“Well?” demanded Jeirran eagerly.
Aritane seemed oblivious to Keisyl’s dubious gaze and Jeirran’s question alike.
The latch of the door lifted with a sudden snap.
“May I enter your home?” The figure on the threshold was hidden in a long dark cloak, hood drawn up and face shadowed. His words were harshly accented but fluent in the Mountain tongue.
Aritane sprang to her feet. “You are most welcome,” she said hastily, smoothing the front of her gown.
The stranger entered and lifted his hood back to reveal a long, angular face, at once similar to those facing him and yet outlandish, dominated by eyes green as grass and penetrating in their intensity. His hair was barely light enough to be called blond, more brown than golden, but it framed his face with the same line as Keisyl’s and had much the wiry texture of Jeirran’s. “Aritane!” Her name was a caress on his lips. He caught up her hands, dropping a light kiss on one palm.
She caught her breath, momentarily at a loss.
“My sister is mistress of this house,” Keisyl’s words sounded harsh and he coughed. “I am here to welcome you in her stead,” he concluded with a forced smile and milder tones.
The newcomer bowed low. “I am honored to be received here.”
Jeirran rubbed his hands briskly together. “Have you traveled far? Let me take your cloak. Can I offer you some refreshment?”
A faint smile lit the stranger’s eyes. “It has been a long journey, all in all. I would welcome a drink.” He unpinned the brooch securing his voluminous cloak, black as the shadows outside. Keisyl stepped forward to take it, eyes wary. Beneath the cloak, the visitor was dressed in black leather, ornamented with silver studs on the outer seams of close-cut trews and patterned around the shoulders of a buckled jerkin. A gold gorget protected his throat, and from the tight stiffness of the leather Keisyl guessed metal plates lay beneath the forearms and breast of the garment. The cloak, dark as it was, would have passed anywhere between the mountains and the sea but this bellicose livery was like nothing he had ever seen.
Aritane was busy at a cupboard by the half-circle of chairs. She turned with a tray bearing a crystal flask and small gilded glasses brilliant in the lamplight. As she saw her visitor uncloaked her hands shook for an instant, the glasses ringing like tiny bells. “Please, sit and take your ease.” She poured tiny measures of clear spirit, her hands steady now as a sharp scent of fruit filled the air. “Eresken, this is Jeirran, and Keisyl, the brother of his wife.”
Eresken lifted his glass to all in mute salute before sipping at it. ‘This is very fine,” he said admiringly.
“The women make it.” Jeirran was recovering his bullishness. “My Eirys flavors hers with cloudberries.”
“I must compliment her on her skills,” Eresken said smoothly.
Keisyl did not sit. “What is it that you offer in return for her hospitality?”
“I admire a man protective of his household’s interests,” nodded Eresken. He looked at Jeirran, green eyes unblinking. “I came to assist in whatever way I might. How best can I serve you?”
“We are still discussing how to proceed.” Jeirran chewed at his beard.
“The Solstice sun will shed light on the question, when it stirs the bones of the soke,” added Aritane.
“And we will abide by that counsel.” Keisyl looked to the others for agreement, mollified to see them nod.
The newcomer stared steadily at Jeirran. “We are both threatened by those sprung from Tormalin. We both wish to hold those lands we have right to, without fear or threat. We have shared blood to bind us to each other.”
“Where exactly have you come from?” Keisyl asked, unnerved by the trusting way Aritane gazed at the man and the fatuous look of satisfaction driving the scowl from Jeirran’s brow.
Eresken turned his full attention to Keisyl. “From islands in the far ocean, many days’ sail from the farthest east. My people left these shores many generations past. We have bided our time against the day of our return for countless years.”
“Then you are indeed Alyatimm?” Keisyl swallowed hard.
“We call ourselves Elietimm,” Eresken smiled. “Many generations since, perhaps our forefathers said Alyatimm, but what does that signify?”
Keisyl felt there was something important eluding him. He shook his head as Aritane proffered the dew flask. Alcohol after a weary day and a hot bath must be blunting his wits.
“We can raise a good-sized band from the sokes hereabouts.” Jeirran was circling the hearth, all eagerness. “Why wait? We can clear out those stinking huts and hovels from the valley bottom. That will bring more men to our standard. Working together, we can take back the mines the muddy-feet have stolen, let every man who joins us claim a share to add toJüs patrimony!”
“And the lowlanders will send up a double militia company to fight us for them before spit can dry.” A massive yawn interrupted Keisyl, tiredness pressing down on him.
“So we send their horses back with corpses strapped to the saddle bow!” Jeirran poured himself another drink.
“There are advantages to letting your enemy set events in motion and pacing your moves to his,” said Eresken thoughtfully. “We must go through the detail of your plans, to see where I can assist.”
Keisyl struggled with another yawn. “Just what assistance are you offering?”
“I have commanded troops, I have fought to defend my lands and my family,” Eresken replied with a smile.
Keisyl opened his mouth to ask against whom, but profound disinterest flooded through him. “I’m going to bed,” he said thickly.
Eresken stood to bow to him. Keisyl shook his head, bemused as he unlocked the door, and then trudged wearily up the stairs.
“You can get the lay of the land while I gather men together.” Jeirran was pacing around the room again. “And you can contact your people in the east. Yes, a double-pronged attack would be best. We’ll raise a beacon here to carry light the length of the mountains, all the way to the ocean! That’ll give every thieving lowlander notice to quit our lands!”
Eresken resumed his seat and took Aritane’s hands. “Have you spoken to those friends of yours? Did you use the incantation I taught you?”
“I contacted Cleris and Bryn,” Aritane smiled shyly. “I taught Bryn the charm and Cleris tried to eavesdrop as I sought him. She couldn’t find either of us.”
“I told you it would work.” Eresken tightened his grip. “Do they see the wisdom of claiming rights in their own skills?”
“Oh yes,” Aritane nodded vehemently. “And there will be others. Cleris knows several Sheltya in the Middle Ranges treated with courtesy scant enough to be insult. As for Bryn,” Aritane floundered a little, “he has friends who have been rebuked for affection and removed from such intimacy, just as—”
“Just as he had you stolen away from him.” Eresken picked up her trailing words with a fond smile. “I will try not to be too jealous of him, my prize.” He lifted Aritane’s hand to kiss her palm once again. She colored fiercely and glanced at Jeirran but he was still circling the fire, debating the best prospects for battle with himself.
“We must curb his enthusiasm for bloodshed until we have enough men to make a real army.” Eresken gazed intently at Aritane, his eyes unblinking as a hawk. “We need Sheltya as perceptive as you. Once we have power to back physical force, I will make you queen of this land, my heart’s delight. None of your kin need walk in fear of the lowlanders ever again!”
“And what of your kin, your home?” Aritane struggled for words, her voice little more than a whisper.
“Home is where the heart is.” Eresken brushed a kiss against Aritane’s cheek as he stood up. She looked up at him, mouth half open.
“What do you say to that?” Jeirran halted, bold confidence in his stance and expression.