by S. K. Alden
Kirin squinted at him as if unimpressed with the humor.
Nÿr ducked her head and grabbed boots, sliding them over Kirin's thick socks, humbled that she was trusted enough to witness this level of family intimacy between her King and his brother.
"Time to get you on your feet," Gilleath said.
Nÿr moved to Kirin's other side.
Gilleath nodded. On a count of three, they had him up.
His gaiters went on next, then the snow cloak and gloves.
Gilleath leaned him against the wall and steadied him, retrieving his brother's sword and sheathing it.
He put it in Kirin's hand and helped Nÿr gather up the remainder of the gear. By the time they were done, Kirin had managed to tie the scabbard to his waist and cinch the knot.
Nÿr's respect for her King grew as she realized what he'd done—repairing the indignity of having to be dressed with the expectation that he arm himself.
"There's a rope tied outside," Gill said, shoving his gloves on. "You keep your hand on it," he said to Nÿr, "And I'll be right behind you."
Nÿr nodded, tightening the belt around her own snow coat and shoving hands into gloves.
"When we get back up to the terrace,” Gill said. “Don't let yourself get separated from us. You and I will stay with him all the way back to my chambers."
"Not the infirmary?"
"No." Gilleath's voice was firm. "Not secure enough, and too many others would ask questions about what's wrong. As far as everyone up there is concerned, he may have a wrenched knee, he's cold, and he's tired. Nothing more."
She nodded again, ready to go.
Gilleath stopped her with a hand and looked at her. "Lass," he dropped his voice. "There's more to this than Kirin's wound acting up. Something's afoot around these negotiations and there are traitors inside Snowmount." His face was serious. "We need to be careful. Don't trust anyone you don't know, and stay with us. Do you understand?"
Her guts suddenly felt as cold as her feet as she realized there was more to this whole thing than a rockslide and two errant warriors stranded in a storm.
"If we encounter trouble out there, fall to the ground. I can't fight with you in the way." Gilleath must have seen the sudden fear in her eyes and he nodded, seeming satisfied that he had her attention on the matter. "Let's go, then," he said. He pulled up his snow hood, then Kirin's. He took one of his brother's arms over his shoulder and nodded for Nÿr to lead the way.
Outside, the blast of cold wind nearly knocked them over. Nÿr found the rope, and trying not to pull on it and break it, used it to guide them forward. Gilleath stayed at her back.
Twenty steps out, she felt Gill shifting his weight, realizing that he likely carried his brother more than simply supporting him. One foot in front of the other, she told herself. Just keep going...just keep hoping nothing bad will happen.
After what seemed like an impossibly long time, she saw several heavy-coated warriors ahead, and she cried out in alarm—but at her back, she heard Gilleath shout at them in recognition.
Following his lead, she gratefully allowed their help. But she stayed close to the brothers, as she'd been told, locking arms with Kirin to keep from being pushed to the side.
"No," Gilleath objected when they wanted him to board the cart first. "It will take three." The warriors nodded, and Gill motioned Nÿr in first, helped Kirin in second, and then slid beside his brother.
But as soon as they sat, Nÿr felt the cold seeping into her bones. Nÿr and Gill, by silent, mutual agreement, wrapped arms around Kirin to lend him their warmth as the others threw the leather cover over them and shouted, "Go!"
The cart jolted, then began a slow climb up the steep rails. Next to her, Nÿr could feel Kirin starting to shiver. No, she thought, afraid that he would backslide into senselessness again.
"Hold on!" she said to encourage him. "Just a few more minutes and we'll be inside."
She leaned tighter against him, as if that would help warm him, realizing this was the reverse of their actions in front of the fire last night. Why does that seem like a dream? Was he already unconscious? But she felt his arm move, then his gloved hand found hers.
He squeezed with more strength than she expected.
And she squeezed back. Maybe not a dream.
Chapter Twelve
"Ah, there's the wayward laddie."
