Pausing in the doorway, Marsilia glanced back. The dwarf had moved to a barrel against one of the walls and was washing himself off with a rag. Should she bring it up to him? Would that turn his mood sour again? She much preferred him teasing and giving her those amused smiles, but she couldn’t help but wonder if he was just putting on a better face for her sake.
His golden eyes flashed in her direction and she realized she’d been standing there, staring at him, lost in her own thoughts. Flushing, she quickly turned and went to take a seat beside the fireplace. As she was about to sit, she noticed her dryad-gifted fur laid out before the fire to dry and paused to pick it up. Her bow, too, was there leaning against the wall, unstrung.
Despite his foul mood, he’d taken the time to ensure her belongings were cared for while she recovered. Clutching the fur to her chest, she sat and watched the fire crackle before her. How could such a thoughtful, kind-hearted, skillful warrior be outcast from his kin?
The cast iron pot from the previous night’s stew once more bubbled above the flames, giving off the sweet scent of apples and honey and oats. Marsilia’s stomach growled as she caught a whiff, and she was glad none were there to hear it.
A loud hiss of steam came from his workroom and she jumped at the sound. No other sound followed and she leaned back, trying to peek into the workroom.
“Fjell? Are you alright,” she finally called.
“Aye,” he called in answer. “Give me a moment.”
Rising, she draped the silver fur around her shoulders and picked up the spoon hanging on the wall to stir the oatmeal. It looked done and she found a rag to take hold of the hook’s handle and swing it out away from the fire. A quick glance around revealed the bowls he’d used to serve them the night before on a shelf near the table and she made her way over to collect them.
Fjell stood in the doorway to his workshop as she turned back around, dressed once more in his blue tunic. “Ye don’t have to serve here, Marsilia. Yer a guest.”
“And a friend,” she chimed in with a smile, moving past him to the pot of oats. “I’d rather help than be waited on.”
With a shake of his head, he followed her and plucked the bowls from her hands. When she turned to protest, he nodded to the pot of oats. “I’ll hold these while ye dish out breakfast, eh?”
Pursing her lips in mock-irritation she gave him a stern look before finally giving over to a small smiling and nodding. When the bowls were filled and placed at the table, he fetched goblets of water once more and they settled in to breakfast.
“The carvings you’ve decorated with are beautiful,” she said between bites after a long silence.
Fjell’s gaze raised for a moment, gold eyes flickering to a few of the carvings. “Thank ye,” he answered. “I had a lot of time to work on them.”
“Nineteen years?” she asked, caution and curiosity warring to keep her tone even. She quickly took another bite of the oatmeal.
“Aye,” he answered, setting his spoon down and frowning at his bowl of half-eaten breakfast. “Ye deserve to have an idea of what yer walking in to, with me taking ye to my King.”
Marsilia paused, a spoonful of oats and apples halfway to her mouth. Lowering her spoon back to the bowl, she folded her hands in her lap. “Alright,” she said quietly.
“I did fight a wielder of dark magic before - a warlock, a dwarven nobleman,” he said slowly, brow furrowing as he continued to stare into his bowl. “Another fought alongside me. She… I made a mistake, and she fell to my blade, for my blunder.” His jaw tensed for a moment. “I wasn’t exiled, but it was clear I wasn’t welcome anymore. So I came here and haven’t been back since.”
Silence reigned as he finished, and the white witch’s brow furrowed. She had seen him fight twice now and could not imagine him ‘blundering’ so badly as to kill his companion. It didn’t make sense, especially with how he took such care in choosing his words.
“What really happened?” she asked gently. “That doesn’t ring with the full truth.” Gold eyes flashed up to meet her gaze, his expression guarded, wary. She held her hands up to the side. “No tricks, no magic. I don’t know you well yet, but what I do know doesn’t fit with what you just told me.”
Taking a deep breath, he let it out slowly and picked up his spoon to stir his cooling oats. “That’s what my people know of it,” he admitted. “I cannot say more, not even to ye, without endangering an innocent of the entire mess.” His gaze raised to meet hers again. “And I’d ask ye not even to repeat that last piece.”
