The mediator stopped so suddenly that Druellae nearly ran into her rigidly straight back.
"If you shame me further, Druellae," the mediator said without turning her head, her tone menacingly calm, "I will have you expelled from the shield into Pytt as an example to the others."
Druellae thrust her hands into her cloak, seething with rage but clearly unwilling to confront the mediator, and shrank to the back of the line. Lysethra shot a triumphant look behind her and marched under the arch a mere three strides behind the mediator.
CHAPTER 7
It’s just not right!" Mayjen barked as Avari strode past her and off the porch.
Avari ignored the aggravated cook and rubbed her sleep-starved eyes, then looked around at the mockingly pleasant spring morning. She approached the two mounts awaiting their departure, taking Bo's reins from Hufferrrerrr while trying to ignore the worried stares of her employees. She had been up all night making plans, and should have taken some time to sleep, but she knew that rest would not come until she had some answers. And Mayjen was not letting the fact that Avari had made up her mind sway her tongue.
"You haven't even been back two days from your last bout of traipsing off into the woods, and now you're going off on some mysterious journey to see that elf wizard!" she continued, crossing her thin arms in resolute disapproval. "And you're taking my husband as well!"
Avari's shoulders stiffened at the accusation. She was jerking Bo's girth straps tighter, biting back her temper, when a light touch on her shoulder brought her up short. Tinarre stood beside her, his sharp green eyes glinting out of nut-brown features as he smiled reassuringly.
"Take no pain in her words, Miss Avari," he smiled. "She is merely worried for both our sakes. I will calm her, and we will be off."
"Thank you, Tinarre," she sighed, managing a weak smile. "Please tell her that you’ll be in no danger. I won’t have—"
"I know," he said with another smile as he turned to console his temperamental wife.
The others all crowded out of the house and lined the porch, many frowning in disapproval. Some were upset that she was leaving again so soon. Others were upset with her selection of only Hufferrrerrr and Tinarre as traveling companions; most of the men and several of the women had volunteered to accompany her, but she had made up her mind. Besides, Tinarre was only coming as far as Refuge; if her search for answers took her farther afield, he would return with information on where and how long she might be gone.
Avari approached Brishalla and solemnly extended her hand, which he grasped in his own. The drooping ends of his long black moustache twitched, as much of a smile as he ever displayed.
"Travel well and safely, Mistress Mine," he murmured in farewell, bending slightly at the waist in the traditional desert nomad salute. "And rest assured that all will be well here when you return."
"Thank you, Brishalla. I'm sorry to dump all this on your shoulders."
"Now you be careful, Mistress," Luellen cooed, grasping Avari in a hug even before the foreman had let her hand free. "Here's a special something I baked for your trip," she said, pressing a carefully wrapped package into her hands. "I know how you tend to skip meals, so just nibble on one when you've nothing better to do."
"Thank you, Luellen, I will."
One by one, her employees—her friends—shook her hand, patted her shoulder, or embraced her. It took all her strength to smile and assure them that she would return soon.
Farewells over, Avari mounted Bo and twisted to tuck the package into her already bulging saddlebags. As she turned forward once again, her knee pressed against Gaulengil’s black scabbard. In that moment, Jundag’s agonized face came to her, and she shuddered. She had had trouble thinking of anything else since her dream and visions two nights ago. After much soul-searching and discussion with Hufferrrerrr, the only choice she saw was to seek the truth; either she was losing her mind, or Jundag was alive. If the former was true, then perhaps Shay could aid her, heal her mind. If the latter was true, then she would find Jundag, not matter what it took. Once she had made her decision, a feeling of quiet resignation had taken over; she might not yet have the answers, but at least she knew where to start looking.
With a forced smile and wave, she toed Bo into a turn and kicked him into a trot, followed by Hufferrrerrr and Tinarre. From behind, she heard the calls of “Goodbye!” and “Safe journey!” from the beloved members of her household, and dragged her sleeve across her eyes to dry the tears that threatened to overflow. Looking at the peaceful fields that lined the road, and the horses that capered alongside the fence, her heart ached as she wondered if she would ever see her cherished Searest again.
The summons to the mediator’s private quarters conflicted Lysethra. A summons generally meant a reprimand; how many times had she and Calmarel knelt before the mediator to receive her furious castigations? Too many times not to cringe when the messenger brought her the parchment with her name written across the seal in the mediator’s bold hand.
Although, she considered as she tapped the message against her thigh while she waited to be announced, usually it was Calmarel’s fault. The thought angered her for a moment, but she dismissed the feeling and focused back on the present situation.
The hall in which she waited was communal space for the Xerro Kensho nobles, acting as a meeting area or reception hall as necessary. The mediator had convened her council here twice since they had arrived to discuss progress on the citadel. The room was beautifully built, as befitted the status of the mediator. Dark curtains along one wall hid a balcony that overlooked the core of the citadel. The other three walls were highly polished black stone, hung with tapestries depicting the natures and the hells of the five Dark Gods. Lysethra shivered in horrific pleasure as she gazed on the likeness of Xakra—venerated patron goddess of Clan Darkmist—in her spider manifestation, feeding on the damned souls that writhed in her webs. She grasped the sacred amulet that hung around her neck and bent her head in reverence.
