by Anne Logston
“There you are,” Jeena said crossly. “What a foolish thing you have done. You are stiff as a tree limb and your mate is even stiffer, and you frightened a human guardsman near to death when he found you both on the watchtower unconscious and hardly breathing. Sharl and Rivkah were utterly terrified. A word of warning to one of us might have saved them much grief.”
“A word of warning and I would have spent the day trying to dissuade her,” Valann said hoarsely, raising himself on one elbow. (Are you well, love?)
(Only stiff from lying long without moving,) Chyrie assured him. (And my little ones—oof!—are telling me it has been far too long since I last ate.)
“You must tell Sharl,” Chyrie told Rivkah, “that a Wilding patrol saw between fifty and a hundred humans just north of Wilding lands last evening. It will come to battle with Silvertip if they enter the forest. Silvertip are strong, but they are few.”
“Has Silvertip allied with Inner Heart?” Valann asked.
Jeena shook her head.
“Few border clans chose the alliance,” she said. “Perhaps it is because the boundaries of their lands are the most abused, and they are more protective of their territory.”
“Their boundaries will be abused indeed,” Rivkah said darkly. “They’ll be the first and hardest attacked. We must find a way to win their cooperation. We need their eyes, and they need our assistance.”
“Send them weapons as a gesture of goodwill,” Val suggested. “Neighboring clans can leave the weapons just within their boundaries.”
“Those few wagonloads of weapons aren’t going to go very far among a whole forest of elves,” Rivkah said doubtfully·
“It is the gesture that is important,” Valann said, Jeena nodding agreement. “Most clans’ strength will lie in hiding in the trees and picking off the humans with bows or spears, and a stone tip to arrow or spear will kill as easily as steel when a sure hand sends it forth. They will set traps as well. Most clans have swords and daggers should it come to close fighting, although they are old and worn and poorer in quality than those you bring. It is the promise such fine weapons represent that is their value, the promise of future benefit that any clan can understand, and the trust shown by the city in arming those who have been its enemies.”
“You speak as an Eldest.” Jeena chuckled.
Valann smiled back warmly.
“But for you, Matriarch, I likely am the eldest in this city,” he said.
“Sharl has more to learn from you than he thinks he does,” Rivkah sighed. “When I told him what you’d said about the river wall, he just laughed—until his advisers and his commanders all told him the same thing. The problem is that he’s rarely been on the defending side of a war.”
“That is not Valann’s and Chyrie’s concern now,” Jeena said gently. “They must eat and rest. They might have paid a great price indeed for the tidings they brought you.”
Rivkah reluctantly took herself off in search of Sharl after ordering the servants to bring food to the elves’ quarters, and Val and Chyrie could do nothing but let Jeena confine them to their furs, although it was only midafternoon. It seemed to take forever for the food to arrive, and when Chyrie’s stomach rumbled so loudly that it resounded through the stone room, several elves laughingly delved into their bags for trail food.
It seemed strange to be resting in the middle of the day, but Val and Chyrie were too tired and weak for anything else. Loren came to pry every detail of the story out of them and entertain them with Weeka, and the other elves turned a simple supper into a minor festival. The celebration changed focus and tone when one of the Longears began her childbirth, but Chyrie prevented Loren from embarrassedly leaving, assuring him it would be many hours before Naura bore.
Afternoon turned to evening and evening to night, broken only by the arrival of more food and by the unexpected arrival of Sharl to question Val and Chyrie closely—how many humans had the Wildings seen, and exactly where, and which way were they moving, and how were they armed, and were they all afoot, or were some on horseback—until Naura screamed, and Sharl blanched and hurriedly retreated.
“Are all elven births this difficult?” Loren asked hesitantly as another hoarse scream sent Weeka scurrying for his pocket.
“This is not a difficult birth,” Chyrie said, raising an eyebrow. “Jeena says Naura is fully opened and will bear soon now. I have seen many women of the Wildings whose bones will not give to allow the youngling to pass, and it must be cut from them. That requires much preparation and strength of our Gifted One, and still some die; and even if the mother survives, she can rarely bear again. Jeena tells me her people, who are larger, more rarely have such troubles, but Longears are narrowly built. Naura is fortunate to bear so quickly.” Chyrie sat up as Naura’s cries changed tone. The elf was squatting now, her face tight with concentration, a fierce joy in her eyes.
