Black Wolf, Silver Fox

Chapter Two "Eahn"

Chapter Two

"Eahn"T

he sun was hot for spring, but Eahn knew he could manage. He had just two more rows to sow before turning his attention to butchering a hog. His wife could make a grand dinner from it this evening and days to come if he kept the predators from the larder. He paused in his sowing to wipe his brow.

Three men on horseback topped a distant hill to be silhouetted by the morning sun. Eahn frowned, sensing that these were no ordinary guests. There was a feel about them that was wholly familiar, but he could not remember just what it was. Scratching his chin, he watched them as they approached.

When they were close enough for Eahn to see the sunlight flash off their golden hair, he took precautionary measures. His old sword, lovingly cleaned and oiled, was hidden nearby in the barn. He made way to get it and did not feel better until it was in hand. Then, he leaned casually against the barn door, sword tip to earth, and chewed a bit of grass.

When they were near enough to make out their faces, they reigned their horses in. One put his hand up, palm out, in a gesture of peace.

"Well," Eahn spat, "you're here. Now what do you want?" Elves, these riders were, and therefore a danger. Eahn dealt better with dwarves than elves, even though he was elven himself. Dwarves were forward with their intentions and usually a good deal more honest. Elves, especially mages, were something else entirely.

"You are Eahn the Northern Thorn?" asked the peacemaker.

"Maybe," Eahn said, drawling the world out for all it was worth. Casually, he pointed his sword tip to each elf. "Who wants to know?"

"Lord Eahn," the rider said, making a half bow in his perch. It looked ludicrous. "We have ridden a long way to find you. It concerns The Five."

"The five what?" asked Eahn suspiciously.

The rider opened his mouth to speak, but a gesture from one of his companions stilled his tongue. The other rider urged his horse up a step, leaned forward, and grinned. He was feet away from Eahn, who did not appreciate the intimacy. "Eahn," said he, "don't make our lives more difficult than it is. We're not here to arrest you for treason, or burn you, or whatever else you might imagine."

"No?" The sword whistled when Eahn gave it an experimental swing. Clearly unimpressed, the riders exchanged a single glance. "Is that because of what happened the last time Cnos Fada sent someone for me? Which makes me wonder. What was the reaction in court when they received the pieces?"

The second rider chuckled to himself, then dismounted. Immediately, Eahn struck the earth with his sword. Lifting it into a guard stance, he held himself ready while the sword rang a high-pitched tone. The air stood still while the sound faded.

"I am Handfast," the second rider said. He stepped closer and ignored Eahn's shift of balance. "I came with a message from Moirfenn. MacKegan summons you, Eahn the Northern Thorn, upon the very geis that holds your spirit."

Eahn, entirely against his will, suddenly remembered... Aramina. The first thing he had to remember out of the entire ordeal had to be the dark were-creature. Annoyed, Eahn resisted the urge to kick the nearest object. Not that the elf standing before him would not have looked better sporting a few bruises.

Eahn lowered his sword and sighed. "Well," he muttered.

His three visitors waited patiently. Eahn gazed into the horizon, still remembering, and frowned. The hills were beginning to show color with the first flowers of spring. Eahn had no flocks to keep them grazed. Picket would love those hills and have a jolly time trampling them. And... there was someone else. Not a companion, but someone who liked flowers. Someone who really liked flowers.

Someone he should be wary of. Eahn could just taste the memory.

Eahn's eyes flicked back to Handfast and stayed. "I remember you," he said harshly. Handfast had fought alongside Eahn years ago. The elf still had that whiplash scar across one arm. His sleeve was rolled up, as if to proudly display the blemish.

"I thought you might," Handfast said with a trace of a grin. "Now, shall we talk business?"

