by Pati Nagle
She was older than he, much older, and powerful. Revulsion and despair went through him in waves, even as she beat herself against him, even as his flesh responded against his wish.
He tried not to think of Jhinani, of the moment when their son to be had greeted them, a moment of joyous surprise. The alben clawed her way into the memory, defiling it. That roused more wrath in him than he had ever felt, and in hurt and anger he tried to strike back.
Using his khi as he had never done before, as the creed of the ælven forbade, he tried deliberately to hurt her. She cried out, but not because of his clumsy attempt to fight. With horror he felt her flesh open to receive him, to welcome his seed.
He tried to withhold it, but that too was futile. Her rapturous excitement carried him along and he felt himself emptying into her even as her flesh clamped around him.
He turned his head, letting grief slip from beneath his clenched eyelids. She had stolen from him, and he had allowed it.
Stolen like a thieving kobalen. That was the sort of creature she was, a low creature, without precepts. She was not ælven.
A brilliance filled his mind, a new presence. The soul of the child to be, come to greet them. He had never expected to be a father once, let alone twice, for it was a rare occurrence among his people. Yet no joy came to him now, despite the radiance that filled him.
Conception was the only time in many an ælven’s life that mindspeech was possible. Luruthin held himself away from the contact, even as he heard the alben’s thought.
Thank you! Thank you!
She was delirious with joy. Luruthin only felt sickened. He tried to empty his mind, think of nothing, build a gray wall between him and the others. The child penetrated it as if it did not exist.
Thank you, my father, for opening my path.
A shudder went through him. He answered.
This was done without my consent. Why have you chosen such a path into the world of flesh?
A shimmer of emotion enveloped him, of happiness blended with sympathy, with regret. Despite himself, he felt eased by it.
We take the paths that are offered. I accept the accompanying challenges.
You have chosen a dark way.
And my khi will bear the mark of it. I am not the first.
Luruthin made no reply. The alben leader did not share the conversation; he sensed that the child had excluded her, which gave him a small measure of satisfaction.
All lives are woven of both dark and light. A life is a complicated plan, inevitably filled with shifts and adaptations. I welcome the opportunity to learn.
You come into a bitter time.
Yes. I will do what I can to lighten it.
A flicker of something—hope, or pride—rose in Luruthin’s heart. He tried to suppress it. He wanted nothing of this child or her mother.
I understand your concerns. We will meet again, in time. My name is Shiláni.
A shock went through him at the name. Taken from her mother's, the alben leader's, with only the tiniest part of his own name. How appropriate.
They were bound now, he and the alben, in a way that could never be broken. They would always be joined through this child. What should only be a joyous experience had been forced on him through pain and fear.
The alben—with a grimace he made himself acknowledge her name: Shalár—had violated his person and his thoughts, and had broken the cup-bond he had made with Jhinani. He would hate her forever, a realization that filled him with both anger and sorrow. Hatred was difficult to atone for; the atonement must be to oneself.
He felt Shiláni withdraw, adding her strength to the barrier he had made. Beyond it he knew that she remained, speaking with her mother.
While their flesh was bound together in conception, he and the alben would remain joined in thought, though Shiláni had shielded him from direct contact. Luruthin sensed Shalár gloating, though. He withdrew as far as he could beyond the gray wall, trying to ignore what he knew he could never forget.
He lay silent, becoming aware of discomfort in his flesh. His arms ached from the weight on them; his weight and hers, for the alben had sprawled over his chest in sated bliss. Disgusted, he lay wishing for her flesh to release him. At long last it did so, and the alben gave a deep sigh as she slowly slid away, leaving him exposed, the air cold on his wet and shrunken flesh.
The child was still present, he was dimly aware. She would remain near her mother until the body she had claimed was ready to receive her.
The alben moved off him, the absence of her weight a slight relief. Luruthin kept his eyes closed, determined not to respond to her.
“Well.” Her voice was strangely soft. A long moment passed before she spoke again. “I am grateful to you, Stonereach. What reward would you have?”
He did not move, scarcely breathed. He felt her shifting on the bed, then felt her hands on him, pushing him onto his side and then tugging at the cords that bound his hands. It hurt, but he made no protest.
His hands tingled as blood flowed back into them. He had to move, then, to sit up and rub his aching wrists. Shalár placed herself in front of him but he would not look at her. His anger swelled at a glimpse of her bare thigh, at the bitter, musky scent of her, but he knew if he tried to attack her she would quickly subdue him with khi. Also, he realized with dismay, he could not endanger the child.
“I am in earnest, Stonereach. I wish to reward you. Name your pleasure.”
“I want only one thing, and that you will not give me.” His voice sounded strangled. Like his heart.
She laughed. “Do not be so certain. I can be generous.”
He met her gaze then—those awful, black eyes—and let her feel his resentment. “Release me.”
Her eyes widened as her smile faded. “Ah, no. That I cannot do.”
Luruthin looked down, unsurprised and freshly angered. At least she would not trouble him again until after the child was born. Perhaps he would find a way to escape before then.
“But I can give you some kinds of freedom.”
