The darkness of sleep departed with the morning smoke, as Trygve awoke to find that several of his companions already awake. Several of them such as his brother, looked over to him with consternation or with a certain amount of warmth that served to lighten his own heart.

  Such was the good humour in the camp that day that they passed a few hours fishing in the river, with makeshift fishing-rods that used some of the torn cloth of Daegan’s cloak rather than any strings. Once they had a small number of fish, they cooked them and served them out amongst their numbers and ate with such gluttony that they were soon the subjects of mockery by the fey.

  The fairies for their own part had slept the whole night through also, only to return with a vengeance tinkling laughter along with twinkling lights trailing them.

  “If only they would be silent,” Daegan complained when they turned their acidic wit to tormenting her about her slightly shortened hair (which now stretched to her upper back rather than mid-back), having been shorn by use of her sword, as some of the strands had been burnt. Her green dress was now no longer a thing that covered the whole of her arms and down to her ankles, but was sleeveless and down to her lower knees, this in particular tore at her heart, as the dress was one that Kenna had sewn personally for her.

  For some reason, the sight of her moaning and looking as though she might weep in feminine embarrassment and shame, made Trygve’s heart tighten with pity. He felt as though he were seeing one of his sisters, ravaged and thrown to the side by some barbarian from Brittia or Norwend.

  Still though, the mocking song of the fey persisted.

  “Ha-ha-ha! Lo! See her crying-so?

  Or will you flee?

  Your dress is torn, as your sun-hair this we do see,

  To fly would be folly, this we say-so,

  To tear more would be foppish,

  And this has the all the woods sniggering,

  O see how she doth cry-so?

  Lo! Ha-ha-ha! To tear more would be oafish,

  To not rend thy hair and dress would be a waste,

  So do keep amusing

  The whole of we the fair-folk with greater haste,

  Lest we should burn more of thee Daegan the Oaf.”

  “Do be quiet, lily-beard,” Trygve muttered, tearing into his second fish of the morning, dark eyes wandering about the area they found themselves in. They were in a small clearing, with the fire still ablaze though it had yet to cross the river with the same hill to the left of the ‘route’ they had followed through the forest. The cedar and birch-trees that surrounded them were not of the same warm, smelly nature of those that had sought to devour them.

  The bright white, grey and greenness of their bark served as a comfort to all, with many of the trees rising a hundred meter or two hundred off the ground. Thick trunks a testament to the good health and hearty living of the lot of them, as they loomed protectively now over the companions who still eyed them a little uneasily. Their branches filled with new life, reminded some of the haunting, casual manner in which the man-eaters had waved their own, with the breeze still a warm one. Yet it set them all to shivers, and filled each of them with the determination to leave this place as soon as possible.

  The grumbled order on the part of Ida’s son served only to set the fey tittering with scornful laughter, at her expense. This goaded to the surprise of Trygve, Cormac into action as he picked up a rock and threw it at one of them (he missed, for he had poor aim). “Enough! You leave poor Dae alone, less I shall catch you and wring your worthless necks! Such jests have no place, being made at the expense of the most incomparable lady in all the land of Caledonia!”

  “Cormac enough!” Wulfnoth called in alarm, his fearful eyes going to the fairies that flew and buzzed all about in sudden anger.

  “Aye, aye! Enough cry we floral-folk, less we should bring ruin to thee man-elk.” The fairies bellowed with a shared spasm of rage (save for the child, who fled then).

  The druid’s attempt to calm the youth, resulted in him grabbing him by the arm only for him to shake his arm free, “Let me go! They have no right to speak to Dae so!”

  “And yet they do, take great care with thy words, lad,” the old man warned, “For they who often wish harm upon others, regardless the reason may often find that such sentiments come home to roost rather than dispersing to the four winds.”

  “Some folk deserve every unkindness imaginable though,” Cormac grunted heatedly under his breath, his ordinarily slow-temper once ablaze could prove difficult to extinguish.

  Cursing under his breath, he returned to Daegan’s side, she gave him a small wan smile in one of her quieter moments. He was not done with doting upon her, as he took his own cloak off from his shoulders so as to wrap it about her own broaching it with the thistle that Alette gave him with a quick gesture that surprised even her.

  If Trygve was to judge by the way she pulled the wolf-fur cloak tighter against her with a smile, and reddened freckled cheeks she was pleased by this act of kindness. If it had been anyone else, Daegan might well have rejected the gift of a cloak, yet because it was Cormac she comported herself no differently than a docile deer.

  Cormac for his own part though, re-seated himself next to her with his back to the river, blue eyes enflamed with anger at the fey.

  Hardly daunted, they had but eyes for Daegan fluttering past her, only to return to gaze more closely at her, which worsened her and Cormac’s moods. In their anger they sought to swat at them to no avail.

  “Back, will you!” He cried with some heat.

