Swords Over Fireshore Page 14

  “I do not know! West, only west. I know no more.”

  She relented. “Is Kivhani with them?”

  He squeezed his eyes shut, as if anticipating pain. “I do not know. Othanin never spoke of her again.”

  She watched him for a moment, seeking any sign that he was withholding information. At last she released him. He gave a small, choked gasp.

  “Ranad!”

  Her attendant opened the door and looked in. Shalár gestured toward the ælven.

  “Take him away.”

  “The sun has risen, Bright Lady.”

  “Hold him here until nightfall, then. And give him something to eat.”

  Ranad moved to take hold of the captive’s arms. The ælven looked up at Shalár. “My daughter?”

  “Ah, yes.” Shalár looked at Ranad. “When you return him to holding, bring back a female named Teshali.”

  The ælven jerked against Ranad’s hold. “But you said—”

  “You want her spared from being bred. My people have access to any of the ælven in the holding houses. I have given them my word.” Shalár watched his face, enjoying the dismay that crossed it. “She may dwell here, if she does as she is bid. I need someone to look after my chambers.”

  The ælven stared at her, his expression desperate. “She will not be troubled?”

  “I expect not.”

  Shalár smiled, and with a gesture told Ranad to take him away. She was well pleased with what she had learned, and with what looked to be a useful arrangement. If the daughter cared as much for her father as he for her, they could each be made to do Shalár’s bidding for the other’s sake.

  And the information he had given was of value. Shalár took up Othanin’s letters. She did not recall any mention of others in them, but she would look through them again with an eye to finding hints about these voluntary exiles. A band of ælven outcasts, wandering together in the west. The steward had been right that such might be a danger to her. She would have to learn more of them.

  Ebon Mountains

  Eliani felt confined when she entered Kivhani’s shelter, but she kept the thought to herself. No more than a framework thickly covered with evergreen boughs, the shelter was a single small room that smelled of pine sap and dust.

  The ground on which Kivhani invited her to sit was cold. No fire, for to make a smoke hole would be to admit sunlight. The opening left as a doorway in the side facing the meadow was covered by a curtain of deer hide.

  Kivhani sat across from Eliani, gazing at floor between them. Her hair was braided tightly back as always, but a wisp had escaped near her neck and it curled in a pale white spiral across her shoulder. Othanin sat beside her, but it was she who spoke.

  “My people have decided. The discussion was long, and not all agree with our choice, but the majority wish to petition for recognition as an ælven clan.” Kivhani raised her head to meet Eliani’s gaze. Her own black eyes were troubled. “So I will attend the Council at Highstone.”

  Eliani nodded. “Good. You have my support, and my father’s. Lord Turisan asked me to give you his as well.”

  “My thanks to him. It will be needed, I believe.”

  “Have you considered a clan name?”

  “Yes.” Kivhani smiled wryly. “The debate over that was almost as heated as over whether we should seek clan status. We have chosen Ebonwatch for a clan name. Our colors will be white, for atonement and to honor our ælven heritage, and night blue.”

  “That is fitting. Ebonwatch.”

  “We mean it to express our willingness to do our part against the alben. That is one thing upon which we are all agreed, that the alben are enemies to the creed and so our enemies as well.”

  “This will stand you well with the Council.”

  “If they will hear it, and believe it.”

  Othanin shifted and raised his eyes. “I will testify that it is so. If the Council has any respect left for me.”

  Eliani looked at him. “The Council will hear you. They need to hear you, to understand how it has been in Fireshore.”

  He nodded and gave a rueful smile. “I have been remiss in communicating the state of our affairs. I confess I was afraid....”

  “Never mind. Your coming to the Council will mend that.”

  Eliani hoped she spoke the truth. She herself had been suspicious of Othanin not long ago, but having heard his account of the devastation caused by the return of the hunger to Fireshore, she was convinced of his integrity. Convinced, also, that the hunger was a sickness and of the need for all ælven to recognize this.

  “Do you still plan to visit Bitterfield?”

