His companion returned his nod and glanced around to assess where trouble would most likely originate. Morgeth, Arkans self-appointed bodyguard, let his hand stray to the hilt of his sword. Those damn southerners, he said at last to his chieftain.
Arkan could only agree. Their cousins from beyond the Teeth of the World were an agitated bunch, forced to dwell as their guests in ancient homelands where they had sought refuge during the Tsurani invasion. Well, theyve been here for a century; theyre starting to get restless.
Whos keeping them here? They can go home any damn time they want.
Some have tried. The Chieftain of the Ardanien spoke quietly, with the thoughtful candour that those who knew him had come to expect. Its a difficult trek past those damn Kingdom defences at the Inclindel Gap. He paused. On through Hadati country, skirting the dwarves and Elvandar. He glanced around as the volume of voices rose again. Id not attempt it with less than the entire clan-
The sounds of struggle became more urgent.
Narab better get on with this or were going to have more than a little bloodshed, Arkan added.
Morgeth said, And then we use that street?
Yes, the chieftain said. I wouldnt mind breaking a few heads, but I dont see any point in starting new feuds when I havent put paid to the old ones. He looked around. If fighting starts, we leave.
Yes. Morgeth gathered his woollen cape around him to ward off the biting wind. I thought it was supposed to be warmer down here on the flats.
Arkan laughed. It is warmer. That doesnt make it temperate.
I should have brought my bearskin.
Glancing at the sea of dark cloaks around them, Arkan said, If things turn ugly, youll be glad not to be clad in white fur.
A shout went up, but this time it wasnt a brawl, but directed instead at a group of figures standing at the top of the stairs at the crowds edge.
Morgeth said, Who are those two on the right?
Ive never seen them before, said his chieftain. But from the look of them, I judge them to be our lost cousins, the taredhel.
Tall bastards, arent they?
Arkan nodded. That they are.
The two elves they referred to were indeed a full head taller than those who had led them to the top of the staircase. Behind the group rose the maw of the palace, the large entrance to the empty throne room that no chieftain had dared to occupy since the death of the true Murmandamus, the only moredhel in memory to unite all the clans under one banner.
A moredhel dressed in ceremonial robes raised his hands, indicating the need for silence, and the cacophony of voices fell away. When it was quiet, he spoke. The council thanks you for attending, he began.
Muttering answered this, for the councils message had been clear: to ignore the request would have invited the ire of the most powerful leader among the moredhel, the man who now addressed them: Narab.
We also welcome our distant kin, who have returned to us from the stars.
The chatter rose; rumours about these elves had been rampant in the north for the last few years. One had whispered of their alliance with the hated the eledhel in the south, so it was something of a surprise to see them standing next to Narab.
What is this, then? asked a chieftain standing nearby.
Shut up and find out, answered another.
Arkan glanced towards the voices to see if trouble was about to erupt, but both warriors had returned their attention to the top of the palace steps.
One of the taredhel stepped forward. I am Kaladon of the Clan of the Seven Stars. I bring you greetings from your cousins in Ebar.
Several of the chieftains scoffed and snorted in derision, for the word Ebar meant Home in the ancient tongue. Others strained to listen, for the wind was blowing hard and this star elfs accent was strange to the ear. No matter what blood history tied them together, these beings were far more alien than even the hated eledhel.
Kaladon continued, I bring greetings from the Lord Regent of the Clan of the Seven Stars. We are pleased to be returned to our homeland. He paused for effect. Yet we see much has gone amiss since our departure.
The murmuring took on an angry note and Narab raised his hands for silence.
Morgeth muttered, This is going to turn ugly.
Arkan whispered, It already has. He motioned for his companion to follow him as he edged towards the side street. A few others were also moving quietly towards the escape routes, but most of the chieftains stood silently waiting for the strangers next announcement.
The other figure who wore yellow armour trimmed with purple and gold, so garish compared to the dark grey-and-black of the moredhel fighting garb, stepped forward and announced himself. I am Kumal, Warleader of the Clan of the Seven Stars.
That brought total silence. Despite his advancing years and colourful raiment, the speaker possessed a warriors carriage and visible scars, and his manner communicated a kinship to the moredhel chieftains that they recognized. A few chieftains shouted out traditional words of greetings to a fellow warrior.