“It is indeed an honor to have you visit our camp.”
“We Arktos share the honor, knowing Strongwind Whalebone sends only his most trusted advisers to spy upon an inconsequential tribe of women and elders.”
Lars nodded, then frowned as he realized she was mocking him. “No, not spy,” he said quickly. “In truth, we want no harm to come to you, and my king has entrusted me with ensuring your safety.”
“How comforting,” she replied dryly. “May I be seated?”
“Yes, of course!” Redbeard gestured to a pair of flat rocks near the fire. “Erikal, bring us warqat! Marlat, put more wood on the fire.”
Moreen enjoyed the spectacle of the Highlanders scrambling to refresh their camp fire and to make her comfortable. She took her time in settling herself. Erikal brought a leather sack. Lars Redbeard poured several drams of dark liquid into two small, golden cups and extended one to her.
“I would drink from that one,” she said, pointing to the cup the Highlander had kept for himself. “That is, if it makes no difference to you.”
“What?” He was taken aback and clearly insulted but quickly switched around the two vessels. “No, of course it makes no difference. Here.”
The scent of the draught was pungent in her nostrils. She remembered the strong, bitter sensation from the drink offered to her by Strongwind Whalebone. Reminding herself to stick with small sips, she felt the fiery warmth slide across her tongue, then sting the rest of the way down her throat. It took all of her effort not to reveal her discomfort, but she made no sound and lowered the cup to her lap with dignity.
“Thank you,” she said, surprised as the word came out breathy and forced.
Now it was Lars Redbeard’s turn to smile smugly. “That draught is from the royal cask itself. It is renowned for its smoothness.”
“Obviously,” replied Moreen, her voice returning to normal. “Now, tell me, why does Strongwind Whalebone take such interest in our little tribe? Surely you and your men would be more comfortable in Guilderglow, not camping on the damp tundra as the winter winds begin to blow harsh. Despite his offer, I have made it clear to him that I will not be his wife.”
“You told him that?” The Highlander’s eyes opened wide with amazement.
“Yes. He didn’t take it well.”
“My liege is worried about those same winter winds. He fears that your tribe will suffer unduly when the snows come, and he wants it known that you are still welcome in his city.”
“Yes, but on what terms?” Moreen said sarcastically. She managed to hold her temper in check by reminding herself that she was not here to provoke an argument. “In fact, you may tell the king that I have been thinking about his-” she wanted to say “demand,” but she bit her tongue. “-offer.”
“Strongwind Whalebone will be delighted to know that,” Lars said sincerely. Flames rose from the fire and as the emissary glanced to the side he brought his wolfshead cap directly into line with Moreen’s gaze. She imagined that she saw cunning and amusement reflected in that lupine visage.
“Perhaps you will carry my message to him, as soon as possible?” she suggested quietly. “If he was to come to this valley, I could speak with him. It may be that we could arrive at an understanding on matters that eluded us in our previous conversation.”
“It would be my pleasure, Lady Chiefwoman!” pledged Lars. “In fact, I will dispatch a runner to him at first light.”
“First light?” She sighed in disappointment. “Of course, the night is dark, and there are many dangers abroad. Very well, I understand that your man cannot depart until dawn.”
She heard mutters of displeasure from the other men, who were hanging politely back but close enough to hear the conversation. Lars looked pained at her words, and she felt a momentary stab of guilt. She took another sip of the warqat, acknowledging a certain pleasant heat to the stuff as it trickled down her insides.
“I will go immediately!” one of the Highlanders volunteered to Lars. She looked up and smiled at the sincerity of the sentry, Daric. “There is no threat in this night that should delay a warrior of Guilderglow!”
“No, none!” came the chorus of agreement.
“You are right,” Lars said firmly. “Daric, begin at once. Take provisions for two days, and do not rest until you reach the castle.”
“Remember, ask the king to come here, to this valley,” Moreen said.
“It shall be done!” Daric promised. The sentry made his preparations with impressive speed, nodded a farewell to his companions, bowed to the chiefwoman, and trotted away into the night.
“Would you like an escort back to your camp?” asked Lars.
“No!” Moreen replied, more sharply than she wanted. “No, I came up the hill in the dark. I can make my way back down it as well.”
“Very good,” Lars replied. “We will see you in the morning.”
“Of course.” She spoke the lie easily, knowing that she ought to be miles away by dawn.
14
What manner of people are you?” Kerrick asked. “What is your tribe?”
“We are the Arktos,” Bruni replied. She was leaning back, picking her teeth with a bone from one of the grouse Tildey had shot. After some muted discussion, the two had agreed to share their food with the prisoner, releasing one of his hands to allow him to eat.
The elf had been unconscious for most of the day following his ill-fated escape attempt. He had managed to remove the ring, dropping it onto the ground and pushing enough pine needles over it to conceal it from view. He had only worn it for a short time, but even so the magic had left him drained, sapped of energy.
Now food had restored some of his strength, and he knew his captors didn’t plan to kill him. He had shifted around enough to pick up the ring and slide it into his boot. Tildey remained suspicious and jumpy, her weapons near to hand, but Bruni seemed willing to talk and answer his questions, asking a few of her own.
“You aren’t a Highlander or an ogre,” she observed bluntly. “Who
“I am a sailor, son of a sailor, and I come from Ansalon,” he answered. “That is a land to the north of here, across the sea.”
“A sailor, but not a human sailor.” He was startled to see Moreen emerging from the woods. She stood with her hands upon her hips. “I’ve been thinking about it. You’re an elf, aren’t you?”
Kerrick saw that Tildey was equally surprised by the chiefwoman’s return. The archer leaped to her feet and hugged Moreen, who seemed shorter and more wiry than he remembered. He noticed that her black hair was unkempt and that she gazed at him with a wry smile, as if he intensely amused her.
“Of course I’m an elf,” he admitted easily, wondering why that was such a revelation to these people. “I imagine you’ve seen elves before, haven’t you?”
“Never,” replied the chiefwoman bluntly. She turned to her fellow Arktos. “The tribe is here, on the outskirts of the grove. They marched all night to get here, but everyone made it.”
“And the Highlanders?” asked Bruni.
“I think we gave them the slip. It will take four or five days, I hope, before Strongwind Whalebone even learns that we’ve moved north. Then they’ll have to come up the coast, so that’s another day before they catch up with us. Still, I want us to move fast.” She looked at Kerrick again. “Now, get up, elf sailor, and come with me.”
“Should we tie his hands?” Bruni asked, as she loosened the bond that had secured Kerrick to the tree for the past two days. He stretched, standing awkwardly, feeling with his foot the comforting presence of the ring in the bottom of his right boot.
“I don’t think he’ll go far, not without his boat,” Moreen replied. Her words sent a twinge of fear through the elf.
