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fableweaver · 5 years

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Arc of the Lonely Astronomer

Arc of the Lonely Astronomer

Zaire was scrying over Myr. The city hadn’t seemed to change much over the time she had been gone. Winter had come, but the only sign in the mage city was a dusting of snow. She unfortunately could not look into many buildings; her power was not great enough to break through the sigils and wards of other mages’. She didn’t have the power to look anywhere else either; she could only look somewhere she was familiar with so she looked home. She had gathered however that Varas Lonelove had returned from Cair Leone, as well as the princess Ileana and her son Anton. The arrival of these mages had upset power in Myr a lot.

Zaire could only watch from outside, but she could tell by the brief glimpses of Ilya that he was not pleased by the return of these mages. One time Zaire saw Ilya and Varas arguing, but could not hear anything. The argument ended quickly and they parted, leaving Zaire wondering what could have happened. She wasn’t sure what Varas would make of Ilya’s partnership with the Legion or his experiments for immortality. Varas wouldn’t have argued over the humane aspects, Zaire knew enough about him from Xavier, but he could have issue with how Ilya was going about it.

It was now nearing the end of the year, Zaire gazing into her mirror and seeing no sign of any change in the political tension in Myr. Servants began decorating for Cael’s Day and the sight of those decorations made her think of Xavier. It was a festival for families, and after the death of her father Zaire had spent it alone with little more than a fine dinner and an extra glass of wine. Bitterly her mind went to what she and Xavier could have been doing for the festival had he lived. She put the mirror down, tearing her eyes away from her old home and an older pain.

She was surprised to see one of the dwarves sitting across from her in the King’s library. It was Darin, the one Lady Iounn had knocked out with her hammer. Zaire had been able to sense his power in the Elder Magic, a presence of power about him that reminded her of nature more than the High Magic. He was a handsome man, deep blue eyes that seemed to see more than what was before him.

“What did you see?” Darin asked in the trade tongue. “Hors told me about your…” He indicated the mirror, seeming to struggle with the word for a moment.

“Mirror,” Zaire supplied and Darin nodded. “I only have the power to look back at Myr, the capital of Dridia, my old home.”

“You are homesick?” Darin asked and Zaire looked away.

“No, I am sick for what could have been,” she answered wrapping her arms around herself. She looked at him and saw the same sort of solemn look, sympathy in a minor understanding of her pain.

“Can you see anything you want in your mirror?” Darin asked.

“No, I only have the power to look to a place I have been before,” Zaire answered. “A stronger mage could direct the mirror to look anywhere, but I don’t have the power to command such a powerful sigil.”

He looked disappointed but pressed on.

“Then have you seen a woman in Myr?” Darin asked. “She is half Daunish, half Aldan. Her hair is dusty gray, her skin brown like the Daunish, and her eyes… the dark blue color…”

“Indigo?” Zaire asked and Darin nodded. He rarely fought for words; it was interesting how well he actually spoke the trade tongue. “No I haven’t seen anyone like that. An Aldan outside of Alda these days is easily spotted. Who is she?”

“The witch Pepper who wields Melanthios,” Darin answered. “She is… was my lover.”

“Why was?” Zaire asked.

“Fate brought us apart,” Darin answered. “She left me to seek the song.”

“It isn’t forever,” Zaire said bitterly. “My lover is dead.”

“I’m sorry,” Darin said sounding genuine. “I did not know.”

Zaire only looked away, wrapping her arms around herself once more. Darin seemed to sense her pain, so cleared his throat and looked to the papers of calculations strewed about on the table.

“So how goes the stars?” Darin asked and Zaire appreciated the change in topic.

“Slow,” Zaire answered. “If I knew maybe more of what I was looking for I could determine what might be significant. Do the Phay have any mythology of the stars?”

“No, and if they do it is not through the dwarves,” Darin answered. “We are after all a… we live under the earth.”

“Subterranean,” Zaire said and Darin nodded, then he seemed to remember something.

“The Daunish have old myths though,” Darin said. “Maybe they have something that could help.”

“We’d have a long way to go to talk to the Daunish,” Zaire said, before remembering that there were now two here at court. It had been two weeks since the dwarves and Daunish had arrived at court and Zaire had paid little attention to how negotiations were going other than it had claimed most of Iounn’s time.

“Ronan could answer some things,” Darin said.

“He is not busy with the negotiations?” Zaire asked.

“Only Conor and Iounn are working with Sten and Roland,” Darin said. “Ronan is free. Come.”

Zaire gathered a few things and followed Darin out of the study and back to their rooms. There they found Donar, Hakk, Bgrim, and Ronan who was strumming a tune on his string instrument. Donar looked relieved to see them, looking bored. Ronan stopped his playing to stand and greet them.

“Greetings milady,” the minstrel said as he stood and bowed to her. “We haven’t been introduced. I be Ronan the wandering minstrel at yer service.”

“Zaire Weaver.”

“Careful of him Lady Zaire,” the dwarf called Bgrim said mildly. “He’s a bit of a flirt.”

“I cannot deny I enjoy the company of women,” Ronan said with a smile.

