Another day, another pleading scene of Colwyn supplicating before the Jarl of Hraukrheier, with the laird of the city popping grapes into his mouth, only to spit the seeds out upon the floor.

  It was up to one of the servants to clean them, when he would at last climb down from his throne, to hurry thither to the feast-hall which was to the left of this hall. That hall was accessible by a long ten meter hallway, with the hall every bit as bombastic as the one they were currently inside of.

  Ere he had done so, Indulf passed his time examining the women in the hall, wherefore he was glared at by countless women, save for a few who cared little for his furrowing gaze. Measuring them to compare them in his mind, with the lass he had seen the night before and hardly exchanged any true words with.

  He could only conclude when at last he tore his gaze from them, as he did from the men-folk that the lass in question was absent.

  By this time, he had concluded that she had spoken Gallian, a language he could not imagine any of the brutes and women in Herleifr’s halls capable of speaking.

  The feast was one that they were once again hardly invited to, with Indulf hardly offended with the only change that day being that Colwyn was invited to join Herleifr.

  Once again Wiglaf and the youth were escorted up the stairs, with the young lad pausing to ask his hosts, politely, “What lies farther up those stairs?”

  Ignoring his pointed finger, they glowered at him, with visible hostility. Bewildered, Wiglaf was to stare at him for a long time. He spoke only when they were safely ensconced in the room they shared, with the sorcerer asking of him, “Why did you ask after the stairs?”

  “For no reason, other than curiosity Master Wiglaf,” He answered clumsily, cursing himself for his momentary hesitancy.

  Wiglaf gazed at him with a penetrative gaze, until at last he crumbled. Careful with his words now, as he did not wish to reveal all that he had done the previous night. He was careful not to reveal his discovery of a Gallian speaking lass, as he felt certain that his companion would forbid him from visiting her again. So that he shifted his story a little to include the fifth floor’s hissing sound.

  It was as he concluded his tale that Wiglaf by this time seated upon one of the three red-wood chairs in the room, studied him furtively once more. Indulf had the distinct impression that he was reading his mind, a thought that made him shift from foot to foot for a brief moment.

  Tearing his gaze away, to study the sea outside, the sorcerer murmured as he did so, “This hissing of which you speak of was heard on the second floor lad?”

  “Aye.”

  “Did you feel a sense of nausea?” Wiglaf asked next, at the shaking of his friend’s head, the sorcerer stroked his beard in thought. “I must bear witness to this myself.”

  “How do you intend to accomplish this?” Indulf asked a little hesitantly, certain that regardless of what he wished for he would not like what the old man had in mind.

  Wiglaf frowned at him, answering with an air of impatience. “Why, I intend to go out to do some exploration of the palace, myself…”

  *****

  It was hours after this discussion that Indulf, found himself pulled towards the door, he was a little surprised when the sorcerer failed to show any sort of hesitation at pulling the door open. Saying as he did so, “I am well aware that both men have a tendency to drink their sorrows, just before they take up their duties. It is why they sleep, through their watch.”

  “Why has Herleifr, not chosen to replace them with other guards?”

  “He simply does not know, for they have not told him a thing,” Wiglaf retorted only to add with a small snigger, “Little does he know that Colwyn has been slipping outside of his chambers, since the day of our arrival.”

  “What? I did not know this!”

  “We thought it best not to inform you, now I see that we were correct given how impatiently you comported yourself.” The sorcerer said dryly, “Had you simply waited we might have involved you in our negotiations, with the Archdruid of the city.”

  “The Archdruid? But what of Herleifr?” Indulf inquired confused, as he had not seen any such figure in the halls down below where they presently stood.

  “Herleifr rules in name, but there are a great many people who exert influence over him, such as his younger brother, Bandr.” Wiglaf replied opening the door a sliver to gaze outside into the hallway.

  “Brandr?”

  “Tush now, I have no further time for your questions.” The sorcerer replied only to nod to himself in satisfaction, at the sight of the unconscious guards. “They are asleep, now you stay here and I shall investigate the second and third floors of the palace.”

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  Biting his tongue, to keep from answering him Indulf crossed his arms in exasperation at the old man, who remained determined to exclude him from the important decisions of their quest.

  Eyeing him suspiciously, he told him as he raised his staff to engrave into it, an almost indiscernible symbol, with the bottom tip of it. Saying as he did so, “I do suspect you may prove difficult, Indulf for this reason I do hope you will not mind my engraving a charm into the door. That way you will have to remain here, until my return.”

  Indulf fumed.

  Faced with no other choice, but to sleep he did so though not without cursing the sorcerer one last time ere he fell asleep.

  *****

  From the moment he closed his eyes, he fell into a deep slumber. He knew he was sleeping, from the moment he awoke to find himself in the fields of Glasvhail once again. It was exactly as he remembered it the night of the Samhain festival. His hopes were unequalled that night.

  Lo! He thought to himself, it was the night of the announcement of his and Inga’s marriage. After this announcement it would be thirty days before his family and that of the Salmon would begin construction, of a new home for the couple. They had selected the spot in advance of the festival. He remembered how pleased she was to hear him confirm to her that they would live temporarily near her family’s home as their neighbours.

