by Pati Nagle
“My father did not mention it to me.”
“You were in the field, I believe.” Felisan laced his fingers and tapped his thumbs against his chin. “I think Rephanin would help you and me to speak together, if you are willing. That way I could tell Eliani my concerns directly.”
And share a moment’s closeness, in case she does not return. Turisan did not voice the thought. Instead he shifted in his chair.
“Rephanin is weary. He was scarcely recovered from the battle when we came here, and the journey told on him.”
Felisan nodded. “I could see that. A day’s rest may help. I will not trouble him tonight. Tomorrow, perhaps. Before the feast?”
Turisan hesitated. His contacts with Rephanin had been few, mostly in the field where he was but one of hundreds who heard the magelord’s voice. More intimate mindspeech would be uncomfortable—he still felt a shadow of mistrust, an echo of his upbringing—but for Felisan’s sake he was willing. He nodded.
“Thank you. Thank you, my son.”
Turisan smiled, touched by the endearment. “I will inform Eliani tonight. What more shall I say to her from you in the meantime?”
“In the meantime, give her my love.”
Turisan sighed. He became aware that his right hand was rubbing at the polished wood of his chair’s arm. He stopped and folded his hands in his lap.
“How many alben are in Ghlanhras?”
“At least a hundred. Probably more.”
A look of disbelief crossed Felisan’s face. “So few captured the city?”
“There were few ælven in residence. That is the other news Eliani sends.” Turisan drew himself up, misliking the task of bringing bad tidings. “Ghlanhras is dying. Most of the ælven have left it. There were only a hundred or so before the alben attacked.”
“The city is dying? Why?”
“The hunger has returned there.”
Felisan looked aghast. “The alben’s curse.”
“So it is believed by many of Fireshore’s people. Eliani tells me few of them will go as far as Ghlanhras any more. Most of the darkwood trade is now conducted out of Woodrun.”
“Poor Othanin.”
“His own lady was afflicted, and sought voluntary exile west of the mountains with a group of others who were likewise stricken. Othanin is deeply saddened. Eliani said he seemed hopeless.”
Felisan closed his eyes. “Fireshore has ever been a source of woe to us. Would that we had never gone there.”
“We would not have darkwood, in that case.”
“Darkwood.” Felisan shook his head. “It is not worth the cost.”
Turisan tried to imagine a world without darkwood, the hardest, strongest wood known. So many things were made of it—bridges, buildings, furniture. The roof beams of this very hall were of darkwood, hauled along the trade road from Fireshore.
“Have you told Jharan of this?”
Turisan nodded, saddened by the concern writ on Felisan’s face. Felisan, who was always merry, no longer merry now and it was Turisan’s doing. How he disliked being the bearer of bad tidings.
“Eliani has sent word of the fall of Ghlanhras to the Steppes. They may be expected to respond with action.”
Felisan let out a wry huff of laughter. “Battle on her doorstep? Oh, yes, Pashari will respond.” He shifted forward in his chair, leaning his elbows on his knees and dropping his head into his hands. “Another war.”
Turisan nodded though he knew Felisan could not see it. “I fear so.”
“All this is happening too swiftly.”
Turisan made no answer. They sat in silence for a while. Turisan watched the dancing flames and listened to the fire’s gentle murmur.
Felisan sighed, his face wrought with trouble. “Ehranan marches north.”
“Rephanin and I are to join him there and ride to Fireshore.”
Felisan had been staring at the fire as he listened, but he glanced sharply up at this. “You are going to Fireshore?”
“To join Eliani.”
“But how will we know...”
“What is happening in Fireshore? Rephanin has found a distance partner, Thorian, a guardian. He will keep my father informed of events in the north.”
“Another mindspeaker!”
“Yes.”
“Then you will bring Eliani home?”
“I mean to, yes.”
“Well, that is good news at least! Come, I will show you to her chamber.”
They rose and left the study, going down the small hallway to a door at its end. Felisan took a taper from a small shelf and lit it from the nearest sconce.
