Danilla chuckled and left the room, but in the end, she got her son to escort her around for the afternoon looking for the other Withlings.
Hastra sighed after Danilla left. There was no other news from Zelma or Howart She felt as weak as a kitten and as useless about the White Arrow as she had when she had been chained in a dark room in Withling's Watch after Corgren and Paugren killed all the other Withlings. The three of them had survived only for Eloch's will over the long centuries since then. Blood and screams surfaced from the past. Why remember that now? Distraction?
She fidgeted in her chair and rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. Eloch, help me. She stared at her cold cup of tea and felt as chilled as it was. She drummed her fingers again. Where was that elf?
Gweld appeared as if Hastra had rung a bell for him. He saluted respectfully. "Hastra, I didn't know you required my service. I only just received your missive."
"Thank you as ever, Gweld." Hastra motioned to a seat at the table. "It's Athson. Have you seen him since Limbreth left?"
Gweld sighed. "I've been busy with my new assignment, but the few times I've seen him in the barracks, he's been withdrawn. Why?" The elf's face displayed concern in the twitch of his eyebrows.
"He's been inconsolable about Limbreth. He's spent most of his time blaming himself." Hastra straightened her blouse. "But I need him learning rather than pouting or whatever it is he's fallen back into these last few days. We have trolls at the gates, and something must be done about the arrow."
The elf inhaled and exhaled slowly, laced his fingers together, and rested his hands on the table. "I see. So you think I should speak to him?"
She laid her hand atop his. "Please, would you? Have a drink with him, console him. He listens to you. Get him talking or something. He needs to use the bow, and something must be done with the arrow, as you well know."
Gweld pulled free of Hastra's hand and ran the fingers of one hand through his hair. "Well, I'll do what I can. Do you know where he is? Perhaps I can get him to take ownership of his old home like he should, and we can talk alone."
"That would be something. Perhaps he'll get it out of his system. We need him ready with the bow." She inspected her cold tea cup again. "Limbreth left too fast. She should have spoken to me." She shrugged. "These young people are so tightly wound." It left her dizzy and unable to focus when she needed to. "Honestly, Athson's mood has annoyed me to distraction." She offered a smile to the elf and patted his hand. "You've been so steady these last months. Anything you can do this last time would be helpful."
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Magdronu-as-Gweld sought out Athson in the barracks where he lay as if in some malaise. Well, he was, though it was a curse. He'd forgotten about his blessed sword. "Athson, what are you doing here? Aren't you preparing for the battle? Trolls are at the city gates."
Athson stirred. "Gweld, how have you been?"
"How have I been? There’s a war on, Athson. You're needed by all. That bow is needed." Magdronu-as-Gweld feigned a friendly grin. The bow was needed. But Hastra and elves would never have its use after tonight. Corgren would see the gates opened, and Athson would give Magdronu the Bow of Hart. Victory in a single night after years beyond count trapped in Eloch's curse. "Let's eat, and we'll have a long talk. Maybe some wine will cheer your spirits." He managed to beckon to Athson without bursting into laughter and rolling his eyes. The pitiful soul fell back into his dolorous ways so easily.
"I don't know." Athson exhaled a heavy sigh. "I guess, but I'm not really hungry." He grabbed his sword and shook his head as if suddenly waking. "This has been all wrong." He frowned and gazed at Gweld for a moment. "Yes, let's eat and talk."
Magdronu-as-Gweld clapped him on the shoulder. "That's the spirit. We'll eat and visit a tavern. Maybe we can talk quietly somewhere. Hey, what about your home? It's quiet. Why aren't you staying there?"
Athson slouched but kept his hand upon the sword pommel. "I honestly don't know. I should have settled my mother there. I've ignored her too much already. Hastra's kept her busy though. I escorted her around looking for Howart and Zelma all afternoon." He grimaced and ran a hand through his hair. "I'll have to apologize to her about not getting her into that house." He motioned toward the door. "Lead on." Magdronu-as-Gweld led Athson off to dinner and paid for it. Then they watched a few remaining foreign merchants gamble in a tavern along with their guardsmen until they latter started a brawl. They slipped out the back lest the city guard arrest them as part of it. They laughed at the fight, and Athson staggered with a bit more ale in his belly than usual. Magdronu reeled in Athson like a fish.
