Hammer and Feather Ch. 14-21

Belthamdir asked a question and all Nali could do was shrug. She didn't understand what was asked any more than she understood what the conversation had been about. Going to the tent flap and peeking out she caught a glimpse of Edun hurrying toward the tent with a bundle. He smiled and beckoned for her to come out.

"Can I leave her by herself?"

"Bring her with you."

Nali turned, gesturing for the child to follow. The elf sprang up in delight, following her into Edun's tent. There was much less inside it than in the other tents. A bed, a chest for clothes, and a small shrine were arranged around a tidy, square fire pit on the floor.

Both she and Belthamdir went to the shrine to look at it before anything else. A golden sun stood behind a black figure with his arm outstretched as if reaching for something. Small offerings were laid at his feet, one of them a gold and black coin. The elf girl picked it up, turning it over in her hands.

"That was Lady Rook's first sigil. The dragon represented her husband Vezar Edra, the Undying." He said something in elvish that sounded like a translation, at least Nali caught the names again.

"Her husband is a dragon? She mentioned she had one to get home to, but I thought he was a pet." Nali looked at the priest curiously.

"Her dragon is, or was, her husband. The matter is complicated. He was heartbroken when she was pushed into the black lake and ripped himself in two. The sigil wasn't strong enough to pull her out of the water because she hadn't created it herself and when Vezar Edra was no longer himself, the sigil became... hollow."

Belthamdir held up the coin with the golden rook's face peering out at them and said something that sounded unhappy. He answered her with a laugh.

"She chides me for having a symbol of the enemy. I told her the enemy stole it from her aunt. That coin never belonged to the False Rook."

Tirnel opened the tent and handed in long sticks and Belthamdir began chattering to him. The look he gave the coin was cool.

"That should be destroyed."

"It was never-"

"Whatever it once was, it is no longer. That image invokes only cruelty and hardship."

"It was a gift to me from Lady Rook. It was her first sigil, made by Hevtos. Things have changed since but-"

"I understand, Edun, but it should still be destroyed." Tirnel shook his head and spoke firmly to his granddaughter.

The coin was placed back on the altar and she followed him out. Nali took in the pained look on his face and picked up the coin, turning it over in her hands. It was heavier than she expected for something hollow.

"Why not have Lady Rook make it new? You'd still know what it once was and it could be what it was meant to be."

"I may ask her if she will." He smiled faintly as she put it back down. "Will you help me put your clothes on the stand?"

She realized quickly that he was assembling something with the sticks Tirnel had brought, a frame.

"Do you think they'll dry in the tent?"

"They'll dry over the fire." Edun shook his head and glanced at the tent flap, "With a little help."

"What do you mean?" Nali began unwrapping the bundle of her wet clothes and handing them to him to lay over the hastily built wooden frame. Looking at it, she was almost certain that the clothes were as likely to fall in the fire as they were to get dry.

"I'll show you. This is part of 'priesting'." He smiled faintly. "Unless you already know how to draw from a gift your goddess gives you to perform a task."

"No."

The priest took out a chain with a stone on one end and a metal ring on the other. It looked dwarf made.

"This was made by your Uncle Oduil for Odos. He gave it to me and Ahevhethrah sometimes puts a little bit of power in it for me to use, if I should need to. I keep it hidden as I was told to do. Odos doesn't like it to be widely known he lends such things out."

"I'll keep the secret." Nali grinned. "What do you do with it?"

"I've used it to heal, and once to shield. Now," he laughed quietly, "I'm going to try to use it to teach you how to draw power while we dry your clothes. The lesson is an important one even if the task is less urgent."

"There was something I didn't understand in one of the tomes. Grandmother called it a siphoning spell but it didn't make any sense. It was written out in syllables, not words, because it was elvish and she doesn't speak it. Her notes said to sound it out and know what it was intended to do and that you didn't need to know what the words were but I overheard the priests complaining that-"

"It doesn't work that way." Edun's brow furrowed.

"That's what they said, but it worked for her. One of them said it might have because she was part elf."

"Did you ever try it?"

"No. The wards worked well, though."

