Swords Over Fireshore

by Pati Nagle

  Too many details, and it was stifling in this crowded room. She stood up, and the hunters all drew back. For the briefest of moments she missed Ciris, whom she suspected of aspiring to take her place. She did not trust him in that respect, but she enjoyed his arrogance.

  That was what she needed now. Someone with arrogance. This lot were sheep. Not a one of them could be counted on to be as ruthless as the capture of Woodrun would require.

  She stepped to the curtained doorway of her bedchamber and pushed it aside. Her ælven attendant sat just within, whither she had retreated when the hunters began to arrive. Shalár met her startled glance.

  “A robe. Something plain. I am going out.”

  The ælven rose and went to the wardrobe, her step lighter than usual. Her mood seemed to have improved of late, and Shalár wondered if she had made peace with her lot or was plotting something.

  She returned at once with an open-fronted robe of black fleececod, somewhat heavier than most of Shalár’s clothing. Shalár shrugged it on over the tunic and legs of scarlet silk she was wearing, not bothering with a sash. She left her chambers, followed in haste by her hunters.

  Outside Darkwood Hall she felt the mist of a cold drizzle on her face, blown beneath the covered walk by a winter gust. She strode along the walk in the wake of hunters who were no doubt answering Torith’s summons.

  When she reached the unfinished inner court behind the gates, she found it nearly full of warriors, the leaf weights on the nets at their hips glinting in the dull night, an honored few bearing captured ælven swords. Reminded of the night her three hundreds had set out for Fireshore, she felt a swell of longing to go with them now.

  If not for the child, I would go.

  She clamped her teeth on the inside of her lip as her hand went to her belly. The child’s safety could not be risked. She dared not lead this fight—and yet, perhaps she dared not let some other lead it.

  She must take Woodrun now, secure it against attack. Doing so would have two benefits: it would give Ghlanhras a forward line of defense, and it would all but end the darkwood trade.

  If Shalár controlled darkwood, she would have something to bargain with. Something with which to command the ælven’s attention.

  She looked at the darkwood wall that Kelev was building, and the pile of salvaged darkwood that remained to be added to it. Wet in the drizzle, like her black-clad warriors patiently waiting. They stood here because they had faith in her. They looked to her to lead them, and her heart ached to answer.

  She closed her eyes, seeking the feather touch of her daughter’s khi. It hovered at the back of her awareness, as ever, present but maddeningly out of her reach.

  Child, I would not risk you, but nor can I risk three hundred hunters. Nor the failure of this venture. It must not fail.

  A flutter answered, a stirring within her. At first she was uncertain whether it was movement of the tiny body growing inside her, or the soul that waited to enter it. A warmth then flooded her and she knew it was the soul.

  Do what you must. Follow your path.

  Shalár drew a deep breath and opened her eyes. The pale faces of her hunters were turned toward her. Her pack, watching for her command.

  She turned and strode back toward the hall, leaving Gæleth and the others. On her way she met Torith hastening toward the gates.

  “I have done as you commanded, my lady Governor. The kobalen will follow.”

  “Good. Choose ten to guard them. They will not keep up, but no matter.”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  She strode on, leaving him behind, feeling the slight bewilderment in his khi. Reaching Darkwood Hall, she skipped a step in her haste, but would not let herself run. She passed through the audience hall and sought her own chambers. The ælven looked up in surprise from straightening the maps Shalár had left on the work table.

  “Roll those up and tie them.”

  Shalár went into the bedchamber, shrugged out of the robe, and stripped off her silks. Pausing, she smoothed her hands across her belly. Too early yet for the burden to show, but she felt its presence, a small glow within her.

  I will take the best care of you I can manage, child.

  As usual, she received no answer. Smiling nonetheless, she stepped to her wardrobe and pulled out a fresh tunic and legs, these of fleececod. She pulled them on and strode across the room to a chest that stood against the wall.

