Heart of the Exiled Read online

  Jharan and Turisan stepped out into a night swirling with snow. The wind had risen and now moaned among the houses and larger halls. Turisan had to raise his voice to address his father.

  “He may have taken shelter from this.”

  “Or be gone beyond hope of finding already.”

  Jharan huddled deep in his cloak as they strode up the avenue toward Hallowhall. Turisan pulled his hood forward to protect his face from the stinging snow and sent the signal of query to Eliani.

  Yes, love. What were you doing earlier? I thought you were troubled …

  He told her, bluntly and in few words, what Kelevon had done. She said nothing at first, listening to his description of Filari’s wounds and his concern for her.

  I am taking her into my command.

  To be part of the garrison at High Holding? One might call that a harsh duty, being posted so near to danger.

  She should leave Glenhallow in any case, and I wish to keep an eye on her while I may. She faults herself for Kelevon’s escape and spoke of atonement in a way that I misliked.

  He felt the sudden heat of Eliani’s wrath, so strong that he nearly flinched. His boot slipped on the snow-slickened stone of the avenue, and Jharan reached out a hand to steady him.

  It is Kelevon who should atone! Has he charmed her into thinking she is responsible for his misdeeds? I hope your trackers drag him back to Glenhallow. Save him for me, if you will.

  You will have to share the chance to discipline him with several others, I think.

  I claim precedence.

  Turisan smiled, bemused. I believe my father precedes you.

  Precedence of grievance.

  Her tone was grim, making him wish he could fold her in his arms. Kelevon had hurt her in more than one way. Her pain over their failed cup-bond had made her push Turisan away at first; he remembered it all too well.

  He wondered briefly if he should have spared her the knowledge of the traitor’s escape but knew that he could not have avoided telling her. At the least, she had to be warned that Kelevon was now at large.

  Have a care, my love. He may pursue you.

  He will have to make haste.

  I would not be surprised if he made for the Steppes.

  Turisan felt another flash of her anger, though this time it was quickly damped. In its place a brittle coldness filled her voice.

  He is welcome to try.

  Eliani pressed her party onward despite a chill evening breeze blowing down from the mountain peaks. They were nearing Heahrued, and she was anxious to reach it before halting for the night.

  It was not only the prospect of a night in a bed or the urgency of her errand that drove her. The guardians of her escort were grief-stricken, especially the Greenglens. She hoped that coming into a village where they might talk with other folk, even if only to tell them what they had seen, would bring them some relief.

  She herself looked forward to the comforts of the village—company, a hearth, a roof overhead—to drive away the horror of the slaughter in the wood. She would not be surprised to learn, some years hence, that shades had risen in that place.

  Shades. Had the envoy’s fate been what Luruthin and Vanorin’s vision at the Three Shades had portended?

  She looked at Luruthin, riding beside her to keep her company. Vanorin, whose mood continued dark, had insisted on placing her in the center of the party. She had yielded, though with ill grace.

  Luruthin noticed her gaze and turned in the saddle to look at her. His lips curved in a wan smile. “Tired, cousin?”

  “Ready for a respite, yes. I think we can talk Gharinan’s steward out of a few loaves of fresh bread.”

  “You could offer to perform healings in exchange.”

  She glanced sharply at him but had not the heart for banter, nor did Luruthin’s voice hold the edge of humor she would have expected with such a quip. He dropped the attempt and instead looked at her seriously.

  “What led you to heal those two back at Midrange? I did not think you had ever studied healing.”

  “The one asked me to bless her wound. I was as surprised as she when something happened.” Eliani raised her forearm, the woven handfasting ribbon gleaming in the moonlight. “I think it was this. Heléri must have put some sort of healing into it.”

  “You do not think it may be your own gift?”

  She scoffed. “You know I am far more likely to damage my own flesh than to heal another’s.”

  “When you were younger, yes. But you have reached your majority now and left all such childish awkwardness behind you.”

  She shook her head. “Sometimes I feel I no longer know who I am.”