He moved away, to the edge of the bed. He sought his borrowed silk legs among the bedding, found them and pulled them on.
“You may dwell here, if you wish. In this chamber.” Her voice was caressing, which sickened him. Could she not guess that nothing would be farther from his wishes?
She came to stand in front of him. He shut his eyes, unwilling to see her.
“What is your name?”
He held his breath. If she wanted that from him—anything from him—she must take it by force, as before.
“Ghlanhras is mine now.” Her voice was sharper on the words. “Fireshore is mine. That, Stonereach, is something to which you must resign yourself.”
He said nothing, made no move. After a moment he heard her step away and open a drawer. One of Othanin's drawers; this was the governor's chamber. Or had been.
She returned, and Luruthin flinched as she reached toward him. Something soft and cool fell around his shoulders.
“Wear this, and you may have your freedom within Darkwood Hall.”
He looked down at the red silken cord that draped around his neck and hung to his chest, ending in an elaborate knot. A symbolic bondage. He wanted to refuse it, but knew that to do so would be foolish. Walking free within the hall was a step toward actual freedom.
He would not thank her, though. He remained silent.
She moved away again, and he heard the sound of liquid pouring. Keeping his face averted, not wanting the slightest glimpse of her, he bolted through the outer chamber and into the corridor.
He was halfway to the audience hall when he realized she had not pursued him. He forced himself to walk, to behave as if he had the right of freedom she had promised him.
He was shaking. He paused to steady himself, drawing deep, gasping breaths. Grief brought fresh tears, but he blinked them back.
He must get away, out of Darkwood Hall. Out of Ghlanhras. Somehow he would do it. He must.
Jhinani. He would return to Glenhallow and beg her forgiveness. She had healed him once; perhaps she could do so again. The hope of it steadied him enough to walk on.
The guards in the audience hall glanced up as he entered. Their eyes went to the red cord he wore. He felt his face begin to burn but would not acknowledge it. Watching the guards, who watched him in turn but made no move to detain him, he crossed through the chamber and into the main corridor of Darkwood Hall.
Here he hesitated, at a loss what to do next. He would not be permitted to leave the Hall, he was certain. The alben leader had not achieved her place through carelessness.
For lack of a better plan, he walked toward the entrance, and passed through one of the two sets of double doors that flanked the stone wall of the hearthroom. A place of welcome in every ælven home; this hearthroom had already changed. The hearth was cold and dark; the outer doors closed.
Six alben guards stood before those doors, two of them bearing swords. They all moved their hands to their weapons at Luruthin's approach, and it was all he could do to keep from flinching away. It was not the swords that aroused his dread, it was the nets.
He felt the blood drain from his face at the memory of those nets. Dozens of them, tripping him, dragging him down, their leaf-shaped metal weights biting at him....
He shook himself, and made himself face the alben guards. All of them wore black leathers, all were black-eyed and white-haired like their leader. Two were female, and Luruthin felt a stab of anxious dread at being in their presence.
The alben stared back at him, suspicious. One of the males spoke.
“Begone from here, Stonereach. These doors are ever closed to you.”
Luruthin made no reply, though he was oddly heartened by the claim. If these doors were closed, he must simply find another. Or a different path altogether.
He left, meaning to walk back down the vast, empty central corridor. Outside the hearthroom, though, an alben guard stood waiting. Luruthin frowned as their gazes met.
His heart filled with sudden rage, so vivid he had to close his eyes. Not so generous after all, his captor. He might have a measure of freedom, but apparently it did not include privacy. It should not have surprised him.
Swallowing, he composed himself and walked past the guard, ignoring his presence as if the alben did not exist. He set a leisurely pace down the corridor, noting the footfalls of the guard who shadowed him. This intrusion only made him more determined to escape.
He must choose his moment carefully. Daylight would be greatly to his advantage.
In the meantime he would go to Othanin, still being held in the room where they had both been thrown. If he could free the governor, then when daylight came, they could escape together.
A flicker of hope kindled in his heart and quickened his step. Hope was almost painful, but he held to it as his only beacon through this dark night.
Eliani paused as they came in sight of the darkwood gates of Ghlanhras. The wall that surrounded the city, built of black volcanic rock, was a massive darkness looming beyond the myriad greens and shadows of the forest.
Vanorin halted the party with a gesture. As one, they drew to the side of the road, their backs against the dense forest. For a long moment they waited, listening.
Eliani strained her ears, but heard only the creatures of the woodland. She had seen large, colorful birds with raucous voices on their journey hither, but none of those were evident today. A smaller bird's mournful, falling cry was all that broke the stillness.
Catching Vanorin's eye, she nodded to the right. The plan they had agreed upon was to circle eastward from the gates, along the cleared pathway outside the wall. The gates would be guarded, but Eliani guessed that the alben would not be able to guard the entire wall. She had escaped the city by climbing the wall at the eastern side. She meant to return the same way.
A stab of dread went through her at the thought of going back into Ghlanhras. She looked up at the sky overhead, seeking confidence in the height of the sun.
Vanorin moved ahead slowly, followed by two other guardians. Eliani had agreed to be placed in their midst, though she fretted at being so coddled.
