For a lingering moment, Cecily and Oril's eyes were locked in a formidable tug of wills; the victor of which could hardly have been deciphered. During that brief, but abrupt introduction, a hundred thoughts whirled through her mind, the most prominent being a sense of self-preservation at having now being unmasked as a "valuable" asset to Daire.
And to have been exposed before a huge gathering of courtiers – all of them standing quietly, facing her – only heightened her feeling of anxiety. Without a moment's hesitation, Ryelgar steered Cecily backward into the crowd, which scurried aside to clear a path for them until they reached the center of the chamber.
To her immediate left was an assembly of performers, playing their assorted instruments in a lively piece. To her right, a tall, incandescent fire flickered, wavering orange and yellow hues along the stone walls. But in the distance, at the farthest end of the hall, was an imposing and most grandiose sight to behold. For there, seated at an enormous table where they were finishing off a large supper, were the most immediate members of Oril's family, and they were flanked by a bustling team of armed footmen and butlers tending to their every whim.
Two young dwarves were in the midst of devouring a massive plateful of food, eating heartily, and certainly well on their way to becoming the bloated heaps that Cecily had come to know from her storybooks. Beside the duo, sat an elderly dwarf with a long gray beard, who was carefully cleaning underneath his fingernails with the sharp ends of his fork, while his lovely consort did not appear to be interested, or in fact, doing anything more than brooding to herself.
From where she was standing, her eyes caught the outline of a figure in the shadows behind Narvi, a fleeting glimpse of one of her dwarf-pets, his pudgy hand across his mouth, silently rejoicing at her evident discomfort. It seemed like a cruel creature.
"My masters," Ryelgar began with a bow, "will you be gracious enough to hear of this matter from Imrath?"
One of the young dwarves at the table belched and Cecily tried to hide her repulsion.
"Speak," Oril said not too unkindly, with a sweep of his large, coal-colored hand.
"Great Elders of Bráithre Delve," Cecily said respectfully. "I seek your council. Shall I speak before this company?"
Oril signaled almost indiscernibly to the nearest retainer, who himself signaled almost indiscernibly to all the rest of the dwarves around the room. Instantly, the crowds behind her receded. Within mere moments, the musicians ceased their songs and the servants quickly withdraw from the hall; the tall double doors thundered shut behind them. Even Hael, with all his strength, retreated to the shadows of the far corners of the hall.
"And, now?" Oril said with a smile.
"Do speak up, young one," Narvi said in a most charmed tone. "We are all indeed excited to hear the fresh gossip you bring us from Imrath."
There was a brief, but commanding pause.
"Why doesn't it say anything?" asked one of the gluttonous young dwarves, his eyelids drooping with boredom.
Everyone waited, but not a word escaped from her lips.
"Father," the young dwarf said with a measure of irritation. "This foolish creature wastes our time."
"Perhaps it's a mute!" yelled an elder dwarf at the table.
With that, the royal family whooped with laughter and began slapping their hands on the table. And in the increasing merriment of that moment, Narvi's dwarf-pet, peering out again from behind her chair, now allowed himself to burst into quite vocal and open mirth.
"Enough, enough," Oril commanded, and instantly order were restored to the room. "I bid you," he continued in a quiet, but soothing tone. "I dare say, I asked you to speak. You need not fear."
Compared to the dwarves of the Black Warrens, Oril's voice was like that of a cello, and so it was at that moment; and the tone which he spoke was otherworldly, for it sounded to her like nothing so much as the voice of a gentle father addressing his daughter.
Cecily found then that she was indeed able to speak and address the elder in return. "Most gracious elders of Bráithre Delve. I have the honor of representing Imrath here in your great kingdom," she began, reciting the words Daire imparted to her earlier. "The Niadh household looks to you to ensure my safety."
Oril narrowed his eyes, accentuating his bushy eyebrows all the more, and gradually sank back into his chair. "Ah! So you want something!" His own deduction made him grin. "You've come to barter on false assurances? I would pay a good price for your beast. We need not call it servitude, if it offends you. A gift, let's say."
