by Sanan Kolva
Cailean jumped to his feet and steadied Lyan. “What’s wrong?”
Lyan straightened and braced himself with the Spear. “I’m all right. Thanks. Just twisted my ankle again when we arrived here.” He sucked in several deep breaths. “I’ll be all right. Just need a moment.”
“Don’t make me have to explain to Kithr why he shouldn’t kill me for letting you get hurt. Be careful, Lyan.”
Lyan smiled faintly at Cailean. “Don’t worry. I’m fine, and I’m sure it’ll feel a little better by the time we reach the forest.” Though the pain wasn’t as sharp as the first time he’d injured his ankle in Eilidh Wood—the event that had precipitated his first meeting with Cailean and his men—this fresh aggravation promised to leave him limping for a few days.
Shadowstar looked up at the movement of the elves, and the stallion trotted to Lyan, brushing past Nylas’s men and ignored their resentful looks. Lyan rubbed Shadowstar’s nose. “You could have let Nylas toss me over your back and go, you know.”
Shadowstar snorted and tossed his head. Shiolto spoke quietly. “I doubt they’ll admit it, but the elves needed the rest too, Lyan.”
“Did they let you help?”
“I didn’t try. I set out the bandages and herbs I have, though, and they used them. Their leader there… Nylas, right?”
Lyan nodded.
“Nylas never talked directly to us. He just made sure he spoke our language if he wanted us to hear, and he addressed a lot of comments to Shadowstar.” Shiolto hesitated. “Um… guardian spirit of Appret Plains?”
Lyan shifted uncomfortably.
Shiolto forced a smile and patted Lyan on the shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. We’d better get the other horses.”
The rest of the horses hadn’t followed Shadowstar into their midst, but watched the elves warily. Cailean spoke with Aikan quietly. Aikan looked less than pleased, but finally nodded. Cailean turned to Lyan, and waited until Lyan had settled onto Shadowstar’s back.
“Lyan, would you please extend to your people my invitation to ride? Some might find it easier.”
Lyan admired the care with which Cailean chose his words, avoiding the implication that some of the tortured elves couldn’t walk. “Of course.” Turning to Nylas, Lyan asked in Elven, “Do I need to repeat Cailean’s offer? I know you heard him.”
“We will accept your offer,” Nylas said, pointedly ignoring Cailean. “It will simplify matters.”
At Lyan’s nod, the Tathrens retrieved their mounts and the two packhorses. All the animals distrusted the elves, but with soothing, were convinced to stand still. Shadowstar kept watch over the proceedings, Lyan on his back.
Shiolto, Dalrian, Torqual, and Yion unloaded gear from the horses. Torqual handed Aikan and Cailean their packs. Aikan scowled, but didn’t object, though he did fuss with the ties on his bag, adjusting them to his liking.
Shiolto tripped, dropping his bag with a curse. Lyan looked quickly at the elves, but none stood close enough to have tripped the human. Torqual offered Shiolto a hand.
“Okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.” Shiolto smiled and wiped mud from his pants, embarrassed.
Yion and Torqual helped him collect the items that had spilled from his bag, and Shiolto laced the bag shut and swung it over his shoulder. Lyan walked Shadowstar to Aikan and Cailean.
“Shadowstar and I can carry your bags,” he said, looking more to Aikan than Cailean.
“Then take Lord Cailean’s,” Aikan said, forgetting to omit the honorific.
Cailean handed Lyan one bag of supplies, then looked pointedly at the older man.
“I do not need help,” Aikan snapped, “nor do I need any elf poking through my belongings.”
Lyan remembered the Forests of Cossette, when he’d noticed someone had searched his bags, and he wondered if that had been Aikan. He spoke in a low voice. “When we start moving, Nylas and his men are going to move as fast as they can, to prove they can. Anyone who straggles, they’ll leave behind. Especially Tathrens. Allow me to help, Aikan. Please.”
Aikan eyed him with suspicion. “Helping us rather than your own people?”
Lyan spoke low. “They may be elves, but they are not my people. They are Lost to Eilidh Wood.”
Aikan gazed at Lyan, then handed him the heavier bags without a word. Lyan secured it with Cailean’s. Shadowstar shifted restlessly, and Lyan patted the stallion’s neck.