“Every midwife I’ve ever seen has chased men out of the room,” Loren said hesitantly. “Are you quite certain it’s—I mean, I wouldn’t want to intrude—”
“Males share in the planting of the seed,” Chyrie said, scrambling to her feet as Naura gave one last cry. “Why should they be barred from seeing it come to fruit?”
They waited expectantly for the infant’s cry. Then Jeena stood and glanced around, covering her eyes with one bloody hand. As one, the other elves turned silently away and quickly occupied themselves with other tasks. Chyrie and Valann glanced at each other soberly, and Chyrie pensively folded her hands over her belly, and they sat back down on the furs.
“What’s the matter?” Loren asked, still standing. “Did she—”
“Hush,” Valann said softly. “Sit down.”
Loren sat slowly.
“I don’t understand,” he said. “Why don’t—oh. Oh, my.” He fell silent as Jeena walked past, a small, leather-wrapped bundle in her hands.
“Turn away,” Valann hissed, then in a completely normal voice said loudly, “Is there more wine?”
“Here is another skin.” One of the Brightwaters brought it over. She handed Valann the wineskin, touched Chyrie’s cheek sympathetically, and hurried back to her kin, who busied themselves vigorously with the arrow shafts they were carving. Naura wiped the last blood from her thighs and tottered back to where the other Longears had laid their furs, and curled up alone in a corner.
“Shouldn’t someone take care of her?” Loren asked in a whisper. “Or comfort her, or—”
“Chyrie, some of those bits of meat on a stick would not be amiss,” Valann said. “And some of that cheese you like so well might be pleasant with it.”
“I will ask for more,” Chyrie agreed, getting up and going herself instead of calling a servant.
When Chyrie was gone, Valann leaned close to Loren, speaking barely above a whisper.
“It is an ill thing to talk of the unspoken, especially in the presence of a female with child,” Valann murmured. “Ordinarily our women go to be alone with the Gifted One when they bear, and with their mate if they are mated. To bear one of the unspoken is a thing of shame, so out of kindness we act as if she has not done so. Treat Naura no differently, but you must not speak to her of—it.”
“What’s an—unspoken?” Loren asked, equally furtively. “You mean the child was born dead?”
“It is dead,” Valann said, noting Loren’s frown at the subtle difference of his answer. “Unspoken are born—awry. Now, I beg you, speak no more of it. You shame Naura and invite ill upon the others with child, and Chyrie is already greatly fearful.”
“Well!” Loren looked away and patted through his pockets as if searching physically for something to say. “Well. Ah, Weeka, there you are, my pet.” He kissed the little creature’s head, then whispered in its ear. The chirrit chattered excitedly as he put it down, then scampered off in Naura’s direction.
Chyrie returned with a basket of food, Jeena with her. Jeena patted Chyrie’s shoulder as she sat down beside Valann, and the Gifted One returned to Naura�
�s pallet. The Longear woman was sitting up now, absently cuddling the chirrit.
“I saw Sharl in the hall,” Chyrie said, determinedly cheerful. “He was engrossed in Rowan’s map, he and several of his warrior leaders. Tomorrow he says I must contact Dusk again and see what news has come from the north Heartwood and whether his weapons have been received. He says that soon he will dispatch a small company of warriors to guard the narrow pass between the forest and the river, and wishes to treat with the Brightwaters for their assistance also, since the company will be stationed beside their lands.”
“You mean on our lands,” Moondrop, one of the Bright-waters, said as she joined them. “We often cross that narrow open land to reach the river, where we fish and harvest sword-leaf plants for their sweet tubers and their fibrous leaves.”
“The Brightwaters claim lands outside the forest?” Valann asked amazedly.
