Part 49 (1/2)

”It was not meant to be. These are things you deserve to know. Now I must ask you a question. There is a young mortal named Seoman who is linked to Josua. Do you know him? More importantly, did Maegwin know him?”

”Seoman?” Eolair was bewildered by the sudden s.h.i.+ft of the conversation. He thought for a moment. ”There was a young knight named Simon, tall, red-haired-is that who you mean? I think I heard some call him Sir Seoman.”

”That is him.”

”I doubt very much that Maegwin knew him. She never traveled to Erkynland, and I believe that was where the young man lived before running away to serve Josua. Why?” Eolair shook his head. ”I do not understand this.”

”Nor do I. And I fear what it might mean. But in those last moments, it seemed Maegwin thought also of young Seoman, almost as though she had seen him or spoken with him.” Jiriki frowned. ”It is our ill luck that the Dream Road is so murky now, so unrewarding. It was all I could do to glean that much. But something is happening in Asu'a-the Hayholt-and Seoman will be there. I fear for him, Count Eolair. He is ... important to me.”

”But that is where you are going anyway. That is fortunate, I suppose.” Eolair did not want to think any more. ”I wish you luck finding him.”

”And you? Even if Seoman had some significance for Maegwin? Even if she had some message from him, or for him?”

”I am done with that-and so is she. I will take her back to Erkynland to be buried on the mountain beside her father and brother. There is much to do to rebuild our country, and I have been absent too long.”

”What help can I give you?” Jiriki asked.

”I want no more help.” Eolair spoke more sharply than he had intended. ”We mortals are very good at burying our dead.”

He turned and walked away, pulling his cloak tight against the flurrying snows.

Isgrimnur limped out onto the deck, cursing his aching body and his halting progress. He did not notice the shadowy figure until he had nearly stumbled into it.

”Greetings, Duke Isgrimnur.” Aditu turned and regarded him for a moment. ”Is it not chill weather for one of your folk to be out in the wind?”

Isgrimnur hid his startlement by an elaborate readjustment of his gloves. ”Perhaps for the southern folk like Tiamak. But my people are Rimmersmen, my lady. We are hardened to the cold.”

”Am I your lady?” she said with amus.e.m.e.nt. ”I certainly hold no mortal t.i.tle. And I cannot believe that d.u.c.h.ess Gutrun would approve of any other meaning.”

He grimaced, and was suddenly grateful for the chill wind on his cheeks. ”It is just politeness, my la ...” He tried again. ”I find it difficult to call by their first name someone who ... who ...”

”Who is older than you are?” She laughed, a not unpleasant sound. ”Another problem for which I am to blame! I truly did not come to you mortals to discomfort you.”

”Are you really? Older than me?” Isgrimnur was not sure if it was a polite question-but after all, she had brought it up.

”Oh, I should think so ... although my brother Jiriki and I are both accounted quite young by our folk. We are both children of the Exile, born since Asu'a fell. To some, like my uncle Khendraja'aro, we are barely even real people, and certainly not to be trusted with any responsibility.” She laughed again. ”Oh, poor Uncle. He has seen so many outrageous things happen in these last days-a mortal brought to Jao e-Tinukai'i, the breaking of the Pact, Zida'ya and humans fighting side by side again. I fear that he will finish his present duty to my mother and Year-Dancing House and then simply let himself die. Sometimes it is the strongest who are the most brittle. Do you not think so?”

Isgrimnur nodded. For once, he understood what the Sitha-woman meant. ”I have seen that, yes. Sometimes those who act the strongest are really the most frightened.”

Aditu smiled. ”You are a very wise mortal, Duke Isgrimnur.”

The duke coughed, embarra.s.sed. ”I am a very old, very sore mortal.” He stared out across the choppy bay. ”And tomorrow we make landfall. I am glad we have been able to shelter here in the Kynslagh-I don't think most of us could have taken much more of the storms and the kilpa on the open sea, and G.o.d knows I hate boats-but I still don't understand why Elias has not lifted a hand in his own defense.”

”He has not yet,” Aditu agreed. ”Perhaps he feels that his Hayholt walls are defense enough.”

”Could be.” Isgrimnur voiced the fear that others in the prince's fleet shared. ”Or perhaps he is expecting allies-the kind of allies he had at Naglimund.”

”That could also be true. Your people and my people have both wondered much about what is intended.” She shrugged, a sinuous gesture that might have been part of a ritual dance. ”Soon it will not matter. Soon we will learn first hand, as I think you say.”

They both fell silent. The wind was not strong, but its breath was bitterly cold. Despite his rugged heritage, Isgrimnur found himself pulling his scarf higher on his neck.