  They would live there, until he inherited the shop from Kenna. With Cormac hopeful to exchange his mother’s home, for that of the couple by the sea, an arrangement that had been discussed days in advance with him.

  The dream was never one that ended well; for it always ended in Inga’s death and her accusatory stare. There were also shadows, and blood involved just as there had been the night of her murder.

  He had once again arrived too late in his dreams, when he felt something strange take place; he roused from the most recurring nightmare he had ever had in all his life.

  *****

  Shifting awake for reasons that remained at first a mystery to him, a mystery that was soon dispelled the moment he heard Wiglaf close the door behind him. Still annoyed at him, the Caled-born youth decided that he would not shirk from the argument that he knew was impending.

  Yet when he arose from the bed, at the sound of a torch being lit with flint he could only stare in amazement at the lass who stood near the table to the right of the windows.

  Statuesque, where most of the lasses of the village were petite, she was almost his own height and was dressed in a manner he had never seen. The style and cut of her dress though he did not realize it was Gallian in nature, or more specifically as she was later to inform him, of Lyonessian style in nature. This cut of clothes was quite remarkable and involved primarily silk and lion fur.

  Or at least the lion fur was usually combined with noblemen’s clothes whereas, women’s involved lioness-fur out of respect for their sex. To wear lioness fur was a mark of distinction for women, with the silk dress in this case yellow and beginning at the shoulders and just below the neck.

  From there it descended to her heels, which were covered by scarlet slippers. The Lyonessian-women were oft-called the ‘dames des trois jupes’ or the ‘ladies of the tri-dresses’, for there was an inner dress (in this case yellow), then an outer one. Hers was red and began just below the shoulders going down to just above where the yellow one ended.

  The last ‘dress’ was almost more of a cloak and did not cover the front of her dress, and was to ward the cold and could be easily discarded, this one was made not from silk but rather from lioness-fur. This last part was not a gift from Ivar but rather her eldest brother Guillaume, who was an avid lion-hunter.

  *****

  Austere, the blonde-haired lass had grey eyes; she was fair to look upon, with a long-nose and hair that was almost as bright as that of Cormac himself. Where the younger lad had always seemed to quiver with enthusiasm and warmth, this lass appeared haughty and fierce, in that way that only the most entitled of lasses could be. Though the grace and dignity she carried herself with, could leave none in any doubt that she was truly of the nobility.

  It was difficult to say who was more surprised between them, him for the sight of a pretty young lass slipping into the room in so secretive a fashion. Or the lass herself, as she discovered a youth with long sleep-tousled hair and who was hardly awake.

  “Who are you?” Indulf demanded, having never seen her before.

  The lass studied him with a cool, icy gaze that could have frozen the warmest of flames.

  Moving to the side of the bed, he rose to his feet matching her own gaze with his own, “Are you one of Herleifr’s daughters?”

  “Où est le sorcier?” She muttered almost sullenly, asking him a question he only understood one of the words of.

  Lost as to how to answer, he answered her with the small knowledge he had of her native tongue. A language that he had been taught sparing details of, in his infancy by Cormac who had himself learnt from Corin and Daegan. “He is- er hall voyaging?”

  Her eyes lit up with understanding though, and with frustration immediately afterwards. She cursed then in what he imagined to be a rather unlady-like fashion, he doubted her father might well have disapproved of.

  Gazing at him mistrustfully she tried to address him again, only for him to gaze at her dumbly. Wherefore she attempted to talk in her native Gallian once more, then she switched to another tongue he knew to be Romalian. Though he recognized the language, he could no more grasp the meaning of what it was that she sought to tell him than he could her Gallian. After this she tried another language, this one all the more unfamiliar to him (he later learnt it was Dorian).

  In frustration, she gave a small cry of frustration that caused a snort to be heard from the other side of the door, from one of the guards.

  Tearing her gaze from his own, she sucked in a breath, which made her high-cheek boned cheeks puff up so that she bore a remarkable resemblance to a squirrel. A comparison he doubted she might have appreciated, though it might have amused his friends and younger brother.

  Hurrying thither to the door to open it a little to peek out at the guard, Indulf was to find to his immense relief the guard still asleep.

  Pleased he closed the door once more, to find the lass pacing along the room, scrutinizing the room with an almost stern gleam in her eyes. Coughing a little to regain her attention he could not quite discern why she was searching for Wiglaf.

  Once he had her attention, he did not know what to say or do, for she appeared to not understand a single word of the only language he truly understood. His knowledge of the Arnish tongue had its roots in what his grandmother had remembered, and been taught by her husband.

  “Why do you wish to see the sorcerer?” He asked which made her stare at him.

  Planting herself in the chair with a huff, saying something so swiftly in her native tongue that he not did not grasp the meaning of. Much as he would have preferred her to leave, she did not. Planting himself between her and the door, he stood as unmoving as a statue with his arms crossed.

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