“What,” asked Levon, without preamble or greeting, direct as wind, “is the ring you have?”
This was different. It was the Seer of Brennin who looked up at him appraisingly. “The Baelrath,” she answered quietly. “The Warstone, it is called. It is of the wild magic.”
He reacted to that. “Forgive me, but why are you wearing it?”
“Because the last Seer gave it to me. She dreamt it on my hand.”
He nodded, his eyes widening. “Gereint told me of such things. Do you know what it is?”
“Not entirely. Do you?”
Levon shook his head. “No. How should I? It is far from my world, Lady. I know the eltor and the Plain. But I have one thought. May we talk after?”
He really was extraordinarily attractive, a restless stallion in the confines of the hall. “Sure,” she said.
As it happened, they never got the chance.
Kevin, standing with Paul beside one of the pillars opposite the women, was quietly pleased at how clearheaded he felt. They’d done a lot of ale the night before. Paying close attention, he saw Gorlaes and then Galienth, the Cathalian emissary, conclude their formal speeches.
Aileron rose. “I thank you,” he said levelly, “for coming here, and for your gracious words about my father. We are grateful to Shalhassan that he saw fit to send his daughter and heir to take counsel with us. It is a trust we honor, and it is an emblem of the trust we all must share in the days to come.”
The emissary, who, Kevin knew, was utterly clueless as to how Sharra had got there, nodded sage agreement. The King, still standing, spoke again.
“In this counsel-taking, all shall be granted speech, for it cannot be otherwise. It comes to me, though, that first right of address here belongs not to myself, but rather to the eldest of us and the one whose people best know the fury of Rakoth. Na-Brendel of Daniloth, will you speak for the lios alfar?” For a moment after he had ended, Aileron’s glance met that of Paul Schafer in an enigmatic exchange.
Then all eyes were on the lios. Still limping from his wounds, Brendel advanced, and with him for support came the one who had seldom left his side in three days. Tegid took Brendel carefully forward, and then withdrew, unwontedly diffident, and the lios alfar stood alone in the midst of them all, his eyes the color of the sea under rain.
“I thank you, High King,” he said. “You do me and my people honor in this hall.” He paused. “The lios have never been known for brevity of discourse, since time runs more slowly for us than for you, but there is urgency upon us now, and I will not be over-long. Two thoughts I have.” He looked around.
“There were five guardian peoples named, one thousand years ago before the Mountain. Four are here today: Brennin and Cathal, the Dalrei and the lios alfar. None of our wardstones turned red, yet Rakoth is free. We had no warning at all. The circle was broken, my friends, and so—,” he hesitated, then spoke aloud the thought they all shared, “—and so we must beware of Eridu.”
Eridu, Kim thought, remembering it from Eilathen’s whirling vision. Wild, beautiful land where lived a race of dark, fierce, violent men.
And the Dwarves. She turned, to see Matt Sören gazing at Brendel with an impassive face.
“That is my first counsel,” the lios continued. “The other is more to the point. If Rakoth is but newly free, then even with his power, black Starkadh cannot be raised again for some time. He has announced himself too soon. We must attack before that fortress anchors his might in the Ice again. I say to all of you that we should go forth from this Council and carry war to the Unraveller ourselves. We bound him once, and we will do so again!”
He was a flame; he fired them all with the burning in him. Even Jaelle, Kevin saw, had a blaze of color in her face.
“No one,” said Aileron, rising again, “could have spoken more clearly my own thought. What say the Dalrei?”