“He somehow sent word to every loyal citizen,” Karah said, “and they joined the massacre. They rose up in the night and helped Eldinn’s men with their bloody business. Hocsaros was a charnel house by the time the sun came up.”
“That’s monstrous,” Tenna said, her eyes filled with tears and horror.
“To make matters worse,” Doulos added, “we’ve learned Eldinn himself has come under Sane’s influence. She’s granted him legions of yrch, and he’s using them to ravage the countryside. It would be utter foolishness for us to try and win through to Parthiy.”
Karah turned to Stile. “We beg your help, captain. With the river closed to us we need your ship to carry the company to Parthiy and beyond, if you’re willing. There are, however, some conditions.”
Stile sat rigid in his seat. “I’m listening.”
“If you agree to carry us, your men must be free to refuse this service without repercussion, and are welcome to remain behind here in this sanctuary. Resulting deficiencies in your crew will be filled by acolytes. Those who choose to remain part of your crew must vow to remain true to our mission regardless of circumstance or danger. You and your men will be well paid.”
Stile’s face was unreadable. Y’neth raised her eyebrows as if demanding an answer. Finally, he shook his head and said, “No.”
“What?” Y’neth rocked back. “You would deny us?”
The captain’s face turned equal parts amused and mischievous. “I never said I wouldn’t help, I’m only saying I refuse to accept payment.”
“I don’t understand,” Doulos said.
“I accept your conditions, for I agree with their necessity. What I will not accept is your offer of payment. I’m committed to your cause, and offer myself and my ship freely.”
“We’re willing to pay any price,” Karah assured him.
“What price to save the world?” Stile asked. “What sort of man would I be if I only deigned to help because I was offered gold? How could I look at myself in the mirror?”
Y’neth’s face beamed and she gave Karah a look of deep satisfaction. All at once her feelings for Stile and been affirmed and strengthened.
“What of your men?” Karah asked. “Do they feel the same?”
“I’ve spoken to my men almost daily,” Stile said, “telling them everything I felt at liberty to share. There’s much I don’t understand, truth be told, but my men feel as I do, and nearly all of them are willing to stay on. A few will stay behind after alterations to the Sunset’s Trace have been completed.”
“Alterations?” Y’neth asked. “How did you know we’d need you?”
“I made some guesses,” Stile shrugged. “My men have been reorganizing the ship in preparation for this eventuality.”
“What sort of changes?” Doulos asked.
“Reconfiguring below decks,” Stile shrugged. “The Trace wasn’t built to carry passengers. Cyril and I drew up some plans to build staterooms. I can’t have you all taking up deck space.” He turned to Karah. “I need to borrow some of your carpenters and we’ll begin refitting the Trace tomorrow morning.”
“You shall have them,” Karah said, “and our gratitude as well. How long until you can be ready to depart?”
“How many of us are going?” Stile asked.
“Everyone in this room.”
“Then we’ll need three additional staterooms,” Stile muttered the calculations to himself, “two for the men, and another for the ladies. You’ll take my cabin, of course, lady.”
“That’s not necessary, captain,” Karah said. “I’m no queen. I will share a room with the others.”
“I won’t need a berth either,” Quist’s silvan voice broke in. “I’m accustomed to sleeping beneath the stars, so I hope you’ll tolerate at least one body on deck.”
“I’m sure we’ll manage,” Stile grinned. “We’ll make it a comfortable three per room. We should be able to have the work done in five or six days.”
Karah nodded her acceptance. “Then we shall depart in seven days. Let us pray we are able to find the missing Sword. Otherwise, all is lost.”
56
The Shrine
Drawing an audience was becoming a regular part of Tander’s day. He never planned it, never asked for it, but for six days going he’d had it. Six days going he’d been up before dawn tending to his blinkswift egg for several hours as Quist had instructed. The elf told him his bond with the bird would be stronger if he held the egg and spoke to it each morning. He thought the elf might be having a joke on him, but as he sat in the dark incubation room his attitude changed. He could feel the bird growing within begin to respond.
