“Ee´-tah,” Elana corrected her pronunciation automatically, and yet her voice was low and calm. “The males are men-cats. This is a female, a winged-cat.”
She certainly was. The fully opened wingspan must be eight or nine feet. “I thought they killed on sight?” Diana said.
“So it is said,” Elana murmured, bending her concentration to the animal. “In truth, they kill when sighted.”
“Fine distinction.” Diana was still unable to tear her gaze from the creature.
“Men tend to pursue them. They have learned not to leave witnesses.”
“They are sentient then?”
“They are,” she echoed softly. A deep throated purr began in the depths of the eitteh and its eyelids drooped lazily. “They are so near the intelligence of humans that the males are called men-cats. They live high in the mountains and do not fly, so humans rarely see them. In the spring the females go there to mate, but they do not stay. Their flight frees the females to create a very separatist society.”
That certainly has its advantages, Diana thought but held her tongue. She glanced at the charred corpse again. “Was that also an eitteh?” She took care in her pronunciation this time.
Elana nodded. The animal voiced an ambiguous rumble and scrambled from Elana’s grasp, jumping to the ground. With a rippling shudder the wings folded tightly as it sat. A forepaw shook distastefully at a leaf bit that had the audacity to cling, and then, with an air of painfully polite patience, the animal turned her green gaze onto the two humans. Haughtily her tail swished and she waited.
Diana again found it an effort to tear her eyes from that magnetic green stare. “Do you know what happened here?”
“That one,” Elana’s hand waved toward the stream, “was her mother. She was old and ill. This one is the last of her litter.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Eitteh are familial. The youngest stays with the mother until the next litter or until the mother’s death.” She gave the barest of sighs. “This one expected her to die, but not like…. she left her mother to hunt. When she returned the drunken scout was playing his fire games.” A shudder rippled across Elana’s shoulders.
Diana ran a tongue over dry lips, realizing that in some blue-sighted way this woman had seen the beast’s torment as clearly as if she had been there. In another culture, on another planet, Diana had once seen some boys playing. They had tied a burning branch to an animal’s tail and sent it running. Of all the things that the Universe would choose to reproduce again and again across the stars….
Elana broke into her thoughts. “She is young. She attacked emotionally, without preparations, without stalking and she was flung into the trees. Her wing was dislocated and her head hit. It was the Mother’s blessing that she went unconscious or she’d have been killed too. He left in a panic after she disappeared.”
The animal blinked calmly, watching the younger woman. Experimentally it stretched its wings, ushering the fine hairs into a more comfortable order before folding them away again.
“Her wing seems better.” Diana glanced back to Elana. “That’s your doing?”
“I could not leave her so.”
“There’s no reason you should,” she acknowledged softly. Nightstorm shifted restlessly beneath her, reminding Diana of Elana’s breakneck departure. Her face darkening with fury. “I would appreciate it, however, if you’d say something before you go gallivanting off into nowhere like that.”
Elana felt Di’nay’s emotional leap to anger and grew confused. The Amazon was upset by more than Elana’s seemingly rash actions, but Elana could not decipher what else was at play in that tangle of amarin. Cautiously she offered a tentative nod. “Next time I will explain first.”
Diana swallowed her temper, uncomfortable. She wasn’t one to lose her temper so easily. “It’s just — when you said trouble I assumed it was Maltar’s party.”
“I beg patience then.” Elana stepped through the high brush to mount Leggings. From her seat the blue eyes addressed the winged cat, who voiced a very human sound of agreement and got to its feet. With little effort the eitteh sprang atop the mare’s flanks. She nosed the strange packs carefully, circled once and then settled herself, comfortably stretching prone across the lot.
“Is she safe to travel with?” Diana asked warily.
“She is less safe stalking us.”
† † †
Diana shifted stiffly in her saddle. Dearest Goddess, what did she think about when she was traveling alone? The rain had begun to drizzle shortly after they crossed the river gorge, and the gray clouds had darkened almost to black in the subsequent hour. Her cloak was well oiled and shed water easily, but the dampness still found a way to chill her bones. One thing was certain, if she were riding alone she wouldn’t be worrying about that animal. She wouldn’t be jealous either.
