by Anne Logston
“I have not yet finished dispensing it,” Rowan said, though she smiled. “And I fear you will like it even less, for I wish you and Chyrie to return to the human city with them.”
Val gaped, shocked to utter silence, but Chyrie growled her outrage.
“You cannot be serious,” she said. “First they would make us hostages, and now you would! Is this our justice, that we have gained nothing?”
Rowan shook her head, and reached over to touch Chyrie’s cheek.
“You are one I would have safe behind stone walls and many swords,” she said. “And we must have an envoy among the humans, one who can be trusted. And you are a beast-speaker who can send and receive messages between the two peoples. If you, who must be protected in any wise, will serve that purpose, then another beast-speaker can be spared to remain in the forest and continue our work here. Do you understand?”
“I understand that I must return to stand with my clan,” Chyrie said angrily. “I understand that my unborn children belong to me, to Valann, and to their clan, not to you or your people. We are not air and water, to belong to all alike. That I understand.”
“Then perhaps you will also understand this,” Rowan said quietly. “You are, by your own admission, fairly my prisoners and under my command. Remember that.”
Chyrie ground her teeth, but sat back down beside Valann.
“Yes, Grandmother,” she said quietly.
“I like this deal no better than Chyrie does,” Sharl protested. “My people will have enough problems preparing for war without having to worry about the elves as well.”
“I could say the same of my folk,” Rowan said serenely. “But that did not trouble you when you laid your plans to use us. Now we will use you in the same manner, and if it causes you difficulty, I do not grieve for it.”
“What are we supposed to do with them?” Sharl demanded. “None of my people speak their language, any more than they speak ours.”
“You learned our language by magic,” Rowan said to Rivkah, who looked up, amazed. “Can you teach it so?”
“How did you—” Rivkah shook her head. “I don’t think so. My mentor did it, and he’s much stronger than me. I know the spell, but it’s not my—my area of skill.”
“Then Dusk will lend his power to yours,” Rowan said, “as well as to ensure you work no mischief with your sorcery. After you have accepted our geas, of course.”
Sharl scowled at Valann, who returned his glare. Rivkah glanced tentatively at Chyrie, who sighed explosively.
“You said yourself that the abduction of Valann and Chyrie were the only crimes you would charge us with,” Sharl said persuasively. “Romuel and Doria had no part in that. Let them go back to Allanmere free of your geas, and you can do as you like with Rivkah and myself.”
Rowan laughed.
“You are truly a leader,” she said. “You think as I would—to yet have your people warned with no encumbrances upon them. But I will not have it. To succeed you must still ally with us, and that you will do on my terms or none. And even for your people to pass through the rest of the forest you must have the safe conduct I have bargained with the other clans, and that I will not give unless you consent.”
“I am all the hostage you need,” Sharl argued. “Let the others go free.”
“I will not,” Rowan said firmly. “You are too ready to sacrifice yourself, and I do not trust your mage. There will be no bargain. You will all take my geas or none.”
“And what of Valann and Chyrie?” Sharl demanded. “What geas will you place upon them?”
“None,” Rowan said. “As any beast-speaker knows, you cannot bind a wild one. You can only ask, and pray that it will trust you enough to obey.” She looked significantly at Chyrie.
Valann and Chyrie exchanged sober glances.
(What are your thoughts?) Chyrie asked.
(She has a Matriarch’s wisdom,) Valann thought. (Her reasoning is sound.)
“We will obey, Grandmother,” Chyrie said reluctantly, and Valann nodded.
“And your answer?” Dusk asked Sharl.
Sharl frowned, then sighed.
“We have no choice,” he said. “For my people to be warned, I have no choice but to accept your terms.”
“That is true,” Rowan said serenely. She nodded to Dusk, who poured wine from a small skin into four goblets.
