The pipers started the torris melody slowly, perfectly in keeping with the tempo Lomthelgar had used in instructing me. I moved to my right, curving to take up a quarter of a circle. Had I been an Elf, Larissa and I would have been touching shoulder blades. As our arms extended, we would have laid them out against each other and interlaced our fingers. Our hands would have risen toward the sky together, and our dance would have burned with the fire we both felt inside.
Apart, that could not happen.
A sharp, shrill note spun both of us about, like wild animals spinning to snarl at a pursuer. We froze for a second, barely a heartbeat, both because the dance demanded it and because, for the first time, we locked eyes in the dance. At that moment the resolve I had built up in myself to remain under control evaporated. I saw passion blossom in her eyes, and her lips pull back in a snarl to mirror the one on my face. There, turned inward, we knew the world consisted of us and those opposed to us. Wordlessly we agreed that if we filled the dance with the impossible love we had for each other, Aarundel and Marta would be that much more blessed: denying what we felt for each other, would deny them the perfect torris, and that we would not do.
Our hands came down from above our heads and around and up until our fists closed in our lines of sight. Whirling away from each other, we opened our hands as if to cast out to those gathered around us what had passed between us. Some may have comprehended at that moment, others never would, and I looked for hostility I could devour and use to fuel me.
The music picked up in pace, but the pipers began to follow us instead of the other way around. Spinning, leaping, and turning, we orbited each other in perfect unison. I held my hand out to guide Larissa through a pirouette, and though two feet separated us, she moved as if I had propelled her. As she whirled down into a crouch and I arced over her in a long leap, she snapped her head back and whipped her golden hair less than a foot from my hip and flank. Landing on my knees and sliding on my side, I spun around and came upright at the same moment as she did, each of us with our hands outstretched and moving as if we had risen together.
We both came forward until mere inches separated us. I turned to the right and she to the left, as a pair facing Aarundel and Marta. We ran at them, then stopped as one and reversed ourselves. Spinning outward, our hands passed within an inch of each other's stomach, her hand flashing past a second after mine.
I had stopped counting and had stopped listening to the music. I cared no longer for what the dance was or was supposed to be. I knew it was just us, we were the dance. Apart, yet touching each other on a level deeper and more potent than physical, we flowed through the rest of the torris. We laughed aloud and smiled at each other, our eyes blazing with the giddy excitement of love and the fear-tinged exhilaration of playing on the edge of oblivion. One false move, one miscalculation, and the thrilling sense of defiance would crash into defeat. It didn't matter that I forgot steps and improvised others. I knew where Larissa would be, and I managed not to be there at the same time. I could see her and hear her, and I could feel her as if we were bound together with a million strings. Puppets and puppeteers both, we controlled and worked with the other, transforming the torris from a dance in celebration of love and union to a dance of love and union.
All too quickly and yet after much too great a time, the music ended and froze both of us in place at the heart of the circle. We stood so close that I could feel her breath upon my face, and I feared a single droplet of sweat might roll down my nose to connect us. If that happened, I knew I would die, but I did not care, because my heart felt full to bursting with such joy and contentment that death did not frighten me—I had milked everything possible from life—death would just crystallize the moment and allow me to exist within it forever.
I thought it was my heart beating madly when I felt the first tremor ripple through my body. I started to sway and realized that if I fell, I might fall into Larissa. Fighting a growing disequilibrium, I threw myself backward. Still working in synch with each other, I saw she had done the same thing, and we both laughed like children at the embarrassment of it all. Rolling from my back into a sitting position, I winked at her and wanted to say something, but what I saw between us made me silent.
The ground where we had stood had begun to blur the way a bowstring quivers after the arrow has been released. Individual blades of grass merged with others as the ground began to vibrate very quickly. The tremblings increased in power as their speed slowed, and I watched a six-foot circle of earth ripple back and forth as if it were water. As a circle of little wavelets closed on the center, a spike of dirt shot into the air. A small grass-studded ball pulled free of its crest and hung at head-height for a moment, then fell back to the earth. It merged with the dirt without a splash, though stalks of grass, roots and all, danced across the waves and settled outside the circle.
