by Edun, Terah
They could be wounded with lesser weapons, but the only way to kill a whitehart elk was to direct a magical attack to the heart or slash its throat with a sword. Ciardis momentarily closed her eyes as she imagined wielding the blade that would kill one of the mighty elk. In her vision, the great beast’s blood spilled onto the dark forest loam, the bright red standing out against the animal’s white fur, and it bellowed its last breath.
She would have no choice but to kill it; the general would expect no less.
It wasn’t that she was squeamish; she’d killed and skinned her own dinner many a time back in Vaneis. But that didn’t mean she enjoyed killing for sport.
Damias was on her right. He reached for her hand and gripped it as he quietly said, “Enjoy the hunt, my dear, but not the kill. And above all, smile for your Patron. If he enjoys this, then so will you.”
A strange blend of eagerness, anticipation, and wariness stirred within Ciardis, and she replied, “Of course.”
Chapter 12
The horns of the honor guard sounded somewhere off to the east, and they were off in a whirlwind of hoof beats. Ciardis’s filly soon took the lead, outpacing Damias’s gelding and nearing the big black stallion that the general rode. With a glance at the stallion the general rode, Ciardis noted that it was a firesteed with flames snorting from his nose, embers forming his eyes, and his mane was a flickering vision of black fire.
She wasn’t afraid—not of the firesteed, nor his master. As she flicked her gaze up at the general, meeting his assessing steely eyes, Ciardis gave him a mocking salute and urged her filly ahead. For his part, Barnaren seemed pleasantly surprised at the fire he saw in the gypsy girl’s eyes.
As their party thundered into the woods, a clear path appeared in front of them between a long line of oaks and tall maples. The general urged the firesteed ahead of Ciardis and the pack and then he abruptly whirled around to face the group. They came thundering to stop in a semi-circle before him.
“Mason, come forward and have your dogs lead us to the nearest beast’s lair,” he called. A young man with auburn hair urged his horse forward. Jostling around his steed were six nose hounds, all clearly straining for the scent and eager to be loosed. Jumping down from his horse into the middle of the pack, Mason took a white patch of fur out of one coat pocket and passed it under the nose of each of his hounds, careful to make sure they all got a whiff. At his signal, they put their noses to the ground, searching for a trail. When it became clear that they wanted to continue north, he mounted his horse and gave the general his news.
“Very well,” the general replied, satisfied. “Let us ride, then.”
They hunted the scent of the elk through the thick woods and down to the riverside, across a ford, and back through into denser foliage. The woods became so dense with low-hanging branches and underbrush that the riders had to dismount after a time in order to continue. Soon enough dirt coated her boats and branches caught in her hair. Ciardis decided to walk her mare off to the right where the path looked a little clearer, not far from the general’s side, but behind him.
She was worried. They’d been hunting for two hours so far with not an elk to be seen. And she couldn’t stay out here forever. She needed to impress Barnaren with enough time left to return home to prepare for the first ball that evening. I’m lucky that none of my other prospective patrons elected to join us on this Hunt, she thought with amusement. It’s difficult enough impressing one with briars in my hair and mud on my boots.
A piercing whisper came from the northwest. Ciardis looked up to see the huntsmaster raising and lowering his right arm to signal the hunting party to go to ground. Sighing in irritation she lay down, trying to wipe her face on the only clean spot left her tunic and then pick a briar out of her curls.
A voice interrupted her thoughts with a droll observation. “If you want to impress my father, it’s best to forget about pretty dresses and jewelry and face paint. He wants a woman who can start a campfire, prepare a warrior’s armor, and nock an arrow with the speed of a trained bowman.”
Ciardis rose from where she was crouched at the base of a tall tree. She’d been there since the hunt master had given the all-quiet signal—an order for everyone to melt into the forest as best they could. Even the horses stood silent. She turned to Corporal SaBarnaren with an insincere smile on her lips and said, “Well, milord, it sounds as if your father seeks a squire, when I heard that what he actually needs is a wife.”
“Address me as Evan, please,” Corporal SaBarnaren said. “And what do you know about being a wife?”
“A bit more than you would,” she murmured. The horn sounded once more, signaling the parties to move forward.
SaBarnaren dipped his head in acknowledgement, looking genuinely amused as the group began moving north.
Ciardis decided she would rather not run into him again, and elected to maneuver a bit to the northeast, circling around to catch up with the hunting party that rode west. Shading her eyes as she looked up, she saw a jagged piece of rock rising above the trees ahead of her. She thought, Perhaps I can catch a glimpse of one of those fabled elk from that bluff.
The filly wouldn’t make it up the steep slope, though, so she left her reins looped to a branch. Ciardis climbed the ridge carefully, trying to grab handholds in the rock and clutching the edge of the rim tightly until she could hoist herself onto the ridge. After dusting herself off, she paused to catch her breath, grimacing at a pain in her leg where she’d banged it on the cliff.