So he found himself spending his last day at the Shrine—the day Quist expected the bird to hatch—telling the egg all about the previous day. He babbled on, wondering how close the bird was to emerging. The egg had grown over the course of the week, starting out small enough to rest in the palm of his hand, now about the size of a melon. It was no longer rock hard and felt as an egg should, so fragile that too much jostling could crack it wide open. He could hear the bird scratching its beak against the inside, working to break free and breathe the open air.
A quiet knock sounded to let Tander know the sun was up and breakfast was served. He placed the egg back in its cradle with a gentle touch and felt his way to the door. He pushed his way through the thick curtains placed to keep the light out and the heat in, then dashed toward the nearest kitchen for some breakfast.
Zalas and Duras sat at a table eating some hot porridge, neither of them quite awake. They mumbled a grumpy good morning as the boy stuffed some bread and fruit into a bag and poured some lemon tea into a canteen. He rushed out the kitchen’s other side and ate on the run, working his way through the tangle of passages until he broke out into the waxing light of dawn.
After his first humiliating session against Katalas, Tander had wandered the grounds in an attempt to avoid the elf’s attentions. It was then he stumbled upon a luthier shop, having heard the sound of plucked strings flowing from the windows. When he stuck his head in the door he found a group of acolytes and masters working on instruments in various stages of completion—all manner of string, wind, and percussion instruments were strewn about the room.
His curiosity had made him blunder through the back door of the Shrine’s musical academy, a place responsible for the training and performance of all music within the community. Beyond creating and repairing instruments, they trained young musicians, wrote new works, and performed music both sacred and temporal. It was a place Tander had often dreamed might exist.
They invited him in and he soon found himself plucking and singing with the students and masters. Though there was much work to do, they always took time to enjoy their art and welcomed Tander as one of their own.
Since then he’d made a point of spending his mornings among them. He lifted his voice with theirs as they sang, having been invited to participate in the upcoming Naming ceremony. The maestro in charge had even asked Tander if he would be a special part of a small chorale presenting a new arrangement of an ancient hymn. He agreed and returned each night for additional rehearsals.
With the performance looming later in the evening, their final rehearsal was to take place just after breakfast. He hoped to arrive early and get a good warm up. Tenna sat on the steps of the academy waiting for him and he couldn’t help but smile.
She was a part of his unexpected audience. During his second day of playing and singing with the academy, Tenna and Y’neth had stopped by to listen, and the girl had returned everyday since. She stayed behind to talk when the musicians broke for lunch, quickly becoming the closest friend he’d ever had. They took to spending much of their days in one another’s company.
Growing up, Tander’s experience with girls mostly consisted of helping his mother with his little sisters. There had been no shortage of girls showing an interest in him, but only because of his standing as the Archon’s son. He soon learned none of them
cared for the things he did and only appeared to care to try and gain better fortunes for themselves and their families.
Other than his passing infatuation with Derae—a woman likely old enough to be his great-grandmother several times over—he’d never been genuinely attracted to a girl before. Sure, there were girls he thought were pretty, but he found there was usually little or no substance within and soon lost interest.
Tenna was different, beautiful in a strange way. She reminded him of Derae, someone he still thought of as the epitome of beauty. Where Derae could be sent into uncontrollable giggles at any time, Tenna was more serious. She had a sense of humor but a decorous sense of sobriety as well. She was witty, educated, thoughtful, and a dedicated follower of Onúl. How could he not be attracted?
He doubted she felt the same for him.
“Ready for the last rehearsal?” she asked with a smile.
He swallowed down his last bite of banana. “I hope so. Maybe I’ll be able to get that middle harmony down today.”
“You’re too hard on yourself,” Tenna said. “You haven’t been even slightly off-key and you know it.”
