Heart of the Exiled

by Pati Nagle

“Thank you.”

  Turisan smiled. “Heléri did me the favor when Eliani departed. I could do no less for you.”

  Rephanin returned the smile weakly. “How fares your lady?”

  Only an instant’s hesitation, but it was there. Turisan tried to hide it with another smile.

  “She is well, thank you. Shall I leave you to your rest?”

  Rephanin blinked, finding his thoughts clouded. Fatigue, perhaps. And heartache.

  He nodded. He did need rest. All his feelings were raw, and there was much to do. There was his circle—both circles, old and new—to attend to in the evening. Cloaks to deliver and weapons waiting to be blessed.

  At least there were no more Council sessions to claim his attention. He turned toward the door into the magehall, pausing to look back at Turisan.

  “Thank you again.”

  Turisan made a graceful motion, something between a nod and a bow. He stood watching, waiting until Rephanin went in before departing.

  Kindness. Rephanin had grown unaccustomed to it, living for so long in sullen withdrawal. Now his shield of solitude had been torn away, and in his new vulnerability even kindness frightened him. Particularly coming from Jharan’s son.

  Shaking away those thoughts, he opened the door into the magehall. Its comforting darkness welcomed him, and he breathed a sigh as he closed the door on Glenhallow and sought the privacy of his chambers.

  Eliani rolled her shoulders, trying vainly to ease their stiffness. She glanced up past the tops of tall pines to the blue mountain peaks beyond which the sun had sunk some time since.

  Clouds were beginning to gather, and a sharp breeze from the south whispered of winter. Eliani shivered and drew her cloak across her, throwing one corner over the opposite shoulder. Glancing down at the pale green, she reminded herself, still with faint surprise, that she was now a Greenglen.

  Walk many paths, the creed tells us. I am on a new path now.

  She glanced at Luruthin and the other Stonereaches of her escort, glad of their familiar company. They were her friends and her kin, unlike the Greenglens, who seemed strangers still.

  Eliani peered forward along the road, which was dappled now by the shadows of tall pines uphill. Dusky pools of shadow spread beneath the trees, and a stillness lay upon the wood.

  Too still. Too quiet, even for dusk. Something was wrong.

  The horses sidled, and one uttered a low nicker. Eliani put a hand to the neck of her mount, patting to reassure it. It raised its nose to the wind, tossing its mane. Unease spread swiftly to the other horses in the escort, and Eliani held up her hand to halt them.

  Vanorin turned to her. “Wait here. I will go forward.”

  Eliani suppressed irritation and nodded. She murmured words of comfort to her mount as she watched Vanorin advance, a pale shadow in the darkness, soon hidden by the trees that marched close to the road. She quested through the woods with khi, her awareness brushing against the somnolent pillars of trees, a scurrying mouse, a pair of raccoons startled from feeding. They fled, and a moment later Vanorin’s horse let out a high neigh of protest.

  Galloping hoofbeats returned. Vanorin reined in, high color in his cheeks, eyes sharp with horror.

  “A killing, just off the road. Southfæld Guard. I fear it is the envoy Governor Jharan sent to Fireshore.”

  Eliani’s chest tightened. “How recent?”

  “Not very. There is not much—left …” He paused to swallow, seemed unable to say more.

  Eliani urged her mount to a trot, the others following. The smell of death assailed her, and her horse flung up its head, rolling its eyes in terror. She tugged at the reins, and the horse moved sideways, hindquarters colliding with Luruthin’s mount, which screamed in anger and fear.

  “Halt here!”

  She dismounted and strode up the road, accompanied by Luruthin and Vanorin. She pulled a kerchief from inside her leathers and pressed it against her face. Vanorin led them a short way, then struck uphill to the west.

  Despite the cold and the scraps of snow that glowed blue beneath the trees, the smell of decay was overpowering. They reached what had plainly been a campsite, with a fire circle over which the remains of two small animals hung on a spit, charred beyond recognition or the notice of carrion eaters.

