Perhaps they had stories of one that would trespass through their lands once a generation, on foot, with a winged companion at their side.
Perhaps they did not care at all.
But she forced herself to focus, to turn her attention to the newcomers in the skies. “Grimult,” she murmured, and she nodded to the coming people. “I need to talk to them.”
Her stomach did not relish a rapid ascent, but she felt a strange sort of calm as he brought her upward, flying them closer to the edge so her voice could reach as many as possible. “They wish to talk with us,” she shouted, hoping her words would carry, that she might be understood. “I do not know what their aim is, but they have called for a truce and are holding their line.”
She saw the uncertain glances between men. Some women. Saw so many faces she did not know. A few she did.
They had prepared for battle, even though none were truly qualified to know what that meant.
She hoped that the thrill, the anger, would not turn to madness. That the sages’ would not allow their pride to keep them from seeing to the good of their people. That they would not rush forward regardless, to purge what they had tried so hard to ensure would never be known throughout the clans.
“They ask us to land,” she repeated, watching as many slowed, but none were willing to descend. She frowned, and whispered to her husband. And he brought her to the frontline.
For all that she hated the crimson tabards, hated the order and their ways...
They were at the front. With their weapons and their resolute faces.
Willing to meet the horde first.
A remnant of what had once been. Servants of the people. Willing to do anything that was necessary.
She found a face that she knew, and urged Grimult toward him.
Lined with age, but with eyes that held hers and held no contempt.
One of her tutors. With rudimentary understanding of the language of the horde.
Of the people who sought conference.
And perhaps, treaty.
“Land,” she entreated, more plea than command. She was close enough that if he wished it, he could have struck her down with the great sword clutched within his hand.
To fulfil the order that even now she was certain had been given when they were locked away within the chambers. “One must be brave enough to do it first. Let it be you.”
His mouth twisted, and for a moment she saw the resentment there, and her disappointment was as biting as the chilly wind that whipped about her.
But then a breath, one that he had taught her to take when her emotions were difficult or unreasonable.
Long and slow.
To think.
To release.
And then, blessedly, he descended.
And others began to follow.
Worry tore at her, for those who did not, but before they went over the horde, they circled back. Unwilling to do as she had bid, but not yet provoking the confrontation.
She saw initiates trickle out from their places within the trees. Looking not to her but to their commander as he once more landed between the two peoples, the initiates serving to box them in fully.
Penryn turned back to the horde.
The tribe.
The band of people that had yet to explain themselves.
But who she prayed held some good intention.
And she had not been wrong to halt their one chance of defence.
“Well?” she called, rubbing her hands down her skirt and raising her chin just a little. She would not cower.
Not in the halls of those beyond the Wall.
And not here.
More rumbling, from her people and in theirs.
Until the tribe parted.
And two men and a woman stepped forward.
None were bowed with age, but they did not appear very young either. The woman’s hair was tied in a long braid, and all wore hides and skins cut into skirts and breeches rather than anything woven into cloth.
“You lead these people?” one of the men asked, his eyes dark. Penryn tried not to flinch when one of the great beasts made their circle, tried to push away memories of being crushed beneath such a weight.
“No,” Penryn admitted, although she kept her head held high and did not allow her eyes to drift from his. “But I will speak for those who do not know your words, and I will translate those you wish known.”
The three looked to one another, before giving a lone nod. “Agreed.”
Penryn forced her hand to relax from the clutch she had on her skirt. She needed calm, needed all the steady reassurance she could offer, to both parties.
“I need some of you,” Penryn urged, turning back to her true kind. “I need some of you to speak for your people as a whole.”
As she knew they would, those in crimson robes stepped forward first, but Penryn shook her head firmly. “At least one from each clan,” she clarified. “And a sage to speak for their order as well.”
Perhaps one that had worked with her in learning the land-dwellers’ speech. He might even claim that her role was unnecessary, even though his experience came solely from books rather than living interaction.
But she did not trust them alone. Did not trust that their words would be true, that their own motivations would not taint the entire conference.
A selfish part of her considered not bringing one forward at all.
But seeing them at the front lines, rallying their people to the protection of them all...
They were men who had dedicated their lives to the people, and despite how misguided they had become, mistakes and errors, pride and conceit layering upon each subsequent generation until their place was hardly recognisable...
Perhaps...
It could be redeemed.
She could not be the one to do it. She was trained for a specific task, to maintain a treaty that was centuries old. To uphold its principles and see it reinstated for decades to come, for the safety of two specific peoples.
What lay ahead was something wholly new.
And it was for the clans to decide how they would proceed, for the sages to accept