The sun set unnoticed outside. Handfast’s companions, Maguire and Neolch, sat near Eahn’s fireplace after a hearty supper of ham and early greens. Sulking at the table, Eahn kept his thoughts to himself. His guests were sent from his master in Moirfenn, and this meant nothing but bad news. Anyone from Moirfenn was bad news, although Handfast could be trusted to a certain degree. Then there came a point in which Eahn found himself not trusting the elf at all. Not that he trusted any elf, including himself.

The servants had been sent to their quarters, and Eahn's wife was ordered upstairs. The dinner mess could be cleaned in the morning, he had told her. She had obeyed without argument, obedient little thing that she was. Eahn felt a glow of affection in her direction, and spat into the fire to cover it. He glared once again at Handfast.

Handfast ignored Eahn's barely concealed malice. Without touching it, he stirred his spoon around in his empty bowl. The atma made little sparks off the utensil, which was wood, but otherwise did no harm. Eahn disdained such frivolous uses of magical gifts, and Handfast knew it. The faster the spoon moved, the more irritated Eahn looked. It was rather amusing.

Maguire and Neolch were hired swords and not concerned with any discussion other than their own. They played sticks and bones in the corner, alternately cursing and accusing each other of cheating. Eahn was more annoyed with them than Handfast's mischievous activity.

Eahn flicked his fingers, wasting a precious bit of atma, and the spoon flew from the bowl. It bounced into the fireplace where it promptly caught on fire. A log popped and sparks jumped. Handfast chuckled, leaning back and drinking his glass of mead. Maguire mumbled something faintly murderous to Neolch in the background.

"What if," Eahn said casually, continuing a conversation they had begun during dinner, "I refuse to do this?" The things Handfast had told him this night were not agreeable, not in the least. Eahn knew better, but the thought of killing his two guests and hiding the bodies were not far from his mind.

Handfast snorted with mirth. "As if you would dare," he said. "I think what you should be asking is where to go first."

"All right then," Eahn said in his slow drawl. "Where? Do I meet them there or wait?"

"Nebhirrlos," Handfast said. "And wait for the others to arrive, if you are first." He set his cup, now empty, down on the table. There was more mead – indeed, an entire barrel nearby – but he felt too lazy to get it. Eahn would surely not, and the wife and servants were banished from sight. Apparently, Eahn sought to protect his family from the dangerous intruders. Handfast was only annoyed that he was forced to serve himself under another’s roof. This smacked against all rules of etiquette and hospitality, not that Eahn had been anything but surly and impossible to deal with.

“There is a Sanctuary House there," Handfast continued, pushing the cup a little away. "The Priestess will be waiting for you there. She knows what to do and is already on her way."

Eahn remembered Nebhirrlos. There had been much blood, and even Aramina the Priestess had been quite... shaken. A pleasant memory indeed, he reflected as he fought to keep from smiling. "Have you nothing further to tell me?" he asked.

"Of course not," Handfast snapped. "I know only what you need to know for now. Have a little common sense. MacKegan would not trust even you with the details, if it were not necessary."

"I suppose you will not be accompanying me." It was not a question, merely an observance of fact. Handfast nodded affirmatively.

Eahn stared into the flames a while longer, listening to Maguire and Neolch play. Or rather, argue. They seemed to take much pleasure in their personal conflict. "To sleep then," Eahn said. "I should start early tomorrow. What shall you do, my friend?"

"Wait here," Handfast said calmly. "I'm under orders to protect your wife, should you fail."

Eahn went cold inside and resisted the urge to look up the stairs.

***

His wife clung long to his embrace before he mounted their best horse to leave. He leaned down from the saddle and patted her bulging stomach before whispering into her ear, "I will be back before my son comes. I promise you that, my Joalie."

She flashed her bravest smile and said, "You best be back before your daughter arrives. I wouldn't want her to greet the world without your strong arms to protect her."

Eahn nodded, letting her win their argument this one time, and flicked the reins. Too soon, Joalie was a waving figure swallowed by dust. Somewhere in the house, Handfast and his crew drank his mead and argued over dice. Eahn wanted to burn the house down and carry Joalie away, but he knew better than to try.

