Fair Upon the Tor #91 (updates Mondays)

A short time later, the two of them, Caewen and Sgeirr, were pushing through the crowd together. Behind them came a small band of Sgeirr’s retainers, some in armour, hands listlessly on their swords, a couple in drab robes, a few more in the rough linens of work-a-day serfs. Caewen was conspicuous among them as the only person not wearing the murky river-mud green and chalk-white kelpie of the Modsarie.

Whether consciously or unconsciously, Sgeirr was clearly not willing to let Caewen walk ahead of her. She always kept half-a-step in front, brooding sullenly as they went. “I can hardly believe I am doing this,” she muttered, at least twice, and shaking her head as she did.

Dapplegrim saw them coming, and raised his head. His red eyes flushed with a dull, hard light. When they were close enough to speak, he snorted, whipped his tail about and said, “How did you ever convince her? Hurm. Oh. Oh. Wait. You are getting surprisingly good with the odd bit of magic. I bet you placed a spell on her thoughts, twisting Sgeirr’s mind and crushing her will until she could do naught but follow your command.”

They both looked at him, though it was Caewen who said, “No. We had a conversation.”

“Oh well.” Dapple sounded disappointed. “Pity. Shall we head back to the tent then?”

“Yes.”

The crowd was even worse on the way out than it had been on the way in. They soon had to give up all pretence of just slipping by. Dapplegrim forced his bulk forward to clear a path, and the others followed close in his wake. Comically, and inappropriately, it struck Caewen that they were like ducklings following a mother duck. If the mother duck was a huge black monstrous thing with red eyes and sharp white teeth. Caewen couldn’t help but smile. She tried to hide it, but Sgeirr must have seen.

“What are you grinning at?”

“Oh, nothing. Just a thought.”

A scowl. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

Caewen could only shrug and offer an apologetic expression. With Dapplegrim now carving a way through the crowd, and Sgeirr’s armed men sending sharp looks at anyone who might have been inclined to voice irritation, they hit a good pace, and were soon through the worst of the crowds. Then, they were off uphill and passing in and out of the shadows of tents. Immediately, Caewen found herself distracted as they walked. She rifled inwardly through ranks of thoughts. What was she really hoping to achieve? Even if they did get the little gold plate away from the moot, then surely the dragon was not going to let her live if she had it. Maybe she could just leave it on a rock somewhere? Would that work? Of course, she could just lock the rotten thing back inside the ivory box–that would immediately hide it from Aslaugh–but the dragon must surely know its last location… he would simply hone in on the last point of mental contact, like a moth following scents on the wind. That would bring him directly to the moot.

What then?

Currently, she had no idea better than ‘leave it on a rock’. That didn’t seem like a very good plan.

She looked up from her thoughts, and noticed a small shadowy shape immediately slink out of sight to her left. As soon as she blinked, it was gone, and for a moment, she wondered why it looked familiar. But when the shape did not reappear, she shook her head to clear the thought away. More immediate worries were crowding in on her. At least, it didn’t take long to walk back to Samarkarantha’s tent. When they arrived, they found Keri and Keru standing out front, both of them carrying their short fighting spears. They were each of them alert, and watchful. Caewen wasn’t sure that Keru could actually have stood up to a fight, but he was doing a good job of looking like he might. “Caewen,” he said, his voice falsely deep, “This lot giving you trouble?”

She shook her head. “No. We’ve come to an agreement. Sgeirr will take the bronze oracle in return for the gold plate and its little box. Once the trade is done, we’re done. Sgeirr and her kin will go their way. I will take the plate and go mine.” She turned to Sgeirr then. “Well? Did you want to inspect the goods?”

“I’m no fool. Of course.” She gestured, sharply, at one of the older men who was dressed in a robe of river-mud green and dirty white linen. He said nothing, but followed her as she entered the tent. Keri had to stand aside to let her in. They exchanged glances as Sgeirr passed, but no words were said.

