Read Requiem for the Sun Online
Authors: Elizabeth Haydon
Requiem for the Sun (17 page)
The Tar'afel, like any great river that bisected a continent, had a network of underground tributaries that scored its riverbed and the floodplain that surrounded it, some reaching for many miles from the actual banks of the river. One of these veins was particularly fortunate in its placement; it connected, in the vast, spidery network of subterranean springs that form a watershed,
to a strong line fed directly from the sea, through a volcanic cave in the northern coastline of the icy Hintervold. That cave was pocketed in the rockwall at the exact place where the Northern Sea met the open ocean, producing an immensely strong crosscurrent that backwashed for a thousand miles.
to a strong line fed directly from the sea, through a volcanic cave in the northern coastline of the icy Hintervold. That cave was pocketed in the rockwall at the exact place where the Northern Sea met the open ocean, producing an immensely strong crosscurrent that backwashed for a thousand miles.
This backwash was the lifeline of Entudenin.
Along the way east the seawater traveled through the glacial fields of the Hintervold, where it was sweetened by icy drainage and deprived of some of its salt; it passed beneath the verdant fields of Canderre, through the peat bogs and rich loam that gave that province its bounty, until it finally reached the sandy, mineral-laden red clay of Yarim, where it decided to stop â that decision forced by the deep, heavy layers of all but impenetrable clay and bedrock that had been left over from the formation of the mountains to the east. Filtered by ice, sand, and time, and ramming up against the underground barrier, the water, now sweet, had nowhere to go but up.
And up it went.
At its birth, Entudenin had been little more than a puddle, emerging with a gurgle, then spreading out with a great muddy burp. Had there been any human eye around to witness its arrival, it might have gone unnoticed entirely, but the region would not be inhabited for several thousand years. It was not a monumental beginning, but it was an important one; the seal of the earth over the water had been broken.
From then on it was merely a matter of the passing of time and the tides of the ocean, dictated by the phases of the moon. When the sea current was at rest, Entudenin rested as well, its water source withering to a trickle that pooled beneath the fields of Canderre, never traveling into the region of red clay at all. But when the tide turned, and the moon was at the height of its strength, the seawater poured in violently, racing along its course until it erupted in a joyful shout from the evolving geyser, spraying glistening drops into the air to mingle with the sunlight. As this continued over the millennia, the minerals that remained around its mouth began to grow thick and harden, forced upward by pressure, until the obelisk that had been Entudenin in its glory had risen, tall beneath the countless stars of the endless desert sky, reaching toward the moon.
That obelisk, formed of sea and earth, well traveled from many places, containing precious minerals and ores, salt, ice, and time, took on a life of sorts, a child of pure Earth, a wonder of the world; sweet water in the middle of a vast, dry land. The glistening mica that scored its walls, glittering back at the stars, was a silent sign of the magic that it held.
And so it had remained for thousands of years more. Eventually this life-giving
wellspring was discovered by man and put to use, almost worshipped, tended by priestesses of the Shanouin tribe, an extended family of humans who had a Mythlin ancestor. Mythlin were one of the five ancient races, formed at the beginning of time, from the element of Water; thus the Shanouin had talents for divining it even beneath the desert sand. They were talented well-diggers, and it was assumed that they would be the appropriate guardians of Entudenin.
wellspring was discovered by man and put to use, almost worshipped, tended by priestesses of the Shanouin tribe, an extended family of humans who had a Mythlin ancestor. Mythlin were one of the five ancient races, formed at the beginning of time, from the element of Water; thus the Shanouin had talents for divining it even beneath the desert sand. They were talented well-diggers, and it was assumed that they would be the appropriate guardians of Entudenin.
The Shanouin managed the cycle of the Fountain Rock, as Entudenin became known in the language of Yarim. They kept those who longed to harvest the water away for a full day after its cyclical Awakening, when, with a deep rumble and a glad shout, the backwash roared forth with enough force to break a man's back. The Shanouin maintained control as the water was gathered during the Sennight, or Week, of Plenty, that followed the Awakening, where the flow was abundant; then through the Sennight of Rest, when the copious spray settled into a smooth, bubbling stream. As the current turned fallow in the sea, the water of Entudenin would subside into a quiet trickle, known as the Sennight of Loss. During that week, only those with grave illness in their households or the elderly and frail were allowed to collect from the wellspring. Finally, as the moon went new, Entudenin slipped into the Sennight of Slumber, when it slept, waiting for the moon to shine again and turn the tide.