He smiled and shook his head. "Odos explained to me that using a spell to draw power is like asking to draw water from someone else's well. I'm using Odos' bucket, this stone that the power is kept in, and dipping into Ahevhethrah's well."

She nodded slowly. "She would need to lend me a bucket to draw from her well?"

"Who lends you the bucket is less important than the permission to draw from the well. As her priestess, when you ask her, she will most likely grant you what you need. But even the gods' power is not limitless. They need to sustain it and themselves with our belief and worship, offerings give them strength, when we thank them we give them sustenance."

Nali contemplated that as she watched him close his eyes and pray with the stone in his hand. The air in the tent became warmer and drier. She wasn't overly familiar with prayer. It wasn't something most dwarves did. You knew the gods were there, somewhere. If you needed to make them aware of something or ask them for help with anything, you went to the priests.

Some studied the law and interceded for Thyldind Trueshield, some could be consulted on where to put new mines or how to secure the one you had, Khiril Orefinder was as sharp as a blade. Orsas Fellforger was the god of death and of the forge. He was the one who got the best gifts when the mines gave their offerings every ten years. Everything else was overseen by the Fellwives. If you wanted help with love, children, or anything that had to do with the home, you went to the wise women who served them. You found them in every mine and they gave men their second names.

How Lady Rook would fit into all of that... Orsas said her banner would hang with theirs but like with the Fellwives, Nali hadn't been taken from her clan. She had been given a second name. Would people come to her like a wise woman or would she be given a task as part of a larger group? She looked into the fire with a frown. It all felt confusing.

"Is something wrong, Nali?"

"Not-no. I just feel confused at how Lady Rook will fit with the dwarven gods."

"She'll find her way."

"What am I supposed to do? I don't have a task."

"Perhaps when you're older she may give you one. What is it that Lady Rook would ask of anyone? She won't always be permitted to see to matters herself."

"If she needed people to help her... they would have to be willing to dole out vengeance and protect children."

"Her priests would be warriors?"

Nali considered it for a moment, "Or mages. I don't think her helpers would be people you wanted to seek out for petty things. She says viciousness and deviousness are tools like dragon's fire or a sharp knife and they may not be pleasant people. Give them payment and offerings for Lady Rook and let them go wherever they please. They may be the restless sort. She told Orsas to put her banner on the caravans to ward off thieves and marauders. No one fucks with hers twice."

"Roaming mercenary priests. That may suit her." Edun sounded surprised. "I didn't know there were restless dwarves."

"It's how you end up with new mines or families that move from one to another. Some like to drive the caravans, they're usually a little odd."

He laughed and gave her a speculative look, "Those will be the ones she takes. Troublemakers and those who seem odd. She'll offer luck and protection to those who ask, and vengeance when it's called for, but those who serve her will find something they needed in her service."

"Can you show me again how you drew power? It looked like you closed your eyes and asked for it."

"That's almost exactly what I did. When you cast a spell or lay a ward, where does the power come from?"

"I don't know, it just... does. She told Tirnel that the air in the mines is wetter than the air here. Magic pools in the mines."

Edun offered her the stone and chain. Something about the stone felt like coarse, itchy cloth with something prickly inside it.

"How does this feel to you?"

She tossed it back and scratched her palm. "It itches."

"Different people feel magic differently. To me, it feels like the bristles of a soft brush moving across my skin. It took time to become accustomed to."

"Syreilla's Eye has more of a... like a tickle or when your skull tingles at a certain sound? But only where it touches you."

He laughed and nodded. "You feel that more pleasantly because it was meant for you."

"She said she wanted me to inherit it but the other priests say it should go to Raduil."

"If Syreilla the Rook wants you to inherit her Eye you'll inherit it."

Something pushed its way beneath the tent flap and Nali began to laugh as Baduil hopped and flapped, making his way to sit next to her on the bed.

"Nali."

"I'm glad you're back, Baduil. I've missed you." She grinned down at the bird as he began to preen.

*Seventeen*

Cyran allowed himself to be led to Kwes' tents. The discussions of what to do hadn't been fruitful. The elves were outnumbered and their remaining soldiers were being forced into an indefensible position. If Lady Rook couldn't do anything to help them they would be forced to surrender in a matter of months. The war was nearly over.