The earth within the circle began to boil. Lumps rose up like bubbles in broth, but when the muddy dirt over them retreated, they revealed stones from the size of my fist to one bigger than my skull. As they bounced out of the circle, I scrambled back on my hands and feet, then stood and looked over to see if Larissa was safe. She nimbly danced back out of the way of a stone, then smiled at me and returned the wink.
The dirt circle shifted from a deep, dark brown to a reddish color, then geysered upward. I raised my left hand to shield my eyes, but the dirt remained solidly locked in a column. It began to spin fast and faster, akin to the dustwhirls I'd seen in the Centisian plains, but did not move from the spot to which it appeared rooted. Then it all swirled down and resolved itself into a varicolored cloak fastened with an agate clasp at the throat of a Reithrese sorcerer.
"I bring you greetings from the Reithrese Nation." He hovered in the air and slowly turned a circle, studying the Elves as they came to their feet. His circuit complete, he faced forward again. His eyes narrowed as he saw me, then his lips spread apart to reveal a diamond smile. "You I find in the most unusual places, Manchild."
"Nor had I expected to see you here, Takrakor." I brought my right hand up to Cleaveheart's hilt, but did not draw the blade as Aarundel came up beside me. He placed himself in the way or any drawcut, so I assumed he wanted no violence, and his having left his ax behind confirmed that assumption. "It seems we only meet at ceremonies: here a wedding and at a funeral in Jammaq."
"Such circumstances will change in due course, Manchild."
"Pity, I like Reithrese funerals."
Aarundel held up a hand to silence me, "Neal, he is here as a guest."
I blinked. "You invited Takrakor to your wedding?"
My friend shook his head. "An invitation is always extended to a representative of the Reirhrese people, for marriage is change and they are the masters of change."
"Marriage is also the death of solitary life." The Reithrese ran his tongue from crystal fang to crystal fang. "We are the masters of death."
I smiled. "Ah, there's a truly appropriate sentiment for a wedding."
Aarundel sighed and looked up at Takrakor. "It is seldom that the Reithrese accept the invitation."
Takrakor shrugged easily. "Could we ignore the wedding of one who has proven a fierce foe? Not only do we celebrate your nuptials, but we celebrate your coming life here, in Cygestolia. Your retirement from the battlefield will remove from us our concern for your safety among Men."
"The Haladina have hardly been a threat to Aarundel." I smiled at him. "Were I you, I'm thinking I'd be more concerned about the safety of Reithrese among Men."
The sorcerer's red eyes tightened down into bloody slivers. "I have not forgotten your antics, Neal. Not at all. You could but hope I would forget." He waved me away with an idle hand, and I felt a light breeze buffet me. "I will not let you spoil this joyous occasion among your Elders, youngling."
He clasped his hands together for a moment, then spread them wide apart and sprayed out a rainbow of gems that carried from Larissa's feet to mine. "These are for you, Aarundel, and your bride, Mart
a. Your skill as a jeweler is not unknown to us, and any gift you craft for her will be enhanced by her beauty."
Aarundel knelt and held up a blue diamond as long as my thumb and half that wide. "This would be reckoned a fortune even in Dwarven halls, Takrakor. Your earlier words could cause one to construe this as a bribe for me to remain here in Cygestolia."
The sorcerer's eyes flared wide for a moment, then returned to normal size as Takrakor smiled. "They are offered in friendship and fellowship, Aarundel, not as a bribe. We know you do not want to leave your bride for the war trail. And do not take it that I think you a coward easily swayed by wealth into staying here. I no more think that than you should imagine that the Reithrese fear an Elf consorting with Men."
"Then we share comprehension?"
"I believe we do."