And so it went on, year after year, to century and millennium, until the day of the Shifting.
Grunthor's head snapped back at the change in the voice of the Earth. The song it had been weaving was a lilting roundelay that had come to lull him into a sense of peace; now, with a sudden jolt, the melody changed, screamed into a searing crescendo, then stopped altogether. Beneath the images in his mind, the voice of the Earth whispered sadly.
Miles to the west of Entudenin, at the border of Canderre, was one of the great opal fields of Yarim, Zbekaglou, whose name in the language of the indigenous people of the continent meant Rainbow's End, or “where the skycolors touch the earth.” Zbekaglou had been scoured for centuries for its treasures, the earth rent in great delves and mined of its soft, colorful gems, then left empty, open. Where the earth had been mined, the ground was instable, even below the water table. A strong vibration, a normal occurrence in the heartbeat of the earth, had shaken loose a landfall of the disturbed clay beneath the ground, plugging the watercourse completely.
Since this happened in the middle of the Week of Slumber, the water merely never returned. Entudenin went dry, overnight, never to shout with the joy of the Awakening again.
While Rhapsody had told Grunthor the lore of the humans of Yarim, and how the people had reacted with horror, then blame, then finally resignation to the loss, allowing their jewel of a city to wither in the heat, but going on with life, the Earth told him in quiet tones the end of the tale of what had happened to Entudenin.
It was a slow, painful death.
Like the great Trees of the Earth, or vast canyons carved over time by rivers, or the pounding sea itself, or any of the other places where elemental earthen magic is embodied, Entudenin had a soul of sorts. In its time it had been a vibrant entity, a natural formation with almost human moods, roaring with joy at the Awakening, laughing happily as the water flowed copiously, filling the vessels, the fountains, the canals of Yarim Paar. Sinking into sober reflection at the Sennight of Loss, contemplating the mortality of the world. Silent in its slumber, to awaken again, beginning the wondrous cycle all over, never tiring of it.
The beautiful obelisk, deprived of the gift of water, at first experienced a sense of what in human terms might have been bewilderment. It could hear the prayers of the humans that had tended it, feel their vibrations, even though it could not comprehend them, but their desperation translated, transcending the differences in consciousness, and that desperation became its own. As time passed, and the water did not return, the Fountain Rock yearned for salvation, prayed in supplication in its own way to its Mother, but the Earth could not undo what man had caused.
Finally, in sorrow, the obelisk succumbed to the inevitable. It continued to stand beneath the sun, feeling the moisture leach out of it more and more as each day, year, and century passed, baking from the outside, withering. It lost some of its height, a good deal of its girth, and all of its myriad colors, passing from the beauty of a child to the ugliness of a crone over time. As each drop evaporated beneath Yarim's blistering heat, Entudenin mourned.
But it refused to crumble.
Stalwartly, what tiny remains of soul had been embodied in the Fountain Rock held fast, standing tall beneath the stars, the mica that remained in its surface still gleaming in their light on occasion.
G
runthor's head swam, then snapped back again at the abrupt end of the Earth's song.
runthor's head swam, then snapped back again at the abrupt end of the Earth's song.
When the voice went mute, his stomach turned; he felt the connection to the warmth that had been coursing through his veins, winding its way through the chambers of his massive heart, shatter suddenly. It was an internal blow
so strong that it buckled his knees. He fell to the ground, his hands on the earth, searching unconsciously to reestablish the connection, but the Earth had gone silent.
so strong that it buckled his knees. He fell to the ground, his hands on the earth, searching unconsciously to reestablish the connection, but the Earth had gone silent.
A moment later he felt hands on both his shoulders; he waved them away, fighting the nausea that had rushed into his mouth, swallowing to choke it down again. He sat back with effort and waited for his head to clear.
When finally it did, his amber eyes blurry as the vision righted itself to the world around him, away from the pictures that accompanied the Earth's song, he looked up to see Rhapsody and Achmed standing over him, Ashe at Rhapsody's side. The Bolg in the tent were whispering among themselves with fear at the sight of their felled Sergeant-Major.
Again he waved away Achmed's hand, and rose, unsteady for a moment, inhaling deeply through his great nostrils. After a moment he turned to the king and nodded once. An intricate view of the inner pathways of the obelisk and its feeder lines was etched in his brain.