“As you bespelled my kinsfolk’s wine, we have done the same,” Rowan said. “This is the geas you will accept. You will treat Valann and Chyrie with every respect. You will not seek to harm or confine or restrain them in any way, and you will cast no magic upon either of them except at their request. You will make every effort to make them recompense for your actions against them. You will house and protect any elves we send to you and treat them with every courtesy. You will trade weapons and supplies with us on terms I will set. You will tell no other of your actions against Valann and Chyrie or of this geas, and you will make no effort, magical or otherwise, to break the geas. When the battle is over, if any of you survive, you will return to Inner Heart to act as hostages against the negotiation of a permanent agreement between the forest and the city. Those are the terms I set upon you. Drink, and it is done.”
Sharl spoke at some length to his companions in the human tongue, then slowly raised his glass and drank. Rivkah drank with less hesitation, and Romuel and Doria, watching Sharl, also drank. When they finished, Doria said something, and Rivkah laughed wryly.
“She says”—the mage chuckled—“that if we can at least bargain for some of your excellent wine, there will be one thing about this journey she won’t regret.”
“Let us hope there will be other joyful memories before it is done,” Rowan sighed. She turned to Rivkah. “Come, mage, a spell so that my kinsfolk will not be lonely in a place where they can neither speak to nor understand its people.”
Rivkah hesitated. “I haven’t had much experience with mages combining power,” she said.
“I have,” Dusk assured her.
“Then—” She glanced at Valann and Chyrie. “You have to ask me to cast the spell.”
Valann and Chyrie exchanged glances again, this time more doubtfully.
“I ask it,” Valann said at last. “You will cast your magic on me first.”
“No,” Chyrie protested. “I will be the first.”
“You will not” Valann said firmly. “You are with child.”
“I am your mate,” Chyrie said stubbornly, setting her jaw.
“All right. Don’t argue. Somebody has to be first, and it might as well be Valann.” Rivkah took another swallow of wine to fortify herself. “It should be a little easier this time, because I can give you the language from myself instead of having to take it from someone else. Valann, if you’ll stand in front of me—”
Valann reluctantly obeyed, and Rivkah laid one hand on his head, one across the front of his throat. Dusk laid his hands over Rivkah’s and nodded.
Rivkah began chanting steadily, her eyes half closed in concentration. Slowly her voice deepened, taking on a singsong quality. Chyrie felt the tingle of magic growing within her; without warning, she stretched out her awareness for Valann’s thoughts as she had a thousand times before, and reached.
Magic swirled upward from Dusk, from Rivkah, and into Valann—and from him into Chyrie. Blurred, confused fragments of imagery blinked through both minds like flashes of lightning. Gradually the confusing bombardment slowed as Rivkah’s voice raised again, and she stopped.
“That was easier than I thought,” she said. “Valann, try it.”
“Try what?” Valann asked. He whirled on Chyrie. “If I were to speak,” he said, “it would be to chastise this most stubborn of elves. That was a foolhardy thing to do.”
“What?” Rivkah asked confusedly. “What did she do?”
“They are mates in spirit, and she a beast-speaker accustomed to casting out her mind,” Dusk panted, obviously more wearied than the mage. “She joined him in his thoughts. I
felt it. He is right. It was a great risk. I think you have cast two spells for one.”
“But why—” Rivkah began.
“Never mind, never mind,” Sharl interrupted in the human tongue. “We need to leave as quickly as possible, and if they can understand me now, then the language lesson is over and we can go.”
Rivkah glanced at the elves dubiously.
“I understand you,” Valann said in the same language, then raised his eyebrows in mild surprise.
“As do I,” Chyrie said, then grimaced. The strange sounds seemed to grate at her throat.
“Good,” Sharl said, unimpressed. He turned to Rowan. “If you will permit us, then, we must be on our way. My people have preparations to make, no less than yours—more, if we are to fulfill the terms you have set upon us. Will you allow us to leave, so that we waste no more riding light?”
“You may go,” Rowan said calmly. “Your riding beasts await you, and we have replenished your supplies of food and drink, and given you gifts and samples of trade goods to take back to your people with you.”
Sharl stared at her blankly, then scowled.
“You knew I would agree. You knew it all along,” he demanded.