As she crept to the front of the upward-sloping ledge, she made sure to maintain her footing. No sense in making it all the way to the top only to take an undignified tumble. As she reached the far ledge, she lay flat on her belly and eased forward to the edge.
As she poked her head over the cliffside, her loose chestnut curls cascaded over her eyes, and she pushed the curls back behind her ears in irritation. She saw that her earlier suspicions were correct – she could get a good view here. Looking down she was right above a small glade scattered with beautiful trees and a dark pool of water. Small, winged creatures flitted around in the pillars of sunlight that pierced the canopy of leaves above. It looked too perfect to be real, so Ciardis decided to investigate this further.
She slipped over the crest of the hill and ventured down into the shade of the trees. As she reached the far edge of her cover, she saw it—or, rather, him. A whitehart elk stag stood alone in the shade near the pool.
The animal was far grander than anything that had previously been described to her. He stood a magnificent sixteen hands high, with white fur that shone like moonlight on still water. If they had stood face-to-face, his muzzle would have come to the top of her forehead; his rack of tines, with at least a dozen points spread toward the sky, reached two feet higher.
As he came forward into the sunlight of the grove, his hooves lightly disturbed the ground so that faint clouds of dust and pollen rose up around his feet. She couldn’t help but think how beautiful he was. At the lake’s edge, he paused and looked right at her, his breath misting in the afternoon sun, eyes like a starless midnight.
Ciardis had nothing but a bow and quiver of arrows on her, both of which were strapped to her back at the moment. If she unlimbered the bow and knocked the arrow too slowly, he might charge her, or run far enough into the forest that he’d be out of range. Her spear—the only handheld weapon she was capable of handling, according to Damias—was back with her filly. And even if it was here, she wasn’t certain she could throw it with enough force.
Quietly, she rose out of her hiding place and stepped forward, afraid of startling the elk. But he stood calm and majestic before her, occasionally pawing the ground. She was filled with wonder as she continued to approach him – wary that he would spook at any moment. He lowered his head to nuzzle her face with a wet nose, and Ciardis laughed in delight. Raising he
r hand hesitantly, she stroked the soft white fur on his cheek. When he didn’t flinch away, she trailed her hand up his neck and then down to his shoulder.
She knew that she should send some sort of signal to the other hunters—Evan, at least, seemed able to hear her thoughts—but she just couldn’t.
“You’re gorgeous,” she whispered. “A true king of the forest. Why are you here? You must know that hunters stalk these woods. Run away!”
The great white elk snorted.
As she rested her hand on his cheek, she felt a magical disturbance, as if someone else were brushing at her mind. Hesitantly, she lowered the mental barriers to her mind. She’d worked hard with Damias to be able to feel when a telepath was reading her thoughts and how to block their intrusions. Dropping those mental barriers and letting someone in intentionally left her concerned and wary. The general’s commanding voice flowed into her mind: I’m coming up on your left. No, do not look. Stay still. Stay silent.
Ciardis’s breath caught, but she had no time to wonder at his telepathic abilities. She looked up into the beast’s eyes, heartsick about what was about to happen. The whitehart elk saw the apology in her eyes, and understood. He backed away and reared up on his hind legs. An arrow came out of the sky from Barnaren’s direction and pierced the elk’s chest. Ciardis stumbled back, falling to the ground before the rearing elk.
She stared at the longbow arrow jutting from the animal’s ribs. However, it wasn’t enough to bring him down. Only a blade or magical blast to the heart could do that. In pain and fury, the whitehart elk whirled around to face his tormentor. He saw the general a dozen feet away and charged. Ciardis watched as the elk raced toward the general, who now clutched a sword in his hands. The elk lowered his rack to spear the invader.
The general knew that he would have one chance to slay the beast. He just needed to get underneath its jaw and pierce straight through to the heart. Ciardis scrambled up and dashed toward the two combatants. She couldn’t do anything from here; the elk’s magical protection was already going down, thanks to the verbane-laced arrow, and there was no way she’d get a heart-shot in from behind.
Barnaren glanced at her. His concentration had been broken by Ciardis’s movement, and he quickly looked away. The elk reached him in that moment and Barnaren had to dodge to the side and under it’s angry hooves. It wasn’t quite enough. His sword stroke missed, but as the stag raced past, it managed to spear the general’s thigh with a tine. The tine snapped off in a clean break, but another immediately grew in its place.
The blood poison of the tines did its work within seconds. General Barnaren collapsed, unable to move his leg. His sword lay a few feet to one side.
The beast whirled on its hooves to finish off its now helpless opponent. In desperation, Barnaren scrambled across the ground, dragging his leg behind him as he reached for his sword. Making a spilt section decision Ciardis reached down and grabbed the sword first. She faced the elk.
“Ciardis, here,” said the General in a harsh, pain-filled whisper behind her.