Nÿr looked up to see a rough-looking greybeard miner with steady brown eyes. He smiled broadly and offered his hand to Gilleath when the cart bumped to a stop on the western terrace.
"Thank you for your help, my friend," she heard the King addressing the old timer while a small support crew hustled Kirin and Nÿr out of the cart and bundled them inside the western entry.
It was Nÿr's first experience with seeing how Snowmount's warriors jumped to serve their King, and she was impressed with how carefully they eased Kirin, who did little except grimace in pain (and maybe embarrassment), onto a stretcher held by eight ready warriors.
Nÿr stayed with him, playing up her role as cneasaí and cautioning everyone to take care with his right leg, as if that were the injury rather than the hip.
Then the old timer was beside her, draping one warming fur over her shoulders and another one over their prince.
Kirin reached for him and the miner gripped his hand quickly in heartfelt farewell.
And then they set off, arriving back at the royal apartment faster than Nÿr would have thought possible, taking a route that she didn't recall and couldn't have re-traced later.
The Lady Maeg met them just inside the King's quarters. Quick re-introductions were made as they passed inside (having met at the party two nights before), and Nÿr did not miss the little wink the King gave to his Lady Wife.
And then Maeg was there, helping Nÿr support Kirin as he got to his feet.
"I can walk," he said softly.
"Of course you can," Maeg said. "But this cneasaí and I will just make sure you get to your bed without falling on your face."
Nÿr, of course, had been thinking she would hand over her patient to someone assigned to the King. She glanced around, ready to give a basic report and flee for the healer hall...and the whole experience would fade into a strange winter Eve of Eves dream.
But there were no other cneasaí in the residence.
So she went along with Lady Maeg, since it seemed expected, and shoved to the back of her mind any thoughts of how warm and safe she’d felt wrapped in the Prince’s arms. Instead she focused on a cneasai’s duty to care for an injured warrior.
She couldn’t help one or two quick glances around. She’d never seen the royal quarters. She had never even known its location within the Mountain fortress, and certainly she'd never been inside a prince's private chamber.
It was quite smaller than she might have expected, both simpler and more richly appointed than people would have imagined. It held a small fireplace, a small desk, and a bookcase, surprisingly well stocked. And it was not all stone and metals, either. Kirin's rooms included beautiful wood panels and plush rugs. There were richly glowing blown-glass lamps, leather chairs, and the alcove bed was appointed with velvets and silks in deep jewel tones. The geometric pattern of his princely crest trimmed several square pillows. If anything, it downplayed his royal status.
He considered himself just a kid from Grauvale, she recalled.
Gilleath followed them in.
"Wait," he said, before they could help his brother out of his gear. His hand raised and turned in a motion that Nÿr recognized as the disarm command used by a captain to a soldier.
Kirin nodded and slowly his hands went to his belt and fumbled with the strap. After a moment, the belt was undone and he passed his sword to his brother.
Gilleath accepted it solemnly, taking it to a wall rack and stowing it.
The all-important warrior ritual complete, Lady Maeg began divesting the gear from her brother-by-marriage with Nÿr assisting. They got him down to his skin and Lady Maeg brought a t
hick robe to wrap around him.
In the meantime, Gilleath set out a heavy blue jar and a warming pot on the top of a wooden chest. "I'll need boiling water," he said as they lay Kirin in his bed. Lady Maeg nodded and turned to the little hearth fire, swinging out an iron kettle that was in itself a work of art, unusually shaped and covered in a pine cone motif.
And Nÿr watched again as her King performed the little ritual where he chanted in a low voice and steeped seos...dispersing the heady scent into the room. He repeated the work three times, filling extra warming pots that Lady Maeg bundled into cozies and set aside to steep.
"We'll use these later when this one cools," Lady Maeg explained to her in a murmur.
"Is this something I could learn to do?" Nÿr asked quietly.