Rowan smiled.
“Naturally I knew,” she said. “No true leader of his people could have chosen otherwise. Take that as praise, if you will, for I cannot fault your courage, nor your loyalty to those who look to you for guidance. Now go to them, and think upon us with what kindness you can.”
Sharl beckoned imperiously to them, and Rivkah, Romuel, and Doria quickly followed; Chyrie and Valann, however, lingered to walk more slowly with Rowan, while Dusk disappeared on some errand.
“Messages have been sent to the clans between here and the city,” Rowan told them. “All but Blue-eyes have answered, agreeing to allow you safe passage.”
“But are the Blue-eyes not the westernmost clan,” Valann asked, “at the very edge of the forest?”
“Yes, and that concerns me,” Rowan said, her brow wrinkling. “Their clan has been most harassed of all by the humans, and at one time, when they lived more to the east, there was an old enmity with us. They are most hostile about their boundaries, and who can fault them for it? But they will not answer our sendings at all. I cannot speak for their behavior.”
Chyrie cut a strip of blue-dyed leather from the hem of her tunic and twisted it with the green cord she had worn before, and tied the two around her arm.
“This should suffice,” she said. “If the Blue-eyes have at least heard your messages, they know that we but pass through their lands briefly, and no matter how unfavorably they might look upon the humans, they would not molest an elven woman with child.”
“I pray you are correct,” Rowan said somberly. “I am half minded to send some of my people with you, but that might be seen as a greater affront, if they still hold hostility against my people. So far as I know, they could have no quarrel with Wilding, and they know the blessing of the Mother Forest you bear, Chyrie. You should be safe enough.” She hesitated.
“What troubles you?” Valann asked.
“I would ask something more of you,” Rowan said slowly. “Wilding did not answer my messages. I would ask that you add your word to mine, and send a message to your people asking your Eldest at least to hear my words and consider them. I cannot order you to do so, but I ask it.”
Valann and Chyrie looked soberly at each other.
“I will send the message,” Chyrie said at last, “for you have treated us with kindness beyond all expectation. But I must tell you that if our Eldest heard your words, still he will not agree to join with you. Of that I am certain. But I will ask him as you say.”
By this time they had reached the central clearing of the village, where the horses were indeed waiting. Chyrie had to chuckle; each animal had been festooned with garlands of leaves and flowers, designs painted on each horse with colored clay, and brightly colored leather strips woven into manes and tails. The leather tack had been polished to a shiny gloss, and every scratch or tear in the leather skillfully mended. The saddlebags on each horse brimmed with goods, and additional leather sacks and wineskins had been added to the load of the one riderless horse. The humans had already mounted their horses, although Sharl was looking from one decorated animal to the other with a thoroughly disgusted expression.
Elves crowded around Valann and Chyrie, pressing last gifts of flowers, scented herb bags, and small packets of snacks and sweets. Dusk appeared as if by magic; a handsome black-and-gold brighthawk, so named because the large predator often hunted fish in the Brightwater River itself, perched on his wrist.
“I wish you could have stayed longer,” he told Chyrie. “Had I not been so busy last night—” He grinned slyly and shrugged. “There will be another time.”
He reached out and took her hand, clasped it around his extended wrist. The brighthawk cocked its head inquiringly, fixed its obsidian eyes on Chyrie, then hopped from Dusk’s wrist to hers. She had no leather wrist shield like Dusk’s, and the brighthawk’s talons dug painfully into her skin, but the discomfort was drowned by the feel of the brighthawk’s mind—fierce and powerful, but at the same time welcoming and almost soothing, like the soft, comfortable feel of an old, well-worn tunic.
“I raised him from the egg,” Dusk said quietly. “He is well accustomed to a beast-speaker’s touch and his range is considerable. He will be your companion now. It is my hope that our thoughts may touch through him.”
Chyrie gave the hawk a nudge with her mind and it hopped to her shoulder, where the thicker leather provided more protection.
“His mind has the feel of you,” Chyrie murmured. She smiled at Dusk. “I am honored, kinsman.”
