The Betrayal Read online

  He nodded, and she saw his throat move in a swallow. “Do you return to Nightsand as well?”

  “For a short time. Then I will take my wretched cat back to its home territory and strike toward Fireshore. Irith should be returning by now. I want to know what he has learned.”

  “What care you for Fireshore when you are gathering armies at Midrange?”

  Shalár paused, gazing at Yaras with a smile growing on her lips. “Fireshore is the prize. Midrange is merely a diversion. How would you like to lead our best hunters into Ghlanhras?”

  Highstone

  Eliani stood in her chamber before the curtained alcove that served as her tiring room, choosing what to take with her to Southfæld. She had continued restless, though many days had passed since Turisan had left Highstone.

  Twenty-seven days. Her mind would not refrain from counting anew with each dawn. She pressed her lips together, fighting off the panic that arose when she thought of the dwindling number of days remaining before they were to meet again. The journey to Glen-hallow would likely take ten, given the pace of the caravan. Felisan and Heléri would both be of the party, and neither cared for the sort of pace the Guard was accustomed to.

  On a chair nearby were Eliani's saddle packs, and on the floor a small wooden chest with her new sword beside it. Her bedside lamp was the only light, flickering and casting giant shadows against the walls.

  Her two best gowns were already in the chest, beneath spare tunics and legs suitable for wearing under her riding leathers. Misani had done it for her, as Eliani's lack of skill in the care of fine garments was famous within the circle of her house hold. In the saddle pack were the things she would need as the party traveled south.

  She glanced at the leathers lying ready for her to don, her new ones, just delivered. They had been dyed a deep, rich blue, and a long belt of violet hue accompanied them. The sharp scent of the dyes filled her bedchamber.

  She turned to her shelves, thinking to take something along with which to amuse herself. She would need distraction to stave off boredom.

  She rejected a bound book of cradle tales and several scrolls of poetry. It was senseless, she knew, but she kept remembering how she had been reading of Westgard when she met Turisan and could not overcome a dread that if she read some other legend, it, too, would spring to life before her eyes.

  Her gaze fell upon a clutter of gifts from her majority. Stepping over to the shelf that held them, she found the whitewood box and reed flute that Turisan had given her.

  The box, which contained House Jharanin's magnificent brooch, she tossed into the chest. She should wear the brooch at Jharan's court, to demonstrate her gratitude.

  She frowned at the flute for a long moment before picking it up. The reed was lightweight and satiny smooth beneath her fingers. Any sharp edges had long since been worn soft by handling. As she ran her hands along its length she felt a familiar tingling in her fingertips, and nearly dropped the flute as she recognized it.

  Turisan. His khi was in this instrument. Embedded within it, engrained in it, as if through magecraft. Why had she not noticed it before?

  Because he had given it to her before. Before the Shades. Before his khi had burned into her.

  She closed her eyes, willing away a wave of fear. Some part of that fear—all of it, perhaps—was of Kelevon's making. She wished to be quit of it.

  Taking a deep breath, she began hesitantly to explore the flute with her khi. Seldom did an object acquire such a strong impression of its owner's khi. Turisan must have made the flute, or at the very least spent days upon days handling it.

  A feeling began to take form within her mind, of strength and gentleness, of depth and warmth, like the near-silent vibration of a flute's lowest note. She was about to raise the instrument to her lips to play when a knock fell upon her door.

  Her eyes flew open, and with heart pounding she threw the flute into the open chest, where it clattered against the whitewood box.

  “Who comes?”

  “Your father. May I enter?”

  Eliani picked up a scroll at random from her shelves. “Certainly.”

  The door opened, and her father came in. In a comfortable tunic and legs, with his hair caught back from his face in a half braid, he looked more his usual self than he had in the finery he had worn during all the fuss at Evennight. He smiled.

  “Ah, good, you are packing. I came to remind you to bring your gift from House Jharanan. You should wear it in Glenhallow.”

  Eliani waved carelessly toward the chest. “I have it. I know Lord Jharan is very proud.”

