The sun peeked over the horizon and cast its light into the cave where she lay. She could see the light arrive, silently, creeping across the cave floor until it touched her fingers. She knew where she was now. A cave. But what had attacked her? She hadn’t recognized the shadowy figure that had surged out of the trees. She’d never seen that sort of demon before. A demon yeti? The thought made her pause. Well, at least she thought. Her mind seemed clear, but her body had been broken. She saw blood on her fingertips and try as she might, she could not move them. Even the cold had ceased to bother her. She must be dying. Would the creature wait until she died to eat her, or would it kill her first? A slight rasping sound alerted her. She held her breath until the creature walked into her line of sight, and then she started to scream.
* * * * *
Llewellyn had started down the worst part of the slope when he heard the scream. Instantly he froze, searching for the origin of the sound. It rose to a pinnacle of sheer terror and pain. It came from below him.
Dropping his gear, he flung his cloak down and seized his knife, bow and quiver. Then he picked his way carefully down the steep cliff, not letting the screams lure him into rash haste. It could very well be a trap. His kind were not welcome in this country, and he knew it.
With one eye, judging distance became tricky, but he managed to descend the cliff and stay under cover. Using the boulders and stunted trees, he edged toward the sound. It grew fainter, as if all strength had been spent. He saw now where it came from. A narrow opening in the rocks that looked like it led to a cavern.
Not good at all. To enter would be like entering a trap. The sun slanted inwards, so as soon as he stepped in front of the opening his presence would be known. He glanced at the sky. Another two hours before the sun would move enough to let him slip near. The scream came again.
He sighed, called himself an imbecile, and darted into the narrow passage, his bow held before him, an arrow nocked. He thought he would be ready for anything. He didn’t expect to find a behemoth. The creature spun around at his entrance and roared, its gigantic claw raised for attack. No time to think, he let loose the arrow and nocked another, let it loose and grabbed another, all the while backing out of the cave.
He’d need a hundred arrows before he could kill a behemoth. The beast roared and swiped at him, the great, curving claws striking the rocks, sending chips of stone flying. Llewellyn aimed and shot, catching the beast in the eye. It might not blind him completely, but it would hurt it and give him time to think of something. The beast’s roar nearly deafened him. The cave echoed with its cry and a huge crack appeared in the wall. A boulder fell, missing him by inches.
Llewellyn raced outside and headed uphill, leaping from boulder to boulder, anxious to put distance between him and the creature. It followed him, bellowing with rage. He turned and loosed yet another arrow. Three lodged in the beast’s chest, one in its eye, and the last one he shot hit it squarely in the other eye. Llewellyn sent a silent prayer of thanks to his archery instructor and crouched low while the behemoth lumbered toward him. Then he spotted the cliff. He hesitated, then taking a deep breath, he yelled hoarsely and sprinted to the edge.
Putting himself on the edge of the cliff and shouting had seemed like a good idea at the time. Now, with the behemoth crashing toward him, its fanged mouth open in a snarl, its claws flashing, he had a sudden doubt. And what if the beast could see him clearly? He’d end up a dead elf, that’s what.
He tensed, then as the behemoth made one last lunge he leapt sideways, kicking out at the huge shoulder as he went by. The behemoth sailed over the cliff, its roar of fear growing fainter until cut off by a tremendous thud, then silence.
Llewellyn peered over the edge and winced. Not a pretty sight. He glanced back at the cave. What had the behemoth captured? Whatever it was, he hoped it still lived. Behemoths didn’t take small bites.
He slithered down the slope, picked up a couple stray arrows, then hesitantly made his way into the cavern. The sun shining at his back lit up the cave. On the floor, in deep shadow, lay a woman. Noiselessly, he walked to her, his heart heavy. He’d arrived too late. Her neck was bent at an impossible angle, her face turned toward the entrance, her eyes wide and unseeing. Sorrow sent him to his knees, and he put his hand on the ground, touched warm blood. Warm?