"Cerin is not an object to be gifted, and if anyone dares touch him they will be dead before they hit the ground." Cecily looked right at Oril, suddenly tired of his nonsense. And angry. She had no idea where the anger came from, but it came spilling out of her. "That means you. Do not put Imrath to the test."
The elder clapped his hands with mirth. "And I would also pay to see such a battle, if I had any gold left." His hands dropped back down to his lap. "I have none, you see," he admitted bitterly. "The kingdom you hail from has pilfered it all, but my army will one day retrieve what is mine. I, Oril, Elder of the dwarves of Bráithre Delve, swear it. You may convey that to your precious kingdom."
Cecily shook her head and began to recite Daire's terms once more. "I can't do that. My business is now here in Bráithre Delve. I'm here to–"
"Stop," bade Oril. "Do you truly think I am concerned with why you are here?" he spat. "Did your All-Mighty, All-Knowing prince tell you I would be happy to receive you just because you are from Imrath? I wipe my arse with your courts and courtesies, girl. The last travelers who came here from your realm wound up with their organs on my dinner plate. Pray that I don't march my legion across the Moorlands to conquer them next."
Oril grimaced with laughter. The royal family hollered from behind the throne, while one of the young dwarves started picking his nose, clearly engrossed in his own ruminations.
Cecily could feel Cerin nuzzling her side. She placed a hand on his broad back, running idle fingers through his fur. For a moment, she had the urge to leave that wretched place. She looked over her shoulder at Hael, who obediently stared at his feet. The long braids of his beard and the gem-studded braids settled down his broad chest.
Finding little comfort in her new acquaintance, Cecily looked back toward the throne and gathered her nerve. Cerin stood his ground beside her, without looking down. She reminded herself that she was on a mission, and as unwise as it seemed, she was going to speak her piece. Slowly, but timidly, she slipped her hand into an inside pocket of her satchel. She fumbled with the ties, managing to pull free a heavy pouch. She tossed it to Oril's feet. He made no move to catch it.
There was silence while the dwarves' greedy eyes looked on as several small pieces of gold rolled out of the pouch's opening.
"As I've said, Imrath wishes to ensure my safety," Cecily explained with poise. "If you oblige, there will be much, much more."
Oril blinked his bloodshot eyes, pretending to give weight to her words, and then shook with laughter – uncontrollable laughter that made him knock over his goblet and cry real tears. His jolliness spread like a contagion, first to Narvi, then to the table of dwarves, and finally to their filthy offspring.
"You came all this way to ask me for safety?" Oril chortled. "I must refuse. Did you not realize the risks you take? Heed me; it is an imprudent request." He choked on his laughter, then spat a wad of mucus toward her feet. "All these years Imrath has played with fire and now it has burned them."
"And why haven't you burned me?" she blurted out before she could think. "There must be a reason why I'm still alive. Otherwise, you would have killed me yourself."
"Stupid, ungrateful creature," the elder dwarf said, rising from his seat at the table. "Your people need us more than we need them! If it were the other way around, you would take from us and think nothing of it."
"Norri," Oril hissed over his shoulder.
"You are bound to us by a shackle you cannot break. Wait until the iron stops and see whether you need us or not."
"Enough!"
A wave of shivers swept down Cecily's spine. What had she just heard? Was it all just the raving of a dwarf with too much wine in his belly? Or was there a darker intention behind Oril keeping her alive?
Cecily didn't have much time to think, as the elder rose to his feet and slowly stepped away from his throne to face her, then he seized her hands, turning her palms up. "We are warriors. Our hands are rough and blistered. Our fingernails are ragged. Here, I cannot keep you safe. You must earn your hands." He went on. "And they will not come willingly."
Cecily nodded, understanding. "I know that I'm a stranger here. I am not a warrior, but I will learn."
"Holding a weapon does not make you a warrior," Oril said. "Think of the blood shed by my ancestors as they faced tremendous trials and died for a cause – a belief. They were proud to hail from Bráithre Delve and not because they were held here against their will."
His words made her angry. They seemed like an accusation. Squashing her desire to lash out, she placed her hands on her hips. "You think I'm here to deceive you? I assure you I'm not!"