”What happens to your fairy-folk when they get old?” Isgrimnur asked suddenly. ”Do they just get wiser? Or do they turn silly and mawkish, as some of ours do?”

”'Old' means something different to us, as you know,” Aditu replied. ”But the answer is: there are as many different answers as there are Zida'ya, as is no doubt true with mortals. Some grow increasingly remote; they do not speak to anyone, but live entirely in their own thoughts. Others develop fondnesses for things others find unimportant. And some begin to brood on the past, on wrongs and hurts and missed chances.

”The oldest one of all, the one you call the Norn Queen, has grown old in that way. She was known once for her wisdom and beauty, for grace beyond measurement. But something in her was balked and grew bent, and so she curled inward into malice. As the years almost beyond counting rolled past, all that was once admirable became twisted.” Aditu had suddenly become serious in a way that Isgrimnur had not seen before. ”That is perhaps the greatest sorrow of our folk, that the ruin of the world should be brought about by two who were among the greatest of the Gardenborn.”

”Two?” Isgrimnur was trying to reconcile the stories he had heard of the silver-masked queen of ice and darkness with Aditu's description.

”Ineluki ... the Storm King.” She turned back to look across the Kynslagh, as though she could see the old Asu'a looming beyond the darkness. ”He was the brightest-burning flame ever kindled in this land. Had the mortals not come-had your own ancestors not come, Duke Isgrimnur-and attacked our great house with iron and fire, he might have led us out of the shadows of exile and back into the light of the living world again. That was his dream. But any great dream can flower into madness.” She was silent for a while. ”Perhaps we must all learn to live with exile, Isgrimnur. Perhaps we must all learn to live with smaller dreams.”

Isgrimnur said nothing. They stood for a while in the wind, silent but not uncomfortably so, before the duke turned and sought the warmth of the cabins.

d.u.c.h.ess Gutrun looked up in alarm when she felt the cold air. ”Vorzheva! Are you mad? Bring those children away from the windows.”

The Thrithings-woman, one child cradled in each arm, did not move. Beyond the open window stretched Nabban, vast but strangely intimate; the city's famous hills made the houses and streets and buildings seem built almost on top of each other. ”There is no harm in air. On the gra.s.slands, we live all our lives out in the open.”

”Nonsense,” Gutrun said crossly. ”I've been there, Vorzheva, don't forget. Those wagons are almost like houses.”

”But we only sleep in them. Everything else-eating, singing, loving-we do beneath the sky.”

”And your men cut their cheeks with knives, too. Does that mean you're going to do that to poor little Deornoth?” She bristled at the mere thought.

The Thrithings-woman turned and gave her companion an amused look. ”You do not think the little one should wear scars?” She gazed at the male infant's sleeping face, then laid a finger along his cheek, pretending to consider it. ”Oh, but they are so handsome to see....” She darted a sideward glance, then burst out laughing at the Rimmerswoman's horror. ”Gutrun! You think I mean it for true!”

”Don't even say such things. And bring those poor babies away from the window.”

”I am showing them the ocean where their father is. But you, Gutrun, you are very angry and unhappy today. Are you not well?”

”What is there to be happy about?” The d.u.c.h.ess sank down again onto her chair and picked up her sewing, but only turned the cloth in her hands. ”We are at war. People are dying. It is not even a week since we buried little Leleth!”

”Oh, I am sorry,” Vorzheva said. ”I did not mean to be cruel. You were very close to her.”

”She was just a child. She suffered terrible things, may G.o.d grant her peace.”

”She did not seem to have any pain at the end. That is something. Did you think she would come awake, after all that time?”

”No.” The d.u.c.h.ess frowned. ”But that does not make the sadness less. I hope I am not the one who must tell young Jeremias when he comes back.” Her voice dropped. ”If he comes back.”

Vorzheva looked at the older woman intently. ”Poor Gutrun. It is not just Leleth, is it? You are frightened for Isgnimnur also.”

”My old fellow will come back well,” Gutrun muttered. ”He always does.” She peered up at Vorzheva, who still stood before the open window, a sweep of ash-gray sky behind her. ”But what of you, who feared so much for Josua? Where is your your worry?” She shook her head. ”Saint Skendi protect us, I should not speak of such things. Who knows what ill luck it could bring?” worry?” She shook her head. ”Saint Skendi protect us, I should not speak of such things. Who knows what ill luck it could bring?”

Vorzheva smiled. ”Josua will come back to me. I had a dream.”

”What do you mean? Has all that nonsense of Aditu's turned your head?”