“Well don’t just stand at the back of the hall like a chastened child.”
The king’s deep voice reverberated through the empty hall. “Come forth with your tithe and request.”
His accent was similar to Fjell’s and the blonde guardsman’s but different - more lilting, smoother, like a stream slowly smoothing the rocks below its surface. Taking yet another deep, steadying breath, Marsilia continued forward, forcing her posture straight and her gate even. Stopping before the fire pit, she dipped into a low curtsey before continuing around it, slipping the ruby rose from its silk bag. The king watched her, tilting his head to the side.
“Your majesty,” she said as she came to stand before him, holding the rose out to him. “I’ve come to ask your aid in speeding my quest along.” When he quirked an eyebrow in question, she hastened to add, “For mounts. I mean, we’re hoping for mounts. To be able to travel faster.” Marsilia clamped her mouth shut to prevent any further babbling.
The king leaned forward, plucking the rose out of her hand and turning it over in his hand before holding it up to the light of the fire, examining it. “And why should I do that?”
The white witch felt her face flush and she mentally floundered for a moment. “Because… Because we need to get to the Mantles, there’s a dark witch in my woods and—”
“I was already told that much,” the king cut her off, lowering the ruby and returning his gaze to her. “Cutting a few days off of your journey will not improve your odds of defeating a dark witch. Either you will have the strength with your blessed blade, or you won’t.”
Marsilia’s brow drew together and she felt her spine straighten. “She is killing the fae in my forests, your Majesty,” she said, barely restrained passion growing in her tone. “My Pa lays dying, his magic stolen, along with several others. We have only a week to get back and defeat her before I lose them.”
“Your ‘pa’?” the king asked. “You’re a human girl. What magic could your pa have?”
Fjell let out a breath through his nose behind her before finally stepping up to her side. “Yer majesty, Marsilia is the apprentice and adopted daughter of Master Eudon.”
Silence reigned for a long moment after that announcement, the king’s gaze flickering to Fjell, before returning to her. He stared for what seemed an eternity, taking in every aspect of her. Finally, he spoke again, his tone quieter. “Is this the truth, seidkona? You are the great Eudon’s apprentice, and he lies defeated?”
“Yes,” she answered, just as quietly, feeling her heart constrict in her chest. ‘The great Eudon’? Her pa was always such a simple creature, so humble and kind. What did he mean by ‘great?’
King Nibelung looked down on the ruby rose, weighing it in his hand for a long moment before finally speaking again. “I owe Eudon a great debt for saving my wife and son in childbirth many years ago,” he finally said.
Without warning, he tossed the ruby back to her. She barely managed to fumble it against her chest before it could drop to the stone floor below.
“I will grant your request,” he continued. “When you save your ‘pa’, tell him my debt is cleared.” She started to stutter out a reply, but he continued, turning his gaze to her companion. “And you, Fjell. You aid her on this quest?”
“Aye, yer majesty,” Fjell answered, a wary look coming over him.
“Where is your shield, boy?” the king snapped.
Fjell paled. “Lost to another witch,” he confessed stoically.
The king tsked in disappointment, shaking his head. For a moment, it seemed he meant to say something more, his gaze locked to Fjell at her side. Finally, he stood and called down the hall. “Arne!”
One of the doors at the end of the hall opened, and the blonde guardsman entered, bowing to his king.
“Get these two mounts and find Fjell a shield,” the king said. Stepping down from the dais, the king loomed over Marsilia. “Keep a keen mind and sharp eye, girl,” he said. “And be careful of who you tell about Eudon’s relation to you.”
Marsilia’s brow furrowed in confusion as she stared back up at the giant of a dwarf. “But why?”
The king glanced to Fjell. “Explain it to her on your way,” he ordered then paused, frowning.
Lowering his voice, King Nibelung muttered in a foreign language, something brief and so quiet she could barely hear him. Fjell took in a sharp breath, eyes widening as he looked up at his king. The king only smirked in answer.
