Swords Over Fireshore

by Pati Nagle

  While they waited, Eliani shared her reflections with Turisan. He agreed that she should not leave Kivhani at present. She suspected he did not wish her to go to Woodrun, but left that discussion for later. He would see that it was important for her to go there, she trusted. She would have to ask Othanin to tell her more about the town.

  Felisan is here. Rephanin has reached Thorian.

  Very well.

  Without further ado, she sensed Rephanin's presence, followed by all the others, a confusion of khi that made her squeeze her eyes shut. Bad enough that she was touching Rephanin in thought, though that was not as distressing as she had expected. The anger he had shown when they first met was gone, burned away by the war, perhaps.

  Thorian's khi was new to her; she shyly greeted him, then her father took charge of the conference and summarized their concerns for Jharan. After a slight pause, Thorian replied that Jharan understood and agreed. He would come to the Council, and meanwhile he would send another two hundred of the Southfæld Guard north.

  Thank you, my friend. Ehranan will no doubt find use for them.

  They will be of use. Ehranan's tone was grim. For now, I will send the mounted forces ahead to Woodrun. There are some three or four hundreds, mostly from Eastfæld and the Steppes. Turisan will command them.

  Eliani sensed her partner's surprise. A moment later Thorian responded.

  Your pardon, Lord Ehranan, but Governor Jharan asks if another might as easily command.

  No, it must be Turisan. Not only will he inspire the guardians, but he will be able to communicate to us through Eliani, once she returns south. Lady Eliani, if you would consent to join the main army...?

  She is to attend the Council in Highstone.

  Turisan's response made her smile. Ehranan, in turn, became haughty.

  I hope by the time the Council convenes, she will indeed be there. I have need of her first, however. She can inform me of Turisan's progress, and Rephanin can keep Governor Jharan likewise informed.

  Eliani swallowed. It will take me some while to reach the army.

  She did not voice the thought that all might be over at Woodrun well before she could do so. Instead she listened as hasty arrangements were made for the army to march. Riders would be sent ahead immediately to towns along the trade road, warning them of the army's approach and its needs. Her heart sank as she realized the hardships they would suffer, marching as swiftly as they could.

  Her father's khi recalled her attention. I must go—it is nearly time for the Midwinter ceremony.

  Midwinter! She had forgotten!

  She made her farewells, including a tender one to Turisan, who promised to contact her later in the evening. As Rephanin released them, she opened her eyes and gazed up at the forest canopy overhead.

  Yes, the daylight was waning. She stood, and went around to each of the party, rousing them.

  “It is Midwinter. We should honor the ældar.” She turned to Othanin. “Will you lead the ceremony, my lord governor?”

  He nodded, then held out a hand to Kivhani. “If my lady will assist.”

  She hesitated, then gave a curt nod. Othanin led her to the center of the clearing, and Eliani and the others gathered around them.

  Othanin moved to the east, raised his arms and looked skyward. “Ældar guardians, we greet and honor you on this longest night of all the year. From now until Midsummer, the days will lengthen. We welcome the return of light and all its blessings.”

  Together he and Kivhani paced the boundary of the circle, pausing to honor the guardians of each direction. Eliani followed with her party. In their faces she saw peace along with solemnity, and was glad that she had asked for this ceremony.

  Returning to the center of the circle, Othanin raised his hands again.

  “May the blessings of the coming light be with us all in this dark time. Ældar guardians, please watch over us and help us find our best path.”

  All were still. Eliani glanced down at the ground, thinking of her father conducting his own ceremony in the public circle at Highstone.

  At home, and in every ælven town, the Midwinter ceremony would be followed by dancing and feasting. Her little company had no means for such—indeed, their provisions were running low—and she could not summon a merry mood.

  Kivhani surprised her by beginning to sing. The song was simple, one that every child learned. It praised the spirits and thanked them for watching over those in the realm of flesh. Kivhani's voice was low and resonant, and Eliani found herself breathing more deeply, feeling uplifted, as she sang along in thought.