“Right. âEre's the plan: we take off that angled arm â it's withered to the point o' being solid anyway, and it's too fragile to withstand the bit.”
“Take off the arm?” Ihrman Karsrick interjected nervously. “You can't do that â it's a holy relic.”
“It's a holy relic that doesn't function,” said Achmed, his back to Karsrick while he continued to watch Grunthor, who had lapsed into silence at the higher-ranking official's interruption. “Do you want to maintain a dead decoration, or do you want water?”
The duke thought for a moment, then put his hand on the Bolg king's shoulder. “Can you guarantee that the water will flow if I allow you to remove the Obelisk's arm?” he asked hesitantly.
“No, but I can guarantee that blood will if I remove yours,” the Bolg king replied, staring at Karsrick's hand.
“Achmed,” Rhapsody chided. “Some courtesy, please.”
The Bolg king exhaled as the duke quickly withdrew his hand. “I can guarantee very little in life, Karsrick. The return of the water is not something I can warrant. But I can guarantee that if you do nothing, the water will not return. If he says the arm must be removed, then it must be. Now kindly be silent and allow us to hear the rest of his directions.”
The duke cleared his throat and nodded at Grunthor.
“We'll drill out the obelisk itself, and the first thirty yards below it,” the Sergeant said, wiping the sweat from his wide forehead, his skin having returned to its normal hue, the color of old bruises. “That'll get 'er ready to withstand the return of the water, if it comes. Right now she'd shatter.” He
glanced up at the dry red geyser. “The pathway beyond that is clear; the real blockage is farther away, almost to the border of Canderre. That's somethin' Oi can 'andle myself, sir; no point in draggin' the men there. Once they finish âere, you can take 'em back to Ylorc and Oi'll ride out to the border, clear the blockage, an' then come on 'ome.”
glanced up at the dry red geyser. “The pathway beyond that is clear; the real blockage is farther away, almost to the border of Canderre. That's somethin' Oi can 'andle myself, sir; no point in draggin' the men there. Once they finish âere, you can take 'em back to Ylorc and Oi'll ride out to the border, clear the blockage, an' then come on 'ome.”
“Will you need any of the equipment?” Achmed asked.
The giant grinned broadly, then fumbled in his pack for a moment. He produced a small hand spade, battered and worn, and held it up for Rhapsody to see as well. It was Digga, the retrenching tool he had used to dig the three of them free from the Earth after their journey through its belly four years before. Rhapsody laughed.
“This is all Oi'll need, sir,” he said.
“All right,” Achmed agreed. He turned to the assembled Bolg craftsmen. “Unpack the rest of the equipment and we'll set to work.”
O
utside the tents the ring of Yarimese guards was slowly, subtly growing larger. The ever-expanding ring had pushed the crowd gently but resolutely back to two street corners away from the town square, where the flickering torches that lighted the tent from the outside did not reveal the movements of the shadows within.
utside the tents the ring of Yarimese guards was slowly, subtly growing larger. The ever-expanding ring had pushed the crowd gently but resolutely back to two street corners away from the town square, where the flickering torches that lighted the tent from the outside did not reveal the movements of the shadows within.
At the edge of the rope, Esten waited, struggling with the throng of townspeople to get closer, to catch a glimpse of what was happening. She was preparing to leave, having seen nothing, when Dranth touched her elbow and shook his head, indicating that thus far none of her spies had managed to broach the work site either. Esten inhaled deeply, then pushed her way through the crowd to the empty streets beyond.
“I have no patience in this matter,” she said to the guild scion. “Karsrick is benefiting from all the work I undertook before the disaster; if the Bolg restore Entudenin, he will have the water that should have belonged to me. Why has no one gotten inside? The guards have always been easy to bribe or threaten.”
“The Yarimese guards, yes, mistress,” Dranth replied darkly. “But the Bolg are standing guard as well; their king brought his own security detail with him, and they are steadfast and thus far unapproachable.”
The guildmistress's black eyes glistened angrily.
“I want to know what is going on in that tent,” she said in a low, deadly voice. “And I need to have someone get inside, to prevent the theft of my water. Before night falls tomorrow, it will be done, or blood will spill like the water from Entudenin.”