After a few more mugs at another tavern, Magdronu-as-Gweld slapped Athson's back. "How about we drop your gear at that home in the trees and have a talk?"
Athson shrugged and staggered to his feet. "Sure, let's get my pack and gear." He belched. "Sarneth took all my arrows after I almost burned someone else. You have any?"
Magdronu-as-Gweld guided Athson through the pipe smoke and songs toward the door. The oblivious fools sang when they should run. He grinned at Athson. "You planning to shoot tonight?"
"That bow must be good for something. Maybe a few stray shots across the bridge." He raised his hands uncertainly and frowned before he laughed. "Who cares which troll I feather!"
"Come on, let’s get what you have and settle you in the house. You'll feel better. We'll have some tea and talk." Magdronu-as-Gweld led the way. He certainly couldn't let Athson near the bridge. Not at the moment. Not with Corgren at work. "Wait, the barracks is here."
Athson paused and swayed on his feet. "Nah, I want to shoot some trolls. That'll get Limbreth's blood up." He frowned. "If she ever hears about it." He choked on a sob. "What did I do, Gweld? She was the best thing I had going."
Indeed, and Magdronu had planned her removal for months. "You're right, she won't hear about your drunken exploits. Let's just get your things and go to that empty home."
Athson slouched. "What difference does it make? They're gone too." He eyed Magdronu-as-Gweld. "It's just empty."
"Hey, I'm trying to cheer you up some. Let's see about getting it ready for your mother if you want her there." Magdronu-as-Gweld tugged on Athson's sleeve, and he followed with reluctant steps.
"I don't know. Hastra's expecting me sometime. I gotta do something about this arrow."
"Not tonight. Let's get you somewhere quiet and have a chat."
Athson gazed at the darkness surrounding them. "You're right, not tonight." He sighed and came to a stop.
Magdronu-as-Gweld sighed. Maybe he'd overdone it by plying Athson with so much ale. "Just come on, and we'll sit in the quiet for a while."
They trudged along the darkened streets, lights gleaming from doorways. Above, hushed voices and movement from the high-walks in the Auguron Oaks twirled onto the street like leaves. The wind rose into a sudden breeze and blew dust in their eyes. Athson crouched and swore at the dust.
Magdronu-as-Gweld lured Athson to the barracks, and he sobered a bit as they gathered his belongings. "Sarneth doesn't want you here anyway. Maybe a bit of a change for you and Hastra will help you figure out the arrow."
Athson fumbled with his belongings and almost handed Gweld the Bow of Hart. "Here, take this." He handed Gweld the makeshift standard.
Magdronu-as-Gweld took it. He'd almost given the bow freely. So close. He started to ask for the bow instead but shut his mouth. He'd have it soon regardless. "You ready?"
"Yeah, I think so." Athson followed Gweld back to the street, and they soon found an entry ramp to the walks in the trees. Athson stumbled and dawdled on the way onto the walks.
Magdronu-as-Gweld prodded him along. He might have to carry or push him. Whatever it took, he would have the Bow of Hart in the end.
At last, they arrived at the door. Athson searched his pockets for a key. "Don't have it."
Magdronu-as-Gweld sighed and reached around the forlorn remnants of a potted plant. "Here it is, remember?" He unlocked the door ca
rved with the woodland scene of a stag by a lake and painted well enough to send Athson off hunting if Magdronu didn't get him through the door fast.
Athson paused, and his voice caught on sudden words. "I haven't been here since I bought that dagger. This." He reached for his Rokan dagger. "Oh, Father, you should have left it in Corgren." His eyes narrowed. "Wonder how he survived."
"I don't know, but let's go on in and light a lamp." Magdronu-as-Gweld pushed Athson indoors.
"Hope there's not blood stains on the floor." Athson stumbled in and rummaged for a lamp.
"Sarneth had that cleaned up after they investigated." Magdronu-as-Gweld dropped Athson's pack by the door and laid the spear on the floor. He narrowed his gaze as Athson left the Bow of Hart lying across a chair. Just give it to me and this will be over. He hung his cloak on a peg by the door. "Here, give me your cloak."
Athson inspected the home and found no blood. The familiar rooms creaked beneath their feet.