  The song's end signaled the end of solemnity. The company began to talk, quietly but with enthusiasm.

  Eliani went to Kivhani. “Thank you! That was beautiful, and perfect.”

  Kivhani smiled. “You are kind.”

  “Many a year she sang that in Ghlanhras's circle.” Othanin's voice was filled with sadness.

  Eliani drew a breath. “My lord and lady governors, I have a message for you from my father.”

  Othanin and Kivhani exchanged a glance. Kivhani's eyes hardened, and with a nod of her head she indicated they should seek privacy. They walked a short distance into the woods, then Kivhani turned.

  “Your message came through mindspeech.”

  “Yes, from my lord, Turisan. He has just left Highstone.”

  “Highstone. That is many leagues away.”

  Too many, Eliani thought. She pushed aside her desire to see Turisan and concentrated on her message, seeking the right tone of formality in which to phrase it. Diplomacy was not among her strengths. She cleared her throat.

  “Governor Othanin, Governor Kivhani, my father Governor Felisan has summoned the Ælven Council to meet at Highstone on the first day of spring. He bids you both attend if you are willing.”

  “Both of us?” Othanin sounded surprised.

  “As governors of Fireshore.”

  “I am not a governor.”

  Othanin glanced at his lady. “You were.”

  Eliani looked from one to the other of them, watching the doubt in their faces. Governors of Fireshore, though they stood in the midst of a forest, fleeing their own seat of government. Othanin might accept her father’s invitation with little fear, though he would face uncomfortable questions about the loss of Ghlanhras.

  Kivhani turned to Eliani. “I should travel to Highstone, to meet with a Council who may regard me as no different than the alben?”

  “Felisan will give you the protection of his hospitality.”

  Othanin coughed. “If the Council’s mood turns hostile, even Felisan may face reprisal.”

  Kivhani nodded, then fixed Eliani with her dark gaze. “What think you? How will I be received if I go to the Council?”

  Eliani thought back to Jharan’s Council in Glenhallow, remembering those who attended and which of them had been most hostile and afraid of the alben. She feared Kivhani would have a difficult task to convince them that her people were not the same as alben.

  “Governor Pashari will oppose your acceptance, I am almost certain.”

  Kivhani nodded. “I expect that. Pashari never was fond of me. Will others support her?”

  “Some may. That is all the more reason for you to attend. You can argue for your own people more strongly than any of us could, even I, and I most certainly will speak for you. But let them see you....” She hesitated, fearing she had offended, but Kivhani gave no sign of it. “Let them meet you, hear your petition from your own lips. That would be the best way to make them consider you seriously. The courage you show merely in coming to Council will not fail to make an impression.”

  Kivhani pressed her lips together. “And if I am rejected?”

  “Then you would be formally exiled, I suppose. Little loss.” Eliani shrugged, glancing around at the forest. This was already Kivhani’s way of life.

  “Except that we would lose our chance to be accepted as ælven.”

  “We are approaching war. The longer you wa
it, the higher feelings of bitterness against the alben will rise, and the less rational folk will be.”

  Othanin, who had hitherto been silent, spoke up. “What if the Lost could assist in this war?”

  Eliani looked at him, pleased that he had made the suggestion. His face, though drawn with sadness and care, held more determination than it had when they had supped together in Darkwood Hall. Truly, Kivhani was his strength. Despite his sufferings, he seemed more like a governor now than when Eliani had first met him.

  Kivhani nodded. “We cannot field great numbers, but we know Fireshore well. We could provide guides, and observe the alben’s movements.”

  “You would fight the alben?”

  Kivhani bent a stern gaze on Eliani. “With our last breath. The alben are opposed to all that we value.”

  Eliani smiled. “Then I think the Council will have no choice but to welcome your aid. In fact, you may wish to petition them for recognition of the Lost as a new clan.”

  Kivhani’s eyes widened. “An ælven clan?”

