“I need to talk to you,” Elowyn said softly.
“Let’s walk,” Morganne replied as she grabbed her cloak. They left the warmth of the shop and strode silently across the village toward the monastic grounds, where several different paths crossed open gardens, crop fields, and rough hillsides that sheep grazed on through the summer months.
When Elowyn was quite sure that there was no one nearby to overhear them, she said softly, “Braeden’s hand is here, too.”
“What do you mean?” Morganne asked in a worried tone.
“Glak and some others from the village met in the tavern this morning, and Wyman asked me to serve table. Glak told everyone that there are strange beasts gathering in the mountains. They destroyed a nearby village and Monastery, leaving no one alive. He says the beasts stand upright like men, wear armor, and carry weapons. They have a mark on their foreheads that I think I saw in a dream. Glak knew about the appearance of the Hounds in Tyroc too, and said that strange creatures are appearing in many other regions throughout the Sovereign’s realm.” Elowyn knew that her explanation had been rushed and somewhat incoherent, but she already felt better now that she had spilled it out in the open.
“What kinds of creatures? And what dream?” Morganne asked in a perplexed tone.
Elowyn sighed and started from the beginning, slowly recounting as best she could the details of her dream, and the whole of the conversation she’d overheard in the tavern. By the time she was finished, she knew that Morganne had already forgiven the intrusion on her work in the shop. She stared at the path before her in a pensive manner that precluded sight.
“When Gareth left and I told him that I felt the need to do something to fight against this darkness, he said that if Aviad was calling me to his army, I would know it. Perhaps this is as sure a sign as any that no matter where we run, Elowyn, this is one fight that cannot be avoided. It is bigger than Tyroc, the Sovereign’s realm, perhaps even the whole world. And if we are not to fight against evil by whatever means we have available to us, does that not only leave us open to be used as tools of the enemy? I wish that Gareth were here to guide me. Once again, my heart is pressed to act, yet I feel helpless and know not what to do. If I were a man, I could at least wield a sword and join the fight, or enter a monastery and go to battle with the Tomes of the Prophets in my hands. My needle is such an inadequate weapon.”
“I know you cannot join a monastery,” Elowyn said, “but maybe one of the monks here could guide you as Gareth did.”
“Perhaps, though I fear the monks in Minhaven are more interested in providing charity to a needful community than in pursuing scholarly wisdom. The ones I have met are nothing like Gareth. Honestly, given the reaction of Tyroc’s Temple leaders to the news of the Hounds, I am almost afraid to speak to the monks about any of this. I do not know who can be trusted. I cannot forget that while Gareth and his mentor were among those expelled for recognizing the truth, Braeden was extolled as one of the Temple’s finest. Which monasteries are of like mind with the Temple? Which ones are beholden to them and report back to them on a regular basis? I will have to get to know these monks better before I can be assured that speaking to them openly will not endanger us.”
“I fear the beasts more than the monks,” Elowyn shivered. “I hope that the Kinship is successful in clearing them out of the mountains.”
“Even should they succeed, how long will their victory last? If those beasts are truly tools of Braeden, he will not give up so easily. He will send more to replace them, or he will find another way to bring calamity down upon us. In the end, we may be no safer here than we were in Tyroc.”
The two walked in thoughtful silence back into the heart of Minhaven, where the archery tournament had ended and the spirited crowds were beginning to fill the streets. Elowyn looked about for Cailean, but did not find him. Morganne returned to her work at the shop, and Elowyn meandered over to the green where she warmed herself before the great fire, still ablaze. There were but a few quiet folk huddled around it. Their expressions were closed, but their somber mood seemed to match her own. Every once in a while, someone would take a wood chip from a nearby crate, throw it into the fire and mumble something inaudible. After watching this for a while, Elowyn became so curious that she dared to ask an elderly woman standing near her what they were doing.