Magdronu-as-Gweld cared nothing for it but feigned otherwise. "Nothing is out of place, and the furniture is still the same." Wooden chairs carved with care along with a table stood in the kitchen. Curtains of flowers or of waterfalls, all sewn by Cireena, still covered the shuttered windows. Nothing had changed. Just sit and talk while the tea brews. How he’d managed patience with Athson all these years Magdronu failed to fathom. Too many wasted years. Time to end the charade tonight. Now. "Let me start the water."
Elven homes in these oaks bore water into them with sets of screws that lifted water to troughs that flowed between homes. Water even turned the elevating screws. Magdronu-as-Gweld simply let fresh water into the tank over the sink and then filled a kettle festooned with a field of flowers. He faked lighting the stove with matches and really lit the belly of the burner with his touch. Perhaps he was impatient to brew the tea.
Meanwhile, Athson traipsed through the house and inspected further. He returned and sat in an upholstered chair of green fabric with his forehead resting in his palms. "They—they cleaned it all. It looks like they still live here except for the dust."
Magdronu-as-Gweld found tea in its usual spot and prepared the cups. "Athson, they're gone. Don't dig them up tonight. This is about taking your mind off your current troubles." He sat in a matching chair while the water heated. "What did Limbreth say when she left?"
The tale of Limbreth's harsh rebuke and lost trust spilled from Athson’s lips. When he finished relating the encounter, Magdronu-as-Gweld almost laughed out loud. What had this boy thought she would do with the truth? He resisted snorting in derision. Athson deserved Limbreth's reaction. His failure was born of the curse on his family, but it was still his choice.
Athson slouched in his chair, his drunken stupor wearing off. "I failed her and us. I guess I deserved that."
Magdronu-as-Gweld played his part while the water rose to a boil. "Look, you messed up, but so did she with the arrow. And a few other things along the journey. Why not send her a message and apologize? Maybe she'll realize you're no worse than she is after a month on the road and welcome your message." He spread his hands. "Can't hurt. Remind her that you're just being truthful like a Withling." The kettle whistled. Time to take his payment. Magdronu-as-Gweld strolled to the kitchen and poured water for the tea.
Athson's voice trailed him. "Maybe you're right. But there's still this invasion."
"Yes, and you need to figure out the arrow—Limbreth's failure. Do what has to be done for the prophecy, and then she'll see you as someone she can trust again. You'll be someone who can overcome her failures and your own." Magdronu-as-Gweld withdrew a vial from a hidden pocket in his breeches and poured several drops into Athson's cup.
"I don't know. What if her father makes her marry that—that—whoever he was? What if she finds someone else she fancies?" Athson slouched further in the chair.
It didn't matter after the next several minutes. Magdronu-as-Gweld smiled while Athson fretted in his chair, oblivious to his fate at the hands of his hidden enemy. Magdronu-as-Gweld leaned over the cup, blew magic into it, and spoke soft words. The cup flared briefly, and the brew steamed in the cup, prepared for Magdronu's final grasp of the Bow of Hart and certain victory.
"Athson have a little faith in Limbreth. She's not that flighty, just angry. She'll come around. You need to work harder at being a Withling and fulfilling this prophecy. We need you. It's what we traveled all this way to do. What we all sacrificed for in the snow, in the mountains, in that swamp. Do this, and she'll change her tune. She'll see that you've changed, grown, and open her arms."
Not a chance, but Magdronu-as-Gweld loved the act up to the very end. Just hand the bow over. He handed the cup to Athson, and his irritating ward of years took it without question.
Magdronu-as-Gweld offered a smile. Trust. He'd built it each day with Athson, no matter what he did wrong. All that patience paid off in this setting, in these minutes. He sipped his tea, a subtle prompt to his prey.
Athson blew on the tea and set it aside. "Look, about all that Withling stuff. I need more training. I don't hear Eloch like the others. I don't know what they—we—should do." He yawned.
Magdronu-as-Gweld inhaled and sighed. Don't fall asleep. Maybe he shouldn't have let Athson drink so much ale after all. "I don't know about all that. You have the bow for a reason, the arrow shouldn't be that much trouble as you all think. They blessed one. Maybe they should just bless another. After all, that wandering star is still in the sky, though it's grown fainter these last few weeks." He lifted his cup toward Athson. "Drink up while it's hot." He sipped his own.
