Read Online The Sword of Sighs (The Age of the Flame: Book One) by Greg James - Free Book Online
Authors: Greg James
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audience of herself and Jedda; conjuring fireworks, faerie dancers and shadow puppets in their private rooms.
Mikka gave a contemptuous snort. “Old One-Eye is in Highmount, is he? I thought he was too good, great, and mighty for the likes of us.”
“Still your tongue, Councillor. Ossen is a Wayfarer and thus accorded due respect.”
Her words hanging in the air, Ianna moved from the table to the doors of the Chamber and opened them.
Ossen strode in, seeming to pause to reflect for a second longer on Mikka than the others, he then drew himself up to his full height, revealing his stoop to be an act of frailty. A darkness appeared to enter the chamber as he addressed them in a voice that seemed to resonate rather than be spoken.
“You have my greetings, Queen Venna. Lady Warden. Councillors of Highmount. As has already been discussed, there is a way to save the city from the armies of the Fallen. But it is no light or easy task to undertake. The Fellhorn lies over the Grassland Plains, across the Mountains of Mourning in the Western Wastes. I offer my services to lead the party that will travel on this journey; as a Wayfarer, it is my duty to do so in such times of need. How long we would be gone, I do not know. Whether we would succeed in what we set out to do, I cannot be sure. Whether we would come back, it is beyond—”
“To be sure,” Mikka interrupted, “you wish us to trust in a wild hog’s hunt. To wait in vain for that which may never come while we are crushed under the trampling feet of Fallen-born and Fellfolk, yes?”
A silence, sick and uneasy, reigned in the room as Mikka’s hazel eyes met and matched Ossen’s penetrating stare. The other Councillors plucked at their beards and twirled their tresses. No-one had spoken to a Wayfarer in such a way before.
Mikka turned to Venna rather than Ianna. “My Queen, I am your humble and honoured servant, and I have to say that this scheme of your Lady Warden beggars belief and, indeed, sanity.”
Everyone at the table seemed to hold their breath. It had been many years since a member of the Council had directly challenged the throne in such a way. Venna shuffled in her chair, trying to sit straighter and show more dignity. In the dimness of the chamber, she hoped no-one could see her blush. She hoped her father’s shade was not there somewhere, watching.
“Speak your mind, Councillor Mikka. We would know all you have to say.”
“My Queen, you wish to entrust the future of this city and the Three Kingdoms to a Wayfarer—a wandering old druid who knows no more of ruling and governing than he does of herding chickens in a farmyard.”
“What would you have us do, Councillor?”
“I move that this idiotic and foolish scheme be dismissed by the Council, and that we instead send word that we wish to treat with the Fallen One. Legends are no basis upon which to make informed decisions.”
“You think me uninformed, Councillor?” Ianna asked.
The Warden’s hand fell on Venna’s shoulder, gripping hard until the child bit her lips and became quiet. Ossen noticed this, with a flicker of his one eye.
“Lady Warden, I believe you to be as informed as the rest of us on the situation.” Mikka replied. “However, I believe this suggestion from the Wayfarer to be misguided and one that would put the people of the city at risk were we to follow through with his quest. Such things are fine as tales to be recited around campfires and over flagons in a street tavern, but not when we are talking of the hair’s breadth difference between war and peace.”
“The Wayfarer has a name, Councillor.”
“I give my respectful apologies to him, if he considers me to have spoken out of turn. My concern is merely for Highmount and its people.”
Ossen nodded, giving no sign of emotion otherwise; his aged face remained an implacable mask.
Ianna smiled her coldest smile and addressed the Council. “Lords and Ladies of Highmount, I ask you now to vote on the
Mikka gave a contemptuous snort. “Old One-Eye is in Highmount, is he? I thought he was too good, great, and mighty for the likes of us.”
“Still your tongue, Councillor. Ossen is a Wayfarer and thus accorded due respect.”
Her words hanging in the air, Ianna moved from the table to the doors of the Chamber and opened them.
Ossen strode in, seeming to pause to reflect for a second longer on Mikka than the others, he then drew himself up to his full height, revealing his stoop to be an act of frailty. A darkness appeared to enter the chamber as he addressed them in a voice that seemed to resonate rather than be spoken.
“You have my greetings, Queen Venna. Lady Warden. Councillors of Highmount. As has already been discussed, there is a way to save the city from the armies of the Fallen. But it is no light or easy task to undertake. The Fellhorn lies over the Grassland Plains, across the Mountains of Mourning in the Western Wastes. I offer my services to lead the party that will travel on this journey; as a Wayfarer, it is my duty to do so in such times of need. How long we would be gone, I do not know. Whether we would succeed in what we set out to do, I cannot be sure. Whether we would come back, it is beyond—”
“To be sure,” Mikka interrupted, “you wish us to trust in a wild hog’s hunt. To wait in vain for that which may never come while we are crushed under the trampling feet of Fallen-born and Fellfolk, yes?”
A silence, sick and uneasy, reigned in the room as Mikka’s hazel eyes met and matched Ossen’s penetrating stare. The other Councillors plucked at their beards and twirled their tresses. No-one had spoken to a Wayfarer in such a way before.
Mikka turned to Venna rather than Ianna. “My Queen, I am your humble and honoured servant, and I have to say that this scheme of your Lady Warden beggars belief and, indeed, sanity.”
Everyone at the table seemed to hold their breath. It had been many years since a member of the Council had directly challenged the throne in such a way. Venna shuffled in her chair, trying to sit straighter and show more dignity. In the dimness of the chamber, she hoped no-one could see her blush. She hoped her father’s shade was not there somewhere, watching.
“Speak your mind, Councillor Mikka. We would know all you have to say.”
“My Queen, you wish to entrust the future of this city and the Three Kingdoms to a Wayfarer—a wandering old druid who knows no more of ruling and governing than he does of herding chickens in a farmyard.”
“What would you have us do, Councillor?”
“I move that this idiotic and foolish scheme be dismissed by the Council, and that we instead send word that we wish to treat with the Fallen One. Legends are no basis upon which to make informed decisions.”
“You think me uninformed, Councillor?” Ianna asked.
The Warden’s hand fell on Venna’s shoulder, gripping hard until the child bit her lips and became quiet. Ossen noticed this, with a flicker of his one eye.
“Lady Warden, I believe you to be as informed as the rest of us on the situation.” Mikka replied. “However, I believe this suggestion from the Wayfarer to be misguided and one that would put the people of the city at risk were we to follow through with his quest. Such things are fine as tales to be recited around campfires and over flagons in a street tavern, but not when we are talking of the hair’s breadth difference between war and peace.”
“The Wayfarer has a name, Councillor.”
“I give my respectful apologies to him, if he considers me to have spoken out of turn. My concern is merely for Highmount and its people.”
Ossen nodded, giving no sign of emotion otherwise; his aged face remained an implacable mask.
Ianna smiled her coldest smile and addressed the Council. “Lords and Ladies of Highmount, I ask you now to vote on the
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