Winter's Gift - Part II

Part two of Gidwyn's tale takes us ten years into the future. We re-join Gidwyn, Eoina, Galahad, and Kiryae - now a child grown - on what should be a normal day upon the slopes of the Great Mountains...

...that is, until an unwanted guest arrives at then door asking for sanctuary.

I hope you're all enjoying Winter's Gift so far. Part three shall be released sometime towards the end of next week. Happy reading - and have a great Sunday!

The flickering flame from the deepwax candle danced in Kiryae’s large, ice-blue eyes. ‘But why do we have to keep it lit, father?’ the Elf-girl asked.

                ‘Because, sweetheart,’ Gidwyn said, standing beside where the ten-year-old Elf-girl knelt, ‘it’s our way o’ sayin’ thank-ye to the Fire. ‘Tween Fire an’ Stone, the whole World ‘as been made; tha’s includin’ ye and me. So we keep this lil’ candle as a way o’ sayin’ thank-ye.’

                Kiryae nodded slowly. ‘But the Syladrian Dwarves don’t agree with you, do they?’

                Gidwyn sighed. She’s too damn smart fer ‘er own good. ‘Aye, they don’t,’ he said. ‘They believe in the Great Creator, or the Maker; a great celestial bein’ who works at ‘is anvil all day forgin’ worlds and folks to live on ‘em.’

                ‘That’s not so different from what the Dwarves of the Great Mountains believe about the Fire, is it?’ Kiryae asked, affixing Gidwyn with her piercing, innocent eyes. ‘You believe that all things come from the Fire, which crafts the world from the Stone, and-…’

                ‘Kiryae,’ Eoina said gently from beside the fire-pit, ‘leave yer pa alone, ‘e’s ‘ad a long day!’

                ‘But I want to know!’ the she-Elf girl protested.

                ‘It’s alright, Eoina,’ Gidwyn said, sitting down beside Kiryae. ‘What d’ye want to know, exactly?’

At ten years old, Kiryae was already taller than both of her Dwarven foster-parents by at least a hand-and-a-half’s height – perhaps two hands if Gidwyn measured by the long, pointed ears that extended past the crown of her head. In fact, Gidwyn was pretty sure she was the tallest person living within the lands of the Underkingdom. She was lanky and gangly, stuck in the extended period of near-adolescence that long-lived Elves suffered for a good decade, with silver-white hair that every Dwarf on the Hrudun mountains secretly envied. For hours, Eoina and Kiryae would sit by the fire pit together whilst Eoina cared for Kiryae’s hair. The Dwarf-woman would tell Kiryae stories of ancient Halflings – and Elves, if she could think of the right tale – and comb, plait, and braid Kiryae’s long, silver cascade of hair until it was a glittering work of woven art.

                As soon as she had been old enough to ask why she did not look like other Dwarves, Gidwyn and Eoina had told her the truth of how she had come to be with them. They had told her they had not known her name, or who her parents were, or what they were doing so far north in the Great Mountains on such a stormy night. They had told her that her name Kir-yae meant ‘Winter’s Gift’ in High Dwarven. She had only been five or six years old at the time, but Gidwyn had been proud of the maturity with which Kiryae had handled the truth. She had never asked about it again, though.

                As Gidwyn sat beside the pretty Elven girl with ice-blue eyes and a wit as sharp as a honed dagger, he found himself looking back on the days that followed her rescue. Whilst his lips told the young Elf-girl of how the Flame Pontiff and his Burning Deacons had once upon a time been little more than a cult, but now played a direct role in the governance of the Underkingdom, images of walking through the snow, desperately searching for any sign of the strange killers of the Elven party, flashed through his mind.

                ‘What do the Men believe, Father?’ Kiryae’s question brought Gidwyn back to reality.

                Gidwyn let out a chuckle. ‘Careful wit’ yer questions, girl: Humans ‘ave fought wars o’er less.’

                Kiryae looked at Gidwyn, puzzled, but was interrupted by a knock on the door.

                ‘Open up, Giddy, ‘s cold as a greatgoat’s arse out ‘ere, and the company smells about as good as one!’ a voice said.

                Eoina was at the door before anyone else and quickly pulled it open. The bright light of the early afternoon day outside flooded in, and was followed quickly by a stocky, cloaked figure.

                Eoina embraced Galahad as he stepped through, and he kissed her forehead. ‘Not frozen yet?’ Galahad asked with a laugh, as he always did every time he came to visit.

