A Promise of Iron by Brandon McCoy (the reading list .txt) 📕

Jaeron closed his eyes and moved his lips, mouthing the words as he repeated them in his head. Then he took off like an arrow down the hall towards the stables.

“It will be a chore keeping that one busy,” I mused as the outer door slammed behind him.

The next step was to check on Nahdril, presuming Quill had returned from Forhd already. I crossed the hallway that led to the study, passing by another workgroup, washing the high windows. I tipped an invisible hat to them, but they paid me no attention. I walked down a dimply lit corridor far into the estate’s northern wing until I came upon a closed door of elderwood. I gave it a knock.

“Piss off, you Golflys. My rooms don’t need cleaning,” came the reply.

I chuckled and knocked again.

“I don’t care what Richard has to say about it; there are important works here. I won’t have them disturbed by your filthy little paws.”

I counted lines in the stone for half a minute and knocked again.

“Ash and bother, how many times do I,” the door swung open, “Oh, Faerin, it’s you. Come in, come in,” the man said, gesturing to the room with a hand full of brushes. He was dressed in white though his tunic was stained with a hundred hues, some fresh, some as old and dry as he was.

“Come to inspect my work, have you? You know it’s a bad omen to judge art before its finished? Don’t want to invite ill-tempered quin upon her now, do you? Hmm?”

His large blue eyes seemed all the larger by the thick glass spectacles he wore.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Quill,” I said. “Just wanted to check on your progress…. I’m eager to have her at my side.”

Quill smiled whimsically. “If I had a lady half as fine, I wouldn’t let anyone put hands on her.”

“So you think Nahdril a she then? I mean, I’m not sure…. Ada was always good at that sort of thing.”

“Faerin, I’m seventy and one years old,” he said, walking closer to the canvas at the center of the room. He made a few thin strokes with his brushes, turned his head to the side, then made a few more. “There are a great many things I know, and a great many more I pretend to know.” He circled the painting, then placed his hands on his hips. “On the nature of quin, much remains a mystery. Like women, it takes time to see them for what they are, not what they wish you to see.”

I nodded.

“And that is how they like it, mind you,” he said, wagging a brush at me. “Quin and women, I mean. Both mysterious and subtle, slight yet powerful. Their authority is not direct, not the overt crash of thunder, no, no. They are patient; they are steady.” He looked out the window. “Like the ever-wind that steadily bends the tree.”

Quill looked back to his painting, where an unfinished portrait of Nahdril was emerging from the canvas. He closed his eyes. “When I look at Nahdril, I see many things. She is flirtatious and bold; crafty, yet curious. I can feel her age, like the very stones around us. But the years have tempered her, smoothed her over like polished silver. Yet she is determined—resolute in her cause.” He turned back to me. “She is also quite secretive, and like all beautiful women, she remains an enigma.”

He set his brushes down in a wooden vase next to the portrait. “But to answer your question, yes, I most definitely think your beautiful lady, a lady.”

I nodded. “Well, it looks just like her. I never knew you could paint so well.”

Quill bowed slightly.

“I’m amazed at your progress. Didn’t you just get back this morning?”

“A few hours before sunrise.”

“Do you ever sleep?” I grinned.

Quill’s eyes slanted, and the corners of his lips curled. “Never.”

I stepped closer to where Nahdril lay on the workbench next to the painting. “How is Forhd? Were you able to craft a treatment?”

Quill nodded. “I have seen my share of disease; this one was especially nasty. But with quin’s blessing, they are on the mend, nothing a little galroot can’t remedy.”

“That’s good to hear,” I said as I ran a finger down the flat of Nahdril’s blade.

“Another hour at least, my lord,” said Quill, answering a question I had yet to ask. “Then, you can return and collect your maiden.”

“Oh, don’t call me that, Quill. We are just Ruks here.”

He turned to me, blinking like an owl. “We both know that’s not true now, don’t we?”

I stepped over to his desk were piles of books and scrolls rested. I touched a finger to the layer of dust that had accumulated and drew a little spiral.

“Something on your mind, my boy?” he asked.

I looked up at him. “I’m not sure what I am doing here.” I sighed.

Quill cleared his throat, paused, then cleared it again. “Faerin, you are young. You aren’t supposed to know what you are doing here. You are supposed to keep your ears open, your eyes wide, and your mouth shut. Listen for the signs around you; they will show you the way.”

I met his eyes. For a brief second, I felt far away, pulled back from that room as if watching it from afar. I felt his gaze piercing through me, laying my whole world bare.

He smiled and placed a hand on my shoulder. “You’re welcome.”

“For what?”

“For the advice you were about to thank me for.”

I narrowed my brow. “Thank you, Elder Quill.”

“One hour, if it please you?” he said, turning once more to the canvas.

I could hear the faint sound of brushes on canvas as I closed the door behind me. I headed back to the main hallway. There was at least one more errand I had to complete before tonight’s festivities.

I pushed open the doors and stepped outside to the inner courtyard where the Seveli were setting up their tents. I scanned the tents until I spotted