Belatedly, she sent a query signal to Turisan. He answered at once, and she could feel anxiety in his khi.
We have reached Ghlanhras.
Stay in contact with me.
That may not be wise—
I will not distract you, I swear. Please, love.
She knew his reason for asking. He feared, as she did, that this might be her last deed—or worse, that she would be captured. She had already decided to end her life if that occurred, though she had not shared this decision even with Turisan.
Very well.
They were at the gates. The guardian ahead of her turned right, following the path around the wall. Eliani paused for a moment and stared hard at the gates, as if expecting the enemy to come rushing out of them. Impossible, she knew, but the tingle of fear between her shoulders persisted as she followed the guardian down the curving path.
With dark forest on her right and the blacker stone wall to her left, she felt hemmed in. She knew the woods here were too dense to traverse. They would have to return this way, pass those gates again, to get back to the road and their path homeward.
The guardian ahead of her slowed. Eliani craned to see Vanorin, who had paused and was crouched, looking at something on the ground. She moved forward to join him.
She recognized the shattered fragment of a water gourd in the captain's hand. This was where she had fought the alben whose boots and weapons she had taken. Eliani had left her here, unconscious, but apparently the alben had recovered.
She should have killed her. The thought was cold, but Eliani knew that any mercy they showed the alben now would only mean another, harder fight ahead. For her soul's sake, she had not wanted to atone for taking the helpless alben's life. As a warrior, she knew it had been a mistake.
Vanorin glanced up at her, question in his eyes. She nodded. She had told him of this encounter. He dropped the gourd fragment and stood, looking up at the wall.
Eliani gestured that they should continue along the path. They were still too close to the gates for her liking. She had crossed the wall farther to the east.
They resumed their silent march, listening all the while for any sound of alarm from the city. Eliani expected none. The wall was solid; the alben would be in hiding. She and her escort would steal into the city like beams of sunlight.
When Vanorin halted once more, she nodded. They were almost due east of the city; this place would do.
Vanorin gestured to Birani, who was small and lithe, to climb the wall. Birani gripped the rough rocks with gloved hands and booted feet, pulling herself up the wall with cautious movements. Slowly she raised her head above the edge. Eliani knew she would see little thus, nor be seen; the wall was wider than an armspan.
Vanorin tensed beside her as Birani hauled herself atop the wall. Eliani swallowed, listening. No sound came from within the city; no cry of alarm or clash of weapons. Birani lay still for a long moment, then shifted to whisper down to Vanorin.
“I see no one. The houses are all shuttered.”
Eliani nodded. “They are empty.”
Vanorin gave her a sharp glance, then turned to Revani. “Wait here. If you hear any sound of trouble, start for Woodrun at once.”
The guardian acknowledged this, and “stepped back against the forest, into the shadow of a darkwood sapling. Vanorin and two others climbed atop the wall. Birani was no longer in sight; she must have descended into the city.
Four guardians awaited Eliani. Two of them climbed beside her as she set her hands to the rock, grateful for Revani's gloves. Her first climb over this wall had cut her bare hands and feet.
“She paused atop the wall. She could see Darkwood Hall, its terraced rooftops rising above the other structures. Ghlanhras was silent, more so than any ælven “settlement should be. No smoke rose from any chimney, no sound
of labor rang from any yard or crafthall. If there were ælven “remaining in the city, they were not at liberty.
She lowered herself down the inside of the wall, joining the others in its shadow. When the last two of her escort had followed her, she turned to Vanorin, nodding to the nearest street. “She did not know if it was the street she had taken before, but it did not matter. Ghlanhras was an ælven “city; its straight streets all ran toward the “public circle at its center, crossing the curving avenues, concentric rings that flowed outward from the city's heart.
She could see the public circle ahead, a vast, open ground where markets and festivals were held; empty now. Before they reached it, Vanorin halted and drew the others into the last avenue outside the circle. The houses here looked more recently inhabited—some of the windows were open, and one or two hearthroom doors stood ajar—but there was no sign or sound now of anyone within.
With a gesture, Vanorin sent three of the guardians toward the circle. They were to go to the stables and ready horses for riding, if the horses were to be found. Legend said the animals disliked the alben, and Eliani hoped that the city's invaders had not yet dealt with the horses in Ghlanhras's stables.
She watched the three guardians hasten to the circle and disappear from sight. Holding her breath, she listened for a sound of alarm, but heard none.
She looked at Vanorin and nodded, and the party continued along the avenue toward the rear of Darkwood Hall. She had only glimpsed the garden wall in her hasty escape, but thought it might offer the easiest way onto the roof of the Hall.
As they followed the avenue's curve, a blackness appeared blocking their way. Vanorin turned to look at Eliani and she nodded; this was the wall she remembered. It was smaller than the wall around the city, and made of shaped blocks of stone rather than the rough rocks of the outer wall.
Vanorin slowed their pace and walked near to the houses on their left. Eliani's shoulder blades prickled with a sense of danger. Part of her wished to flee, but she walked on, gritting her teeth.
