Lloel Hoarfast

The next morning, as Jonas returned to the wharf to check on the status of the Wind Dancer, Shellah led Nessah up the hill of the dun to find Hoarfast House. The city did get cleaner the further up they walked, or at least the livestock was kept in the yards and out of the streets. The raw, gray weather of the morning cleared the peat smog from the air, making the day fresher, if colder. Before long, they saw the sign of a simple blue snowflake on a white ground, the sigil for the Hoarfast tribe. Nessah grabbed the heavy brass door knocker and gave it a strong rap. An elderly manservant soon answered the door.

“Hullo! What is your business here, my ladies?” he asked, ushering them into the quiet main room. The polished wooden panels reflected the weak morning sun. Woven into the wall tapestries and carpet below was the snowflake insignia for the Hoarfasts. Shellah admired a handsome basket-hilted broadsword mounted above the massive fireplace, a blade befitting a tribal chief.

“I’m here to visit Lloel Hoarfast. Nessah Nafissar. I was a student of his at university. And this is my bodyguard, Shellah…” Nessah visibly struggled for Shellah’s last name.

“Shellah Skyfast,” said Shellah.

“Is he expecting you, love?”

“No,” replied Nessah. “I hope not to take much of his time. Is he in residence?”

“Yes, and it’s no bother,” said the manservant. “We don’t get many visitors here outside of tribal business. Make yourselves comfortable, and I’ll let his lordship know you’re here.”

Nessah paced back and forth while Shellah took a moment to sit and enjoy the fire.

“Nessah!” They heard someone exclaim. An older, balding man with a short white beard entered from a side door. At his throat a huge snowflake brooch centered with a sparking aquamarine pinned his blue plaid cloak, the badge of the chief of the Hoarfasts. “A pleasure to see you!” He embraced Nessah warmly. “And you’ve brought a Skyfast! Our neighbors to the west.”

“My sister is Dilly,” said Shellah. “Mo’s wife.”

“Of course!” Lloel Horfast said. “We love our Dilly. What a nice surprise!” He clapped his hands. “Wenlow, please bring some whisky for our guests. Visitors! What a nice surprise!”

“I hope not to take up too much of your time,” said Nessah in an attempt to bring the focus back to her business. “I need your assistance in identifying a scroll I’ve found. Perhaps we can go into your library?”

“Oh!” said Lloel. “Yes, yes, follow me.” He pointed back toward the door from where he had come. “This way, Nessah. It’s been too long!”

“Shellah, you can stay here, enjoy the fire,” said Nessah as she hurried out behind him.

Shellah recognized that as a dismissal. But Wenlow would soon return with the whisky. As a native of the Shielings, it was never too early in the morning for it, as whisky was the proper way to welcome guests, no matter the time of day. The fire crackled. She was sure the chief’s whisky would be his very best. Not a bad way to start the morning.

Wenlow did return, but not bearing any whisky. “Miss Skyfast, would you follow me to the library? His lordship has a question for you.”

Shellah got up. “Sure! Was looking forward to that whisky, though!”

Wenlow laughed. “It’s in the library, ma’am.”

They found Nessah and Lloel bent over a yellowed sheet of parchment spread across a broad oak table in the library. Piled everywhere, on shelves or not, were the promised books. Wenlow handed Shellah a cockle of the chief’s whisky.

“I don’t know, Nessah,” said Lloel. “It looks very old, and it’s in an ancient Larin hand. But it could just be a sheet of old riddles.” He looked up at Shellah. “Miss Skyfast, you’re a native. What do you think of the following? ‘Miasma’s shroud lies on a mundy isle where Coln doth dwell’.” His wizened face looked up at her, his expression not quite readable. “Does that sound familiar?”

Shellah thought for a moment as she sipped her whisky, honeyed and fiery as a Darlow whisky could be. “Mundy Head’s in the outer Shielings? It’s got a huge sea cave. Finnah’s Realm.”

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

Lloel shared a glance with Nessah. “Finnah is the sea goddess of the Shielings. She would be the equivalent of Coln. And ‘mundy’ is colloquial for mounded, as in barrow mounds.”

“So this could be a real location,” said Nessah. “There are thirteen riddles here, twelve containing the known names of the runes, and one for the crown. The numbers match up with the legend.”

Lloel sighed. “Those all would have been destroyed long ago, in the previous age. They’re a myth, Nessah. Yes, this document is old, and yes, there appear to be coincidences to what’s been documented of the runes, but it’s very unlikely.” He shook his head and held the document up to the window to take a closer look. He fingered a darker spot, scratching at a speck. “Was there anything here?”

“Yes,” said Nessah. “There was a wax seal. My partner is taking it to an expert on seals in Corom City as separate authentication.”

Lloel stared out the window for a moment. “If we can’t figure out a few more of these together this afternoon, let me keep this overnight to keep looking. If we can untangle the other riddles against a map and some other trustworthy sources, I’ll have a better answer as to its validity for you.”

“I’d rather not leave it here. I would feel more comfortable if you made your own copy, you could keep one for your own records.”

“So, what is this all about? May I see it?” Shellah took the parchment from Lloel’s extended hand. Squinting at the large but cramped old style lettering, she couldn’t read the words but felt a slight tingling from the paper. She quickly dropped it onto the oaken table. “What does it say?”

“This is a poem, or series of riddles, possibly about a set of legendary runes made in the old kingdom of Larin, lost long ago.” Lloel picked up the parchment and started to read it aloud.

Miasma’s shroud lies

On a mundy isle

Where Coln doth dwell

The key to Vengeance

Fits the lock to Hel

Across the Whale Road

Amber Resin glows

The jewel in the deadfall

Reflects the lake of autumn leaves

Hoarfrost’s snowflakes

In crystal caverns grow

Behind the Icefall

Tempests and tides

Command the sands

To the temple of Marda

Fulmination strikes

The gray granite peak

Of the highest pass

The Withering winds

Scour the red lands

Carve channels to the sun

Inundation

Eases Coromo’s rocks

Blesses summer crops

The curse of Pestilence

Builds with bones

The bedrock of the city

Venom is strongest

Where in the mangroves weaves

The snake of many heads

Desiccation

Preserves the bodies of kings

Wrapped in linen to afterlife

Ruins of the lighthouse

Prove the folly of men

Over the will of the gods

Conflagration crowns

The oracle of the twin temples

Of Coln and Narro

“The creator of these runes was a sorcerer-priest of Old Larin,” Lloel continued, “who was killed at the fall of the old kingdom. Even if one of these runes still exists, it would be a curiosity only. Nobody has the sorcery to harness any of these relics now.” He picked up one of his many books and started to page through it. “Nessah, that stack on the corner of the table references the Old Larin legends and genealogy, if you’d like to take a look. I’ve got some older maps, too, we can get them out.”

Nessah grabbed the top book in the stack and sat in a comfortable looking chair by the window light. “Shellah, would you return at the fourth bell? I’m sure I’ll be safe here for the afternoon.”

“Of course. I’ll see what Jonas is up to.” Shellah finished the last sip of her whisky and turned to leave.

“Oh, Miss Skyfast! Please return for dinner, maybe we’ll have more information to share then,” Lloel added. ”And if any of these riddles makes sense to you, let us know! I’m sure in your travels you will have your own ideas.”