Chapter Two Elvine #3
“Never quite accommodated myself to it,” Colvyn said, breath steaming as he wrapped his cloak tighter about himself.
They were headed for the harbour master’s house.
Both Hemund and his wife Nyhlssa were fiercely insistent Elvine continue to reside in the largest room.
“This northern cold,” Colvyn elaborated.
“The curse of growing up under a southern sun, I suppose.” He spoke in informal Ishtan, as was their habit when alone.
“If you think this is cold, esteemed brother,” Elvine said, before speaking on in Ascarlian; when discussing weather, there was no better tongue, “wait until the storm gets here. I was perhaps fifteen during the last bad one. Ships were frozen in the harbour for days. Many a roof collapsed under the weight of snow and ice, and a fair number of the older folk perished for want of coal or firewood.”
“Sounds delightful. I think I’m starting to understand the underpinnings of the Ascarlian character. It’s not your gods that guide your souls, merely the weather.”
Upon nearing Hemund’s house, Elvine paused at the sight of a bulky figure atop the defensive wall.
Despite the destruction visited upon it during Lore’s last furious assault, much of the stone and wood barrier remained intact.
With the war still unwon, Thera had ordered it repaired and improved.
Access to the wharf would be provided by a series of gates, each with a jetty extending into the harbour waters.
It was a considerable undertaking but the townsfolk had set to it without complaint.
Elvine suspected the queen’s order stemmed more from a need to give these people something to do while the port remained idle.
Moving closer to the wall, Elvine saw that Gruinskard was not alone, the less impressive but more threatening figure of Coelnyr standing alongside.
The aura of the former Tielwald’s principal servant was in full bloom tonight, the ugly roil of lustful hues casting out a sickly sheen.
She knew this pair’s appearance was not coincidental.
Whenever the old man appeared it was in service to some design, especially with Coelnyr in attendance.
“Stay close,” she told Colvyn before making for the ladder leading to the wall’s parapet. She carried the spear in her gloved hands. When it came to the former Tielwald of this realm, it was best to exercise the most caution.
“Always,” Colvyn replied in a hard mutter, hands moving beneath his fur cloak to loosen his sword in its scabbard. He climbed the ladder first, keeping station between it and Gruinskard as Elvine ascended, one hand on the rungs, the other on the spear.
“Spear Maiden,” the old man greeted her with a voice even more coarse than before.
She hadn’t thought it was possible for him to age further, but he had done so.
His eyes were mere glimmers in the dark recesses of his face, his beard now fully white, although some colour remained in his unkempt hair.
The great, single-bladed axe he had borne through the siege was propped against the wall and he stood with his remaining hand resting atop the leather cuff that covered the stump of the other.
A barbed spike extended from the cuff to catch a yellow gleam from the torch guttering nearby.
“You appear… recovered,” Elvine said. As usual, Gruinskard exuded no aura, a contrast to his servant, enveloped in a cloud of such dire intent Elvine found it hard to look upon.
So it was strange to regard Coelnyr’s face and find it as blandly composed as ever.
He stood in typically placid repose, not even the slightest twitch to his features.
“I spend half my waking hours coughing up a portion of my lungs,” Gruinskard replied. “And the other half shitting my guts out.”
“Then the queen was wise to spare you the burden of further duties.” The old man’s brows formed the intricate matrix of furrows that indicated a frown of annoyance. Once, the sight might have unnerved her, but not now. “I assume you have something to discuss,” she said.
“It occurred to me that I hadn’t yet thanked you.” In response to Elvine’s raised eyebrow, he added, “For saving my life.”
“Ah. Well, such things are expected of those who fight on the same side, are they not?”
“They are. But still, it creates an imbalance between us. I am now in your debt. I find it uncomfortable and not something I can tolerate.”
“You successfully defended this city from the greatest threat it has ever faced, besides yourself, of course.” Elvine inclined her head and turned to go. “Therefore, I consider any debt already settled.”
“I do not. Neither does my great-granddaughter, in truth.”
Beneath the gravelled rasp of Gruinskard’s voice, Elvine detected a note of anger.
Evidently, Colvyn heard it too. Loosening his cloak, he revealed the hand clutching his sword.
But the former Tielwald’s bearing held no threat.
In fact, his gaze was no longer on Elvine, but on something to her rear.
Whirling, she levelled the spear in readiness, pausing at the sight of a slender figure resolving out of the fog a dozen paces away.
Lynnea Trahleyl wore a thick, ankle-length cloak against the chill, the hood drawn back to reveal her pale features.
Silent as always, she greeted Elvine with a courteous nod before fixing a far less solicitous gaze upon the old man to her rear.
The maiden’s expression was hard, though Elvine read it as expectant rather than hostile.
“What is this?” Elvine demanded, turning back to Gruinskard.
“It seems my successor is far more capable than I suspected,” he said.
“The queen set her to discover any threat to your person that might lurk in this city. And she found one.” Huffing a sigh that was more a groan, Margnus Gruinskard turned to regard the servant standing at his side. “Did she not, old friend?”
Coelnyr’s expression barely changed, though for once Elvine noticed a small twitch to the corner of his mouth. “Tielwald?” he asked.
“I always knew there would come a time you couldn’t keep it caged any longer,” Gruinskard said with a sorrowful shake of his shaggy mane.
“That beast within you. The beast that saw you chained up in that shithole I found you in all those years ago. All this time quelling the most terrible temptation must have been hard for you. I suppose placing her in your path—” he jerked his head at Elvine “—was the log that broke the cart’s axle, eh?
I’d blame myself, but there was no other option if I was ever to escape the Verungyr. ”