  Above it hung the sword left behind by the Stonereach, a handsome piece, wrought with vines and the pommel a huge crystal, no doubt from Clerestone. She was saving this sword for her daughter. It was only fitting, for the blade had belonged to the child’s sire.

  Shalár touched the hilt, searching for a hint of his khi. Strong khi it had been, with its own distinctive tone. A whisper of pines and thin mountain air. She thought she felt it briefly, then her attendant intruded, holding aloft the roll of maps.

  “Where shall I store these?”

  “Put them on the bed and come here.”

  The ælven obeyed, glancing into the chest as Shalár raised its lid. Its contents were also bounty from the capture of Ghlanhras. The black dye had not completely taken, but it was black enough. The ælven’s face showed confusion as she met Shalár’s gaze.

  Shalár smiled. “Come, you must have seen armor before. Now help me put it on.”

  The Trade Road

  Turisan reined his mount to a walk, though his inclination was instead to urge it to gallop. Sensing his mood, the animal neighed a protest, and he stroked its neck to soothe it.

  The riders followed his lead, and their horses blew and snorted as they fell to the pace that was their rest for the moment. At the next halt they would have to switch to their remounts, but Turisan thought they would manage one more round of trotting before then.

  Always he looked ahead, toward Fireshore. The sight of the Varindel was what he hoped for, though it would set him a quandary. Eliani was riding along that river—she had left Bitterfield three days since, the morning he had left Riversease.

  If he had not met Eliani by the time he reached the Varindel, duty would have him press onward. He clenched his teeth, wondering how long he might wait at the river before his command began to question the delay. Or should he send them on, and ride westward from there himself, toward Bitterfield?

  His father would disapprove that, and he felt in his heart it would be wrong. But he and Eliani had sacrificed so much. Would Jharan begrudge them one day to meet and be together again?

  He knew the answer. Not even one day—nor part of a day—could be spared from the push to reach Woodrun. The fate of Fireshore depended on his arriving there before the alben.

  A flush of heat rose into his face. How could he even have considered failing in that duty?

  The road ahead seemed to climb endlessly. No sign of trees that would mark a river. They had crossed no streams since the morning. If they did not find water soon, he would have to turn west to seek it.

  He thought of asking Eliani's advice, but did not send the signal. She had not been on the road when she came north; she would have little help for him. Glancing westward, he saw that the column had left Great Sleeper behind to the south. That white-shouldered mountain had taunted him for the last two days, reminding him of Eliani's sojourn there. A spark of annoyance rose in him at the thought, though she had proved to him that she had been true to him.

  Sighing, he closed his eyes briefly. His moods were too volatile; he must quiet himself. Had he not lived a century and more without such emotional tempests?

  Yes, without Eliani. And no, he did not wish to return to that lack of excitement. Nor could he, bound as they were.

  “Lord Turisan?”

  He looked at the rider who spoke, one of Eastfæld's captains. The rider nodded northward, and Turisan followed his gaze.

  The horizon had not changed, but the air had. It held a spark of something different, a waver. Frowning, Turisan nudged his horse to a trot and rode ahead of the column
, holding a hand in the air to signal they should not follow.

  The steady rise of the road had leveled somewhat, though the change had been so gradual that he did not notice. Ahead stood two standing stones to either side of the road. At first he thought them conces, then he realized they were guideposts. As he drew abreast of them he inhaled.

  The stones marked the edge of a cliff. The road turned sharply east and descended, switching back and forth on its way down until it disappeared into a forest of greenleaf that stretched as far as Turisan could see. His heart beat faster as he realized that somewhere beneath that tangle of green flowed the Varindel.

  They had reached Fireshore.

  Eliani bit her lip to keep from saying something sharp or stupid. She could scarcely think, so impatient was she to reach the trade road, but she managed to avoid tormenting her escort with her feelings. At least, she hoped she had.

  Their road followed the Varindel, twining through the forest in a way that made riding faster than a walk impractical. Sunahran and the others chatted happily as the horses ambled along. Only Vanorin was as silent as Eliani herself. She did not care to think about why.

