Amber Magic

Chapter Eighteen

At this point, Thilfox loudly cleared his throat. Gudrin swept her gaze over to him, but Thilfox kept his eyes focused on his pipe as he said, “Your tale adds detail and color to what legends we've heard whispered before, but now I would like to move on, as time is pressing-”

“It's not time that will press you all this eve!” roared back Gudrin, face blazing. She held out her ancient book and clapped her hands upon it. “Ever are the biggest fools among us the most impatient to get on with things!”

“A fool, am I?” huffed Thilfox, rising to his feet. “I'll not be-”

Gudrin threw up her arms, imploring both him and the heavens. “I spoke tactlessly. Please, seat yourself and allow me to finish my tale. I promise you will not regret it.”

With ill grace, Thilfox flumped back into his chair. Scowling at the spinner, he made a broad gesture, indicating that she should continue.

“Myrrdin,” began Gudrin anew, “after he had left the lands of the Faerie, didn't immediately join the River Folk, although he resembled them more than any of the other races of Cmyru. He wandered for many years instead, and came to join the Kindred, befriending many of our lords who dwelt beneath the mountains and upon them. There are many tales to be told of these times-but not this eve.

“Those years were an unfortunate time for humans, as their numbers had been greatly reduced by wars among themselves and with the Faerie-and even, though I loathe to say it, with the Kindred.”

Here, Modi gave a low growl in the back of his throat. All eyes swung to him, and inevitably to his axe. Brand knew that it was from these times that the Kindred had come to be known to the River Folk as the Battleaxe Folk.

Gudrin ignored the interruption and continued with her tale.