Eorling Mead Hall

[Taralphiel]

Lys had been able to freely walk the Halls since his recovery, but this had been the first time he had a companion free of duties to explore with.

Lys' first thought was to walk to the markets. Hrethel would be busy, and would not want him playing as his shadow. Lys had wished to see the markets for some time. Walking with Elfthain was just what Lys needed to lift his spirits and lessen his worry over Thornden.

Entering the marketplace, Lys was near stunned by the colours, smells and activity. The food stalls lured him with their deep scents and Lys suddenly felt the wish that he had coin to purchase a savoury pie or an apple or carrot.

The food stalls stretched for most of the space allocated to the markets, but small wares stalls dotted the area, selling stock left from the horse fair. Lys followed Elfthain as he bounded from stalls carrying swords, to trinkets and jewellery and then to finely polished and designed saddles.

Lys stopped at a stall selling woven goods. The goods were of varied artisans, and for varied uses. Soft woven fabric for dresses and tunics were gathered in ordered piles while blankets of different colours were displayed about the edges of the stall with pegs and tied lengths of thick twine. Lys stopped at one blanket.

It was the same as the one he had been found in, his only possession. His had been torn and stained in the mud beyond the hope of any cleaning. This one had reds that burned and blues that where icy cool next to them. The gold twine sparkled to Lys eyes. He stopped staring when Efthain’s hand was on his shoulder, and he finally heard the query of the stallkeeper.

"Nice work, is it not boy? Sold to me by a stanger, 'least to these parts. Doubt it was the maker. Did not know the skill put into this. Not of Edoras, no. An outlying people, I say. Worth a bag of coin, at least."

Lys heart seemed to sink to the pit of his stomach. He smiled and nodded, turning to Elfthain who was looking at him with concern.

"You look pale? Are you ill? Should we be going back?"

Lys shook his head. There was still time left in the day, and he did not want to miss more, even if more than his ankle was aching.

[Ealasaide]

Leaving their makeshift cell behind them, the three outlaws crept silently up the stairs toward the door to the kitchen. Ulric led the way, followed closely by Withold, with Ghem bringing up the rear. Ulric still held the tiny dagger that had cut the ropes that had bound them, wrist and ankle, only a few moments earlier. While it was barely three inches in length, the miniature dagger was razor sharp and could do considerable damage to a face or a wrist. It being their only weapon until others could be found, Ulric held it between his thumb and index finger, concealed behind his palm. Should he need to use it, the element of surprise was almost as valuable to him as the blade’s sharp edge.

Reaching the top stair, he paused, listening to the steady chop, chop of the cook at work, preparing the evening’s supper for the Eorl’s guests. Slowly, he cracked the door and peered out. The kitchen was empty, save for the presence of one young woman. Unaware of their presence, she seemed completely absorbed in her work. The chopping continued as Ulric smiled to himself. She would be easy to overpower, knife or no knife.

He was just beginning to push the door open when the door from the kitchen to the outside suddenly opened directly opposite him. He pulled the cellar door swiftly to without taking the time to see who was coming in. To his utter surprise, he heard a familiar voice.

“Hello, I am Rowenna,” said the newcomer. “What is your name? Could you help me a moment with my dogs?”

“Rowenna!” hissed Ghem from the bottom of the short staircase.

As though in response to Ghem’s exclamation, Ulric cracked the door once more. It would not do to go charging out there only to find that Rowenna had been accompanied by others. He had to make sure that she was alone with the other young woman. A single glance told him that she was. Feeling very confident, Ulric pushed the door open and stepped into the kitchen, followed closely by Ghem and Withold.

“Hello, my dear,” he said to Rowenna, catching her firmly about the wrist with his free hand. The hand holding the knife landed on her shoulder as he stepped behind her. With a subtle movement of his wrist, he flashed the small blade before her eyes so that she should know that he was not unarmed. “Nice of you to come help us out! Right timely, too.”

The other girl had been caught so much by surprise that the response she had just started to give to Rowenna died on her lips. The tear that had already been trembling at the corner of her eye, burst free and rolled unchecked down her cheek, dropping from her small, rounded chin to the floor as she turned to face the trio of rough-looking men who seemed to have appeared in the kitchen out of thin air. Her kitchen knife paused in mid-air as Withold and Ghem closed on her. Ghem reached out and took a meat cleaver from its hook on the wall, as Withold picked up a second kitchen knife from the counter where the girl had been working. It had been newly sharpened and shone with a dangerous glitter.

“Shh-shh-shh,” said Withold with a slimy grin. “There’s a good lass… not a peep. Give us the knife afore ya hurts yerself.”

“Yeh,” said Ghem with a creepy, false kindness. “Give us the knife, poppet.”

[Celuien]

Garmund looked at the toy in Cnebba's hand. Not long ago, the little carved rider had seemed a thing of great importance; and it had tweaked the beginnings of his jealousy. Now, after all that had happened over the day, with Ritun and Lefun lying still and quiet on the table, Garmund felt how little the quarrel mattered.

He reached out and closed his fingers around the toy.

"I'm sorry, Cnebba," he muttered. "Friends?"