“I can bind myself to silence on it if you wish,” she offered.
His eyebrows raised in surprise before a wry smile took his face and he half laughed. “Don’t,” he said, shaking his head. “I’d rather try to give ye that much trust without it being magically bound.” Looking back down at his bowl, he picked up another spoonful. “We should finish eating and get going soon. We have a king to see and a lot of ground to cover.”
With a nod, Marsilia returned to her bowl as well, eating quickly even as her mind worked over what he’d just told her. She still didn’t believe he’d blundered into killing his companion, but if him keeping silent on the matter protected an innocent, she would leave it lie. For now. It wasn’t right for someone of his skill and heart to be so shunned.
Her curiosity was still screaming for the full story too, though that was terribly selfish of her.
As they finished their breakfast, Fjell collected their bowls to wash. “Get yer belongings together,” he said. “We’ll head out as soon as yer ready.”
Nodding, Marsilia returned to the darkened bedroom. It took her a moment in the dim light to find her belt, bags, sword and quiver. She brought them back out to the table to be able to see while putting them on. When she had the belt situated and all her bags and belongings in place, she collected her bow from beside the fireplace. Gathering up the string, she leaned her weight on the bow to bend it and restring it.
As she slung the bow onto her shoulder, Fjell returned from his workroom. The blue tunic was covered now with shining chainmail that flashed as he moved. Heavily engraved guards were bound to his shoulders and elbows and segmented gauntlets covered his hands. A sheathed blade hung at his hip, the hilt gleaming with silver and gold and a meticulously engraved hammer-shape served as the pommel. An equally elaborate helm was tucked under his arm. He no longer looked the simple craftsman, but a knight from some great tale of valor.
Realizing that she was staring, Marsilia closed her mouth, but not before he saw her expression and gave her a half-smile in amusement. Approaching, he held out his hand and opened it, palm up, to reveal a sterling silver pendant upon a matching chain. On the pendant was a relief of a knotwork raven, much like the two above the fireplace.
“Is this what you were making?” she asked, picking it up to look over the design. “It’s beautiful.”
“Aye,” he said with a small smile of pride. “It’s yers.”
Marsilia looked back up at him in surprise. “What? No, I couldn’t possibly—”
“Aye, ye can and ye will,” he interrupted. Setting his helm aside, he took off his gauntlets and took the necklace back from her. “A gift for a gift, eh? Turn around.”
Flustered, she did as instructed and he draped the necklace around her. “I didn’t have time to give it real power,” he said. “Lift yer hair.” She complied and he continued, fastening it at the back of her neck. “But I was able to give it some. If the kerling hits ye with another curse, this will slow its progress, give us more time to counter it. There ye are.”
The full weight of the pendant settled around her neck and she lifted it to look it over again. “Thank you,” she said, laying the pendant back on her chest as she turned to face him again.
Fjell took a moment to appraise how it laid on her before nodding his approval. “If it makes ye feel better,” he said, putting his gauntlets back on, “it’s partially for me too. I’d rather not have to panic again like I did last night.”
Marsilia chuckled, shaking her head. “Well, you made a very fine healer’s assistant.”
“Aye?” he grinned, tucking his helmet under his arm. “I’ll keep that in mind for when I retire.” With a wink, he turned back to his workshop and motioned for her to follow.
As she fell in behind him, the fire in the living room died, snuffed out. They moved through the cavern, past his workbenches, and as they headed through a back tunnel, the forge went cold as well, plunging them into darkness.
She slowed, unable to see, but just as she was about to call out to him, remind him she was blind in the dark, the walls of the cave began to glow with ethereal blue light from hundreds of runes. They crossed over a shallow stream of spring water, came around the corner, and were faced with a stone wall. Five runes were drawn large upon it in a line up and down.
Fjell glanced back with a small smile of reassurance, eyes still glowing gold. “Are ye ready to enter the Fae Realm, Marsilia?”