  “Yes. Then I will continue to Woodrun.”

  “Woodrun is too dangerous!”

  “I am yet governor of Fireshore, and my people have gathered at Woodrun. I will seek to resume governing there.” He smiled wryly. “Theyn Doriavi and I have had disagreements of late. It is possible she will seek to claim the governance of Fireshore.”

  Dismayed by this, Eliani sought words of reassurance, but could not form them. The governance of Fireshore was in disarray, most certainly. By leaving, as he soon must, to attend the Council, Othanin might be jeopardizing his position. Yet his presence was needed at the Council, both to reassure them he had not abandoned his duties and to support Kivhani’s petition.

  Othanin glanced at her with a crooked smile. “Bitterfield first, though.”

  “May I give you a message for Davhri?”

  Kivhani reached for her pack. “I have paper and ink you may use.”

  “Thank you.”

  Paper and ink must be hard for the Lost to come by. Othanin must have provided them, while he dwelt in Ghlanhras. Eliani glanced at him and caught him exchanging a loving look with Kivhani. She looked away, suddenly missing Turisan.

  Kivhani handed her a small piece of parchment, a corked bottle of ink, and a quill cut from a raven’s feather. Eliani smiled her thanks.

  “I will leave you, if I may. I wish to look in on Luruthin, he has not been well.”

  Kivhani nodded. “We will talk more this evening.”

  “Thank you.”

  Eliani stood and carried the writing tools out of the shelter, slipping through the curtain with care to keep from letting daylight in. She did wish to visit Luruthin, but she also wished to give Kivhani and Othanin privacy together, since Othanin meant to leave on the morrow.

  The meadow, a few paces away, was flooded with sunlight. Eliani walked out into it, breathing a grateful sigh to be outside again. A bird startled up at her approach and flew away, chittering.

  Looking across the meadow Eliani saw the fire circles all abandoned, the fires sunk to ash and coal. Vanorin sat on the grassy hillside across from her. He did not seem to notice her. No others were in sight.

  She sought the shelter that Inóran shared with three others. “Inóran? It is Eliani. May I come in?”

  “Yes.”

  She entered and stood for a moment by the curtain, letting her eyes adjust to the darkness. Luruthin lay resting beside one wall, his eyes closed, brow slightly creased. Inóran and another male sat by the opposite wall, both working a piece of deerskin with polishing stones. Two females lay facing one another at the back of the shelter, talking quietly.

  Eliani knelt beside Luruthin and put down her writing things. Reaching her hands toward his head, she made the lightest contact with his khi, only to sense how he fared. He was calm, though she sensed a general discomfort. Possibly it was weariness from their journey hither. Eliani left him be and moved closer to Inóran.

  “I am about to write to Davhri. Would you like to add a message?”

  Inóran swallowed, then nodded. Eliani picked up her parchment and spread it across her knee, then carefully opened the ink and dipped the quill.

  Dearest Davhri,

  She paused, thinking, and had to freshen the quill before continuing. She barely touched the quill to the page for fear of piercing the parchment against the soft support of her fles
h.

  I regret that I must leave Fireshore without seeing you again. I am in haste, and will not be passing through Bitterfield, so I must send you my warmest affection on this bit of paper. I hope and trust that you will be happy at the news that follows. With fond love, Eliani.

  She had used a little more than half the page. She blew on the ink to dry it, then offered the letter and the quill to Inóran. He put aside his stone and took them, read the letter, then sat musing for a while.

  Eliani looked away, at Luruthin again. He seemed peaceful enough, though she did not like the strain she saw in his face. It had been there ever since Ghlanhras, and showed no sign of abating.

  She heard the scratch of the quill and looked up. Inóran was writing, frowning at the page. Not wishing to disturb him, she closed her eyes and called to Turisan. He answered immediately with a rush of warmth that set her loins tingling.

  And I miss you as well, my love. Can you stop to write? This message should be sealed, I think.

  A pause preceded his answer. Eliani noticed that Inóran’s quill had gone silent.