“Why should we not?” Moondrop countered. “No other clan has sought to contest our right to them, not until these humans arrived. We had a sure source of fresh food, even in winter, and water in the driest summers. Now because of these humans passing back and forth, we must creep furtively to the river where once we ran freely. Our Eldest says that it is to our gain now to deal with the humans, so that we can openly reclaim passage to the Brightwater to sustain us.”
“How will the humans on the Brightwaters’ land communicate with the city?” Valann asked Loren. “They have no beast-speakers among them.”
“We use messenger birds,” Loren told him. “They’re trained to fly back and forth and carry written messages. Usually such companies will have a mage with them, too, to send a message by magic in case of an emergency, although that’s very draining. Rivkah and I together developed a spell to be cast upon an object, which will later return directly to its owner’s hand upon pronouncement of a command word. It’s much an improvement on the message spell, yes, indeed, although not so flexible in usage.”
“That is very interesting,” Jeena said, joining them. “Our weakness in the forest—if you would call it that—is that we have no real means of long-distance communications other than our beast-speakers, and they are limited by the speed of the beast that hosts them. We have no means of transporting objects unless a beast-speaker can coax a beast to bear it. I would be eager to observe such magic.”
“Why, I would be more than honored to teach you the spells,” Loren beamed.
“Spells later.” Sharl stood in the doorway of the room, his face tight with worry. “Valann, Chyrie, I need you on the watchtower now.”
“They cannot go now,” Jeena said. “They are too weak still.”
“I’m sorry,” Sharl said. “This can’t wait.”
“We have had many hours to rest,” Chyrie told Jeena. “It is enough.”
Valann, Chyrie, Loren, and Jeena followed Sharl up to the top of the watchtower again. Rivkah was there, staring off into the distance, and on the battlements beside her was a huge owl Chyrie recognized as the same one Dusk had sent to bring the map.
(Dusk?) Chyrie thought at the owl.
(Praise the Mother Forest you are safe,) Dusk replied. (I have tried to reach you a dozen times this eve, and you did not answer.)
(I am sorry,) Chyrie thought. (Other matters occupied me, and I did not feel your call. What has happened?)
(Look north and east,) Dusk thought grimly. (You can see it for yourself now.)
Chyrie looked northeast and gasped. Far away on the horizon was a red glow.
(Surely that is not fire?) Chyrie thought, horrified.
(It is fire,) Dusk thought quietly. (Well over a hundred humans have camped just east of Dawn’s Edge. The Dawn’s Edges, thinking the humans were but few, attacked those who came too near the forest, and the humans retaliated with fire. It took many of the Gifted Ones here to stop the fire before the entire forest could burn. The flames are dying now. The Dawn’s Edges have retreated deeper in the forest, those who live.)
“Love.” Valann’s voice cut through Chyrie’s horror. “Sharl asks you what tidings Dusk brings, and why the sky glows with fire.”
Chyrie tersely told them what Dusk had said, holding her link to Dusk with difficulty because of the distraction and her weakness.
(More clans have agreed to join us,) Dusk told her. (Many have sent messages begging for assistance, for some of the human weapons, for shelter for those who cannot fight. There will be many arriving at the city now. We are trying to concentrate the Gifted Ones here at Inner Heart where we can join our power together, and what beast-speakers we have are moving to the borders to act as our eyes and ears. Our warriors are being dispatched to every allied clan near the forest’s northern and eastern edge. Can the humans suggest any strategy?)
Again Chyrie relayed the message, and this time it was Rivkah who answered.
“By the time any of our troops reached the northeastern edge of the forest, they would be useless,” she said. “But there is something we can do. Chyrie mentioned that elven mages haven’t mastered weather magic. It’s still spring, and the air is good and moist. It won’t take much to bring a good heavy rain, perhaps enough to last for days, with luck. That would make the forest harder to burn, and possibly slow the army’s pace. The trick will be keeping the rain from becoming a heavy storm, or the barbarians might try to take shelter in the forest, even despite the inconvenience of striking camp in the middle of the night and facing the elven defense.”
(It is a good thought,) Dusk returned eagerly, when Chyrie relayed Rivkah’s suggestion. (I do not think the humans will try for the forest, for they have many wagons now filled with goods, and those will be impossible to bring into the forest. Tell your lady to bring any rain that she can, and if it storms, then may the lightning strike among them.)