  “It would assure you a rightful place among the ælven.”

  Kivhani blinked, then looked at Othanin. “We shall have to consider this.”

  “We shall have to consider many things.” Othanin turned to Eliani. “I am honored by Governor Felisan's invitation, and of course I will attend the Council, but first I must go to Woodrun.”

  Eliani's heart sank. “You would be in danger there.”

  “Yes, but my people are there. Those who escaped Ghlanhras should be there. It is my task to lead them, if they will still permit me the honor.”

  She was tempted to go with him, and almost offered to. Kivhani spoke before she could do so.

  “Lord Felisan honors us.” Kivhani's voice was low. “I hope he will pardon me for not answering at once. I think I should discuss this with my people. It is a decision that will affect them all.”

  “I cannot get a message to him now in any case. When you have decided, I will pass your response to Turisan and he will send it to Highstone at the first opportunity.”

  They returned to the others and made ready to start forward again. The ceremony seemed to have refreshed them all; even Luruthin seemed reflective rather than distressed. Glad of this, Eliani walked beside him in silence, keeping her doubts and turmoil to herself.

  The Trade Road

  Returning to the army's camp with Turisan and Ehranan, Rephanin was struck by the changes there. A bustle of activity was taking place around the supply wagons. Rephanin's tent stood alone; no others had been pitched.

  Turisan rode away to seek out the mounted companies. Ehranan turned in his saddle to meet Rephanin's gaze.

  “We will press harder now. It will likely make you uncomfortable, for which I apologize.”

  Rephanin swallowed and nodded his understanding.

  Ehranan's eyes showed concern. “Rest well. If you have all you need, I will go.”

  “Go.”

  Rephanin watched the commander ride away. A guardian came forward to take his horse; he dismounted and yielded it. Really he should learn to care for the animal himself, little though he cared for horses. How useless he was!

  He went into his tent, though he doubted he would rest much with all the army busy. To fight the despair he felt rising, he sought activity.

  If any of you can hear me, answer now.

  Folly, perhaps. He had tried before with much of this army, though new forces had joined them at Midrange. He had little hope of finding another Thorian, but for want of anything better to do, he persisted.

  He kept his voice small, a whisper. Over and over he repeated the call. It was soothing in a way, like a cradle song. He was not musical, but he began to play with the rhythm of the words.

  Answer now, answer now. If you can hear me, answer now.

  What are you doing?

  The voice was strong, female, unfamiliar. Rephanin's eyes flew open and he looked around himself. Tent walls, glowing with the fading sunset. He rose and went outside.

  Where are you?

  With my company. Why do you torment us with this nonsense, magelord?

  Do they hear me as well?

  A pause followed. Rephanin peered at every face nearby, but the guardians were all occupied, none watching him.

  What is your name, please?

  He waited, terrified she would not answer. At last she did, sounding less certain.

  Filari.

  Rephanin drew a deep breath. Filari, your hearing me among this … chaos, is significant. You may have aptitude for mindspeech. Will you join me?

  I must stay with my company. We are preparing to ride.

  You are riding? Then you are with Turisan. Go to him, please, and tell him I have asked for your presence.

  He will think me mad!

  No, I promise you he will not. Tell him that Heléri is wearing a violet gown today.

  What?!

  Please, Filari, do this and all will be well.

  He swept his gaze across the field, searching for Ehranan, but did not see him. Excitement was building in his gut. Had he truly found another mindspeaker? With all that was happening he was not certain of its significance, except that more mindspeakers meant more points of contact. It could not but be a blessing.

  Unable to keep still, he ran. Seeking Ehranan, he came instead upon the mounted force gathered on the river bank west of the main camp.

  Turisan would be here. Rephanin hurried along the ranks.

  Turisan says I may join you.

  Rephanin flinched at the sudden contact. Her voice in thought was strong, laced with doubt and confusion. He would have to teach her the signals he used with Thorian.