  “Then I shall have to remind you from time to time. You are Eliani, daughter of Felisan, governor-elect of Alpinon—”

  “I have left my clan.”

  The words fell starkly into the twilight. Luruthin made no answer.

  “Whenever I remember that, I feel frightened.”

  His voice was softer when he spoke again. “You march now with Greenglen, yes, but you are yet Stonereach. We are still kin, Eliani. We will stand by you.”

  A cry of alarm rose from ahead, and the horses plunged in fright. Luruthin held his mount with a stern grip, his face suddenly grim. Eliani pushed forward, heart pounding with fear. The mount of a Southfælder turned itself across her path, blocking her.

  She stood in her stirrups, trying to see past the riders. Confused shouting filled the air. She saw a flash of golden fur and heard a spine-chilling howl.

  Catamount!

  The horse in front of her reared, nearly throwing its rider. The cat was suddenly before her, slashing at the frightened horse.

  Eliani nocked an arrow to her bow. Beside her, Luruthin shouted a warning to a guardian who had dismounted and was brandishing his sword. Folly to close with a catamount, however long one’s sword might be, but the guardians were reacting, not thinking.

  Eliani’s brow grew warm. She hastily returned the signal for “wait,” then caught a clear view of a golden haunch and let her arrow fly. It struck, and an enraged scream filled the air as she reached for another.

  Others were now using their bows. Several more arrows plunged into the cat’s flesh, and it danced with rage, biting at those it could reach.

  Eliani’s heart ached for the poor maddened creature. She loosed an arrow at its eye, and it struck. A short shrieking cry rang out, then was stilled as the creature collapsed.

  The guardians lowered their weapons. Eliani leapt from her mount and hastened forward. Others dismounted as well, still trying to calm their horses.

  The cat lay still, its face fixed in a furious scowl, blood staining the golden fur dark below the ruined eye. Even in death, it made her heart pulse with fear. Why had it attacked so large a party?

  She looked up the road, trying to discern where the attack had begun, and saw a cluster of dismounted guardians. Heart filling with dread, she hastened forward.

  “Hanusan!”

  She pushed her way through to the fallen Stonereach, dropping to her knees beside him. Her kindred and a good friend.

  Hanusan lay on his face, blood seeping through dark punctures in his cloak at the back of his neck where the cat had bitten him. There were also deep wounds on his arms where claws had sliced through his leathers. He breathed but did not move when Eliani hesitantly touched him.

  “Bandages!” She looked up at those standing near. “Quickly!”

  Guardians hastened to respond, reaching for their saddle packs. Eliani bade one of them help her, and together they removed Hanusan’s cloak and leather jerkin. She bandaged his arms while two guardians held him upright, then was suddenly overwhelmed with a need to grasp his shoulders.

  She closed her eyes, her scalp tingling as the khi rose in her hands. Warmth poured into her head from above, flowing down through her arms to Hanusan. She caught her breath, frightened, and made an effort to relax and accept what was happening.

  Again her brow grew warm w
ith Turisan’s calling. She dared to answer.

  Not now, love. I am well.

  Another healing.

  Yes.

  He said no more, though she could feel him with her, a distant comfort. For a long while she held still. Not until the murmur of someone’s voice penetrated her awareness did she realize that the warmth of khi flowing through her was fading.

  Sighing, she withdrew her hands and opened her eyes. The guardians stood around her, watching. Hanusan slowly raised his head.

  “Eliani?”

  His voice was weak, and he blinked several times, his brow tightening in a frown of pain. Eliani glanced at the nearest guardian, summoning her to assist.

  “Hush. You must rest.”

  They moved Hanusan, gently resting his back against a pine tree, cushioning him with his bundled cloak. He closed his eyes and shivered. Eliani took off her own cloak and laid it over him, then walked over to Luruthin and Vanorin, who stood up to meet her. Both stared at her. She glared back.

  “I was compelled. I understand it no better than you.”

  “Lady, it is a powerful gift.” Vanorin bowed with the words. “We all felt it.”