“We’re casting our troubles to the Ancients,” she said in a sweet, shaky voice. “Take a bit of wood from that pile there, and pray about whatever is bothering you. When you are ready, cast your bit of wood onto the fire and let Aviad carry your burden for you in the year to come.”
Elowyn was all too happy to join in on this ritual. She gave the old woman a hopeful look as she grabbed a fistful of wood chips. The woman smiled at her with amusement, having no idea the extent of the burdens Elowyn longed to be rid of. Elowyn stayed until she was too chilled to bear the wind any longer, even with the radiating warmth of the fire. She returned to the tavern comforted, her heart wrapped in Aviad’s protective embrace. Gladly she went to the kitchen to see if she could help Idna with the evening’s preparations.
The remaining days of the festival passed quickly. Morganne, who even more so than Elowyn, had looked forward to participating in all the festivities, found that she had barely any time to enjoy them. Between orders from the villagers, who wanted heavier clothes for winter, and orders from members of the Kinship, who were preparing to do battle in the mountains, her shop was overloaded. The apprentices in her care were willing, but not always skilled enough to help her, at least not to her standards. They were only able to do the most basic tasks, leaving Morganne to handle all the rest.
Though she had once been able to care for Adelin and work, she could do so no longer. Adelin had taken a liking to one of the girls in the shop who wasn’t particularly good at sewing, but had been pressed into work by her poor family. Morganne absolved her of her sewing duties and instead paid her to make sure Adelin was well taken care of during the day while she was busy filling orders and dealing with customers. Everyone seemed content with this arrangement, including Elowyn. Adelin was growing to be a playful and curious child, with wisps of strawberry curls and a quick smile. Elowyn loved her, but was not especially comfortable caring for her in Morganne’s absence.
For the duration of the festival, Morganne worked through the days and well into the nights by candle and lamp light. By the time she returned to their room at bed time, she was often too tired to even undress. Elowyn would find her asleep in the chair by the fire, where she had sat down to remove her boots and gotten no farther. Exhausted though she was, she slept soundly with a contented smile on her lips. For the moment, she had found her place in the world—a place of her own choosing.
Elowyn spent more of her days helping in the tavern, which was far less satisfying work. She couldn’t help but notice that Cailean suddenly became a regular face there. He rarely ordered anything for himself, but hung about members of the Kinship, offering to run errands for them, oil and polish their armor, wax their footwear, or help with any other task that needed to be done. Even when there were no members of the Kinship around for him to shadow, he hung about anyway, waiting for Elowyn to finish her work so that he could invite her to different events that were going on as part of the Festival. In that way, she got to participate in some of the village games, watch more contests, including the sword fighting, which was Cailean’s favorite, sample the different foods of the season and hear a variety of musicians play. Elowyn found that she enjoyed Cailean’s company, as he seemed to enjoy hers.
The one event that Morganne refused to miss in spite of her overloaded schedule, was the play enacted by the monks in which the story of the creation and tales of the early Prophets were told. She drank them in the same way she had once pored over the books Gareth had loaned her from the Temple library.
But beneath all the laughter and the light atmosphere of Minhaven’s celebrations, Elowyn felt an undercurrent of tension. Not from the regular
folk who had no idea of the danger brewing just beyond their borders, but from the men of the Kinship who silently bore their knowledge of the battle to come, and from the few locals who were supplying their cause. All too soon the days of the festival ended, and the uncertain task before them could no longer be forgotten in the midst of the merriment. The music faded, the contests and tournaments had all been won, and belts were tightened for winter as the feasts came to an end. Broguean the Bard hung his drinking cup from his belt and headed toward the southern road, and the fortunate miner who had found the bean in his bread, reluctantly gave up his ceremonial robe and crown, stepping down from his place of honor at the high table. He became, once more, a simple miner in shabby clothes who worked the mountainsides alone in obscurity.