“We’re here to actually ask you about the mythology of stars,” Zaire said. “I’m having trouble narrowing down what to calculate when it comes to the stars.”

“I ken some myths but not a lot I’m afraid,” Ronan said seeming embarrassed. “There be only twenty n eight constellations accordin ta Daunish myth. Which stars we be talking bout?”

Zaire laid out a star map on the table to show him.

“The Golden Bow is here,” Zaire said. “I think Atarah is the other important constellation, but the Sect’s mythology of this constellation is limited. The constellations according to them are angels, this one is said to be the moon goddess’ daughter. She is called Atarah the crowned angel, but there isn’t much else about her in their texts.”

“Well that constellation be bigger in Daun,” Ronan said, pointing at the map to show how Atarah included several stars from Urs. “It was called the Broken Wheel. It was said that Fors created a wheel ta guide the mortal spirits o the Phay ta Tir Aesclinn but her first wheel broke and so she threw it inta the sky. The half of the wheel can be seen, and the shards scatter along here.”

“Poetic but Fors only made one wheel,” Donar said. “And she made it out of aether not stars. There’s a difference.”

“It be just a story,” Ronan said with a shrug.

“Well I think that shows the Daunish myths won’t shed much light on this,” Donar said.

“We baint ken less we try,” Ronan said looking at Zaire with bright eyes. Zaire felt her face heat with a slight blush and looked away.

“You said your knowledge was incomplete,” Darin said noticing Ronan’s attentions. “Perhaps we should also ask another for some tales of Nyrgard to see if their mythology could shed some light.”

“Who?” Ronan asked but Zaire already had the answer.

“Prince Soren is a bard,” Zaire said. “He was trained in all the tales of Nyrgard, he’ll know them all. He might actually know one about the song.”

“We should go ask him then,” Donar said standing. “Hakk, Bgrim stay here, we don’t want to all be out in the keep.”

Hakk nodded as Donar led the way out of the room, Darin at his side. Zaire followed feeling Ronan following her. He was silent, Zaire sensing his discontent with this plan. They walked to the main hall, but did not find the prince. Zaire remembered the children and wondered then if he was in the gardens with them. She led the way then out to the gardens where they found Modi, Lofn, and Nora playing in the snow under the watchful eye of Colm.

“Have you seen the Prince Soren?” Zaire asked Colm.

“O’er there,” Colm said pointing. Zaire saw under the shelter of a yew tree Soren sat with Ingrid talking. “I be keepin an eye on em don’t worry,” Colm said, his green eyes languid.

“Does the Lady Iounn know of this?” Zaire asked lowly, suspecting Iounn would be angry. Colm shook his head, looking like he had eaten something sour. Zaire patted his arm and walked over to the pair, the two dwarves and minstrel following her. As they approached Zaire heard Soren was reciting a poem, a battle epic, and his hand rested just a hair’s breadth from Ingrid’s. Ingrid saw them and looked both relieved and disappointed, Soren trailing off. Before Zaire could speak Ronan beat her too it.

“Lady Ingrid,” Ronan said stepping forward and taking Ingrid’s hand. “Are you alright? This man isn’t bothering you is he?”

“This man is a Prince of Nyrgard,” Soren growled as he stood up. “I would never assault a lady especially not one so fair.”

“Seemed to me you were bothering her plenty,” Ronan answered. “She has been through enough without having another man force himself on her.”

“You would slander her?” Soren said hotly.

“Enough!” Donar shouted and both men jumped. The children had stopped playing to watch the exchange, the winter air deadly silent. “Lady Zaire, please accompany the Lady Ingrid back to her mother’s rooms. We’ll continue the discussion of the stars later.”

Zaire nodded and held her hand out to Ingrid. The young woman took her hand and stood, following her back to the keep. Zaire took her back to Ingrid’s rooms and closed the door relieved.

“Thank you but that wasn’t necessary,” Ingrid said sitting in a chair. “I didn’t mind his company.”

“Your mother told me of what you suffered,” Zaire said.

“No doubt it is court gossip already,” Ingrid said lowering her head.

“Shame only rules you when you let it,” Zaire said and Ingrid looked up at her. Zaire knew she read in her the same pain she had endured.

“How did it happen?” Ingrid asked. Ingrid’s eyes were sad and hollow; Zaire didn’t need to ask what she meant.

“I was eight,” Zaire answered and Ingrid’s eyes grew wider. “A sigil was cast within me so I could not bear children, in order to cast the sigil the mage had to reach inside of me.”

“That sounds awful,” Ingrid said softly.

“It was,” Zaire said. She rarely thought of that day, but she could still remember the look in her father’s eyes as she had been returned to him weeping and bleeding. He had consented to it; it had been the only thing to save her life. “I think the worst of it was the mage that did the casting didn’t care. To him I was little more than a dog he had on his table. He had no compassion and so he was not gentle. Even a touch of kindness might have made it bearable.”

Ingrid’s eyes were haunted, no doubt thinking over her own trauma.

“I think you’re right,” she said in a small voice. “One, he gave me a blanket out of pity. Even though he had been hard and mean, that blanket made me weep.”

Zaire only nodded and a silence stretched between them.

“How… I mean my mother told me about your lover,” Ingrid said. “How did you get over the pain?”