Dusk turned to Valann.
“There is also a gift for you,” he said. “Chyrie mentioned that we had found some new colors you did not have. We do not know how you mix your dyes, but we have placed the raw colors in pots in your packs. You will honor us if we one day see our colors in your work.”
Valann’s eyes widened with eagerness, and he could not suppress an involuntary glance at his saddlebags.
“You could give me no greater a gift,” he said quietly. “When next I visit, I will find the time to give some of your folk designs of their own, if they wish it.”
“Enough, enough,” Sharl growled. “While you spend the day taking leave of your friends, we lose daylight.”
Chyrie scowled and Valann sighed heavily, but they led their horse to a convenient stump and mounted, Valann scrambling up first to pull Chyrie in front of him.
“Fare well, kinsfolk,” Rowan said, reaching to touch Valann’s fingertips, then Chyrie’s. “May the road that leads you back to us be a short one. I will not ask that the Mother Forest bless you with rich soil and ripe seed, for it seems She has already done so.” She smiled. “Much of our hopes rest with you, my friends. Keep safe and happy.”
“And you, Grandmother,” Valann said. He clasped her hand. “Happiness and prosperity to you and your people.”
Then they had to quickly urge their horse forward, for Sharl, disinclined to wait, was already leading the others back toward the road, consulting a map that Rowan had given him.
“Four days,” Sharl grumbled as he urged them as quickly as he could down the narrow trail leading back to the common road. “As fast as we can go on this pitiful trail, it’s going to be four days at least.” He apparently trusted Rivkah’s magic, for now that he had left the village he was speaking the human tongue, apparently as eager to be free of the elven language as he was of the elves themselves. Rivkah, however, continued to use the elven tongue, explaining that if they were to live in a city bordering on an elven forest and hope to foster good relations, she had to perfect her own speech.
“It took you more days to reach the center of the forest,” Val said practically. “Why should it take fewer to leave it?”
“On open ground I can make fifteen leagues on a good day,” Sharl said disgustedly.
“In the forest I’m doing well to travel a third of that, and this trail is by no means straight, either. And nothing is slowing that army, that’s sure.”
“Nor speeding it,” Val said, brushing at the brighthawk’s tail feathers as they tickled his nose. “Love, can he not find another perch while we ride?”
“Well for my shoulder if he does.” Chyrie chuckled. She prodded the hawk with a thought and he launched himself skyward. “Best he find shelter anyway, for the coming storm may be hard.”
“Storm?” Rivkah looked up into the thick canopy of leaves. “How can you tell?”
“Anyone can smell it in the air,” Val said. “Even the horses can tell.” The animals were, indeed, restless and twitchy.
“I thought they were just ashamed of their ridiculous appearance,” Sharl said sourly. “Can you smell how soon we might expect this torrent?”
A loud crack of thunder made the horses dance.
“Very soon,” Chyrie said blithely.
“Wonderful,” Sharl sighed. “One more thing to slow us down. Rivkah, can you do anything about it?”
Rivkah closed her eyes briefly, then shook her head.
“It’s a whole line of storms, coming fast,” she said. “It would take ten mages to stop it now.”
“Your kind can halt a storm?” Chyrie asked amazedly. “How is such a thing possible?”
“It isn’t difficult magic,” Rivkah said. “We can cause rain, too, when conditions are right. But conditions are wrong, now, for stopping one. It will likely rain all day and all night.”
“Likely,” Val said cheerfully. “Late spring is a wet season here. As well it rains now, for we have been over half a moon dry, and the young plants need water.
“I can keep the rain off us,” Rivkah offered. “For a few hours, anyway. Maybe long enough to get us to camp for the night.”
“That will do,” Sharl said distractedly. He spurred his horse to a faster pace, and Chyrie, who had been dispatching a squirrel to the Wildings as Rowan had requested, cried out.
“Enough of that,” Val said sharply. “You are paining my mate.”
“What’s the matter?” Rivkah said, concerned. “I thought Chyrie was healed.”
