Nochlan, Eryth Rhanthir—the ghalthrach once known as “Forest Wanderer”—stood in the courtyard of the compound on Morolath Island. Sunlight had broken through a haze of clouds, its slanting rays beating down with gentle warmth on his stiff and aching shoulders. On the terraced gardens winding up and around the hill, women clothed in coarse linen and woolen kirtles and armed with hoes and shovels paused from their work. Gathered in clutches like hens in a barnyard, they conversed among themselves as five of their sisters in ceremonial gold breastplates and horse hair plumed helmets hustled Elthwen to their quarters. The girl glanced back, her expression tense as she forced an uneasy smile. Then she vanished through the door into the long, two-storey stone building. He waited until the dark oaken door closed behind the women before releasing his breath.
It surprised him not that Elthwen knew more of her situation than she let on. Still she played along as if it were an adventure concocted for her amusement. No longer a child, she saw through his artifice, and he had grown far too old and forgetful to keep up the pretense much longer. Thanks be to Nirmanath she suspected nothing of her father’s peril. Or of the danger to herself if the Imperon were to discover the purpose of their flight from Ishlonna. If he hadn’t already learned of the betrothal and the pact between Wolthar and Aldain. Or did Elthwen simply pretend ignorance in order to appease his foolish old pride?
The door at the end of the cobblestone walk stood ajar; its rusted hinges groaned as he pushed it open and bent his head under the lintel.
As he had come to expect following his brief assessment of the site, the anteroom, a combination parlor and library, bore signs of time and neglect. A simple room with plaster walls and floors of flagstone, its austere furnishings attested to years of want and frugality after generations of abundance. Through the darkness, relieved only partially by thin bands of sunlight slanting through high slits of windows, he saw plainly that even the high priestess was not immune to the decay that ravaged the place.
She had been hastily rearranging piles of papers, scrolls and books on her table under the windows when she looked up as if startled by the sound of his entry. An uncertain smile fluttered over her mouth as she strode toward him, right hand extended. “When I heard you had come, I could barely believe my ears. Now I see it is true! Welcome, Nochlan, Eryth Rhanthir.”
Older by no more than two years than her half-sister, and once nearly as comely as the queen, Myrwethen had aged beyond her years. Her once bright eyes and radiant smile betrayed the joy absent in her voice.
He took her hand and bowed his head over it. “I have not been addressed by that title in many a year.”
“It has been many a year since you have come to call upon us.” She added as if as an afterthought, “Longer still since we’ve received any visitors at all.” She poured water from the ewer on the dresser by the door into its basin and gestured to it. “Five years have passed—or has it been longer?—since Agard Rhanthir made his last pilgrimage here.”
He smiled with a nod and rolled up the sleeves of his long tunic. “A good man, your father…and a good ghalthrach.” He plunged his hands into the icy water. “In our youth Rhunnathain and I were the best of friends.” Nochlan pursed his lip as she turned and strode away. While Myrwethen finished tidying up the items on the table, he shook his hands over the basin and dried them on a coarse linen towel laid out on the dresser. “The two of us shared our ethenhurn on the same day.”
“And both of you had the pleasure of sharing my mother.” The gleam in her eye matched the teasing in her voice as she motioned him to sit at the trestle table, where a smoky oil lamp cast a gloomy light on a wooden platter containing a half-eaten loaf of crusty bread, a wedge of cheese and a silver pitcher. “I’ve taken the liberty of ordering refreshment. I trust you are hungry?”
“’Twas not our choice to ‘share’ Ailfan…” Try as he did, Nochlan could not keep the irritation from his voice. “…as it was never the lot of our kind to choose anything.” He paused a moment, the image of Ailfan’s face and golden hair passing before his mind’s eye. “She was a fine woman, your mother. She’d have been proud of her daughters.”
As he settled himself on the bench and laid his staff across his lap, she poured wine into two matching silver cups and pushed one across the table.
“You are most kind,” he said with a nod.
Myrwethen perched on her stool across from him.
Nochlan took a small sip of the sweet sithleberry wine and dragged a hand across his mouth. “Tell me, Myrwethen, how fared Rhunnathain when last you saw him?”
“My father was the same. Only older, frail….”
“Happens to the best of us.” He rummaged in his haversack while she observed him with a narrow stare, her face cradled in her hands.
“I see you’ve awakened your corrath,” she said.
“Astute as ever, Myrwethen.”
“In defiance of Wolthar?” she said with eyebrows raised, “or at his bidding?”
A tingle of ire prickled the back of his neck at the barely suppressed taunt. “That remains to be seen.” Having found the leather purse in his pack, he set it on the table and covered it with his hand.
The hint of a self-satisfied smile curled the corners of Myrwethen’s lips. “And you, Nochlan…you appear well. The years have been kind to you. There must be much to recommend of life in Wolthar’s castle.” She paused. He took another sip. “Do you bring news of my sister? Has she too awakened her denanth?”
