“Thane’s thunder, Witheric! A dragon would envy such a hoard as this!”

Witheric Iron-Brow, High Thane of the Asgradi, looked up from the map he was copying to see his chief companion maneuvering around tables draped in parchment and stacks of leather-bound sheets. He smiled apologetically when the warrior’s scabbard caught on a table’s leg as he stepped between it and a pile of tomes topped with trinkets, jerking him to a stop. “It has overflowed the dam, hasn’t it?” Witheric said.

The warrior snorted. “It has drowned the town. Were these scribblings gold, we’d be burned to ash by now, if not by dragons than by all the other tribes.”

“So I have doomed us by both water and fire, have I, Restag Far-Sighted? It is good these are not earthly gold then,” said the thane, smiling at the man’s grimace. Restag knew what was coming next, but so long as his friend voiced his objections, Witheric would respond as he did now. “No, these are more than gold. They are star-gold! The gold of the gods to match and surpass the Eisenband itself,” he said, tapping the runic ring around his forehead.

Gathering a pile of loose parchments that had slipped to the floor, Restag evened their edges as best he could and placed them back on the table, saying, “Don’t let the Council hear you say such a thing. Were you not High Thane, you could be justly slain for calling the marks of mere men the works of gods.”

“Were you not Thanesman, I would not have said it,” replied Witheric. Satisfaction beat in the young thane’s chest as the hints of a proud smile showed on his friend’s face.

Finally reaching the table at which Witheric worked, Restag looked down with disapproval at the map, the land already drawn and inked and now in the process of being labeled not with the foreign letters of the original but with Asgradi runes of Witheric’s own translation. “More of the red-bloods’ work? Do you really believe the land to submit more to human eyes than to your own?”

“The Ithaenians have been refining their maps of the lands along the river, including our own, for centuries. Why should I not trust their work over one that is drawn today and tomorrow used to kindle a fire or to craft a shield?” replied the thane.

“And all this… whatever it is,” said Restag, motioning to the stacks and piles around the room.

“It’s called paper, Restag, as you well know, and since you are so forgetful today, those are called books,” responded Witheric.

Snorting again, Restag said, “Scraps. Scraps of strange leaf covered with scribbles and good leather wasted.”

Witheric eyed the pile of “scraps” and “wasted leather” the warrior had so carefully stacked behind him but said nothing. Returning to the map he was inking, the High Thane said, “What do you need from me, Restag?”

“Nothing,” replied Restag, regaining Witheric’s attention. “However, I received something for you from those returning from trading with the red-bloods. I thought you might want it as soon as possible.”

The map was forgotten as Restag pulled from his pouch a small, folded paper kept closed by a wax seal bearing the image of a ring of leaves surrounding a large man standing over a lion. Crying out excitedly, Witheric snatched the letter away and quickly opened it, slowly reading and trying to understand the contents. Eventually, he moved to a stack of rolled parchments and searched through their notes to translate some words he recognized but whose meaning escaped him. In his haste, the young thane missed the warm smile that came to his friend’s face, which soon disappeared again beneath the stern mask. After a little while, Restag said, “Another message from your human scribbler?”

“From the Ithaenian king, Restag. King Aleukus of Ithaenia,” said Witheric, not looking up from his notes. He smiled. “He… I think he says they are doing well, that the harvests were good and the waters peaceful. In response to my question, he says his son is getting stronger, that he tried… tried to hold… I think it says ‘sword.’ Restag, come look at it and tell me if you think it says ‘sword’ here.”

When he looked up to his friend, the warrior was bent over the map, carefully inking in the runes sketched across the surface. Eyes still focused on the task, Restag replied, “You know I cannot read those human scribblings. You are one of the only Asgradi among the Eisensaet who even bothers with learning the human’s boneless speech, let alone its twisted writing.”

Smiling despite the harsh words, Witheric said, “Then maybe I shall be the first of our people to inscribe a bond-bone with them.”

Looking up briefly, Restag said, “I thought humans used this paper-leaf for their bond-runes, not bones or even wood. Their word must be easily broken to use a thing so easily destroyed. How can a bond that cannot even withstand the rain and mists of summer withstand the ice and snow of winter?”

Witheric frowned deeply. “You do not trust the humans to keep their word.”

“I do not trust any who can so easily give their words away to people who cannot even read them,” he replied.

Witheric sighed. Though at times frustrating, his friend’s bluntness was why Witheric had named Restag his Thanesman, despite the Council’s desire for the position to be filled by someone older and less willing to entertaining the High Thane’s oddities. The tall, sinewy man before him also stood among the Eisensaet tribe’s best warriors and was therefore highly respected by both warriors and thralls. Then there was his fae-gift. He alone was truly Far-Sighted among the living of his clan, able to see not just beyond an ordinary man’s abilities–beyond stone and hill, across rivers and lakes and seas, and through the shadows of the forest–but even into the minds and hearts of men. No one else of his clan currently held the fae-gift so strong, not even the High Elder, who shared the warrior’s blood. As such, none could reasonably question Restag’s right to stand beside the High Thane as his right hand and chief retainer. However, many on the Council still did, Witheric knew, and he worried for his outspoken friend. Even the High Thane could not command the Council of High Elders in all things and was required to at least heed the rune-readers’ advice, however much he disagreed with it. If only they knew how much Restag did check his master’s fancies, perhaps they would not… no. That was not the true cause of their doubt. The true reason, he knew, was that Restag was his Thanesman, and a Thanesman of such power and respect beside a thane like himself would never sit well with the current High Council. If he were more to their liking, then maybe….

Letting out another sigh, Witheric said, “Perhaps you’re right and the word of most humans is weak. But the word of King Aleukus is a straight-shafted spear, true in its purpose and aim, and binding as an iron chain.”