  “I would like some peace and distance from you lot,” Daegan fussed in frustration the chain about her neck jingling as it was tossed about.

  The scarlet gazes of the fairies were fixed upon the gem, just as those of the man-eaters were the night prior Trygve noticed with something of a start. He was not alone.

  “Daegan, hide that pendant!” Wulfnoth hissed at once, but it was too late.

  Lily-beard flew over to hold himself before Trygve, singing to him with evident avarice in his gaze, “Thrice has thou sworn debts to we flower-kin, all debts could be paid with the gem below the hag’s dotted chin.”

  This request was an alarming one that should not have surprised Trygve, half so much that it did. Indulf who had been content to eat, and glower at the fairies in annoyance swallowed now the salmon he loved so dearly.

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  “We cannot give you the gem, ask for something else.” He interrupted the fairy as he began to repeat his request.

  “Thrice has thy brother sworn debts to we flower-kin, all debts must be repaid with the gem below the hag’s ugly chin.” The fairy repeated alongside his folks, with some minor changes to the sing-song phrase.

  “Trygve, did you truly indebt yourself to these heretical creatures?” Wulfnoth queried with some apprehension, as Daegan grew furious at being called ‘ugly’ and ‘hag’, her own glare naught compared to the thunderous look that overtook Cormac’s own face.

  “Silence,” He shouted with a protective arm about her shoulders as he swore then, “Dae is the prettiest of all the lasses in Rothien!”

  “I owe you two debts,” Trygve replied at the same time, distracting Daegan from her gratitude towards her most ardent defender, the panic in his voice drawing down upon him the ire of the fey. “You saved me by the river, and guided me to my friends!”

  “We saved you twice by the river,” They retorted heatedly.

  “Liars!”

  “Tread lightly,” Wulfnoth cautioned, “I have heard that fairies take poorly to such accusations.”

  It was as he said; the fey took the angry accusation poorly. By this time, they had had rocks thrown at them, been accused of the meanest thing in fairy-culture for they loathed lies above all other things. The worse part in their eyes, as they bellowed (as best they could) to all in sundry was the breaking of Trygve’s oath.

  Whether or not he had truly sworn any such thing, was now irrelevant for they had decided for him that he indeed had, and that he owed them the Blood-Gem. “Return to us the debt owed, less we take all that thou hold, force shall be our choice, if thou reduces our compact to void.”

  It took Trygve a moment to discern what it was that they had said (as always); however Wulfnoth had no difficulty in seeing through their speech. “Wait! Wait o fair-folk! We er- would offer to thee other treasures, other baubles than the gemstone! Name any other price than the cursed-gem!”

  There was a long pause in negotiations. The fairy tribe withdrew a short distance away, during this time Trygve urged his companions to finish their breakfast.

  “We might have to take flight from this horrid forest,” He told them as he devoured his last fish without truly tasting it.

  “Why in Ziu’s name did you swear an oath to these fairies?” Daegan asked sullenly.

  “I did no such thing, I am not so free with my oaths as some people are,” Trygve countered plaintively, “I swore that I owed them ‘a debt’, and somehow they have laid claim to thrice that price.”

  Daegan looked as though she might argue further, however it was Cormac who intervened in defence of Freygil’s youngest son. “Dae, if Trygve says he only swore himself to one debt, then that is what he did. He is neither an oath-breaker nor a liar therefore we should seek some way to escape from these beastly folk.”

  Before they could continue their debate, lily-beard returned with the sort of oily smile and glowing yellow eyes that bode poorly for Trygve, or so he thought. The fairy said to them, “I would ask for two boons; one is knowledge of where thy journey will take thee by afternoon?”

  The travelers exchanged uncertain glances, apprehensive about telling these semi-hostile fairies more than they ought to know.

  At last Wulfnoth answered, “We seek the dark-riders who desire this gem-stone and our friend the sorcerer Wiglaf. Likely, we will seek to venture to whither lands’ that lie south of MacDuibh’s Rothien holdings.”

  The knowledge was freely given, with Cormac the one who asked now suspiciously, “What is your second request?”

  The fairies were visibly distressed at the news, for reasons that escaped them all. They fluttered amongst themselves, speaking hastily in their chirping, lilting fey-tongue at a pace that even had the humans understood they could never have followed their speech.

  This filled Trygve with suspicion, and his mistrust led him to begin to seek some means by which he might extricate himself from his debt to these fairies. It was a loutish desire, however he considered the bond already broken as they had tripled the fee for their aid, had sought to rob Daegan and had generally been poor company.

  I shan’t believe how horrible they are, when Queen Alette was so wonderful! He thought to himself with some heat, only to remember not only her sweetness but that of the fairies when he had first beheld her rose-petals. Or had they been? The question made him think back, past the fog of terror back to the moment by the river when they had interrupted his singing.