The door before her opened, and a servant bowed her into the mediator’s presence. Lifting her chin just high enough to appear noble but not haughty, she strode forward. The mediator stood across the room behind a huge stone desk. Lysethra stopped before it and bobbed her head in subservience.
“Mistress Mediator.”
The mediator turned and looked at her a long moment, then smiled. Lysethra was on guard; she could not remember ever seeing the mediator smile without next ordering a death or dismemberment.
“Matriarch Darkmist,” the mediator said smoothly. “Lysethra. Please have a seat.” She indicated a chair, and took her own seat behind the massive desk. The only item on the glossy surface was an ancient leather-bound book with bronze hinges and clasp.
“I want to congratulate you,” she continued, “on your performance at the portal. You demonstrated the true strength expected of a noble of Xerro Kensho,” here her lips twisted into a sneer of disgust, “unlike others...”
Lysethra permitted herself a small smile, pleased at the praise and recognition, but wondering where in the Nine Hells this conversation was headed.
“This act,” the mediator went on, “continues to raise Clan Darkmist in my estimation. I know we had some...disagreements not long ago, but after your resolution to the problem of your brother, Iveron, I realized that you have matured.”
Lysethra again smiled and bowed her head. They had reported to the mediator that Iveron had been destroyed, conveniently omitting that it had been a band of surface dwellers who had accomplished the task.
“Your sister...” the mediator’s tone was now contemplative, “has also managed to avoid any...outbursts lately, behaving more as a noble and a matriarch should behave. And I have come to a decision that I think will benefit us all.”
Lysethra tensed. The mediator pushed the book across the desk top, but left her hand atop it, tapping her long, dark nails lightly on the cover, as if considering. Finally, she withdrew her arm and leaned back in her chair.
Lysethra was speechless. However much she had hoped for higher recognition of Clan Darkmist by the mediator, this was far beyond what she expected at this point in time. Though she never admitted it to her sister, she had always doubted that the mediator would allow Calmarel to complete the Rite of Ascension, ruling that she was too headstrong and unpredictable. But now... Lysethra envisioned the future and could barely contain her excitement. Clan Darkmist was about to achieve such a distinction as her ancestors had never even dreamed: herself as matriarch and second to the mediator of Xerro Kensho, and Calmarel as mediator of a new city. What powers they would control!
“Thank you, Mistress Mediator,” she said solemnly.
Lysethra stood, took the book and bowed deeply to the mediator. At her superior’s condescending wave, she turned and walked slowly from the room. Only after the door was shut behind her did she pick up her pace, and by the time she reached her own quarters, she was nearly running.
Koyrull chuckled as she rose and moved to the cabinet behind her, taking out a bottle of blood-red wine and pouring herself a measure. As much as Lysethra had tried to hide it, her delight at the mediator’s words had shone through her attentive visage.
How easy, Koyrull thought with satisfaction, she will be to manipulate once her headstrong sister is gone. For she, too, believed that the Rite of Ascension might prove to be too much for Calmarel. Although the upstart was powerful enough, she lacked the humility necessary to appease the Dark Gods. Should she fail—as her father had failed—Koyrull would shed no tears. And should she succeed...well, her task of building a new city on the surface world would keep her busy for a long, long time, under Koyrull’s thumb but out of her hair.
The mediator laughed aloud, then gulped down her wine, savoring its warmth and sharp, metallic aftertaste. Everything was going according to plan.
“What’s wrong?”
Tinarre ignored Avari’s question for a moment as he slid off his mount's sweat-streaked back. Twilight’s shadows already crept among the trees, but he could see the glint of a small pond surrounded with lush green grass through the trees, perfect for the horses.
“Nothing is wrong, Mistress,” he called over his shoulder. "I am simply stopping for the night. We are near the last ford of the Greshen River, and the road worsens beyond it. Even though I can see in the dark, our horses cannot."
Tying his horse’s reins to a tree limb, he looked back toward the road. Avari was still mounted, an annoyed look on her face. The wind had pulled wisps of hair from her braid and it stood out around her head. In the dim light, she looked akin to the leotaur beside her, both with flowing manes and four-legged bodies, so naturally did she sit her horse. But where Hufferrrerrr looked merely tired from the hard pace they had kept throughout the day, Avari also looked soul-weary.
The woodling could see that she was approaching a breaking point. He, along with Brishalla and Hufferrrerrr, was one of the few who knew the real reason for her hasty travel. So he had volunteered to travel with her, in hopes that he might aid her as best he could. Although right now, the glare she was giving him indicated plainly that she did not welcome his suggestion.
"If we walk the horses through the night, we can be in Faxx by morning," she averred.
"I am thinking this is of being a good place for me to find something for our dinners," Hufferrrerrr said quickly as he trotted into the clearing and slipped out of his heavy pack, winking at Tinarre.
"You could hunt parallel to the road and catch up with us when you get something," Avari persisted. "Then we can stop for dinner and some rest, and still manage a few extra leagues."
