HM01 Moonspeaker

by K. D. Wentworth

  The saddlebags slid through Kevisson’s fingers as he whirled around. “Concentrate!”

  She closed her eyes, thinking fiercely that she did not smell smoke, there were no flames, she would not let the fire come again! Sparks erupted in one corner of her mind, brightly mocking. She threw her will against them and they flared out. She took a ragged breath, trying to slow her pounding heart.

  Kevisson relaxed and wiped a grimy hand across his forehead. “You can’t let it get away from you again.” He placed the blanket behind the ummit’s hump, then cinched the patched saddle. “Once we get to Lenhe’ayn, we can rest and have a healer monitor you, but I’m not exactly sure how far it is from here. I didn’t travel through the forest by the—usual means.” He held out his hands, laced together, to give her a leg up. “Now, get on this evil-smelling beast so we can get out of here before Jarid catches up with us.”

  She wedged her toe into his grip and let him boost her into place. Just as he mounted behind her, she caught the faintest hint of smoke.

  * * *

  The afternoon sunlight streaming through Shael’donn’s windows was warm as melted butter against Ellirt’s face. “What do you know about Jarid Tal Ketral?” he asked, as Arldet Falt Killian made himself comfortable in the opposite chair before the hearth.

  “Light above us!”

  Ellirt didn’t have to see the other Master to know how he stiffened at the mention of that name.

  “Do we really have to talk about this, Kniel?” Arldet shifted uneasily. “That young rascal was my most painful failure.”

  “You are his only tutor of record.” Ellirt leaned back and propped his feet up on a low hammock. “I need to know what you remember about him.”

  “I was only employed by Tal’ayn for a year. Then the old Tal himself threw me out because the boy complained about my discipline.”

  Ellirt heard Arldet get up and pace over to the bookshelves lining one side of the room. Angry tracings dominated the surface thoughts of the other man.

  “What occasioned your discipline?”

  “Oh, bullying the servants, you know the sort of thing.” The footsteps returned. “I caught him altering their memories and making them smart-mouth the old Tal.”

  Ellirt folded his hands across his chest. “Sounds like the normal sort of mischief boys will get into.”

  “That wasn’t the worst of it, though.” Arldet sighed. “He would draw servant girls to his bed at night, then block their memory, and him only fifteen!” He hesitated. “And then there was the matter of his cousin, the young Tal heir.”

  Ellirt pulled his feet down and leaned forward. “Haemas Sennay Tal?”

  “Yes.” The emotional content of the other’s surface thoughts grew angrier. “You must understand, of course, that the old Tal never believed me. He always took the word of that young scamp, Jarid.”

  Ellirt nodded.

  “I discovered Jarid was interfering with the girl’s training. If I remember correctly, she was only three or four years old at the time. I came upon him one day hiding close by, while the girl’s tutor instructed her on the use of a portal. Kniel, I swear by the Light, the young devil was blocking her. Then, a few days later, I awoke one night and realized he was projecting black dreams into her sleep.”

  Ellirt sat silently, receiving the scene from his friend’s memories: the girl-child had hair and eyes of the lightest possible gold, almost silver, and a fragile, haunted look. The boy was tall for his age and lean, with bright-gold hair and eyes a shade darker than the girl’s, but still very pale. He sighed. “And you punished him?”

  “Yes, although I didn’t go to the old Tal at first. Damn it all, Kniel, it pains me to admit it but the boy is kin. His father is Aaren Killian, although no one ever speaks of it.”

  “You know, I’d quite forgotten about all of that.” Ellirt tapped his chin. “It was hushed up such a long time ago. How much do you think the boy knows of the matter?”

  “The evidence stares back at him from the mirror every morning in those light Killian eyes of his.” Arldet’s voice was angry. “He’d have to be a total fool not to know why his supposed father at Ketral’ayn denies him, why he’ll never be a Lord, no matter how hard he works and studies.”

