A Thread in the Tangle (18 page)

“Who’s this wee one?”
 
He tossed the baby in the air, earning a gleeful squeal.

“He was dropped off on my doorstep yesterday.
 
Likely another whore’s son.
 
I’m fairly sure he’s not yours, because he’s not near pig-headed enough.”
 
Oenghus snorted.
 
“Isiilde, why don’t you name him, I haven’t gotten around to it yet.
 
Being named by one of the Sylph’s own daughters can’t bring anything but good luck.”

Isiilde blinked, surprised at the priestesses’ reference to her race, and more confused than ever by Yasimina’s warning not to mention that nymphs were daughters of the Sylph.
 
She briefly considered naming the baby after Marsais who was currently pacing slowly around the entranceway, lost in thought, but quickly discarded the idea—the name belonged to her master, and only him.

“How about Galvier?
 
He seems very adventurous already.”
 
Galvier Longstride was a legendary figure, the traveling bard who had walked the realms twice over because his feet never stopped moving.
 
His stories entertained taverns and royal courts alike, although the nymph questioned the authenticity of such tales since she couldn’t fathom how he managed to sleep.

“That’s a fine name, Sprite,” Oenghus said, spinning the boy around to the mutual delight of both.
 
“Makes me want another one.”

“Well, ye can have him if you like, because this realm doesn’t need another Saevaldr.”

“You’re just jealous because you haven’t had one of mine yet.”

“I got a brood enough without your mule-brained offspring running around,” Brinehilde snorted, but then her firm features turned grave.
 
“Say Oenghus—I know you’re here for the festival, but could you look at one of my girls?”

“You know you don’t have to ask, Hilde.
 
What’s a matter with her?” Oenghus asked, distracted by Galvier who was happily pulling on his greying beard.

“I just found her a few days ago.
 
I wouldn’t put her past ten.
 
Drunk of a father whorin’ her out.
 
Some swine roughed her up real good.”
 
Oenghus growled and Galvier, who undoubtedly thought he was a bear, cackled with delight.

“I already took care of the swine and then paid the father a pleasant visit,” Brinehilde said, pausing to crack her scarred knuckles, “but the girl’s already got the Keening and now a fever to boot.
 
So I doubt it’ll be a quick healing.”
 
Oenghus cringed, glancing at Isiilde, who had been looking forward to the festival for some months.

“It’s all right, Oen,” Isiilde said, smiling despite her disappointment.
 
“I can watch Galvier while you help her.”
 
Marsais paused in mid-step and looked blankly at them both before his mind caught up with their conversation.

“I could certainly escort her, Oenghus.”

“You wouldn’t mind?”
 
Isiilde beamed.

“I’d be more apt to ask that of you, my dear.”

“Of course I wouldn’t mind.”
 
Marsais bowed formally and offered his arm, which she eagerly took, favoring him with a smile that she reserved for him alone.

“You must really trust the fellow,” Brinehilde remarked, eyeing Marsais as if she were sizing him up for a coffin.

“Hilde, I told you—he’s the bloody Archlord.”

The priestess studied Marsais dubiously for a few moments before recognition shone in her green eyes.
 
“By the gods, I’m daft enough to miss Zemoch’s bollocks today!
 
I’ve only seen you from a distance and never had the chance to give you proper thanks for all this,” Brinehilde said, gesturing towards the walls.
 
Marsais tensed at Isiilde’s side, no doubt fearing that she would decide to thank him properly as she had Oenghus.

“Seeing my old manor put to good use is thanks enough, my lady,” Marsais hastened to say.

“Aye, Hilde, a Nuthaanian woman would break him,” Oenghus chuckled.

“Apparently.”
 
Brinehilde scanned Marsais with a critical eye.
 
“Don’t they feed you up there in that tower?”

“Oenghus eats it all,” Marsais quipped.
 
Brinehilde slapped the Nuthaanian’s gut with a hearty laugh.

“He’s a typical Berserker.
 
Then what you need is a good woman to fatten you up.”

“Hmm, he takes all of those too.”

“I’m not even going to get into that,” Brinehilde said, turning a baleful eye on Oenghus who conveniently turned his attention to Galvier.
 
“Well, all the same, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Archlord.”

“Likewise, and please, it’s just Marsais.”

“You have a deal if you do me the same courtesy and drop that ‘my lady’ nonsense.
 
Now then, if you see any of my brood running around, tell them to behave.
 
I’m sure I’ll have to fetch a few of them from the jailhouse before the day is done.
 
I should be watchin’ over the little bastards myself, but someone had to stay with the poor girl.”

“You’re the only one here?” Oenghus inquired.

“Aye, what of it?”

Oenghus offered the priestess a charming smile.
 
“Maybe I’ll stick around all day and help you look after the wee one.”