  The guardians had not fared so well. Only by counting the pale green cloaks and the swords that were scattered around them could Eliani tell that there had been five. The cloaks were rent and torn, covered with decaying remains that were gnawed to the bone in many places, and many of the bones were missing.

  Long gouges in the earth led to a stand of bushes nearby, beneath which lay a sixth body, all its limbs torn asunder, lying in scattered disarray. Eliani’s gorge rose at the sight of the slashed leathers, which looked as if they, too, had been partially eaten.

  Luruthin joined her, grimacing. “Catamount.”

  Eliani nodded. “But why would it attack such a large party? I have never heard of such a thing!”

  Vanorin approached. “There is one more, near where their horses were tied.”

  His voice was tight, and Eliani glanced at his face. He looked pale but seemed in control of himself, brows drawn together in a frown of grief.

  “Do you know any of them? I mean, can you …?”

  “I have not looked closely. I will do so.”

  He gazed down at the mangled remains in the bushes, stepped nearer to the head, and knelt to touch a pale tangle of hair. The skull beneath now stared hollow-eyed at the pines above, shreds of flesh clinging to the bone. The hair had once been braided but was pulled into a snarled mess, as though some creature had tried to nest in it. Vanorin touched the leather thong that had secured the braid. A small green feather was tied into the knot.

  “Mishali, I think. She was with the second envoy to Fireshore.”

  Eliani bit her lip. “I am sorry.”

  Vanorin rose, blinking fiercely. “I will go and look at the others.”

  He turned away and walked back to the fire circle. Eliani watched him go, breathing shallowly, her eyes stinging. She felt a touch on her arm and turned to look at Luruthin.

  “We should burn them.”

  She pressed her lips together and nodded. It would take most of the night to tend to them properly, but the horses must be rested in any case, and she could do no less than to honor the dead.

  “A conce. We must set one by the road. Luruthin, will you see to it?”

  “Yes. We cannot carve it, though.”

  “That can be done later, but we must mark the place. I will send a message to Highstone.”

  She shivered. Luruthin laid a hand on her arm.

  “Are you all right?”

  She met his gaze, saw that he was pale. Suddenly the horror of the killing overwhelmed her.

  She turned away, stumbling to a bush as her stomach heaved up its contents. Luruthin might at least have held her, she thought peevishly, but then she heard the sound of his own retching nearby.

  Trembling, she straightened and wiped her mouth with her kerchief, wishing for the water flask tied to her saddle. She had seen death before, even violent death, but nothing like this.

  Vanorin had knelt beside one of the corpses. Still weak, Eliani joined him. He held up a leather pouch.

  “I found this.”

  The pouch was ornamented with broidery and beads. It had been clawed at and chewed but not successfully opened.

  “It was Leharan’s. I recognize the work; it is Kirilani’s.”

  “Kirilani? Our Kirilani?”

  Vanorin nodded, his eyes troubled. Kirilani was one of the Southfæld guardians in Eliani’s escort.

  “Was Leharan sent with the second envoy?”

  Vanorin nodded and stood up. “And they were seven. These are they.”

  Eliani looked at the scattered remains, the torn cloaks, and swallowed. “I cannot believe that one catamount slew seven guardians. Could it have been kobalen?”

  He shook his head. “Kob
alen would have looted the dead. They would have taken this pouch and the cloak clasps and other things.”

  Eliani glanced at the swords scattered near the fire. One had been dragged a little distance, apparently by something that wanted to eat the leather belt from which it hung. They would have to be collected, carried home to the families of the dead, with the pouch and what little else could be saved. The cloak clasps. Mishali’s feather.

  Eliani’s throat went tight all of a sudden. She looked at Vanorin, whose face was blank, as if he had closed his heart in order to cope with what must be done.

  A keening wail rose on the cold air. Eliani turned toward the sound, as did Vanorin. Running footsteps came toward them, and Vanorin hastened to the road. Eliani followed but stopped at the edge of the trees, watching while he went to meet the guardian who approached.

  “Leharan!” Kirilani stared past Eliani into the woods, eyes haunted with grief. “Leharan!”

  Vanorin caught her, restrained her. She struggled to get away, and he spoke urgently, quietly into her ear. Kirilani shook her head, straining against his hold.