Tander blushed. “Vonedil always said I was too critical of my singing, but I’d rather be critical and do my best than be full of pride about how good I think I am. He always emphasized humility over ability.”
“Sounds like good advice to me,” she smiled “What about your training with Katalas?”
“Ha!” Tander laughed. “There’s no chance of losing my humility there. At least I’m not falling down as often. I wonder if he’ll let me get out of sparring today since the ceremony is tonight?”
Tenna twisted her face in a wry grin. “I doubt it, but you could always try hiding again.”
Tander blushed in remembrance. The very morning he’d discovered the academy, an acolyte tracked him down to tell him he was expected at sparring training after lunch. He tried to lose himself on the sanctuary grounds instead.
“No,” he laughed, “I won’t try that again. I should have known better than to hide from an elven tracker. Besides, even if I could successfully avoid him, I’m certain Quist could find me.”
“Sounds wise to me,” Tenna smiled as she stood up. “You’d better go on inside, I can hear them starting to warm up.”
“You’re not staying to listen?”
Tenna shook her head and frowned. “I can’t today. It’s why I came early, to catch you and tell you. My father and Karah both have duties for me today, so I won’t make lunch either.”
“Oh,” Tander failed to hide his disappointment. “Well, then I guess I’ll see you later.”
“Practice well. I’ll see you at the ceremony.” Tander watched her until she was lost around a bend in the trail.
He spent the next hour polishing the nuances of his part, concentrating on getting his voice to blend with the other singers during the harmonies and projecting clearly during his solo. Satisfied, the chorale took a rest until the maestro called them to the rehearsal hall where they spent the remainder of the morning fine tuning the myriad pieces into a cohesive whole.
The maestro finally dismissed the group with instructions on when and where to meet, and what to wear. Tander made his way back to the main building for lunch, finding the trio of Katalas, Duras, and Quist sitting at their favorite spot in the gardens. He joined them for a substantial lunch, one he came to regret soon after as they led him out onto the grass for their afternoon drill session.
Katalas started them off on an hour-long hike through the jungle to help digest their meal and warm up their bodies for their coming workout. The time also gave Tander’s self-appointed tutors an opportunity to teach him some tracking skills and wood lore. With their journey resuming soon, they felt the more knowledge and skill the company shared the better off they would all be.
Their hike ended in the wide courtyard between the sanctuary’s buildings. Tander shook his head in confusion as they entered the clearing from completely different direction than he expected. Once he lost sight of the sun he was easily turned around and had to rely on the others to lead him back to safety. He always lost his sense of direction when Katalas led him into the jungle, and though his skills were improving, he suspected he would never match the other’s abilities.
People were gathering in the courtyard as they stepped into the sunlight. Tander frowned as he saw how many were making an afternoon of their daily sparring, spreading out blankets and sharing lunch together. It made him groan aloud.
“Don’t worry, boy,” Quist grinned. “We’ll go easy on you. It wouldn’t do to have you worn out before the ceremony.”
Tander sighed in resignation and took his place between the elves. They worked their way through a series of basic fighting stances and moves. Katalas made him learn the sword fighting forms, each one named for one animal or another. Some of the forms were familiar from his previous training but they discovered significant gaps in his lessons—gaps the pair of elves filled with unwavering focus. Tander felt the difference in his balance, in his rhythm, flowing from one stance to another with growing ease. Little hitches in his motion he’d never known were there were beginning to disappear.
Duras sat on a tree stump nearby, sharpening his axe blade. Not a swordsman, he never participated in this portion of the workout, though he did sometimes practice throwing his axe at a stump several yards away.
Tander never saw him miss.
The crowd grew each afternoon. Several of the Shrine’s own guardsmen joined the workout on the third day, an addition Tander appreciated. The more participants on the field, the less his mistakes would be noticed.