Lady Maeg smiled kindly but shook her head, stowing the last pot inside a warming box. “It’s druidic,” she said. “They sometimes impart some of their skill to the Kings and Queens.” She looked over her shoulder at her husband. "But don't be fooled. It's the only healing spell he knows, and he only uses it for this."
"Archdruid Owain," Gilleath added, using a towel to dry his hands. "Showed it to me years ago when we talked to him about the dragontail wound. Took me a week of practice to learn it," he said.
"So it's not just the minerals?"
"No." Maeg said. "It's the mixture plus the spell."
"And the Mountain," Gilleath added. "It's always a stronger cure when we do it inside the Mountain."
Gilleath looked at his lady wife and Nÿr expected that he would be told to rest. But she was mistaken. Instead, he began issuing instructions.
"Keep the kids and Nÿr inside our rooms, Maeg," he began. "Until this is over. She can help you keep an eye on him. And now I need a bath, my formal robes, and something quick to eat."
And then he was gone.
Lady Maeg touched Nÿr's arm. "We have our orders," she winked, then her expression became more serious. "Anything you need, ask for Gafi or Dzin. They wear the green tunics. I'll send in food for you, broth for him. Let him sleep, but when he wakes, try to get him to drink some if you can. Once His Lordship is sent on his way," she spared Nÿr an affectionate grin, "I'll see that we give you a chance for a bath and I'll find you something fresh to wear." Lady Maeg explained the three exits from the room, warned her to only use the one to the family quarters and to keep all of them locked.
And then she whisked herself out, leaving Nÿr alone with her patient.
Who lay gently snoring in his bed.
—-
Gilleath received word that the ravens had emerged from their storm roosts as soon as he'd cleaned up. He sent a message to Lord Garbhan, and then he was back on the western terrace before mid-morning, this time in full court robes and playing the role of King of Snowmount to the hilt.
He strode onto the terrace, seeing his first bit of sunlight on this icy cold day. The wind was gone, having left a pristine blanket of snow behind. The rescue cart and track had already been removed, and to the few visitors also on the terrace this morning, it was every bit the picturesque overlook with a stellar snow-covered view of the breathtaking valley below.
But Gilleath, Son of Eathom, King of Snowmount, wasn't there to look at the valley or the view. He looked to the clearing blue sky, holding up his royal hand in invitation.
He didn't have to wait long before a particularly large raven swooped in and landed on his upraised arm.
The bird fluffed and quorked in agitation.
"All right, all right," Gill crooned. "Just tell me."
Those watching only saw Snowmount's King, dressed in rich Midwinter finery, having quite a long conversation with the raven on his arm. He listened for a long time, nodding to the bird, and then held the fellow closer, speaking into the bird's ear.
And then he raised his arm, launching the large black corvid back into the sky.
None of them expected what came next. The raven circled, calling loudly. Other ravens joined it, circling as well and adding their voices to the call.
Several visiting highborn ladies covered their heads with scarves and ducked inside, shocked and worried at the odd behavior.
But Gilleath stood straight and firm, his expression focused and jaw clenched as the bird gathering grew to represent quite a raucous, swirling flock. Soon there were hundreds of ravens and the noise became deafening.
And then they became quiet, except for the sound of their wings beating on the wind, their circling speed increasing like a small black storm.
Gilleath called out to them then, issuing a roaring command in ceilte.
And then the ravens arrowed past the stone columns of the western terrace and shot like a feathery blast into the halls of the mountain.
And anyone close enough to the King to see his stony expression and ice-hard eyes stepped back.
The King of Snowmount was on the hunt.
Chapter Thirteen
"All this will become clear," Gilleath stated firmly to the crowd of onlookers as he strode from the western terrace. "If you'll join me in the King's Hall." He didn't wait to see who came along, however. He simply took off, following the path of the raucous birds he had loosed inside the mountain.
Predictably, a flurry of angry ravens inside Snowmount resulted in an eruption of screams, hysterics, complaints, and demands from everyone inside. People ran, sought shelter under stone tables, and took cover against walls as swarms of swift birds screeched past.
