“You should not speak so boldly, Restag. Thanesman you may be now, but only until the Band is bestowed upon another,” said the image of Ecthar’s mind.
Restag did not answer. Anything he said would be with his physical lips for all to hear, and he had no desire to speak before the Council when his own eyes and ears would not witness their response. With the passing of a thought, Restag crossed the room, intent on exploring the deeper rooms and paths of the high elder’s mind. However, the voice again caught him before he could leave.
“You will not find him here, Restag.”
Restag looked again at the figure on the throne. A narrow smile stretched across his face as Ecthar’s mental image said, “I do not know exactly where he is or what has happened to him. Nor does any here. And there is no point in consulting a Troth-Seer. He shall See only truth in my speech. Witheric is gone, Restag.”
Restag pulled his vision back to the physical world around him. Ecthar’s smile had taken a condescending turn, as if looking at a child, but the rest of the council still refused to look him in the eye. They knew what he had done and what he suspected. They knew it to be true, but they would not say or do anything. Focusing in particular on the few members who usually took a moderate or supportive position toward their thane, Restag saw the deep shame they held in their silence. What did Ecthar have over them to reduce them to spineless worms? It hardly mattered, he decided, turning from them with such clear contempt they shrank further into themselves and the shadows of the room. Without another word, the thanesman marched toward the exit.
“Where do you go, Thanesman?” said Ecthar, a sneer entering his voice. “You are needed here to tip the scales in case of an even vote. Or do you forfeit?”
You know my vote, snake, Restag said to himself, but he did not speak it out loud and simply left the room. With quick steps, he crossed the fortress town, passing children and farm animals running through the streets and the sounds of shuttles on looms, food cooking, and daily chores from the homes around him. A few women gave worried glances at the young man’s back, whispering concern for the thane. Men watched him in wordless understanding. None called out to him. They had seen his countenance as he approached the Elder’s Hall. They knew not to stop him.
Once inside the Iron Hall, ancient home of the High Thane, Restag went to his room, pulled out a pair of large satchels, and began filling them with clothes and equipment. From the wall, he grabbed his winged spear and strapped his shield across his back over his wool cloak. He then went to grab similar items from the high thane’s chamber, including Witheric’s gun, a strange, human-made weapon, and its accessories, and food from the larder. Afterwards, he entered Witheric’s study at the back corner of the Hall, heading directly for the map the young thane had finished inking only days before. Maps were not of great concern for him with his Sight, but habit had made even him feel uneasy without one. Next, he dug through the papers, locating a few detailed maps of smaller areas, again with Witheric’s translations written across the landscape. All these he rolled tightly together, stuffing them into a waterproof storage tube of human design. For all he might distrust them, Restag appreciated the practicality of many human goods. Finally, he uncovered the small chest Witheric kept beneath the floorboards by his writing table and pulled out the spare key his master had given him, carefully turning the key and fiddling with the mechanisms of the lock so as to undo the spell craft that guarded the contents. Inside were a few trinkets, including a small piece of braided hair, the brooches worn by the thane’s father and brother as they went out to their last battle, and the silver hairpin the previous thanesbride had worn, a gift from her husband on their wedding day and her most treasured possession even after grief destroyed her will to live. The last item in the chest was Witheric’s seal ring, a thing Restag still did not understand but which he sensed might be better to bring than to leave. All these things he threw into a drawstring bag and tucked into his shirt. With one last look around the room, at the piles of fragile books and papers and maps and drawings and the smell of ink and parchment that had come in his mind to mean “Witheric,” and which he knew would be no more than ashes in the hands of another, he left.
He found himself stopped not far down the passageway, however, by a young woman, her golden hair pulled back into a thick braid and her usually bright eyes shadowed with worry. Though he knew he had little time, Restag approached the young woman, who said in a soft voice, “Restag, what is happening? They are already saying… Witheric, he isn’t… is he….”
She then noticed the satchels and the gun he carried, and her eyes filled with fear. To see such an expression on her caused Restag’s chest to tighten again with anger at those who were the cause. Lowering his voice but keeping a firm tone, he said, “I am going to find him, Eathir. I will find him and bring him back. This I swear.”
Eathir nodded, but she did not speak, and her expression remained tense. Unsure what else to do, Restag knelt before her, took her hand, kissed it, and pressed it against his brow, sealing his oath, and said, “I swear it. Upon my name as thanesman, I will find him, and I will bring him back, if I can. However, if we do not return before the first snows fall, or you fear those who wish to place a false thane upon the Iron Throne, go to my family. My father and brother will protect their Thanesbride, even from the Elder of our clan. Not all of us have lost sight of our true oath-bond.”
