"Grond-Grond Peaksmasher!"
"And the hearts of the dwarves were black with treachery. They tumbled under the great lord's feet and made him to think he stood upon the firmament. But then, as he raised his axe to strike again, the dwarves stole away. They carried the stones from beneath the Peaksmasher's feet, and as he tumbled to the earth, the diamond blade chopped a mighty piece from the mountain."
"Grond-Grond Peaksmasher!"
"And the slide of rock and ice entrapped him, and made of him a piece of the Moonshaes, a sturdy beam of the world itself. And the firbolgs wept and grieved, and the dwarves took up the Silverhaft Axe and carried it away."
"Honored is the name of Grond-Grond Peaksmasher!" chanted the firbolg tribe, moved as a single, solid spirit by the tale of their origin.
"And still the Silverhaft Axe remains in the hands of the dwarves! Still they laugh at our grief. Still they taunt us with their prosperity, torment us with their greed…."
"This cannot pass!" Thurgol stormed, bounding to his feet and raising his fist in the air.
"The axe!" shouted another giant-kin, as if on cue. "Claim it back! Claim it in the name of the Peaksmasher's children!"
"Aye! The axe! Kill the bearded runts!" A chorus of cries rumbled through the camp, growing into a crescendo of fury. Even the wolfdogs sensed the frenzy, adding their yaps and howls to the din rising into the night.
Thurgol sat quietly, watching the growing fervor from beneath his hooded eyelids. The council, he knew at last, had carried him perfectly to his goal.
"Did she sleep at all last night?" Alicia could tell from the haggard look of her mother and father as they joined her at breakfast that Deirdre had had another rough night. Though Alicia's own room was nearby, in the upper chambers of Caer Corwell's keep, she did not share the adjoining apartments where her sister currently stayed with their parents. Thus she was spared the experience of Deirdre's nightmares as they happened, though her parents' attitudes in the morning left little doubt as to the night's ordeal.
Surprisingly, Tristan looked at Robyn instead of answering his eldest daughter's question. The queen's eyes were hooded, dark with concern.
"She did … unusually so," Robyn finally said.
"Isn't that good?" asked the princess, sensing the worry in her mother's response.
"I don't know," sighed the queen. "The nightmares came first. She kicked and thrashed in her sleep, tossing her head from side to side and gasping for air as if she couldn't breathe. In the end-when, in the past, she's always awakened screaming-she fell into a deep sleep. It frightened me as much as the nightmares, as if she had given herself up to whatever it was that pursued her. I tried to wake her, but she was beyond reach-or comprehension."
"What can we do? Is it enough to wait for this to pass?"
Again Alicia saw the sharp look between her parents, but then Robyn lowered her eyes in silent defeat. Tristan answered the question.
"When Keane gets here with the patriarch, we'll ask him to examine her," he said slowly while Robyn's eyes remained downcast. He spoke to his wife as much as to his daughter. "We've got to try it! Nothing else seems to work, and we can't give her up! I can't!"
"Nor can I," Robyn replied, surprising Alicia with the softness of her tone.
The princess understood that, with the resurgence of the Earthmother, the druid queen must regard with suspicion the intervention of any other gods into the Moonshaes. The "New Gods," they had once been called, for they were seen to compete with the treasured nature goddess who had so long made these isles an enchanted, magical place.
Yet some problems were beyond the abilities of even the Great Druid to solve, and it seemed that Deirdre's malaise was one of these. Alicia, like her father, hoped that a cleric of one of the New Gods might offer her sister some hope of succor. Yet she could sympathize with her mother as well. Alicia herself had been touched by the magic of the Earthmother, and she understood the special role that the benign goddess played in the life of the Moonshaes. She worried about any threat to that serene balance, the eternal equilibrium of light and dark, good and evil, that provided the fulcrum of her faith.
They spent several silent minutes picking dully at their bread and cheese. Somehow, to Alicia, the former tasted dry and stale, the latter crumbly and sharp-though both were fresh, in varieties she had enjoyed all her life.
"It's not like Keane to waste his time when he's on business for the king. What can be keeping him, anyway?" demanded Tristan, breaking the silence with frustrated words.
"He's not wasting time!" Alicia immediately leaped to her former tutor's defense, surprising her father with the vehemence of her statement
"What makes you so sure?" he pressed, more interested in her reaction than in her answer, for if the truth be told, Tristan felt certain beyond any doubt that the faithful Keane labored diligently in service of his king.
Alicia flushed. The emotions that compelled her beliefs were not feelings she felt ready to discuss with her parents; indeed, she was just beginning to understand them herself. "He's a loyal subject, that's all. If he's taking overly long, it just means that he's run into unforeseen problems."
"Perhaps the patriarch is busy … or absent," surmised the queen, with a sideways look at her daughter. "Keane would certainly try to find some other avenue, some other source of help, rather than return empty-handed."
King Tristan smiled wanly, unconsciously holding his hand over the blunt wrist of his left arm. "You're right, of course. I've had enough demonstrations of loyalty-from all of you-that such complaints are unbecoming. I apologize," he said to Alicia, nodding formally.
The princess blushed even more deeply, for she sensed the teasing in his words. "He'll be back soon!" she finished lamely.
"Brandon departed yesterday?" Tristan mentioned idly. Alicia didn't know if he was changing the subject or pursuing his original tack mercilessly. It was common knowledge that the Prince of Gnarhelm had sought her hand in marriage, and the fact that he had sailed away alone gave a clear enough indication of her reply.
"Yes. He had matters in his father's kingdom to tend. He-he plans to come to Callidyrr over the winter." She wasn't sure how she felt about that. The memory of his determination brought back the sensation of being trapped that she had struggled with earlier.
"A good man, that," the king continued, his appetite growing more hearty as his mind drifted away from his ailing daughter and his own semicrippling wound. "I remember his father, King Olafsson, though I haven't seen him in twenty years. Still, he made a fine impression when we signed the Treaty of Oman."
"The treaty that made it possible for his son to help us," Robyn pointed out. The northmen and Ffolk had been mortal enemies for many centuries until the signing of that historic pact. The peace, arranged by High King Kendrick and the kings of the north, had been reaffirmed during the recent troubles. Also, although Alicia had not been aware of this, the prospect of a unifying marriage had been considered and anticipated by both peoples.
"Indeed," Tristan reminisced. "It was King Olafsson who suggested the place for the ceremony. He thought that the image of the Icepeak above, with the surrounding groves of the Grampalt Highlands, made the proper setting for a peace between two such diverse populations."
"The Icepeak… that's the highest mountain in the isles, isn't it?" Alicia asked.
"So high that its summit remains shrouded by ice and snow the full year around," Robyn confirmed.
"I remember often enough sailing through the strait on the voyages from Callidyrr to Corwell," Alicia observed. "A few times the weather was clear enough that we could see the mountain. I remember the first time I saw it. Never did I think that any piece of the world could soar so high into the air!"