He had taken four hits from her blade, but each one was no more than an insult to his pride. However, he was observing, and L’Garn thought he had detected the slightest trace of a pattern in her movements.
“What? That little maneuver?” she asked with false modesty. “It was taught to me by a Brassarian sword champion. It is very difficult to master, but I was able to comprehend the complexities of it in only two days.”
He advanced with two quick thrusts, which she parried expertly, but he was pleased to see she had reacted exactly as he had anticipated.
“Sword play is more than flash and dash, Teela.”
He wiped a trail of sweat from his brow and parried her advance.
“Don’t feel bad that the move is beyond your skill, elf-man. It took me only two days, but most people require two weeks of constant drill to understand the move. However, a Night Elf scum like you would only require…what? Two months to get it right?”
Teela was obviously trying to get under his skin with her comment, and he had to admit she was having an effect. But he could not allow himself the luxury of losing control.
He was pleased to see she was beginning to pant a bit, and sweat had dampened the hair at the nape of her neck and around her face. She looked good enough to eat, he thought.
He faked a thrust to her right, pivoted and whirled just as he had seen her do a moment before. As he came around in a full circle, her left side and back were open for his attack. Instead of slicing through her tender flesh, he slapped the flat of his blade across her buttocks.
He met her outraged squawk with a wide grin and a defensive stance.
“Why, you sneaky scum!” she yelled at him.
Suddenly, Teela was no longer facing him. In her stead stood a furious woman who gripped the sword with both hands as if it were a lifeline, and advanced on him with an ear-splitting battle cry. He barely had time to defend himself from her whirlwind onslaught.
“I’m done with coddling you. Now comes lesson number three.”
She leaped over the bench, which had been overturned sometime during the battle, and used a chair as a step up to the table. She braced her legs in a wide stance and looked down from her height, waiting for him to advance.
“Teela,” he said from the safety of a good two arm-lengths away. “Enough of this. I concede that you know how to handle a sword. Let us stop before someone is hurt.”
“No! What you mean to say, you sorry excuse for an elf, is that I should concede the battle and you win the wager. I will not remain a slave! Do you understand me? One of us will die today. It does not matter to me which one of us it will be.”
Before he could respond, she leapt from the table directly at him, with her sword pointing at his chest, her left arm bent and locked against her side, both hands holding the hilt of the sword with an unwavering force.
Pure instinct saved his life. He parried the blade, but her momentum carried her into his body and knocked him to the side. In a blur she pivoted and thrust her blade deep into his upper arm. Suddenly his sword arm was useless. He flipped his blade into his other hand and took a defensive stance. The pain was intense, but it kept him from fainting as the blood drained from his head.
By the Jewels! She meant to kill him!
“Your usefulness is at an end, elf-man. I will be done with you now.”
He kept his feet through pure force of will. What did she mean? As he parried again and again, looking for a chink in her offense, the rage began to build again.
Usefulness?
“What nonsense are you spouting, Teela?”
She slashed another gash in his biceps, the other arm this time, but not deep enough to prevent him from advancing on her. Twice he could have sliced her, but he refused to harm her in that way.
Why? His brain demanded of him. Kill her and get it over with! She is a danger to our people! L’Garn fought the voice inside his mind as he parried Teela’s sword.
“Ha,” she laughed without joy. “You thought you were bringing a harmless human slave into your great fortress, did you not, elf-man?” She dodged a swing from his arm and stumbled over something on the floor. “You are finding out now that I’m not so harmless, am I?”
She feinted to the right and then lunged to the left. It almost worked, but his anger was growing, and it seemed to pump new resolve and energy into him.
“Did you never wonder why I call myself Captain Feenix? Did you ever have the wits to even ask yourself that question?”
The clang of their swords meeting again and again echoed through the large room, making a weird counterpoint to the slap of their feet and the harsh rasp of their breath.
What was she getting at, he wondered? Captain? Aye, she had called herself that and he had made light of it.