"Mistress," Tinarre said soothingly as he approached her, "the horses need rest. Hufferrrerrr and I need rest. We can leave at first light, and we will lose less time than we would if one of the horses stumbled in the dark and was lamed."
He watched as fleeting changes in Avari’s facial expression revealed her conflicting emotions, then sighed in relief when her shoulders slumped. She could have just ordered him back on his horse; he would not have refused her direct command.
"I'll rub down the horses while you get a fire going," she said as she walked Bo to the clearing, dismounted, and began fumbling with the buckles on the saddlebags.
"Very good, Mistress," Tinarre said. "I'll brew a pot of tea to ward off the night's chill."
Discreetly, the woodling watched her while she unburdened the horses, then toweled them off and brushed their damp coats. She worked slowly but efficiently, and he could see her relax into the routine. He had often noted her love of the horses, especially Bo, and caring for them with her own hands seemed to ease her mind. As she was finishing up, a screech split the peace of the night, and Avari stared with wide eyes toward the black scabbard that lay across her pack.
“Well,” Tinarre said with force joviality as he bustled about the blazing fire, “it sounds like Hufferrrerrr has procured our dinner!”
“What?” Avari whirled, her eyes wide with panic. Then she calmed, forcing a quick, nervous smile. “Oh! Yes, I guess that’s what it was.”
Tinarre brought a cup of steaming tea to her as she spread her blankets by the fire and sat down, leaning back on her saddle to gaze at the fire. She accepted the cup and blew on the hot liquid before taking a sip. He watched as she finished the first cup, and he quickly poured a second.
By this time Hufferrrerrr had returned, a dressed rabbit in hand. Soon it was staked over the coals, the meat sizzling under watchful leotaur eyes. Tinarre tended the broth he had made with the vegetables they brought, stirring it carefully while keeping one eye on Avari.
"It is being a beautiful night," Hufferrrerrr said, craning his neck up at the stars. "A good night for being on the trail."
"A good night for ghosts," Avari murmured.
"For seeing them, or for being one?" Tinarre asked quietly.
"I guess that's the question, isn't it?" She gulped the remnants of her second cup of tea and tossed him the cup. "But I've got to face this ghost. I can’t keep running from it."
Avari stood, wobbling on unsteady legs, as if the long day’s ride had tired even her well-trained limbs. She reached down and gripped Gaulengil by the hilt, lifting the crosspiece up to eye level, its scabbarded length pointed toward the heavens.
"If there really is a ghost to face," she admitted, a slight quaver in her voice.
She carefully slipped the scabbard from the blade and dropped it, then turned toward the fire with the sword hilt clutched in both hands. Slowly, almost reluctantly, Tinarre thought, she pushed the emerald tip of the blade into the flames. The woodling tensed, ready to move should something untoward happen. From the corner of his eye, he saw Hufferrrerrr’s tail twitch, a sure sign of agitation.
Silence hung heavily in the air. After a long minute, a smile spread across Avari's face, and both her companions relaxed.
"Well!" she exclaimed, pulling the blade from the flames and wiping the soot from it with the hem of her shirt. "So mush for that ghoshd...er...ghost, I mean." Her smile grew cheerful, almost giddy with her discovery. "All I've got to worry about now is being crazy."
Tinarre gas
ped as she drew the blade across her forearm, felt his gut recoil as the blood seeped into the silvery metal of the blade. He had heard of the sword’s hunger, but had never seen it feed. The display didn’t seem to faze Hufferrrerrr, and Avari continued her nonsensical rambling.
"An' I know jusht the elf to help me with that li'l proggmum...er, progbum, frogbum? No, no. I mean frog legs. Yeah, I'll have frog legs for dinner!"
She stooped for Gaulengil's scabbard, nearly pitching headlong onto the sword’s sharp crosspiece as she overbalanced. Hufferrrerrr caught her, helped her slip the blade into its home, and lay her onto her blankets once again.
"Oh, thanks, Hufferrrerrr." She smiled, her head lolling as she stared at him with unfocused eyes. "Hey, I said yer name right! Waddaya know." She rolled over and was snoring in moments.
Hufferrrerrr growled and knelt beside her. "What in the name of the Lord of Cats is being wrong with her?" He checked her forearm to make sure the cut was only superficial. "It is being like she has been drinking of the fire juice, but she has had only tea!" His yellow eyes flashed accusingly toward Tinarre.
"What manner of a concoction have you been brewing, woodling Tinarre?" he asked suspiciously.
"Just an herbal mixture that Master Shay taught me when he visited last fall," Tinarre admitted. "Mayjen sometimes has trouble falling asleep, and it helped her. Our mistress will sleep deep and well, and will wake rested."
"Hrrrmmm." Hufferrrerrr twitched his whiskers as he examined the snoring woman. "I am supposing that there was being no harm in helping her to sleep a night's worth," he finally agreed, drawing a spare blanket over her. "But please to be telling me the next of time of what you are planning. I was worried that she had gone to the stark ravingness of nuts."
"Do not worry, Hufferrrerrr," the woodling assured him. "She is not mad. Lack of sleep can do strange things to one's mind, my friend."
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