“If you find this room uncomfortable take one of the others. Any on this side of the hall. A guest house has been provided for your companions.” Felisan pushed open the door, smiled slightly, and stepped into the chamber, beckoning Turisan to follow.
The candle’s light glinted off metal and glass, a shelf filled with keepsakes. Felisan moved to a low table beside a bedstead draped in violet, its headboard carved with stag’s heads. He lit an oil lamp, then set the taper into a candlestick beside the lamp. Light from both flames danced on a cruet of blue glass and a small matching cup beside it on the table.
Turisan looked around at the chamber, much smaller and simpler than his own at Hallowhall. He moved to the shelf and stood gazing at the clutter of trinkets, small boxes, carvings and curiosities, wondering what their stories might be, and which of them Eliani treasured most. They reminded him of how little he knew about her.
He wanted to ask what each was, to entreat her to share the memories that went along with them. They were part of her, and he wanted to know them, as if that would sharpen her image in his heart.
Felisan stepped to a washstand and glanced into the pitcher that stood upon it, then gestured to a tasseled bell pull of blue and violet broidered with golden flowers. “If anything is wanting for your comfort, ring and Curunan will attend you.”
“Thank you.” Turisan smiled as he offered his arm.
Felisan clasped it with both of his own, smiled briefly, and let go. “I am glad you are come. Thank you, Turisan, for the tidings you bring.”
“I only wish they were better.”
“Some are joyous. Eliani is alive and well.”
Sunlight invaded the room where Rephanin lay, and he flinched. A door closed quietly and the light was banished. He lay still, breathing deeply, remembering the night. He was alone; Heléri had gone some time since, he thought. Why then the door opening now?
Low voices in the next room served as answer. A visitor. Rephanin heard his name spoken, the voice familiar. An echo of the weariness he had felt remained, clouding memory. He sat up, listening, striving to identify the voice.
“—if he is not too tired.”
Felisan. The governor of Alpinon, seeking some favor. Had Jharan been in Highstone he could have guessed what it might be.
“We can return later if he is still resting.” A second voice; Turisan’s.
Rephanin stood up, groped among the bedclothes for his robe, and pulled it over his head. Heléri was making gentle excuses, but he was much better than he had been, and if a mindspeaker sought his aid he felt obliged to answer.
He came out of the bedchamber into a larger room that ran the width of the stone hall. Tapestries covered the windows. Turisan and Felisan stood with Heléri near the door, and looked up as he entered.
“Good morrow, Turisan. Felisan. How may I serve you?”
“Forgive us for disturbing your rest.” Turisan made a slight bow. “I hope you are feeling better.”
“Much better, thank you.” Rephanin felt himself smiling, something he had not done much of late.
Felisan stepped toward him. “I have a boon to ask of you, Rephanin. My daughter is in Fireshore, facing many dangers. I would speak with her, if you will aid us.”
He glanced at Turisan, and Rephanin understood what he was asking. He wanted Rephanin to use his unique gift, that of speaking with anyone i
n his presence, to join them in thought. Turisan could then speak to Eliani, and all four of them would be in communication. It was a new use for Rephanin’s gift, and that alone made it intriguing.
Turisan met Rephanin’s gaze and nodded. He had consented to this.
Rephanin turned to Felisan. “Of course. Does Heléri join us?”
“Yes, if she will. Eliani will be glad to hear her eldermother’s voice. You have no objection, Turisan?”
“None.”
Heléri indicated a half-circle of chairs before the hearth, where a bed of coals glowed softly. “Shall we sit?”
She brought out pottery cups filled with fragrant, honey-sweetened tea. Rephanin thanked her with a smile as she handed one to him.
A sip brought a swallow fragrant of summer flowers and toasted nuts. He wrapped his fingers around the cup to warm them and leaned back in his chair, settling himself comfortably so that the flesh would not be a distraction. Another swallow, one deep breath to center himself, then he set the cup aside and looked at Turisan.