How long has it been? Eahn wondered to himself as his horse's hooves plodded patiently down the road. Memories of settling down to make his own stead were always clouded, ,as if they were only a dream. Time did that, as well as simply not wanting to remember. One thing was irrefutable: he had been given that land for a reason.

One obvious reason was that it was close to a break in the veil. Eahn chewed a piece of grass, spitting to the side occasionally. How convenient to place a valued servant so near a doorway to Éire, where the mortals dwelt. And then MacKegan seemingly had forgotten him, which had led Eahn to believe he was no longer in use.

If MacKegan had wanted Eahn to do something through the veil, the reason was lost forever, especially in light of this new task, whatever it may be. Eahn knew better than to question MacKegan’s sanity; the elf was merely fickle. It was his way, and thus far MacKegan had won an entire kingdom merely by deciding he wanted to rule.

All of Fion’s rulers did the most peculiar things, as if they trusted to blind luck and foolishness to keep a country sound. It had worked for generations, but Eahn sometimes felt that even luck such as that could not hold out forever. MacKegan was an old fool, and sooner or later it would be his downfall.

Yet, even mortals flocked to MacKegan’s banner. Eahn could not stand the creatures and wished MacKegan would either kill them or send them home. Their atma was weak. They bred like flies and died quickly. Their fascination for Eahn's people, and the divine fire within, drew them like moths to light or repulsed them just as strongly. Eahn had participated in dozens of sluagh rides, mainly to patrol his borders, and witnessed the mortal people's ways first hand. He did not wholly approve of them.

Eahn found them to be crude-mouthed and sometimes brutal, even when compared to crueler breeds of two-leg. They were almost completely without honor. The bravest mortals had the tendency to swarm over the land, like ants, and dig without the slightest thought for the local inhabitants.

Their music could be delightful, and occasionally a mortal bard had the ability to play a sprightly tune. But overall, the lure of enchanted gold always became too strong. Twice Eahn had to dodge attempts on his life. By mortals!

Thieving, lying, filthy mortals.

Not that mortals were the only dishonest creatures in the world. The most honest person Eahn had ever known was the mage, Raori. Raori could stretch the truth or lead you to believe false by omitting certain facts and letting you make your own conclusions, but not once did he ever truly lie. No, he was not like the Priestess, whose every breath was questionable to Eahn’s ears. Reminded of other things he had long ago forgotten, he spat out his piece of grass and scowled.

He camped that evening near the highway leading to Nebhirrlos. He kept his fire small; the last thing he wanted was to be found, and firelight was a giveaway in the dark. Chewing a bit of dried meat, he sat staring into the tiny flames blankly. Then, he noticed that he was being watched.

His observer was a young elf standing on a nearby hill like a statue against the oncoming night. Eahn considered the silhouette a moment, blew out noisily, and got to his feet. It would be inhospitable not to invite this stranger to share his fire. He waved his arms once, then he sat down again.

The youth bounded down the hill enthusiastically and slid to a deep bow at Eahn's feet. A harp case, hung from his right shoulder with a worn leather band, slid forward and made a musical bump against his knee. "Oenghus, at your service," he declared breathlessly. He stood with a flourish and pushed the case back to its proper place.

Eahn grunted and resettled by the fire. He did not care for formal introductions. Confused, the bard waited just long enough to be sure Eahn would not be introducing himself. Then, he also sat by the fire. Eahn handed him a bit of cheese and dried meat.

“Your mother either had a sense of humor or a good sense of character,” Eahn observed while the youth ate his meal, “to have named you after the god of mischief.”

Oenghus grinned fleetingly. “Yes, my mother does like to stay entertained.” He swallowed his last bit of cheese and reached for the waterskin which lay near his foot. “What do they call you?”