  Yes, it is time we rested the horses. Give me a few moments.

  Eliani opened her eyes and saw Inóran staring at the letter, looking distressed. He glanced up at her and held the page out toward her.

  “I cannot say any more. Will you finish it?”

  “Of course.”

  She read the two lines he had written:

  Davhri, my love, I ask your forgiveness for my absence. I was struck with the alben’s curse in Ghlanhras, and have gone into exile.

  Eliani’s heart was wrenched by this simple declaration, for she saw all the pain behind it in Inóran’s eyes. He offered her the quill and ink with unsteady hands. She took them and added to the bottom of the page.

  He is well, and with friends. He is safe, Davhri. He hopes you will understand why he cannot return to you, and that you will be at peace.

  “I have left room for you to sign.” Eliani held out the letter and the pen.

  Inóran took them again, read what she had written, and nodded. He added a few words and signed his name.

  “Thank you.” He laid down the letter and gazed at it, his face full of sadness. “I should have done that long ago.”

  “She will be glad to receive this.”

  He smiled, though tears were brimming in his eyes. He turned his head away.

  I am ready.

  Eliani made herself comfortable and closed her eyes. She deepened her contact with Turisan until she could taste a hint of dust on the wind, feel the cool breeze across the plains.

  Tell my father that Kivhani and Othanin will attend the Council. Tell him also that I have found Inóran. And ask him to procure cloth for a clan pennant, white and night blue.

  For the Lost?

  Yes. Heléri can help—I am sure she would be willing to make the pennant.

  Is that not somewhat premature?

  If the clan—Ebonwatch, they have chosen—is approved, then to see their colors carried forward will secure their status in the minds of the Council.

  Turisan was silent for a moment. I think it might anger some.

  Well, the pennant need not be displayed until the Council has made its decision.

  But they will know that it was prepared in advance.

  Eliani bit back impatience. It shall be my gift to the new clan. If anyone is angered they may take it up with me.

  All right, love. I shall include your instructions.

  He paused to write. Eliani savored the whispers of sensation she felt from him. A cold, sharp day on the plains. She thought she smelled a hint of storm.

  What else would you say?

  My love, of course, and regards to Heléri.

  Are you certain that is all? I cannot send many more riders back to Highstone.

  I am certain.

  She smelled the wax he was heating to seal the letter. Opening her eyes, she reached for her own letter to Davhri. She had no wax, and doubted Kivhani would have any, but it was not needed. Othanin would place the letter in Davhri’s hands. Finding it dry, Eliani folded it and wrote Davhri’s name on the outside.

  Done.

  Thank you, Turisan.

  She sent him warm, wordless love, then allowed the contact to fade. Feeling lonely in the absence of his touch, she shivered and stood up.

  “I saw Vanorin outside. Do you know where the others of my party are?”

  “Havaran and Gelasan offered them shelter.” Inóran gestured. “The next lodge.”

  “Thank you. I think I will see how they are faring.”

  She went out into the sunlight again. Vanorin was no longer sitting where she had seen him. The meadow was empty, quiet. Dry grass and blooms of seed on the stalks of wildflowers told of the coming winter. The seed looked like a new set of flowers, all white where before there had been violet, yellow, red.

  Gone white. Eliani closed her eyes, thinking of the Lost, hoping for the success and acceptance of their new clan. It still chilled her at times to be near them, when she remembered how they fed. Yet she was convinced of their complete devotion to the creed, and it was the creed, more than anything, that made the ælven who they were.

  She went to the lodge Inóran had indicated, seeking her guardians. The two Lost within told her they had gone to a warm spring nearby, and directed Eliani how to reach it. As she had not bathed in many days, she turned eager steps toward it, finding the landmarks easily and locating the small path that climbed a rocky bluff beside the course of a trickling stream.

  Green grass clung to its banks, still thriving in the warmth of the water despite the lateness of the season. The path left the stream partway up the bluff, angling off to the side to climb the steep rise. Eliani reached the top slightly out of breath and paused.

