“My apologies for not having come sooner,” said Telion as he cracked the egg, “I was in the midst of a battle, and could not, on the moment, depart.”
“A battle?” asked Ceralt with a frown. “I knew nothing of a battle.”
“Would that I could say the same,” sighed Telion, reaching now for some grains of salt to put upon the wrettan egg. “This fey was to be when my little flame would give over her bit of cloth for the gown of a civilized woman. The gown was a lovely blue, to match her eyes, and I had vowed that this fey would I see it upon her.” Again he sighed, then tasted well of the egg. “The little flame liked not the gown, the blue, nor the concept,” said he about a mouthful. “Roundly was I reviled for suggesting the color of the Hitta for a Hosta warrior, above the foolishness of so great and heavy a thing as a slavewoman covering. The gown was thrown about my head to accompany the abuse, and Larid now sits as Jalav does—save that Larid smarts quite a bit from a hiding. It has been my sincere hope that you have had some success with Jalav that I might emulate.”
“I truly begin to believe that never shall there be success to be had with Jalav,” muttered Ceralt, he being slid low within his seat, his legs out straight before him. “Would you care to speak with her?”
Telion’s brows raised somewhat, and he turned to me. “Of what am I to speak with you, Jalav?” he asked.
I gazed upon the life sign of Larid and said nothing.
“You see,” said Ceralt as Telion’s brows lowered and knotted into a frown. “She has been so since the departure of that blood-kin to Sigurr whom I so foolishly engaged to instruct her. The harpy used a rod upon her, and she only lay there beneath the blows.”
“Have you asked what disturbs her?” said Telion, peering more closely at me.
“As she will not speak,” said Ceralt with some annoyance, “perhaps you would care to suggest how I might do that. She does nothing but eat the gruel given, her, and stare upon the fire in her room!”
“She eats the gruel,” Telion echoed thoughtfully. “I like not the implications of that, yet perhaps it may aid us. Have you renth?”
“Certainly I have renth!” snapped Ceralt, straightening in his seat. “Do you think to find the answer in a flagon?”
“Not in one flagon,” said Telion, resting his arms upon the platform as he gazed directly upon Ceralt. “In many flagons—which we three shall share.”
Ceralt grinned and struck the platform with a fist. “An excellent suggestion!” He nodded as Telion grinned, “Perhaps, one might even say, inspired! Inala! Fetch three flagons, and a large pitcher of renth!”
The city female called Inala entered as bidden, bearing the renth and three tall pots. Ceralt and Telion seemed most pleased with the prospect of imbibing renth, for they rubbed their hands in anticipation, and eagerly poured the renth, then shared it. I, too, was given a pot they had filled, and as I cared nothing for what occurred about me, I drank the renth as Ceralt insisted. Again and again were the pots refilled, and as the hind passed, the males did, from time to time, attempt to speak with me—in vain. As I had not fed, I felt some slight warmth from the renth, yet the thin, weakly stuff did nothing else to lighten the burden of my life. By the coming of darkness, the female Inala had renewed the larger supply of renth a number of times, and the hunter and warrior seemed quite taken with it. Much difficulty had they in pouring, and much renth adorned the top of the cleared platform in pools. Finally had Ceralt most carefully filled his pot to the very top, and then passed the renth to Telion before placing both hands upon the pot, raising it slowly, and bringing it to himself in a manner most shaky. Telion sat, the renth unnoticed in his hand, and his eyes followed each of Ceralt’s movements with fascination. In truth, I, too, felt curious as to what he was about, for his lips reached for the gently swinging renth, yet was it carried again and again, beyond their reach. With mouth ajar did he pursue the renth, and it was found to be continuously ahead of him. Telion made a sound of mournful commiseration, and then was his hand firmly before the pot, returning it in the direction of Ceralt. As a rushing river, swollen full with the growth of flood, returns to its bed and banks, so did the renth return to Ceralt, covering him with half its presence, yet was he then able to fasten his lips upon the pot and drink. Telion nodded happily, then he partook of the renth in his hand, disdaining the use of his own pot. I had but recently finished the renth given me, and it seemed I was not to be given more.
Ceralt replaced his pot upon the platform, dabbed gently at his lips with a cloth while seemingly unaware of the renth which soaked the whole of his covering, and then peered with difficulty upon Telion. “Has she spoken with you as yet?” he whispered rather loudly to Telion.
Telion took the renth from his mouth, expelled air sharply, then shook his head. “No,” said he in the same manner of whisper. “Perhaps she is now too taken with renth to speak.”
Ceralt blinked for a moment, then nodded once. “I shall see,” said he most soberly, and his eyes attempted my direction. “Jalav,” said he with a ghastly smile, “are you taken with renth?”
“No,” said I, reflecting that it had been many kalod since even brewed renth had had the ability to best me. It has been said that my capacity for drink is Mida given, and perhaps this is so. Some few of my warriors do also possess the ability, yet truly few are they.
“She is not taken with renth,” said Ceralt to Telion in the previous whisper. “Refill her flagon, and we may yet coax her to speech.”
With a nod, Telion reached toward my pot with the renth, a similar ghastly smile upon his face. He poured quite carefully, spilling no more than a swallow, and then said, “Drink of the renth, Jalav. It shall do well for you.”
“I do not feel the desire for more,” said I, making no attempt to touch the pot, and then Telion gave me a stern look.
“You shall drink the renth as you are bidden!” said he, placing his arm in a wide pool of spilled renth. The stern look then turned sickly as he slowly inspected his dripping arm, yet he said in a mutter, “You must speak to us, therefore must you drink the renth. Should you fail to obey me, I shall take my leather to you as long ago promised.”
“Never!” shouted Ceralt, jumping to his feet so rapidly that his seat flew away backward from him. “Never shall I allow her to be beaten again! Any who wish to beat her must first take my life! Draw your weapon, Telion!”
“I have no weapon,” said Telion in distraction, seeking about himself for some manner of cloth to wipe his still dripping arm. “You are merely a hunter, Ceralt, and know not even when a warrior is disarmed. Remain with your spear and bow, and do not attempt the use of a warrior’s weapons.”
“Do you insinuate I know naught of a sword?” Ceralt demanded indignantly. “I am able to wield a sword as well as any warrior!”
“Hah!” shouted Telion, forgetful of his arm as he attempted to follow Ceralt’s swaying movement with his head. “The hunter has not been born who is able to equal the meanest of warriors! The renth has obviously strengthened your selfimage, and weakened your wits!”
“Weakened my wits!” echoed Ceralt, his eyes wide and disbelieving, anger growing within him. “For words such as those, you must pay with your blood!”
Telion’s head had continued to follow Ceralt’s movement as the hunter swayed to and fro, to and fro, and the male warrior seemed to pale somewhat from his efforts. “Do not speak that word now,” he said to Ceralt in a very low voice.
“Word?” shouted Ceralt angrily. “What word?”