The Romance of Eowain

Chapter One, Scene One: Thirteen Weeks Later

Father grumbled through the rain. "I made a promise to the priestess once. She was a wild ban-drymyn hermit-sister of the mountain woods then. She told me I was to save your hand from marriage until the appointed time, but that you'd always hold your ancient right of choice. Whatever fate the ban-drymyn sister saw in you as a child, I don't know, but that was the geas, the obligation that came with you into this world. I had to do what was right, by the Gods."

"But I barely know the man, Father."

"You had the chance to meet with him."

"For a mere ten-day, Father. For three days of which, I was a hostage to this Cael the Viper fellow."

"He rescued you himself, amid a number of great troubles in his kingdom. The coelbreni and the drymyn favor him. He wrote you those letters, I know you favor those." He shrugged. "He seems a likely enough lad."

Beneath her cloak, the Lady Eithne of Dolgallu clutched the stained and crumpled packet of correspondence. Within were vellum sheets, marked with black coelbren runes on leathery white calfskin. She thought of the last one she'd received.

Spring must truly be here, for the first great caravan of the year has arrived today from the south. They fly the flags of a great Narician trading family, and come with goods from Sasana, Aukriath, Thradamír, Picari, and many other foreign lands besides.

Her horse stumbled over another rock in the rutted trail. Her hands went to the pommel to steady herself.

The steed recovered and settled once more into a less kidney-punching rhythm.

Not for the first time, she thought of home. She'd never seen such an event, a great caravan of Foreigners from distant lands. Her tiny village at the foot of the snow-capped mountain of Ydrys was remote, isolated.

Could it be seen from there?

She craned her neck to look east, but the trees were too thick. She couldn't even catch a glimpse of its snowy heights.

And what's my future to be, Great Ydrys? She turned forward again in the saddle and pursed her lips.

The mountain Ydrys had a fell reputation, it was true. But it was known that Ydrys the Giant watched the course of the stars and the Wanderers of the Night from his seat upon its summit. Her people still called upon his name as a great astrologer and diviner of old.

What it's always been, I conjure. She knew it wasn't her fate to remain among her secluded mountain people. She'd always known. But blessed by the Ancestors with good crops despite the rough highland countryside, her people were a tough, grim folk. Eithne missed them fiercely.

She clutched at the epistles beneath her cloak.

Three months ago, she hadn't even known of the existence of this Lord Eowain of the Donnghaile, now hedge-king of the Droma tribe.

That was when the first messengers began to arrive, seeking out marriage opportunities for then-Lord Eowain, the worthy candidate for a small tribal kingship.

She'd since visited briefly with him in person. Her family, some of his family, and the Drymyn Order of priests and priestesses favored their union. Most recently, they'd exchanged correspondence.

Which brings me to the matter of our own betrothal. My aunt is certain it will be all for the good, bringing an end to the feud between our families. My brother—indeed, all of us—look forward to the peace on our borders when we have the Cailech tribe wedged between the hammer and anvil of our two tribes. And my Lord-Drymyn seems to think our marriage is ordained by his wooden coelbreni and fated by the gods (though to what purpose, I cannot imagine).