  Felisan's face softened. “It is not so much pride as concern for appearances. He never expected to govern Southfæld and has always been anxious to uphold the dignity of the realm and of his clan.”

  Eliani looked up at her father in surprise. “Was he not Turon's nextkin?”

  “Not before the Midrange War. He was a lesser scion of Greenglen, with seven others between him and Turon, but they all fell in the war, as did Turon himself.”

  Felisan's voice took on an unusually somber note. Eliani watched his gaze grow distant; he seemed lost in memory. She knew that the Midrange War had begun with a sudden invasion of kobalen through the pass, and that Felisan and Jharan had been involved in the fighting. They had scarcely had time to send messages to Glenhallow and Hollirued, calling for help, before the kobalen forced them to flee southward.

  “Jharan might have fallen as well if we had not held out at Skyruach. There was a moment when we bade each other farewell in all earnestness.”

  Skyruach had been where they had stood against the kobalen, joined there by Turon and the Southfæld Guard to prevent the enemy from reaching Glenhallow. There had been some from the Alpinon Guard there as well, Eliani thought. She felt a sudden wish that she had paid better attention to these stories when she was a child. Her father had told them often enough, though not in recent years.

  Felisan shook himself, and with a smile returned to his customary good humor. “We have greetings to look forward to on this journey, not farewells. I am eager to introduce you to Jharan.”

  “And I to meet him.”

  “He will love you instantly, I know.” Felisan's smile widened with gleeful anticipation. “Well, I will leave you to your packing. We leave at dawn, so do not revel all the night.”

  He embraced her, then left. Turning back to the shelves, she scanned them once more. The little crystal kestral on its chain caught her eye. She reached for it, remembering a time before Kelevon had made her build a wall around her heart. Luruthin had been sweet to her.

  She held up the chain, letting the bird dangle and glint in the candlelight. After a moment she stepped to the chest and picked up the whitewood box, gently laying the kestrel inside with her brooch and gazing at it.

  The kestrel was not safe there. It would likely be battered against the massive brooch and shatter. She fetched a kerchief of violet silk and wrapped the tiny bird in it, then tucked it carefully beside the brooch and closed the box again, laying it in the chest next to Turisan's flute.

  She picked up the flute, worried that her carelessness might have damaged it. She found it unharmed, and the tingle of Turisan's khi remained. She laid the flute among the softer things and covered it and the white-wood box with her better cloak. Perchance she would decline Turisan's offer to handfast. In that case, she would feel obliged to return his gift.

  Luruthin watched Eliani fret, plainly impatient with the slow pace of Alpinon's delegation. It was a small party, only a handful of guardians to escort the two of them, her father, Curunan, and a slung chariot bearing Lady Heléri and her attendant, with a cart for baggage.

  They had traveled for two days and only now were approaching Midrange, having first journeyed eastward to the trade road. The Silverwash was not yet in sight, but Midrange Peak was in view, its crest pale with fresh snow. Eliani fell back to join her father, who was riding beside Heléri's chariot. Luruthin heard him greet her.
<
br />   “A pleasant day for riding, is it not? Just a hint of chill to keep one alert.”

  “Pleasant enough, but my mount wants to stretch her legs. Let me take Luruthin and two of the guardians and scout up to Midrange Pass. We may find signs of kobalen.”

  Luruthin looked over his shoulder and saw Felisan's skeptical glance toward the pass. “There is new snow up there. It may not be passable.”

  “In that case we will return to report as much.” Eliani's mount sidled, betraying her restless hand on the reins. “Let me ride up, Father.”

  “It is a full day's journey and more.”

  “We can be up and back by the time you reach the river.”

  “Four of you are too few. What if you should encounter kobalen?”

  “Unlikely. They hate the cold.”

  “Then why scout the pass for them?”

  Eliani bit her lip, flushing prettily. Felisan smiled, glancing at Luruthin before taking pity on his daughter.

