” Mikkel added. He walked over to the table to refill his near-empty tankard.
“You should try your stories on washerwomen in some village.”
Robrect snorted and sipped from his tankard. Then he lowered it and said, “You get tired of bragging to peasants eventually.”
“Well, you of anyone would know.”
He glared at Aenerct. “Peasants are too uncultured and completely uneducated. They’ll believe anything you tell them.” He raised a finger pointedly. “And that’s the few times they’re even interested.”
Aenerct gobbled down mash potatoes and bacon with a gulp. “Want you to just get on with killing the creature. You know, that thing they’re paying us for.”
His Vaelhawen brother was a tall fellow, his face clad by a fancy moustache and a well-trimmed goatee. His head was shaved clean, and his eyes were the same as the others – as all Vaelhawen that had undergone the ritual. The only unflattering part of his long face was his left cheek, where a beast had once torn off a chunk of flesh and left an ugly wound. Both he and Mikkel was near fifty with one of them a year younger, but honestly, Aenerct had forgotten which was which.
“So what actually happened?”
Robrect rolled his eyes and finished his tankard. “I told you,” he started.
“Come on. It’s us.”
He sighed and his brow fell. “Fine,” he muttered. “Fine, fine. It was just a Nixie. Got a contract on it down in a homestead near the south border of Baedwen. Less arousal and more killing.”
“Uh-huh. Bit of a difference between a water spirit and a spectre.”
“Killing a Nixie is hardly worthy of a telling so I had to spruce it up a bit.”
“Really?” He said with disapproval. “Nixies are fierce. Older ones are dangerous even for an experienced Vaelhawen.”
“Yeah, but nobody wants to hear a tale about one trying to seduce me.” Mikkel broke into laughter. “I might as well tell a tale about how a troll tried to seduce me.”
That was true enough.
Robrect looked around the hall than with mild misery. His eyes drifted to the hall’s north corner. Mikkel and Aenerct’s followed. He looked back to Aenerct then. “You’re older than us by decades. You remember don’t you?”
Despite being two decades their elder he looked like a man in his fifties and felt even younger. The blessing of becoming a Vaelhawen. He was silent for a moment and bought time by slowly drinking from the tankard.
“Remember what, Robrect?” But he knew the question.
He stretched out a hand to remind him of the empty hall.
Do I remember when there were s hundred of us? When there were a thousand? Of course, he did. He remembered when he was a boy of thirteen, training with old master Boën, slashing at a practice dummy with a wooden sword while old Boën had sat on a chair under the old birch with his cane over his knees. It had been white with some marks from the knife that carved it with a curve at the top and a metal spike on the other end, and how it tapped it against the stone each and every time he made a mistake. It wasn’t anything special. Nothing that mattered remembering so many years later. Whatever the reason he remembered that cane perfectly. Like he remembered Boën’s wrinkled face and his ragged grey cloak and its silver rim. He remembered the slight creaking of the lady’s wheelchair and then the neighing of horses and the scraping of their hooves. He than shook the memories away and looked to the entrance of the hall.
“Yeah. What of it?” His voice came out harsher then he had wanted and clearly surprised Robrect and Mikkel. “I’m going to eat outside in the sun.” He took his tankard and plate and left the hall at a quick pace.
Should he sit under the old birch? No, of course not. How could that force the memories from his mind? He sat down on the stairs and continued to eat. Mikkel and Robrect hadn’t even been born yet on that day. They hadn’t been there on that dreadful day. He caught himself fidgeting with the crow’s head medallion.
There he sat for the better part of an hour, half the plate cold and untouched. He saw another of their kin, the Master of the Gate, stalking the gatehouse battlement, blew a horn. Someone friendly was on approach to Kaedd Wrozhen’s gates. This deep in the mountains there could only be one thing. Vaelhawen returning. Beside their Order, he could count on two hands the folk that knew the keep’s exact location. Of course it was well known that it was situated somewhere in the mountains of Aed Gvaed. He put it out of his mind when he saw a bird fly over the battlements toward the keep’s rookery. Its feathers charcoal and iron. A crow, messenger from the rookery down south. His fingers touched the medallion, almost subconsciously.