Since the rain had begun, the eitteh had been curled up snugly under Elana’s cloak, huddled in her lap. It was disconcerting for Diana to glance across and be greeted from those shadowy depths by that regal green gaze and a lazy blink. She felt the distance between herself and Elana grow. But that was for the best. Didn’t frustration build character? “I’ll be forty end of this year,” she grumbled. “I don’t need any more character.”
She knew the same problem existed on all missions on non-tech worlds — travel. Distance was covered so slowly that a person had too much time to think. The trouble with cold, clammy, wet travel was that everything you thought about was morbid.
All right then, what could she mull over that was constructive? How about extracting Garrison from his prison? Assuming this was not some strange game the Council was playing with her, it would take some doing to free Garrison, especially considering how out of practice she was in the art of breaking-and-entering — a talent she hadn’t used since coming to Aggar. That would make it Ruethun… before that even! It had been that mess on Cyrol II — a high tech planet. Why wasn’t she finding that reassuring? Because machines were always much more predictable than people and she had yet to meet a locking device that could not be countered with another gadget. She would rather destroy machines than kill people. She breathed a short prayer; she knew death was a probable part of this venture, and how careful they’d have to be not to become victims themselves.
They? She absently chewed on her lower lip. It was just possible that one person really could go where two couldn’t. Too soon — she cautioned herself. The Council of Ten had a legitimate stake; it was not something to be decided hastily.
Elana reined in and Diana stiffened, suddenly alert. Without a downward glance, the young woman pulled her crossbow free. Her wrist jerked; there was a sharp snap, and the twin bows were locked into place. Silently she began to set the bolts, the stock balanced against her thigh.
“What is it?” Diana whispered, her hand hovering between long bow and sword.
“I am not certain.” Elana’s blue eyes scanned the heavily wooded slope to their right. The road had narrowed to grudgingly allow two abreast. Above, the trees had been thinned at unexpected intervals by the mountain’s rock slides, and small rivulets of mud were cutting across the road into the lower woods.
Diana slid her sword from its sheath and pushed the bulky hood back from her head. She was soaking inside of a minute, but there was nothing to be done.
The rain splattered and pitted across the thick leaves and into sloppy puddles. It was foggy; the air smelt of damp moss and horses’ sweat. Annoyed at the drafty parting of Elana’s cloak, the eitteh shook its golden head. It dropped to the ground, choosing to be wet rather than insulted.
“I don’t see anything,” Diana said slowly, her brown gaze searching the forest above them.
“Neither do I — directly,” Elana mumbled. “Still….”
Diana nodded slowly, watching. “Hang back a little. Give us room to maneuver.” Her heels touched the black flanks and Nightstorm stepped forward uneasily.
Their hooves sucked and plopped. Each step echoe
d in Elana’s awareness. Her mind stretched and clutched at every nuance her Sight provided — dim bumps high in the trees that became miserably damp, little birds, nearly hidden. The tail tip of the wood mouse quivered; the amarin of the great silverpine monoliths shimmered. Everywhere there was an oddness of auras; the disturbance of the interwoven patterns was unmistakable. Like a lakefly riding the swelling ripples of a pond, Elana could only grasp the broad direction of the intruder. Whether the ripples came from a descending pebble or rising fish, she could not see.
Movement caught her eye — the eitteh. Slunk low to the ground, she too was stalking. The tension of the humans was contagious.
Nightstorm side-stepped a rotting tree.
Tension!?
Elana looked sharply to the hillside above.
Gut string drew taut on a long bow. A single arrow flew. Elana’s Sight reached to Nightstorm as her crossbow fired. With a hyper-awareness she felt the muscles of the great steed stretch and twist — rearing high to strike with his ebony hooves at the unseen foe. Elana felt the pressure of Di’nay’s knees as she clung to his back — felt the fired wood of her dart splitting the misty swells, traveling at almost twice the speed of the feathered quill. And she felt the tearing — the burning agony of her black colt as the shaft parted his glossy hide, sinking deeply through his chest even as her bolt struck the burly form of their attacker.
