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By Michele aka Ygraul Verdemorte |
Chapter 41. Seeking the Seer |
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rigit could not imagine being happier than she was in that moment. The low smoky hall was filled with the raucous chatter of celebrating dwarves. There were a hundred or more gathered around long tables laden with highly spiced delicacies and overflowing flagons of beer. She and Armand sat together on Thane Ingvarr’s right as honored guests and were treated to many sloppy toasts. The gifts Zhou had sent along with them were on display below their raised table and there was much chatter about the generosity of their master. “You chose a foul time to quest for the Seer,” Ingvarr confided in her while they were settling down to a course of peppery roasted chicken, “It is a winter of wolves and the Stone Summit ward the passes. You will find no welcome in the heights.” Brigit nodded. The dwarven turn of phrase meant the snow and ice had been so bad there were plentiful dying or weakened animals for the wolves to feast upon. She did not fear the wild creatures. The Stone Summit, however, was another matter entirely. “Are none of the Deldrimor outposts secure?” she asked, wondering how Copperhammer and far flung Marhan coped.” “Aye, King Jalis still reigns in Thunderhead Keep, but the civil war continues and deepens. It is a sad thing. At least the Mursaat and White Mantle have gone away. I pray to the Great Dwarf that our people might one day find peace, but dwarves are stubborn as well you know, lass. It may be many years.” Laugher erupted at the table to her left and she turned her head quickly, giggling as Armand juggled oranges while balancing one humorously on his nose. His face was bright with an uncharacteristic smile and a small crowd of dwarven children was gathering below. To their delight, he let each one fall and flung it gracefully down to their waiting hands. “Your husband is a performer?” the thane remarked and she blushed. Dwarves were slow to form familial bonds and would find her brief fling with Armand incomprehensible. Smiling, she nodded and did not bother to correct him. “He grew up with in a traveling circus,” she told him. “Oh bravo,” the thane said enthusiastically, “Ask him what else he can show us?” Armand was settling back in his seat while swallowing the remaining wine in his glass when she turned to him. There was a faint redness about his cheeks and she could see he was uncharacteristically tipsy. Perhaps she should have warned him that dwarven spirits were far more potent than normal. Still, he was relaxed, a state that was almost foreign to his nature. “The thane wishes to know if you would perform for him.” “Sure!” Armand laughed and she gasped as he bounded lightly up onto the table. The dwarves around him roared with laughter and cleared a space for him as he danced lightly around the crockery. He made a flamboyant bow. “Come on, give me something to juggle!” he said expansively. Of course, in Tyria, dwarven and human communities had thrived side by side for so long, most everyone understood him. One of the children tossed an orange back at him and this caused a veritable shower of items from a purse of coins to a hard dwarven bread cake, a sloppy flagon of beer, and a delicate wine glass. As if he had planned it all along, he welcomed them into his ever more erratic loop of flying toys, occasionally flinging one of the nine items so high he had time enough to take a swallow of ale from the passing flagon, much to the delight of the dwarves. At one point he faltered and twirled around, then ducked comically and restored order while one hand had somehow ended up tangled under his knee. She realized then that he had planned it that way, clown that he was, and was basking in the roars of laughter as the dwarves enjoyed his awkward plight. Yet somehow he still managed to catch the flagon and finish the beer, then fling it back at the audience when he discovered it was empty. Untangling himself, he caught the oranges on his shoulders and brought the rest of his collection comically to rest in a pile before the thane. Now he was drunk. She saw him reel slightly as he sank back into his seat, red with exertion and beer. “I appear to be intoxi..tox a cated,” he mumbled at her, smiling foolishly. “Armie, it’s not like human drink,” she said quietly. “Mog’d love’t.” “No doubt,” she chuckled, imagining the bottomless spirit guzzler set loose in the dwarven hall. Brigit feared Armand would be asked to perform again but sighed with relief as a gathering of musicians arrived in the minstrel gallery and struck up a rousing fiddle tune. Once the music started, the obligatory