“The sigil placed within me had an outer sigil that caused me pain anytime I even thought of a man in such a way,” Zaire said. “Or a woman for that matter, any arousal was met with pain. I had grown so used to it I had hardly been aware of it. I probably hadn’t touched another person in years, not even the brush of a finger from a stranger. To me human contact meant pain.

“Xavier removed that sigil, though not the one that prevents me from having a child since it was beyond his skill. He had to force me; he removed the sigil without my consent. The pain of that and the fear hurt me deeply. I almost didn’t forgive him for that, until he showed me his own pain. When he touched me, kissed me for that first time… I felt what could be like to be loved by another.

“So if you are wondering if you could find love I don’t know Ingrid. It depends on the person, and it depends on you.”

“I see,” Ingrid said tears falling. “If this hadn’t happened… Soren is what I had always wanted but now…”

Zaire could not answer in words; instead she went to her and held her as she wept. It was all she could do and Zaire felt powerless; she wondered how Iounn could have lived with such a pain considering this was her daughter. When Ingrid was done crying Zaire left her to rest, going to seek out the prince. She found him alone pacing before one of the fireplaces in the great hall.

“Prince Soren,” Zaire said mildly and Soren stopped his pacing. He looked at her with concern, not for Zaire but for Ingrid she knew by the way he looked at her expectantly.

“Is the Lady Ingrid alright?” Soren asked. “I hadn’t meant to argue in front of her…”

“Do you know what she has endured?” Zaire asked him and Soren stopped.

“I… There are rumors but they are all lies,” Soren said. “She isn’t… She wouldn’t have…”

“Others call women whores even if the woman was raped,” Zaire said. “It is the way the world goes. Her reputation is destroyed, though I doubt her mother cares about that, she only hurts to know her daughter suffered such an experience and still suffers from it. The fact is Ingrid survived rape, I have as well, and can tell you the pain is something that stays with you for years.”

Soren was silent, his face gray and eyes wide, yet he met her gaze which most men would have looked away from.

“I don’t care what happened to her,” Soren said at last weakly.

“You should, you need to take care and be careful around her,” Zaire said. “Patience will win her over to you, time will be the only cure as her pain is still fresh. I can tell you one thing, had she not suffered as she had she would love you without hesitation. As it is she feels soiled and afraid. Her shame and fear will keep her from you for some time.”

“What can I do to ease her pain?” Soren asked.

“I don’t know,” Zaire answered. “Each person is different.”

“What about tales then?” Soren asked. “Ingrid said she wanted to be a bard.”

Zaire thought that over and nodded.

“She is like her mother, full of pride,” Zaire said. “Let her gain her pride back in her ability of a bard and I think she will recover. But I warn you, do not touch her. Let her come to you, it may be years until she warms to it.”

“I can wait,” Soren said and Zaire glared at him. He met her gaze and Zaire at last looked away hoping he would keep to his word.

“When the negotiations are over I believe you should go to Lady Iounn and discuss her daughter’s future with her,” Zaire said and Soren winced.

“She will not be thrilled,” Soren said. “But I will.”

“And no more fighting,” Zaire said. “Ronan will be warned off again, keep away from him.”

“Yes Lady Zaire,” Soren said bowing to her. “You are surprisingly commanding right now Zaire.”

Zaire had no answer to that so she bowed and took her leave. She wondered though at what Soren had said, she had become braver. But this wasn’t new, she still remembered saving Xavier from the Legion and Ilya. She had been brave then too, and Zaire realized Xavier had been the one to change her. Before she had been too afraid to even touch another person or speak against those who oppressed her, and now she was defending others. Xavier had saved her in more ways than one.

The negotiations continued Iounn complaining often of the stubbornness of men. Though they were still arguing over the price of their aid, Sten had summoned nearby lords and they too arrived to add to the confusion. Details were being sorted out, horses and ships arranged, and a wagon trail for supplies organized. Zaire had no idea so much went into organizing an army, it seemed like going to war was more about logistics than battle. She was glad to be excluded from the discussions, focusing on her own calculations.

One day however Iounn called a council of her own of the dwarves, Hors, Ronan, and Zaire. They gathered in the dwarves’ room Iounn looking around pensively.

“I believe it is time we decide which paths we follow,” Iounn said. “Sten has agreed to send and army to Daun, we are now just arguing over numbers and price. So where will each of us go? To Daun to war or to Alda in search of the song?”

“We are going to Alda,” Donar said. “I know Daun is in danger, and that they need guidance in battle against the Orcs, but Runi charged us with the search of the song. I know there are others seeking it, but we do not know if they will find it. Ronan will be our guide. We go to Alda.”

“Hors, you said you had a plan of some sort,” Iounn said turning to the dragon child.

“Of a sort yes,” Hors answered. “And I already know where your heart lies Iounn, you want to go to Daun. Sten and Roland are riding to war with the army, it is in their natures. You know you will be needed as ambassador for them in Daun if the two are to hold together in battle. I will be needed as ambassador to the Dwarves, someone is needed who can speak the Phay language. I am going with you to Daun.”

“But Hors, what about Melanthios?” Darin asked. “Pepper is probably in Alda with the dragon blade.”