Stepping back, Fjell bowed low and turned, quickly making his way back down the hall. Marsilia watched for but a moment before turning her gaze back to the dwarven king. “He’s a good heart and an honorable warrior,” she stated quietly, but clearly, raising her chin.
The king raised an eyebrow in reply. “I’ve never said otherwise. Hurry along; you have an evil witch to defeat.”
Frowning at that reply, Marsilia hesitated but a moment more before turning to follow in Fjell’s wake.
Chapter 14
Arne took the lead and Fjell fell in behind Marsilia, making the human witch look like a child between them. He followed absentmindedly, paying no mind to the countless stares of both surprise and disdain he received. The king’s words tumbling through his head, making his shoulders tense, even as a spark of hope grew unbidden.
As they neared the armory, he pushed those thoughts away, watching how Marsilia walked silently between them, the silk bag and ruby rose still clutched to her chest as she frowned. He wasn’t the only one lost in thoughts. It seemed she didn’t know much of Eudon’s past, and he could only imagine how that lack of knowledge was now weighing on her.
Stopping before the armory, Arne laid a hand on the door and it clicked open. He motioned for Fjell to go ahead and then turned to guard the opened door.
“Wait here a moment,” Fjell told Marsilia, edging past her into the armory.
It was much as he remembered, and even a few of the pieces he had contributed to it still remained. One of his swords rested on a rack with a few dozen others. A pike he’d made while experimenting with different weapons rested on another rack.
Every warrior in Svartalfheim contributed to the armory as they honed both their craft at the forge and their skill in battle. The poorer weapons were used in training new blood, while the rest served as emergency backup for when, like him, a warrior needed a fast replacement for a broken or lost implement of war.
And, of course, the armory served to boost the wealth and renown of the king. Any dwarf who hoped to become a warrior had to gain the king’s approval and swear fealty to gain access to the weapons and training.
Making his way over to a stack of shields against the wall, Fjell quickly flipped through the solid metal disks until he found one of his old ones. A few battle scars marred the carefully engraved knotwork wolf on its front, but it was still functionally sound. Testing the strap on his arm, he nodded to himself in approval before turning to leave the room.
As he neared the door, he could hear Marsilia and Arne speaking, but the acoustics muddled their words.
Fjell stepped through the doorway and Arne gave him an appraising look. “A nuckelavee, hm? Not bad.” The guardsman turned his gaze back to the little witch. “Sounds like the two of you are already making a good team.”
“I’d like to think so,” Marsilia smiled as she answered.
Fjell kept his expression neutral as he watched the exchange. Arne had been his friend what felt like an age ago, before everything had been turned on its head. He hadn’t spoken to him since before the incident. A part of the king’s words echoed in his mind once more. Some of us have figured out the truth, at least in part.
“We should get going,” Fjell said evenly.
Arne glanced at him and grinned in a teasing manner. “What, scared I’ll flirt her away from you?” At Fjell’s eyeroll, his friend laughed. “Right, right, mighty quest and all that. Come on, then.”
Fjell fell in beside Arne as they began making their way down the hall that woul
d lead to the exterior of the mountain. The area was mostly clear, but Fjell still kept his voice down. “How’s the Lady?”
Arne quirked an eyebrow at him, barely visible from behind his helm. “You drop off for almost two decades, not so much as a note to let your friends know you’re alright, and that’s what you’re going to ask? She’s fine.”
“Wasn’t exactly a welcoming atmosphere when I got back, ken?” Fjell asked dryly.
Arne reached up and clapped Fjell on the back of the head. “Just because you’re in political ruin doesn’t mean your friends are all going to abandon you, idiot.”
“Aye,” Fjell sighed, “but it was better to let things die down, better not to drag anyone down with me.”
“You’re still an idiot,” Arne drawled as they came to the stone door that lead out of the mountain.
Chuckling at the ribbing, Fjell pushed the door open. The sun was blinding after the darkness of the mountain and he squinted against it as he stepped through the doorway. It didn’t take long for his eyes to adjust.