The elves who couldn’t walk were helped onto the horses, faces pale with pain but fixed in masks of grim determination. Feet had been bandaged, limbs splinted. Lyan’s gaze moved over Nylas’s men, stomach twisting at the wounds they hadn’t yet bandaged. The elf who had been flogged in the courtyard sensed Lyan’s eyes on his raw back and turned to meet his gaze. Despite the fresh beating, he walked.
“You interrupted my curse, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” Lyan answered.
“And you used the Spear to stop the Tathren from killing me.”
“Yes,” Lyan said again. “I wasn’t going to watch him beat you to death.”
“Why not?”
Lyan gave the only answer he thought the other might accept. “For the same reason I interrupted your curse: because you didn’t have to die that day, and because a life should be worth more than that kind of death.”
“Not for the sake of the Tathren brats who would have starved?”
“I know better than to think appealing to anything to do with Tathrens would matter to you. Though I could argue that your own people are the most likely to starve if famine strikes. Especially the young ones.” He thought of Patch and the other half-Tathren children he’d seen.
“We survive,” the other elf said.
“Just like you survived. Are you unhappy to still be alive?” Lyan asked.
“I did not ask your help, and I owe you nothing for your interference in the courtyard.”
“I never claimed you owed me for it. Count it however you choose,” Lyan told him.
“Move out,” Nylas ordered.
The rain trailed off as they rode, and the clouds gradually broke apart. Lyan stole glances at the sky, but kept his eyes more often on their path. Keenly aware Nylas watched him, Lyan refused to give his cousin more reason to mock him. The elves marched in silence at a pace that discouraged conversation. The Tathrens kept the pace, but their gear’s weight took a toll on them.
After a silent march, they reached Malgor Forest late in the afternoon. The horses balked at entering, but Lyan let Shadowstar walk beside Nylas, and the other horses reluctantly followed the stallion. Nylas barely glanced at Lyan. As he advanced, brambles and thorns curled back, clearing a path for the elves, and not striking at Cailean or his men.
Lyan heard a birdcall from the trees ahead, answered by a similar call from an elf behind Lyan. His hand closed around Equinox and tension ran up his spine, but he didn’t raise the Spear. As long as Nylas’s men held to their side of the agreement, he shouldn’t be worried.
But he wasn’t willing to assume he could trust anyone who dwelt in this place.
Feet and hooves crunched through dry leaves, and in the trees above them, Lyan heard other feet moving along the branches. Sooner than he expected, they faced the bramble wall of the elven camp. The wall opened. For the first time, Lyan saw traces of relief in the elves around him.
Inside the wall, other elven warriors stood armed and waiting, no more willing to assume this wasn’t a Tathren trick than Lyan was to assume he could trust Nylas.
“Stand down,” Nylas ordered in Elven, frosty glare raking the camp. “What in the Mad God’s Pits were you thinking to send a stargazer to free us from a Tathren dungeon?” He waited. “Well?”
“Welcome back, Captain.” Patch slipped around a pair of warriors and gazed at Nylas. “Lyan insisted he and his companions are not part of the war, and that the war is over. We couldn’t judge what we should do with them in your absence.”
“So you decided to send him to get me?” Nylas
demanded. He closed his eyes and let out a deep breath. “Very well. Patch reaching such a conclusion I can understand. The rest of you, however…” He growled in anger, opening his eyes and looking around the camp again. “Where is Kithr? Lyan said he’s here.”
“He’s below, Captain,” Milosh said.
Nylas set off across the camp in a swift stalk.
“Captain? What about… them?”
Nylas spun to glare at his men. “Lyan, Spearbearer of Equinox, is responsible for freeing those held in the Tathren dungeon. His companions do not exist. And you sent the wielder of our sacred weapon alone into a Tathren stronghold!”
Milosh had no response to that. A protest that he hadn’t known Lyan carried Equinox was unlikely to assuage Nylas’s anger. Milosh silently bowed his head as Nylas stormed into the tunnels.
The elves helped their companions off the horses. One of the elves of the camp eyed the closest horse with a decidedly hungry look. Shadowstar snorted a warning, and the elf backed away, casting a dark look at the stallion. Lyan slid from the saddle, gingerly testing his weight on his ankle. He freed Equinox from its bindings and used the Spear to support himself. Shadowstar nuzzled his hair, and Lyan patted the stallion on the nose.
“Watch over things for me, okay?”
Shadowstar tossed his head in agreement. Lyan looked to Cailean. The Tathren lord returned his bags to his saddle and reassured his mount all was well. Cailean didn’t even glance over. “You don’t need my permission, Lyan. Find Kithr so we can be on our way.”