His shadow darkened her face and her pupils widened. Alive, but barely! He took her hand and felt for a pulse. Faint and uneven. All right, he was a healer, after all. He reached for his medicine bag, tied to his waist, and drew out a branch of balsam. He held it inches from her lips and breathed on it gently and steadily until the branch glowed with a faint light. Her spiritual energy, or chi,still answered, and the balsam would keep it safe. Laying it on her chest, he rested his fingertips lightly on her stomach. He closed his eye and concentrated, feeling his own chi leave his body through his fingertips and enter hers.
His chi shuddered. So much damage had been done. One kidney had been crushed, her back had been broken, her leg shattered and several ribs snapped. Her heart still beat strongly and the bleeding had mostly stopped, partly from loss of blood pressure and partly from shock. He reached deeper into himself and found the energy he would need. Carefully he set it aside, picturing it in a golden ball, captive. Then he took a deep breath and cast his mind out of the cave. No one would answer his song, he had to do this alone.
He needed fire and air, water and earth. The woman’s injuries would require days of healing. His strength would have to be parceled out and saved, for each séance would drain him beyond measure. With a deep sigh, he pulled away, leaving his chi in her body to keep her alive until he returned. Rocking back on his heels, he looked at her once again, and suddenly realized she was a d’ark t’uath.
Not that he knew a great deal about them. They considered themselves children of the earth and of the night. Ruled by a queen, they had nothing to do with the other fae. Shunning the day, they roamed at night. Little was known about the d’ark t’uath except that they lived in a matriarchal society, had no contact with others and practiced stone magic. Magic of the earth, magic of the night. He touched her hand and whispered, “Find the strength to call upon the earth mother. I will return soon.”
First he draped his cloak over her still form. Then he used a spell to light a fire near her, to keep her warm and to offer reassurance if she awoke before he came back. He needed to gather many things and it would take a while in this strange country, where he didn’t know the lay of the land or even where to find a spring. He didn’t pause to worry though. Laying his bow and arrows at her side, he jogged lightly out of the cave and headed downhill. Water, fire, earth and air. All these things he had to gather before nightfall, and already the sun had turned orange and dipped toward the hills.
* * * * *
Tamara dreamt of spring. Warmth touched her face and hands, and the clean scent of balsam soothed her despite the pain that still nearly overwhelmed her. She sensed that she was no longer alone. Something protected her. A golden light, almost like that of a glosseer, lay on her chest. Even without opening her eyes she felt its presence. Her chi had gotten stronger too, and now she opened her eyes, unsure what she would see.
Her last vision had nearly driven her mindless with fear. A behemoth had loomed over her, its fangs dripping, its claws outspread, about to plunge into her body. Then all had gone dark again. Quiet surrounded her. The behemoth no longer loomed over her. Instead, the last red rays of sunset cast a warm glow into the cave, showing a bow and quiver of arrows on the floor beside her. She glanced down and saw a cloak lying over her, covering her from neck to foot. The warmth she’d felt came from a small fire, nothing but embers now.
The bow and arrows did not look familiar, neither did the cloak. The cloak smelled of the open air, of long journeys and pine forests. It belonged to a forest elf then. She’d never met one, but she didn’t fear them, even if it was a male. Her clan sometimes traded with the forest elves from the northeast. Perhaps she’d gott
en lucky and a group of traders had found her. The thought relaxed her and she found herself drifting off to sleep. No, stay awake. You have to stay awake! It might be traders, it could be men, or enemies. If a man found her sleeping, according to her clan mothers, their brutishness would assert itself and they would violate her…or worse.
Her eyes snapped open and she let her breath out with a hiss. Better stay alert. Using her chi, she examined her wounds. Jaw, shoulder, ribs, kidney, back… That gave her pause. Healing backs took a long time and a great deal of chi. She hoped that whoever had saved her had a troop of healers. Her leg also had shattered. Pain came and ebbed in waves, and she spent some time and precious energy trying to control it. But her wounds were too severe.
