But if he were not that powerful, then wearing their uniforms could provide them with a modicum of protection from the Shin'a'in. The Plainsfolk had a reputation for shooting first, and questioning the wounded. Being able to identify themselves as "nonhostile" at a distance was no bad idea.
Except that even with all the best reasons in the world, Skif didn't like that idea, either.
She was just about ready to kill him in his saddle. Now that he had her "alone," he seemed determined to prove how devoted he was to her safety. But he was going about it by looking black every time she did something that was "unfeminine" (or rather, something that asserted her authority) by disagreeing with her decisions, and by repeating, whenever possible, his assertion that this was a mistake, and they should go back to the original plan. If that was devotion, she was beginning to wish for detestation.
Tonight they camped beside a spring; easy enough to spot from leagues away as a patch of green against the golden-brown of the waving sea of grass. Because of that, she had decided to bypass the well they encountered earlier in the afternoon and journey on into darkness to reach the spring. After all, they were supposed to be making as much time as possible, right? They couldn't possibly bypass the place; it was the only spot ahead of them with trees. They couldn't even miss in the dark; they'd smell the difference when they reached water and the vegetation that wasn't scorched brown. And even if, against all odds, they did miss it, the Companions would not.
Skif, predictably, had not cared for that either. He only voiced one complaint, that he didn't think it was a good idea to push themselves that hard in unknown territory. But he did brood—she was tempted to think "sulked" but did not give in to the temptation—right up until the moment they made camp. She couldn't think why he should have any objections, not when they'd already agreed to make as much time as possible. All she could think was that it was more of the same—he didn't want her to make the decisions.
Once there, they had chores, mutually agreed on. She avoided him with a fair amount of success. While he set up camp, she collected water and fuel. Not too much of the latter; they didn't need much more than to brew a little tea. Elspeth was nervous about grass fires; one spark could set the entire area ablaze, as dry as this vegetation was. In her view, Skif was simply not careful enough. When she returned with her double handful of twigs and fallen branches, she discovered he had etched a shallow little pocket in the turf, just big enough to hold the fire she intended to build. Plainly that was not good enough; but Skif was a child of cities, and likely had never seen a grass fire. It was hard for someone like Skif to imagine the fury or the danger of a grass fire. A city fire, now, that was something they could comprehend—but grass? Grass was tinder, it wasn't serious, it burned up in the blink of an eye and was gone with no damage.
Right.
Elspeth knew better. It was tinder; it caught fire that easily and burned with incredible heat. But there was a lot of it out here—acres and acres—and that was what Skif couldn't comprehend. She had never, ever forgotten the description Kero had given her of a patrol caught in the path of a grass fire during her days as mere Captain of the Skybolts. Kero had described it so vividly it still lived in her memory.
"It was a wall of flame, as tall as a man, driving everything before it. Herds of wild cattle were followed by a stampede of sheep. That was followed by a sea of rabbits, frightened so witless they'd charge straight up to a man and run into his legs. That was followed by the little birds that lived in the grass, and a river of mice—and then the wall was on top of you. You could hear it roaring a league away, and nearby it was deafening. It moved as fast as a man can run, and it sent up a great black pall of smoke, a regular curtain that went straight up into the sky. The burning area was farther than I could jump—at the leading edge the ends of the grasses were afire, in the middle, all of this year's growth—but on the trailing edge, all the previous years' growth that was packed down was burning as fiercely as wood, and hotter—"
Kero paused and passed her hand over her eyes.
