“Where is Nyphron now?”
Petragar looked at Vertumus, who replied on his behalf. “We believe he has gone south to hide among the Rhunes.”
Petragar whispered once more, and Vertumus spoke up. “Certainly these unpleasant matters can wait until another day. It’s late, and you’ve traveled a long way. You must be tired.”
“I’d greatly appreciate a bath.” The grit from traveling was horrible. Twice she had ordered Thym to stop at clear mountain pools so that she could clean up. She had used the Art to turn each into a luxurious hot spa, but it had been two days since the last one.
“Of course. I’ll have one prepared immediately. Afterward, we will feast in your honor.” Vertumus looked over Arion’s shoulder, and at the snap of his fingers, a soldier ran off. “Commander Petragar insists that you occupy his quarters while you are here. I’ll have your bags brought up and the bed turned.”
“I don’t know that a feast is necessary, and I only have the one bag,” she said.
The two seemed a bit relieved, relaxing slightly.
They don’t like Miralyith.
“Anyway, I can carry my bag, unless…” She looked out the western windows. “My room isn’t at the top of that tower, is it?”
“Of course not,” Vertumus said. “Elysan, escort Her Eminence to the commander’s chambers.”
Arion was nearly out the door when Vertumus asked, “Will you be staying long?”
She paused and shook her head. “I expect I’ll be leaving in search of Nyphron in the morning.”
“In the morning?” Vertumus’s brows rose. “So soon? But we have no idea where Nyphron and his Galantians are.”
She smiled. Arion rarely dealt with non-Miralyith, and those she did speak to were well aware of their capabilities. Out on the frontier all they had was rumors, and she could imagine the sort of stories told after the spectacle of Zephyron’s death. “Did he leave anything personal behind?”
Vertumus glanced at Petragar, then said, “Well, yes. Most of his things are still in his room.”
“And does he have hair?”
“Nyphron? Hair? Oh, yes, long and blond. But I don’t see—”
“Well, then.” Arion clapped her hands together as a sign of problem-solved. “If he’s left any behind in a brush or on a pillow, I’ll have no trouble finding him.”
“Oh,” Vertumus said. “Then I’ll see that Nyphron’s quarters are scoured for strands. But we, ah…we expected you’d be staying longer than—”
“No reason to delay. Thym tells me he knows nothing of the Rhune villages, so I’ll be continuing without him,” Arion went on, her weariness making her curt. “He’ll be staying here. I assume that’s all right.”
They both nodded, and Vertumus said, “He usually stays here or in one of the other outposts in the summers.”
“Good. Also, I’ll need you to keep and care for the horse I brought with me.”
“You won’t be taking it?”
“No.”
The two looked at each other, puzzled. “But you might be several days on the road. You’ll need supplies and—”
“In an unpleasant rage on the way here, I nearly obliterated the poor beast. I ended up rerouting a river instead. So no, for the good of the animal, my own safety, and the protection of nature itself, I won’t have anything more to do with horses.”
At her raised voice, Petragar took a step back. Vertumus remained frozen, staring at her; he didn’t look to be breathing.
Petragar elbowed his servant.
“As…as you wish, Your Eminence,” Vertumus managed to choke out.
The commander whispered to his assistant, who nodded and then said, “We will, of course, provide you with whatever you need, but…” He bit his lip. “Exactly how many soldiers should we have prepared for the morning?”
“Soldiers?”
“Yes. How many do you think you’ll need to subdue Nyphron and his Galantians? Will fifty be enough? Would you prefer more?”
Now was her turn to be puzzled. “Why in Ferrol’s name would I need soldiers?”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The Lost One
When I was born, the name Moya had no meaning or significance in the Rhunic, Dherg, or Fhrey languages. It does now. And in all three it means the same thing—brave and beautiful.
—THE BOOK OF BRIN
The people of Dahl Rhen had gone without drawing water for as long as they could. Once the Fhrey had settled next to the well, no one was willing to go near it except Raithe, and Persephone refused to make him the village water boy. The women decided to go together, hoping there was safety in numbers, and a herd of women would be less likely to spark a problem than a troop of men. Tense husbands and sons watched from doorways as their wives and mothers gathered all the containers they could carry.
Persephone led the expedition since it had been her idea. All told, they had more than twenty women, each laden with poles and gourds. Tressa was notably absent. No one from the lodge had ventured out, and Persephone wondered what they were drinking in there.
The former chieftain’s wife lined everyone up single-file along the outer wall in front of Bergin the Brewer’s row of aging clay jugs. She offered words of encouragement, telling them to be calm and quiet. They were to fill their containers and then head back the way they had come. Delwin, Tope, Cobb, Gelston, and Gifford stood alongside Bergin, watching. Each looked about as relaxed as a turtle without a shell.
“You be careful,” Delwin told Sarah. “And if there’s trouble, you drop that pole and run back to me as fast as you can. You understand?”
Persephone wondered what Delwin, or any of the men, thought could be done if trouble arose. Raithe was the only one capable of standing up to the Fhrey, and even he didn’t stand a chance against so many. Not that there were nine at the well. Each day a few of them left the dahl and went into the forest. No one knew where they went or why, but she took advantage of the daily excursions when planning the “well raid,” timing it for when the fewest Fhrey would be present.
Brin had been one of the first to volunteer to haul water, but her parents had refused.
“If it wasn’t for the good of the dahl, do you think I would be going?” Sarah asked her. “This is dangerous. We have no idea what they might do.” Sarah was trembling, and Delwin gave his wife a long, tight hug.
Persephone, Moya, and Sarah led the column across the byway on the far side of the lodge. They passed the newly turned black soil of the Killians’ garden, where green beans were already sprouting. Then they moved past a pile of green wood Viv and Bruce Baker’s boys had stacked. As they neared the lodge and the well, Persephone saw Raithe and Malcolm not far from Sarah’s roundhouse, watching the procession.
The Fhrey watched as well.
There were only three in their camp near the well, and Persephone was disappointed that neither Nyphron nor Grygor was among them. She had talked to those two before and wasn’t sure if any of the others knew Rhunic. Persephone spoke Fhrey, but she wasn’t confident in her ability. Knowing their language was a requirement of all chieftains because the Fhrey held meetings to review treaties and discuss grievances. Reglan had learned it from his father, and she learned the vernacular when Reglan had taught their son. Konniger didn’t realize it yet, but he was going to have to learn the language from her.