Bright clangs filled the clearing as Katalas worked with Tander and a novice guard. The sound brought their practice to a halt as they turned as one to watch Quist facing off against eight guardsmen—his swift, double-bladed style more than adequate to fend off their single-bladed attacks. His movements were so fast that his opponents often seemed to be standing still, and even the other elven members of the guard were hard-pressed to keep up with his dancing rhythm.
Never caught unaware, even when one of the guardsmen attempted to sneak up from behind, he leaped and twisted away from harm. The sparring only came to a stop when a shiny red apple flew from outside the circle to bounce off the back of Quist’s head. Stunned, his opponents came to a sudden stop, allowing Quist to touch each of them on the chest in rapid succession before they were able to respond.
A raucous laugh rang across the clearing. The crowd turned to see Duras laughing so hard he could barely keep his seat on the stump.
“If that had been a rock, you’d be a dead elf,” the dwarf bellowed.
“Had it been a rock,” Quist said, “I would have dodged it.”
“Bah!” Duras scoffed, “there’s no way you could’ve known it was coming.”
“Really?” Quist smiled. “Look down.”
“Look down? What…?” the dwarf’s voice trailed off as he glanced down to find a short crossbow bolt jutting from the stump between his legs. “How did you…?”
No one had seen the elf take the small crossbow strapped to his leg, loose a bolt, and replace it in the midst of the fight. No one knew how it was possible.
“Had you thrown a rock that quarrel would be buried in your chest,” Quist said. “You, my friend, would be dead.”
Duras turned red as the crowd erupted in laughter.
The sparring group broke up as folks went their separate ways in preparation for the approaching ceremony. Hammering sounded across the way from carpenters putting finishing touches on a dais. A team of decorators hung swaths of rich fabric and vibrant flowers, while another crew began setting out rows of benches in a broad semicircle. Tander looked at the arrangements and wondered how many people lived and worked in the middle of the jungle.
“You’d better get some dinner before the ceremony,” Katalas told him.
“I don’t think I’ll eat much,” Tander said, “not before singing. I wouldn’t mind a
rest before it begins though, the maestro said we’d probably be on our feet most of the night.”
He was about to turn away when he stopped himself. “Thanks for the training. I hope it’s enough to let me share the load on the journey.”
Katalas nodded in acceptance. “We’ll continue tomorrow, Tander. In time, you will be a fine warrior.”
“Tomorrow?” Tander asked. “But we’re leaving on the ship tomorrow.”
“Yes,” Katalas said. “The deck should provide ample space for our sessions.”
“You didn’t think we were done with you, did you, boy?” the dwarf laughed.
Tander groaned and walked away.
57
The Shrine
Rather than spending the morning with Tander, Tenna found herself working shoulder-to-shoulder with Y’neth to help Karah prepare for the naming ceremony. She discovered the High Keeper expected her to take part in the ceremony and serve as an attendant upon the dais. Nervous at first, Tenna relaxed when Y’neth told her the responsibilities consisted of little more than standing at Karah’s elbow and handing her tokens or robes as each acolyte came forward to be recognized. Better still, Y’neth would serve as Karah’s second attendant.
The work filled the morning, matching a box of name tokens with robes of various colors and sizes. The tokens were palm-sized medallions, each with a name engraved. Tenna read the names aloud, prompting Karah to pick a robe from a massive closet then hand it to Y’neth who in turn hung it on a rack for use during the ceremony
Though she’d seen the rainbow of robes worn by the Shrine’s residents, Tenna hadn’t understood their significance. Karah explained the colors as they worked, that each niche in the Shrine’s order was assigned a specific color. Those who had been elevated above acolyte’s status were free to wear robes of any color most of the time, but the specific colors of their order were reserved for formal occasions like the Naming Ceremony. The newly Named were presented formal robes to signify their place within the community—artists wore blue, caretakers green, laborers red, warriors silver, clerics yellow, and scholars brown and gold.
The Foundlings (The Swords of Xigara) Page 30