  Ellirt fingered the tooled sunburst on his belt. “I don’t imagine Jarid Tal Ketral is anyone’s fool.”

  “He’s a Talented, black-hearted rascal, that one.”

  Ellirt sensed Arldet’s scowl.

  “He stood right there in front of the old Tal, swearing with tears in his eyes that he knew nothing of the pranks of which I accused him. I truly don’t know if he was just that good at shielding even then, or if the old Tal was already past his prime and unable to read the truth for himself. At any rate . . .” Arldet sighed. “I was dismissed and have not been taken on by any High House since. Jarid, I imagine, has continued to suit himself without guidance of any sort.”

  “Sounds like a proper recipe for trouble,” Ellirt said. “What of the girl? Do she seem of a like propensity?”

  “Just the opposite.” Arldet shook his head. “She was a quiet, withdrawn child. I saw little of her and heard even less, except for rumors that she was not very quick at her lessons.”

  “A sad House.” Ellirt paused to send a mental order for refreshments to one of the boys serving down in the kitchen. “Two children, both without mothers, and a father who would not face the truth.”

  “I was not sorry to leave that gloomy place.” Arldet rose and stood in front of the hearth. “Though I’ve never been easy about what I left behind. When I heard what had happened between the girl and her father, I wondered if I should have tried harder to convince him before I left.”

  “You mean before you were thrown out.” Ellirt shook his head. “Never mind, you are possibly being of some help now.”

  “Too little, too late, I should imagine.”

  Ellirt plucked the image of the intense, good-looking boy out of his friend’s surface thoughts again and examined it. A strong face, with those flaring cheekbones and the typical Tal hawk-nose, but a wild glint lurked behind the Killian eyes. “Well,” he said, as a low knock sounded at the door, “perhaps it’s not too late to try.”

  * * *

  “Is that the only riding beast in the whole place?” The Lord stranger’s pale face flushed with anger.

  Esleann glanced at the elderly, broken-horned ebari and nodded. “This be all that we have, your Lordship.”

  Running his fingers back through his bright-gold hair, the Kashi grimaced. “Then I suppose it will have to do. Saddle it at once. I have to be on the road.”

  “Don’t have no saddle, your Lordship.” Esleann watched his eyes, colorless as ice, narrow in frustration. Suddenly she felt his mind whispering around the edges of her thoughts and shuddered. Even though the Mother had sealed Esleann with Her protection last spring, the young woman would never get used to the nasty sensation of someone grasping at her mind.

  The Kashi gave up, scowling at her and clenching his fists. “I’ll get it myself!”

  Esleann stepped aside as he charged past her into the simple gray stone barn. He would find nothing useful in there, she thought with satisfaction. Every animal and bit of tack of any value had been sent with the younger, unprotected girls to the shrine at Litinhem.

  Ten minutes later, he emerged, red-faced and empty-handed. Without looking at her again, he seized the bag of food he’d raided from their larder and hiked his leg over the ebari’s bare back.

  Esleann watched him ride out onto the dusty road, then jerk the poor beast’s head toward Dorbin. It would be a slow trip at best, and even that depended on him not losing the ebari the first time he stopped. Lealla had kept that particular beast since it inevitably ran back to its cozy stall in the Sisters’ barn at the first opportunity.

  She looked back and saw Lealla walking
toward her.

  “You got him on his way then?” Lealla smiled. “Good for you.”

  “He were a bad one,” she said. “Worse than usual.”

  “But you refused him naught?”

  Esleann nodded.

  “Then he won’t be returning with more like hisself to rob and beat us.” Lealla’s dark eyes watched the stranger’s back grow slowly smaller as the ebari ambled down the narrow road. “Even the high and mighty Lords, themselves, can’t fault us for being poor, especially when it’s them what made us that way to begin with.”

  “Did he find his way to the grove?” Esleann asked.

  “Yes.” The lines at the corners of the older woman’s eyes crinkled. “But he weren’t at all happy with what he heard there.”