"Good." Aarundel smiled carefully and raised his voice so all could hear him. "My wife and I, last night, came to an understanding. After a fortnight I will again travel from Cygestolia and continue my work as a warrior."
As the people murmured together in shock, Finndali came up from behind Larissa and rested his hands on her shoulders. "You were not granted permission to marry so you would leave again."
"And no condition was placed upon my return here to marry. You and the Consilliarii may have decided marriage would keep me here, but that was not my decision." Aarundel hesitated for a moment and glanced at his sister before continuing. "You have met Neal Custos Sylvanii. You all saw the torris. In his dance and in his conduct here you have seen why I have come to call this man friend. As Neal has come here to stand by me in my world, I will again travel from Cygestolia to stand by him in his. To do less would dishonor my vindicator."
Takrakor's bass laughter cut through the buzz of Elven voices. "Very good, Aarundel, wonderful. I told them that you would not be gelded in Cygestolia. The Cold Goddess will eat your soul as eagerly as any other."
I eclipsed Aarundel's body with my own. "I'm thinking we can test that theory whenever your troops decide to come out and fight in front of their Man-mercenaries."
The sorcerer's cloak began to decay as his anger wore away his control. "When I choose to fight, youngling, you will once again long for the days of fighting the Haladina."
"That could well be true, Takrakor," I growled at him. "Until then I'll content myself with remembering how easily your brother died."
The Retthrese sorcerer snarled in anger and started to sink toward the ground. With a downward snapping of his wrists and windmilling action of his arms, he again raised the cloud of dust. Either because he had lost control, or because of deliberate contempt, the sandstorm lashed out and scourged me on the left side of my face. I went down on one knee and felt the blood starting to trickle from a gash on my forehead, but I drew Cleaveheart and had it poised for a thrust into the heart of the whirling cloud. The dust funnel collapsed in on itself, leaving only the dirt hole in the center of the clearing.
The Reithrese wizard had vanished, denying me a chance to make his clan yet more angry with me. His gift of gems remained scattered over the ground. I wished they had been his teeth and it had been my fist that had sown them there, but such evil thoughts were scarcely the proper things for a vindicator to be thinking at his best friend's wedding.
I pressed my left hand to my forehead to staunch the blood flow. Looking up, I saw Larissa move forward to aid me, but her husband held her back. Horror washed through her eyes—not at what she had almost done, but what custom would not allow her to do. I gave her a smile to let her know I was not seriously hurt, then nodded as her husband tried to turn her away from me.
Aarundel knelt beside me and took a look at my wound. "A little cut. Nothing really."
I laughed lightly. "And this was an event I was thinking I'd not need a scar for remembering."
"But if anyone was going to get hurt here, I would have assumed it would be you." He took the scarf from around his neck and wadded it into a bandage. "Here."
"Thanks." I could see he wanted to say something, but words or his voice failed him. "Had you told me I might be hurt, I might not have come."
He smiled politely, then took Marta's scarf from her to tie his around my head. As he leaned in close to knot the cloth, he kept his voice low. "Neal, in the torris, you and my sister . . ."
A shiver ran down my spine. "We did not touch. Not at all."
"No, no, I know that." Aarundel stared at me. "What passed between you, what drove you . . . it was obvious. Do you know what it means?"
I looked down and felt drained of energy. "Takrakor could have made a lot of Elven allies by having taken my head clean off?"
The Sylvan warrior shook his head. "It means that I am very happy for my sister and my friend."
"Thank you."
"And," he added grimly, "if you violate Elven law in this matter, when I kill you, I guarantee it will be without pain."
Chapter 15:
To Mourn A Man's Passing
Early Spring
A.R. 499
The Present
***
"WHERE, MAN?" COUNT Berengar grabbed the servant by the front of his tunic and lifted him from the floor.
"Northwest of the Low Market, m'lord, in an alley behind the Haladin leatherworker's shop."