But Gill didn't let any of this stop him. He continued through the halls at a brisk pace, a small crowd of overwrought visitors trailing behind.
Inside, the ravens were hard at work. They swooped through the main cavern in a black cloud, then split into speedy squadrons, veering off into smaller halls, flying through every room in the mountain—from guest chambers to kitchens to the infirmary. Anyone who tried stopping one quickly learned that the ensuing uproar attracted teams of Snowmount warriors in full battle gear, pre-staged for quick response throughout the city.
"No interference with the King’s ravens," the soldiers commanded. Most of the birds would simply fly in and then out of a chamber or room, but when the birds congregated and set up a loud cacophony, armed warriors responded and without preamble, cornered the residents and searched the indicated rooms with a vigor.
Gilleath entered the King's Hall trailing an angry rabble, but strode confidently to where seven trusted warriors stood in a semicircle at the throne.
With his five advisors stood old Drustan and his brother Obhar, and they had a rough miner's box full of rock and powder sitting on a stone plinth.
Inside the semi-circle, lying in state with honor: the body of a fallen warrior. To the side sat a grief stricken widow and two glowering sons, both well into adulthood. The sight of this turned the rabble silent and they milled about, whispering; some removed caps in respect.
Gilleath mounted the steps to his throne, throwing his cloak off his shoulder as he turned, revealing the battle mail of Eathom. His face and his stance, had he known it, were so like a younger version of his grandfather, the venerable King Aubin, that several of the old timers stood a little taller.
"Your patience, my friends," he stated, his voice filling the hall. "While the Royal Guard conducts a search of the mountain."
"For what?" an ill-mannered visitor shouted out.
Garbhan stepped forward to stand near the open casket of the fallen Warrior. "The persons," he growled, "Responsible for the murder of a royal guard and acts of sabotage against Eathom’s Lén itself."
The calls of far off ravens raising an alarm echoed through the halls into the throne room. Moments later, a single bird shot through the great doors and flew straight to the throne, circling it at full cry.
Most warriors couldn't understand the ravens, but anyone with a connection to Snowmount’s Lady Breitte certainly could—so Gilleath, along with Garbhan, Allon, and Dugfus turned to listen intently.
"The powder! We find the powder!" it kept repeating
.
"Like this powder?" Garbhan demanded, pointing his staff toward the box of rock debris that Drustan had brought.
The raven swooped low to land on the box edge, eyeing the evidence in the box, pecking at it once, and then bobbing up and down. Even those who didn’t understand the mystery of Snowmount’s unusual birds could interpret the raven's answer.
"We collected this sample last night from the site of the last rockfall near the western terrace," Drustan explained in a loud voice so all could hear. "The rockfall that killed our honored fallen, the veteran Hoskel." He took off his hat and nodded in respect at the Warrior lying in state. "The ruddy stuff mixed in with this rock is residue from red-dust blasting powder. A very particular kind of blasting powder never used on Snowmount because it's dangerous and unpredictable. This stuff comes from only one source, and that's quite far away from here."
"It's banned inside our Lén," Allon spoke up. "In fact, until recently, this powder was used only by the legions of Nàmhid’s Keep. We were told," he glowered at the crowd. "That production had stopped and stockpiles destroyed."
"The ravens," Garbhan stepped up. “Are showing us who among the current occupants of Snowmount have red-dust in their possession."
Several of the milling crowd stepped back, as if to distance themselves from any association with the material of saboteurs.
At the throne, King Gilleath raised a hand and the raven launched itself toward him, landing on the back of the great throne and then hopping to the King's hand. Gilleath spoke briefly to the bird, then sent it off on some new errand.
"In the meantime," Allon stated in a loud voice. "We wait for the Snowmount Guard to bring forth the accused." He folded his arms and rested them on top of his short staff, clearly willing to stay awhile.
—-