“Captain of what, Teela?”
He lunged and she scampered out of the way just in time. He was glad, for he had misjudged his reach and would have nicked her. His loss of blood was affecting his reflexes. Or perhaps he was losing his inner battle?
“Here is the delicious part, elf-man, and your final lesson before you die!”
“And what would that be, Teela?”
His breathing was coming in great gasps. He knew he was at his last ounce of energy. All he needed to do was disarm her, retrieve her sword and put an end to this ridiculous sword fight. He needed to do it before he was in no shape to do more than fall at her feet. Such an event would be beyond humiliating.
Suddenly, he found himself without a sword. L’Garn watched it go spinning through the air to land in her hand. The point of Teela’s blade lightly kissed his skin, as she held it unwavering at his neck.
She looked him in the eyes, as if she wanted him to be very aware of who it was that held his life in her hands. She need not worry about that, he thought to himself. The shame would live with him all his life.
“I am Captain Feenix of Port Marcus, you half-elf scum. And I work for Lord Rendolin Hiloris, Mac Lir’s High Priest of the Sea Elves of Shalridoor!”
Her voice reverberated and buzzed around his head like flies swarming a corpse before settling down enough for him to make any sense of the words. The Sea Elves? He had brought a spy into the very bowels of Cragimore?
She smiled the nastiest smile he had ever thought possible, and held her breath and her death thrust, as she waited for her words to sink in. And they had. By the Jewels, they had.
“What have I done?” he whispered. “Grandfather was right. My blood is cursed and I am useless to my people.”
The rage that had been building took complete control of him. No longer did Teela/Feenix stand before him. Instead he saw all the mistakes and inadequacies of his life through a red haze of fury.
In that one instant he realized the only thing he could do—the last thing he would ever do—was stop her.
With a strength born of total despair, he pushed the sword tip away from his neck with his left hand, and pulled a hidden dagger from inside his tunic. If he was going to die, he would do all in his power to keep his people safe.
He lunged into her body the exact moment the burn of her steel opened his side. She grunted in surprise as he felt his blade slip into her flesh, and a tiny grin tugged at his lips.
His last conscious thought, as he took the woman down with him to the floor, was how sorry he was that he would never know Teela as a friend and a lover.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Rendolin Hiloris stood before his god, the mighty Mac Lir. Creator of the Silvan Race on all the Seven Cella Worlds.
The god spoke to Rendolin, although no words were spoken aloud. The meaning of the words pierced the High Priest’s mind and soul in a way that could be neither forgotten nor misunderstood.
Rendolin was aware that he was being granted a rare and precious gift. To be summoned to the presence of the god was almost unheard of, and he prayed he would be found worthy of the great privilege.
“Be at peace, my son,” the god spoke into his awareness. “Thou shal
t be healed of thy wounds for I have a further mission for thee to perform.”
Rendolin knelt and bowed his head. “I am yours to command, Mac Lir.”
~*~
Thelorin watched his brother’s bonded mate as she bathed Rendolin’s face in rose water and fussed about. He stood in the doorway, his shoulder leaning against the chipped and cracked stone, and almost convinced himself to leave and come back later when the human was not in attendance. However, since she lived in the room with his brother, he doubted if such a time would happen soon, and he needed to speak with Rendolin.
The High Priest had regained consciousness only a few hours ago, but Thelorin thought he looked hale enough. A white bandage wrapped around his head held his hair out of his eyes, and a bruise the color of crushed grapes covered the side of his face, but other than that, he looked fit.
Actually, Rendolin had sustained only a minor wound from the Night Elf arrow; it was the fall from the high boulder that had rendered him useless during the clean up after the battle. The High Healer, Lord Selrin, had been most concerned over the blow to his head. Even the healing spells cast by the great healer had failed to awaken Thelorin’s brother as expected.