                ‘Nae,’ Eoina replied. ‘How’s Torith?’

                The last decade had been unkind to Galahad. A year after Gidwyn had found Kiryae in the frozen wilderness, Queen Ffyon of the Unerkingdom had passed a writ allowing for certain members of the Synod of Flame to hold both secular and ecclesiastical offices, which came at the expense of the seats of some old aristocratic families. A rebellion had begun that had taken six years to be put down. As a loyal soldier of the queen, Galahad had been called upon to do his duty – a duty which had almost cost him his life.

                ‘Uncle Gally!’ Kiryae cried, jumping to her feet and crossing to embrace the bald-headed but magnificently-bearded Dwarf. ‘Can you tell me the story of how you lost your arm again? You make it so exciting!’

                Galahad gathered Kiryae up in his one good arm and squeezed her tightly. He’d be a great father, Gidwyn thought as he watched on with a smile. Although Galahad had married Torith, the woman of his dreams, she had fallen terribly sick whilst he had been away on campaign, and when Galahad had returned, she had been unable to bear any children. The couple had been heartbroken.

                ‘Kiryae, he’s barely through the door, give the fella a chance!’ Eoina cried.

                Galahad kissed Kiryae’s cheek – it was as high as he could reach – then turned to his younger brother and embraced him.

                ‘Too long,’ Gidwyn said as he held his brother to him. ‘Far too long.’

                ‘Bein’ a commander ‘is ‘ard work,’ Galahad said, shrugging his shoulders.

                ‘Farmin’ goats ‘is ‘arder.’

    Gidwyn’s eyes fell to his dear brother’s left arm. He still was not used to seeing Galahad with no lower-left arm – though he had grown tired of listening to the tale of how he lost it fending off a score of Yaghu alone. Instead of let the limb go to waste – or so Galahad had said – he had a solid metal buckler with a long spike protruding from its centre belted to the end of his handless forearm.

                Another figure stepped into the doorway, a large number of Dwarf-folk in armour and heavy cloaks behind him. ‘Good afternoon, Mister Greylocke,’ a higher-pitched, nasal voice said.

                ‘Ramscoldt,’ Gidwyn said, stepping away from his brother and bowing his head cordially. ‘Your journey was easy, I trust?’

                Phineaus Ramscoldt and Gidwyn had known one-another for a long time, though the length of their relationship was not reflected in any kind of amity. Ramscoldt, a sour-faced Gnome, was head of the Queen’s Caravans; as such, it was his job to ensure that all farms in the Upper-World from which the queen demanded tithes remained stocked at all times. Passage down from the various farms dotted over the Great Mountains was extremely difficult and hazardous – many of the Halflings that made the journey died. Gidwyn himself had not been down to the Old City and the rest of the Underkingdom since he had found Kiryae, though Eoina tried to make an annual trip to see her father.

Although there was a small village called Sky’s Anvil roughly three miles down the mountains, where travelling merchants from the Underkingdom and the Halflings who lived upon the mountains regularly convened, it was no trade hub and could not support the hundreds of Dwarf men, women, and children who lived on the mountains by necessity of the kingdom. And so, because of the dangerous journey, every month or so, Ramscoldt would appear by the queen’s instruction outside Gidwyn’s home with his greatgoat-drawn wagon and his small army of hired Dwarven mercenaries to supply goods to Gidwyn – for a price. He was, as Gidwyn often called him, a glorified travelling merchant.

                He was small, even for a Gnome, with a hooked nose and large, outward-sticking ears. His eyes were hidden behind a thickly-rimmed pair of brass spectacles, and his relatively feeble, thin body was encased within at least half a dozen layers of furs. He wore an expression Kiryae once described to Gidwyn as looking like “someone who has just had a fistful of snow dropped into their britches.”

                ‘D’ ye ‘ave much stock left, Ramscoldt?’ Gidwyn asked, eager to see the unpleasant little Gnome on his way.

                ‘There’s no rush, Mister Greylocke,’ Ramscoldt said in an infuriatingly flat voice. ‘I invoke the Right of the Queen’s Sanctuary. As her representative, I am hereby legally allowed to spend one night at your home and-…’

                ‘I bloody know, ye sod,’ Gidwyn grumbled, ‘ye pull the same thing every time ye come ‘ere. Get ye and yer boys’ backsides inside an’ close the door behind ye before ye let all the warm out.’

