“Oh, I think we might accept the king’s gift,” Bruni said gently.
Moreen looked into the strongbox, impressed in spite of herself. The yellow metal had a beauty, a purity, a seductive gleam, she had to admit. She felt angry at her weakness, glared at Bruni, and once again shook her head firmly. “No-thank you.”
The emissary stiffened and cleared his throat. “It is important. You
“Why, you big wolf!” snapped Little Mouse, stepping between Bruni and Moreen to glare up at the Highlander. “You can’t talk to my chiefwoman that way!”
He took another step forward as Lars Redbeard narrowed his eyes menacingly. Despite the bulk of her heavy pack, Bruni leaned down and snatched the lad by his tunic, pulling him back.
Moreen was glad for the momentary distraction. She felt trapped, uncertain.
“I know you are concerned for your people,” Lars continued. “I give you my word-they will be safe. They will be under the protection of my warriors.” He gestured behind him, though his eyes never left the chiefwoman’s face. “Look, we have brought food and furs, enough to greatly improve the comfort of your tribe.”
For the first time Moreen noticed the large bundles that were sitting on the ground just beyond the party of Highlanders. She saw sheepskins and several large white bear pelts. There were a number of stout casks, as well as bags bulging with what she supposed must be grains or dried food. She had spoken too rashly. Surely these were well-intended gifts.
Her eyes also took in the strangers’ clubs and axes, the stout spears and several great longbows outfitting the band. Finally she made her decision.
“Let me see the bounty you have brought,” she declared imperiously, striding past Lars Redbeard to look at the food and furs scattered on the ground.
She knelt and touched a sheepskin. The wool was soft and clean, the leather expertly tanned-this one pelt alone might mean the difference between life and death for one of the Arktos children. She quickly saw that the sacks were full of edibles. She smelled barley, saw the pebbly outlines of dried berries. Two of the casks had the glossy sheen and briny stink of fish oil, another valuable commodity, while a third, with a distinct smell of its own, undoubtedly contained warqat, the pungent brew the Highlanders reportedly consumed by the barrelful to while away the boredom of winter.
If this was a trick, it was a very generous one.
“Very well,” she declared, standing up and looking frankly at Lars Redbeard. She was surprised, and secretly pleased, at the palpable relief flooding his features. “I will visit King Strongwind Whalebone of the Highlanders. You may tell him that Moreen Bayguard, chief of the Arktos, agrees to be his guest.”
As soon as they came through the pass on the inland ridge, Moreen knew that “village” was a clear misnomer for the Highlander stronghold. Indeed, she had never seen, nor even imagined, such a sprawling and solid-looking community. Most of Guilderglow was concealed by a lofty stone wall, but she could see towers, several smoking chimneys, and a great blockhouse of a building all rising beyond the rampart. The near slopes were scored with regular terraces, autumn brown now but showing the last hints of summer colors. The shallow valley before them sparkled with ponds and streams. She paused, not just because she was out of breath but to take in the view and wonder, once again, whether she was doing the right thing.
“Quite a place, don’t you think?” Lars Redbeard said.
“I know I’ve never seen the like,” Bruni admitted, saving Moreen the task of muttering her impressions.
The two women had been escorted here by four of the Highlanders, while the rest of Redbeard’s band had stayed with the Arktos. They agreed to keep moving northward while she took this detour inland, a trek that had required four days, most of the journey uphill.
“We’ll rest up here for a bit,” Strongwind’s emissary said. “That climb up to the pass takes a lot out of even a veteran Highlander. I admit, the two of you did very well.”
Moreen, who wanted nothing more than to collapse on the ground and gasp for breath, nodded gravely. “I can see why these are called the Highlands,” she said, then immediately wished she hadn’t said anything so obvious and foolish.
Indeed, they were surrounded by an array of dazzling mountain peaks. Some of the summits rose like stony needles into the sky, with great slabs of bare cliff plummeting down every side. Lofty cornices of snow curled like graceful decorations upon their unattainable heights. Other mountains were domed and more gradual of slope, but every bit as high in their elevations, often laced with dazzling snowfields and great, crevassed swaths of glacier. The autumn sun was low, but even in the limited light the effect was nearly blinding. She could only imagine this vista under the brilliant glare of summer’s sun.
It seemed strangely incongruous to see such a wintry landscape and at the same time wide pastures and irrigated fields below the walls of Guilderglow.
“Those are the Scarred Rocks.”
Lars pointed to a tangle of dark stone on the valley floor. The route down from the pass led into the maze, where it twisted and curled this way and that before emerging to climb terraced slopes on the far side.
“Our first line of defense,” the Highlander said. “Any army coming to attack us must force its way through traps and ambushes and many other obstacles.”
“I will remember that, in case my meeting with your king does not go smoothly.” Moreen was immediately aware that her words were bluster. Seeing Guilderglow she could think of Strongwind Whalebone as a king, and her fears were reawakened.
It amazed her to observe white specks dotting the pastures-
“Are you rested, ready to go the rest of the way?” asked Lars Redbeard solicitously.
“Yes,” the chiefwoman replied, wishing desperately that she had her grandfather’s black bear cloak or some visible symbol of her leadership status. She felt very plain, ordinary, but there was nothing to do but continue onward. “Yes,” she repeated. “Let us go and meet the king of the Highlanders.”
Shaggy, fox-faced dogs ran everywhere, chasing children or being chased in return. The stink of manure and sweat and soot permeated the air, the walls and, apparently, the people. It cloyed so thickly in Moreen’s nostrils that she knew she would be smelling it for days after she left Guilderglow.
From a great, blocky building she heard hammering and shouting, and Lars told her this was a smelter, where men broke up coal for burning, and extracted gold from precious ore. The great city gates had opened wide for their approach. The chiefwoman was acutely conscious of the stares of bearded scowling men and suspicious scowling women who thronged both sides of the narrow street or looked down from the balconies that seemed to line the front of every house.
The road crested a little hill, then descended steeply to cross a shallow stream over a stone bridge. On one side of the bridge loomed a tall mill, waterwheel churning, while the other had a porch with many benches and tables. Here Highlanders, all of them men except for some serving wenches, sat hunched over mugs of warqat. They watched her pass with unreadable expressions.
Looking down, she noticed that the shallow water below the bridge was brown, spotted with refuse. Every space of land within the city walls seemed crammed with overuse: tiny, walled yards filled with linens hanging in the sun; houses that crowded together and loomed surprisingly high, with frail balconies leaning over the muddy street. From the gutters the stink of sewage was abominable.
They reached the next crest and she saw, lying ahead, the castle of King Strongwind. It occupied a low knoll in the midst of the city’s rolling terrain. Its wall was higher than the city wall, though it had several wide gaps revealing the courtyard and royal buildings. Judging by the scaffolding, the great stacks of stone already cut into blocks, Moreen deduced that the royal domicile was a work in progress.
The little party strolled through the uncompleted gate in the castle perimeter, and the chiefwoman was stunned as she caught sight of the huge doors leading into the keep.
“Are those solid gold?” she asked, in spite of her determination to keep her amazement to herself.
“Solid gold. Each weighs many tons,” Lars said proudly. “Strongwind Whalebone had them carved with his own crest.”