  Esleann leaned over the cool stone fence around the keep. “I would’ve liked to have seen that.”

  “Well, that young rascal don’t understand yet, but he will.” Lealla nodded her gray head and turned away from the road with a satisfied expression on her weathered face. “The Mother knows his name now and I doubt as She’s done with him yet.”

  * * *

  Kevisson tried to make out the dark shape in front of them, then grimaced. As much as he hated to admit it, only the ummit could see where they were going in this light, and ummits were stupid enough to walk in circles. He reined the animal in.

  Haemas turned around and blinked at him in the cooling dimness. “Are we stopping here?”

  He nodded, then slid off the ummit onto the springy, moss-covered ground. “I can’t see, and it won’t be moonrise for some hours yet.” He held his arms up, but she slid off by herself. Well and good, he thought bitterly. Even after everything they’d been through, she didn’t trust him. “Why don’t you look for some firewood?”

  He turned back to ummit and pulled off the saddle. His arms trembled as he propped it against a tree. Light above, he ached with weariness down to his very core. He tethered the strong-smelling beast downwind, well within reach of some low bushes for its fodder.

  Bending his stiff, sore legs, he sat down and used a rock to clear a small bare patch of earth for the meager amount of fire they needed. They could eat what little was left of the trail food he’d purchased in Dorbin cold, but he wanted her to keep watch while he slept. Hopefully with a fire, she would stay awake until it was her turn to sleep.

  After a few minutes, her slender form reappeared, her long pale hair shimmering like moonlight in the dimness. She laid down an armful of dry tinder. He arranged the fuel on the bare earth and closed his eyes to concentrate and spark the fire.

  He was so tired that for a second he couldn’t recall the litany, but then it came back to him. In another minute, the tiny fire crackled merrily. He looked up at her drawn face. “Did you see a stream out there?”

  She shook her head. “But I thought I smelled water. I don’t think it could be very far.”

  “Never mind.” He leaned back and rested his aching head against the ummit saddle. “We’ll look for it later when the first moon rises.” He yawned helplessly. “I’ve got to have some sleep or I’ll pass out, but I want you to keep watch.”

  Sitting down on the opposite side of the fire, Haemas nodded. His eyes closed, but he forced them open again. There was more, he thought foggily, something else he had to tell her. What was it?

  Then he remembered. “And you mustn’t sleep.” He hitched himself up on his elbows and peered at her over his chest to see if she were really listening. “Not when I can’t monitor you. Do you understand?

  “Oh.” The moon-colored eyes turned away from him and stared out into the darkness. He felt her despair.

  Feeling as though he were falling into an endless barret hole, Kevisson’s eyes sagged shut again. “Don’t . . . forget.”

  * * *

  Haemas’s face heated as she realized what Kevisson meant: she mustn’t sleep because she might kill them both without even knowing. She watched the Searcher across the small fire until his breathing became deep and regular.

  Then the yellow flames drew her eyes, making her feel uneasy. She got up restlessly and checked the ummit. Tethered just outside of the ring of firelight, the weary beast’s head drooped to the top of the spiny bushes. It, too, slept.

  She ran her chilled hands up and down her sleeves to warm them, then returned to the fire. The evening breeze picked up, making the leaves whisper and sigh. Hunching down before the fire, she tried to think ahead to what awaited her in the Highlands. Would Jarid be there, when the Searcher brought her back? And was there any chance her father was truly alive, or was that just something Kevisson had told her so she would come without a fuss? Her father . . . despair stirred inside her mind, and she knew she dared not think about that.

  The breeze doubled the dancing flames over sideways, skittering a few of last year’s dead leaves through the trees. Catching a faint whistling sound, she stood up to listen. After another moment, the breeze gusted from that same direction and she heard it again; a high-pitched, regular whistling, almost like . . .

  She glanced at the sleeping man. Kevisson’s face was pinched and still as he lay in the grip of total exhaustion. He probably wouldn’t wake for hours.