"Everyone let go their beasts; you couldn't hold 'em, not even Shin'a'in-breds. A couple of the youngsters, I'm told, tried to run across the fire. It was unbelievably hot; their clothing, anything that was cloth and not leather or metal, caught fire. Not that it mattered. The hot air stole the breath from them; they fell down in the middle of the flames, trying to scream, and with no breath to do it, burning alive. The rest, the ones that survived, wet their shields and cloaks down with their water skins, put their shields over their backs and their wet cloaks over that, and hunkered down under both. 'Like turtles under tablecloths' is what one lad told me. They stuck their faces right down into the dirt, and did their best to breathe as little as possible. That was how they made it. And even some of those got scorched lungs from the burning air." She shook her head. "Don't ever let anyone tell you a grass fire is 'nothing,' girl. I lost half that patrol to one, and the rest spent days with the Healers, for burns inside and out. It's not 'nothing,' it's hell on earth. My cousins fear fire the way they fear no living thing."
No, a grass fire was nothing to take lightly. On the other hand, there was no purpose to be served in giving Skif a lecture, especially not the way she felt right now. Anything she told him would come out shrewish; anything she said would be discounted. Not that it wouldn't anyway.
Rather than risk sounding like a fishwife, she simply took out her knife and cut a larger circle in the turf, removing blocks of it and setting them aside to replace when they were finished. She made a clear space about half as wide as she was tall. Skif sat and seethed when he saw her kindling a tiny fire in the middle of this comparatively vast expanse of clear earth, but he didn't comment. Then again, he didn't have to; she didn't even have to see his face, his posture said it all.
Even without her saying a word, he took what she did as criticism. Was it? She couldn't help it. Better to do without a little tea than risk a fire. She decided that he was going to seethe no matter what she did, whether or not she said anything.
And when the tea was boiled and their trail rations had been toasted over the fire, she put the fire out and replaced the blocks of turf—enjoying, in a masochistic kind of way, the filthy mess she was making of her hands—again to the accompaniment of odd looks from Skif.
:He thinks you're doing this just to avoid him,: the sword observed cheerfully.
:I don't particularly care what he thinks,: she retorted. :I do care about making sure any watchers know that we're being careful with their land. It seems to me that since we're here on their sufferance, we'd better think first about how they're judging us. And I know they're out there.:
:Watchers?: the sword responded.
:They're there,: she replied.
:There're at least four,: Need said, after a moment. :I didn't know you could See through shields. You must be much better than I thought.:
She came very close to laughing out loud. :I can't. I simply guessed. The Shin'a'in are notorious for not allowing strangers on their land; and that they not only allowed us, they gave us a map, says that they are bending rules they prefer to leave intact. That didn't mean that they were going to leave us on our own, they don't trust us that much; if we didn't actually see anyone watching us, it followed that they were hiding. They aren't going to stop us, but I'll bet that if we did something wrong, we'd be disinvited, and if we strayed from the path, we'd be herded back.: She thought about it for a moment; it was the first thing that had offered her any amusement all day. :Might be fun to do it and see how they'd get us back on track. I bet it wouldn't be as straightforward as riding up and helping us back to the "right" way. I bet they'd start a stampede or something.:
The sword was silent for a moment. :Convoluted reasoning, that: 'if we can't see them, they must be there’:
:Merc reasoning,: Elspeth replied, and let it go at that.
When she finished replacing the turfs, she looked up to see Skif still sitting there, watching her. There was no moon
tonight, only starlight, but his Whites stood out easily enough against the high grass and the night sky, and seemed to shimmer a little with a light of their own. He looked like something out of a tale.
Or a maiden's dream, she thought scornfully. A hero, a stalwart man to depend on for everything. Perfect, strong, handsome—and ready to take the entire burden of responsibility on his shoulders.
She stood up; so did he. She moved off a little, experimentally. He followed.
More than followed; he came closer and put his arms around her, and she stiffened. She couldn't help herself; it just happened automatically, without thinking. She didn't want him to touch her—not like that. Not with the touch of a lover.
"Don't!" he said, sharply.
"Don't what?" she asked, just as sharply, trying to pull away without being obvious about it.
"Don't be like that, don't be so cold, Elspeth," he replied, softening his tone a little. "You never used to be like this around me."