                Ramscoldt narrowed his beady eyes. ‘Very well,’ he snapped. He looked over his shoulder and waved a hand. Sound erupted from outside as Ramscoldt’s mercantile wagon was driven into Gidwyn’s barn and the two large greatgoats that drew it were unharnessed. A few moments later, eight hefty Dwarf-folk – four men and four women, all dressed in leather and chainmail beneath layers of thick fur – entered the farmhouse and closed the door.

                ‘How ye manage a six-day trek wit’ ‘im is beyond me, Gally,’ Gidwyn said with a grunt.

                Galahad shrugged. ‘His hirelings ain’t so bad. He’s too aloof t’ talk wit’ ‘em anyhow; spends most o’ ‘is time hidden in ‘is cart, complainin’ about the cold.’

                Gidwyn rolled his eyes. ‘Ye won’t mind spendin’ evenin' wit’ ‘im, then.’

                Galahad’s face fell. ‘I didnae say tha’!’

                Gidwyn was already on his feet. ‘C’mon Kiryae, let’s go an’ see ‘ow the kids are doin’.’

                Kiryae, who had settled amongst Karveth, Coren, and Synera near the fire-pit in the middle of the large room, looked up, her brilliant blue eyes shining as she scratched Coren’s chin in the spot he liked. ‘Of course, father,’ she said. She rose with an effortlessness and grace no Dwarf could ever muster, picked up her heavy cloak from beside the door, and joined Gidwyn.

                ‘Father?’ Gidwyn heard Ramscoldt say. ‘She still hasn’t accepted she’s not a Halfling, then?’

                Gidwyn gritted his teeth as he whistled for his three wolf-dogs, all of whom obediently rose and followed him. ‘She knows well wha’ she is, Ramscoldt,’ the Dwarf said as Karveth, Coren, and Synera padded over to him. ‘Family is more than blood – ye’d know if ye ‘ad a friend.’

                There were a few muffled chuckles from the Dwarves around the fire as Gidwyn led Kiryae out through the heavy doors and into the thick snow below. Gidwyn could feel Ramscoldt glaring at him as he left, as the irritable little Gnome always did.

Gidwyn had little choice but to offer Ramscoldt shelter for the night, as much as he despised the Gnome. He was the Gnome’s last call on his passage through the mountains, and he would never make it back to the Sky's Anvil before nightfall – and the mountains were not a place to be caught in the night. If something were to happen to Ramscoldt, Gidwyn knew the blame would probably fall on him.

Still, Gidwyn knew he was going to need a few moments of quiet before facing Ramscoldt that day. He took a deep breath of the freezing-cold but blissfully sharp mountain air and enjoyed the mist and cloud-fogged view. The day had been overcast and the clouds above were heavy and grey as the sun sank towards the horizon. Light snow tonight, nae doubt, Gidwyn thought as he hoisted his crook and stepped forwards.

                ‘Father?’ Kiryae said as she stepped through the door behind Gidwyn and pulled it closed. ‘What did Ramscoldt mean?’

                Gidwyn began to walk through the snow, grumbling and muttering to himself for a moment. ‘Ramscoldt’s an ol’ coot,’ he said.

                ‘He doesn’t like me, does he?’ Kiryae said without as much as a hint of resentment in her voice.

                Gidwyn sighed, looking into the churned-up snow at his feet. ‘Herd’s gone eastward, as usual,’ he said, hoping to ignore Kiryae’s question – though he knew better than to try. ‘We should probably round ‘em up an’ get ‘em back in if there’s t’ be snow this eve.’

                ‘Why doesn’t he like me?’ Kiryae said, gliding through the snow as if it was a fog. Her blue eyes sparkled, her pretty face quirked in curiosity.

                Gidwyn sighed. ‘Some Halflings are like tha’,’ he said with a shrug. ‘Lots o’ us believe tha’ we’re better off without the Upper-World.’

                ‘But we live on the Upper-World,’ Kiryae said. ‘If we did not have the Upper-World, the Underkingdom would get no greatgoats. Then what would they do?’

                Gidwyn tramped through the snow, his large dogs around him and Kiryae at his side. His home disappeared behind a rise as he walked further and further away. ‘Tha’s a question I don’t know ‘ow t’ answer, Kiryae,’ he said with a sigh. ‘I’m a greatgoat herder, no’ a politician.’

                ‘I’ll ask Ramscoldt,’ Kiryae said airily, turning her gaze to the clouds around them. ‘I’d be interested to see what he has to say.’