  Eliani was startled, then embarrassed. She glanced at Luruthin, who nodded. She felt her cheeks go warm and looked away, toward Hanusan.

  “He cannot ride. We must send for help from Heahrued.”

  “Is it far, my lady?”

  “No, not far.” She looked back at the guardians and summoned one with a gesture. “Mærani! Ride to Heahrued, fetch back a cart. Hurry!”

  She saw the rider off, set two others to build a fire to keep Hanusan warm until Mærani returned, then went to find her horse. Luruthin accompanied her, leaning close to murmur to her.

  “Back to ‘my lady’ again.”

  “I know. I did not want to chide him for it now.”

  As they passed the dead catamount, Eliani paused to look at it. “I wonder if this was the same cat that killed the envoy.”

  Luruthin frowned. “A catamount should never have attacked a party this size.”

  “It was enraged. Perhaps it was mad.”

  Luruthin squatted to examine the cat. “I see no sign of raving, no lathering at the mouth.”

  Eliani joined him, brushing her fingers against the cat’s coarse coat. It was somewhat dull and matted with burrs, as if the animal had neglected to groom itself. She murmured a few words of regret to the catamount’s ældar, then returned to her horse.

  The sun had set, and the party was gathering near Hanusan’s fire. Other horses were already grazing in a meadow to the east of the road. Eliani led her mount to join them and leaned against a tree to watch it paw dry grass free of the shallow snow.

  Turisan?

  I am here. What happened?

  She told him, brushing her fingers along the ribbons woven on her arm as she described the extraordinary sensations of the healing. She could pick out the handfasting ribbon by touch, though its fabric was as smooth as that of the others. It was almost as though she could feel the images woven into it—here a firespear tree, there a fountain or a star. They came into her mind as she ran her fingers across them.

  Could you ask Jhinani about this healing when next you see her? I believe I should seek some guidance from an experienced healer.

  Of course. Speaking of Jhinani …

  Yes?

  Has Luruthin confided anything to you?

  Eliani smiled. She has told you. Good. Is it not wonderful?

  Wonderful, and surprising.

  Well, they were surprised as well.

  Were they? Jhinani did not mention the circumstances.

  I should leave it to Luruthin to tell you, I suppose. You males enjoy sharing such triumphs.

  Cruel. I must wait until your party’s return to learn how my mother’s sister was seduced?

  She sensed Turisan’s laughter and smiled. As I understand it, she did the seducing. It was the night of our handfasting.

  It would have to have been.

  They cup-bonded before we left.

  Did they?

  He seemed approving. Eliani hoped it would ease his mind to know Luruthin was so bound. She knew he trusted her—believed in her—probably more than she did herself, but Luruthin’s vow to Jhinani should be an additional comfort to him.

  She heard Vanorin’s voice rise, calling out instructions, and glanced back toward the fire. Twilight was settling over the mountains.

  I wish you were here, love.

  So do I.

  I—I need …

  His answer came not in words but in pure love. It washed through her, easing her heartache but making her long all the more for Turisan’s arms around her.

  Turisan stood at the eastern balustrade of the Star Tower, watching for the first sign of dawn. He held the heavy tapestry back in one hand, a cold breeze stinging his face and troubling the embers in the nearby hearth. The coals spat and sparked as if disturbed in slumber, making the mountain-shaped hearth seem like a waking volcano.

  It was dark yet, the eastern sky barely showing a hint of blue and still strewn with stars, but Turisan was unable to rest. Today his company would march for Midrange.

  He had considered moving out to camp with them but had not been able to bring himself to leave the Star Tower. In this place he and Eliani had consummated their union. One precious night, the night of their handfasting, they had spent together. The next day she had ridden for Fireshore.

  He had dwelt here ever since, treasuring every reminder of that night, every pillow and drape of this chamber. Now, today, he must leave it at last.

  He let the tapestry fall and put on the clothes Pheran had laid out for him, a soft fleececod tunic and legs to go beneath his leathers. He did not don the leathers yet. Instead he went barefoot down the short stair to the antechamber below and into the tiring room where Pheran kept his wardrobe.