“You can carry a message from me to him,” Hors said. “While I would very much like to meet with Melanthios, we have our own paths. Once he learns I am alive and reborn he will agree to this.”

“Would you two not be more powerful together?” Donar asked and Hors sighed heavily and then answered in the Phay language. Donar went white and covered his eyes.

“What is it?” Iounn asked worried.

“Nothing Iounn,” Hors said. “I would not let it happen so there is no need for you to know.”

“Secrets,” Iounn growled. “I am not a child Hors.”

“To me you are,” Hors answered. “But I am not telling you to protect you from a hard truth Iounn, I am keeping this secret out of shame.”

Iounn looked at the dragon child puzzled, but then nodded.

“Very well, if you see it as best.”

“So it is decided each of our paths,” Hors said.

“Wait,” Zaire gasped. “What of me?”

“You will be safest here,” Iounn said as if soothing a child. “You can continue your work and send letters of your discoveries. We have plenty of time until the second resonance.”

The thought of safety was appealing; the idea of going to war with Iounn terrified her. But she looked at Darin and saw his anticipation to leave and seek out his lover. She thought of Xavier then and how he had told her once to flee to Alda. They were his people, though he had never lived there, they were his blood. She felt the desire take root, to get just a little closer to him through the Aldan.

“I want to go to Alda with Donar,” Zaire said, forging on before anyone could object. “I can keep up I swear. And we will be traveling through southern Dridia my native country. I can do my calculations anywhere, and the libraries in Alda are said to be nearly as extensive as the Tower of Balal. I will be of more use there than here. Ingrid and Lofn can continue to research here in case there is anything here.”

Iounn was frowning and Hors lashed his tail, both looking ready to object when Donar spoke first.

“Very well, your company is appreciated,” he said smoothly.

“What?” Iounn said. “She is in heartbreak and a mere scholar; she is not fit to go traveling across the kingdoms.”

“She says she can keep up and I believe she can,” Donar said. “And it is my decision who I take with me not yours. A mage in our party would be useful through Dridia as well.”

“She is in my service,” Iounn argued.

“She is not your slave, she has the right to leave when she pleases,” Donar said.

“The laws in Nyrgard are different,” Iounn said hotly.

“Iounn, would you really force her to stay?” Hors said lamely, apparently having a change of heart. “She has a right to her freedom. I know you want to protect her, but Zaire is not your daughter.”

Zaire looked to Iounn shocked and saw tears in her eyes about to spill over. Iounn turned to her as well looking furious. She stalked over and lifted Zaire off her feet in a big hug, pressing her face to her shoulder.

“You come back you hear?” Iounn said hurt and Zaire returned her embrace startled to find tears of her own. She remembered her mother, though she had been nothing like Iounn, she still felt the resemblance in the warm embrace.

“I will,” Zaire said.

“We will protect her Lady Iounn,” Darin said. “You can have faith in that.”

Iounn only nodded seeming overcome.

Days passed once more in the long steady way of winter. Zaire was used to the stable calm weather of Myr, controlled by the mages. There during the winter it hardly ever snowed, if it did it was little more than a dusting. Here the snow continued to fall until the roofs of the city were groaning under the weight of it. It was so cold even in the keep Zaire went about wrapped in a large fur cloak. Zaire now understood the Nyrgarder’s love of fur and leather.

Still she marveled at the beauty of the snow. On some days the clouds were so thick and wind so strong one could hardly see anything outside. But on clear days the sun shone so bright against the snow it was almost blinding. It was so bitterly cold on those bright days her teeth ached. But Zaire would often go up to the highest tower on clear days to look out over Thorrak Bay and the Ionnfell Mountains. The mountains looked like clouds in the sky covered in snow as they were and the bay spread out in a bright blue expanse that rivaled the sky. Zaire looked down at the beauty of the world feeling tears in her eyes, missing Xavier.

She threw herself into her calculations, not just to forget Xavier but because she loved the work. She always had found it calming and had always enjoyed the calculations. It often reminded her of her father, how he would spend long hours at his desk writing out numbers.

Cael’s Day approached and the Court of Legends was abuzz for the coming festival. Zaire knew little about politics, lords, or the court itself, but Iounn seemed to know it well. The lords of course brought their ladies with them and Iounn had taken the role of hostess though she bore no relation to the royal line. If any of the other nobles took offense to a mere Baroness acting like a queen, they wisely did not voice their complaints.

Zaire had hardly celebrated the God Day before, both because mages hardly celebrated the gods and because she had no one to spend it with. Though Xavier was not with her, Zaire was surprised to find she actually had people around her she could call friends. The God’s Day arrived and they spent the morning in the library once more. This time however Darin and Bgrim had joined them since the King’s council was busy with the festival. Soren and Ronan were not there as he was going to have a lot to do for the festival, so Hors was out on the table reading as well.

Lofn and Ingrid weren’t reading today however, but carving. They both had a bit of soap stone and were carving it into animals, Ingrid carving hers into a bear.

“What is that supposed to be Lofn?” Ingrid asked.

“A dragon,” Lofn answered holding up the lump of stone, it hardly looked like a dragon, more like a twisted cat.