“I could use the help, but I’ll warn you, there’s a lot to be done.”

“I’m up for it.”

“I’ll work ya hard, you brute.”
 
Oenghus was not intimidated in the least by her threat.
 
Isiilde tilted her head to the side, wondering why he’d rather be working here than enjoying the festivities.
 
He wasn’t near as eager to work around their cottage.
 
She shrugged slightly and opened her coin purse, plucking out the gold crown.

“Here, Brinehilde, this is for Galvier.
 
I think he’ll need it more than me.”

“Bless your heart,” the priestess said, crushing the nymph to her bosom.

Isiilde spluttered helplessly for a few moments, and finally inhaled when she was released, taking a hasty step backwards lest the priestess decide to suffocate her with more gratitude.

Ten

“I
DIDN
’
T
KNOW
you owned the manor, Marsais,” Isiilde remarked as they left the orphanage, walking arm in arm.

“You never asked,” he replied.

“Do you own that shack over there?”

“Hmm, no.”

“What about that one?”
 
Isiilde pointed to a shack that had obviously been built with the salvaged wood of an old ship.
 
When he shook his head, she tried another.

“I believe I have gotten your point, my dear,” he remarked, dryly.

“Are you sure, because I could keep this up all day.”
 
Her cheerful tone brought life to the grim surroundings.

“Of that, I have no doubt.”
 
His grey eyes glittered down at her for a moment and then he went on to explain.
 
“I used to live there before I became Archlord.
 
I never could stand the constant interruptions of castle life.”

“You lived there all by yourself?”

“A few friends, such as Oenghus, had leave to stay there when they needed.”
 
He stroked his goatee in thought.
 
“Truth be told, I was never there much myself.
 
Allowing it to be used as an orphanage is hardly a sacrifice on my part.”

“All the same, I think it’s very noble of you, Marsais.”

“Coming from your lips, my dear, I’ll take that as one of the highest compliments which I have ever received.”

Isiilde blushed at his sincere declaration, and a bubble of joy rose in her heart.
 
She decided that the fishing district was far too dismal for her current mood.
 
So she began to sing, a soft and quiet song that transformed their dreary surroundings into a shimmering dream.

The world seemed brighter when her lilting voice mingled with the air.
 
However, her words faded into memory when they turned onto the main road.
 
The surreal veil parted, giving way to a tumultuous reality.
 
The crowds were thick, heading like a herd of cattle towards the parade grounds, located in the center of the city.

Marsais eased Isiilde into the pulsing streams of celebration, and they were pulled along its currents towards the heart of the festivities.

The parade grounds were dressed in splendor with a myriad of brightly colored streamers and flags that chased back the grey drizzle of the day.
 
It almost made the nymph forget the sun’s absence.

Loud, forceful criers hawked their wares amidst the bustle of activity, competing for attention with the street musicians who played merry jigs for enthusiastic audiences.
 
Mugs were raised, sloshing to and fro with drunken rhythm.
 
She hopped with delight, darting from merchant to merchant.

“Do you want to go anywhere, Marsais?” Isiilde asked as she surveyed a display of silver charms.
 
The man behind the booth claimed the trinkets warded the wearer against Voidspawn, however, she had her doubts.

“Just one place.”

“Where?”

“Hmm, I don’t know, but I’ll know when I see it.”
 
Marsais dismissed the topic with a languid wave of his hand.
 
“I’m sure you’ll find it.”

There were too many distractions vying for her attention for her to question him further.
 
Besides, Marsais was probably right; she would eventually get to wherever he was going.
 
In the meantime, Isiilde followed her nose, pausing to buy a garland of flowers from a little girl.
 
Since the woven crown concealed the tips of her ears, she pushed back her cowl, ignoring the stares from the surrounding crowd.

Eventually, Isiilde found what she was looking for: strawberries dipped in chocolate.
 
The nymph decided that life couldn’t get much better than that.
 
To compliment her berries, she bought a custard tart, two baked cinnamon apples, some roasted walnuts, a sweet roll dripping with honey, a mug of warm cider, and a turkey leg for Marsais.

They found an empty spot under a moss covered oak tree, across from a puppet show, reenacting the epic battle of Zahra the Righteous and Dagenir the Betrayer.
 
The sinister puppet who was representing Dagenir had curled horns and a mouthful of fangs, while Zahra was radiant in pristine white and a golden robe.

The puppets were hitting each other over the head with wooden swords as they engaged in a foppish battle over the Orb: a large ball covered in glitter and flaking gold paint.
 
When Dagenir whacked Zahra over the head with his sword, the audience erupted with shouts, expressing their disapproval.
 
A red stain appeared on Zahra’s snowy hair, the wounded puppet slumped forward, and Dagenir crept ever closer to the unguarded Orb.
 
The jeering from the crowd intensified.