  A few stunted pines grew in the shallow soil atop the bluff. The footpath ran plainly between them, and as she turned to follow it, she heard a burst of laughter ahead. Grinning, she began to loosen the lacings of her leathers as she walked.

  “Reveling in my absence, are you?” She spoke as she came in sight of the spring, and stopped abruptly.

  Vanorin was in the water with the others, his body pale against the dark sandy floor of the pool. Their gazes met and Eliani felt heat rush to her face. She looked away and continued to unlace her leathers. To retreat now would be worse than to carry on.

  Birani answered with a merry laugh. “You were taking counsel with Kivhani. We did not wish to disturb you.”

  “Well considered, but I have finished now, so you must make room for me.”

  Eliani pulled off her leathers and the tunic and legs beneath them, and slid into the water between Birani and Onami. It was warm, not hot, but still an immense pleasure.

  She glanced around at the others. Felahran and Vanorin had both bathed with her before; all of them had, in Highstone. There should be not the slightest cause for uneasiness. Still, she felt it, and hoped that it was not obvious to her companions. She was thankful for the water’s disrupting effect upon khi.

  She pulled at the thong that held her braid, untangling it and tossing the leather aside. Shaking out her hair, she sighed and lay back, feeling the tresses float atop the water before slowly sinking. She rubbed her scalp with her fingers, and scooped handfuls of sand to scrub lazily along her limbs, wishing for a pot of Heléri’s soap.

  “Not quite the Guardian’s Reward, but close.”

  Felahran grunted agreement. “Reward enough.”

  Eliani gazed up at the crisp, deep blue of the mountain sky. “They must come here only at night.”

  Onami sighed. “How sad never to see the sun. To spend every day in those small lodges, or in a cave somewhere.”

  “Perhaps there will come a time when they can dwell in houses.”

  Eliani glanced at the others for their reaction. Birani looked surprised, Felahran thoughtful, Onami doubtful. Vanorin showed no sign of having heard. He closed his eyes as she glanced at him, and sank beneath the
water.

  Eliani sat up, her wet hair going cold at once in the chill air. She found a comfortable rock to lean against and slid down again until only her head was above the water.

  “I am surprised the water does not harm your ribbons.”

  Eliani glanced at Onami, then raised her right forearm to inspect the handfasting ribbons. Their colors were as bright, the weave as tight as on her handfasting day.

  “Heléri promised me it would not.”

  Birani joined the discussion. “Heléri’s work is beyond compare. She made my eldermother’s handfasting ribbon.”

  “Did she?”

  “It stayed brilliant all her life, and her partner’s. The day they both crossed, their ribbons fell to dust.”

  An image Eliani did not wish to think on. She lowered her arm again and touched her ribbon possessively beneath the water.

  The conversation strayed from handfastings to cup bonds to the Midwinter celebrations they had missed. Eliani listened, adding a comment when she could think of one, half-distracted by consciousness of Vanorin’s every movement. He, too, mostly listened to the conversation, answering only when directly addressed by one of the others.

  Birani was the first to leave the pool, declaring that it was past midday and the day would get no warmer. Eliani wrung out her hair as well as she could, then stood and quickly climbed out of the water, hastening to put on her tunic and legs, grateful for the heavy protection of her leathers. The pool was not hot enough to have warmed her against the winter air. She wished once again for her lost cloak.

  She felt much better for being clean, however, and was able to banter jokes with the others as they dressed and returned to the Lost's meadow. Vanorin hung back, remaining silent as he brought up the rear of the party. While the rest sat around a cold fire circle, he crossed the hillside to where he had sat earlier.

  Eliani turned back to the circle. “Shall we build up the fire?”

  “Yes!” Onami smiled. “My hair is cold.”

  Felahran went to a small stack of firewood nearby. “We could build them all up, come dusk. Have them burning when the Lost come out.”

  Eliani smiled. “A good thought. Let us build this one and finish drying out, then gather more wood.”