12
W
ithin three days, Ashe's prediction had come to pass. The Bolg followed a regular schedule of workshifts, laboring silently in the heat beneath the tents that surrounded the work site, and the villagers of Yarim Paar settled for watching them enter and leave the tents and the city as their rotations changed, from the boundary two street lengths away.
ithin three days, Ashe's prediction had come to pass. The Bolg followed a regular schedule of workshifts, laboring silently in the heat beneath the tents that surrounded the work site, and the villagers of Yarim Paar settled for watching them enter and leave the tents and the city as their rotations changed, from the boundary two street lengths away.
The throngs that had gathered during the first days began to grow sparse, and while there was still considerable interest in the primitive men whom the Lady Cymrian had said were Entudenin's hope for resurrection, the majority of the town returned to its work and its daily routine, occasionally happening by the square at the appointed hours to see the Bolg hurry out of the tents to their waiting escorts. No interaction was allowed, and since the Bolg never initiated any, or showed any interest in meeting or touching any of the citizens of Yarim Paar, it became unconsciously clear to the townspeople that the Firbolg were being protected from them, and not the other way around, which changed the mood from resentful and fearful curiosity to that of embarrassed interest.
The linen tents, bleached white as snow at the onset of the project, rapidly took on a brownish-red cast from the clay dust spattered into the air by the drilling. Great beams of wood were brought in on the Bolg's supply wagons, lashed together in articulated sections that were driven into the ground by massive apparatuses of tampers and gears, sophisticated machines designed centuries before by Gwylliam and used to hollow out the passageways of Canrif. The townspeople of Yarim Paar, accustomed only to the well-digging practices of the Shanouin, marveled at the sights and sounds of the tools that the Bolg were making use of, though most of the smaller equipment was kept from their sight, like the craftsmen themselves.
The disembodied arm of Entudenin was removed first, and, in a quiet ceremony, brought into the Judiciary's main rotunda beneath the palace's famous minarets. There it was put on display, because Yarim had no elemental temple, its people worshipping under the auspices of the Blesser of Canderre-Yarim, Ian Steward, who held services in the Basilica of Fire in Bethany a hundred leagues away. The first day it was available to be viewed by the public, more than four thousand people came to reverently observe it, ten times the number that had paid their respects when the body of Ihrman Karsrick's father had been lying in state in the same rotunda many years before.
Ashe watched the crowds filing into the rotunda from the balcony of their
tower guest chambers west of the central palace, chuckling at the look on Rhapsody's face.
tower guest chambers west of the central palace, chuckling at the look on Rhapsody's face.
“What is it now, my love?” he asked teasingly. “You seem amazed.”
“I
am
amazed,” Rhapsody said, staring over the railing at the snaking line that stretched down the streets, almost to the central Marketway. “That bloody thing stood in the center of their town for hundreds of years, ignored and unnoticed. Virtually every merchant, every tradesman who had business in the center of the city, walked by it every day, and no one paid it a bit of attention except a few pilgrims and a little boy I once saw stop there to relieve himself. And now it is a holy relic of vast interest to the same people who were oblivious to it three days ago. It
is
amazing.”
am
amazed,” Rhapsody said, staring over the railing at the snaking line that stretched down the streets, almost to the central Marketway. “That bloody thing stood in the center of their town for hundreds of years, ignored and unnoticed. Virtually every merchant, every tradesman who had business in the center of the city, walked by it every day, and no one paid it a bit of attention except a few pilgrims and a little boy I once saw stop there to relieve himself. And now it is a holy relic of vast interest to the same people who were oblivious to it three days ago. It
is
amazing.”
Ashe put his arms around her. “Indeed. Well, do you suppose I might be able to draw your interest away from this amazing sight for a while?”
“By all means,” she said, smiling. “What do you have in mind?”
“I thought we might go out into the city in disguise â you could put on a ghodin and I can wear a hooded veil like the Shanouin well-diggers or some other pilgrim.”
His wife laughed in delight. “Back to the days of hiding your face, are we? Well, I did wear a ghodin the last time I was here with Achmed, so that I would not be recognized. There are not too many yellow heads in Yarim; I would have been a curiosity, and since we were here to snatch the slave boys from the tile foundry, that would not have been a good thing. I can wear one again; all that flowing white linen keeps the heat out. So where would we go? It might be a good time to shop the market; all the townspeople are in the Judiciary, bowing to a dead rock formation. The crowds shouldn't be too pressing.”
