Sorrow and Song: Part 3 | Starlight Under Clouds

Chapter XII

"Cut your tongue, hathor." The nobleman spared the knife barely a glance, his face darkening. "I am lord of Edel Corguin, and I am not here to discuss past dealings or buy your wares. I pursue a man named Douglas of Kenhelm. I am told you received a stranger into your shop today?"

"I did," Eoth answered, slowly. When sudden things happened, one wished them to slow down, so that one could think of the right thing to do.

"What did he do here? Of what height was he, and what build?"

Like water through fingers, sudden things could not be slowed. Eoth shrugged, thinking of the young man's steady fingers and graceful wrist on the sword-hilts with a strange regret. "Tall, of my own height and a handsbreadth again. He wore a cloak and kept his face hidden, but he shook it back some testing the swords, and he had a lean form. Dark hair. He only wanted to buy a sword."

"And did you sell him one?"

"I did, my lord."

The lord of Edel Corguin addressed several vile names to Eoth Mardarveth, and his parentage and his offspring, of which the latter he had none, under his breath in a quick rage.

"My lord," said Eoth, "why do you pursue him?"

"Surely you," said the nobleman, in an irritated condescension, "have heard of the Ordenian evildoer who murdered a lord two winters since and afterwards escaped from prison."

"I have heard," answered Eoth.

"Perhaps, next time you welcome an Ordenian wretch beneath your door, you will consider before tendering him service."

He turned with a sweep of the cloak that caused the hanging spoons to strike against one another in a faint medley, and stormed out with his retinue close behind.

Eoth absently stroked the red enameled dagger, like one would stroke a hunting hound. It only made him start up after a long while of unhappy pondering that the nobleman had not been a nobleman when he visited the smithy four years ago; and that the lord killed by an Ordenian in the capital two snows ago had held the title of Edel Corguin.

~

Aílean shaded her eyes with one hand, blinking back the rain. The shallow overhang of the steelsmithy's roof was a welcome recourse from the thunderous torrent, but she could not stay in it and do her job at the same time.

When would Douglas come out?

Maybe they had already got wind here–

She squashed the thought. If the smith had tried to detain Douglas, he would have sent for the Watch or whatever the equivalent in Rodron, and she would have seen someone leave. That was what she was doing, after all.

Douglas needed a sword, and there, for once, Aílean could not stand in for him. So, at Derek's and her insistence, she had come along to stand watch, lest someone be following them and find Douglas alone in the shop. For all the good, of course, that watching would do in this weather – she'd barely have time to slip inside, let alone get him out of there.

The rain lulled for a moment, whispering on the storm-dark streets. Aílean retreated to the eaves, relying on her ears to tell her of any approach or departure.

He had to have a sword. She understood – understood that even Douglas did not want to travel under the threat of Wild Men with nothing but a staff, understood that even aside from Wild Men, confrontation was now a closer peril than ever. Understood that nothing but absolute necessity could have driven Douglas, who had not dared to show his face in the capital, to risk himself this way.