Superstitious as they were, the commonfolk in the north always said crows were a bad omen. When he ascended the rookery tower he was welcomed by the cawing of crows from above. The room was small, had only a single table with a chair and a small dusty bookshelf. It brought a small selection of works as anything interesting would be kept in the libraries. There was a narrow set of stairs that led to the rookery proper. Up there the crows cawed merrily at the sight of him. One sat right at the hatch to the cage, tipping back and forth on its legs. It had a cylinder on its back. He considered reaching for the hatch but thought better of it. Remembering that they liked nibbling at unwanted hands. Best to wait for the steward, a good fellow. Then there was a series of coughs and when he blocked out the caws he heard the limping footsteps of the steward.
He looked down the narrow stairs. “Master Irsnik,” he said aloud.
“Is that you, master Aenerct?” A raspy and meagre voice asked.
Then he heard the door open and close and a moment later the old goblin slowly began to ascend the final stairs.
“Oh, why do towers have so many stairs? Truly it’s not fair. No,” he said. He sounded terribly tired from the effort of climbing the rookery tower. Poor man.
“Got a staff.”
“Bah,” the goblin waved that off. “I have cared for the crows here for forty years and I won’t stop now because I might be getting old. Anyway, what brings you to my humble abode?”
“The crow,” Aenerct answered.
The green-skinned goblin looked up at him along his large nose and gave a kind, old smile on thin lips.
“Rarely do people travel up to me when a random bird arrive.”
Aenerct shrugged. Irsnik walked to the cage and carefully took out the crow and removed the cylinder, and then returned it to its fellows in the cage without incident.
He hesitated. “Eh, I was curious.”
“Lies! Lies!” They cawed from the cage. “Lies!”
Irsnik chuckled lightly and opened the parchment. “Intelligent animal the crow. Far more than people think.” From his pockets, he fished up a straight and thin piece of metal with glass attached to it. He moved it in front of his eyes and began to read. Then his eyes looked up at the tall man. He appeared concerned. “Oh, dear. You won’t like this.”
He handed him the parchment and Aenerct read. At first, he frowned with disapproval when he saw the name of the sender, and then he began to grow angry. Angrier by the sentence. His jaws tightened and he made an effort to control his breathing to calm himself only slightly.
“Ceorl Seinloche of the Arcane Circle.” Aenerct near growled out the northerner’s name.
Irsnik reached out a thin arm. “Give me that parchment before you take out your anger on the poor thing,” he demanded as firmly as his meagre voice could.
Aenerct glared at the parchment another time before he handed it over to Irsnik. Irsnik returned the eye-glass to his pocket.
“It says they intend to be at the gate in three days,” he said, eyeing Aenerct carefully.
Arrogant son of a wizard. That they could simply send their demand veiled as a discussion. He clenched his right fist. Of the few outsiders that knew of the Vaelhawen Keep none ever invited themselves so shamelessly. Only the most prominent of the Circle presumed to wield such rights.
“It’ll be a wasted journey,” he decided angrily.
“Her fate is decide?”
“She wants to be a Vaelhawen. She will be, mark my words.” He made his way to the stairs and down to the rookery’s lower room with Irsnik slowly following. “Into the Circle’s care for matters of safety,” he muttered angrily under his breath. Neither wizards nor kings made demands of the Vaelhawen. A king with a beast that needed slaying requested a Vaelhawen.
“I’ll bring the parchment to master Oberthold, and the Lady. Are you joining me?”
“No. Oberthold will say the same thing I did and I know where the Lady stands.”
“Stand. Stand,” the crows cawed. He wondered if they mocked his choice of words.
Irsnik fell behind as his anger led him to pace down the tower faster than the limping goblin ever could. He made his way through the keep to the great hall and out to the courtyard. He crossed it, passed the old keep and to the old library. When he slammed the doors open he was met by a light cry of pain and the sound of books hitting the wooden floor. And so Atarielle sat there on her bum with books all around her. She rubbed her forehead. The thin white crystal hanged around her neck.
“Ouch. Thanks.”
“Sorry.” He offered her a hand and pulled her up.