During the entire time in which Rendolin had lain as if dead and Thelorin had worried for his younger brother’s life, Korrene had sat by her mate’s side, tending him and speaking to him, holding onto a tenuous mind link that only she shared with the High Priest. Thelorin would deny it if asked, but he had to admit to himself that the human had played a large part in his brother’s return to the living.
“Brother,” Rendolin spoke from the large bed. “Just the person I wanted to see. Come in and sit beside me.”
Thelorin pushed away from the door and walked to the foot of the bed.
“How are you this morning, Ren? You look remarkably well for someone who was at death’s door for two days.” Thelorin ignored Korrene, as was his custom. He had developed the knack of disregarding the human’s presence when in the same room. He also ignored the fact that Rendolin disapproved of his treatment of Korrene.
“I am well, my brother.” Rendolin beckoned with his hand, “Sit here beside me, and tell me about all that has been happening. Korrene, love,” he said, turning to the woman. “I am sure Thelorin would appreciate something to eat.”
“You can’t dismiss me that easily,” she sighed and removed the damp cloth from his head. “I will have the kitchens send something up for you both.”
Thelorin watched the two lovers as they silently communicated through their mind link. What would it be like to be bonded to someone you could love for eternity, he wondered before he realized he was thinking foolish thoughts. He had no time, nor patience, for such frivolous pursuits.
“Have there been any more raids?” Rendolin asked as his mate left the room.
Thelorin settled down in the chair, resigned to answering his brother’s questions before broaching the topic that had brought him here.
“There have been no raids for the past two nights. We have guards and pickets out beyond the boundaries of Shalridoor. All has been quiet, as you know.”
“Yes, Korrene and Helarn have filled me in, but I wanted to hear what you had to say on the matter. What do you think of our situation?”
Thelorin let the words settle to the floor before answering. It occurred to him that he suddenly felt very old. When had that happened?
“Unless we send scouts into Cragimore, or you hear from Captain Feenix, there is no way for us to accurately judge the situation. We had thought that the Night Elves would be unaware of our return and yet, before we are ready to defend Shalridoor, we have already been attacked.”
“And you suspect Feenix. Do not try to deny it, brother.”
“I can not deny that my fears run in that direction.” Thelorin met his brother’s eyes without flinching. “However, I will wait for you to again contact the human before I pass judgment upon her.”
“I have informed Selrin that I will attempt to re-establish contact with Captain Feenix this night,” Rendolin said.
“You will do no such thing, you foolish elf!”
As usual, the uncouth woman interrupted his brother as she swept back into the room. She carried a platter with two steaming bowls and a loaf of crusty bread. A servant followed with a jug of ale and three goblets.
“You are too weak to cast any spells, Rendolin, as you well know,” she fumed. She handed Thelorin a bowl of hot soap without looking at him.
“I must contact Feenix, and no, I do not want any more soup, Korrene,” Rendolin said with a shake of his head. “What I truly want is for you to stop fussing over me, and a meal that I can sink my teeth into. All this gruel and soup is enough to turn my stomach!”
Thelorin agreed, but grinned at his brother’s discomfort. Perhaps he could distract the human long enough for his brother to explain the reason behind his summons.
“Rendolin believes that Captain Feenix is the only person who can tell us what the Night Elves are up to,” he said to his brother’s mate.
She turned her head and looked at him deliberately, as if it were the first time she had noticed he was in the same room with them. He was sure it was the same greeting Korrene would give a beetle found in her shoe.
“She is a slave. How could she know what the hell they’re up to?”
“Easy, love,” Rendolin soothed her with a gentle hand. “Thelorin is correct. She may be a slave, but Feenix is the key to Cragimore and all of our troubles with the Night Elves.”
Thelorin felt a shiver creep down his back. His brother spoke prophecy.
“How so?” he asked. He hated it when Rendolin spoke as the god’s mouth piece. It never boded well.
“While I was asleep,” Rendolin began, but Korrene rudely interrupted his words again.
“You were unconscious and nearly dead, Rendolin! Don’t wrap it up in linen!”