“Not quite what I had in mind.”
“Oh?”
“I thought we might make a visit to Manwyn's temple.”
The laughter in Rhapsody's eyes resolved to a clear, sober expression.
“Are you certain you want to do that, Sam?” she asked gently.
“Yes,” he answered, taking her hand and leading her back into the tower chambers. “Let us obtain the answers to our questions, knowing we may only get some insane babble, and then we can make an afternoon of it. We can take noonmeal in a tavern or over one of those open-street firepits, and then find something quaint in the market to bring home for Gwydion and Melly.”
Rhapsody made a deep reverence before her husband. “Lead on, m'lord.”
M
anwyn's temple stood at the western edge of the city, the centerpiece of a section that had been a thriving water garden in the time when Entudenin
still brought forth her liquid gifts, now all but deserted. Deep, dry depressions that had once been immense pools lined the decaying streets, along which broken statuary of sea nymphs poured empty vessels into dusty fountains.
anwyn's temple stood at the western edge of the city, the centerpiece of a section that had been a thriving water garden in the time when Entudenin
still brought forth her liquid gifts, now all but deserted. Deep, dry depressions that had once been immense pools lined the decaying streets, along which broken statuary of sea nymphs poured empty vessels into dusty fountains.
The temple itself was, like Yarim Paar itself, large, majestically built, but decaying from neglect. Formed of marble which must have been magnificent in its time, the Temple of the Oracle was composed of a central building with two annex wings sprawling at the end of the main thoroughfare, crumbling in places. Cracked marble steps led up to a wide, inlaid patio, where eight huge columns stood on the unevenly paved surface, marred by expanding patches of lichen.
The central building was a large rotunda topped with a circular dome in which two large cracks could be seen. A tall, thin minaret crowned this central building, shining like a beacon in the sun.
Rhapsody stopped at the base of the grand staircase.
“Are you
certain
you want to do this?” she asked Ashe again. “It was very strange the last time the two of you saw each other here; I don't want to repeat that, if possible.”
certain
you want to do this?” she asked Ashe again. “It was very strange the last time the two of you saw each other here; I don't want to repeat that, if possible.”
“You do not enjoy being in the center of a battle of dragon will in a motheaten temple?” Ashe replied, looking into her green eyes, the only part of her visible beneath the ghodin. “Teetering on the brink of her yawning well as the ground shakes, dodging falling pieces of the firmament of the dome?”
“That would be accurate, yes.”
“I will do my best to behave,” he promised. “Come, Aria.”
Rhapsody's green eyes glittered nervously. “Do you remember the wording we planned?”
Ashe caressed her hand reassuringly. “Yes. Come.”
They climbed the great stair and passed through the large open portal that served as the entrance. The inside of the temple was dark, lit only by dim torches and candles, keeping the entranceway in a perennial state of half-light.
The interior of the temple, unlike its edifice, was well maintained. In the center of the vast room a large fountain blasted a thin stream of water twenty feet into the air, where it splashed down into a pool lined with shimmering lapis lazuli. The floor was polished marble, the walls adorned with intricately decorated tile, the sconces shining brass.
To either side of this room were small antechambers where Manwyn's guards stood, wearing the horned helmets traditional in Yarim and armed with long, thin swords. A large door of intricately carved cedar stood across from them, behind the fountain and its pool, also guarded.
Rhapsody stopped again suddenly and grasped Ashe by the arm.
“Oh! Wait! Remember the last time we came here for a prophecy, Manwyn
was very angry because you were hiding your face. Perhaps it is best to remove the ghodin and the veils now; I don't want to provoke her again.”
was very angry because you were hiding your face. Perhaps it is best to remove the ghodin and the veils now; I don't want to provoke her again.”
“Very well; we will as soon as we are inside.”
Ashe pried her fingers loose from his forearm, took her hand again, and led her around the fountain, stopping before the guards of the great door.
“Ten gold crowns to see the Oracle, for the Seer's sustenance,” the man said rotely.
Ashe reached into his coin purse and drew forth the amount the guard had demanded.