Crashing downwards man and beast each met earth. The fine black legs folded, knees smashing and splintering. Above mud and shale crushed and slithered under the man’s rolling body.
Diana pushed clear of her own wounded mount as he threatened to pin her. Rounding, sword in hand, she was up, rushing to seize the assailant as he tumbled to the road.
Nervously, Leggings pranced into the rubbled clearing as Elana scanned the dimness around them. There was no sign of comrades. She turned in the saddle, stretching her gaze into the misty distance.
“Are there others?” Diana asked abruptly, barely glancing towards Elana. Her sword tip played at the edge of the maroon and gold vest of their prisoner. Roughly her gloved hand clutched his collar. Her feet were planted wide for balance; she wasn’t prepared to take chances.
“He is alone,” Elana said finally and slid from her saddle.
With a grunt Diana half-pushed, half-dragged Maltar’s man to the rotting, downed tree. He bent double and slid into the mud again as she dropped him. He was thoroughly coated, almost to the point of hiding the scratches and cuts in his bearded face. But there was no hiding the blood that spread slowly beneath his clenched, browned fist.
Mutely Elana turned to Nightstorm. Pushing back her thick cloak, she knelt at his head. She lifted his soft muzzle gently into her lap and eased the bone bit from his mouth. With a deep-throated snort, he recognized her and made the effort to push his nose into her stomach. She held his head and looked into his white-laced eye. Slowly her mind wrapped itself around his consciousness and removed, first, the brittle pain of the broken bones and, then, the searing fire within his chest. Under the tender stroking of her hands his breathing steadied and grew more and more shallow. His shredded heart relaxed, until finally — peacefully, it stopped altogether. With the gentlest of motions Elana touched his forehead, and her fingers closed his fluid brown eye against the rain. Swallowing hard, she lowered his head back onto the muddied road and numbly took up her crossbow to leave him.
Beside Di’nay she halted, her gaze falling to their captive. The rain was coming harder, and the man’s grubby face was soaked as he gasped for air against the pain in his side. Elana stared at him, her brow wrinkled in bewilderment.
Diana asked finally, “Do you know him? He’s the scout I saw last night.”
“No, I don’t.” Only half-attending, Elana shook her head, and then, with a more decisive shake, she drew back. “I do not understand why he is surprised by us.”
“Surprised?” Diana grunted in disbelief. “Tell me if I’ve missed something, but didn’t he just ambush us?”
“I do not mean the attack,” Elana mumbled quietly. Wrapping her cloak around her waist she squatted. The crossbow rested haphazardly across a knee, but a finger curled about the trigger and the shaft pointed at him. Elana addressed him in an innocent, child-like manner. “It seems like you might have meant to kill us?”
Diana was astonished at the woman’s approach.
The wariness in his expression melted into a contemptuous sneer. His head turned with a raspy laugh. “I was merely hunting for my eventide.” His mocking words died abruptly in the icy blue lock of her eyes.
Diana’s weight shifted back to her heels. With grim satisfaction she chided herself for doubting Elana’s ploy to disarm his defenses. Now Maltar’s man resembled a statue of frozen terror. And even despite the drenching rain, Diana granted wryly that Elana’s still beauty was accentuated by the contrast.
Diana checked his wound; the man was going to die. She watched as his bloodied fingers were washed clean by the rain almost as quickly as the crimson stained them. It was necessary, she told herself harshly. Her teeth clenched until they hurt. Even if they could tend him, there was no horse to take him with them.
“Bitch!”
“Enough!” Diana’s sword swung closer, the steel edge pressing menacingly against the ragged beard.
He glowered with hatred but held his tongue.
The sword point dropped. With half an eye on the man, Diana’s gloved hand hooked under Elana’s elbow and brought the woman to her feet.
“Are you all right?” Diana prodded, speaking slowly in Common.