"Good. I don't like deception." Oril said hotly. "The only reason you still live is because you faced a Veil and survived."
"I barely survived!" Cecily said, embarrassed that Oril had seen the fierce temper she fought to keep banked.
There was a looming and vacuous silence in the hall. For a time, she stood still with fear, realizing that she was a lost-looking girl with an untidy, sweaty patch of hair sticking to her forehead, facing a tyrant who was in a class of his own.
He stared at her; the tip of his tongue wedged between his teeth in tense expectation. Then, suddenly, he laughed.
"This is what Imrath sends to me!" he said, gathering himself. "Very well, you are afraid, and perhaps rightfully so. I cannot guarantee your safety, but I can guarantee this: a dwarf will always stand with you, side by side. And if you die, we die."
Cecily held her breath. She had no choice but to believe him. "We will stand together," she said quietly.
"Shall I provide escort to the Keep, my lord?" Ryelgar said, moving forward to place a hand on Cecily's forearm. "They are expecting an apprentice."
"No," Oril said, preceding them all by several paces. "Allow me." Even with his short legs, she was nearly running to keep up with the elder's purposeful strides. By her side, Cerin trotted along courteously, moving with the grace of a cat – a cat the size of a pony.
"The Elder!" shouted the guards in the adjoining second chamber, as both doors swung open wide. Oril proceeded across the room, not acknowledging the bows and curtsies of the servants, who were awaiting further instructions there, nor heeding their murmurs of respectful address.
They swept through the length of the vast, seemingly never-ending corridors, past scattered groups of courtiers, all of whom bowed, curtsied to Oril as he walked by. From there they marched into another chamber, where metal doors flew open as though by themselves, and through a series of several more tunnels.
Cecily was growing out of breath as Oril led her on a brusque chase. Behind her, Ryelgar and Hael were engaged in a whispered discussion as they shuffled – yes, shuffled was the right word – not too far behind. She kept up as best she could, even breaking out into a light sweat.
Now – bolting past a throng of dwarves in armor who snapped to most respectful attention and lustily cried out, "The Elder!" – they reached a dark chamber, which, to Cecily's horror, seemed to be Oril's destination.
When they entered, everything was silent and empty: no one was present and the room had been stripped entirely bare. Not only was the room unoccupied, but it was cold.
Looking back at Cecily with a baleful expression in his eyes, Oril gave a casual flick of his head toward a metal door at the other end of the chamber.
Cerin leaned heavily against Cecily's hip, coyly making eyes at her. She was grateful for his warmth, though she wasn't shivering because of the biting cold, or the crunch of mud freezing under her boots. Rather, it was due to a sudden wave of trepidation and fear.
Heeding Oril's suggestion, Cecily took a tentative step toward the door and looked back at Hael who was leaning on his sword.
"Go on, Raven of Imrath." Hael smiled, and she recognized silver motif that inlaid the dwarf's teeth. "I will be along."
Cecily nodded and softly patted Cerin's back as they went to the door. She stood with one hand on its cold surface; the other grasping the stony frame as if the door were a hole she was trying not to fall though.
She looked around once more. "And you'll guarantee my safety?"
"For as long as you are here," Oril said. "But you will not venture beyond our walls. That is our agreement."
Nodding, she took a deep breath, stepped across the threshold, and closed the door carefully behind her and Cerin. She closed her eyes for a moment, steading herself. Cecily felt a hum inside her. There was something new tingling through her veins, but she couldn't tell what. She began to breathe again – the rapid breath of fearful anticipation. Had she really threatened an elder? Horror filled her. Where had that anger come from?
When she opened her eyes again she felt a new strength she had never had before. And as she stepped away from the entrance, she found herself face-to-face with a young, plainly dressed dwarf with stunning yellow eyes that nearly glowed in the dark.
"Apprentice?" its voice was like a cold wind and as piercing as a dagger.
She nodded, but before she could say a word, it quickly handed her a scroll. "I bring you word from our masters," he said, beckoning them farther inside. "Come this way."