“Right.” Lyan moved toward the tunnel Nylas had entered. He walked slowly, trying not to limp.
Patch joined him. Lyan glanced at her with surprise. She met his gaze. “I would speak with you.”
“All right,” Lyan answered. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the key. “I want to thank you for this. It helped.”
Patch folded Lyan’s fingers around the key once again. “Keep it. I think you might need it more than I.”
She didn’t say anything more until they entered the tunnels. Then, she caught his arm and pulled him into a near empty storeroom. Patch studied Lyan as he sat on a crate. “Your Tathren friend carries Solstice, doesn’t he?”
“Why do you ask?” Lyan asked warily.
She pointed at Equinox. “I noticed similarities between your weapons. The Captain said you carry Equinox. We have been taught of the two Spears, and that we are here in search of Solstice, which the Tathrens have. Your friend’s Spear has the same aura as yours, and if you carry Equinox, his must be Solstice.”
“Then why are you asking, if you already know?”
“To see how you respond,” she said.
“I protect my friends,” Lyan told her. “And the bearer of Solstice is my friend. So, since I’ve acknowledged that secret to you, tell me something in return, if you will.”
“What is it?”
“Do you think you’re Nylas’s daughter?”
She frowned. “Why do you want to know?”
“If you are, then we’re kin—family. Nylas is my cousin, so, if you’re his child, we are cousins as well.”
“Kin…,” she repeated thoughtfully. “No one knows if I’m the Captain’s child, not even him.”
“So, you have no one who claims you as theirs,” Lyan said, sadness gripped his chest. In Eilidh Wood, even an orphan would be claimed by someone, whether or not any blood relation existed. “Do you want a family?”
Her sharp eyes searched him for mockery. “Would you dare to claim a child born of a Tathren as your kin?”
“Why shouldn’t I?” Lyan asked.
The simple answer surprised Patch. “You’re odd.”
“So I’ve been told.”
“What is a stargazer? They all call you a stargazer, and say it with some mockery, but at the same time, respect.”
If she heard respect toward him from Nylas’s men, Lyan did not. “I’m an astrologer. I read the stars to predict future events. I can look for major events, or use someone’s signs to look for their individual fortunes. A person’s signs are a combination of the constellations of their naming day with constellations specific to them.” He sighed. “But I can’t read anyone’s fortunes now.”
“Why not?”
“An enchantment covers the night sky with clouds,” Lyan said. “I can’t see the stars at night.”
“This is important to elves? The reading of stars?” Patch asked. “I’ve never heard of it being done here.”
“It is important to us—or it should be, at least,” Lyan answered.
She nodded solemnly. “When the sky clears, I will find you. Then you will find and read my stars, cousin.”
It was a demand and a test in one. Lyan bowed to her. “It will be my honor to read your fortune, cousin.”
Her lips curved in a smile. “It is a promise, then. I will watch for the clearing of the stars, Cousin Lyan Stargazer.” She stood.
Lyan pushed to his feet. “And when the sky clears, I will watch for you, Cousin Patch Warborn. Until then, be safe.”
“Be victorious, and I will be safer.” She smiled again. “You’d better get your friend before he and the Captain come to blows.”
Chapter Seven
Bring light unto the Lost
Find those who lose their way
For those who fall must know the cost
That ever after they shall pay
Lyan limped down the tunnel, more willing to acknowledge the pain in his ankle now that he walked alone. He wanted little more than to get Kithr and leave, but he slowed when he heard Nylas’s voice rise in anger from the room where their group had been held.
“Then why in the names of our fallen didn’t you stop this idiocy?”
Kithr answered, voice as icy as Nylas’s. “Why didn’t I stop Lyan from leaving Eilidh Wood with the Tathrens? Why didn’t I turn him back? What, am I Lyan’s Keeper? I have the right to choose what he can do?”
“You claim to be his friend. Or at least, you did last I heard,” Nylas replied.
An angry hiss from Kithr, and the sound of movement. “If I were not, I wouldn’t be here now, Nylas. You ask why I didn’t stop him. You should first ask how long it took before Lyan chose to acknowledge that I’d followed him.”
Nylas snorted. “As if he even knew you were there.”
“He knew.” Kithr’s voice was cold. “He knew he was followed. He always has. Didn’t you realize that? He may not recognize what he senses, or be able to identify it, but Lyan knows when he’s being followed.”
