Soon enough, they started to pass small knots of people talking together, then a few more, and then suddenly they were deep in a crowd. All around them people were eating and drinking. Conversation and half-halting songs lilted and drifted. Caewen almost wanted to scream at them all, run, run for your lives, but she didn’t. No one would believe her, and if they did, a stampede of terrified wizards, merchants, lackeys and their various hangers-on was not going to do anyone any good.
After a few more minutes, even just moving forward was becomming hard. More than one person cursed loudly at Dapplegrim, and one large, angry man accused him of having stepped on his foot.
“Maybe you should wait here?” Caewen suggested.
“I don’t think I’ve much choice. Hurm. Will you be able to find me again?” He cast an eye over the crowd. The space around the Test of Gifts was thickly packed with humanity.
“You’re tall enough to see from a distance. Yes.”
“Hurm. Well. Be careful.”
Caewen managed a tired smile. “Aren’t I always?”
“No. You are the exact opposite of a person who is always careful.”
“Thank you, Dapple. I’ll try to remember to be less so. Or more so?” She squinted a confused smile at him. “Whichever way around is the right way around. Now, watch yourself, too.” She reached up and scratched him behind the ear. For a moment Caewen experienced a dark twinge of a thought. What if the dragon arrived too soon? What if Aslaug was descending even now on outstretched wings, silent and brooding? She had a moment of wondering if this would be the last time she would see Dapplegrim. Without thinking, she leaned her head forward and placed her cheek against his flared, hot nostrils. “Look after yourself too”, she said. The tone in her voice must have told him what she was thinking.
“Don’t be like that. Hur. W’ell do it.” He shook his head and his mane swayed like shadows from a wind-tossed lamp. “We will find a way, and we will live another day. We will. We always do. Hurm. I believe in us.”
“Good then. I’m glad someone does.” She turned and looked at the endless mass of people, crowding and jostling. “Alright. Let’s do this.”
Caewen adjusted her elbows outwards a little to make herself a small amount bigger. She squared her shoulders and proceeded to rudely push her way past everyone in her way.
For her trouble, Caewen got yelled at, elbowed, kicked in the shin twice and cuffed on the back of the head once. “You thank me later,” she said, under her breath, as she broke free of the last group of wizards who were exclaiming, shocked, about the rudeness of today’s youths.
Rubbing the back of her neck–the backhanded cuff had actually stung a little–she cast her eyes around the scene in front of her. On her left sat rows upon rows of magicians in robes of dark blue and grey, deepest black, twilight grey and starry silver. On her right were an equal number of magicians in gold and orange, noon-sky blue and the white of light on clouds, the brilliance of profoundly aglow reds.
To the night-side then, she mused. She looked up and down the tables, and along the Broadtable too–which was a literal broad table made of heavy dark oak. She couldn’t see the little gold cup with the emeralds anywhere. That seemed favourable. The dignitaries who were entitled to take a gift each did seem to be keen about showing off their loot. Everything appeared to be readily on display. Presumably, this meant the little gold plate was yet to be chosen.
A more careful look over the gathered crowd now. Ah, there was Fafmuir. So he wasn’t dead in a ditch somewhere. He did look at the threshold of death, though. His skin was chalky where it ought to be merry and rosy. His eyes seem lustreless. Even at a distance, she could see that his breathing was laboured, erratic and forced. She wondered if she could see black rot creeping up his neck. Hard to tell.
At least he hadn’t spotted her yet. That was good.
Now. Who else was about? She could see the three members of the third dynasty at the Broadtable. There was Cag-Mag Twelve-shadows, and the Grand Old Lady of Embers, who was not actually the Grand Old Lady of Embers. As Caewen looked, she caught the old woman’s eye, and she smiled a conspiratorial smile, then winked. It wasn’t even a little surprising to her that Moggie Moulach had been able to speed her way back here so fast after their conversation up at Fafmuir’s tent. Faer creatures came and went like the wind. Everyone knew that. The third member of the natural dynasty was an old man dressed all in green and brown that Caewen didn’t know.
Finally, she could see Quinnya too, evidently presiding over the gift choosing. She called out a name, and a young, thin-faced man with quite beautiful long golden hair stood up from the side of the day-folk. He proceeded to walk over to the Tent of Gifts, but puffed his chest out so much as he did, that he managed to look comical rather than proud.
Now hunting around nearby, Caewen nudged a couple young magicians who seemed to be attentively watching the proceedings.
“Excuse me?”
They looked at her. “Yes?”
“Have you noticed any of the night-folk collect a small gold plate with emeralds? I know it’s not much of a gift, but my good master sent it along specially, and he did want to know that it was taken and appreciated.”
“Oh,” one of them said. “I don’t think so. No. But there’s not many gifts left, so it’ll be soon.”
“Yeah. Just keep watching,” said the other. “Any moment now.”
“Thank you. I will.” Caewen eased past them and made her way to the benches and tables where the nobility, archimages and grand-wizards of Old Night and Chaos sat. As she searched across their faces she wondered if one of them was the Winter King under veils of illusion. Or was he simply concealed elsewhere in the moot, merely sending his servants out into the open?”
Ah. There. She spotted Sgeirr. The princess-magess of the Modsarie did not seem to have aquired a gift yet. Dapplegrim was right. She must be quite far down the pecking order. Her face looked pinched, and not a little sour as she watched the boy with the gold hair leave the tent with a chosen gift, and then another magician of the night was called to take a gift.
This was it then. She needed to somehow convinced Sgeirr to take the gold saucer with it’s ivory box, and then swap it for something far more valuable.
“Here goes nothing and everything.” Caewen walked around the back of the crowd, and approached Sgeirr from behind, doing her best not to be noticed.