  Excellent. Please give him my thanks. I am near the mounted force now. Do you see a large oak by the river?

  Yes.

  Let us meet there.

  A pause. Very well.

  Rephanin walked to the tree. In a moment he saw two riders approaching, Turisan and a Greenglen female. He recognized her from Turisan's escort; he had come to think of her as the one who always scowled.

  They dismounted, and Turisan gave him a nod. “Lord Rephanin, this is Filari. I understand she heard your call?”

  “Yes.” Rephanin bowed to her. “I believe she is a mindspeaker.”

  Filari's response to this was to frown more deeply.

  “Then you wish her to remain with you? The rest of us are riding north shortly.”

  “If you do not mind, yes. We should get acquainted, explore her gift.”

  Turisan gave Rephanin an intent look and lifted his chin slightly, which Rephanin guessed was a request for private speech. He took a moment to shield his thought from any outsider, especially Filari.

  Yes?

  Look after her. She has...had difficulty in the guard.

  A vague memory of some scandal in Glenhallow drifted through Rephanin's mind. He would have to get the particulars, but not now.

  I will.

  And Rephanin—you must leave her alone.

  What?

  Make no advances. She has been hurt.

  Rephanin's heart clenched. That Turisan felt it needful to warn him...but he had only himself, and his past actions, to blame for that.

  I will be careful.

  Turisan turned to Filari. “I congratulate you. Henceforward, if your mindspeech proves true, you will be honored among all ælven.”

  Filari blushed crimson and stared at the ground. Her lips moved but formed no words.

  “You will travel with the main force. You may keep your mount. Remain with Rephanin, and learn from him.”

  She looked up at Turisan then, her face filled with unhappiness. No pride in her accomplishment, no gratitude that she was to be spared a grueling ride.

  Turisan offered his arm. Filari hesitated before clasping it briefly, causing Rephanin to wonder just how badly she had been hurt. She watched Turisan ride back to the mounted force with hopeless eyes.

  “Come, we should find Ehranan. H
e will be delighted at this news.”

  She gave him a glance that was almost resentful, then walked beside him toward the main army, leading her horse.

  What would come of this? The joy of discovery had changed to doubt, for his new mindspeech partner was, incredibly to him, reluctant.

  Turisan rode at the head of his new command. They had greeted him as their commander, though he suspected this brought little joy to them, especially the Steppegards. There were two hundred of these, another hundred Eastfæld riders, and something less than a hundred from Southfæld and Alpinon.

  They rode along the Asurindel, eastward toward the plains. Freed from canyon confines, the river sprawled lazily here. Cold stars flickered overhead, and the horses' breath came out as fog. Judging it time to rest them, Turisan raised his hand and called a halt.

  The captains led their companies to the water in good order. Turisan led his own horse to drink, then took out a map that Felisan had given him, reading it by starlight. He would strike north, he decided, away from the river toward Greenfield, a small village situated on the river Clerendil where the trade road to Hollirued met the trade road running north toward the Steppe Wilds.

  Putting away the map, he sighed. He had a few moments now, and might find no better opportunity this night. He sent the query signal to Eliani.

  Yes, love? We are walking.

  And we are riding. We shall reach Greenfield tonight.

  Fill all your water skins there. You will leave the river afterward, and the next few streams to the north are small in winter.

  Thank you.

  I told Othanin and Kivhani about the Council. Othanin says he will come. Kivhani has not decided. She wants to consult her people, so we are hastening to their camp.

  I wish I were with you.

  So do I.

  Turisan resisted the urge to elaborate on this theme. It would serve neither of them, and what ease it might give his heart would be fleeting.

  Rephanin has found another mindspeaker.

  A mindspeaker? Wonderful!

  Well, perhaps. We shall see.

  Why do you doubt?

  It is Filari, one of my escort. She is...troubled.

  He had never explained Filari's difficulty to Eliani, not wishing to remind her of Kelevon. He wondered now if he should do so, but thought it would help nothing and possibly distress Eliani.