The stables were laid out just as he remembered them. Set high in an upper meadow, the majority of the area was fenced off for grazing. Several streams passed through the field, fed by snowmelt, and a blanket of wildflowers were in full bloom. Mountain peaks rose in every direction around them, stark grey stone capped by white snow and ice against a brilliant blue sky.
Marsilia gasped behind him, and he turned back to find her staring wide-eyed in wonder at the scenery. He couldn’t help but smile at her reaction, at how her blue eyes shone with joy at the sight of such beauty. The sun caught on the waves of her golden hair and shone on the silver fur draped around her shoulders. Her gaze lowered from the mountain peaks to his and she smiled warmly.
“It’s beautiful here,” she said simply.
“Not as beautiful as you, seidkona,” Arne piped up before Fjell could reply.
Fjell rolled his eyes again, but couldn’t deny a faint tinge of annoyance at how Marsilia flushed and smiled at the poor compliment. She deserved better than tired lines like that to give a blush for. “Aye, come on,” he said, turning back to the stables. “And don’t pay Arne any mind, Marsilia. He has the attention span of a butterfly.”
Arne laughed at the jab and fell in beside him, Marsilia to his other side. Ahead of them, the door into the side of the stables swung open and a grey-bearded dwarf emerged. Sten had been the stablemaster since Fjell was a boy, and it was beginning to show. The wrinkles and lines in his face were deeper set than Fjell remembered, and less hair graced the top of his head. The warm smile he used to greet Fjell with was also gone, replaced now by a scowl.
“What’s he doing here,” Sten growled, looking to Arne.
“King Nibelung has granted Marsilia and her protector two mounts to speed their quest,” Arne answered, pointedly stressing the king’s name and the mention of a quest.
Sten glowered at Fjell again before finally looking over the witch at his side. “Fine,” he answered sharply. “Come in.”
Fjell gave Marsilia a small bow and motioned for her to enter first, then fell in behind her as Arne brought up the rear. The interior was unchanged in nearly twenty years. Dozens of stalls lined each side of the stable, the gates all closed. As with everything in dwarven architecture, they were drawn up of solid blocks of stone - but it was more than just an aesthetic choice. It kept the beasts inside from kicking the doors down.
“What do ye need,” Sten growled over his shoulder, speaking to Marsilia and ignoring Fjell. “Strength? Climbing? Speed? Stamina?”
“Stamina and as much speed as we can get, I would think,” the white witch answered. “We have a lot of ground to cover and not a lot of time to do it in.”
Frowning in thought, Sten turned back to her. “How far are ye going?”
“We must pay a visit to both Mantles and then return to the mortal realm before the week is out,” she answered evenly, but Fjell watched as she fiddled with the drawstrings on the silk pouch she still held.
“Aye, alright,” Sten answered, nodding. “Ye’ll be wanting Meyla and Musa. They’re not our fastest, but they can keep a good clip for a long haul. Wait here and I’ll get them saddled.”
Dipping her head in thanks, Marsilia turned back to Fjell, a nervous smile on her face. Motioning for him to lean closer, she whispered just loud enough for him to hear. “Um, so… I’ve never actually ridden anything before. Aside from Shuck when I was little. Is it hard?”
Fjell stared at her for a long moment, trying not to laugh in disbelief. In all her beauty and grace, it was hard to remember her simple upbringing. Taking a deep breath, he let it out slowly. “We’ll uh… get ye situated, eh? Quick lesson, then we’re off.”
Arne leaned in slowly, grinning. “What are we whispering about?” he mock-whispered.
Marsilia flushed with embarrassment and, yet again, Fjell rolled his eyes. Shoving his friend back as he stood back to his full height, he looked past his friends to where Sten was saddling their mounts.
Two enormous mountain goats placidly chewed cud, the relatively small horns curling back over their heads designating them both as females. They paid no mind as Sten fastened the saddle straps under their bellies and laid thick furs over said saddles. Though they appeared about the same size as a horse in comparison to Sten, Fjell realized that they were gargantuan for Marsilia. He would likely have to assist her in mounting and dismounting. The stirrups were nearly level with her chest.