part of the evening was officially over. She needed to get Armand to bed before he had an opportunity to cross from humorously tipsy to gut-wrenchingly plastered, a state that happened very quickly when humans who seldom drank imbibed at dwarven functions. Giddy with delight, he was easy to cajole back to their cabin. It was a side of him she had never imagined existed and she idly wondered if this was the Armand that lurked beneath the cynicism and mistrust. She slapped his hand gently from her rump and then shrugged, deciding a little fun was in order. He giggled foolishly as she undressed before him and fell asleep in her arms after their first short round of lovemaking, his face beautiful in the candlelight as a faint smile of contentment softened his features. She left him after a time, dressing and returning to the celebration. Thane Ingvarr told her tales of the snowbound peaks, describing the places that the Seer chose for its secluded refuge. They would travel across the frozen landscape to Moladune first, and if that failed, the distant hostile realm of the avicara in far flung Mineral Springs. With only a few hours to sleep before dawn, Brigit wandered back to the cabin and stripped off her clothes in the darkness before climbing quickly under the blankets with Armand. “Where have you been? I missed you,” he asked quietly, his voice hoarse with sleep. He rolled over to face her and his hand sought hers, clasping it. “I needed to talk to the thane about our journey.” “I see,” he mumbled, “You’re cold, let me hold you.” Brigit lay beside him, delighting in his warmth and tenderness as he ran a loving hand along her arm and kissed her shoulder softly. “Was I drunk?” he asked between kisses. “A little, but not embarrassingly so.” “Thanks for looking after me,” he murmured, “I do not normally drink like that.” “Given how little it took to make you giggly, I’d say so,” Brigit chuckled, “but it wasn’t all bad. I never realized there was a clown inside of you.” “Oh yeah, I juggled, didn’t I,” he laughed. “Yes, you did.” She rolled over to face him now, her lips finding his in the dimness. They fell to kissing for a time, slow and tender until they lay peacefully together, their foreheads touching as they lay in one another’s arms. “Where did you learn to juggle like that?” “My father and my uncles,” he replied quietly, “I was good at legerdemain.” “Was?” she tsked, “Still are, more like.” “Young mesmers often start with legerdemain early on. It teaches concentration and focus. A lot of what my family did for a living was little more than legerdemain brought to its highest form. Only a few went on to master Lyssa’s Art and I was one of them.” She expected him to continue, fascinated by his past. Living in a traveling circus seemed so exotic and full of adventure. It was a far cry from her bland childhood amid a clan of warriors and dwarves. She doubted he wanted to hear about the care and feeding of yaks or the boring hours of axe practice. When he grew silent, she nudged him playfully. “What was it like?” “Lying with you is the sweetest thing I know,” he whispered, “I don’t want to ruin it with talk of the past.” “Alright, my love,” she whispered, squeezing him softly as she heard a faint pang of sadness in his voice, “When we’re done running errands for Zhou, I think I’ll take you to meet my folks. We’re all a bunch of illiterates, mind, but we know the meaning of hospitality. My mother would adore you.” “What about your father?” “Not sure what he’d think. Probably start grilling you about what kind of weapon you use and where your armor is. Are your parents still around?” “They crossed the mists,” he murmured, “I don’t want to talk about it.” “Ah, Armie, I’m sorry.” “Let’s sleep on it,” he offered, “There’s not many hours remaining to us before dawn.” It seemed like she had barely nodded off in Armand’s arms when she was drawn back awake by his persistent nudge. He was standing over her toweling himself dry after using the washstand and he smelled faintly of lavender. The faint rosy light of dawn was tickling the edge of the bed as it flowed into the cozy little room through the lone round window above the bed. “Come on, slugabed,” he taunted, tickling her bare foot under the quilt when she continued to stare up at him blearily. She startled away from him, giggling like a girl and repaid him with a light slap on his rump, “Watch it or we’ll never get anything done today.” Brigit wobbled onto her feet, then ambushed him gently from behind as he was buttoning his linen shirt. They fell into a kiss. He seemed to find her loving rough-housing amusing and their cleansing and dressing was interrupted more than a few times with bursts of laughter as he took