“As I’ll ever be,” she answered, a nervous flutter settling in her stomach.
Reaching behind him, he took her hand and drew her forward. With her hand under his, he reached out and touched a rune on the wall. The wall shimmered, faltered, and then was simply gone. A glowing portal stood in its place and the white witch took in a sharp breath, turning her hand to grip his in a sudden bout of nerves.
“Yer alright,” he said, giving her hand a light squeeze, the metal of his gauntlets sharp against her unprotected hand. “Together.”
Taking a steadying breath, she nodded. “Together.”
The dwarf and the witch walked through the portal, hand in hand, into the Fae Realm.
Chapter 13
The world shifted, like stepping from solid ground to a moving boat as it slid by in the dark. Marsilia felt the tug as her foot moved through the portal, felt it pulling her along too quickly to move back. Her hand gripped tighter to Fjell’s, his steady presence seemed to be the only thing keeping her from getting swept under. Darkness surrounded them for a split second before the world resolved itself and the tugging stilled.
They stood in a great stone cavern, it’s length and breadth stretching beyond sight. Mighty stone pillars rose above into the dark every few hundred feet, each carved intricately with the knotwork beasts she had seen in Fjell’s home. Torches lit the way, held in the beast’s hands on the pillars, as hundreds of people went about their business.
No, not just ‘people’, Marsilia realized. Dwarves. Everyone in sight had the same glowing gold eyes as her companion, and an equally towering height. They went about their lives, unconcerned by the sudden appearance of two people in the middle of the hall. It must be such a common sight for them. A group of women moved past, talking excitedly amongst themselves; two men carried a long slab of marble between them as easily as if it were a wicker basket. A young child dashed around a pillar, giggling as another child gave chase.
Their dress was strange, much like Fjell’s. The men all wore similar loose pants tucked into boots, and tunics trimmed and emblazoned in knotwork motifs. The women wore more fitted tunics under long apron-style dresses that flared at the hips. While the men all sported beards of varying lengths, the women seemed to favor intricate braids in their hair. They all wore strands of beads - some only one or two, some more than a dozen. Silver and gold bracelets, armbands, circlets and earrings flashed in the firelight.
A rare few were dressed in armor, the gleam of their chainmail and polished helms outshining all the glittering jewelry the rest of their kin wore.
Marsilia took a deep, steadying breath and was greeted with the scents of fires, roasting meat and baking bread. There was something both wholesome and welcoming about the place, and yet, just under the surface weighed a tension she could not put her finger on. She glanced up at Fjell, her hand still tight in his. His face was set in indifference, utter calm, but she thought there was a tightness to his shoulders that hadn’t been there before.
Pulling his gaze from his kin, he looked back down at her and forced a small smile. “See? Not so bad. Stay close, eh? Don’t want ye getting lost in the crowds.”
The white witch nodded in reply and did not release his hand. A hint of a smile flickered across his face as he glanced down at their hands, but he did not try to release hers either. As they began to wade through the crowds, she clung close to his side. Everyone towered over her, and a few people began to glance at her in surprise. Marsilia was painfully aware of how her eyes did not glow, of how simple her clothes and accessories were, and of course, how small she was by comparison. Those who noticed stared at her like some strange novelty but none tried to stop them.
Deeper through the crowds, she realized something else. While any eye that landed on her was curious, just as many eyes were falling upon Fjell, and they were not kind. Disdain and contempt followed him like a wave of ill tidings. He held his head high, staring ahead, trudging through the bog of disgust without acknowledging it. She wasn’t sure if she’d have been able to do the same in his place, but she could now understand why he had never returned.
At last they came to a set of heavy stone doors flanked by two guards. The doors were three times the height of even the dwarves and wide enough for a half a dozen people to walk through shoulder to shoulder. Intricate carvings of knotwork dragons covered each half, eyes flashing with fire opals and scales laced with glittering gems in every color. The wings shone with enough inlaid gold to stagger the greatest human kingdom.
The guards were clad in chainmail and shining shoulderguards and helms much like what Fjell wore. Only their beards stuck out of the bottom to tell them apart - dark brown on the right and golden blonde on the left.
