[piosenniel]

Rôg

Foregoing the stuffy interior of the tent, the two sat beneath the shade of a nearby lean-to, some cool tea in a flagon between them. Rôg poured a mug for Aiwendil and one for himself, then settled his haunches on the cushion waiting for the old man to speak. Rog’s escort, now that his charge was in the company of Aiwendil, had withdrawn with his own mug of tea and was drowsing in the shade of his own lean-to.

Rôg was aware that the old man’s eyes were often on him, measuring him, he felt, but what mark he had come up to in his companion’s estimation, Rôg could not tell. Aiwendil’s voice was grave as he began . . .

There was much trouble for the Eagle Clan and for those others, too, he had been told by Ayar, who resisted the demands of the maenwaith leader. One of the Wyrm clan, it was, Wyrma by name. Aiwendil went into detail on what she intended to do to build her little empire; how she wished to impose her will on all other maenwaith; how she would retaliate against those who refused her bidding. ‘It was most likely some dark servant of hers who was hired to poison Ayar.’ Much of this was known in some way by Rôg; he had heard bits and pieces of it from others, and had puzzled out what he could. But now Aiwendil had fit the pieces all together for him in a seamless whole, and it sickened him to hear his suspicions confirmed.

The old man’s next words made him break out in a cold sweat, and he trembled at them despite the heat of the desert day. ‘A war is coming,’ Aiwendil began. ‘The Wyrm clan will seek to destroy the old ways and in doing so will destroy the clans themselves. The Eagles will not allow that to happen to themselves without resistance.’

Rôg was revolted at the inevitable outcome of this. Maenwaith against maenwaith . . . The Eagle clan was small, rich in its traditions and its way of life, but with no resources to fight a larger clan with monies and powerful friends at its disposal. His brow furrowed as his thoughts raced furiously. ‘Where are the Eagle clan Elders, Aiwendil? Why have they not come in to aid their people?’ ‘Where are the Elder Eagles?’ he asked once again, not waiting for an answer. ‘Has no word been brought to them? Do they live so far away they do not know what is happening?’ A sudden thought came to him, making him catch his breath at the dread it brought. ‘Do they no longer care for their people?’

On this point Aiwendil was silent. His voice was soft when he spoke again to Rôg. ‘I do not know the answer to that question. I cannot even say if there are Elders such as those you speak of. Perhaps they are lost to the Clan. I cannot say and Ayar did not dwell on them, at least to me.’ Perhaps, if indeed they do exist, they have grown as forgetful as I have these many years . . ., flickered the thought in the old man’s mind. ‘I can only say again that Ayar’s clan and those others who choose to cling to the old ways will be crushed in the Wyrm’s grip if they are not given what help we . . . no, I will say what meager help I can offer. I made no promises regarding you. You will have to do that yourself.’

‘Promises? Offers of assistance?’ Rôg drew back, hand on knee, looking at Aiwendil closely. ‘What promises have you made?’

He looked thoughtfully at the frail appearing, old man opposite him; his image shifting in Rôg’s mind as if beneath the outer covering something other lurked, hidden away. The wondering thought came, unbidden.

And your offer of meager help . . . what do you think you have to give . . .?