                Gidwyn sighed again. Strange girl, he thought to himself as he whistled for his three large dogs. He and Eoina often asked one-another if they were raising Kiryae right. She was unlike any Halfling or Upper-Worlder the Dwarf couple had ever met. She was reserved, quiet and insightful, yet simultaneously seemed very detached from reaity. It were as if there were a pane of glass between her and the rest of civilisation – she was standing outside looking in.

But, as Gidwyn was reminded as he followed the greatgoat’s tracks with the she-Elf child beside him, there was a wisdom to her that he could not put his finger on. There was a depth in her piercing blue eyes that was almost a world-weariness. She looked at Esdaria through melancholy eyes that seemed distant and far away - as if she had seen it all before ten-thousand times before.

Maybe it’s just what Elves are like, Gidwyn thought as he ascended a steep bluff and paused at the top to allow Kiryae to catch up. She strode effortlessly, her heavy hide-sewn dress and thick boots worn as lightly as she stepped.

It did not take the two of them long to arrive at their destination: a huge, icy plain tucked in the cleft between two peaks. Tall, jagged rocks rose and fell like trees across the tundra-like space. Here and there, a few of the hardiest birds circled, including what looked like a rock-tailed falcon to Gidwyn’s eye.

‘Father?’

‘Aye, Kiryae?’

Kiryae, blue eyes flashing with their strange, icy beauty, smiled. ‘May I sing for the greatgoats?’ she asked.

Gidwyn’s smiled broadened. ‘Always.’

Kiryae turned to face the eastward horizon. Snow-covered peaks rose high and wide above the skittering clouds, and the few rays of sun that made it to the snow danced and shone upon the sea of snowflakes. She took a breath and began to sing a sad tune in High Dwarvish.

‘Kunyiera, mythrela commen!

Kunyiera, mythrela rugel!

Kunyiera, mythrela commen;

Fyr thundaarstel foult ist commenel.’

Kiryae’s voice was crystal-clear and high-pitched, echoing around the mountainside, carried far by the whistling wind. ‘My loves, come back to me,’ Gidwyn repeated after his foster-daughter, ‘My loves, to me come running. My loves, come back to me, for a terrible storm is coming.’

Hearing Kiryae sing the old herder’s song brought a tear to Gidwyn’s eye every time. As he watched the young Elven girl call over the mountains, sure enough, a few far-off, dark specs appeared in the distance and began to quickly move towards where he, Kiryae, and his three enormous wolf-dogs were standing.

‘Perfect every time, eh,’ Gidwyn said, wiping his eyes. ‘Best voice in the Underkingdom.’ Best voice in the World.

Kiryae turned to face Gidwyn and gave him one of her rare, genuine smiles. As she turned to face Gidwyn, the three dogs who had walked around him all the way from the home crossed to Kiryae and sat by her feet. Karveth, the alpha, even nuzzled Kiryae for affection. The Elf-girl laughed and patted the huge dog’s nose.

             Strange girl, Gidwyn thought fondly and turned back to look at where his herd of greatgoats were making quick progress towards where they stood. Karveth ne’er pesters anyone else for a fuss.

Quite suddenly, Kiryae interrupted the silence. ‘Have you ever seen the world that lies below the mountains?’

‘You mean the lands o’ Men?’ Gidwyn shook his head. ‘Only from upon high where we live. I’ve ne’er walked the roads tha’ criss-cross the Upper-World.’

Kiryae nodded slowly, peering down through the clouds around them at the Imperial Heartland below. ‘It seems sad.’

Gidwyn frowned. ‘Wha’ makes ye say tha’?’

Kiryae’s gaze almost seemed to glaze over for a moment. Her fingers tickled Karveth’s ear-tips absent-mindedly and a forlorn expression passed across her smooth features. ‘Human-folk are so short-lived,’ she said. ‘They are born into the wars of their fathers and their grandfathers and fight for people they’ve never met. They toil and suffer in the names of kings and emperors, and then they die, never once seeing the fruits of their labours. They leave the toil to their children, and the cycle continues.’

‘Aye, but,’ Gidwyn said, taking Kiryae’s slender, pale hand, ‘Humans are a driven folk. Many achieve more afore breakfast than some Dwarves will in a decade.’

Kiryae looked pained. ‘But their wars,’ she said. ‘Why do they fight so long?’