“Why are you two carving those?” Darin asked.

“They’re our Cael’s day gifts for our mother,” Ingrid answered. “We give gifts on Cael’s day; usually we make ours since we don’t have any coin.”

“Should we have gotten gifts?” Darin said worried.

“Only family give gifts to each other,” Zaire answered. “Or lovers, it is a familial matter so you won’t be expected to give anything.”

“Good,” Darin said sounding relieved. “Is this a tradition that spans all the kingdoms?”

“Cael’s day is widely celebrated over the kingdoms,” Zaire answered, remembering her own Cael’s Day celebrations with her family. At first those had been wonderful memories, but after her mother died the God’s Day became a day of sadness. Zaire remembered her father drinking most of the day, even her gifts to him didn’t cheer him. Yet he still got her a gift that she wanted, a haunted look in his eyes when he gave them to her.

“What do you think mother got us this year?” Lofn asked Ingrid.

“I don’t know but I can guess where she hid them,” Ingrid said with a grin. “Let’s go!”

Lofn laughed as she followed her sister out of the library, leaving them alone.

“Those two are spoiled sometimes,” Hors said, but he said it with a smile. “Now that they’re gone though I can ask all of you something.”

“What?” Zaire asked curious.

“Bgrim, you were the one to know about the Giant’s road,” Hors said looking to the dwarf. “Do you know anything else about the mountains around here?”

“I don’t know of any more roads,” Bgrim answered. “I only know a few stories about this area. The Ionnfell Mountains are home to the giants, our people rarely lived here. The Greatlings, the Giants, roamed through both mountain ranges though. Our history goes that we once wared with the Giants, up until men started to rise up out of the mud and beasts.”

“Most of the Nyrgardic legends say that they wared with the giants so much that they became bathed in their blood. They say that is why they are so tall,” Zaire said.

“That is probably true,” Hors said. “As I recall many giants were killed in battle against the Nyrgarders, and their blood could have that affect if it was drunken enough. It would have happened over generations though.”

“Is that why they slumber?” Darin asked.

“No, those in the Weir Mountains slumber as well,” Hors said. “The giant’s fell into slumber at the death of their king. The Giants were born from the Phay Aurgelmir, one of the eldest of the Phay. Kur was the first of the Phay to arrive in Miread, but Aurgelmir was the second. The first of the Phay when they had taken their forms were colossal in size, Kur was said to be larger than mountains and maybe even the moon.

“Aurgelmir was just as large and when he arrived in Miread he created a crater so large it filled with sea water, making what is now called the Thorrak Bay. He also made the mountains, both the Ionnfell Mountains and the Weir Mountains, by shaping the earth with his hands. When he was shaping the mountains however he woke one of the fire mountains. The volcano erupted in his hands and Aurgelmir stumbled away wounded.

“As he lay in the mountains dying he dreamed the giants, they were born out of his blood and the ashes of the fire mountain. The giants had many kings after their race came to be. Not all of the Phay are ruled by those that created them, Kur was the creator of the race of dragons but she died centuries ago. I wasn’t even king after her; I had two predecessors before I took the role.

“The giants’ last king was a giant by the name of Thrym. When the Nyrgarders arrived in Miread they started a war for land with the giants, killing all they could. The giants never developed weapons and the Nyrgarders had good steel and numbers on their side. Thrym fell in battle against Arnór, a Nyrgardic king of legend. When Thrym fell the giants all fell into a slumber, I believe it was Thrym’s will that did so. In their slumber they are protected since their bodies turned to stone and they cannot be killed in this state.

“After the giants all fell many of the Phay talked of marching, it was one of the many driving factors to our march.”

“So that is why the giants sleep,” Darin said amazed. “We never knew. Can they be woken? If they got a new king would that wake them?”

“Yes, a new king would wake them but it isn’t that simple,” Hors said. “The giants usually choose their king by battle. Every hundred years or so they meet and do battle, usually in one big melee. The victor is king, often kings were overthrown in their battles.”

“They cannot chose a new king if they all are asleep,” Darin said.

“Maybe,” Hors answered. “Since the giants fell asleep before the march I fear they might not awaken until the Phay march.”

“Then why ask me about them?” Bgrim said.

“Because I hope we can find one and wake it,” Hors answered. “If someone of enough power sings the march it should be enough to wake a giant.”

“Pepper tried to wake a giant and failed,” Darin said shaking his head. “She has more power than all of us; I don’t think it can be done.”

“Why wake a giant in the first place?” Bgrim asked and then seemed to remember something a grinned. “This was the plan you stated, the way to unite the Dwarves with the Daunish isn’t it?”

“A giant can travel through the mountains faster than any of us especially in winter,” Hors answered. “With a giant we can get to the dwarves and will have a powerful warrior on our side as well. Today is auspicious day; the solstice would be a good day to wake one.”

“Then we should go now before it gets dark,” Darin said as he stood. They hurried to follow him, Hors leaping up to hide himself in Zaire’s hood. They walked from the library and to the great hall where fires and candles made the great room unbearably warm. Nobles and knights had all gathered and were already drinking and singing, tables piled high with the feast of Cael.