Vedhethrah had suggested flying over and attacking them in his true form but it was pointed out that he could be overwhelmed quickly once they gathered their wits. They would need a handful of dragons to make such an attempt. A single dragon would have to be deployed strategically and they weren't certain they had the numbers to make good use of him.

He had left them discussing the ways that the dragon might be put to use. To be so utterly useless... Cyran exhaled and then blinked in surprise as the elf escorting him put a hand on his shoulder with a worried look.

"Are you... alright?"

"I feel useless. It's a terrible feeling."

"It's one I know well." The elf smiled ruefully. "I have a broken sword and there are no spare blades or bows."

"Take mine." Cyran unstrapped the blade at his side and offered it to the elf. "I'm a god of mediation and healing. I haven't used this since I embraced that part of myself."

Taking the blade, the elf smiled and looked it over, "A fine weapon."

"I was once the best of Imos' White Hands. I used that blade in his name."

"I will use it in yours, Lord Cyran. When words fail, swords must speak."

"What is your name?"

"Thalador Haedirn."

"May you defend your brothers and your loved ones well with it, Thalador Haedirn, and may it speak some words of hope and righteousness on the battlefield."

"With blessings like that to give, my Lord, you may feel less useless very soon." Thalador gave him a warm smile and Cyran returned it.

The sound of laughter wafted out of one of the tents and the elf took him to it. Stepping inside, he immediately felt as if he were intruding. Syreilla was trying to teach her niece to juggle two cloth dolls and Kwes was tossing things at them. The other two there, an elf and a half-elf woman, were beaming at the scene.

"Cousin! Come help me!" Syreilla grinned at him and batted a wooden block back toward Kwes. "I will get out my knives and juggle them if you don't stop."

The girl next to her made a gasping sound as Kwes translated and began nodding and tugging on her aunt's arm making her miss catching a doll.

The elves broke into laughter.

"You did juggle knives for Edun." Cyran smiled and took a seat where the other half-elf woman warmly gestured.

"I knew he would be sensible enough to sheath them if he wanted to try it." Syreilla grinned down at the girl and spoke conspiratorially, "I tended to learn dangerous things in the worst ways possible and trust that my quickness and luck would keep me safe, and you're related to me, dear one, but if they want me to teach you to juggle knives..." She pulled two wicked-looking curved blades from behind her back and then a slender boot knife.

The half-elf woman no longer looked amused and began speaking hurriedly to Kwes. The knives were already in the air by the time he turned to speak to his sister.

"You have to make sure you catch them by the hilt and not the blade. Where you put your hands is important."

Belthamdir watched in delight and Syreilla grinned. The half-elf made it look effortless. The others were silently observing until the girl said something excitedly, reaching out her hand, and then they all spoke at once. It sounded as if they were giving a refusal.

"She wants to try?"

"She does and you're not going to let her, Rook." Kwes ran a hand over his face. "Father let you juggle unsheathed knives?"

"I didn't tell the old man I was going to do it. He had a habit of saying no."

"I think I know why he let you learn things the hard way, Syreilla. You weren't going to listen to him anyway."

"I listen! I've just never liked the word 'no', I take it as a challenge."

"She would have kept her grandfather entertained, and possibly driven him mad."

"He'd have liked Magpie, Tirnel. Magpie is clever." She caught her knives one after the other. "And he's almost elvish."

"If you meant that as a compliment-" Kwes broke off and spoke to his daughter as she tried to take Syreilla's knives.

The girl's eyes widened and she looked as if she were going to argue.

"Start with something softer, for now, dear one. I'll find you some knives of your own to practice with, I need mine. I can let you look at them though."

Cyran saw the pointed look she gave Kwes. It was Tirnel who spoke first in elvish and the girl's anger faded.

Syreilla laid the blades flat on her thighs and held out the boot knife first, "See, this one was made to look like a feather and it has a rook on the handle. Dwarves are terribly clever. It's very, very sharp. The important thing to remember about knives is that you don't want the sharp part to touch you."

Tirnel moved closer as he translated and, when he held out his hand, she passed him the knife to look at. He let the child next to him see it and touch the hilt before giving it back. It went back into Lady Rook's boot and she held up one of the more vicious-looking knives.