A weak nod, then Elana drew herself together. With an unsteady smile she glanced at her companion’s face. “In truth.”
Only partly satisfied, Diana released her.
Elana forced a breath into her lungs and turned for her saddlebag. “His side needs tending.”
Diana hesitated, glancing at the muddied heap and then at the woman’s retreating back. Damn it! She stepped over the man’s feet. “Elana!”
The woman spun with a cry. Diana twisted as something gold flashed by. An awful crack resounded through the misty depths of the forest; then a hush descended. Diana blinked the rain from her eyes and met the gem-cold gaze of the eitteh. The creature crouched beyond the scout, its mighty wings half-lifted for flight. The man’s head lolled opened-eyed against his shoulder, his neck snapped.
“No….”
Elana’s eyes were shut. The crossbow hung limply at her side. Diana drove her sword into the earth and left it standing. Gently she pried Elana’s fingers from the wooden hilt and set the crossbow aside. With compassion she gathered her near. She didn’t need any Sight to tell her that the woman had never been part of a man’s killing before. That and Nightstorm….
“I’m fine,” Elana murmured, stiffening suddenly.
“I don’t believe that,” the older woman returned softly, not releasing her.
A moment of indecision passed, then the young body relaxed, almost slumping into the tall frame. With a shaking breath Elana amended, “I will be.”
With a grim smile hidden against the wet hair, Diana said, “I know you will be.”
“I should have known she would attack….” Her voice was muffled against the heavy cloak and jerkin. “I let my attention wander. She was waiting for that.”
Diana’s hold tightened with Elana’s tremor. “You could not have stopped it.”
“No,” she insisted, “I could have!”
“It was necessary. We could not take him with us.”
Elana didn’t respond, and it seemed as if she stopped breathing. Diana waited, vaguely wondering how she herself was to be judged. She found the warmth of the slender body comforting. She only hoped Elana found strength in their clasp too.
Elana straightened reluctantly, stepping away. “I beg your patience, I did— ”
“I find no grudge to hold,” Diana interrupted softly with formal traditional words. Impulsively she pulled her hand free of its glove and placed h
er cool fingers against Elana’s cheek, urging that blue gaze upwards. Their eyes met, and Elana read the gentle support. She blinked deliberately, and they separated.
“We need to strip the supplies and saddle from Nightstorm,” Elana murmured, but she made no move towards the animal.
Diana’s tongue wet her lips. The crisis past, her mind suddenly realized what had happened. “It was you — you sent Nightstorm high to take the arrow.”
The dark head nodded silently.
“Thank you….” The words sounded so terribly hollow to her own ears. Abruptly she pulled her thick hood forward and turned aside. “Come then.”
They worked mutely. The dull drumming of the rain echoed their grim spirits. The ice of death would not be easily shrugged aside.
Diana began to unlace the packs from the freed saddle. “Perhaps his horse is hidden near somewhere?”
“No, he was left behind to wait for us. His plan was to go overland on foot and meet his comrades in the Inn at Colmar.”
Diana glanced back at her, “What else did you learn?”
“He is from Colmar himself.”
“But he wears the maroon and gold?”
Elana wrapped the green cloak about her as a tent. “The Maltar owns the allegiance of many who dwell outside of his lands. Some he has sent outwards to settle. Others he has bought. A few he has claimed kin as hostage.”
“Charming. Dare I ask how far Colmar is from here?” She had the vague recollection of this road meeting up with the track from Gronday.
“By foot and if we stay to the road, we would make the Crossroad Inn by darkfall, and Colmar two days after — in time for eventide.”
“That means if they ride hard tonight, they’ll arrive by darkfall tomorrow.”
Elana nodded. Then hesitantly she offered, “There is a mountain trail.”
“This fellow was going to use it, yes?”
Again a nod.
“It’s that much shorter?”
A faint shrug stirred the green cloak. “We could not take the horse.”
Diana felt a knot in the pit of her stomach as her suspicions of the Council’s ploys rose again. “If we released your mount, would she return to the Keep?”
Shadows of Aggar (Amazons of Aggar) Page 11