“Lady Zaire,” Ronan said spotting them and heading through the crowd over to them. “About time you joined us,” Ronan said with a smile.

“I’m afraid we’re not here for the feast,” Donar said. “We were just about to head out.”

“Out?” Ronan said puzzled. “Have you seen outside? A blizzard blew in about an hour ago; the streets are already knee deep in snow.”

Zaire looked around, but the great hall had no windows nor could she hear anything over the din of the crowd. Darin hurried over to the nearest exit door and cracked it open, a swirl of snow and howling wind coming in before he slammed it shut.

“It seems we are stuck here for the night,” Darin said sourly. Zaire felt Hors lash his tail against her back and she tilted her head towards him.

“Can we do this another night?” Zaire asked.

“We will have to,” Hors answered. “I’m sure you can find another night that holds power for the waking.”

Zaire nodded feeling disappointed, the idea of waking a giant had sounded exhilarating.

“Who are you talking to Lady Zaire?” Ronan asked.

“Just myself,” Zaire said. They had not told Ronan about Hors, wanting to keep the dragon child as much of a secret as they could. “It seems we are just in time for the celebration.”

“Right, come you must eat,” Ronan said happily. Zaire smiled and nodded to him, letting Ronan take her hand and lead her off. She was grateful that Donar, Darin, Bgrim, and Hakk followed however. Since she had sternly warned Ronan to leave Ingrid alone he had started flirting with her instead.

Ronan took them to one of the guest tables near the king’s table and sat them down. Zaire looked up at the king’s table looking for Iounn, but instead met eyes with Dirk. She felt the blood drain from her face as the prince saw her and stood, making his way over. He had kept his word and stayed away all this time, yet now he was walking over with intent. Zaire stood with a mumbled word about seeing Iounn and hurried to intercept Dirk.

“Lady Zaire,” Dirk said with the same crooked grin as before. “How have you been?”

“Fantastic since you’ve been leaving me alone,” Zaire said caustically and Dirk winced. “Now if you’ll excuse me I have to see Iounn.”

“Wait,” Dirk said standing between her and the king’s table. “Maybe we could share a dance together?”

“No,” Zaire answered, trying to step around him, but Dirk grabbed her wrist. Zaire saw heads turning in curiosity and worried that they were attracting attention. Before she had to worry further however someone spoke.

“Prince Dirk, I hope that is not your hand I see on my mage’s wrist,” Iounn said coolly. They both turned to see Iounn standing behind them, her blue eyes sparking with mild anger.

“No Lady Iounn,” Dirk said quickly dropping Zaire’s wrist.

“Good, because if it were I wouldn’t take this matter to your father,” Iounn said and Dirk looked at her puzzled. Iounn’s hand dropped to the hammer she still wore at her belt. “I would deal with the matter with my own power.”

“I understand Lady Iounn,” Dirk said with a quick bow. “I will not go near her again.”

“Good,” Iounn said mildly. “You are dismissed then Prince Dirk.”

Dirk bowed once more, but he glanced at Zaire as he left, his eyes regretful.

“Thank you Lady Iounn,” Zaire said relieved. “Would you really have fought him?”

“Yes, but whether or not I could hold my own would have been another matter,” Iounn answered. “My late husband taught me how to fight, though I think I learned more from wrestling with my brother when we were children. Mainly if you ever want to get away from a man all you have to do is grab his stones and crush them.”

“Your poor brother,” Zaire said as she laughed and Iounn grinned at her.

“I only did it the one time,” Iounn said. “And he suffered no lasting damage, his five children attest to that.”

Zaire laughed again and Iounn moved closer. Hors moved quickly from Zaire’s shoulders to Iounn’s, nestling in her great mane of golden hair. Zaire heard him whisper something to her and Iounn’s merriment died a little.

“The war negotiations are almost done,” Iounn said to him. “We are just working out the last of the logistics. Sten plans on marching at the beginning of the new year.”

Hors whispered something else, Zaire unable to hear him over the din of the room.

“No thank the gods,” Iounn said and saw Zaire’s attention. “Hors just asked if my sons will be marching to war, but they won’t. I know they will want to but the passes to Stóstund stay blocked well into spring. They won’t be able to march until then.”

“But the war could still be going on when spring comes,” Zaire said and wish she hadn’t. Iounn’s eyes clouded over and for the first time Zaire saw fear in her eyes.

“Let us hope they will not come,” Iounn said softly. Zaire nodded pensively and looked out into the crowded hall. Her eye fell on Soren and Ingrid, both standing in a sheltered corner. Soren appeared to be offering a gift to Ingrid, the young woman accepting it cautiously.

“Lady Iounn,” Zaire said and pointed to the pair. Iounn’s eyes melted and she sighed heavily.

“Soren came to me and told me his intentions,” Iounn said wearily. “Ingrid said she would like to get to know him so begged me to approve. I didn’t have the heart to deny her. Soren swore he would not touch her however and he has kept his word so far. We’ve kept it secret as well, no need to put pressure on Ingrid while she is still adjusting.”

“He’ll be good to her milady,” Zaire said.