The best thing to do would be to rest and gather her strength. She called forth the powers of the earth, thankful that whoever had found her had not moved her from the ground. Slowly she drew energy from the stones, sucking it to her like water from a sponge. The earth magic would help, but she needed more. Her life still hung from a spider’s thread. Closing her eyes, she sent a prayer to the Earth Mother asking for strength. She had to get back to her clan and warn them of the danger in the mountains. A behemoth roamed nearby. A shiver made her ill for a second. Despite the fact that her rescuer had chased the behemoth away—it would return. A bow and arrows, as clever as they may be, could never kill a behemoth.
Chapter Three
The Enemy
When she next opened her eyes, her first thought was to berate herself. She’d fallen asleep despite her determination to stay awake. She shifted, and intense pain hit her. Her mind skittered from the pain and she nearly blacked out again. Then she got hold of herself and managed to look around.
The fire burned high and she’d been moved. Now she lay on a bed of woven willow branches, a finely woven blanket over her body, keeping her warm. Someone had set her leg and she could tell her bones had started to mend by the difference in the pain. No longer a dull and sickening feeling, rather it had gotten sharper and had started to itch. She tried to flex her fingers but still her body refused to obey her. However, she could feel her body now—the nerve endings had started their slow healing. Relief washed over her, and she trembled suddenly. Her teeth chattered.
“I made you some tea.”
The voice came from behind her. Low, deep, deeper than any voice she’d ever heard, it raised the fine hairs on her back of her neck. She’d prepared herself to see him, but in her helpless, weakened position, panic seized her. A man! She’d never set eyes on a man. Her clan never allowed men into their territory unless it was in specific places set up for trading and weddings, and they told terrible stories about what happened if a man caught you in his lands, and what men did to women in their countries. Not all men were mindless brutes, her clan mother had told her daughters. Some came to trade, and some came with news of other countries. But best be wary and treat most men like brutish enemies, which was how her clan considered them. And one stood right behind her.
Llewellyn watched as the woman awoke. She grimaced with pain, then looked around, taking in her surroundings. He imagined her fear must be overwhelming, and he didn’t want to startle her. When he judged she’d settled down, he spoke and stepped into her line of sight.
Cool gray eyes studied him carefully. There was no sign of fear in her gaze, only a quiet watchfulness. He had never seen a d’ark t’uath, so he didn’t know if her kind considered her a beauty, but each time he saw her his breath caught in his throat. Her finely chiseled bones appeared fragile, but she’d survived an attack by a behemoth, and mended quickly. Already her pulse beat strongly and her breath no longer whistled in her throat.
Carefully, he held a straw to her lips so she could drink the infusion he’d prepared. It would give her strength and help her heal. She took a tiny sip and her eyes widened. “Are you the traders’ healer?”
He cocked his head. “Traders?”
“Yes, you came with a group of traders, didn’t you? We have been expecting some. How fortunate you came to this side of the valley. I thank you for saving me. When your companions return, we can move to the trading post. The behemoth will want its cave back.”
Llewellyn had never heard such a mixture of assurance and wariness in a voice. He nudged the straw to her lips. “Drink it all. I am a healer, yes, but I have no companions. I travel alone.” For the first time her eyes widened in fear, and he hastened to reassure her. “The behemoth won’t come back, it’s dead.”
Now outright disbelief lit her eyes. How could someone have such expressive eyes? She didn’t even need to speak. “Drink,” he said. “The behemoth fell off the cliff and now feeds the crows.”
She drank, never taking her eyes from him. Afterwards, her eyelashes fluttered and she slept, though it seemed she fought even that healing sleep. Murmuring soft prayers of healing, he knelt by her side, keeping watch. They would be there for a while yet. She thought she could be moved, but he knew better. He didn’t have the strength to carry her down the mountainside, and he couldn’t pull her on a travois—any sudden movement could be fatal. No, he would stay with her until she healed. Hopefully by the full moon she would be able to stand and he could take her to her people. Then he could go on his mission. Already he chafed at the delay.