  They had looked upon the petals certainly with some interest, but what kind was it? Their expressions could be so difficult to read, he thought with some frustration. It was as they returned to him that a light sparked from deep within his soul once more, this time not one of hope but of realisation.

  This was greed. They were greedy not only for the gemstone, but for Alette’s rose-petals. This knowledge and the horror at the idea of being separated from her rose-petals awoke in him such a fury that he came near to attacking the little pests.

  But the memory of what his parents and the Salmon had taught him about debts and oaths, how they had a truly terrifying power. That when one swore an oath of any kind, one’s fate was to now to be tied with the recipient halted Trygve’s actions.

  “We would claim the petals of our Queen, as our reward most-clean.” Quote the fair-folk with that same intensity as by the river. “This would be payment for the first debt.”

  “This seems to me a just fee,” Wulfnoth said eager to placate them, for fear of upsetting the fairies still further.

  “I would rather not pay such a fee, ask something else.” Trygve said firmly with growing anger, the petals were a gift to him and he would not be separated from them.

  “We insist,” They persisted.

  “Trygve be reasonable, they are but petals,” Daegan grumbled.

  “Nay, I will not be separated from them.”

  “Then what do you propose we give them as a reward?” Indulf asked with a scowl on his face, “Tread lightly brother, as these fey appear of a different breed in spirit than those we saw in the Feywoods.”

  “You owe us two debts!”

  “I hate these little beasts, they never seem to offer us choices but decrees,” Daegan complained bitterly.

  Her words gave rise to an idea in Trygve’s heart as he recalled now something Inga had recounted to him, along with her grandfather one day whilst the three of them and Indulf had been fishing some two years ago.

  Sly Trygve said to the fairies with a perfectly solemn expression upon his face, “I have a thought for a game,” He could tell they were intrigued, “Should you all win, I shall give you the petals, the gem and Daegan’s sword! Should I claim victory though, you will escort us out from here and never come to greet us again.”

  “Trygve!” All of his friends hissed at him in alarm.

  “Fret not, I have never lost this sort of game,” He boasted with utter vanity in his voice, aware that half of this game’s ploy lay in the fooling of his friends as much as his foes. False confidence could be a useful tool he thought; he had after-all observed how Daegan had wielded it for years. For their own part the fairies agreed at once, wherefore his companions reluctantly did much the same. Pleased, Trygve the suns’ golden light in his eyes and that of the fey-folk, victory already certain in his heart asked of the little beasts. “Alette gave us all a gift; I ask of you what gift did she give to each of us?”

  This was a trick that the equally confident fairies, could not resist they consulted amongst themselves as always, before the scarlet lily from earlier answered with utter disdain in his voice. “To he of the golden-hair she gave to him the symbol of the heir,” So saying he pointed to the thistle that served as a brooch for the cloak about Daegan’s shoulders. His words tore a gasp from Trygve’s companions, along with a worried glance shared between Cormac and Corin’s daughter. The fairy flew over to the sly one, to point at the satchel where the rose-petals lay, “There lies the boon by which Alette may known, a gift as good as down a ravine thrown.”

  The near incomprehensible speech lit up in Trygve’s heart a flare of anger. He suppressed it, he was on the verge of victory, he could feel it.

  Lily-beard now flew over to Wulfnoth, “Garlands for the man not from these lands.”

  This drew a concerned look from the druid.

  “What then did the Rose-Queen give to my brother and Daegan?” Trygve questioned, with a small twitch of his lips, a droplet of sweat beading down the side of his head. This was the moment, when all might be decided. Should the fairies guess that there was no gift, all would be over for the travelers.

  “Naught to the hag,” The yellow she-fairy declared pointing at Daegan who flushed with anger at her, and chased her away with a swatting hand.

  “Nor for thy sand-haired brother,” Lily-beard proclaimed triumphantly, this made Trygve’s face fall a little, as this was the correct answer.

  Indulf though had a different idea though, as he contradicted the fairies quietly, “Nay, she did indeed give me a gift. The finest of all, those she ever gave anyone.”

  This statement dumbfounded all of them.

  The fairies reacted first with visible rage, as they all sung together as one, “Liar!”

  “Not so, she sang a song more dear to me than any other saving that of the Thistle-King and his lily-bride; she reminded me of that which I treasure most. This was the finest gift one could give another.” Indulf insisted firmly.

  Seeing the truth in his eyes, as in the firmness of how he held himself, the fey shrieked once more with rage. They might well have sought to bring down some nameless doom upon all of them, were it not for Wulfnoth who declared the matter settled.

  “Aye, he is right! Alette gave to him the finest gift one could give another; a warm memory. Therefore, she did indeed give Indulf something beyond the price of even that of the Blood-Gem. Thus, I must insist that you guide us out from this dreaded place at once! And no tricks!”

  “No tricks you would say, and there shan’t be any yet you will pay.” These were the ominous words that the fairies chanted at them through gritted teeth, the promise of their wroth a wicked thing to see.

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