“I know, and I hope with all my heart he can heal at least some of her pain,” Iounn said. Her face lost some of the tension as her daughter smiled, unwrapping the gift Soren had given her. It was a hand harp, beautifully crafted and a work of art on its own. She smiled up at Soren and he gazed down at her with his heart in his eyes. Ingrid began to play the harp, the sound lost in the noisy hall but her fingers plucked at the strings. Soren’s eyes grew brighter, and he just stood listening to her play entrapped.

An idea suddenly struck Zaire then and she turned to Iounn.

“Hors, Darin said that the witch Pepper tried to wake a giant but failed,” Zaire said. “None of us are nearly as strong as she was in the Elder Magic.”

“I’d still like to try but you’re right,” Hors said heavily. “I doubt we have the power to wake one.”

“Why?” Iounn said puzzled. “I sang to the dragon egg and you were born. Would the song not work here?”

“This is different Iounn,” Hors answered. “The giants’ spirits are inside them entombed, I was riding Fors’ Wheel. Fors spent the power directing me back to be reborn. When you sang to the song you weren’t waking my spirit, you were waking the body that I now inhabit. It is a young body and one that was already waiting for a spirit to inhabit it. It hardly took any magic to waken it; you have some power in the Elder Magic but nothing close to a witch’s. Zaire or Nora have more power than you.”

“Then why I am the one who must be your guardian?” Iounn said bitterly. “Why not a witch of great power?”

“Iounn it doesn’t have to be you,” Hors answered. “I want it to be you, I like you and Lofn. I chose you as my guardian because of who you are not because of any power.”

Iounn looked surprised and flattered, staring out into the hall with a pensive stare.

“Hors I think I know a way to wake the giant,” Zaire said and Iounn turned to her. “One of the treasures from the king’s vault was a horn.”

“A loud noise won’t work Zaire,” Hors said. “The giants’ slumber is a lot different than a normal sleep or even hibernation.”

“No I know,” Zaire said. “But our problem is playing the march with enough power to wake a giant correct? I think I can enchant the horn to play the song with enough power to wake the giant.”

“Volume isn’t power,” Hors said. “Nor do I think the High Magic will work.”

“No but if I enchant the horn to funnel Elder Magic into the sound of the song it could work,” Zaire said and Hors looked at her through Iounn’s hair.

“You can do this?” Hors asked amazed.

“I think I can,” Zaire answered nodding. “I’ll be using the High Magic to direct the Elder Magic.”

“Be careful about that,” Hors said in warning. “The Elder Magic tends to resist control.”

“No but you said it was more like a force of nature,” Zaire said. “That things often just happen in the Elder Magic. I won’t be using the High Magic to command that force, just direct it like a levy directs flood waters.”

“It could work…” Hors mused.

Before he could say more the great hall doors burst open. Everyone shouted surprised as a wave of wind and snow blew into the hall howling, a man marching into the great hall. He was cloaked and hooded, covered in a stiff layer of snow. Servants hurried to close the doors, the man marching past them and into the middle of the hall to approach the king’s table.

“Who dares burst in on our Cael’s Day celebrations!” Sten roared, Zaire noting he was red in the face with drink. Roland, at least a little more sober, motioned for his father to sit and stood to face the stranger in their mists.

“Who are you stranger?” Roland said in a commanding tone. All eyes were now on the man in the middle of the room as he shook his cloak free of snow.

“Freezing that’s what I am,” the man grumbled. “So this is the great hospitality of the Nyrgardic host?”

“State your name stranger or I’ll have you thrown back out into the blizzard,” Roland growled. “You are speaking to the Prince Regent of Nyrgard.”

“I’m speaking to the presumptive Prince Regent of Nyrgard,” the man answered blithely. The crowd muttered and Roland slammed his fist down on the table red with rage. Before more could be said however the man pulled back his hood and everyone in the room stared in shock. He was Markian, handsome and about Dirk’s age. Zaire didn’t need to know him to know this was a noble just by the arrogant way he held himself.

“Prince Orus,” Roland growled. “I’ve heard rumors calling you the wandering prince. Seems it is true if you’ve managed to find your way to Hólmsted. How did you get through the mountains?”

“It is hard for a single person but it can be done,” Orus said mildly.

“You probably killed five horses just to wander around the kingdoms,” Roland said. “Don’t you serve your father better at home rather than as some Rhodin bedmate? Especially with what happened to your brother.”

Muttered words erupted from this. Zaire had heard gossip about how the High King had mutilated the third Prince of the Mark. She was surprised Roland had been so bold. Orus was glaring openly now, his hand falling to his sword.

“Nyrgarders are all the same,” Orus growled. “All cock and no balls.”

“You’re one to talk!” Roland roared. “Markians hiding behind your wall like some coward while the Regarian prince fucks your princess.”

Orus looked ready to draw his sword when Iounn stepped forward to stand between the two arguing lords. She had drawn her hammer but kept it low, her stance every bit the ready warrior.

“Stop these childish insults both of you!” Iounn shouted. “You are Princes and lords of your kingdoms, not some drunkards slinging insults over ale!”

Roland had the grace to look ashamed, and while Orus’ hand fell from his sword he still glared up at Roland.