The waterskin was passed to Eahn, who switched it for a full skin of wine. Wine Eahn had no trouble sharing with company, but there were occasional times that good drinking water was more precious than gold. The youth grinned his pleasure at the change in the spread, thinking himself honored.

“My name is Eahn.”

Oenghus’ eyes grew wide. “Surely not the Northern Thorn?” he whispered with awe. “A pleasure, Lord! To think that I, a lowly bard, would be graced with the hospitality of one of Moirfenn’s greatest heroes!” He shook his head in wonderment.

“I did not say I was the Northern Thorn,” Eahn said, scowling. “Eahn is a common enough name.”

“Oh yes, Lord,” Oenghus said agreeably. His eyes lit with a twinkle. At least, he did not press the subject.

The wineskin was passed between themselves during the following silence. Oenghus idly poked a stick in the fire to keep it burning. He was smiling to himself. Eahn ignored him while he oiled his sword. When the skin started to go limp, Eahn packed it away.

"Where are you bound?" Oenghus asked as if to break the silence. Bored with the fire, he turned to his pack and began to unpack his sleeping furs. Intent on his work, he only heard Eahn spit into the fire. His furs were mangy-looking and probably had fleas. Eahn forbore wasting atma to charm any such pests away from his person.

"To see an old friend," Eahn said after a brief pause.

"Ah," Oenghus said knowingly. He began to pick up rocks, large and small, to throw them into the darkness. "Uncomfortable things," he muttered to himself while he worked. When he had thrown what he felt was enough, he spread his furs on the ground. "That should do."

Amused, Eahn watched until his guest was finished. "My guest asks me questions," he said once Oenghus was completely settled, "but offers nothing concerning himself. Where are you going?"

"Wherever suits me," the bard said with an airy wave of his hand. "I was thinking Nebhirrlos. The people there love a good tale as much as anywhere else."

“Of course," Eahn said, faintly annoyed. The last thing he wanted was to be tracked by a faithless bard. "How very convenient."

"From there I might go to Cnos Fada," Oenghus said. "Then usually I just go straight to the temple in Tech Danaan to gather more news. Bound to stay there," he yawned mightily, "for months." He closed his eyes and shifted until he was comfortable.

Oenghus was asleep almost immediately and snored faintly. Quietly Eahn spit to the side. It did not bother Eahn that the boy did not offer to take first watch. His carelessness was his own business. When Eahn wanted to get some sleep, he would set protection spells around the camp and be secure.

What bothered him was that Oenghus was going to the exact same destination. The last thing he wanted on this trip was a companion. In this case, the last thing he wanted was someone who knew his face.

In much the same way as he had done before with Handfast, he pondered killing the boy. After a while, he rejected the notion. It was far too much work. He would wait to see what developed later.

To Eahn's relief, his fears were unfounded. Oenghus, when he woke the next morning, industriously packed his belongings. Refusing Eahn's offer of breakfast, he plead that he did not want to waste the morning. Marching straight away with only a jaunty wave of farewell, the bard was gone before Eahn had his horse saddled. The farmer was glad to see him go and bade him good riddance.

Rain clouds hung low in the sky, making the air gloomy and heavy with rain. It drizzled at the best of times, and rain fell in sheets of blinding silver at the worst. If Eahn did not have to hurry to Nebhirrlos, he would have found shelter to wait it out.

Afraid water would get into his bags, he skipped lunch and barely allowed his horse to rest. The bags were waterproofed by oil, and he refused to waste atma to reinforce it. Water ran in rivulets down his neck and back. Those tiny streams joined to make bigger ones that ran down his saddle and to his horse’s legs. The horse snorted to itself, shaking its mane, and trudged along in the mud.

Evening had deepened into soft gloom before the rains finally lightened up. Eahn camped at a crossroads and made his fire beneath the weathered wooden marker. It was hard to keep the wood lit given that it was drenched. In the end Eahn was forced to resort to atma to set the wood on fire. The enchanted flames glowed greenly over the area but offered little warmth. Miserable, Eahn shivered in his cloak and thought of his warm house and Joalie.