"You never used to follow me like a lovesick puppy," she retorted, getting free of him, walking away a little to get some distance, and turning to face him. "You used to be my 'big brother' until all this started."
"That was before I paid any attention to—how much you'd grown up," he responded. "All right, so I was a fool before, I wasn't paying any attention to what was in front of my nose, but I've—"
Oh, gods, it's a bad romantic play! She didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Both would have been so full of anger that they would have made her incoherent.
"You've been paying too much attention to idiot balladeers," she interrupted, rudely. "All of which say that the young hero is supposed to finally notice the beauty of the young princess, fall madly in love, rescue her and carry her off to some ivy-wreathed tower to spend the rest of her days in sheltered worship." She took a deep breath, but the anger didn't fade. "I've heard all of that horse manure before, I didn't believe in it then, and I don't now. You're not a hero and neither am I. I'm not a beauty, I just happen to be the only woman who's a Herald around here. I don't need rescuing, and I don't want to be sheltered!"
"But—" he said weakly, taking a step back, and overwhelmed with her vehemence.
"Stop it, Skif!" she snapped. "I've been nice, I've hinted, I've tolerated this, and I am not going to take any more! Leave me alone! If you can't treat me as your partner, go home. Nothing is going to happen to me in the middle of the Dhorisha Plains, for Haven's sake!" She waved her arm out at the expanse of trackless grass to the south of them. "There're half a dozen Shin'a'in out there right now, and I doubt any of them is going to let something get past them."
"That's not the point, Elspeth," he said, pleadingly. "The point is that I—"
"Don't you dare say it," she snarled. "Don't you dare say that you love me! You don't love me, you love what you think I am. If you loved me, you wouldn't keep trying to prove you were better than me, that I should follow your lead, let you take over, permit you to make all the decisions."
"But I'm not—"
"But you are," she retorted. "Every decision I make, you find a reason not to like. Every job I try to do, you try to do better. Every idea I have, you oppose, Except in those times when I'm acting, thinking, like a good little girl, who shouldn't bother her pretty head about warfare, and should go where she's been told and learn the pretty little magics she's been told to learn."
"I'm not like that!" he bristled, "Some of my best friends are female!"
She very nearly strangled him.
"So—any female you're not interested in can be a human being, is that it?" she said, her voice dripping scorn. "But any female you want had better keep her proper place? Or is it just that every female who outranks you can have her position and be whatever she needs to be, and anyone who's your peer had better let you be the leader? Oh that's noble, that truly is. How nice for you, how terribly broad-minded."
"Just who do you think you are?" he shouted.
"Myself, that's who!" she shouted back. "Not your inferior, not your underling, not your child to take care of! Not your doll, not your toy, not your princess, and not your property!"
And with that, she turned and stalked off into the grass, knowing she could lose him in a scant heartbeat—and knowing that Gwena could find her immediately if Elspeth needed her.
She ducked around a hillock, and dropped down into the dusty smelling grass. She held her breath, and listened for his footsteps, waited for him to blunder by in pursuit of her, but there was nothing.
:Gwena?: she Mindcalled, tentatively.
:He's just sitting here on his bedroll,: she said, and the disapproval in her mind-voice was thick enough to cut. :That was cruel.:
Elspeth slammed her shields shut before Gwena could reproach her any further. She didn't want to hear any more from that quarter. Gwena was on Skif's side in this, like some kind of matchmaking mama. She'd escaped her real mother's reach, and she wasn't about to let someone else take over the position.
She lay back into the fragrant grass; it was surprisingly comfortable, actually—and looked up at the night sky. The night was absolutely clear, and the stars seemed larger than they were at home.
Her back and neck ached with tension; her hands had knotted themselves into tight fists. Her stomach was in an uproar, and her throat tight.
This was no way to handle a problem.