Gidwyn shrugged. ‘So do Dwarves an’ Elves,’ he said, patting Synera’s head as the huge wolf-like dog nuzzled his free hand. ‘We fight an’ bleed jus’ as much as Humans.’

‘But we live long,’ Kiryae said. ‘We see our wars come to an end; the Humans die before any resolution is reached, and their kin blindly fight too!’ The Elf-girl seemed almost distraught for a moment. ‘Why, father?’ she said. ‘I don’t see the sense in it!’

‘And nor do I,’ Gidwyn said gently, a small smile on his lips. ‘Yer a very clever girl, Kiryae, with a heart o’ gold an’ more love to give than all others. Don’t let yerself be pained though, m’ love.’ He lifted his foster-daughter’s hand to his lips and kissed it. ‘I’m very proud o’ ye.’

As the herd of greatgoats flocked around them, enticed by the sound of Kiryae’s voice, the young she-Elf smiled down at Gidwyn, her yes still sad. ‘Not everyone is like you, though, are they, father?’

Gidwyn sighed, casting his eyes over the animals flocking around the Elven girl. ‘No,’ he said sadly. ‘No, they aren’t.’

*

As Gidwyn and Kiryae made their way back towards home, the goats keenly following Kiryae who sung to them every now and then, the wind brought grim tidings to them. Voices were on the air – angered, raised voices.

             ‘Oh, Fire preserve,’ Gidwyn growled and set off at a jog back towards his home. Soon, the wide, squat stone building and its stone barn swung into view, and the raised voices grew even louder. Gidwyn hurried towards his home, dogs at his heels, and threw the heavy oaken door open.

‘All I’m saying,’ Ramscoldt snapped as Gidwyn opened the door, ‘is that Queen Ffyon and the Council of Flame have a right to know that there is an Elf living within the jurisdiction of her kingdom!’

             ‘And ye’ll wha’?’ Eoina growled, pointing a fat finger into the Gnome’s chest. ‘Tell ‘er? Ye’re a coward, Ramscoldt.’

             ‘It’s simple bureaucracy,’ the Gnome said, putting his hands in the air. Around the room, the armed mercenaries the Gnome had brought with him began to fidget. ‘Queen Ffyon has a right to know-…

             ‘Wha’s all this?’ Gidwyn yelled as he strode out of the evening and into his warm home, Kiryae and his three dogs with him. ‘I could ‘ear the yellin’ ‘alf a mile away!’

             Eoina, her face flushed with fury, span to glare at Gidwyn. ‘This hook-nosed rat,’ she spat, ‘this spineless, snivellin’ piece o’ dung wants to take our daughter away from us!’

             Gidwyn looked from Eoina to Galahad, who was standing with his fist clenched behind her. ‘He wha’?’ Gidwyn said, eyes wide.

             ‘What I said,’ Ramscoldt began, his lips tight, ‘was that, as a form of due process and as an observation of judicial laws in the Underkingdom, yourself and your good lady wife-…’

             ‘Shut up, y’ worm,’ Eoina spat.

             ‘…have a duty to the kingdom to inform the queen that there is an Elf living amongst us!’ Ramscoldt concluded and folded his arms, glaring at Eoina.

             ‘Ye’ve known about Kiryae fer a decade, Ramscoldt!’ Gidwyn said through his teeth. ‘Why bring this up now?’

             ‘I thought you’d informed the queen of-…’

             ‘Mister Ramscoldt,’ Kiryae said, stepping forwards and cutting the Gnome off. ‘May I ask something of you?’

               The Gnome’s eyes widened and for a moment, he looked taken aback. He visibly shook a little under the scrutiny of Kiryae’s ice-blue eyes. ‘What is it?’ he said, his tone sharp.

               ‘What is it that I have done to offend you so?’ she asked in a kind, gentle voice.

                Ramscoldt went red. ‘You have done nothing, so to speak,’ he stammered. ‘It’s more that Upper-Worlders have no place in Halfling society.’

                ‘I have never visited the Underkingdom that lies beneath the Hrudun Druria,’ Kiryae said, her gaze strange and thoughtful, yet completely unperturbed. ‘I have never looked upon the Old City. The furthest I’ve ever been from home is to the village of Sky’s Anvil, where I have broken bread with your Halfling-kin, shared in your songs and your tales, played with your children, and prayed to the Fire, just as you have.’