The Kinship gathered its forces in the field behind the tavern, just before the sun’s rising on the second morning after the festival had ended. Elowyn stood silently in the cold watching them, her wool cloak wrapped snugly around her like a blanket. She did not yet know these men beyond a passing recognition of their faces, and they had no cause to know who she was, or how personal this fight was to her. Had she spent any time in the mountains at all, she might have dared to follow them so that she could see one of the beasts first hand. She desperately wanted to know if they were the same ones from her dream. And if they were, the Kinship had no true idea of what enemy they were about to face. The hounds were no ordinary foe and she suspected that these beasts would not be either. Braeden would no doubt have his eye turned toward Minhaven whether they won or lost the battle.
Wyman noticed Elowyn watching the Kinship and came over to stand beside her. “They will succeed,” he said trying to reassure her. “They always do. I did not mean for you to be burdened with all of this. Had I any idea what news Glak was bringing, I never would have asked you to serve us.”
“I am very sorry that I dropped the pitcher,” Elowyn confessed, her eyes welling up. She had felt horribly about it ever since the meeting, but with all the chaos surrounding the festival she had not found the right time and place to tell him so.
“Think no more of it,” he said with kindness. “It was understandable for you to be frightened by what you heard. Children should not have to know of such horrors.”
“I have already known horrors like the beasts.” Elowyn shuddered as she recalled her encounter with the Hounds and with Braeden. “I had a dream the night before the Festival in which I saw beasts just as the ones Glak described, though I had never heard of them before. It startled me and I dropped the pitcher. But I should have been more careful.”
Wyman gave her a curious look, but he did not ask any questions and Elowyn dared not say anything further about her past. They lapsed once again into silence as they watched the Kinship make their final preparations. Supplies were checked and checked again. Glak carefully inspected each of his men, their clothing, weapons, and armor. Horses were led from the stables already groomed and saddled. They, too, were inspected, their packs loaded and men mounted onto them. Girths were tightened, stirrups and reins adjusted. The horses danced anxiously in place and flung their heads about as if they already knew the task before them.
The men of the Kinship seemed more somber than anxious as they cleared their minds and began to focus on preparing their hearts and bodies for an uncertain battle. As she watched them, Elowyn sensed with some surprise that it was not the beasts they feared. They had fought countless men and beasts alike and lived to tell their tales of triumph afterward—they knew their work better than most. It was the perils of the mountains that worried them, dangers that could not be fended off with any amount of armor or weaponry. And yet each of them looked to Glak with complete confidence that he would lead them through, giving the bards yet another feat to sing about at the next Winter Festival. They trusted him completely.
When there were no more preparations left to be made, Glak took the lead, and the whole company rode together toward the same mountain pass that had brought them to Minhaven on the first night of the festival. Elowyn was surprised at how quietly they departed. There were no yells or cheers, or boisterous threats made against the enemy. No one spoke at all. There was only the soft jingle of armor and saddle gear, and the rhythmic pounding of the horses’ hooves on the frozen earth.
The atmosphere in Minhaven seemed to change drastically after that. The decorations were all put away, leaving the village looking drab and cheerless under the gray winter sky. The fields and streets which had been filled with villagers just days ago were now, for the most part, empty. Morganne was still struggling to complete the many orders placed during the height of the Festival, but the tavern was eerily quiet. Until the Kinship was able to distribute the wealth they had promised, few were willing to spend what little money they had on tavern food and drink.
There were always a few regulars like Finian and Ham who stuck around. Some sought respite from cold, drafty homes in the warmth of the tavern. Some were lonely and the presence of others comforted them, even if they drank their ale in silence. Bane was one such man, a hefty miner with a thick, rough beard who sat in the far corner with his mug nearly every night. He rarely spoke or smiled, but there was always kindness in his eyes. He seemed to take a special interest in Adelin. Whenever she was around his face brightened and he paid to have fresh milk or some other treat brought to her, even when he had to give up his own ale to pay for it.