Marsilia turned to follow his gaze and took a step back against him.
“What,” she whispered, “are those? I thought you meant horses!”
“Horses cannot handle the terrain here,” he answered quietly. “These beasts will serve us well.”
“And can climb you down a sheer cliff face,” Arne added, grinning at Fjell’s side. “Straight down, like they can defy gravity. Just hang on tight so you don’t fall.”
Marsilia paled and swallowed hard, clutching the silk ruby pouch to her chest. Fjell rested a hand on her shoulder in reassurance. “We’re not taking any crazy mountain paths,” he promised. “Ye’ll be fine.”
Turning her big blue eyes back up to him, she nodded in what could only be forced confidence. A gentle smile tugged across his face and he squeezed her shoulder. “Ye trust me, aye?”
Taking a steadying breath, she let it out slowly and nodded. “Completely.”
Something pulled in his heart and he swallowed before nodding in reply. “I’ll get ye there and back, and stand with ye against the kerling. I promise. We can do this together.”
The white witch studied him for a moment before finally nodding and smiling tenderly. “I like it when you say that.”
“What?” he asked, furrowing his brow.
“Together,” she answered, then pulled away as Sten turned back to them.
As she moved to confer with the stable master, Arne gave him a light shoulder check. “You sure you want to fall for a seidkona?” he asked.
“I’m not falling for anything,” Fjell muttered, watching as Marsilia conversed with the stablemaster.
“Sure,” Arne drawled. “And I’m the heir apparent.”
Fjell dragged his gaze from the witch to frown at his friend. Arne gave him a smirk and stepped forward to help Marsilia collect the mounts while Sten continued to give him a look of unrestrained disgust.
Chapter 15
“Loosen up and keep yer back straight,” Fjell called from the fence line.
It had taken the better part of an hour with Arne and Fjell both instructing her to get Marsilia steady in the saddle. Fjell watched her carefully now as she unskillfully bounced along in the saddle of the trotting beast. At least she was no longer overcompensating to the point of irritating her mountain goat.
“Think that’s as good as we’re going to get her for this journey,” he said over his shoulder to Arne.
His friend leaned against the stone fence beside him. “She’ll get it more as she follows you,” he said,
shaking his head. Glancing up at the sun, he frowned. “You two wanted to make the Keep of Spring by tonight? That’s going to be a hard push.”
“Aye,” Fjell sighed. “We’ll have to see how the day goes, and how well she can keep up.”
Pushing off the fence, he waved a hand over his head for her to come back. Once she saw him and began guiding the goat back towards the fence line, he went to inspect his own. His shield was already attached to the beast’s saddle and a pack of food was tucked into one of the saddle bags. A gentle tug on each strap ensured everything was properly secured.
Satisfied, he turned back to Arne. “It was good seeing ye again,” he said, holding out an arm.
Arne grasped his arm above the wrist and pulled him into a hug, clapping his back. “Don’t be such a damned stranger, Fjell. We’ll grab a drink when you get back and you can tell me how your seidkona saves your arse in the coming fight.”
Fjell laughed and clapped him on the back in return. “Aye,” he said. “I’ll do that.”
The two dwarves released one another as Marsilia drew her mount to a stop before them. Fjell turned, looking up at her as he patted her goat’s muzzle. The goat let out a deep rumbling bleat and snuffled at his cheek.
“Ye ready to get on our way?” he asked the witch.
“As much as I can be,” she answered evenly.
Nodding, he walked around to her side, checking the strap securing her bow scabbard and moving one of the folds of her skirts to ensure it was clear to be drawn. “Just remember what I told ye, eh? Keep loose, back straight, don’t grip with yer knees. I’ll take lead with Meyla, and Musa should be happy to follow along behind.”
“Alright,” she said, patting Musa’s neck.
Turning back to his own enormous mountain goat, he gave Arne a final nod before hoisting himself up in the saddle.
“Take care of this idiot, seidkona,” Arne called to Marsilia. “I expect you to return him in one piece!”
The Blessing of Equinox Page 9