“By all that is holy, woman! Will you just let him tell his story so we can all get on with our lives, trying to adapt yet again to the next absurdity his god decrees?” Thelorin’s limited patience was at an end.
“How do you know my story is from Mac Lir?” Rendolin asked, silently soothing his mate’s ruffled feathers. From the glare of annoyance she shot at him, Thelorin could assume his brother was successful in keeping his woman under control…but only barely.
“Whenever you speak with that tone of voice, it means you are the god’s mouthpiece. It always gives me the shivers, brother, so I pray you will get on with your tale.”
Thelorin watched Korrene’s mouth pull into a sneer. If she were not his brother’s bonded mate he would wipe it from her face. However, he could not deny she was good for Rendolin, so he pretended not to notice. No small trick, since he was seated almost directly across the bed from her.
“Mac Lir has told me that Feenix has been placed inside Cragimore for his own purposes. Exactly what that purpose is will be made known to me in due course. In the meantime, it is important for us to make peace with the Night Elves.”
Thelorin could not have been more stunned if the sea had suddenly gone dry.
“Peace?” He stood and instinctively pulled his dagger from its sheath, as if ready to defend himself from such an unwelcome thought. “By all that is holy, brother, that hit on the head has addled your brain! We will never surrender and bow down to the Night Elf yoke!”
“I did not say we are to surrender, Thelorin. Put that dagger away and sit down.”
The Lord of Hiloris responded to his younger brother’s authoritative voice without conscious thought. He silently cursed himself when he realized what he had done. It was another of those priest tricks that he hated.
“Explain yourself, priest,” he commanded. “And make it quick, for I do not have time for such treasonous ideas, and I warn you! I will not be party to the overthrow of our people!”
His brother made a little motion with his hand, and a trace of rosemary lifted into the room.
“You are a
lways so quick to jump to conclusions, my brother. Wait until you have heard all the facts before you make a decision. Be at peace, Thelorin. Mac Lir would not let his children of the sea come to harm.”
“Then spit it out,” Thelorin growled, although his anger was fast evaporating. He knew his little brother had used a minor spell to calm him, but he allowed it since he did want to hear whatever nonsense the god had come up with this time.
“The Night Elves are being manipulated by Tuawtha. They are in as much danger of becoming extinct as we are.”
“Says your god, who, it seems to me, is using you to manipulate our people just as he claims Tuawtha is doing to our enemy! We are all nothing but pawns in the hands of the gods!”
Rendolin threw the covers from him and sat up on the edge of the bed. His eyes shone with the same intensity they held when he had first explained the importance of the Binding with a human. Thelorin groaned inwardly. His brother would not be easily turned from this new god-decreed development.
“Think, Thelorin! Tuawtha is determined to eradicate all life except for his demons. He has started with the silvan. Look what he has been able to accomplish on Korrene’s world. All of our kind are gone! Only legends and rumors are left behind of the thriving silvan culture. Do you honestly want something like that to happen here on Tylana?”
“Of course not! But you only have this god’s word that such a thing happened. How can you trust him? How can we trust any god?”
Rendolin peered intently into his brother’s eyes, and Thelorin felt unwelcome tears gather. With an impatient jerk, Thelorin turned his back and brushed the moisture away. He was becoming an old woman!
“Oh, my brother,” the priest said, laying his hand on Thelorin’s shoulder. “When did you become so distrustful of our god? What happened to you that you can no longer believe the evidence of your own eyes? Mac Lir is our father, and he only wants the best for his beloved children.”
Thelorin threw off Rendolin’s comforting hand and stood, knocking the chair over with a loud clatter.
“So you say, brother, but I have never seen any of Mac Lir’s love! He has allowed our people to be killed and captured by our enemy for un-numbered years. Our own father was sacrificed in the name of Mac Lir’s goodness. Time and again families have been torn apart because of the Night Elves and their blood feud with us.”
THE CHOOSING Page 18