“If this is really being used for the maintenance of the Oracle, I expect that she will have a new gown since the last time we saw her,” he said, dropping the coins into the offering box. “She looked thin and in a fair bit of disarray, though I see that
you
are well turned out and of a healthy girth, soldier. But I'm certain that you would never usurp any of the alms given to the Oracle for yourselves, now, would you?”
you
are well turned out and of a healthy girth, soldier. But I'm certain that you would never usurp any of the alms given to the Oracle for yourselves, now, would you?”
The guard spat on the floor and opened the beautiful cedar door, motioning them angrily inside.
“You are doing an
excellent
job of behaving already,” Rhapsody said dryly as they entered the Inner Sanctum.
excellent
job of behaving already,” Rhapsody said dryly as they entered the Inner Sanctum.
“I'm a dragon. It's my job to annoy people.”
“I see that.”
“Well, if we are to reveal our faces in the attempt not to disturb Manwyn, we had best do it now.” Ashe pulled the veil from his face, then gently took down the head veil of her ghodin. He blinked; Rhapsody's face was almost as pale as the white robe she was wearing, ghostly in the glow of the candleflames around them.
“Aria? Are you all right?”
She nodded wordlessly.
Ashe took her hand; it was cold and trembling slightly.
“Rhapsody, if you don't want to do this, we can leave now, without a second thought.”
She shook her head, though her grip tightened slightly.
“It's just all coming back to me now,” she said nervously. “I had forgotten how intimidating a place this is. Manwyn frightens me.”
“Then let's go back to the bazaar.” Ashe turned and curled his knuckles to rap on the cedar door, but Rhapsody stopped him.
“No. We have to hear what she has to say, have to ask her about her last prophecy, or else something that should be a wonderful, exciting event in our lives will only bring worry and fear,” she said. “I am sorry I am being such a coward. Let's go in.”
Ashe squeezed her hand, and together they went deeper into the Inner Sanctum.
T
he room beyond the cedar door was immense, illuminated by a series of small windows in the dome of the rotunda and countless candles. In the center of the room was a dais which was suspended precariously above a large, open well, sideless, flush with the floor.
he room beyond the cedar door was immense, illuminated by a series of small windows in the dome of the rotunda and countless candles. In the center of the room was a dais which was suspended precariously above a large, open well, sideless, flush with the floor.
Manwyn sat, as she always did when in her temple, in the center of the suspended dais. She was tall and thin with rosy gold skin and fiery red hair streaked with silver. Her face bore the lines of middle age. In her left hand she held an ornate sextant, and she was dressed, as Ashe had expected, in a ragged gown of green silk, once a magnificent garment, now frayed and worn with age.
The Seer of the Future had eyes that were perfect mirrors, with no pupil, iris, or sclera to delineate them. The first time Rhapsody had beheld her, it had almost felt as if she were drowning in those eyes, deep, reflective pools of quicksilver that gazed only beyond the present, into the realm of what had not yet come to be.
She had learned, over time, how dangerous it was to the conscious mind to meet the gaze of a dragon or its kin. So she lowered her eyes respectfully and waited for the Seer to address them.
At first Manwyn ignored them altogether. Her long fingers were engaged in spinning the wheel of the sextant, which she did while humming a tuneless melody to herself. The lord and lady stood silent while she played, glancing occasionally at each other but saying nothing.
Suddenly, as if she had caught the scent of fire in the wind, Manwyn lurched upright, sniffing the air. Her liquid silver eyes darted wildly around the circular room, finally settling on them. She rose up slightly on her knees and pointed to the great dark hole that yawned raggedly in the floor.
“Gaze into the well,” she commanded in the same harsh voice Rhapsody had heard the last time she had been here, a raspy croak that scratched at the edges of Rhapsody's skull.
Against her will she began to tremble again; Manwyn had attended the first Cymrian Council and their wedding, and had not been intimidating or frightening at all, merely detached and confused. But here within her temple, she was terrifying, smiling with a confidence that bordered on cruel amusement.
“May the All-God give thee good day, my great-nephew and his lady-wife,” the prophetess said, bowing deeply and saluting them with the traditional address of the Island of Serendair. “And indeed, He shall; it shall be a very interesting day for you.”
“Thank you, Aunt,” Ashe replied, returning her bow. “I hope that's not the extent of our prophecy. I paid generously at the door.”
The Seer chuckled. “You will always be my favorite great-nephew, Gwydion of Manosse. And your lovely bride; she is quite a hat in your feather. Hat and feather, hat and feather!” She giggled, grinning broadly.
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