All the armed men were suddenly more on edge. They stood up a little straighter, narrowed their attention on the tent, and on Keri and Keru. Two or three drew swords and stood warily with them in hand. A man among them–a taller, grim looking young man, roughly bearded–took a few steps towards Caewen. “This had best not be a trap. If you break the peace of the goddesses, we’re within our rights to break you. And into as many bits as we like.”

“It’s no trick,” replied Caewen, a little tired.

He was silent for a span, then said. “What did you do to Hrawold?”

She turned to him genuinely puzzled. “Who?”

“In the maze. One of the two of the prentice-walkers who vanished. Hrawold.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” She tried to sound convincing, but a raw sort of catch in her throat betrayed her, and she looked away.

“He was my brother.”

She did not look at him, but kept her eyes fixed on the ground.

“I loved my brother. Do you have family? Do you love your family?”

Again, she just remained quiet, feeling increasingly awful and slightly afraid.

“I wonder though, what should I say to my mother? Well? How do you think I should explain it to our mother? She waved us goodbye, expecting us both back soon. Just a small adventure down to the moot. What do you think I should say to her?”

Caewen looked at him then, caught his gaze and held it. “I don’t know. I’m sorry, but I don’t know what you should say.”

“Is he dead then?”

For a long, wavering pause she was not sure how to answer. She could feel Dapplegrim behind her stirring restlessly. A couple of the other Modsarie were paying attention to this soft, angry conversation now too, watching, impassive.

In the end, she gave one short nod, a small, cold sigh.

“How?”

“Partly me, but mostly the goddess… I think.” she said, and then bit her lip before adding, “I’m not really certain, even now. All I am really sure of is that she acted through me. I’m sorry. The two of them, they came at me in the maze. They broke the peace of the moot. The goddess did not abide it.”

He clenched a fist. “Why you–“

“Quiet!” It was Sgeirr. She had emerged from the tent, though the robed man was not with her. She took in a breath, and all the gathered men-at-arms and spell-swords tensed. Caewen saw the thought flash in her eyes. She could see Sgeirr teeter on the edge of saying: It is a fake. Kill them. After all, then she would have the oracle and the pleasure of murdering Caewen and her friends. But calm common sense regained purchase. Perhaps she recalled that the peace of the moot still held. Perhaps she remembered that if Caewen were dead then Sgeirr would be left with the small gold plate–and she had looked through the seeing-stone at the tent-of-gifts. Sgeirr knew exactly and precisely what fate was likely in store for whoever happened to have been last holding the little gold plate when the dragon arrived.

She gave a quick shake of the head. “It is real. We’ll put out the flames, then carry it back to our tent. It will need to be stoked again to keep the magic alive within. We may need to find a wagon to take it north.” She breathed out, almost a hiss of a breath. “My father, our king… he will be very well pleased with us. This is a treasure beyond all reckoning. How we came by it… let us leave that an enigmatic secret among us.”

She cast a last, sidelong and haughty sort of look at Caewen. “Give her the little gold trinket and its box. The bargain is struck. We will take our payment and be gone. There is a danger winging towards the moot, and we have little enough time.”

With that, the Modsarie bustled the brazen head out of the tent, and hauled it away, four of the bigger, heftier men lumbering under its weight.

“Well,” said Caewen to Dapple. “There you are. Easily done.”

“Right. Hurm. Now you just have to deal with an enraged dragon. We are all doomed.” He snorted. “Oh, and even if we do survive that dragon, that one means trouble.”

“H’m.” Caewen looked up. The man who’s brother had been Hrawold was looking back at her as he walked off, red murder in his eyes. “If we survive an angry dragon, he can come back for revenge all he likes. I don’t think I’m much afraid. Too many bigger worries.”

“Well, it is true that dragons are big. Have you ever seen a dragon?”

“No. Have you?”

“Not up close. I guess that is about to change. Hurm.”