He shifted his gaze to her eyes. “I am not here to bandy words with you, Myrwethen. So, I will get straightaway to the point. I can see that our arrival has aroused false expectations to play on your mind. I must tell you now, before this goes any further, it is not as you think.”
Myrwethen stared back, brows arched. “If you speak of ‘false expectations,’ you violate an oath.”
“I am afraid that circumstances have changed all of that.”
“The child’s own mother agreed to—”
“Elthwen is promised to Keirath, son of Aldain.” He tossed back his head and drained the cup, then filled at again.
The high priestess pushed herself erect in her seat and allowed the impact of his words to settle before she spoke, her voice subdued. “Then this is momentous.”
“It is not common knowledge. That is, it is not altogether endorsed.” He slugged down another mouthful. “Elthwen suspects and she is not at all pleased. But she will do as she’s told. The boy though, it seems, has defied his father and is off soldiering in Isenia…where I understand he has made a name for himself…but none of that! What I mean to say is that implications would be grave should this union not come to pass, or if certain parties gained knowledge before the pact is sealed.”
“Who would oppose such an arrangement? The land reunited…. The line of the true king joined with the line of the conqueror.”
“The Imperon has long opposed an alliance between Wolthar and Aldain—just as his father opposed Wolthar’s marriage to your sister. With the aid of the king’s brother, the Imperon will do all in his power to thwart such a coalition. Murder is not out of the question, and that cur of a royal brat has the means and the cunning to carry it out.” Nochlan set down his cup and leveled his gaze on her. “The omens do not lie, Myrwethen. I was at your sister’s side when they appeared. Treachery is at hand. The king sailed north for the land of the Ice Mountains on yesterday’s tide. Under a flag of truce. A voyage arranged by Othreld and sanctioned by the sovereign twit, Oton himself. I fear that stunted weasel has concocted a false mission, but Wolthar was not be convinced of the deceit. He’s a good man, but he relies too heavily on honor and dignity. Unlike that brother of his. It is only a matter of time before Othreld controls Wolthar’s house…if he does not already.” Nochlan poured wine into his cup and took a long draught.
Myrwethen rose from her seat and wandered into the shadows, her head bowed over clasped hands. “All the good Wolthar has done will be reversed,” she said softly.
“Othreld would rule Lothria as a puppet of Nortlunde. He would turn back time and our people will suffer.”
“Of course you were right to bring the girl to my protection.” She added in a stifled groan, a hand to her breast, “I had so hoped she would be mine.”
He waved away her sniveling tone. “She was never intended to be yours, Myrwethen.” He broke the end off the bread and began tearing the soft inner part from the crust. “This was made known to you years ago.”
The high priestess sighed and raised her thin shoulders, waving a hand as if to make light of Nochlan’s words. “She was an ungrateful child. I do not suppose much has changed. No discipline. No direction…. She would not have taken to our way of life. Besides, Wolthar has agreed to my proposal. By summer’s end, we have been promised two girls from good families.”
Nochlan pretended not to listen. For too long Myrwethen had begrudged her half-sister the life chosen for her. He had heard it often enough in the past, and such talk was tiresome even then. He pulled his knife from under his cloak and polished its blade on his sleeve. “I have been given a sum of gold coins.” He shoved the clinking purse across the table. “They should more than adequately provide for Elthwen’s sustenance until I return for her, or until Lysienthe sends word…or….We will not dwell on that. You may use the rest for repairs, if you desire. I see they are wanted, especially with new blood to add to your numbers.” He sliced a wedge of cheese and buried it in the hollow of his bread.
As she measured the heft of the bag in her hand, Myrwethen laughed softly, a sound of little cheer. “Repairs, indeed. For what purpose?” She tossed the sack of coins on the table and plopped onto her stool. “We lost three of our number this winter past,” she said, leaning on her hands toward him. She tore off a small piece of soft bread and absently rolled it into a tiny ball between her fingertips. “I can’t tell you what a struggle it’s become…bearing the bodies uphill to the shrine for cremation. Each year the old grow older and more feeble. We all grow old…even our poor horses.” She popped the morsel into her mouth and chewed slowly. “In spite of the addition of two to our ranks, we will cease to exist before they reach an age.”
Her plaint touched him, more deeply than he could allow. “In the morning I will set off for Elyndrus.”
“You will go alone? On foot?”
“I dare not ask for one of your nags, especially as you’ll need them for planting. Perhaps I will find a convoy leaving Virna Berin for the west.” He dipped his repast into the wine and took a large bite. “I hope to procure a horse in the Old City.”
She shuddered. “The roads teem with brigands and armed Skaddock from the north. Not to mention wild beasts. I have heard that river travel is not much better. Not to mention Virna Berin! A haven for thieves and murderers.”
The ghalthrach raised his staff in preparation to stand. Its light burned with a smoldering heat. “I have little choice in the path I must follow, so long as it takes me to Elyndrus and keeps Elthwen from harm.”