The Betrayal Page 13

  Eliani stared at Heléri, feeling utterly discomfited. She could form no answer, could not even rouse herself to anger, for Heléri's love was writ plainly in her gentle gaze and in the warmth of her khi.

  “Enough.” Heléri leaned forward to touch Eliani's face. “You are exhausted. Go and rest. You have time yet to consider all this. No need for haste.”

  Eliani nodded and slowly stood. She bent to kiss her eldermother's cheek, then fetched her cloak. Daylight was glowing softly through the windows. Bidding Heléri farewell, she walked out to face the dawn.

  She felt close to tears, broken. She had thought herself recovered from her wretched bond with Kelevon, but the panic rising in her throat belied it. She did not see how she could ever be fit for a bond that would last a lifetime—and beyond.

  Handfasting was the most solemn vow an ælven could make. For those who broke it, the customary atonement was to yield up their flesh and return to spirit, there to hope for better wisdom.

  If she undertook this bond and failed again, she would make needful her own death. Would she cause Turisan's death as well? She tried to listen to her heart, to seek the whisper of some spirit friend, but all she sensed was her own dread.

  Hunt's Eve

  Shalár's pack reached Hunt's Eve at the end of the fifth night. A wide, dark grove deep within a forest of tall evergreens, Hunt's Eve lay at the feet of the Ebon Mountains, just south of the gap between the foothills and Blackheart. Beyond it the ground sloped gently down to the southern expanse of the high plains, the hunting grounds.

  When Shalár had led her first small, desperate pack on their first hunt for kobalen centuries before, she had stopped here to shelter for a day and the next night had made her first catch. Ever since, she had made it her custom to rest here before embarking on a grand hunt.

  A stream ran through the grove, and the dense woods, along with a shallow overhang of rock to the east, provided safe shelter from the sun's merciless rays. A short distance downstream was a copse of bitterthorn that Shalár and her folk had encouraged to spread into a large, nearly complete circle. It made an ideal holding place for the hunters' catch, for no creature could force its way through the vicious, stinging bitterthorn, not even the cunning kobalen.

  Shalár halted her catamount beside the stream and dismounted, kneeling to drink the crisp cold water. Though the air held a chill of the coming winter, they would light no fires that might be seen or smelled by kobalen. Hunt's Eve was always dark save for the final night of the hunt.

  The pack rested through the day. Just after dark, the hunt commenced. Shalár rode the catamount, its great paws padding softly on the forest earth, the fury in its mind contained by her will. Her hunters gathered behind her, silent, eyes sparking with eagerness. Through a screen of trees she could see the open plain, long grasses trembling in a light breeze, blue-white under starlight.

  No kobalen were in sight. She raised her head, scenting the wind, seeking a whisper of heavy khi. She extended her awareness through the catamount's flesh to the ground and quested there for the weight of kobalen feet. None were close, but she thought she sensed that some were within a night's travel. She reached out farther, knowing that the cost to her strength would soon be relieved by fresh blood.

  There. To the west, a small band moving slowly toward the ocean.

  Shalár raised a hand. A moment's tense stillness, then she waved the pack forward and made the catamount leap out onto the plain. Like shadows, the hunters emerged behind her, flowing out of the trees and across the plain with no more sound than that of a breeze sighing in the grass.

  Long legs ran swiftly over sand and rock, over grass and earth. The pack hungered; they would not rest now until they had caught their prey.

  At length the taste of kobalen khi was palpable on the air. Shalár sensed a rising excitement in the hunters at her back. She led them on silently, swiftly.

  A stream meandered across the plain, and a cluster of dark shapes farther down its path drew Shalár's attention. The kobalen, camped for the night. She sent a tiny tendril of khi toward them, delicately tasting their presence.

  Two kobalen stood awake, watching. The others slept. It was the need for sleep that classed the kobalen among lesser creatures. Shalár's folk required rest but did not sink into unconsciousness each day.