Cecily and Cerin followed at a distance until they passed through a tight hole which opened to a small cavern. The dwarf got busy there, starting a fire in the hearth, and lighting lanterns.
Cecily found a flat boulder and sat, straightening out the scroll to reveal a document written in a strange language. The wolf went over to her, laid his chin on her knee and stared at her with a completely lovelorn expression. She reached over, absentmindedly stroking his shiny black fur, all while gazing at the scroll.
"I can't read this," she said to the dwarf.
"Pity. Those are your tasks," he explained, shrugging.
Cecily looked at Cerin and then at the dwarf.
"What's your name?" she asked curiously.
The dwarf looked at her, standing tall. "My name is Kalin of the Ilar Clan," he said proudly.
Uncertain of how to respond to such an introduction, Cecily was relieved when Kalin demanded her attention once more.
"You will attend to the bellows and cut charcoal for the forge." He then paused for several moments in reflection and continued. "When you're finished, you will be at our master's elbows during all other work, shadowing every move. They have much to teach, you have much to learn. We all have a commitment to Imrath."
The dwarf's yellow eyes locked onto her. "We start tomorrow," Kalin said.
"Until tomorrow, then. Thank you, Kalin" Cecily replied with a nod as the dwarf withdrew from the cavern.
As Cerin settled in, Cecily opened her satchel and removed a piece of parchment paper, ink bottle and a quill. Then dipping the tip of the quill into the ink bottle, she wrote with a steady hand:
Muive –
I am writing you this letter to say that I have not abandoned you. I have not abandoned you, no matter where I live.
Cecily stifled a sob, thinking of how alone Muive was with her fate. She wiped a tear away, trying not to smear the ink on the page.
You were right, I have never been in love, but I feel as though love has compelled me to act so rashly. I cannot arrange my thoughts. There is so much to tell you and so little time to write. Just know this: I'm alive.
Yrs,
Cecily
After finishing the letter, she read it once more and then folded it carefully, holding it over her heart. Not knowing how to send it, she left it on the floor, thinking of asking Kalin the next morning.
When she finally rose from the boulder, Cerin walked her heels. Very well-trained, and to be honest, just the kind of company Cecily needed after the strange ending of her day. She strode over to the corner of the cave and curled up beside the smoothest wall. The wolf snorted, causing a gust of hot air rush past her face. She touched the wolf's muzzle gently, brushing the coarse fur, and then rubbed his ears.
Aren't you handsome? she thought, rubbing his head. Cerin stuck his nose by her ear and licked her once before plopping his belly close to her side. She loved how completely honest and simple the animal's affection was.
She smiled and draped an arm around him.
Sometime during the night when she rolled over, the beast was gone. How poetic – she'd been deserted by yet another man.
Annoyed, she glanced over at her letter to Muive beside her satchel, and paused. Her heart stopped. She spotted an envelope and a piece of ribbon that donned her name in someone else's handwriting. Rising, Cecily came to find a letter – no, two letters – stamped with the royal seal of Alcove. She held both gently, afraid they might disappear. She noticed the second letter was addressed by a different hand.
It was some time before she had the courage to break the seal, and her heart throbbed rapidly as she did so.
C –
I have to say that your letter came as a great shock. Although I am angry at you for leaving me, I am fearful, very fearful – perhaps more fearful than you are. I must be brief as I have very little time to write what needs to be written.
My brother is betrothed to an idea. He is a powerful man – more powerful than you could ever conceive, and he wishes to combine his power with something darker. He will have me marry Lord Edras of the Drakaene, for he is a sorcerer with power akin to his own.
I am not boasting when I say that many men have asked for me, but no one has ever frightened me to this extent.
I will write soon, more fully, if possible. You need not respond.
M
As Cecily read the letter, she was confused by the part that said she need not respond. After reading it carefully for a second time, she returned it to its envelope and put it away in her satchel. And then there was the second letter. The handwriting was masculine, strong and spare. No flourishes.
Eagerly awaiting the moment we will meet.
The note was unsigned.
Eagerly. The word sent a tingle down her spine.