“Are you ready?”
Turisan nodded. Rephanin closed his eyes, which was not necessary but somehow felt appropriate in this situation, as if it made concession to modesty.
Welcome, then.
In touching the folk in his presence with mindspeech, he became aware of them all, of the differing tones of their khi. Turisan’s strength he had felt before, and the deep sincerity and kindness beneath Felisan’s outer jollity. Heléri was a pool of calm for which he was glad. A moment later he sensed a new presence: Eliani.
He had never spoken in thought with Felisan’s daughter. Like her father, she was a surprise. The gruff face she presented to the world hid a tender heart, one that he instantly knew was both frightened and determined.
He heard Felisan draw a breath, as if to speak aloud. Eliani?
Father.
Rephanin withdrew his attention as much as he was able, but the feelings that flowed among these kindred could not be ignored. They communicated faster than words ever could, and with much greater power.
He turned his attention to Heléri, who bade him a small, wordless welcome. This seemed to draw Eliani’s notice, for she spoke again.
Eldermother. I am glad you are here.
Heléri opened all the warmth of her heart, and it was as the sun rising. Eliani seemed to tremble in response, as if her fear threatened to break her will.
Something is wrong, eldermother. With Luruthin.
Luruthin. The name brought his face into Rephanin's mind, a laughing, Stonereach face. He was Eliani's cousin, and also, Rephanin sensed, a former lover.
He was captured because of me. We were able to free him and Othanin, but now ... he is suffering.
Is he wounded? Heléri's question was gentle, full of compassion.
Not physically. He seems weak, and … afraid.
Give him time.
Rephanin was at a loss to contribute. Perhaps it had been so long since he had felt the draw of kinship that he had forgotten its power. His mother and father had long since crossed into spirit, and he had no other close relatives living. There were those for whom he cared deeply—Heléri, Thorian, and a few others—but none with whom he shared the bond of blood.
Made uncomfortable by the topic, he sought to change it. Do you return to Southfæld, Lady Eliani?
Yes, soon. We are … visiting Othanin's lady, Kivhani. She is the leader of the Lost.
Eliani went on to describe a group of exiles from Clan Sunriding. Rephanin listened in amazement. The Bitter Wars had taught him—had taught all ælvenkind—to hate those who violated the creed by drinking the blood of kobalen. Now Eliani was asking them to sympathize with some who did just that.
They are not like the alben at all. They do all they can to keep the creed, and live in hardship because of their affliction. Father, the Ælven Council should know of them.
Yes, once this war is concluded.
But they could help in the war! And Father—if Fireshore is unhealthy for ælvenkind, perhaps the Lost could return to Ghlanhras. They might harvest darkwood without danger, restore the city.
Perhaps, but that is a consideration for the future. We must reclaim Ghlanhras before we can consider its fate.
I believe the Lost could assist us in that. At the very least, they can help defend Woodrun.
Woodrun?
The alben will go there next.
No one spoke for a moment. Rephanin sensed dismay from both Turisan and Felisan.
Spirits! She is right! Turisan—
I will ride at once to consult Ehranan.
Bring him back with you.
He may want to start for Fireshore immediately.
He can give orders to march, but bring him; we must confer. Rephanin, I understand you have a partner in Glenhallow?
Yes.
Will you ask him to inform Lord Jharan that we wish to meet with him—through your generosity, if you are willing?
Rephanin blinked at this sudden urgency. Of course, though I may not be able to contact him. Usually he initiates our speech.
Will you try, when Turisan and Ehranan return? I have the Midwinter ceremony at dusk, and then the feast.
Father?
Yes, Eliani?
I think you should summon the Ælven Council to Highstone.
A pause ensued. They met only a season ago.
Turisan, who had remained silent, now spoke. I agree with Eliani. Another meeting of the Council is in order. The governors should hear from Eliani herself what she witnessed in Fireshore.