"These are my talons. Aren't they lovely? They were so perfectly made."

The girl murmured something as Tirnel took the blade and let her look at it more closely.

"She noticed that it looks like a bird's toe."

"Yes! And it's so perfectly curved."

The elf relayed that and then glanced up, "Rook talons aren't usually this dangerous looking though."

"No, but I'm a different kind of rook." She gave the elf an impish grin, "Most rooks don't breathe dragon's fire."

"I remember that you have to mix it."

Cyran smiled faintly but before he could speak to warn him, Syreilla blew on her hand and a brilliant flame appeared. She put it on the tip of her talon and took back the other before tossing it gently between the two.

"If I make another I think I could juggle them on my-"

"No!" Half-elf woman spoke sharply. "Fire belongs in the fire pit and nowhere else."

Suddenly there were two flames and Lady Rook had a mischievous look on her face as she juggled them for a brief moment. Instead of catching them in her hand or on the blade, she caught them in her mouth and made a show of swallowing before giving her applauding niece a wide, rookish grin.

An argument started immediately between Kwes and his wife in elvish.

"When you enter someone's home you should obey their rules, Syreilla." Cyran frowned.

"I've never liked hearing the word 'no' and my niece is just the same. I showed them how to get around having to say it and Tirnel was quick enough to see it. I hate having to repeat myself. How difficult would it have been to say, 'Perhaps later?'" There were flames in the depths of her eyes when she looked at him sternly, "'No' is a challenge, they can choose to learn it now painlessly or they'll be learning it later in her life when there are harsher consequences."

"She's my daughter, not yours."

"Amtalia." Kwes reached out to touch the woman, "She's our daughter, and listening to Lady Rook is advisable. If she'd been listened to and not punished this war would never have-"

The elvish argument began again and Belthamdir wilted. Cyran saw the look that Syreilla exchanged with Tirnel and he carried the child out. Instead of watching the arguing couple, however, his cousin began to watch him. When she beckoned for him to come sit next to her, he did so curiously.

"Who hurt you, cousin? They wouldn't still be arguing if you were as you should be."

"The False Rook, the huntress' daughter. I was introduced to the few other children of gods. The goddess of love wanted to-to help me find a wife."

"That doesn't surprise me, it's what she's supposed to do." Syreilla smiled warmly. "She introduced you to this False Rook and you got along well?"

"She reminded me of you in many ways and I was told that in your absence it was not so strange that another goddess of vengeance would rise. She was clever and charming, I thought she was just and honorable..."

"But she wasn't?"

"No. She deceived me. To my shame, I helped her smooth matters in her favor between humans and elves when this began, and," he paused taking a breath before he pressed on, "when I allowed her into the most private place I kept my stone, she took it. Father told me only my highest priests and those I trust should ever know where it is much less be allowed to enter, but I trusted her."

"What happened next?"

"Her mother told her to kill me. Without my stone I was weakened, I am still a young god. Her mother claimed she could end me and gave her daughter a blade imbued to that end. Father intervened and... we sought refuge with Grandfather."

"How young is the False Rook?"

"Perhaps a hundred years older than I am."

"Still young then." Syreilla's lips peeled back from her teeth disconcertingly. "But you feel like all of this is your fault?"

"If I hadn't been blinded by desire..."

"That wasn't the goddess of love's doing. That was the elven goddess of desire. She's been helping the huntress. None of this is your fault. I want you to let yourself be angry."

He gave her a sour look and she laughed.

"Anger can be just. Sometimes you have to tear a wound open and drain the festering pus to make it heal. I can show you some scars and tell you some stories if it would help you understand."

"No." Cyran shook his head contemplating her words. "When words fail, swords speak."

"I asked the old man once, after he'd talked us out of being locked up for trespassing, 'What happens when words fail? What do you do when you can't talk your way around things?' He told me that words never fail. If you toss your seeds out and some land on salted earth, it isn't the seeds that failed, it was your aim."

She laid a hand on his arm and he shivered. It felt as if something inside him was shifting at her words.

"Aim better, cousin."

"I never heard him say that." Kwes studied her, "But I never asked what would happen if he wasn't able to talk his way around people. I never saw him miss his mark."