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Wy
"We have already learned that you and Magiere were created by opposing sides," Wy
Wy
"Perhaps these old peoples, Chein'as and Seyilf, do not care how or why either of you were made. They either offer their help… or are asking you for help."
"Help with what?" Leesil snapped. "Enough already! We'll find this orb thing, keep it from Welstiel… and then we're done!"
Magiere stretched out a hand to Leesil, and he rose to join her on the bunk.
Wy
"You had better start explaining," she growled at Chap.
No.
Wy
I can only clarify what Magiere and Leesil can tell you. That is my word to Sgaile.
His rebuke stung, for Chap had made a promise to her. And now, that meant nothing compared to his word to an anmaglahk?
Wy
"What is this thorhk for?" Wy
Leesil wrinkled his brow at the strange term.
I do not know, Chap answered. Sgaile did not recognize it either.
"What about the chein'as?" Wy
"Enough!" Magiere warned. "And where did you get the name for the hoop? A torc?"
Wy
Chap fidgeted on the floor, reluctant to look at the object. Wy
I saw the gift-bearer's memory of a loss, when one of its own… one that meant something to it… was taken by Ubad.
Wy
"That… fiend came to the chasm?" she whispered sharply. "How? We barely survived a short time on the plateau."
Leesil tried to pull her back but she resisted. Chap recounted all that he had seen in the forlorn being's memory as Wy
I could not tell the gift-bearer that Ubad is already dead.
Chap's blue crystalline eyes strayed to the hiltless dagger-as did Magiere's-then he laid his head down, gazing at the thorhk.
It seemed the blade given to Magiere had been some plea for justice, but the thorhk brought Wy
"Let me know," she grumbled at Chap, "if there is anything more you can tell… that might help."
Chap lifted his head, and his doggish brows wrinkled in an echo of Magiere's perpetual scowl.
Wy
"Wy
"Thorhk?" she answered hesitantly. "It is an old Dwarvish term for a circlet shaped somewhat like your open-ended loop. They are made of semi-flexible braided metal, and often worn by a Thanae-an elite dwarven warrior, sometimes in service to one of their high lords."
A knock sounded. Wy
Osha stood outside with a tray of food, and the aroma of roasted fish and herb-garnished potatoes surrounded Wy
"Thank you, Osha. Will you join us?"
He would not meet her eyes and merely handed over the tray.
"Whatever is wrong?" she asked.
Osha turned away, heading back for the hatch stairs. Wy
Six days alone with him and she had finally begun to think they were friends. Now he would not eat or speak with her? It seemed that no matter how much they learned of each other, as elf, an'Croan, or anmaglahk, Osha might always be a stranger.
Wy
She reached back in her memory, seeking a moment of intimate comfort. All she recalled were evenings sitting close to Chane over a parchment, drinking mint tea, his strong hands tight around his cup. During the battle in Toret's house, he had abandoned the fight and thrown her over his shoulder to flee. She had fought and kicked him, until she realized his true intention was to remove her from harm's way.
Chap was watching her sternly.
Wy
And I think of Lily.
She reached out to softly stroke his back.
Magiere took the plate Wy
The last face she wanted to see outside was Sgaile's.
He averted his eyes and clutched at a long and narrow paper-wrapped bundle. He also held a seamless wooden tube about the length of his forearm. The narrow container looked much like the wood of the rain barrels in elven homes-one perfect piece, except for the unadorned pewter cap.
"May I enter?" he asked.
Magiere almost slammed the door in his face. Six days with Sgaile, most of it blindfolded, left her with little patience, but she stepped back. He entered with a respectful nod and crouched near the pile of gifts.
"Before our ship left Ghoivne Ajhajhe," he said, "Brot'an'duive gave me things for you, Leshil."
Both Leesil and Chap narrowed their eyes at the master anmaglahk's name.
"I did not understand their purpose," Sgaile went on, setting down the wooden tube, "until I saw what the Chein'as gave to you."
He tore open the paper bundle, exposing a matched set of long padded bars of leather.
Magiere was mildly curious. Before she could ask, Sgaile picked up one silvery winged punching blade in the pile and then rolled one bar of padding over. Its backside was split cleanly down the center between its edge stitching.
Sgaile spread the slit with his thumb and carefully slid the back of the blade's wing into it. There was a narrow ledge of metal along the wing's back that Magiere hadn't noticed before, and it slid smoothly into the leather. The padded bar settled perfectly along the back of the wing.
Magiere remembered the day Leesil had bolted across the border at Soladran.
He'd viciously assaulted Darmouth's forces hunting down peasants who fled for safety. When he returned to the city, a blow from a sword had smashed one of his blade's wings into his forearm, leaving him black and blue for days.
But with the padding, and those half-hoop braces sprouting midpoint from the wings, these new blades would be far more stable and sure on Leesil's forearms. Still, she knew he wouldn't touch them.
Magiere had no doubt who'd designed and requested those blades from the Chein'as. And who better to improve on Leesil's original blades than someone who'd been killing all his long life?
Brot'an was up to something-again.