  She had done nothing to hurt him, yet she knew that he would inevitably be hurt. She could not prevent it, nor ease it. He must cope, that was all. And while she wanted to offer him comfort, express her regrets, she knew that this would only increase his distress.

  Her mount tossed its head. Eliani sympathized, and loosened her rein. The horse veered toward the riverbank, reaching for grass. She let it pull a mouthful, then nudged it onward.

  Too early in the day to halt. The horses must graze, but they could do so come nightfall, while their riders made camp. Eliani looked over her shoulder, trying to judge how long she had until sunset.

  Not another night.

  Eliani?

  Oh! You startled me.

  Forgive me. I...we are at the Varindel.

  Her heart swelled with excitement. Without thought, she leaned forward and her mount picked up a trot, then a lope.

  Grinning, Eliani shifted her weight with each turn in the road. Her mount was nimble; she really should halt, but the joy of the ride and the unbearable thought of waiting any longer made her give up all proper ideas.

  One querying shout followed her, then the thudding of hooves came after her. No use telling them to stay behind. Vanorin would insist on accompanying her, his endless fears for her safety his excuse.

  Just as her horse's breathing began to labor and she thought she would have to stop, a lightening in the forest ahead made her catch her breath. The road straightened; the horse ran faster without her bidding.

  She saw other horses lining the river-bank, many horses, their riders watching them drink. The way widened before her and spilled onto the trade road.

  Standing in a pool of sunlight, holding his mount's reins and talking to two Ælvanens, he was there. Turisan.

  Eliani halted, suddenly shy. This Turisan—how did he manage to look so elegant after traveling for days?—was little more than a stranger to her. Yes, they had shared a bed, once. Many nights ago. The thought did nothing to calm her.

  He looked at her and smiled, causing her heart to thump wildly. She dismounted and stood holding her reins, frozen in doubt.

  “Allow me, my lady.”

  Vanorin's voice made her turn. He stood beside her, offering with a gesture to take her horse. His face was stony and he did not meet her gaze.

  Eliani swallowed and handed him the reins. “Thank you.”

  He bowed, then led the horse away. She watched, her heart aching for him.

  What is this?

  Startled, she turned to find Turisan beside her. No longer smiling; a slight frown creased his brow.

  Vanorin has...developed a fondness for me.

  So I gather.

  I did not encourage it.

  Turisan gazed at her for a long moment. “Let me introduce you to my captains.”

  She followed him, obediently greeting several people whose names did not catch in her memory. Her misery increased.

  He was disappointed in her. Regretting their partnership, perhaps. She had done nothing wrong, but she had failed him nonetheless, somehow.

  Did he think she had lied to him? Was his opinion of her that low?

  One of the captains addressed her. “How many days are we from Woodrun, Lady Eliani?”

  “Oh...four.”

  Turisan's eyes narrowed as he looked up the road. Too long; she knew that was what he was thinking. What they were all thinking.

  Turisan shifted his gaze westward. The light was already becoming golden.

  “Let us camp here the night, rest the horses well.” He turned to Eliani. “This is the last river before Woodrun, yes?”

  She nodded. “There are streams, but yes. The Lanarindel is at Woodrun.”

  “Very well.”

  The captains dispersed to settle their companies for the night. They were strung out along the river, many moving up the Bitterfield road in search of room for their horses. Not an ideal way to camp, but there were more than enough ælven to discourage any kobalen in the area from attacking.

  Will you camp with me?

  So formal. She met Turisan's gaze. Of course, if you wish it.

  I do. Shall I send someone to fetch your packs?

  No need. I can do it.

  Instantly she felt this was the wrong answer. His very khi radiated disapproval. She drew a sharp breath.

  Will you come with me?

  Again, a long stare. You wish me to?

  Of course, yes. Please.