She tried to empty her mind, just empty it of all the anger and frustration, the need that was driving her out into the unknown, and the heavy burden of responsibility she was bearing. Gradually the tension drained out of her. Her stomach calmed, her hands relaxed. She concentrated on the muscles in her back and neck until they unknotted. She stopped thinking altogether. She simply—was. Watching the stars, letting the warm, ever-present breeze blow over her, inhaling the dry, dusty scent of the grasses she lay in, feeling the earth press up against her back.
This place felt very much alive, as if the warm earth itself was a living being. It calmed her; she found her tension all drained out of her, down into the earth, which accepted it into a tranquillity that her unhappiness could not disturb.
Gwena's right. I was cruel. She felt her ears flushing hotly, and yet if she had the chance to do it over, there was nothing she would not have repeated. What happened to us? There was a time I would have gladly heard him say he loved me. There was even a time when I might have been able to fall in love with him. Gwena was right; I could do so much worse.
Tears filled her eyes; they stung and burned. Not from what she had done to Skif—he was resilient, he'd survive. But from what she was going to face in the years ahead. If we all survive this, I probably will do worse. I'll probably have to marry some awful old man, or a scrawny little boy, just to cement an alliance. We'll need all the help we can get, and that may be the only way to buy it. If I took Skif, I d at least have someone who loves me for a little while...
But that wasn't fair to him; it was wrong, absolutely wrong. She'd be using him and the affection he was offering, and giving him nothing in return. She didn't love him, and there was no use pretending she did. Furthermore, he was a Mindspeaker; he'd know.
Besides, when she married that awful old man, whoever he was, she'd have to break with Skif anyway, so what was the point?
What was the point of all of this, at all? When it all came down to it, she was just another commodity to be traded away for Valdemar's safety. And intellectually, she could accept that. But emotionally—
Why? she asked the stars fiercely as tears ran down into her hair. Why do I have to give up everything? Why can't I have a little something for myself? That's not being selfish, that's just being human! Talia has Dirk, Kera has Eldan, even Mother has Daren.... Why isn't there anyone for me?
There was no answer; she held back fierce sobs until her chest ached. Maybe she wasn't as sophisticated as she had thought, after all. Maybe all her life she had believed in the Bardic ballads, where, after long struggle, the Great True Love comes riding out of the shadows.
<
br /> All right, maybe it's childish and stupid, but I've seen it happen—
Happen for other people. That fact was, the notion was childish and stupid—and worse, if she spent all her time waiting for that One True Love, she'd never get anything done for herself.
But, oh, it hurt to renounce the dream....
Chapter Nineteen
INTERLUDE
Dawnfire woke all at once; her heart racing with fear, but her body held in a strange kind of paralysis. She couldn't see anything. All she could feel was that she was so hungry she was almost sick, and that she was standing; her position seemed to be oddly hunched over, but—
No, it wasn't hunched over, it was a perfectly normal position—for Kyrr's body. She was still in the body of her bondbird. Only—Kyrr was gone. She was alone.
She opened her beak to cry out, and couldn't—and then the paralysis lifted, and a hazy golden light came up about her, gradually, so that her eyes weren't dazzled.
She was on a perch.
As she teetered on the perch, clutching it desperately, trying to find her balance without Kyrr to help her, she saw that there were bracelets on her legs, and jesses attached to them, and that the jesses were fastened to a ring on the perch.
The light came up further; she moved her head cautiously at the sound of a deep-throated chuckle to discover that now she could see the entire room. An empty, windowless room—except for a bit of furniture, one couch, and its occupant.
She couldn't help herself; panic made her bate, and she flapped uncontrolled right off the perch. She couldn't fly even if she hadn't been jessed; she hadn't Kyrr's control—and she hung at the end of the leather straps, upside-down, swinging and twisting as she beat at the air and the perch with her wings.
I can't get back up!
That sent her into a further panic, and she flailed wildly in every direction but the right one, with no result whatsoever. She twisted and turned, tangled herself up, and banged her beak against the perch support, and never once got a claw on the perch itself.
Valdemar Books Page 619
