Frostfell_ The Wizards - Mark Sehestedt [43]
"The ones who came for the wizard's son," said Lendri, "the ones I fought and who almost killed me. They were Siksin Neneweth. A man-or something like a man-led them. A man in an ash-gray cloak who walks with winter before and behind him."
Lendri heard several gasps, and even the wolves went silent and still. Every member of the Vil Adanrath, even the youngest, knew the tale of Gyaidun and Hlessa's son. It was told around winter fires and under summer stars.
Leren stared at Lendri with his mouth hanging open. He shut it, looked at his father, then back to Lendri. "You speak of the one who took Erun-or one like him. You-"
"Be silent," said Haerul.
Lendri risked a glance up at his father. A storm was gathering in his winter-sky eyes.
"But-" said Leren.
"Silence."
Lendri could feel his father's gaze upon him, but he did not dare look up. Long moments passed, the only sound a slight breeze rippling the grasses.
"Leren speaks what everyone here knows," said Lendri. "The raiders I speak of, those who took the woman's son, they are the ones who took Erun. Or ones like them. Your daughter's son. Your grandchild. Gyaidun and I are hrayeket, but Erun is not. He is your blood."
"Erun is dead," said Haerul. Lendri could hear the rage and sorrow in his father's voice.
Lendri stood in one swift motion and faced his father, only a half-pace between them, his eyes carefully fixed no higher than his father's chin. The surrounding warriors tensed but did not move forward. Lendri said loud enough for all to hear, "Then there is still vengeance."
Snarling, Haerul backhanded Lendri, knocking him to the ground. "You dare speak to me of vengeance?" Haerul shouted. "You? Were it not for you, your sister would still be alive. It was your treachery that lost her to us!"
Mingan growled and bared his fangs.
"Chu set, Mingan!" Lendri spat blood and struggled to his feet. "Hlessa gave her heart to Gyaidun, and their love gave them a child. It was my sacred duty to her child-beyond all oaths of clan and family. I held my honor, and I would do it again."
"Curse your honor," said Haerul. "Your honor killed your sister and her son."
"Erun may still live."
Haerul's eyes hardened. "Twelve years, hrayek. Twelve years the boy has been gone. Even if he is still alive, what will he be? After all these years? He was never more than-" The chieftain stopped and looked to the surrounding warriors.
"Never more than what?" said Lendri, his voice cold. "A half breed? And you curse my honor. He is your grandson, your blood!"
Haerul roared, more than a little of the wolf entering his voice. He punched Lendri to the ground and raised the knife.
"Enough!" said a new voice.
The omah nin froze, and every eye turned to the figure approaching from outside the ring of gathered warriors. At first glance, he seemed an old man, for he walked with a tall staff and his hair was long and wild, as if it had seen no brush but the wind for years. Tattoos in hues of black, green, and blue covered his face and arms, and red runes much like the omah nin's shown above and below each eye. He was dressed in skins and furs, but a great elkhide cloak draped his shoulders so that as the wind caught it he seemed some dark and angry bird of prey descending on the scene. But he was an elf, no doubt. Pointed ears protruded from his hair, no wrinkle creased his skin, and his eyes held the cant of the others.
Seeing him, Haerul stepped back from Lendri, turned to the newcomer, and fell to his knees. "Belkagen Kwarun! I did not know you were among us."
"I have just arrived," said the belkagen. He looked at Lendri, who lay in the grass, arms bound behind his back and blood smeared down his chin. He shook his head and sighed. "No matter how old I get, the foolishness of the young never ceases to give me wonder."
"Holy one, I was about to mete out the hrayek's punishment," said Haerul, raising the knife. "You need not trouble yourself."
The belkagen rapped his staff across the chieftain's head, not hard but as if chastising a child.