by Pati Nagle
“Of course not. This is not the high court.”
Dirovon chuckled, and Turisan grinned at him before answering Phaniron. “My lady is well, thank you, though a bit tired. They are still riding.”
Phaniron’s face showed surprise. “You have spoken to her today?”
“Several times. We must keep testing our gift. If it is limited, we must know as soon as possible.”
Dirovon picked up a piece of soft flat bread and tore it in half. “What will happen if you lose contact?”
“She will retrace her movements until we can speak again.”
Berephan handed him a platter of roasted root vegetables. “Rather late for them still to be in the saddle.”
“They wish to make all possible speed.” Turisan helped himself, then passed the platter to Dirovon. “How long did you spend working those recruits? They looked promising.”
Dirovon grinned. “We had them out all morning, until the wind began to freeze their wits. The afternoon was spent getting them into barracks.”
“Which are now full.” Berephan poured more wine for himself. “We shall have to begin issuing tents.”
Turisan ate as he listened to the captains discuss the Guard’s ordinary business, which was fast becoming extraordinary as the preparations for war began. The mood at the table grew more relaxed, and soon the discussion turned to the tactics of mounting a defense at Midrange.
Berephan turned to him. “Has the Council discussed High Holding? We shall have to occupy it.”
“I mentioned it today. Lord Ehranan wishes to inspect it.”
“Have you been there in recent years?”
Turisan shook his head. “I have ridden through Midrange, but I have not gone up to the work since I stood guard duty at the outpost.”
He glanced at Dirovon, with whom he had explored the stone barrier that Lord Jharan had built after the Midrange War. The massive wall—the first public work Jharan had ordered in his new role as Southfæld’s governor—stood on a plateau at the foot of the mountains, guarding the eastern egress of Midrange Pass.
High Holding had been occupied by guardians for three centuries after Skyruach, but kobalen had not come through the pass again in large numbers, and the holding had at last been abandoned. Now only a few guardians stood watch at the more accessible outpost, which lay at the southward turning of the Silverwash.
Dirovon gave a grimacing smile. “I was up there this past summer. Much work is needed before the holding can be used again. The work is overgrown with brush and crumbling at either end. The spring failed a few decades ago.”
Turisan frowned. “I will raise this again in Council.”
“Do. Tell Lord Ehranan I am at his service whenever he wishes to inspect the holding.”
Nodding, Turisan reached for his cup. As he picked it up, a stab of terror struck him. He felt the wine splash over his fingers as the cup fell back to the table and his attention left the hall, flying northward.
Eliani?
We are under attack!
“Ride! Forward!”
Vanorin’s shout was harsh and his eyes blazed as he moved his horse to Eliani’s left, placing himself between her and the darts that were flying out of the twilit shadows to the west. Turisan’s panic added to her distress.
What is happening?
Kobalen!
No time for more; a dart whipped past Eliani’s head as she urged her tired mount to a gallop and gave her attention to staying in the saddle. A horse shrieked behind her. She glanced back and saw the rider clinging to his rearing mount, a black-fletched dart sunk in the animal’s flank.
Breathing in short, sharp gasps, she leaned low over her horse’s neck and stared at the river ahead. By chance, they were near a bend where the water spread out, shallow enough to ford. Vanorin guided the party into the water at full speed, making for the woods on the far side.
Cold water slapped against Eliani’s leather-clad legs, splashing up onto her hands and face as the horses plunged across the ford. The horses surged out of the river and up the far bank, slowing as they entered the wood.
Not until they were deep within the wood, out of sight of the river, did Vanorin call them to a halt. The horses stamped and blew, their sides heaving. Vanorin, his face reddened by the cold wind, turned to face the valley, raising his hands.
Reaching out with khi, he searched the valley for sign of more kobalen. Eliani could feel it tingle in the air between them. Vanorin remained thus for a moment, then lowered his arms.
“It is only a small band. There are no others nearby.”