Fjell drew to a stop several yards before the doors and turned to her. His face was taut despite the calm facade he put forth and he gently pulled his hand free of hers to untie the silk bag on his belt.
“Do ye remember what I told ye of how to address the king?” he asked, handing the pouch to her. She nodded mutely and he laid a hand on her shoulder. “Ye’ll be fine, and I’ll be at yer back. Keep yer chin up; yer quest is worthy and ye have a good offering. Don’t let his crown intimidate ye, aye?”
Taking a deep breath, Marsilia let it out slowly and gave a single, sharp nod. “For Pa,” she said. “For my home.”
“For Eudon and yer fae woods,” he agreed.
Clasping the silk pouch at her stomach, she turned and approached the two guards, Fjell falling in behind her. The two guards watched her warily, stepping together to block the doors. Their gazes flitted to Fjell but returned quickly to her, either dismissing him or seeing that she was taking lead, she wasn’t certain.
“What business do you have with King Nibelung, human?” the one on the left asked. His accent was different than Fjell’s - there was still some of the same musical lilt that she had become accustomed to, but his words were more crisp, his tone more throaty.
Marsilia forced herself to raise her chin and square her shoulders. “I am on a quest to seek out the Mantles,” she answered, fighting back the flutter of nerves in her stomach. “I seek King Nibelung’s aid in speeding my journey along.”
“Yer name,” the guard on the right demanded, and his accent sound much more like Fjell’s. “And yer purpose in seeking the Mantles.”
“Marsilia,” she answered, trying not to let his gruff tone intimidate her. “A dark witch has taken to my woods and is leeching the magic from the fae there.” She gestured at the sword on her hip, not touching it. “I must get this blade blessed to defeat her.”
“Do you bring a tithe for our King?” the kinder of the two guards asked.
“Yes,” she said, beginning to open the drawstring on the pouch.
The gruff guard held up his hand for her to stop. “Wait here,” he said.
As he slipped through one of the doors, the kinder of the two guards watched him go then turned his gaze back to Fjell. “Been a while,” he said carefully. “Some rumored you dead.”
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br /> “Yer not so lucky,” Fjell answered dryly.
A wry smile cracked the guard’s face at the reply, but before he could say more the other guard returned.
“The king will see ye,” he said, holding the great stone door open with ease. As they moved to enter, he turned back to the hall beyond and announced them. “Yer majesty, Marsilia of the Mortal Realm and Fjell Viljalauss.”
She heard Fjell’s teeth grinding behind her, and caught both the look of offense from the blonde guardsman, and the cruel smirk of the one who’d announced them. Whatever that second name had been was clearly an insult. Still, Fjell did not falter, and continued to follow her without comment.
Beyond those great doors was another hall, though not nearly as enormous as the one they’d just come from. Two long stone tables ran side by side down its length with a clear aisle between them. At the end of the hall raised a dais with three ornate thrones set upon it, draped in fur. A fire danced happily in a round, low walled pit just before the dais.
The King lounged upon his center throne, the two to either side of him empty. While Fjell was tall and broad shouldered, he looked but a small child compared to the man who awaited them. Even lounging, Marsilia knew he must be more than seven feet tall when he stood. His garb was of similar cut to what she’d seen his people wear, but was so heavily embroidered with thread of gold as to only be able to catch glimpses of the crimson wool. Golden eyes watched them with calm curiosity from above a beard of grey-streaked auburn. A crown of thick woven gold bands sat upon his shaved head, laden with jewels.
The door shut behind them with an echoing boom and Marsilia jumped in spite of herself. The fire before the dais flickered with the door’s shutting, and the king’s golden eyes shone brighter across the room. Despite his casual posture upon the throne, there was a subtle menace that resonated through his great hall, as a dragon coiled and ready to rise to battle. A quiver passed through the witch’s heart and she took half a step back, bumping into Fjell, who remained steadfast against her weight, unmoving.
The Blessing of Equinox Page 8