Bowing his head and touching the stones he’d laid on her chest and stomach, he sang the healing song for the twentieth time that day. His strength left him, fatigue made his head swim, but he managed to finish the chant. Resting his head against the side of the bed, he closed his eyes a minute. The fire warmed the cave, but he had to collect more wood for the evening. Then he’d better find some food. The woman needed lots of food to keep her chi strong. He opened his eyes and found himself staring into the woman’s gaze.
“I will soon be able to help you. I have called the earth spirit to my aid and each hour sees me growing stronger.”
Llewellyn opened his mouth, intending to tell her he’d chanted himself hoarse and his healing powers, not hers, had helped her. But prudence held his tongue, for he knew nothing of her beliefs. Instead he said, “I go to gather food.”
She nodded, and her eyes lit up. “I moved, did you see? I moved! Praise the earth mother!” Her smile blinded him, then she grew serious again. “Go, do not worry about me, elf man. But take heed, I am helpless and at your mercy now, but if you dare take liberties with my person, when I recover I will kill you,” she said with cold certainty.
He stopped his smile just in time. “You have nothing to fear from me.”
“I have nothing to fear from anyone. I am Tamara, watcher for the d’ark t’uath clan. My mothers and sisters will avenge any hurt I suffer that I cannot avenge myself.”
“I am Llewellyn Fairnight, and I had better go now before the sun sets.” He picked up his bow and quiver.
“Has it been three days already?” Her face paled and she darted a glance out the cave entrance, where the sun’s last rays cast red light upon the rocks. “Three days since I stood guard. My clan must think I too disappeared, like the others, and now they mourn me.”
“The others?” Llewellyn paused. “What others?”
She looked undecided, then said slowly, “Some of our clan have vanished, and strange things are afoot. The watch has doubled…” Her voice trailed off. “Some say there is a new wizard in the mountains, and that he has spell-cast demons to his side. Our clan remembers the last war, when the Mouse King’s forces nearly overran our valley. When he was killed we rejoiced, however, it seems new danger has come but from where or what it is, exactly, we haven’t yet ascertained.”
“My quest takes me to Frostbone, for demons have entered Hivernia.”
Her eyes widened. “Frostbone? Hivernia?” Lip curled, she said, “What happens in Hivernia concerns us not. Brutish men rule that land.”
Llewellyn looked at the horizon, where the sun was no more than a sliver of scarlet. “I have to go. We will speak of this later.”
“I will speak of
it if I wish,” said the woman, closing her eyes.
He almost told her she’d speak of it whether she wished or not, but something told him that he’d better be circumspect, or risk losing her trust. He left the cave and darted into the cover of the trees. Evening fell, and a fat buck drank at the waterhole he’d found. But the buck would be too big and he hadn’t the time to smoke meat. He waited patiently as the sky darkened until a pheasant wandered to the water’s edge. Then, with a prayer of thanks to Mistral, he shot the bird.
Roasting on the spit, the pheasant made Llewellyn’s mouth water. But most of all, he wanted to sleep. Tamara slept deeply, but she might awaken and need him. He had to stay alert. He’d blocked the cave’s entrance with branches from a thorn tree, and, in the unlikely case another behemoth came, he’d piled a heap of dry tinder near the branches that he could set on fire to chase the beast away. Tamara had mentioned ice demons too, but it had to get much colder before they left their northern home. He still had three months before dead of winter. Three months to find Frostbone and find out what pushed the ice demons south and what evil made behemoths leave their mountain refuges far to the northeast.
* * * * *
Tamara watched beneath lowered lashes as the elf man moved around the cave and wove a rack to smoke some fish he’d caught. Didn’t he ever sleep? It worried her, for some reason, to think that men didn’t sleep. It would give them an unfair advantage over women. Was that how they’d subdued her sex in other lands? Then there was the question of size. He must be almost twice her size. That didn’t mean anything except that they surely dominated their women by size and strength, giving them no rest and beating them into submission.
Llewellyn’s Song Page 2
