Such a Prize
Even her ladies and childhood friends withdrew, for the Silverfoot had little enough time to spend with her mortal husband. None wished to rob her of a single moment; in the end, they well knew, they would share the burden of her grief…
—Gaemirwen of Dorael
Here. Let me.”The princess bent, pushed my numb fingers aside, and swiftly tied the lacings. My shift was a sodden mess, but stripping bare, even amid the trees, and shrugging into dry cloth left upon the bank held no charm. Besides, I had seidhr for this; I inhaled smoothly, focusing upon the body’s inner heat. The last time I had done so we were in the Wild, and this was little hardship compared to the killing freeze.
If we ran back to the city, the extra effort would dry me in short order.
Naciel had also produced a small glass flask much like Eol’s, and Arn held it to Tjorin’s lips. “Slowly,” she said, though her mien was still fierce and her woad-stripe bright. “It would not do to drown upon land.”
“I did n-not think—” His teeth chattered, but he swallowed obediently enough. “M-my thanks, Lady Minnow.”
She made a short, irritated sound in reply, though I thought the name rather pleased her; Efain called her that, for her spear’s swiftness. At least that particular wolf of Naras took being knocked to the ground in nine out of ten bouts with good humor, but that was no matter.
A man who would take that ill should not spar with a shieldmaid.
“Hand me the flask.”Naciel fretted much as Albeig did, albeit in the Old Tongue. It was strange to see such a beautiful, ageless creature so worried. “I have no mantle, but perhaps one of my layers—”
“I am well enough,” I husked, the taste of mud still clotted in my throat. “Simply glad we were about to see him go under; it is not wise to treat a river so. Have you no sense, son of Hrasimir?”
“The boat is probably in splinters now,” Arn added, “and you could have been likewise. By the Wingéd, you are a fool.”
“Oh, I am.” Propped against gnarled roots, his black garb sodden as my shift, Tjorin still smiled wanly. Whatever draught his princess carried had worked its wonder, and he no longer shivered. Water gemmed his forehead, dark hair clinging to skin. “But determined. It is the only way.”
“It is not,” Naciel retorted, hotly, and snatched the flask from my shieldmaid’s hand. “I do not need my father’s permission, I am of age.”
“Is this some Elder custom?” I accepted the small glassy container, and did not bother to sniff to discern its contents. A single mouthful told me, however—the heat of sitheviel, bright and full of tangled herb-tastes, hit my throat, continued down to my middle, and spread in rings of soft welcome fire. “Ah. It tastes the same.”
I do not know why I sounded so wondering, even as memory assailed me—it was exactly as the drink given by Eol on the first day of our journey, or by an Elder hand during the last terrible struggle.
“Get up.” Arn prodded him. “You must move to keep your limbs from freezing. Silly man.”
“And your boat was too large for one man to handle,” I added, my fingertips finding the cap upon its thin silvery chain. I stoppered the small flask with a decided twist. “You need at least four, and a singer would not be amiss either.”
Naciel took back the sitheviel, and her strong slim fingers grasped my wrist as we rose together. “You are correct.” Her southron was full of sharp consonants, the Old Tongue rubbing through. “But he will not listen; I dread what he will do next. How many times, Tjorin?”
“As many as it takes.”He gained his feet, barely needing Arn’s help yet staggering some little.
My shieldmaid steadied him, stepping away as soon as he had his balance to glare downstream, no doubt searching for the boat. “Huh. It still floats, but will go past the city at some speed.”
“Someone in the fields will see, and bring it to shore.” Now Naciel rounded upon her beloved, and was somber indeed. “Will you not cease? Even for me?”
I would have left them to wrangle, for Idra held such quarrels too tangled for seidhr to sort. Like attempting weatherworking—unless true famine threatens—love is best left to itself. Many a saga warns of the so-called wise who ignored that rule, and the resultant havoc.
But the princess turned away, almost angrily, and slipped her arm through mine as if she were Astrid excited at the prospect of a festival fair—though my sister was not nearly so tall. “Come. We may stop at any house, and gain dry cloth.”
“I am well enough—” I began, but she did not listen, and drew me along.
We had to re-cross the river on the line of boulders Arn had used, and though I am not Elder-graceful I have been performing such feats almost since I could walk. With Naciel ahead and my shieldmaid behind there was little danger, though my outer skirts were draggled almost to the thigh afterward, and as we walked Tjorin told Arneior of his design while the princess kept a barbed silence.