Eliani steadied her mount. “What if they are a scout from Midrange?”
Vanorin looked at her, then glanced around at the guardians. “Then they will not return there. I need ten to remain here with Lady Eliani; the rest will come with me. Theyn Luruthin, stay with her if you would. If we do not return by dark, make for Highstone.”
Eliani felt a stir of anger and moved her horse closer to Vanorin’s. “Why diminish your numbers? I can fight!”
“My lady, I dare not risk you. You are not merely a guardian.”
She felt a touch on her arm and turned to see Luruthin beside her. “Your gift. Fireshore.”
He was right, of course. Swallowing frustration, Eliani looked at Vanorin, then nodded.
“Spirits guard you.”
The captain gave her a grim smile and started back toward the river, leaving Eliani with her handful of protectors. The others departed in a tumult of hooves thudding on fallen leaves, and in their wake the wood was strangely quiet.
Turisan became aware of tense silence as his focus returned to the room. His hand lay in a puddle of wine on the table. He righted his cup, blinking, and glanced around at the captains, who were all staring at him.
“I … forgive me.”
Berephan offered him a cloth, which he used to dry his hand. Trying to steady his breathing, he looked at the warden.
“Eliani’s party has been attacked.”
Several of the others exclaimed at once. Berephan gestured for silence.
“Is it over? Are they safe?”
“I—I do not know. Give me a moment.” Turisan inhaled and closed his eyes.
Eliani? What happened?
He sensed woodlands in dusk, similar to those he had caught a wild glimpse of earlier. Eliani’s khi no longer rang with fear, but she was alert, listening to the breath of the forest.
Kobalen threw a volley of darts at us. It is just a stray band—Vanorin has gone to hunt them down.
Where are you?
East of the river. Sheltering in a wood.
Not alone?
No, with Luruthin and ten others.
Turisan relaxed somewhat. Opening his eyes, he repeated what Eliani had told him.
Berephan’s brow creased with a frown. “Were there wounded?”
Turisan passed the question to Eliani and returned her answer. “One horse was struck. The rider’s fate is not known.”
Berephan summoned an attendant and sent him to fetch paper, pen, and ink. He turned to Turisan, offering a cloth. “You will want to inform Lord Jharan.”
“Yes. Thank you.” Turisan pressed the cloth into the spilled wine, watching the liquid darken the fabric.
“I will send twenty guardians north at once to reinforce the outpost at Midrange.”
“I volunteer to lead them!”
Turisan glanced up and saw Phaniron’s eyes shining with excitement. Berephan paused before answering.
“Thank you, Phaniron, but I need you here.”
Hothanen looked at Berephan. “Can the kobalen army be moving so soon?”
“I doubt it, but this is all the more reason to occupy High Holding at once. Step downstairs, if you will, Hothanen, and ask a courier to come up.”
Turisan gave Berephan a rueful glance as the captain departed. “I fear I have disrupted your evening.”
Dirovon’s crack of laughter silenced the others’ soft-spoken protests. “No
thing like! We should all be grateful to you. I know I will sup well for a week on the tale of tonight’s doings!”
He picked up a pitcher of wine and grinned. “Pass your cup, brother. You look as if you could use a draught—if you can manage to hold on to it.”
Turisan looked at him sharply, then reluctantly returned the grin. He pushed his cup toward Dirovon, holding its foot against the table.
“I make no promises.”
Eliani paced beneath the trees, impatient for Vanorin’s return. Dark was falling swiftly, but she did not want to ride north without knowing his fate, the fate of half of her escort.
A new presence caught her attention, and she ceased her restless walking. The guardians all turned southward to listen, and she could taste the edge of fear in their khi. A moment later she placed the approaching khi as ælven and horse, and relaxed.
A lone guardian. Eliani watched and listened as he dismounted and greeted his compatriots, then came toward her and made a formal salute.
“My lady, Captain Vanorin sent me to inform you that the kobalen attackers have been dispersed. Many were slain, but not all—some escaped into the canyon. The party is hunting them down.”