                Ramscoldt looked visibly uncomfortable. He glanced back at his hired men but found no consolation from those sitting by the fire. A few shrugged their shoulders, but none spoke. ‘You are an Elf, though,’ Ramscoldt said slowly. ‘I’m not trying to imply that makes you any less of a person or-…’

             ‘Tha’s exactly what yer tryin’ ta do!’ Eoina cried. ‘Yer actin’ like ‘cos she’s no Dwarf she ‘as no right to be ‘ere!’

             ‘She doesn’t!’ Ramscoldt cried. ‘The Underkingdom is for Halflings! The Upper-World is for the Upper-Folk, and that is what she is!’

             ‘She lives in the Upper-World, are ye thick as stone?’ Gidwyn yelled, waving his arms wide. Around him, his three dogs, sensing their master’s anger, began to snarl, their long, sharp teeth bared and their hackles raised.

Slowly, Karveth, the largest of the wolf-dogs with his one golden and one blue eye, stepped forwards. The enormous wolf-dog loomed over the Gnome, his jaws large enough to close around the small figure’s head. It was at this point that Ramscoldt’s guards stood up, their hands on their weapons and began to cry out. ‘Control tha’ animal!’ one said. ‘Control ‘im or we’ll put ‘im down!’

‘Call your beast back,’ Ramscoldt cried, his voice trembling, ‘call them back or I’ll-…’ he swallowed, stepping backwards towards his mercenaries – none of whom looked particularly comfortable putting themselves in-between their master and the enormous dog, but knew well enough that should the hand that payed their salaries be bitten off by a gigantic dog, they were unlikely to receive any gold for their services. The mercenaries instead continued to yell and brandish their weapons, ready to leap forwards should the source of their money be put in further danger.

             ‘Karveth!’ Gidwyn cried, taking hold of the huge animal’s scruff and trying to haul him away. ‘Back, boy, back!’

But Karveth would not listen. The huge dog loomed, slavering, snarling, his eyes fixed on Ramscoldt. ‘Karveth!’ Gidwyn cried again, but it was no use. The yelling of the Dwarven mercenaries was upsetting the huge dog further, and beside Gidwyn, both Coren and Synera began to slowly pad forwards, following their lead of their alpha.

             ‘Gidwyn!’ Eoina cried through the noise. ‘Gidwyn, stop ‘im! Stop ‘im afore he kills someone!’

             Gidwyn hauled on the dog’s scruff to no avail, but as he did so Kiryae called out. ‘Karvie,’ she said in a gentle voice that was almost lost to the din in the room. ‘Karvie.’

             Very suddenly, Karveth lowered his hackles, stopped his growling, and padded over to where Kiryae was standing. The huge dog nuzzled her outstretched hand before curling up at the she-Elf’s feet as if nothing had happened. Both Coren and Synera followed his example, sitting either side of Kiryae, their shining eyes fixed on Ramscoldt.

Silence fell.

            Gidwyn looked from his brother, to his wife, to his foster-daughter, his mouth hanging open. He had never seen Karveth be subdued so easily. Once, when Gidwyn had taken him to Sky’s Anvil on one of the sparse market days the small village held, Karveth had locked his teeth around a stray wolf-dog. It had taken six brawny Dwarven farmers and an ox-bone the size of a Human leg to wrench the enormous beast from his prey – who had died within moments.

             Ramscoldt broke the silence. ‘That thing,’ he said in a shaking voice, ‘that monstrous beast almost killed me! I demand compensation from you, Gidwyn Greylocke! I demand-…’

             Gidwyn was about to yell when Galahad walked forwards and stood square in front of the Gnome, his one hand balled into a fist. ‘Ye’d best take yer cart an’ be gone, I think,’ he said in a low, dark voice. ‘An’ ye’d do well to leave yer good hosts something by way o’ a token as an apology for yer rudeness.’

             Ramscoldt seethed. ‘I invoked the right of-…’

             ‘I don’t care,’ Galahad said with a curl of his lip. ‘If ye want to stay in my brother’s house, ye show his daughter some respect. She’s more goodness in ‘er lil’ finger than you’ve in yer whole wretched body. Get out, or per’aps next time Kiryae won’t call the dogs off fer ya.’

             Ramscoldt twitched, glaring at Galahad for a moment, before spinning on his heel and marching out into the snow. His mercenaries followed him. One of them muttered an apology to Eoina and thanked her for her hospitality as he went.

             As the door was closed, Galahad turned to Gidwyn. ‘This ain’t finished,’ he said.

             ‘Nae,’ Gidwyn sighed. ‘Nae, it ain’t.’