  She summoned her captains and gave them swift instructions. The hunters fanned out into a long line on either side of the stream, a thin shadow crossing the plain toward their prey. With a tendril of khi, Shalár took hold over the two kobalen guards, making them lie down and close their eyes. Her hunger sharpened with the effort.

  When the center of the line came within a few rods of the camp, Shalár halted it, then signaled Yaras and Welir to lead the ends of the line forward to make a circle around the camp. Stealthily the hunters drew in around the place where their prey lay sprawled beside dying fires, closing ranks until they were shoulder to shoulder.

  Eyes bright with hunger glinted starlight. Hands moved to the hilts of weapons, ready if needed, but it was not blades or arrows that would make this capture. Khi rose from the hunting pack like heat rippling up from a fire. Khi would be their chief weapon here.

  In the kobalen camp, a youngling fussed. Its mother woke, reached out to bat at it with a heavy palm.

  Shalár raised a hand. All the hunters paused, still and silent, waiting.

  The kobalen female rolled over, grunting softly. She was still for a moment, then lifted her head, sniffing at the night air.

  Stealth was at an end. Shalár clenched her fist, the signal for the capture.

  The night air was suddenly awash with khi. The kobalen woke and voiced startled dismay as the hunters bore down upon them, overpowering their wills, seizing control of their feeble spirits. One or two had the strength to resist at first, to rise up and scramble through the camp, but there was nowhere to run, and the pack's khi quickly overwhelmed them.

  They sank down again, defeated. Small whimpers were the only sounds left among the kobalen.

  Shalár was near the limit of her strength. Hunger gnawed at her, threatening reason, threatening all. She must feed, but there was one thing she must do first or it would not be done at all.

  She forced the catamount down and kept it there, dismounting carefully, dizzy with hunger. Walking among the kobalen who cowered at her feet, she sought among their minds for flickers of greater spirit, the possibility of understanding the worth of what she could offer them.

  She found one: a large female cowering with its arms over its head. Shalár nudged it with a toe, and the creature leapt up, wielding an ebonglass knife in a desperate attack.

  A roar of anger rose from the hunters even as Shalár seized the kobalen with her mind and its wrist with her hand. With her free hand she summoned Ciris, who hastened to her side and took control of the kobalen female.

  “That one is to be reserved. None shall touch it.”

  Ciris raised an eyebrow. “As you will, Bright Lady.”

  She watched him lead the creature out of the circle. She was nearly spent. She looked over the kobalen on the ground before her. Difficult to see beyond the hunger, to see them as anything but food.

  There! She turned to her right and stepped over a cowering creature, then had to steady herself. A few paces brought her to a male kobalen lying on its side, facing away from her. Not the largest in the band, not a dominant male, but his khi held the spark she sought.

  She signaled to Ciris, who had followed close behind her. “This one as well. Set it aside with the other.”

  “Yes, Bright Lady.”

  His voice was tight with hunger. All the hunters were near desperation from the khi they were spending.

  She ought to search the rest of the kobalen more closely, but she had no more strength left. Two would be enough to start. There would be more, perhaps, in the next catch.

  She chose the largest in reach, a stocky male. Taking hold of its mind, she felt the khi of the hunters who had
subdued it drop away. Their hunger pulsed in the air. What she wanted, what they all wanted, was to rip into their prey in a frenzy of gluttony.

  That would be wasteful, though, and she would not permit waste. Others in Nightsand relied on them to share the bounty of the hunt.

  Shalár made the creature stand up before her. Its fear shivered through the air around it, but it stood still in the grip of her control. Her nose wrinkled at the creature's rank smell. No matter.

  She reached to her belt for her silver-hilted knife, mate to the one in the pens back in Nightsand. The blade glinted in the starlight as she set the point to the kobalen's throat, just beneath one ear. A careful slice, no more than a thumb's width, set the blood flowing.

  Shalár had no cup. The hunt was not so dainty. She set her mouth to the kobalen's neck even as she felt her hunters inhale the ripe scent of its blood.