  “Leharan!”

  Vanorin shook her briefly, then caught her hands and pressed the leather pouch into them. Eliani heard him speaking again, though she could not make out what he said. The guardian stared at the pouch in her hands, then dropped to her knees, sobbing. Vanorin knelt to comfort her.

  Eliani turned away, knowing she must inform Turisan and Jharan of the envoy’s fate. She walked down the road to get away from the stench of death, pulling her cloak tight around her.

  She sank to the ground at the foot of a tree, leaning back against it with eyes closed. A few deep breaths to calm herself, then she carefully signaled Turisan by the means he had taught her.

  His happiness flooded her like sudden sunlight. She caught her breath at its unexpected joy.

  Yes, my love?

  Turisan …

  What is it?

  Alarm edged his response. Eliani inhaled shakily.

  Are you alone?

  I am at Berephan’s house, supping with the Guard captains, but I have stepped aside. Berephan said Kelevon sends you his apologies, by the way.

  Eliani covered her face with her hands, frowning. She did not need the heartache of hearing from Kelevon just now.

  Find a private place. I have bad news.

  Wordless dismay replaced Turisan’s happiness. Eliani waited, counting the heartbeats that pulsed in her throat. She looked up through the treetops to the western sky, where a single star gleamed down through the branches.

  I am alone now. What is it?

  She told him, as briefly as possible, the fate that had befallen the envoy. Turisan listened without interrupting. At last she fell silent and sat staring at the darkening sky, feeling numb.

  I will go to my father at once.

  Eliani nodded. Tell him I am sorry. We are putting up a rough conce to mark the spot. Speak to me after you have seen Jharan.

  I will.

  His love enfolded her fiercely, briefly. The next moment she was alone again.

  She pulled her cloak about her as if she could feel Turisan’s embrace in it and slowly walked back to the site of the killing. The wind had dropped, and the smell seemed even more horrible. She fumbled for her kerchief again.

  Luruthin and two others had found a narrow pointed stone and hauled it down the hill to the road. All three had cloths tied around their faces as they dug a hole in which to set the stone at the roadside near the site of the killing.

  An unshaped conce, a raw finger pointing skyward, unmarked save for a pale green ribbon tied about it, the color muted by moonlight. A humble token, but it must do for now. Others would carve the names of the fallen onto the stone, master carvers from Clerestone, perhaps. Eliani pressed her lips together and walked back down the road to where the escort waited.

  She saw Kirilani sitting in the midst of the Greenglens, hunched over a sheathed sword, which she clutched to her, rocking slightly back and forth, the sword’s hilt rising above her shoulder. Vanorin rose at Eliani’s approach and came toward her.

  “She insisted on taking Leharan’s sword. I retrieved it for her, and thought I should bring the others down as well.”

  Eliani saw the rest of the swords lying piled beneath the trees. She nodded approval.

  “With your permission, I would like to send Kirilani back to Highstone to take word of the—tragedy.”

  “Yes. Thank you, Vanorin. Choose one to go with her. She should not camp alone tonight.”

  “That reduces your escort by two.”

  “We shall manage.”

  He held her gaze for a moment, then nodded. “Thank you, Eliani.”

  She gave him a sad smile, then glanced toward Kirilani and lowered her voice. “Was she very close to him?”

  Vanorin nodded. “They were not bonded, but yes, they were close.”

  They were lovers. Eliani was certain of it, seeing the grief on Kirilani’s face. Her heart jumped in fear at the thought of losing a loved one so horribly. The very pain of the idea made her want to look away.

  Instead she walked over to Kirilani. The Greenglens sitting near her looked up at Eliani’s approach, but Kirilani merely stared at the ground, face fixed in a frown, slowly rocking back and forth.

  Eliani crouched beside her and watched her for a moment. “I am sorry.”

  Kirilani stopped rocking. After a couple of breaths she looked up at Eliani, eyes dry of tears but deep with pain. On impulse Eliani reached out and laid a hand on her shoulder.

