The Shadowglass (The Bone Witch, #3)(65)
Their leader’s gaze traveled to Chief, who was still nickering in delight. “What do you want from us?”
I cleared my throat. “We’ve come to talk about shadowglass.”
The others took a step back, hostility replacing their polite indifference. Some of the men and women reached for bows and axes. Still others wove familiar runes into the air, which glittered against the falling snow. Likh made a startled sound.
“Wait!” I talked hurriedly. “We mean no harm. The Faceless have infiltrated Mithra’s Wall, searching for the First Harvest.”
A snort echoed against the quiet; one of the men snickered. Soon, another joined in and then another; until laughter surrounded us. Even the leader, so unwelcoming only seconds before, allowed a grin to cross his harsh, bearded features.
“They will find nothing in Mithra’s Wall, Tea of the Embers. The First Harvest does not reside within those mountains. There is nothing to fear, and you may leave safe in that knowledge.”
But I was not one to give up so easily. “As a token of your gratitude, you once gifted my mentor, Lady Mykaela, two horses, one of whom is now my constant companion. Please, I beseech you—we are dying. Lady Mykaela is dying. The Dark that we draw is killing us. I came because the old legends speak of the People of the Shadow, who know the secrets to shadowglass. That’s who you are, aren’t you?”
The axes and bows rose again, trained on me this time. Kalen inched closer, but I stopped him, my gaze on their leader. “I understand your suspicions. You’ve protected it for thousands of years. But I know you too wish to keep shadowglass from the Faceless. I don’t want it in their hands either.”
The man said nothing. Kalen was rigid with tension. Behind me, Likh gulped noisily. But the man lifted his hand and uttered a word I did not understand. The others lowered their weapons.
“We are of the Shadow,” he said. “In your tongue, I am called Agnarr. In mine, it means the Edge of a Sword. We’ve shared bread with Mykaela of the Sorrows, and we extend our welcome to Tea of the Embers and her companions.” His gaze moved to Likh, who was still shivering. At another gesture from Agnarr, the other warriors stepped forward, weaving. The bursts of fire they created were warmer than what most asha could channel. “Our home lies near the mountain. We shall speak there.”
The Gorvekans’ village turned out to be a wooden settlement protected by a wall of runes—Fire, Ice, and Shield—carefully maintained by watchful guards. Children scampered about, pausing to stare at us while men and women hovered near campfires. There were dark-skinned and light-skinned Gorvekai, red-and yellow-and dark-haired. The delicious smell of cooking meat filled the air, and my stomach growled, an indication that I had eaten little that day.
“For a small community, they sure do have a lot of runebinders,” Likh murmured.
“I had the opportunity of talking with Lord Garindor before we left Istera,” Khalad said. “If they’re the People of the Shadow, then he says they’re the direct descendants of the people who lived around the same time as Blade that Soars ruled, and they’re supposedly stronger in the runic arts than most. But the Gorvekai’s isolation may be a problem, if it promotes inbreeding.”
“Not quite,” said one of the women guiding us toward the largest stone enclosure in the small town. “We travel the world frequently to trade our runeberries, and we take partners from kingdoms as far as Kion and Drycht. Look around; we are a varied people, and for good purpose. To live within our own lineage weakens the alchemy of our hearts. To survive, we exchange heartsglass with all.”
“But you wear no heartsglass,” Khalad said.
The woman laid a hand against her chest. “We have no need for glass trinkets to see our own, honored Forger.”
The largest building lay in the shadow of Stranger’s Peak, the tallest mountain among the kingdoms. Kalen stared up at the imposing ridge with an expression I’d learned to recognize. “Why are you staring at the mountain the same way you stare at bamieh?”
His head whipped around so fast I was surprised it didn’t come off his neck. “I don’t look at bamieh like that!”
“Your mouth waters every time I mention fried dough.”
He scowled. “The Gorvekai harvest the best quality runeberries atop Stranger’s Peak. I tried the wine distilled from it once. It was…more than pleasant. And very expensive.”
I rolled my eyes. “Perhaps if you scale the mountain, they’ll give you a sip. Stranger’s Peak is not a sight everyone gets to see up close, and you’re thinking about runeberries?”
“It was really good wine, Tea.”
We sat on comfortable-looking bundles made from animal pelts. Our female guide and another girl stepped forward with bowls of fragrant-smelling liquid.
“My daughters,” Lord Agnarr murmured. “Solveiga and Eydís—Strength of the Sun and Celestial Fortune. We have added some kolscheya to your rose tea, to encourage the warmth back into your bones. It is essential, living in the heart of winter.” The man fixed a steely gaze on me. “Why have you come for shadowglass?”
“Before we discuss that, I have one request. My friend here, Likh—he’s been blighted. We were hoping perhaps you knew of some spell that could heal—”
Already the man was shaking his head. “Not even our ancestors knew of a true antidote.” Likh lowered his head. “But she is adequately shielded, and she will be safe. The effects of the Blight rune will pass in a few weeks, though Lady Likh must take the utmost care before then.”