He helped her to pick up the books and piled them in her arms.
“Did you know what we have twelve books about spiders?” She visibly shivered after she spoke. “Why would anyone need so much information about those critters?”
“We do,” he said. A simple answer.
“None of these are even about regular tiny ones. Just the giant ones.”
They left the old library on a path to the new one in the keep. She looked terribly glim and looked at him with a pout.
“You aren’t going to help me, are you?”
“No.”
She frowned. “Of course not.”
“It isn’t much of a punishment if you get help.”
“Whatever,” she mumbled.
“You know, at least this is good training.”
She looked at him without doubt written in her eyes.
“Really? Please enlighten me.”
“It’s good for your legs and arms,” he answered amusingly.
She curved her lips downward as she caught his smirk and looked forward to the door to the keep.
“Very funny. Because carrying books across the castle for two days is definitely the training I need.” She paused. “I even asked a wraith for help you know.”
Aenerct stifled a laugh.
“Truly? How did that go?”
“He just looked at me from behind that creepy hood and walked away.” She frowned then. “Are you well? Is something wrong?”
The question surprised him and he thought he must have had a look in his eyes.
“We’re getting visitors in a few days. Unwanted visitors.” He hesitated to elaborate. “Tell you more later.”
He was surprised that he saw her smirk.
“What?” He asked.
“It’s the mages from the Circle, isn’t it?” She guessed.
He arched an eyebrow.
“Yes.”
“That explains it.” She gave several nods.
“How’s that?”
“The look in your eye. You hate mages.”
“I don’t hate them,” he protested. They walked up the stairs to the keep.
“Okay, you dislike them.”
He opened the thick oak door to the keep for her.
“Thank you.”
“I don’t dislike all of them.”
She snickered at that. “Just those you’ve met, right?”
He thought about it for a moment. There was one he could think of that he didn’t dislike. As they took a corridor passing the great hall he saw that two men sat at the other end at a table near where he had joined Mikkel and Robrect earlier. Irsnik stood beside the table. Oberthold sat there with another, though it was hard to recognize his head of white hair from the back at such a distance. Few of his brothers cut their hair short so he guessed it was Narlwulf returned. He could tell by Oberthold’s large hand gestures that he was furious.
“You eaten?” He asked.
“Yes. Oberthold let me eat before he gave me my punishment,” Atarielle said dramatically and tossed her head back for added effect.
The new library had once been a barracks for Vaelhawen but the wooden walls had been taken down and bookcases were moved in to fill the space. Merely moving bookcases was had taken an eternity. Atarielle placed her pile of books on the floor before a shelf and quickly semi-sorted them in the section about spiders. When she was done she took a moment to sigh before she gave Aenerct a besieging look of mercy which made him feel bad.
“I’ll help carry one load.”
Her face shined merrily and she led the way out of the room. It brightened his mood considerably. Suddenly the anger left from the letter was completely gone.
“Don’t tell Oberthold,” he said. It was half a joke.
“I won’t,” she promised.
They were down on the first floor soon and in the archway that led into the entrance, they met the steward. The short goblin offered Atarielle his kind smile.
“Hello milady,” he greeted and bowed his head.
“Hi, Irsnik,” she greeted.
“Master Oberthold asked to speak with you two in the great hall,” he explained.
Atarielle glanced at Aenerct before she nodded.
“Alright then,” she said.
The rest of his brothers in the keep were there, sat around Oberthold and Narlwulf. Robrect sat on the table across the empty space to pass through in the centre of the wall between the two long rows of tables, his arse on the table and legs swinging. Atop a nearby table sat a Gnome woman; no taller than exactly one hundred five centimetres and her hair was a black hair of untamed hair. Her skin had a pale green tint to it and her large, round eyes glimmered with black and dark green. Mikkel had taken to sit next to Narlwulf and Swinwulf stood leaned against the side of the table behind Oberthold. The sharp-faced Master of the Gate had his hair tied in a ponytail that reached his shoulders. He wore grey wool trousers and a plain umber brigandine with studded shoulder pads – more for style than any practical purpose. Aenerct tensed. He had forgotten the letter for a minute, if that even. He noticed Atarielle tense as well. All that dire face was hard to miss. Even for someone without the improved senses of a Vaelhawen.