  Kirilani closed her eyes and shuddered even as Eliani felt the startling heat of khi rise in her hand again. She stayed still, and the heat quickly faded. Kirilani sighed, bent her head, and began to weep.

  Eliani felt sorry for her and hoped her attempt at comfort had not made her feel worse. She stood up under the silent gaze of the other Greenglens and walked away to find her horse.

  It was certain now that none of Jharan’s messages had reached Fireshore. She felt as if she was riding toward a blank space, a vast unknown. The envoy’s misfortune weighed upon her, and she had to fight a rising dread.

  She silently asked the ældar of the wood to watch over the spirits of the dead, though by now those spirits were long gone, returned to the realm of light. The living needed protection more.

  Eliani sent those of the Greenglens who appeared most disturbed by the gruesome attack away to make camp and look after the horses. She and the rest spent the night making a pyre for the dead in the clearing where the envoy had camped and been attacked. When all was ready, when the remains had been laid atop the pyre and the envoy’s possessions set aside for their kindred, Eliani gathered the guardians who had stayed to finish the work in a circle around the pyre.

  She should say something, she knew. She disliked making speeches and thought fleetingly of asking Turisan for help but decided not to trouble him. Instead she tried to imagine what he would say. She cleared her throat.

  “These were our brethren. Spirits welcome them, and may the ældar bless them with freedom from fear and pain. They carry the sorrows of flesh no more.”

  Someone inhaled sharply, making her glance up. They were all watching her—Luruthin still somber, Vanorin silent and pale. She had never seen the captain look so crushed and looked away from his pinched face, back at the pyre.

  “What remains of their flesh, let it return now to light. Their lives will be remembered with honor and affection.”

  She raised her hands, palms toward the pyre, and the rest of the circle did likewise. Sending her khi out into the stacked wood, she sought for a dry place to set a spark.

  The pyre burst into flame. Sparks rose into the night sky, golden flecks dancing toward the whiter stars. Eliani stepped back from the sudden heat and watched the golden light wash over the faces of her escort.

  Weary faces, and the journey not half-done. The sorrow of this night would affect them, but she dared not let it slow their pace. Firesh
ore would not wait.

  “Father …”

  Jharan turned to him—half questioning, half annoyed—and Turisan realized he had intruded upon a private conversation. He had walked into his father’s chambers without pausing, thinking to find him alone, but Lady Rheneri was with him, radiant in an elegant gown of Ælvanen gold and white, making Turisan suddenly conscious of his simple attire.

  She gave him a tolerant smile, then glanced at Jharan. “I believe I would like some more of this excellent wine. Will you excuse me?”

  Jharan gazed after her as she strolled to a side table that bore an ewer and goblets. He turned back to Turisan with a wry look.

  “Yes?”

  “Father, come outside with me a moment.”

  Jharan’s eyes sharpened. “What is it?”

  Turisan lowered his voice. “News from Eliani.”

  “Is she in danger?”

  “N-no. Please come away from here.”

  Turisan nodded slightly toward Rheneri. Jharan pressed his lips together, then turned and strode out into the corridor without further ado, the skirts of his silver-woven robe swaying about his feet.

  The passage opened onto a balustrade overlooking the fountain court. Turisan’s chambers opened off the same passage, though lately he had been residing in the Star Tower.

  Jharan moved across to the balustrade and stopped there beside one of the great tree-shaped pillars. Turisan glanced along the colonnade to be sure that no one would overhear them.

  “Eliani and her party have found the second envoy.”

  He gave Jharan what details Eliani had shared with him. Jharan’s frown deepened as he listened.

  “So Fireshore never did receive my message.”

  “No.”

  Jharan rubbed a hand across his face, looking weary of a sudden. “What can I do?”

  The question caught Turisan off guard. “I cannot say. They have set a rough conce and sent messages to Highstone. I think there is no more to be done.”

  Jharan drew a deep breath. “Give Eliani my—my regrets. And my thanks for her care of our clan-kin.”

  Turisan nodded. For a moment he thought he saw grief, then Jharan drew himself up and calm settled upon his features. The glimpse of his father’s heart was gone; it was the governor who stood before Turisan now.