He heaved a great sigh. 'Still, that's his problem. I just want to go home to Pered and lock the door till the turn of the year.'
That was a more cheerful prospect. 'Will we be home for Solstice? I've lost count of the days.'
Shiv smiled. 'Yes — what shall we do to celebrate? How about a trip to one of the gaming-houses in Relshaz?'
I was about to laugh but the wizard called Casuel popped up through a hatch, looking all ways like a startled rabbit.
'Shivvalan, there you are! Quickly, we need your help.'
Several other wizards appeared and we rose to our feet. I watched, open-mouthed, as a massive wave came sweeping across the ocean at us. Enchantment wove a shining emerald curtain around the ship; we rode the huge swell like a floating seabird and my heart stopped trying to hammer its way through my ribs. The wizards all watched for a moment then returned to whatever they had been doing, their matter-of-fact attitudes taking my breath away.
'You really should keep yourself ready for the Archmage's instructions, Shivvalan,' Casuel reprimanded in a lofty tone which would have had me planning to stitch a fish into his mattress if I'd had to spend any time with him.
'You forget, Gas, I'm Otrick's pupil.' Shiv gave Casuel a charming smile which seemed to annoy him out of all proportion. He snorted but noticed Usara emerging on deck and went scurrying off to hover attentively round him. Shiv shook his head and I caught him flicking his fingers after Casuel in that peculiarly Caladhrian gesture of disdain as we sat ourselves down again.
'You two don't get on, I take it?' Ryshad had watched this little exchange with amusement.
'No, we don't.' Shiv shook his head with a rueful smile and reached for the ale. 'Well, he's not the most likeable type in the world, but it is partly my fault.'
Shiv's faint air of shame was intriguing. 'How so?' I asked.
Shiv shrugged for a long moment before deciding to answer. 'It was a couple of years back, at Solstice. I'd had a bit too much to drink and I had one of those ideas which seem so good until you sober up.'
Ryshad and I both agreed mock-solemnly and Shiv laughed.
'The thing is, no one had ever seen Cas with a girl, he's always been very reserved and it occurred to me that he might be — er — of my persuasion. I'd happened to hear his family are pretty Rationalist in their thinking and you know what they're like—'
'If nature intended men to lay with men, why have women at all and so on and so forth.' Ryshad nodded.
I gaped at Shiv. 'You made a pass at him?'
'No I did not!' Shiv retorted indignantly. 'Pered and I don't stray. All I did was offer to introduce him to a friend of Pered's who was staying with us for the festival…'
'But what's-his-name took this as a calculated slur on his manhood?' Ryshad hazarded a guess, grinning broadly.
'He took a swing at me!' Shiv admitted ruefully. 'He missed — but I didn't and, what with one thing and another, it all got a bit out of hand.'
I laughed and shook my head. 'You idiot!'
'Look!' Ryshad pointed back in the direction of the distant islands. An ash-filled plume of smoke was climbing high into the uppermost skies. The sight dragged us brutally back to the present.
'I'd better go,' Shiv muttered and slipped away.
'I'd say Planir and the others have given Ice-man something to keep him busy for a while,' I joked shakily.
Ryshad nodded, his expression strained. 'It won't stop him though. I reckon Messire D'Olbriot will have the look-outs watching for black ships on the Spring Equinox winds.'
I shivered. When Ryshad opened his arms to me, I leaned into his embrace. I rested my face on the warm, dry wool of his jerkin and shut my eyes, relaxing for the first time since before Inglis. He tightened his arms around me, and buried his face in my hair with a long breath. It was the most natural thing in the world to raise my face to his kiss and then we simply sat there, taking what comfort we could from each other as the ship soared over the seas towards home.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Taken from:
Travels in the Unmapped Lands of Einarinn
BY
Marris Dohalle
The Number Song of the Forest Folk
That the Forest Folk are an ancient race is clear from this song. It is used to teach children the words once used for counting; marmol, edril and so on, now meaningless in themselves as the language has changed over the generations.
One is the Sun, soaring in the height,
Marmol, the hearth-circle me all share.
Two are the moons in their dance of might,
Edril, their web woven in the air.
Three races share mountain, plain and wood,
Semil, on all is the sun's face warm.
Four are the winds, bring they ill or good,
Dexil, the life-breath of calm or storm.
Five are the fingers for harp and bow,
Wrem are the days of a minstrel's wake.
Six are the rivers that foil the foe,
Tedren, when hoofbeats the greenwood shake.
Seven, the Wise Ones the windrose spin,
Fathen, the empty, the seat of fears.
Eight are the seasons, each one begin,
Adren, new wood on the Tree of Years.
Nine are the Holy, the Three of Three,
Parlen, the fate-sticks the foolish mock.
Ten are the fingers of weapons free,
Vrek, double handclasp of friendship's lock.
Much of the original meaning of this ancient rhyme has been lost as the Forest Folk have only an oral tradition of history, and that varies from clan to clan, each concentrating primarily on its own members. Concepts once familiar become blurred with repetition and changing circumstance. Forest Folk are not troubled by this, seeing history as an ever-changing, ever-spreading framework for life, rooted in creation and expanding with each new season — the Tree of Years, in fact.
Spreading and dividing is seen as healthy and natural; family groups travel the vast reaches of the Great Forest, joining together at some seasons, separating at others. Bonds are rarely permanent and it is entirely acceptable for family members to leave their own kin for a season or more, travelling with another group or leaving the Forest altogether. It is this tradition that keeps Forest Folk minstrels a familiar sight on so many roads, combining their incorrigible wanderlust with the race's love of music, which stems from their reliance on song and epic poetry in place of a written history.
Given the abundance of the Great Forest, the Folk are able to supply all their needs easily, sharing without conflict between themselves. Accordingly, this results in a lack of understanding of more formal boundaries and concepts of ownership. For similar reasons, Forest Folk are rarely proficient in physical combat, concentrating on those skills of eye and hand needed for hunting in a wildwood rather than for direct confrontation over land or resources. However, the incautious traveller leaving the highroads through the Great Forest risks inadvertently stopping an arrow tipped with deadly venom if he blunders into a chase.
The Forest Folk are largely a tolerant people, living close to nature. Harmony — between races, between individuals and of
course, in music — is highly prized. When they need to decide any question of dominance or authority among themselves, this is usually done in a contest of poetry or song. It is considered far more damaging to humiliate an opponent than to actually kill him. However, when faced with dire peril, the Forest Folk display a doughty determination few races, ancient or modern, can equal.