The Hill-King's Tale

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The king touched her arm with one, armored hand, his gauntlet cool against her skin. " Princess, the mere sight of you has filled me with satisfaction and contentment for so long," he replied from behind his helmet, "that I never dreamed being in your presence could fill me with such joy as I have just now, yet this was not always so.

'You see, like you, my birth was of humble circumstance; my mother was the daughter of husbandry and my father, a tradesman of the plains beyond these high, green hills. In fact, your father's people were of the same tribe as my own, but that is another part of the tale, for later."

Howe nodded her thanks with a smile, anticipating the tale to come.

"I was a mere stripling lad when my people were attacked the first time," continued Bryn Ma'ar quietly, seeming lost in his memories. "From the time I was twelve, I was more than learning to wield this sword, I was learning the consequences of failure.

'We had been accustomed to living a somewhat nomadic lifestyle up until then, but we were slowly driven from the plains until we were encroaching on the lands of your mother's people, the Anazaria who dwelled within the cliffs at the edge of the plains. They did not welcome us any more than the village elders welcomed your father, or for that matter you, though you were raised among them."

He paused to assist Howe over a difficult part of the trail. Howe noticed that, though the trail was steep and narrow, it was well-maintained. Any valley-dweller who'd come upon it at the trail-head would have considered it as nothing more than a deer or wild sheep trail, and any who followed it for a short distance would have no reason to change that opinion, but Howe could see that the trail was tended and maintained, if inconspicuously.

The only sign that human hands had cut the trail was a bent branch or broken twig here, a well-placed stone in the ground there to prevent the trail from washing out. She didn't say anything about her observations though, hoping he'd continue the tale. Bryn Ma'ar had warned her that the first winter storm was coming, weeks earlier than anyone was expecting, and the chill was already in the air.

He'd spoken the night before of a second line cabin between the first shelter and the fortress, but thought they might make the fortress before nightfall, if they made good time. With her dress torn and thin from age, Howe felt the change in temperature keenly but she'd learned that the best way to stay warm in such weather was through constant movement.

Howe did her best to walk briskly. Having no wish to be caught in a storm, she hoped they'd be able to reach the fortress before the snow began to fall. If that happened, she told herself, then she'd be far colder than she was just then. Bryn Ma'ar continued his tale after the trail widened out, a short distance later.

"I learned to fight and learned well, but with enemies pressing from all sides, we had no haven where we might be safe. We moved about constantly for a time, seeking to avoid the plains people who were too strong for us, and the cliff-dwellers, who had the advantage of their steep fortresses. Sometimes we were successful, sometimes not."

Howe could hear the wry humor in his voice despite the helmet. "Sometimes not?" she asked, encouraging him on in his tale.

"As our numbers dwindled, we knew we couldn't win in pitched battle even with all the clans together, so we did our best to avoid an outright confrontation. Except that wherever we went at the edge of the plains, the other tribe seemed to follow. We drifted along the cliffs for a year or so, to the sea and back again. It was while we were camped at the base of the cliffs that your father fell in love."

"You knew him?" Howe slowed her steps unconsciously while she studied his helmet, seeking in vain to see his expression through the eye holes.

"He was part of our tribe so yes, we were acquainted though I didn't know him well. He was a bit younger than my father but they fought alongside each other for a time."

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