Eliani nodded. “Were any hurt?”
“Two wounded, neither dangerously. They will be returning here shortly. The rest should be back before the moon rises.”
Eliani glanced at Luruthin. “We had best make camp, then. Our mounts need a rest, and so do we.”
Drawing her horse’s reins over its head, she led it toward the river. The guardians followed, save for one who gave his mount to a friend and stayed to build a fire.
At the river’s edge Eliani stood listening and scenting while the horses drank. Stars were beginning to gleam out above the dark shoulders of the mountains, even where the sky still glowed slightly with blue. All was quiet under the deepening night. She felt a wild tremor of khi to the south and west—too distant to read—and nearer from a smaller, uneasy presence that she soon identified as the two wounded guardians, slowly returning.
She saw them come onto the road a short distance to the south, their tired horses walking with heads low. One was hunched forward in the saddle—Eliani could see a dart’s fletching protruding from one shoulder—the other’s left arm was bound with a makeshift bandage. Two of the guardians went to meet them and lead their mounts through the ford.
The horses having drunk their fill, Eliani and the others followed their wounded companions back to the camp, where golden firelight glinted between the trees to guide them.
My love? Turisan’s touch was gentle.
Yes?
You have been quiet for a time.
Oh—not much has changed. Vanorin sent a message, and two wounded have returned.
She gave him what little news she had while she unsaddled her horse and hobbled it near the camp, where it could graze on the dry grasses beneath the trees. Turning to the fire circle, she found a courteous welcome and a cup of hot tea awaiting her. She sat near the fire and held the cup close to her face, inhaling the spiced aroma while its warmth spread through her fingers.
Berephan recommends you continue north. The kobalen are not likely to follow in darkness.
The horses need rest.
The wounded came to the fire, helped by their friends. Eliani felt a stab of loneliness, for these guardians showed one another the care of longtime compatriots. She had known such friendships in Alpinon’s Guard, but these all were Southfæld guardians, strangers to her.
The one was having the dart drawn from his shoulder, his face set in grim endurance while a fellow guard carefully worked to free the wicked barb. Eliani winced in sympathy.
The wounded will need rest as well.
Turisan’s concern rippled through her. Perhaps some from the Midrange outpost can replace them.
Perhaps, but we are probably two days from there.
Shall I ride to join you?
She smiled despite the sharp longing caused by this suggestion. There is nothing I want more, but you know you must not.
I know.
She sensed an echo of her own loneliness, a hollow yearning. To resist it, she sent forth her love, closing her eyes briefly as she reached for Turisan, then as quickly drawing back.
You are still in company.
Yes.
She opened her eyes and glanced at the strained and weary faces around the fire. I had better get the others to eat something. I will let you know when Vanorin returns.
All right. Berephan means to send twenty guardians to reinforce the Midrange outpost.
Excellent. I will tell the guardians there when we reach it.
Eliani finished her tea with one deep swallow and rose to return the cup. She suggested to the others that they eat, then turned to the two wounded guardians.
Both were bandaged now, leaning against tree trunks. The one with the shoulder wound had his eyes closed; the other was sipping at a cup of the hot tea.
Eliani addressed them gently. “I am sorry you were hurt. You should probably not ride farther with us.”
The second guardian nodded, regret in her eyes. She held out her newly bandaged arm. “Will you bless me, my lady?”
Eliani hesitated, discomfited by the request. “I am not a healer.”
The guardian smiled a bit crookedly. “Indulge me?”
With a shrug, Eliani sat beside her. If she could offer comfort thus, she would gladly do it. Taking the guard’s hand in one of hers, she gently laid her other over the wound.
At once she felt a strong stirring of khi in her hands and an answering glow from the ribbon on her arm. She drew a sharp breath and heard the guardian do the same.