“A talent like that would have been trained, if it existed in Lyan,” Nylas said, dismissive.
“But it wasn’t,” Kithr cut in sharply. “It was ignored. Just like his skill with animals was ignored. You made a weed sprout out of season, and your talent immediately got you attention and trainers. Lyan bonded with Shadowstar, and we all know what that horse really is, and yet every one of us—not just you and me, but our whole damned village—ignored his talents, letting them develop wild and untrained, while at the same time deriding his one skill we do acknowledge!”
“And what use is there to staring at the stars, Kithr?” Nylas scoffed.
“How would you know? You never look at them,” Kithr countered. Lyan listened, uncomfortable with thinking about what Kithr had said. He felt a strange disquiet at Kithr arguing with Nylas about the stars using much the same words as Lyan had directed against Kithr. Kithr continued. “If I were Lyan, I would tell you to look up and tell me what you see.”
Nylas laughed sharply. “What do I see when I look up? Rocks and dirt, Kithr, that’s what I see.”
“Exactly. And that answer would prove Lyan’s point without you ever understanding what that point is.” Kithr spat. “But you gave up on the stars well before the end of the war. I remember, the apprentice astrologer to Sandalwood Village served among your men. Three days after you openly derided the stars and star reading as worthless, he was dead. I have to wonder, was that chance, or
did your words send him to his end?”
To Nylas, who took such pride in his devotion to his men, there was little greater insult. “You dare accuse me?”
“Yes, I do,” Kithr snapped. “And I’ll tell you I’d rather send Lyan alone in the company of his Tathrens than leave him in the reach of you or your minions, winterborn blooddrinker. At least the Tathrens appreciate his skills.”
Lyan heard a hiss of metal as Nylas drew a blade. “Those words border on treason, Kithr.”
“The war is over, Nylas.” Lyan stepped into the doorway and fixed a dark gaze on his cousin.
Both Nylas and Kithr started. Kithr took a look at Lyan’s face and muttered a curse. “Oh, yes, then there’s his uncanny knack for walking in on conversations you didn’t intend him to hear.”
Nylas turned from Kithr to face Lyan. He must have armed himself before visiting Kithr, because he’d borne no weapons when they reached the elven camp. The manacles still hung from his wrists and ankles. Nylas looked Lyan up and down with disdain. “Look at this, Kithr. Is this what you want to become?”
Kithr’s hands clenched in fists. “Having seen what you’ve become, yes, I’ll take Lyan over that any day.”
“What we’ve become, Kithr? We haven’t become anything. What we haven’t done is walk away, like you did.”
“You can’t even see the corrupted wretch you are,” Kithr said. “Not until you’re forced to come face-to-face with someone who isn’t drowning in bloodthirst and hate. Tell me, do you remember enough of what it means to be an elf of Eilidh Wood to give the children of your camp playthings other than your trophies?”
Lyan flinched.
Nylas saw, and laughed harshly. “What, Lyan? You didn’t enjoy the gifts Kithr brought back?”
Kithr stood on the verge of hitting Nylas. Much as Lyan longed to do the same, a fistfight now wouldn’t help anything and might endanger the rest of his friends. Not to mention Nylas had a sword. Lyan limped forward and touched Equinox against Kithr’s arm. Kithr said nothing, but lowered his hand.
Lyan drew a deep breath and tried to keep his voice even, with marginal success. “No, Nylas, I didn’t. Not that you’d care. All you want is battle. You want to fight and kill, and you don’t care who your opponent is. You’ll attack Kithr, who fought alongside you, or me, who has never sought battle, without a second thought. You demand to know why I’m here, in Tather, but you never pause in your derision long enough to listen to my answer!” Lyan slammed the butt of Equinox against the rock floor. The ground trembled and dust shuddered from the ceiling, causing Nylas to cast an alarmed look up. “You don’t care if I have a reason or not, so long as you can continue a war against a people who don’t want to keep fighting you. Cailean and his men barely trust Kithr. They weren’t sure they could trust me. And the reason for that, Nylas, is you. The Tathrens don’t know why the war started; they just know that nearly every elf they meet wants to kill them, and they haven’t done anything to earn that blind hate. You want your war, Nylas? Fine. Keep fighting it. It’ll never end until they finally cut you down. And when you fall, no one will pick up your banner. No one will care. You’re already Lost to us.”