“I am sorry milord for the grievous welcome you have received,” Iounn said to him patiently. “I’m afraid with the coming war tension has been high within court.”

“So the High King has summoned you as well to war?” Orus said and Iounn looked puzzled.

“No, Daun has called for aid,” Iounn said motioning over to Sir Conor who stood. “A threat rises from the Weir Mountains and Daun is ill prepared to meet it. To what do you refer to?”

“War has risen to the east,” Orus said and whispers rang through the court. “King Son Rue of Lir has been killed and a man calling himself Emperor has taken the throne. He seeks dominance of the Nine Kingdoms and the High Throne. Arian Drasir has ridden to meet this threat and put his nephew on the throne. He has called on the kingdoms he can to send him aid.”

“Word reaches us slowly in the mountains,” Iounn said wearily and Orus nodded.

“The Mark will not marshal to his call,” Orus said darkly. “My father is weak; he wishes only to hide away in Warren as if he were the badger he wears. I have ridden here instead seeking your aid. While Drasir does battle in the east we can take Cair Leone and the High Throne.”

Silence met this statement, shock and fear making the air thick with tension. Then Conor walked forward, his face grim and drawn.

“You would ask Nyrgard to abandon Daun to seek the High Throne instead?” Conor asked and Orus glared at him. “The High Throne would mean nothing if you destroyed the Nine in obtaining it.”

“You do not speak for Nyrgard,” Orus said and looked at Roland. “Well Prince Regent presumptive, how would you like to become the king of not only Nyrgard, but the Nine Kingdoms?”

Roland looked contemplative, but Iounn spoke first.

“And your father would support his claim?” Iounn said. “As well as the Nine? The High Throne and alliance of the Nine Kingdoms was centered around Absalom’s blood line. Currently that line has culminated in only one line, that of the Drasirs.”

“Until now,” Orus said. “Two witches of the moors came to Warren and mended the wall there. They carry the ring of Eileen, twin daughters and the lost princesses of the Alvar house. My father exiled them, they now reside in Alda.”

Zaire noticed Darin then at the edge of the crowd, listening with a slight frown. She hurried over to him as the conversation continued.

“Where no doubt Queen Alora has already married them off and now awaits the children they will bear,” Iounn said with distain.

“Such things can always be remedied,” Orus said. “The twin’s husbands then have claim to the High Throne.”

Zaire joined Darin and looked up at Roland to see a greedy light in his eyes. Before he could speak however Sten stood.

“Whelp,” Sten said. “You are here against your father’s wishes by your own admission. Making promises for your whole kingdom when you are little more than a vagabond. You would draw us into a war that could tear the kingdoms asunder when they are already at each other’s throats. Daun has called for our aid and we have already invested ourselves in their campaign. They have promised us land and realistic profit from battle. What do you have to offer but dreams of greatness that will most likely end in only ash?”

Roland’s greed seemed to die at his father’s words and he sat back in his chair pensively. Orus seeing he was losing the battle flushed with rage.

“The Regarians stole my sister and crippled my brother and you would just sit at their feet meekly accepting their tyranny!” Orus shouted. “What have they stolen from you Sten! Your only daughter raped and torn asunder by the bastard of the Drasirs, your own son’s rightful rule over his people, and even your pride as a warrior of Nyrgard!”

“Enough!” Sten roared, throwing his drinking horn so hard it shattered against the wall. His face turned bright red and he began to gasp for breathe, clutching at his chest. Ekkehard raced forward and supported him, calling for aid and a healer. Iounn hurried to the king’s side and they helped him from the hall, leaving a troubled silence behind.

“Get out,” Roland growled to Orus. “The Mark was once ally to us, but no longer. You’ve insulted my family and honor Prince Orus. Go back to your father and brood in your walled city alone.”

“It seems the might of the Nyrgard warriors is no more,” Orus said coldly. “It seems I have found nothing here worthy of the High Throne.”

He turned on his heel and left, dark mutterings following him out.

“The celebration is over,” Roland said sourly. “Go to your beds, I have to tend to my father.”

He stood and left, along with the other princes. Lords and ladies dispersed in mournful groups, talking among themselves of the news and argument they had just witnessed. Zaire reached the dwarves, who seemed unsettled by the show.

“You’ve just witnessed kingdom politics at work it seems,” Zaire said with false humor.

“It is a wonder your kingdoms are not in a constant state of war,” Donar said mildly.

“I expect it is because the women hold it together,” Bgrim said.

“What did Iounn say about Pepper?” Darin said looking at Zaire. “She said something about marriage.”

“She said that the Queen of Alda has probably already married them to lords of Alda,” Zaire said. “Since they are heirs to the Alvar line they can bear the next High King. The Queen of Alda would have seen to them being married so they can give birth to an heir.”

“Give birth,” Darin said turning pale and shaking his head. “Pepper wouldn’t… I mean she would hate that and it would break her spirit.”

“There is no guarantee that has happened,” Donar said. Darin shook his head and stood, his hands shaking.

“I need to be alone,” Darin said walking away. Zaire watched him go with her heart like a lead weight in her chest. How much pain could it be to know that your lover was now sworn to another? Zaire wondered idly if it was worse that knowing one’s lover to be dead.

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