“Should I send for the other mages?” Sharl asked, hesitating by the trapdoor.
“There’s no use,” Rivkah said regretfully. “I’ve only worked with a few of them, and I haven’t tried joining my power with theirs yet.” She turned to Loren. “Master, if you would, though—”
“Oh, of course, of course,” Loren said hurriedly. “Let me get my bag from my quarters, my dear, and you can start the fire. It won’t take me but a moment.” He scampered down the ladder with surprising nimbleness for his age.
“I, too, will join you,” Jeena said quietly, startling them all.
Rivkah hesitated.
“Forgive me,” she said, “but I haven’t worked with you before, and your type of magic is so different—”
Jeena held up a hand, silencing the woman.
“I have joined my will to that of others many times,” she said. “It is my kin’s land, and indeed their lives, you work to save. I will not fail you.”
“All right, then,” Rivkah said. “I’ll welcome your help.”
Glancing to Valann and Chyrie for permission, Rivkah kindled a small fire in the firepot. By the time she was finished, Loren had returned, a leather sack slung over his shoulder. He rummaged through this sack, extracting several smaller pouches, some of the contents of which he ground together in a small metal bowl. When everything was prepared to his satisfaction, he nodded to Rivkah, and the three of them knelt beside the firepot, Rivkah taking Jeena’s hand.
“Let them cast their spell,” Sharl told Chyrie. “While Dusk is here—well, such as he is—I want you to update this map Rowan sent me. I need to know which clans have allied with Rowan now, where they are, and where these so-called beast-speakers are stationed.”
Chyrie grimaced—she had been curious about the weather spell, and she was already tired and drained—but saw the sense in what Sharl asked and obeyed. She soon found that as difficult as it had been dividing her attention between touching Dusk’s thoughts while conversing with Sharl and Val, it was far more difficult to do so while attempting to read a map in the dark and pen characters upon it. Val had no strength to lend her, being unaccustomed to beast-speaking and even more drained by the morning’s adventure than she, a
nd by the time she was finished, she was utterly exhausted, barely able to remind Dusk of the expected torrent of rain and watch the owl fly away before she all but collapsed in Valann’s arms.
Rivkah, Loren, and Jeena had finished, too, and were watching for the result of the spell. Already the air was heavy, as before a storm, and Chyrie could see clouds gathering to block out the stars. A low rumble could be heard, and even as they watched, a few flashes of lightning lit the clouds.
“I’m sorry,” Rivkah said. “Jeena gave me more power than I’m used to working with. I think we may have built something bigger than we thought.”
A tremendous gust of wind whistled over the watchtower as if in agreement, almost snatching the map from Sharl’s hands, and ashes swirled up from the firepot.
“We’d best get under cover,” Sharl said. He glanced at Val, who was wearily trying to lift Chyrie. “I’ll get her. The wind is stiff and that ladder’s steep.” He lifted Chyrie carefully and, to Valann’s grudging relief, was able to cradle the elf in one arm as he climbed down the ladder.
Chyrie was asleep before Sharl reached the bottom of the ladder.
When Val and Chyrie awakened the next morning, it was still storming violently outside. As elves in the Heartwood tended to do, the elves sharing the room with them were huddled sleeping under their furs to wait out the storm, but both Jeena and Naura were missing. Val and Chyrie hurried down to the main hall, where they found Rivkah breaking her fast alone. The mage brightened considerably at the sight of the elves, and eagerly invited them to join her; the elves were no less eager to scramble to their usual seats on the table and eat heartily.
“Sharl’s meeting with the Brightwaters,” Rivkah said. “He never came to bed last night, stayed up talking with his generals. He personally took nearly two hundred soldiers this morning to be stationed between the forest and the river, and several more supply wagons. Jeena and Loren rode out with them—Loren wanted to meet the Brightwaters’ Gifted One—and they took another elf with them, one of the Longears, I believe. Sharl said they would meet whatever elves were coming to the city and bring them back in the wagons.”