  Khi, potent and weighty, filled her mouth along with the salt tang of blood. She swallowed, feeling strength flow down her throat into her belly. She drank deeply as her hunters waited, their anguish humming in her senses.

  When she had taken enough to sustain her, she dug her thumb into the creature's neck near the cut to stem the flow and summoned Ciris to feed. His eyes burned with hunger as their gazes met, and Shalár felt a stirring of desire.

  Later, perhaps. She took control of the two kobalen she had placed in his keeping and gave the feeder over to him. His hand brushed hers as he took over pressing against the vein in its throat, setting her flesh tingling.

  Shalár stepped back, as dizzy with strength as she had been with weakness a few moments earlier. Colors around her seemed brighter even in their night-faded state. Every small sound was sharper, the smells of the plain and the hunters more intense though the stink of kobalen nearly overwhelmed them.

  She renewed her grip on the catamount's mind, then moved her two kobalen prisoners to stand between its massive forelimbs. If for any reason she became distracted enough to lose control of them, the hungry cat would have its meal to hand, and the kobalen would not escape to warn others.

  She selected another kobalen, made it stand, then beckoned to Welir. The captain strode forward eagerly, her face pinched with need. Shalár again took the first mouthful, out of ceremony now, though she still hungered and would take more when the others were fed. Handing the feeder over to Welir, she stepped back.

  She gave to her captains. The captains gave to their hunters. The hunters would bring their catch back to Nightsand and receive due reward. It was what kept them all from becoming savages, rampaging across the wastes and feeding at will.

  Shalár closed her eyes, remembering a time when Clan Darkshore had lived so. Those who had survived Westgard, who had fled across the mountains into the harsh Westerlands, had struggled merely to survive. Never again, she had vowed, so long as she walked in flesh.

  The night was old by the time all were sated. Shalár fed again after the others all had taken their first share. When the feeders had been drained of khi and blood, the hunters began digging pits in which to dispose of the refuse. They would have burned it if there had been fuel in reach, but only grasses and scrub grew on the plain, and to set fire to the bodies without kindling would require more khi than she wished to spend.

  Shalár glanced eastward. Far in the distance the Ebon Mountains loomed, dividing all the western lands from those of the ælven. Night was beginning to draw away from their peaks. Soon the sky would pale, and then the sun would throw its burning light across the plain. She must find shelter for her pack before then.

  She turned to watch the diggers, gauging how long it would take for their work to be finished. The musty scent of turned earth muted the rank smell of kobalen and the even heavier odor of death.

  At such a moment, Dareth would have ruminated over the possibility of kobalen possessing enduring souls and whether those they had just killed would confront them in the spirit realm. She was glad he was not here.

  Several nights later, Shalár lay on her belly, gazing over a cliff's edge at the largest kobalen encampment she had yet seen. Full five hundred of the creatures, she judged. The heat from their fires reached her even here.

  Her pack was much smaller now, for she had sent each night's catch back to Hunt's Eve in the care of a handful of hunters. Yaras had gone the first night and had been given command of Hunt's Eve until she returned.

  The kobalen below were unaware of the hunters as yet. Their campsite was in a natural recess that curved into the cliff, a place that offered good shelter from the chill winds blowing down off the high plain.

  Shalár quested gently toward the kobalen with khi, careful not to alert them of her presence. She sought more of the promising individuals she was collecting for her special purpose and sensed several in the large band below.

  She glanced back at the pack, a short distance behind. Not quite forty remaining, too few to control the five hundred kobalen below, at least with certainty. She disliked letting any part of a band escape, for they would warn other kobalen of the hunt. Even though this hunt was nearly over, she preferred to keep absolute control of her prey. Kobalen had been known to retaliate against hunters who were careless enough to be caught.

  She ran a thumb along her chin, her skin rough against the edge of her lip. If they made a good catch, this would be the last night of the hunt. She was better fed than she had been in de cades, but she was also weary, ready to return to the Cliff Hollows and the softness of her bed.