  They walked up the trade road in silence, following a company of Ælvanen who were looking for space along the river. Eliani realized she was digging her fingernails into her palms, and forced herself to relax.

  Why was it so awkward now that they were together? They had talked comfortably at a distance for all of a season.

  Guardians gazed at them curiously, even pausing as they made camp to watch Turisan and Eliani pass. The great mindspeakers. Eliani huffed a laugh.

  What is funny?

  Nothing. Turisan...

  Yes?

  Have I done something wrong?

  She stopped, bracing herself for his answer. He turned to face her.

  I was thinking that I had.

  Eliani shook her head, bewildered. She saw a swallow move his throat.

  I have failed you. If you must turn to others—

  What? No!

  Ulithan, and Vanorin as well. Why did you not tell me of that?

  Feeling her cheeks burning, she lowered her gaze. I hoped it would pass.

  What Vanorin feels is more than fondness, if I am not mistaken.

  I did not....

  She bit her lip, fighting tears. Heard him step closer, saw his hands held out. Slowly she placed hers into them. As his fingers gripped hers—so warm and her hands were cold—she closed her eyes.

  You did not mean for it to happen.

  No. And it hurts him, and I do not know what to do.

  There is nothing you can do but let him go.

  Dismiss him? That would hurt him even more! He is proud of his duty.

  Then you are right, he must finish his task. When you are back in Alpinon, he will be free.

  Eliani sighed. Alpinon was far from her thoughts just now.

  You are fond of him as well.

  Of course I am! I am fond of them all. After what we have been through together—

  I meant no criticism.

  She bit her lip, and said nothing for fear of saying something wrong. After a long moment, his grip on her hands loosened.

  Forgive me, Eliani. This is harder for me than I thought it would be. Being apart, knowing you are with others—

  I have kept my pledge.

  I do not question that.

  She felt him lean toward her and opened her eyes just as his lips brushed her brow, sending a tingle from her scalp down to her toes.

  We have this n
ight. Let us forget the rest until tomorrow. Shall I woo you again, my lady?

  She gave a nervous laugh. Ridiculous.

  She became aware of others watching. Pulling her hands out of Turisan's grasp, she started up the road again. Turisan walked beside her.

  Ahead, she saw her escort grooming their mounts. Her own horse was there as well, drinking from the river. Its tack and her gear lay neatly piled beneath a tree. Vanorin's work, but he was nowhere in sight.

  She nodded greeting to her escort, then found her saddle packs and slung them over her shoulder. Turisan waited on the road. On impulse, she beckoned to him.

  “Turisan, have you met my escort? This is Sunahran, and Cærshari. Revani, who kindly loaned me these leathers, and Hathranen.”

  Turisan came forward. “Well met.”

  He clasped arms with each of them, smiling and paying them small compliments. He was much better at that than she.

  “I will be in Turisan's camp, if you need me. We ride in the morning.”

  Sunahran nodded, and Cærshari flashed Eliani a grin. “Enjoy your rest!”

  Turning away before they could see her blush, Eliani started back down the road. Silence fell between her and Turisan again. Too many others watching; heads turning as they walked to a camp made by Turisan's escort, twenty Southfæld guardians unknown to Eliani.

  Only a few of them were in the camp. Turisan introduced them to Eliani, and she did her best to imitate his courtesy, though she felt awkward. They all sat around a campfire and shared a meal as evening fell. Others came and went, and one of the guardians produced a flute. The music was subdued—rather mournful—but it gave a sense of peace to the camp.

  Eliani? Shall we walk?

  She drew a breath. Yes.

  They rose and quietly stepped away, the flute's music drifting after them. The forest here was open enough to walk through. They passed more campfires and were soon surrounded by trees and dusk, stars glinting now and then through the canopy. At length Turisan stopped and turned to Eliani, gently gathering her in his arms.

  He smelled of horse and leather and himself—that smell that she had so longed for. She leaned against him, heart pounding. His fingers slid up the back of her neck to her scalp.