“Mayhap,” Said Wulfnoth that night as they sat around a fire, in the middle of a long-field with the sea long since behind them. Seated atop a small hill that was half a kilometre high, with the great mound according to the cleric, a place of safety; one that had been a place of peace for centuries. “We may speak of what it was that Alette spoke to you of Cormac.”

  The lad in question was in the middle of arranging some of the last fish that they had brought with them upon some sticks picked up just outside the Feywoods.

  Startled, he looked up to study Wulfnoth, before he smiled genially. “Certainly, what is it exactly do you wish to hear of her?”

  “Mayhap we would like to hear all that she told you,” Trygve said with a touch of peevishness.

  Cormac stared him, just as Daegan and Indulf did. Swallowing a little, he smiled in his most disarming manner, “Very well, she told me mostly of how her people had settled into the woods thousands of years ago. That her father, was Roserius the Rose-King, who forged a strong friendship of sorts with Agrivolan the Battler, one of the chief Romalian generals who pushed as far north as Sgain. It was his forces if you recall who slew Sgain the Golem-Guardian of the Pech-tribes. Roserius forged a friendship with him after he agreed to leave the fey in peace in return for tribute. Centuries later, Alette was to fall in love with one of the last legionaires of Roma; Ciaran.”

  “Of course, she sang it more than said so bluntly,” Wulfnoth guessed with a small chuckle.

  “It appeared to me that they sang all that they uttered,” Indulf said pointedly.

  “Very true,” Cormac conceded with a small shy smile, before he added, “I do not remember all the words of all her songs, for she sang such a great number of them to me.”

  “Sing at least one of them,” Begged Daegan keen as always to hear him sing.

  Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.

  The lad demurred at first, whereupon Indulf added his own voice to her own, “Come now Cormac, there has been little joy in the past day.”

  Cormac sighed, giving in when Wulfnoth prompted him also. Sucking in a breath, he sang in a clear voice if a shaking one a lovely song that none of them had ever heard before.

  ““Ho! Alette Rose-Wing! Alette Petal-Queen!

  She of wind, willow and petals,

  She of song, poetry and faith, harkens you to hear her song,

  Alette was a very merry Queen,

  Deep crimson were her cheeks and her slippers green,

  As was her dress for her hope was to wed,

  Ciaran was her love and joy, he with his hair most red,

  Long they loved dance after they first met,

  Hey ho! Lo! Dance all ye sweet wee ones,

  For Ciaran the Oak has been stabbed by they of the green vale,

  Long did we dance and he call for the nuns,

  They did deny him and dance as he turn’d less hale,

  Away, away went Alette’s joy,

  All she may now do is dance and sing,

  Lest she should weep for her lost king!

  Ho! Alette Wind-Dancer calls ye to dance! Dance!”

  When he had finished the song, all of his friends gazed at him for some time. The song was a lovely one, as was the tale.

  “I have never heard this version of the tale of the fairy-Queen and Ciaran,” Said Indulf stunned, by the knowledge that the tale they were told in their childhood, had little truth to it.

  “Neither did I though, there was truth in Alette’s eyes,” Cormac said soberly, his head bowed a little. “If only we could have asked Ciaran, his thoughts.”

  “Bah, we have her word to stand against garbled words passed down and argued over, between the locals and Conn’s forefathers.” Wulfnoth said with a loud yawn, his moustache quivering as he spoke before he added. “If it had been written down, as all southern tales and those from Gallia have been as of late, we would be closer to the truth.”

  Cormac said nothing, as an obstinate air settled about him. Daegan eyes gleaming greenly let loose a long breath before she pulled her cloak over her head. Trygve followed her example; the difference between the two Indulf noticed was that where her breathing was smooth the younger son of Ida’s breathing came out haltingly.

  This worried him so that throughout his watch, he maintained an eye upon his brother. Once his turn as watch ended, he was awakened not Cormac but the druid to inform him of his concerns.

  Wulfnoth heard his tale with weary eyes, and a stiffened expression. “Go rest now lad,” He advised before he tugged at his moustache between a large finger and thumb. “Put your mind at ease, and let me worry about your brother.”

  https://ko-fi.com/the_brothers_krynn

  https://buymeacoffee.com/broskrynn ;

  https://www.youtube.com/@BrosKrynn

  https://www.patreon.com/c/thebrotherskrynn