  The stone floor was cold. Turisan shivered a little as he crossed to where a small space was reserved for the single gown of Eliani’s that was here, the gown she had worn for their handfasting. It was of silk from Eastfæld, all in blue and violet, with a veil that shimmered in both colors, its edge beaded with tiny bright crystals. Turisan touched the silk, catching up a double handful and burying his face in it. There, a whisper of her khi.

  He wanted to take the gown with him, or even just the veil, only to look at it and remember Eliani’s face as she wore it. The colors reminded him of her, though they were no longer hers. She was a Greenglen now.

  He stepped back, letting the silks fall. He could not take them to Midrange. They would doubtless be damaged if he did, and he did not care to face Eliani’s wrath when she learned he had ruined her father’s gift. She had worn them only thrice.

  He smiled, remembering the first time, when she had reached her majority on Evennight. They had danced in Highstone’s public circle, which was bedecked with harvest fruits and strewn with golden leaves, Eliani a swirl of violet and blue and flashing green eyes. Little had they known then what their future paths would be.

  Turning away, he ran his fingers over the ribbons woven on his left forearm. These were all the memento he needed. The blue and violet were there, along with silver and sage. Images of Alpinon and Glenhallow both. And hidden in the weave, part of the magecraft that bound the whole together, was Eliani’s khi along with his own.

  He returned to the Star Tower and saw through the dome that the sky was definitely growing lighter now. He put on his leathers, then took up his cloak and, draping it over his arm, hastened downstairs.

  The rotunda was busy with murmuring voices as he made the last turn onto the gallery. He had asked his father not to keep his command standing in the cold dawn during a long farewell ceremony, and Jharan had honored his request by moving the ceremony indoors. Tables of fresh bread, roasted meats, and late autumn fruits stood to one side of the rotunda, and many of Glenhallow’s important citizens were already enjoying the repast.

  Turisan saw his fat
her standing in a small knot of dignitaries. Berephan, Ehranan, and Lady Rheneri turned to greet him as he came down the grand stairs and approached them. It occurred to him to wonder why Rheneri had not returned to Eastfæld after the Council disbanded, but this was not the occasion to ask. Perhaps she had stayed in support of Lord Ehranan.

  Rheneri smiled, her black hair and blue eyes reminding him of Heléri though she wore Ælvanen’s gold and white. “All honor to you, Lord Turisan, and may spirits guide you on your journey.”

  “My thanks to you, my lady.”

  He bowed over her hand, keeping to himself the thought that if he could not find his way to Midrange without the aid of spirits, he was not fit for his command. She had not meant it literally; he knew that. His mood was too brittle this morning. As atonement, he made an additional effort to be pleasant to all the guests.

  He took little food and sipped a cup of hot tea rather than the wine and ale that were also offered. He was grateful when Jharan at last called the gathering to order. He loved his home and would miss its comforts, but he was eager to be gone now that the day of departure had arrived. Sooner gone, sooner returned, and the better for all ælven interests to have a garrison at High Holding.

  Jharan addressed the assembled guests, praising the courage of those who had volunteered to go to Midrange in advance of the main army. No feast in a warm hall for them, though Turisan had asked Jhinani to have the palace kitchens send them fresh bread and some of the same delicacies that were served here in honor of their last meal before the march.

  Jhinani came up to stand beside him, smiling. She had stood as his mother after her sister’s death, and the affection in her eyes warmed his heart. He leaned close to whisper to her.

  “Eliani wants your advice about healing.”

  “I am happy to give it, but perhaps it must wait until your return.”

  He nodded, and as Jharan turned to him at that moment, he fell silent. His father raised one eyebrow slightly, then proceeded.

  “All Southfæld thanks you, Lord Turisan, for leading these companies to Midrange.”

  “All ælvenkind must thank you.” Ehranan bowed as he said the words, and Turisan swallowed. To be honored thus by one who had stood at Westgard …