Athson took several sips and swallowed. "I don't know if it's that easy."
Magdronu-as-Gweld waited in silence and sipped his own tea, and Athson followed his lead. How long? Soon. In mere moments, he would take the instruction, then he'd die in a heaving, frothing mess. And victory would be Magdronu's.
A yawn erupted from Athson, and his head lolled onto his shoulder. He jerked awake. "I don't feel so well."
"Drink some more tea. You probably had too much ale." Magdronu-as-Gweld drained his own cup.
Athson drank more and frowned. "I really don't feel well."
"Say, why don't you let me look at the bow awhile? Maybe I can give you some ideas about it." Magdronu-as-Gweld stared at Athson, waiting for his reaction. Was he under his suggestive control yet in the minutes before the poison killed him? "Just hand it to me, and if you feel bad, you can lie down for a while."
"I—I don't know if I should." Athson's head dipped again. He blinked and shook his head. "I really don't feel well." He clutched his stomach. "I feel sick."
Magdronu-as-Gweld stood and went to Athson. "Here, let me help you. The bow is just over on the table there. Just get it and let me see it. Then lie down." Do it. Stop being hardheaded.
Athson got unsteadily to his feet and struggled toward the table. He braced himself on the table as his gut seized him with the first death-pains. It passed. "You think I should? You need to see it?"
"Yes, you should. I'll figure something out while you rest."
Athson frowned a moment, then lifted the Bow of Hart. "Alright, then." He turned to Magdronu-as-Gweld, and his belly constricted again. He fell to his knees in pain. Confusion settled on his face. "You—you—why?"
Magdronu-as-Gweld extended his hand. "Just give me the bow, Athson, and it will all be well."
Athson's hands trembled. "Very well. Here you are." He extended the bow toward Magdronu-as-Gweld.
Magdronu's belly flared with the heat of victory mere steps away.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Ralda finished his work with the rangers along the bridge well after dusk. The rangers thanked him for his efforts the last few days, during which he'd lifted many pieces of the defenses into place along the bridge or the docked boats, where archers planned the defense of the city. Just this day, Sarneth had ordered the bridge gates closed and the span tightly guarded as trolls arrived in great numbers on the opposite bank. Rald
a stretched, releasing tension from his shoulders. He looked forward to cracking some ogre heads if the need arose.
Sarneth met the giant at the end of the bridge. "Thank you, Ralda. You've saved us a lot of time and effort. Will you be part of the vanguard here if it comes to it?"
With a flourish of his hands, Ralda answered, "Stand here, fight troll. Hastra need, I go with her." He tapped his chest. "I fight troll." He added with his hands that he still wanted to see his home, but he missed his brother and it wasn't the same. He rubbed his hands together and waved farewell to the elven captain for the evening. He paused. "Sarneth, where Hastra?" He needed to speak with the Withling about Gweld. A subject he'd put off for too long with all his work and her schedule. The White Arrow was a priority, but Gweld left him uneasy.
"At the inn, I should think. She's been working to discover what to do about that arrow." Sarneth left, his face tense as he observed the defenses.
Ralda retrieved his staff from where he'd laid it aside that morning and set out for the Broken Bow Inn. He strolled between patches of shadow and light along the streets. On the main streets, rangers marched or carried supplies. But on side streets, muffled voices drifted from homes in the trees or taverns and inns. Yet at other streets, silence followed Ralda like the grave, and that set him into a faster pace. He'd put this off for far too long.
"Ralda!" A dwarf's voice.
He turned toward the speaker behind him. Makwi jogged along the street, his weapons bristling from his armor. The broad man approached and saluted Ralda like a dwarf. "Where are you going? I haven't seen you all day. We should stick together if they get across the bridge, since we fight together well."
Ralda's hands went into motion. "Lift on bridge. Watch troll come." His hands added that the nasty creatures were ruining the forest, and he was ready for the fight. "We fight, you, me." He patted Makwi on the shoulder. "Me talk Hastra. Go to inn. Go too?" His hands invited Makwi to come along and talk. He turned and strode on. He couldn't wait any longer. He knew it, for some reason.
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