Every spring, the Elder of this valley held a race—light boats, four rowers and one more to keep the rhythm with silent gestures, guiding them through rapids. They competed largely for the joy of it, testing themselves against the swiftness and rapids of melt-swollen Naricie.
But that was not all. The captain of the first boat to reach a glade just south of the city, where the river broadened enough to become mirrorlike-still and its current lessened somewhat, could ask a boon of Taeron Goldspear, the High-helm himself.
At this point Naciel shook her bright head, her stride lengthening. I resisted, gently, and her arm slipped free. Ahead of us the princess walked, and every line of her body expressed how she longed to run.
So that is why he studies that particular map so closely.I halted, letting my shieldmaid and Tjorin draw abreast. “You mean to ask for marriage.”
“She says ’tis not necessary, that we already belong to each other. But…” Even wet clear through and daubed with rivermud, the son of Hrasimir carried himself proudly. For a man who had almost drowned a short while ago he looked hale enough, though I longed to reach my seidhr-bag and find something to keep lungrot or pneumonia away.
Not that it mattered; the Elder would treat any mortal ailment with alacrity and sitheviel had probably put him far past any harm. But it was a volva’s thought, and I had drawn him from the river’s grasp.
A little victory, and yet it braced me wonderful well.
“But you wish to prove it.” Arneior nodded, and her gaze settled upon me as we walked. “Yes.”
Do you think…her eyes asked, and mine replied, I do not see why not.
We were trapped in this place, certainly, yet it never hurts to gain an ally wherever one may be found. ’Twas a deep and sudden comfort to find a quandary I could do something about; all during our journey I had been mere useless baggage, but here I could be of some service to one who treated us kindly. Not only that, but an Elder princess well-disposed toward me and my shieldmaid for making certain her stubborn paramour did not drown himself might be grateful indeed.
There were advantages to be gained, as well as some exercise and a testing of our skills. More than one stream lingered in the valley of Laeliquaende. Waters will seek an exit, and if we had access to a boat…
“Well.” I rubbed my hands together briskly, as if still chilled despite an Elder draught burning amid my ribs. “You will need a boat, either that one or another. Arn knows how to call the strokes; I do not weigh enough to be a burden and matched against Elder a volva’s song can be said fair play. All we need are three more rowers.”
“How to call…” Tjorin did not halt, but he studied me with great interest, then glanced at Arn as if he expected her to speak against the notion. “’Tis a dangerous feat, my lady Solveig. The rapids are terrible at more than one point, and even a few Elder have lost their lives attempting merely to finish the course. Else Taeron would not offer such a prize.”
“I compass little of Elder history, and less of their draughts,” I said. My heart had lightened to an astonishing degree. “But river racing? That is something my small one and I know a great deal about, my lord.”
“I already owe you for saving my life.” Tjorin looked a little dazed. “Yet—”
“Then ’tis decided, we shall help you.” My face felt strange, for I was smiling again—and broadly, too, the expression mirrored by Arn’s. My shieldmaid’s eyes fair sparkled, and she tapped her spear-butt upon the ground as she strode along, a solid sound denoting agreement. “And if we are with you Naciel does not need to worry you will be lost to the river-daughters.”
“But—”
“’Tis not wise to refuse a volva’s gift,” Arneior said, and though her tone was mocking the edge beneath it was not. “Better to thank my weirdling, and turn your wits to acquiring another boat. We shall need a place to train.” She glanced at the sky, checking the weather. “Where shall we find more backs to bend, though?”
As soon as she asked the answer became evident to me, like a good, contest-winning riddle delivered by a beneficent passing god. “Leave that to me.” And, unable to contain myself, I all but skipped a few steps, as I had not since I was a child. “Fear not, son of Hrasimir. You are as good as wed, and I shall ask a toast at the feast in payment.”
And mayhap I could ask summat more.
I had thought to put my plan into action that very afternoon, but as soon as we reached the city gates—late, for we did not run but walked, despite Naciel protesting that mounts could be found—an Elder in glittering mail informed me, in painstakingly correct southron, that my presence was required elsewhere.
Taeron Goldspear had remembered my existence, or judged I had been left to my own devices long enough. The king of Laeliquaende wished to see his captive alkuine, and her blue-painted companion as well.