Chapter Thirty-Nine Felnir #4
“I feel…” she paused, chewing with a frown of puzzlement creasing her brow “… something. Before, I felt nothing at all, save a desire to…” She fell silent, swallowing her mouthful with evident difficulty, shame replacing confusion. “My weakness, my king. I most humbly beg your pardon for it.”
“Freely given,” Felnir assured her. “Now eat.”
While they partook of their hosts’ largesse, people continued to throng the galleries carved into the cliffs above, all staring in naked curiosity at these beggared interlopers.
Curiously, Felnir saw no suspicion or hostility among the many onlookers.
It compelled him to reflect that, had a similarly alien group fetched up in Skar Magnol, the reaction would be very different.
True to her word, Kurin, who appeared to enjoy considerable authority here, had shelters crafted from woven reeds brought to the beach.
Fires were lit as the sky drew dark and a great many torches flickered to life along the packed galleries above where their audience displayed no inclination towards retiring for the night.
An air of celebration began to pervade the canyon, voices raised in song that was unfamiliar in both word and tune but with a lilting quality pleasing to the ear.
“They don’t fear us,” Tyrheld observed, squinting in bemusement at the sight of people dancing on the opposite bank. “Yet have no arms that I can see.”
“Perhaps they try to gull us, my king,” Beyorn suggested. He crouched at Felnir’s side, speaking in a whisper while casting suspicious glances in all directions. “Sate us with food then cut our throats while we sleep.”
“Why do that when they could have left us to starve upon the Swathe?” Felnir replied, his gaze slipping towards Wohtin.
He had hoped for some elucidation, but the old man failed to respond.
His attention was fully fixed upon his children.
Kurin and Antak stood apart from them, conversing with canyon dwellers who arrived in successive groups.
Their reaction to seeing Felnir’s menda was always the same: a moment of silent regard that varied in expression from basic surprise to outright awe, followed by a plethora of questions directed at the two siblings.
“No, my friend,” Felnir told Beyorn. “I believe their welcome, and these revels, are because our arrival has long been expected.” Two of us, at least, he added inwardly, recalling Antak’s surprise upon spying what remained of the Sea King’s army and his sister’s words.
She always said you would come alone save the sword bearer.
As the celebration continued, some locals drew near for a closer look at their guests.
Adults maintained a cautious distance for the most part, but their children felt no such circumspection.
Soon, dozens of small figures were running among the fires, laughing or pausing to assail bemused warriors with questions in a tongue none of them knew.
Felnir worried over his subjects’ reaction but it transpired most were too exhausted from the travail to do more than feebly shoo these small annoyances away.
Others appeared pleased by the intrusion.
Felnir watched Tyrheld gather an infant girl into her lap, laughing when the child pawed at her face.
It was the first laugh he had heard from her since he began this benighted journey.
Eventually, Antak and Kurin called an end to the celebration, banishing the children and onlookers with but a few loudly spoken words.
The near instant compliance of their people bespoke a deeply ingrained deference, if not unquestioning obedience.
Power without force, Felnir mused, noting again the general absence of weapons.
The siblings had no guards to enforce their will and yet it appeared to be absolute.
If not force or the threat of it, then what?
he wondered, knowing that respect, no matter how keenly felt, always had its limits.
Was it just that these two, like the Ehilkun of Vorunvahl, had lived so long they appeared immortal? Had these folk mistaken them for gods?
As the last of the onlookers drifted away, Kurin came to him smiling her warm smile. “Rest now,” she said. “Come the morning, we will talk.”
“I haven’t thanked you,” Felnir said. Getting to his feet, he offered her a bow of the kind he hadn’t used since his days in the Saluhtan’s court. “Know that you have the Sea King’s gratitude, for now and always. Any favour you ask of me will be granted, if it is in my power to give.”
Her smile faded as she stood regarding him in silence for a time.
He found her expression disturbing, for he saw it held mostly pity.
“We require neither thanks nor favour, sword bearer,” she said, then hesitated as if about to say more and thinking better of it.
“We will talk come the morning,” she said again before walking away.
“I shall post guards, my king,” Beyorn said. “Light torches in a circle—”
“No,” Felnir cut in, his tone sharp. Seeing the hurt on his most loyal servant’s face, Felnir sighed and put a hand to his shoulder. “Just go to sleep, Beyorn. There is no threat here.”