  “You chafe at our pace, I know. Very well, have your scout, but stop and inform Southfæld's outpost of your intention. Perhaps they will send a guardian or two along with you.”

  He glanced again at Luruthin, who took this to mean that Felisan trusted he would make certain Southfæld sent guardians. Luruthin nodded slightly.

  “Thank you, Father!”

  Eliani leaned from her saddle to throw an arm around her sire, then rode forward to accost Luruthin. They chose two guardians to take with them and made their farewells, then galloped ahead of the party.

  By the time they neared the Silverwash, midday had passed, and Luruthin's stomach was grumbling. The river was obscured by a high bluff, but a greenleaf grove that followed its course could be seen farther to the south, still in leaf though burnished with red and gold.

  Luruthin had not been this far south in some years, and his memories of the area were vague. This was Southfæld, outside the range of Alpinon's patrols. He gazed at the high bluff that curved down from the mountains and shielded the river from view. Atop it, near its point, he saw a guardian cloaked in pale green.

  Eliani left the road, leading her companions toward the wood. They soon found themselves ducking low branches and guarding their clothing from snagging on the dense undergrowth. At last they dismounted, leading the horses through the tangle until they reached a clearing. Luruthin smelled the river.

  Two guardians met them as they neared the bluff. They were as like as kindred to the one he had spied on the cliff top: Greenglens both, pale-haired and dark-eyed. One greeted them with a small formal bow.

  “I am Vanorin, captain of this post.”

  Eliani bowed in return. “Well met, Captain Vanorin. I am Eliani of Felisanin; this is Luruthin, theyn of Clerestone; these are Firthan and Hanusan. We come in advance of Alpinon's delegation to the Ælven Council. We wish to scout up to the pass.”

  Vanorin glanced toward the peaks. “There is little likelihood of seeing anything at this season.”

  “I wish to look for sign of kobalen. My kindred and I slew a small band not far from Highstone a short time since.”

  “You are only four.”

  “Four experienced guardians.”

  Vanorin glanced at Luruthin, who shook his head slightly. It was all he dared do, and when Eliani turned her head to look at him, he glanced away.

  Vanorin's expression became guarded. “Forgive me, my lady, but I think four are too few for safety. The pass is treacherous at best and may well be deep in snow.”

  Luruthin ventured to speak. “Lord Felisan thought you might send a few guardians with us.”

  Vanorin's brows rose slightly. He answered thoughtfully. “We are but twenty here, and six of our number are out on patrol. What would you seek up there?”

  Eliani glanced toward the peak. “Answers.”

  “To what questions?”

  “Why have the kobalen been so active this season? What was that band doing so deep in our woods?”

  Why did an alben mark one of them? Luruthin knew Eliani was pondering that question as well.

  Vanorin looked toward the peak, frowning, then turned to Eliani. “I will go with you, and bring three others.”

  His gaze shifted briefly to Luruthin, who nodded. Eliani, occupied in thanking the captain, did not notice.

  Luruthin stroked his horse's neck. Four more guardians would protect Eliani on her excursion. It was the best that could be done, and Felisan must be satisfied.

  Eliani soon had them in the saddle again. Luruthin watched as she rode ahead with Vanorin. He thought she looked more confident, less troubled than of late. Perhaps it was the excitement of travel. Despite having attained her majority, Eliani was in many ways still young.

  They followed the Silverwash upward until its gorge steepened and narrowed to the point of being impassable, whereupon the trail turned away from the river to wind along the mountainside. The higher they rode, the more barren were the greenleaf trees, gray branches amidst the darker evergreens.

  Late in the day they reached the first significant drifts of snow on the trail and found in it the marks of kobalen. The tracks were old and had widened and softened in the cold sunshine, but their shape was still identifiable. Luruthin was glad to see that no kobalen had passed more recently.

  The scout pushed forward through deepening snowdrifts that came near the tops of their horses' legs. The sky was clear, and a cold, light breeze blew in their faces from the west. With the sun nearing the peaks and the horses almost exhausted, Eliani reluctantly called a halt.

