"I shall brush him as if the Dagor Dagorath itself would be coming! Ha ha!"
"Ha ha!" Parnard joined in. "Raolor was only jesting. As I thought," he said, glancing over his shoulder. Norliriel was hurt and being tended to a short distance away underneath an oak tree. Excusing himself to Ráolor and the rest, he wandered over to see how she fared.
Both horse and rider were shaken and bore a few scrapes, that was all, no broken bones. All was well.
"It was my fault," Norliriel said. "I took the turn too fast. I think he was still shaken from the first fall."
Parnard looked at the foaming, wide-eyed horse. "Sometimes horses become affrighted. If it was your fault, you must make it up to him."
"How, my lord?"
"A carrot or apple should do well," he suggested. Immediately Norliriel rushed off, leaving him wondering if Ráolor would really do what he said, and starve his horse for two days for disobeying him. Perhaps it was the wine. Yet he seemed furious when he returned to the house, on foot -
"Lord, a word," Manadhlaer said.
Parnard snapped his attention back. Manadhlaer wanted a word!
The silver-haired elf woman was much older than Parnard, taller too, and her bearing and manner was nothing short of regal. And, since Themodir's death, she had worn dark and somber dress, the overall effect of which was quite elegant, and it made her seem even taller. Beside her Parnard felt like a country bumpkin. While not quite as awestruck as he was when he first met Manadhlaer, nevertheless he remained overwhelmed by her lofty grandeur. He suspected royal blood flowing in her veins, and, for all of his titles and the ancient signet of his lordship on his hand, it made him very uncomfortable.
"The former rider she refers to is Themodir. I gave her the horse, after -"
Parnard froze. Was she going to start weeping again? He gave a panicked look around. Danel was talking with Telpenaro and not looking his way and Ráolor was too engrossed in a private talk with the white-clad maiden Eleanias to pay any attention.
"The responsibility she feels...she still charges herself with her failure to save him," Manadhlaer continued. "Which was impossible, as we still have not found the antidote to the poison. She and the horse fell together, and rose together, on the race course. She does not trust herself, however, because my late husband is gone. She puts the spurs to herself more cruelly than she could any horse."
"Hmm," he said, trying to follow the conversation as best as he could. Across the sward, her dark hair shining in the moonlight, Brasseniel held up a newly-filled glass of wine with a grin. His heart leapt at the sight. Brasseniel - now that is a lady -
"Much rests on finding the antidote. She can make it all up to the horse with the apples...but she feels the antidote her duty to me."
"That is troubling to hear..." he started to say, but Manadhlaer cut his words off.
"Hush, she returns. Not a word of this, please, lord!"
So he said nothing else on the matter of poison or guilt or dead husbands, and smiled broadly at Norliriel. He and the horse chewed their apples and looked at each other.