Berengar dropped him and raced from the chamber. In shock, filled with disbelief, Gena shivered, then scrambled to her feet and trailed after him. She wanted to shout to him to stop or slow down, but a growing hole inside her trapped the words. Her mind conjured all sorts of grotesque and hideous pictures to coincide with the servant's phrasing, "killed him dead." As she ran down the hallway, the images became stranger and stranger, layering eons of decay and abuse on a man who had been alive and with her only six hours previously.
It could be a mistake! Her training in wizardry overrode her emotions. The servant had seemed positive in his declaration of Durriken's condition, but what did he know of life and death, injuries and recovery? The servant might have assumed Rik dead when, in fact, he still lived. With her abilities and magic, she could strengthen Rik. She could keep death at bay. If the barest spark of life remained in him, she would nurse it into a bonfire that would bring him back to her.
She reached the courtyard in time to see Berengar's back as he rode out the gate. Gena turned on the nearest groom. "Saddle me a horse. Get two. You will take me to the place where Rik lies."
The youth looked flustered. "M'lady, I cannot . . ."
"Do not incite my fury." She grabbed a handful or his tunic and propelled him toward the stables. "Do it, do it now! My patience grows short." She curled her voice down into a sinister croak, hoping to invoke memories of Eldsaga atrocities to speed the groom.
Though he ran off to comply with her command, her anger did not remain under control. It exploded in her as she saw Rik telling her he was not worried about his trip into the Haladin section or Aurdon. How could you have been so stupid? How could you have done this? Her anger coiled with betrayal. You should have known! I should not have let you go!
Again her intellect attempted to intervene. She knew that she could not have stopped Rik even if she had wanted to. He always had been independent despite his devotion to her. And he had always been a risk taker, as the late fight with the Haladin Raiders had proven clearly. She knew that he had been smart enough to decide there was no threat, but bold enough to have gone ahead into danger if he felt the reward warranted the risk.
She realized in an instant that her anger came from the surprise of losing him so soon. Somewhere in the back of her mind she had seen staying with him as he grew old. That prospect held horror for other sylvanesti, but she had embraced the idea because the person Rik was would only get better with age, no matter what happened to his physical shell.
Unless he dies young.
The groom led two horses from the stable, and Gena vaulted up into the gray horse's saddle. She stared down at the groom as he mounted his horse, then let her impatience erode what little control s
he had left. "Lead the way!"
"I don't know where you want to go, m'lady."
Gena snarled, then concentrated. "Low Market, in the alley behind the Haladin leatherworker. Go, go, we will see a crowd, I am certain."
The groom touched his heels to the horse's ribs, and Gena whipped her reins across the horse's rump as it went past. She sent her mount after the first horse, cursing the groom's timidity and the roundabout travel the siege gates forced upon them. Everything and everyone conspired to slow her when she knew her magick might be all that could save Durriken from death.
The city flew past in a blur, then they reached the street off which the alley ran. The crush of the crowd made continuing on horseback impossible. Gena leaped from the saddle and waded into the crowd. Half a head taller than the largest of the people in the street, she forced herself through to where Aurdon Rangers held a perimeter around the alley-mouth. She did not care who she thrust aside or stepped upon. All she knew was that she would not be kept away from Rik and she would deal harshly with anyone who sought to stop her from reaching him.
She burst through the Ranger line. "Rik? Rik?"
Berengar whirled around from his station at the edge of the alley and stepped toward her. "Lady Genevera, no."
"I have to see him."
"No!" Berengar caught her wrist. "Don't go there."
She tried to pull free of his grasp, but could not. "Unhand me!"
"No!" Berengar pulled her to the side and trapped her against the adobe wall of the leatherworker's shop. "He's dead, Gena."
Despair swallowed her anger. "No, don't say that. I can help him."
"No one can help him."
"You don't know that." She pounded a fist against Berengar's chest. "He might not be dead."
Berengar secured her other wrist and pressed her back against the wall with his body. "Gena, he is dead. I have seen death. I know."
Once A Hero Page 23