  They dismounted, fed their animals, and made themselves as comfortable as they could among the rocks along the trail, a few of which protruded through the snow. Luruthin found a seat on one of these, dry at least, though cold.

  They were now above the timberline, and what little life clung here was already asleep beneath the snow. Eliani smiled as she made her way toward Luruthin across the trampled snow, and his heart quickened. He made room for her on the rock.

  She had brought a satchel of food and shared bread and cold meat with him. He passed her a skin filled with wine. She sipped at it, tipping back her head so that her hair brushed the back of her shoulders.

  “Thank the spirits we have good weather.” She glanced up at the peak. “Soon this pass will be impossible.”

  Luruthin nodded. “Impossible for the kobalen, too.”

  “I would not have expected them to cross it even now. They hate snow.”

  “They have crossed it before. In force.”

  “The Midrange War.” Eliani looked at him, green eyes sharp with question. “Do you think that is their purpose? Another attack on Southfæld?”

  “Why else would they be in the mountains at this season?”

  She glanced up toward the pass, worry in her face. “But the season is exactly why they would not mount an attack. Why pursue a war on the eve of winter? Midrange began in spring and ended in high summer at Skyruach.”

  “Kobalen may not think so clearly.”

  “Will you fight? If there is another war?”

  Her voice dropped as she met his gaze, and an image flashed into his thoughts: they were fighting in darkness against a numerous enemy, and he stood between Eliani and them, guarding her. He would do it, though his heart filled with dread.

  “I will fight, if it comes to that.”

  She looked up toward the peak again and took another swallow of wine, then returned the skin. Luruthin capped it and set it aside. Wanting to reassure her, he offered a thought he did not believe.

  “Perhaps there is some other reason that the kobalen are so active.”

  Eliani smiled wanly. “Maybe they have soiled every camping space west of the mountains and look to our lands for new ground.”

  Luruthin laughed. “I think not. The western wastes are vast.”

  “But the kobalen breed like rabbits.” Eliani chewed a bite of bread. “It is a pity we have never learned why. Our numbers increase so slowly, we can never compete with them.
Someday they may overrun all our lands.”

  “Surely not. They die like rabbits, too, remember.”

  Eliani made a sound of disgust. “They are vermin.”

  “Yet our ancestors made war against their own kin to protect them from harm.”

  She turned to face him, a sharp glint in her eye. “To protect them from cruelty. It is not quite the same thing. You and I have harmed plenty of kobalen.”

  “Yes.” Luruthin looked westward, up toward the summit. “I have often been troubled by that. We strive to harm none, yet we are constantly in conflict with the kobalen.”

  “In our own defense! We do not attack them, nor seek to push westward beyond the mountains.”

  “We might do so if the land were more attractive. What if we dwelt in the wastes and they enjoyed the bounty of our realms? Maybe you are right, and it is our lands they want.”

  She tilted her head, green eyes narrowing. “You are their champion now?”

  “No. I loathe them.” Luruthin sighed, trying to capture a fleeting thought and put it into words. “I just want to understand why it was worth fighting the Bitter Wars to protect them.”

  Eliani gazed at him thoughtfully, considering the question. Her expression—open and intelligent—was one he had not seen in long years, and lit an instant fire in his heart. This was the Eliani he had loved and laughed with, many winters since. Luruthin kept still, afraid to shatter the moment, reaching out with all his senses to seek a taste of her khi in the living air.

  At last Eliani shrugged. “The kobalen's protection was not the issue. The alben violated our creed, and when the Ælven Council ordered them to desist, they refused. When they turned their backs on the ælven creed, they ceased to be ælven. The kobalen were their victims, but it was the creed that was at issue.”

  “So we would have cast out the alben even if they had chosen some lesser creature to abuse? Horses, perhaps?”

  Eliani's brow wrinkled, then she laughed. “I do not know. It is too philosophical a question for me.” She glanced at the sun, which was edging toward the western peaks. “And it is time we pressed on. With luck we will reach the summit before nightfall.”