  Shalár caught Ciris's eye and signaled that they should withdraw. Silently they slid back from the cliff's edge until they could stand without being seen from below. The catamount lay listless. It raised its head at her approach, golden eyes—dull now, though reflecting a distant rage—silently watching.

  Another reason for bringing the hunt to a close. The cat was well fed, but its spirit was broken. She would set it free in the mountains after returning to Night-sand, there to recover its vigor and doubtless to cherish a hatred of creatures that walked on two legs.

  She turned to Ciris. “We take this band.”

  His dark eyes widened. “All?”

  “All. A grand catch to end the grand hunt.”

  His chin rose, his eyes silently questioning. She felt the tingle of his desire in the air between them. She gave him no answer beyond a small smile and turned her head to look toward the kobalen camp.

  “We must make the best use of each hunter. Have you any suggestions, Watcher?”

  He looked toward the cliff's edge. “A distraction. Draw their attention while we move to cut off their escape.”

  “We have few enough in the pack as it is. I cannot spare any hunters to create a distraction.”

  Ciris met her gaze, a slow smile spreading on his lips and sparking a quiver of desire in her. “You need not.”

  Shalár descended the cliff carefully, slowly, making no sound. The rock was gritty to the touch, the ashen spew of some ancient volcano. Below her, twenty hunters waited out of sight.

  Ciris was taking the rest of the pack down the cliff on the far side of the camp. At her signal the groups would come together to trap the kobalen.

  She reached the base of the cliff and was welcomed silently by her hunters. She sent a thought probing toward the catamount, which she had left behind. It waited, wakeful and watchful.

  She moved along the foot of the cliff toward the kobalen camp. Reaching a thrust of rock beyond which the dying firelight glimmered, she paused to let the hunters close up behind her and quested outward with a tiny finger of khi, searching for Ciris. He was there, his khi confident and smoldering. He was ready.

  Shalár inhaled deeply, closing her eyes. She no longer addressed requests for aid to spirit or ældar. She was alone in the world. It was to herself that she looked for strength.

  Shalár raised a hand to command readiness in the pack, then sent a stream of khi up to the clifftop. The catamount screamed.

  Startled voices rose in the kobalen camp. She brought the c
atamount to the cliff's edge, made it show itself and give voice again. The cat's displeasure rang in its cry. Shalár signaled to her pack to move.

  She stepped into the firelight, hastening across the open face of the recess with her hunters behind her. A second line came swiftly toward them, Ciris at its head. The kobalen, unaware, cowered and pointed toward the angry catamount.

  One of the creatures flung a dart at the cat. It fell short, striking against the cliff below the cat's massive paws. Shalár sent the catamount back from the ledge. She did not want it wounded, and it had served its purpose. With a gesture she brought her hunters forward, closing off the front of the recess with a line of bodies.

  Shalár raised one hand just above her head. The other held a throwing net ready to be flung. She stepped forward, and the pack followed.

  A tall kobalen turned suddenly, its eyes wide. It cried out, and Shalár closed her fist.

  Khi, piercing and bright, flew toward the kobalen camp. Many cowered, but their numbers were too great to subdue all at once. Shalár flung all her will toward them with a cry strangely like the catamount's and leapt forward.

  Kobalen still stood, too many to count. The hunters were too close for the kobalen to use their darts, but they had wicked knives of ebonglass and a few spears, mostly in the hands of the ones who had been on watch.

  To Shalár these defiant ones were bright spots of fire that must be smothered at once. Her thoughts were everywhere, pressing downward on a kobalen to her left, on two farther back in the recess, on one to the right with a spear raised.

  She felt and heard Ciris voice his rage. All the hunters answered, keen voices skirling upward with the smoke of fires suddenly scattered by clumsy feet.

  Shalár saw a spear thrust forward very close, nearly striking a hunter beside her. She cast her net to entangle its wielder and followed with a fierce thrust of khi. She felt more than saw the creature collapse.

  Nets hissed through the air, and the kobalen bellowed in fear. A sharp cry rose to her right even as pain seared through the pack's khi. One of the hunters was wounded.