  Making up her mind, she padded out of the firelight into the waiting darkness. She wouldn’t be gone long, she promised him silently as she felt her way through the underbrush. She would only go far enough to see if that was just the wind whistling through a rock somewhere up ahead, or—

  The wind surged again, cool against her face, bringing the sound more clearly. She hesitated, trying to make sure of the direction.

  Running her hand over the rough bark of a tree in front of her, she felt her way around it, smiling slightly to herself. Could that really be some sort of music the wind was carrying on its back tonight?

  AN ICY droplet tingled down Kevisson’s cheek. He threw one arm over his face as he shifted onto his other side, then recoiled as every muscle along his rib cage twinged. He rolled onto his back and stiffened. Even with his eyes closed, he could see light.

  He ground the heels of his hands over his eyes, then blinked up at the slivers of slate-gray sky visible through the interwoven trees. The wind whistled through the branches, and chill raindrops dripped down the leaves onto his face. Sitting up, he glanced over at the tiny fire circle. The wood had burned down into gray ash, but an armful of fresh fuel was still piled only a few feet away. Why had Haemas let the fire go out? A pang of alarm rang through his fuzzy head—had she fallen asleep?

  Worried, he stumbled to his feet and searched the small campsite. The ummit was still tethered, eyeing him with placid disdain, the saddlebags lay undisturbed, but there was no sign of the tall pale-haired girl. Telling himself she was probably just poking around in the woods, looking for fruit or water, he relaxed his shields and tried to follow his tie to her.

  For the first time since he had woven the psi connection between them, he could not find her. His tie led a short distance into the forest and then just—melted away. He felt his heartbeat speed up. It would take considerable skill and training at levels she didn’t possess to dissolve that tie. Had Jarid Ketral found her after all?

  His stomach tightened. If so, she might already be dead. If not, then he had to find her. Taking her back to the Highlands was more than just an assignment at this point; it had become a necessity. In her uncontrolled condition, she was a danger to herself and everyone around her, and the responsibility for that lay at his feet. He had meddled with problems beyond his skill and training.

  Picking up the soaked saddle blanket by a corner, he sneezed, then turned resolutely toward the ummit. He would find her, if he had to search every foot of these misbegotten, silsha-infested woods to do it!

  * * *

  Struggling back to full consciousness from the gray otherness of Search, Jarid scowled and sat up on the side of the bed.
Bypassing the remainders of his breakfast, he reached for the pitcher of water standing on the low bedside table and poured a glassful.

  Darkness and damnation! he told himself, the little wretch had to be out there somewhere! He knew his psi senses were working now; he had a full purse of coins and a tolerably good horse to prove that much anyway.

  He drained the glass of water and crossed the cramped room to check out the window. The rising orange sun hung halfway above the horizon, around Ninth Hour. His Search had lasted almost three hours. No wonder he felt exhausted. If after that much time, he hadn’t found his young cousin, then the girl must be dead. He could think of no other reason.

  He stretched back on the rough homespun blanket and folded an arm behind his head. Well, if she lay dead somewhere in the forest with her throat slashed by chierra brigands, so much the better. That saved him the trouble of doing the deed himself, and it was only right that Tal’ayn pass to him. Haemas was soft and spineless, totally unable to make tough decisions and hold Tal’ayn against the world. Under her direction, Tal’ayn would have finished its current slide into oblivion.

  Now he could return to the mountains and resume “comforting” the old Lord’s widow. He’d already been absent far longer than he’d intended. Alyssa’s charms lay solely in her beautiful face and insatiable appetite for his attentions. It was painfully obvious the Light had never intended her for tasks that involved heavy thinking.

  He selected a callyt from the tray and sliced off a bite with his dagger. Munching the sweet juicy flesh for quick energy, he wondered if his uncle had managed to peg out yet. Light help them all if the old nit hadn’t. He closed his eyes and sent a mental call back to Tal’ayn and his voluptuous young “aunt.”