“Well aren’t you gloomy,” Atarielle said to add some levity.
Robrect, who appeared the least gloomy amongst them, grinned. “That’s half of what we do around here. I think it’s a rule written somewhere that a Vaelhawen has to be grumpy and gloomy after he passes half a century.”
Atarielle snickered and Oberthold glared at Robrect for a few seconds.
Narlwulf half-turned on the bench, showing his short and carefully trimmed beard. In his mouth, he had chewing tobacco, obviously by the movements of his jaw. For a moment Oberthold gave the tiniest of smiles before he grunted and his face turned serious.
“Is this about the Circle?” Atarielle assumed. “I’m confused. Why do you all look so serious about it? They’ve been here before.”
One of them, and she’s different.
“That’s not the issue,” Oberthold clarified. “It’s not as issue as much as an insult you must be aware of, little slayer. Their demand is a fool’s demand as they have no right to make any demand whatsoever of our Order. Not to mention-”
“Oberthold, please,” Atarielle interrupted.
He thought that she also saved Robrect for the old man’s ire as he had just opened his mouth to speak. The same thing no doubt, just cruder.
“What do the wizards want now?” Swinwulf asked.
The gnome girl leaned forward inquisitively.
“Hmm, fine then. Ceorl Seinloche sent word that he’ll arrive in three days with three other members of their precious Circle. Doesn’t give any specifics of them. He’s…” he paused and took a swig from the tankard in front of him on the table and Atarielle subconsciously touched her crystal. “…ordered. Ordered us.”
Robrect made a disgusting sound in the back of his throat and Narlwulf and Mikkel shook their heads with grim expressions, and the latter crossed his arms over his chest. Atarielle’s eyes shifted between the Vaelhawens.
“The Circle have honoured us by deigning to inform us that they are coming all this way for you.”
He looked at Atarielle and her dark eyes locked with his sanguine ones. Her face shifted with confusion. Several brothers expressed their anger, or in Robrect’s case, merely rolled his eyes and gave a single word in insult. The Gnome girl frowned indignantly.
“Why?”
“They didn’t mention. Merely declared it’s why they’re coming.”
Aenerct smiled. There hadn’t been an issue of course. Like Oberthold said, it was the insult, the idea that they could talk into this sacred castle and give commands all them – to the Lady herself. Then Gnome jumped down from her seat on the table and walked over to Atarielle, looking up at her with her large black-green eyes.
“Don’t worry. If they try something I’ll shove my blow-dart pipe up their backsides,” she promised.
Atarielle snickered and said, “Thanks Merigold.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “It’ll be a long trip for nothing. Cus I’m not going anywhere.”
“Aye,” Narlwulf said merrily.
Merigold added an emphatic “Yeah!”
“Are you gonna turn them away at the gate?” Swinwulf inquired, his voice soft and gentle.
Robrect laughed at that. “That’d be grand.”
“That would be a rude way to treat guests,” Oberthold remarked. “Unwanted or not, they will enter as guests. We don’t turn people away lest they have foul intentions.” The Lady was unmoving when it came to traditions. Aenerct was admittedly curious as to the why.
“Have you spoken to the Lady?” Swinwulf asked.
“Later.” It would clearly not be a conversation he would enjoy holding. Oberthold hadn’t taken his eyes off Atarielle. “You’re thoughts, little slayer.”
She was silent. By her expression Aenerct knew that she pondered. She rolled on the balls of her feet and lowered her arms to her side.
“Honest, I just want to know why they want me so badly. Master Seinloche isn’t dumb,” she started.
“That’s arguable,” Aenerct disagreed.
Merigold snickered. And Atarielle gave Aenerct a look that was half a smile and half a frown and continued.
“He knows he’s insulting the Order. Right?” She looked at Oberthold. “He cannot be blind to that.”
Oberthold moved a hand to caress his chin.
“Well,” he said. “I would normally agree but this is something I’ve never been through before. The Circle has always cared about its relationship with us.”
Until now, Aenerct thought dryly.