Cailean continued to visit the tavern regularly, in spite of the fact that the Kinship was gone and he had no money to buy anything. He always seemed to come around just when Elowyn was finishing up her chores, so that he could invite her along on whatever errand he had to run in town that day. In this way she was introduced to many people she would not have spoken to otherwise, and she began to know her way around Minhaven better.
One day he surprised her by taking her to the bowyer. Together they browsed his shop and Elowyn was permitted to handle one of the bows. Elowyn trembled with excitement as she picked it up and gripped the smooth, flexible wood. The bowyer showed her how to properly position her body, nock an arrow, and draw the string back tight. The movement felt completely natural to her, as though a bow belonged in her hands. At that moment, she knew that somehow she must find a way to get one. Of course these were all brand new, beautiful bows that had been painstakingly crafted. She could not afford any of them, no matter how hard she worked. Still, she was determined to find a way.
Elowyn became consumed by the thought of having her own bow. Day upon day of mindless work in the tavern left her little else to focus on, and dreaming of learning to shoot like Einar became a pleasant distraction from her anxieties. She contemplated selling the dagger Einar had given her. Though it was the only item of value she owned, she finally realized that she could not bear to part with it. The dagger was far too precious to sell, even to help her purchase a bow.
She finally decided that the most sensible thing to do was to see if the bowyer had work she could do in exchange for a used bow. He was surprised by her request, but agreed, and so Elowyn went to work for the bowyer when she was not helping at the tavern or spending time with Cailean. There she spent many monotonous hours turning sticks into arrow shafts, mixing kettles of glue, and separating feathers. Elowyn was able to let the horror of her dream fade away in the midst of her busy daily routine. It also freed her mind from thinking about the beasts in the mountains, and whether or not Glak would return victorious once again.
Ancient Shields and Rusting Tomes
The Festival had not long passed when the first winter storm slammed into Minhaven. As heavy gray clouds gathered to the north and the wind picked up strength, those who lived in ramshackle cottages on the outskirts of the village sought shelter in the tavern or with the monks. The streets were emptied, shutters were double barred, and animals were herded into barns and stables. Morganne, who had planned to keep working undaunted until nightfall, was rushed out of her own shop by the girls who worked for her.
Elowyn cease
d to wonder why the winter months inspired such trepidation as the storm bore down upon them like a monstrous and unstoppable wave. Even from within the sturdy walls of the stone-built tavern, she could feel the storm’s fury as it pounded against the roof. The wind moaned and whistled like a demonic spirit through any crevice it could find. No candle could stay lit. The flames were tossed about violently in the draft until they were eventually extinguished. And no matter how much wood was thrown to the fire, the wind seemed to draw out nearly all of its warmth. Everyone pressed in close to the hearth, brooding over unspoken fears while the storm shrieked around corners and rattled the shutters.
Wyman quietly began to set out food and drink in a wise attempt to ease tightly stretched nerves and loosen stilled tongues. Some began to tell of past storms they had survived, or drank to honor the memories of those who had not been so fortunate. Elowyn wondered if Wyman would speak of his brother, but if his thoughts dwelled on his lost kin, he kept them well hidden for the sake of his guests.
Elowyn noticed that once the snows began, the bells that were rung to mark the hours of the day rang longer and more frequently. Wyman explained that they were a guide for any wayward soul who might be lost in the storm. Many villagers had perished over the years, wandering blindly in the snow until all hope left them and the frozen drifts swallowed them whole.
Darkness descended early upon the tavern that night and all concept of time was lost. As people gradually succumbed to drink and weariness, tables were moved aside so that they could sleep close to the fire. Morganne and Elowyn retired to their room with Adelin, listening all night long to the howling wind and the driving snow. Elowyn worried about the fate of the Kinship and whispered many prayers to Aviad on their behalf. Wyman had been right to caution Glak against going into the mountains at this time of year. She did not imagine that anyone could survive such a night out in the open, and no doubt the conditions were far worse on the mountain itself.
Ancient Voices: Into the Depths Page 6