others, too, three females and a pair of males that Eolair had seen before, but whose names he did not know.
He stood uncomfortably for some time, uncertain of whether to stay or go. At last, Jiriki looked up. “Count Eolair,” he said. “We are just thinking about Naglimund.”
Eolair nodded, then bowed toward Likimeya, who lowered her chin briefly in acknowledgment. None of the other Sithi gave him much more attention than a flick of feline eyes. “We will be there soon,” he said.
“A few days,” agreed Jiriki. “We Zida‘ya are not used to fighting against a castle held by enemies—I do not think we, have done it since the last evil days back in Venyha Do’sae. Are there any among your folk who know Josua’s stronghold well, or about such fighting? We have many questions.”
“Siege warfare... ?” said Eolair uncertainly. He had thought that the frighteningly competent Sithi would have prepared for this long before. “There are a few of my men who have fought as mercenaries in the Southern Islands and the Lakeland wars, but not many. Hernystir itself has been peaceful during most of our lifetimes. As to Naglimund ... I suppose that I know it best of any Hernystirman still living. I have spent much time there.”
“Come and sit with us.” Jiriki gestured to an open place near Chekai‘so.
Black-haired Kuroyi said something in the liquid Sithi tongue as Eolair seated himself on the ground. Jiriki showed a hint of a smile. “Kuroyi says that surely the Norns will come out and fight us before the walls. He believes that the Hikeda‘ya would never hide behind stone laid by mortals when the Zida’ya have come to resolve things at last.”
“I know nothing of the ... of those we call Norns,” Eolair said carefully. “But I cannot imagine that if their purpose is as deadly earnest as it seems, they will give up the advantage of a stronghold like Naglimund.”
“I believe you are correct,” said Jiriki. “But it is hard to convince many of my people that. It is hard enough for most of us to believe that we go to war with the Hikeda‘ya, let alone that they might hide within a fortress and drop stones on us as mortal armies do.” He said something in the Sithi speech to Kuroyi, who replied briefly, then fell silent, his eyes cold as bronze plates. Jiriki next turned to the others.
“It is impolite for us to speak in a language Count Eolair does not know. If anyone does not feel comfortable speaking Hernystiri or Westerling, I will be happy to render your words for the count’s understanding.”
“Mortal tongues and mortal strategies. We will all have to learn,” Likimeya said abruptly. “It is a different age. If the rules of mortals now make the world spin, then we must learn those rules.”
“Or decide whether it is possible to live in such a world.” Zinjadu’s voice was deep yet strangely uninflec ted, as though she had learned Westerling without ever having heard it spoken. “Perhaps we should let the Hikeda‘ya have this world of mortals that they seem to desire.”
“The Hikeda‘ya would destroy the mortals even more readily than they would destroy us,” Jiriki said calmly.
“It is one thing,” spoke up Yizashi Grayspear, “to fulfill an ancient debt, as we have just done at M‘yin Azoshai. Besides, those were mortals we routed, and the descendants of bloody Fingil’s ship-men besides. It is another thing to go to war with other Gardenborn to aid mortals to whom we owe no such debt—including those who hunted us long after we lost Asu’a. This Josua’s father was our enemy!”
“Then does the hatred never end?” Jiriki replied with surprising heat. “Mortals have short lives. These are not the ones who warred on our scattered folk.”
“Yes, the lives of mortals are short,” said Yizashi dispassionately. “But their hatreds run deep, and are passed from parents to children.”
Eolair was beginning to feel distinctly uncomfortable but did not think the time
He stood uncomfortably for some time, uncertain of whether to stay or go. At last, Jiriki looked up. “Count Eolair,” he said. “We are just thinking about Naglimund.”
Eolair nodded, then bowed toward Likimeya, who lowered her chin briefly in acknowledgment. None of the other Sithi gave him much more attention than a flick of feline eyes. “We will be there soon,” he said.
“A few days,” agreed Jiriki. “We Zida‘ya are not used to fighting against a castle held by enemies—I do not think we, have done it since the last evil days back in Venyha Do’sae. Are there any among your folk who know Josua’s stronghold well, or about such fighting? We have many questions.”
“Siege warfare... ?” said Eolair uncertainly. He had thought that the frighteningly competent Sithi would have prepared for this long before. “There are a few of my men who have fought as mercenaries in the Southern Islands and the Lakeland wars, but not many. Hernystir itself has been peaceful during most of our lifetimes. As to Naglimund ... I suppose that I know it best of any Hernystirman still living. I have spent much time there.”
“Come and sit with us.” Jiriki gestured to an open place near Chekai‘so.
Black-haired Kuroyi said something in the liquid Sithi tongue as Eolair seated himself on the ground. Jiriki showed a hint of a smile. “Kuroyi says that surely the Norns will come out and fight us before the walls. He believes that the Hikeda‘ya would never hide behind stone laid by mortals when the Zida’ya have come to resolve things at last.”
“I know nothing of the ... of those we call Norns,” Eolair said carefully. “But I cannot imagine that if their purpose is as deadly earnest as it seems, they will give up the advantage of a stronghold like Naglimund.”
“I believe you are correct,” said Jiriki. “But it is hard to convince many of my people that. It is hard enough for most of us to believe that we go to war with the Hikeda‘ya, let alone that they might hide within a fortress and drop stones on us as mortal armies do.” He said something in the Sithi speech to Kuroyi, who replied briefly, then fell silent, his eyes cold as bronze plates. Jiriki next turned to the others.
“It is impolite for us to speak in a language Count Eolair does not know. If anyone does not feel comfortable speaking Hernystiri or Westerling, I will be happy to render your words for the count’s understanding.”
“Mortal tongues and mortal strategies. We will all have to learn,” Likimeya said abruptly. “It is a different age. If the rules of mortals now make the world spin, then we must learn those rules.”
“Or decide whether it is possible to live in such a world.” Zinjadu’s voice was deep yet strangely uninflec ted, as though she had learned Westerling without ever having heard it spoken. “Perhaps we should let the Hikeda‘ya have this world of mortals that they seem to desire.”
“The Hikeda‘ya would destroy the mortals even more readily than they would destroy us,” Jiriki said calmly.
“It is one thing,” spoke up Yizashi Grayspear, “to fulfill an ancient debt, as we have just done at M‘yin Azoshai. Besides, those were mortals we routed, and the descendants of bloody Fingil’s ship-men besides. It is another thing to go to war with other Gardenborn to aid mortals to whom we owe no such debt—including those who hunted us long after we lost Asu’a. This Josua’s father was our enemy!”
“Then does the hatred never end?” Jiriki replied with surprising heat. “Mortals have short lives. These are not the ones who warred on our scattered folk.”
“Yes, the lives of mortals are short,” said Yizashi dispassionately. “But their hatreds run deep, and are passed from parents to children.”
Eolair was beginning to feel distinctly uncomfortable but did not think the time
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