Felisan’s khi was heavy. Very well. Eliani, if you can alert the Steppes, then the farthest a messenger will have to ride is to Eastfæld. A few days for them to prepare a delegation, then to journey here ... let us say we shall convene on the first of Spring.
I will send a rider, and inform Othanin and Kivhani of the summons to Council.
Ripples of emotion—surprise, dismay, doubt—went through the group's khi at this announcement. Eliani continued.
We wanted Othanin at the Council. That is why I came to Fireshore!
Yes, but....
Kivhani is his partner. She governed Fireshore with him. She should be welcome.
Felisan sighed. As far as I am concerned she is welcome. Others might not agree.
She may have to take that risk. Thank you, Father. And thank you, Rephanin, for assisting us.
I am honored to serve you, my lady.
Rephanin withdrew his attention as Eliani and her father made their farewells. A moment later, sensing movement in the room, he opened his eyes.
Turisan was standing, preparing to leave. Felisan rose to accompany him.
“Thank you, Rephanin.”
Turisan glanced at Rephanin. “Best make ready to depart.”
Rephanin felt a rise of indignation made worse by his awareness that Turisan was right. If Ehranan ordered the army northward at once, he must go with them. He had agreed to continue, though the thought of another battle made him quail.
Felisan and Turisan went out. Left alone with Heléri, Rephanin allowed himself a small sigh. “What do you know of Woodrun, Heléri?”
“Very little. I gather darkwood is harvested there.”
Rephanin sat silent, slowly realizing that this town he knew nothing of was about to end his comfort. He leaned forward toward the fire, seeking to banish the chill in his heart. More war.
“What is it?” Heléri laid cool fingertips on his wrist.
“Nothing. Thinking of what lies ahead.”
Her fingers closed around his, offering silent comfort. He accepted it, and brushed his thoughts briefly against hers. Warmth and steadiness flowed from her, grounding him, stilling his fears.
For the present.
Riding hard, Turisan reached the army early in the afternoon. They had stopped to rest when they reached the Asurindel, and showed signs of pitching a camp.
Without ceremony, Turisan sought out Ehranan and requested a private wor
d with him. They walked northward along the shore, and when they were out of the army's hearing Turisan quietly told the commander of the conversation with Eliani and Felisan.
Ehranan stopped short when he mentioned Woodrun. “Spirits!”
“Yes.”
“We must march at once! Can Felisan provide us with supplies?”
“I am sure he will do all he can. You may ask him yourself. He sent me to bring you to Highstone.”
“No, I cannot take the time! We must make all haste...”
Turisan gave him a moment to realize that the army was unlikely to reach Woodrun before the alben. The mounted force could arrive there in thirty days, possibly less. A fast rider from Ghlanhras—no, not a rider; horses feared the alben—but nonetheless a runner from Ghlanhras would be there in ten. A force of warriors might take longer, but not much longer, if they were ready.
“Felisan asks your presence in Highstone. Rephanin can assist us to speak with Jharan. He wants us all to confer before the army marches.”
Ehranan nodded. “Very well, let me get my horse.”
Fireshore
Tucked beneath a darkwood bough in the small clearing where the party had stopped to rest, Eliani fretted. Her chance mention of Woodrun, and her father and Turisan's reaction to it, had set her thinking.
Of course the alben would seek to control Woodrun. That would secure their hold upon most of Fireshore's darkwood cutting areas, saving only a few smaller places like Bitterfield.
Woodrun must be defended. She should go there herself, not merely send a message, but it must be after her visit with Kivhani was concluded. She would not endanger the tentative friendship they had formed by leaving abruptly. And in any case, she dared not return to the road until she was farther from Ghlanhras.
She gnawed her thumb. How many days to travel to Woodrun? They had come south for two nights, but their progress was slow. It would be at least four days, she thought, and that was probably too hopeful.
The bloom of warmth in her brow was never more welcome. I am here.
Ehranan and I are with Rephanin. Your father is on his way to join us.
And Thorian?
Rephanin is seeking to contact him. It is not easy for him.