"Hai!" someone shouted in the gloom. Eahn reflexively grabbed his sword. "Hai!" they shouted again.

It was Oenghus, dripping wet but looking none the worse for wear. He emerged from the darkness and rain to stand just beyond Eahn's camp and grin. For the briefest of moments, Eahn was reminded of a hopeful mongrel begging for scraps.

Eahn considered the situation. He could turn the bard away, or he could allow him by the fire. When Oenghus sneezed, the decision was made. Before long, the youth was huddled by the fire. The last of the wine warmed their bellies. Oenghus sneezed again.

"I'm glad I found you," Oenghus said through chattering teeth.

"Looking for me were you?" Eahn asked suspiciously. He had not put his sword away, although the rain was sure to rust it.

"No," Oenghus said with a chuckle. "It's just that a bard is a sorry sight in the rain with no fire to warm himself with. I'm sure to catch a cold." Mournfully he sniffled, as if to say he had caught one already. "Even a green fire with little warmth is welcome. My poor harp! I can only hope I mended that hole in her case well enough to keep her dry."

Eahn did not respond, turning instead to the difficult task of drying his sword enough to put it away. He could put the fire out; it made no sense to keep it except as light against the darkness that surrounded them. But, he did not. His companion obviously appreciated the fire as he curled himself into a sodden ball as close to the flame as he safely could. With misgivings, Eahn settled to sleep after Oenghus was snoring, his sword nearby.

A boot by his hand startled him awake. With a yell, he grabbed his sword, rolled and crouched into a defensive position. Oenghus, whose boot it was, stood dumbfounded, staring at Eahn with eyes round as coins. It was late morning, and Eahn had overslept.

"I was just," the youth stammered, "I was just going to wake you before I left."

Eahn forced himself to relax and lower his sword. He ran his fingers through his beard, feeling foolish. "My apologies," he muttered. "Twas a reflex."

The bard nodded solemnly, stepping back a pace. "I wouldn’t let it be known that I had frightened the Northern Thorn from his sleep.” Eahn snarled. “I wanted to give you this," the bard squeaked, offering a golden medallion strung on leather.

"Why?" Eahn said, trying to keep the edge out of his voice. The bard shyly handed it over, took another step backward and readjusted the strap to his harp case.

It was a simple disk, no larger than the palm of a woman’s hand, engraved with a swan. Someone had used it for a tool and left the edges slightly battered. The leather, slipped through a worn hole, looked fairly new. There was no inscription.

"You were kind to me, for one thing," Oenghus said. "Because, I don’t know. You're the one to take it." His voice trailed lamely away. At Eahn's questioning glance, Oenghus grinned. "Give it to your woman friend," he said, "in Nebhirrlos."

"Wait!" Eahn demanded as the bard turned to go. "I never said I was going to–!”

”Don’t forget!” Oenghus cried as he strode away. “Give it to her when you see her!”

Eahn cursed as Oenghus strode further, yet further away. The lad was walking impossibly fast. Eahn followed a few steps then stopped. He had not time to go chasing after a bard, medallion or no. It would have to wait.

Later, when the monotony of riding grew unbearable, he removed the medallion from its place in his saddlebags to examine it further. Tracing the swan with his fingers and using atma to see things his eyes could not, his world was the inside of this metal thing for an instant. The sounds around him, even the horse’s ungainly plodding, faded away.

He sensed nothing about the medallion; not a faint odor of magic. Eahn refused to carry a cursed thing all the way to Nebhirrlos, but if the medallion were such a thing, it was well concealed. He considered throwing it away, but thought again. The Priestess might find some use for it, and perhaps it was cursed. The Priestess more than deserved it, if so.

The faint rush of water reached his ears. Somewhere in the trees, at the end of the road he traveled, would be an arm of the River Nosloraug. Beyond by about a two-day ride lay Nebhirrlos.