advantage of her ticklish nature in revenge for her sudden hugs. Somehow they emerged dressed and ready for the trail at the appointed time. Frida Hallgrim greeted them, smiling knowingly through her faint golden beard. Brigit knew the dwarven woman had heard them at play. Their belongings had been reduced to what they could carry which included a pair of lightweight snowshoes, a heavy pack laden with bags and thick rolls of bedding. Frida’s burdens towered over her sturdy frame but she walked beside them as if they weighed nothing at all. “You’re coming with us?” Brigit asked, delighted they would have a dwarven guide. Thane Ingvarr had been most generous for Frida’s company would guarantee them lodgings and provisions at any friendly settlement. “Aye, the thane assigned me to you and I shall fight at your side, as well.” Once they reached the gate, they were greeted by an excited peal of delight as a small figure flung itself at Frida and embraced the stolid woman. Then, as Frida turned to introduce her friend, her enormous pack caught the stranger in the chest and flung her squealing into the snow drift that lined the icy path. She promptly vanished. Brigit had to bite her lip to stop from laughing and Armand was making strained snorting noises and had to clear his throat. “Asuna?” Frida called. “Here,” came a small voice from deep within the bank. “Oh my,” Frida mumbled, “I’ve misplaced our monk.” Brigit reached into the damp snowy gape in the bank and grasped at something that felt like a backpack. With very little effort she was able to draw the towheaded woman to her feet and help her climb free. Giggling foolishly, the monk presented a characteristic steeple-palmed bow. “Asuna Ai at your service.” They exchanged greetings but Brigit could see a doubtful frown upon Armand’s lips. “Four will not be enough,” said Frida, “We’ll pick up a couple mercenaries to increase our might.” “And slow us down,” Armand muttered under his breath so that only Brigit could hear him, “Is Asuna an adult? I think Mabane is taller than her.” Brigit fought to stifle a laugh and nodded. “Fortunately,” Frida continued, forging onward, “I spoke to a couple of them this morning while you were getting dressed and they have agreed to meet us at the gate to Talus Chute. They will work for a portion of any treasure dropped during the journey.” When they reached the gate, there were three people awaiting them burdened with heavy packs and the requisite gear. Brigit heard Armand sigh when they were introduced and she squeezed his hand gently. “I’ve traveled with a couple of them before. There’s a reason why they’re always hanging out in outposts.” “Dunham doesn’t look that bad off. That Thom guy could use a bath and a shave, though,” she whispered as they stood back while Frida talked with the mercenaries. “All I have to say is if things get tough, don’t count on the monk. She’s a raving lunatic.” “Both of them?” Armand glanced at Asuna again and nodded. The tiny monk was currently stomping on clumps of dirty snow at the edge of the path to amuse herself. In fact, Brigit had yet to see her stand still, she was constantly in motion. “Although if I had to place a bet, I’d trust Asuna before Alesia.” There was little time to continue their discussion, however, for Frida waved them on and they passed through the wide gate of Droknar’s Forge and began their trek eastward, allowing Frida to choose their path. The snow was tightly packed and had a thick crust that allowed them to walk easily upon it without snowshoes. The unfortunate choice of direction caused them to walk into the rising sun and the glare off the frozen landscape was almost unbearable. Brigit squinted miserably and felt a headache coming on. Irritation lined Armand’s face after they had been marching along steadily for an hour. Finally he snapped. “Would you please stop doing that?” he snapped at Dunham as a swirling field of magenta energies surrounded the man yet again. The man gaped at him in shock but said nothing. Whatever it was stopped and Armand muttered his gratitude. Shortly thereafter a black bear that had hitherto been minding its own business was bathed in the violent glow of a mesmeric hex. Dunham guffawed as the beast lunged after Alesia and the foolish monk ran into a tree several times trying to get away from it while banging it on the head with a stick. Fortunately, the sloppy warrior lurched drunkenly between the monk and the bear. His axe swings missed but the angry beast killed itself as a result of the hex before it became an issue. All this happened while Armand and Brigit looked on in stunned silence. “We’re doomed,” Brigit murmured. “Ayup,” Armand said.
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