Yielding to what she assumed must be an echo of Heléri’s power, she closed her eyes and allowed the khi to flow through her. It rose warm and tingling in her arm and on her scalp and grew hot in the palms of her hands.
Eliani? What are you doing?
I am not sure.
The ribbons—
I know. Wait.
For some moments the sensation continued, then it gradually faded. When it was gone, Eliani opened her eyes and drew a deep breath, releasing the guardian, who looked dumbfounded.
“Thank you, my lady.” The guardian’s voice was a whisper. She gazed at Eliani in awe.
“It was the ribbon.”
The guardian’s eyes—dark Greenglen eyes—glanced at Eliani’s handfasting ribbon, then strayed to her wounded comrade. “Perhaps—?”
Eliani swallowed, then nodded. She did not fully understand what had happened, but if blessings were coming through her to others in need, she could scarcely refuse.
“Sirinan.” The guardian touched her friend, who opened his eyes.
Love? What was that?
A healing, I think. I will explain later. You will probably feel it again in a moment.
The female guard was murmuring to the other, Sirinan. He looked doubtfully at her, then somewhat anxiously at Eliani. She could see the pain etched in lines of tension on his face, no longer sharp but still present.
Eliani moved to sit beside him, careful not to jostle his injured arm. His dark eyes followed her. She looked at his bandaged shoulder, then realized she was gnawing the back of her thumb. She folded her hands and met his gaze.
“Do you want me to try?”
After an instant’s hesitation, he nodded. Eliani gently took his hand and slowly reached toward his shoulder. Heat leapt into her palm even before she touched it. She did so lightly, scarcely feeling the cloth of the bandage against her skin.
Sirinan made a small, startled sound, then sighed deeply and closed his eyes. Eliani did likewise and again felt powerful khi flowing through her.
Her breathing slowed, and that of the wounded guardian matched it. She had little sense of time passing, though she thought the heat remained in her hands longer this time before fading. She could feel it flowing between her palms, through the guardian’s arm and his wound. At last it ebbed, and she drew
back, opening her eyes to find Sirinan gazing at her in amazement. She sat back on her heels.
“It was the ribbon. Not me.”
Sirinan looked at his comrade. “You had better get a ribbon like that one, Kiravhi.”
Both guardians laughed, and Eliani joined them. Turning her head, she saw all the others around the fire circle watching intently. At once she felt uncomfortable, and to hide it she looked away, back at Sirinan.
“Can you eat a little, do you think?”
He nodded. Kiravhi stood up, leaning her good hand against a tree for balance. “I will fetch your pack.”
Eliani would have followed, but Sirinan touched her arm. “I do not know how to thank you, my lady.”
“Recover your strength; that is how you can best thank me.” She squeezed his wrist and gave him a smile that she hoped was less awkward than it felt, then got to her feet.
“The others are returning!”
Glad of the distraction, Eliani hastened to the river to meet Vanorin and the others. She was relieved to be away from the fire circle and those dark, intense Greenglen eyes. Her people now, she reminded herself, feeling a stray pang of homesickness. It was not that they were Greenglens—she liked Greenglens perfectly well, one in particular—but that they stared so. Even Luruthin had looked astonished at the healing. Well, so was she astonished.
Spirits guide me, she thought. Even resting in camp, I am moving too fast.
Rephanin stood before his circle of mages, nervous for the first time in centuries. More cloaks yet to be blessed waited in chests by the door. He had already set the circle for the evening, and there was no need for him to delay their work with further discussion, except that he had agreed to do so.
His gaze flicked to Heléri, who was sitting at one end of the row, gowned in Clan Stonereach’s blue and violet. He wondered if Davharin was with her now.
Annoyed with himself, he straightened his shoulders and swept the circle with his glance. “It has been brought to my attention that it might benefit you all to be introduced to mindspeech.”
The mages stirred, and some exchanged looks with their neighbors. He did not know or particularly care what rumors were in circulation about his ability. What he was about to do would no doubt give rise to a whole new crop of them.