“Truly,” she continued. “I just want to know what this is all about.” Then she glanced at him and smiled mischievously. “And maybe see Aenerct give him a piece of his mind.”
The others chuckled. Oberthold smiled, as did Aenerct. Oberthold then clapped his hands together and stood up from his table’ bench.
“Alright then. Back to whatever you’re doing. Swinwulf, have a meal. There are some bits and bobs left. Atarielle, seems to me you have some books to move.”
Immediately her expression turned and she sighed heavily. Before the Vaelhawen could head out Narlwulf told them to hold on. He reached two fingers into his mouth and tossed the Greenleaf on his empty plate and followed it up with a swig from his tankard, emptying it. He then reached into one of the pouches on his belt and fished out a medallion with care. Aenerct closed his eyes drearily. It was a silver medallion with a crow’s head. It was an event he and his brothers were all too familiar with. It was one of the hardest things for a Vaelhawen to get used to. He hoped he never would. Narlwulf handed it across the table to Oberthold with a sombre expression and caressed his own.
“Who is it?” Aenerct asked.
Narlwulf hesitated to answer. “I don’t know.”
“What do you mean you don’t know?” Robrect said angrily.
He jumped off the table and glared at his brother.
“Easy,” Mikkel tried. He placed a hand on his shoulder but Robrect immediately shoved it off.
“Plough off. One of us is dead and you don’t even know who? What – too busy at the brothel.”
He then clenched his fists.
To his credit, Narlwulf didn’t snap back. “I passed through a village in Gvaedwen. Mullcrag it was called. I looked up the ealdorman to ask about any potential contracts, you know. I, eh, he said that a Vaelhawen had passed by sometime before me tracking some beast. Apparently, he’d been on its tracks for weeks – no idea what it was. Course I asked about the fellow and that’s when the ealdorman gave me that.” He nodded to the medallion he had given Oberthold. The old man held it in his right hand gently, looking it up and down as he listened.
Narlwulf’s expression hardened. “Problem was, as you know, I still go no idea who it was. Described him as a fellow with white hair and red eyes.” He forced a chuckle of despair. “And the body?”
“Too badly mauled by the beast?” Aenerct guessed. He noticed Atarielle flinch at that mention.
He stepped over to her side and threw an arm over her shoulders. Not even seventeen, she was the one most visibly hurting. Both her hands rested of the thin crystal shard. He wished that he still felt half as hurt by it but he knew better by experience.
“Don’t know. That’s the problem. He’d got himself axed over two years ago.”
He lowered his head and squeezed Atarielle’s shoulder as she leaned her head against him. He whispered that it was okay. A stupid thing to say but it was just one of those things you always told folk.
“Could be Reorl,” he theorized.
“Could be Hoarling and Margon just as well,” Oberthold said. There was clear sadness in his tone and he hadn’t broken his gaze from the medallion. “Margon was riding for Caer Maergaard to find a ship to sail and visit his birth-land in the south passed the Narrow Sea. Could have picked up a contract on the way. Hoarling left three years ago to find service with some lord he knew in the southlands.”
“So there’s no way of knowing he’s actually dead?” Atarielle said in disbelief.
“Afraid not, little slayer. It’s part of the life of being a Vaelhawen that you’ll have to learn. We usually work and travel on our own.”
“Not everyone return to spend the winter in Kaedd Wrozhen,” Narlwulf added. “You’ll never really worry someone’s dead until they haven’t been heard from or been back here for a few years. Same when you get axed eventually. We won’t know for-”
“Narlwulf,” Oberthold said. His hard tone cut like a blade through butter.
Aenerct and Robrect shot a glare at him.
“What?”
“Are you trying to talk her out of joining?” Robrect berated.
“It’s, its fine,” she said. He knew it was a lie. “It just feels like it has been a long day.”
“It has. Why don’t you get some rest?” Oberthold told her. His old wrinkled face turned from hardened to kindness in a moment.
Than Merigold stomped over and kicked his leg.
“Ouch. Little bastard.”
Atarielle managed a snick as the little Gnome glared at him with large, round and shiny onyx-emerald eyes.
ns 15.158.61.6da2