Turning to Barnaren, she stared at his outstretched hand for what seemed like a long moment before taking it. She had no idea what he was up to.
Baring his teeth in a grimace, his slammed his mage strength into hers. She realized that the poison was affecting not only his movement, but also his ability to practice magic. He was trying to save them both by giving her the power to defeat the elk.
But her magic didn’t work like that, something the general suddenly understood. Swallowing quickly, she said, “Take my magic into you instead.”
With no options left, he reversed the push into a pull and grabbed for her power in order to drain her core. Instead, he felt a wealth of power—not from just Ciardis, but from the power she was pulling from the very earth beneath them. Taking what he could, he fashioned it into a spear of magic. A heavy arc of power raced from the general’s hand to the whitehart elk, which was almost upon them now.
The bolt crashed into the middle of the beast’s chest, and Ciardis saw the moment when its great heart stopped and the glimmer of life left its eyes. Before it had even crashed to the ground, its lifeblood had ceased to flow. Stone dead, the whitehart elk skidded to a halt in the mud and grass near the edge of the little lake.
As it lay there silently, Ciardis turned once more to the general, and then looked down at their clasped hands. Taking a deep breath, she looked at his leg, noting the bone-white tine that protruded upright from the mangled mess of his thigh.
At that moment, she heard a voice call down from the ridge. When she looked up, she saw the general’s guards cresting the ridge and scrambling down. She could see a healer in white rushing toward them.
“Thank you, Ciardis,” the general gasped weakly. “Without your power, we would have both died.”
“I only did what I have been trained to do – giving you the power,” she responded.
“Nevertheless, in battle, the ones who win are those who can face their fears and get it done. You,” he said, pausing to cough, “got it done.”
The healer reached them and knelt to examine the torn leg. The healer ignored the beast behind him except for a cursory glance to determine that the material that impaled the general’s leg was, in fact, a tine from the beast’s rack. The healer then set to work. Moving with extreme care, he checked the tine’s position—it had missed the great artery in the thigh—and then slowly pulled the tine from the bone with magical energy. It was a struggle, as the tine was awash with the magic of the beast, and he might not have accomplished it had Ciardis not reached out and grasped his hand. She quickly explained about her talent, and how she could strengthen the magic of other mages.
As he clutched her hand, his magic surged, and he was able to both remove the tine and combat the poison drifting in tendrils from it, cutting off the spread of the toxic vapors. After he’d tossed the neutralized tine aside, he cleansed the darkness from the general’s body. Then, with a firm hand, he pushed the bones of the general’s thigh back into place with a snap, and smoothed the torn muscles in his leg. The healer began working to fix the torn muscles like a sculptor with clay. Ciardis watched in fascination. She could actually see the healer’s magic as he smoothed the frayed flesh and knitted the muscles and skin back together.
It was amazing.
Once his patient had returned from brink of death, the healer met her eyes. “You have my thanks, Mistress Weathervane,” he said gratefully. “He is past the critical stage now. We can take care of any other necessary treatments at the Healers Guild in Sandrin.”
Turning to focus on Barnaren the healer said, “I need to put you in a healing sleep, milord, if you will permit it.”
“Of course, Barthis. A moment, though.” General Barnaren turned his head and told his second-in-command to take charge for the time being. She knew that General Barnaren was currently running a military campaign in the White Mountains. The basic knowledge had been passed to her as a part of his dossier – his high-ranking role with the military meant he would often be away from his estates and therefore, her.
She wasn’t sure if Barnaren was commanding his second-in-command to take charge of the Hunt or the military campaign itself. Before she could ask the healer put a hand over General Barnaren’s forehead and his eyes closed in slumber. Turning back to the task at hand the healer finished wrapping a dressing around the wound.
Barthis turned to look Ciardis straight in the eyes. “Without you, this would not have been possible. To do what I just did would have taken two healers, at least. I’m grateful,” he said, bowing his head.
“You’re welcome,” said Ciardis, “I’m grateful you were here.” They stood up and Barthis signaled to several guards to come forward. Two of the men who bore the insignia of Air mages band egan conferring with the healer.
“It’s best to lift him with
air. Could you do this?” Barthis asked one of the Air mages.
“Yes,” the Air mage confirmed. Ciardis watched as two other guards came forward to lift their commander and the Air Mages commanded the wind to lift the air from General Barnaren from the arms of the guards. They made their way back up the hillside with the healer beside them.
Ciardis turned to their fallen foe, the beautiful whitehart elk. Sighing, she knelt by its side. Except for the arrow piercing its ribs, it had no visible wounds; there was no sign of the lightning arc that had killed it on its soft white fur. Stifling a sob, she rested a hand on its cheek. After a moment she rose and made her way up the ridge on the heels of the guards.
Chapter 13
As they walked through the forest, one of the guards brought a trumpet to his lips signaling all of the hunters. They reached the rest of the hunting party and mounted up to go back through the portalway.
Ciardis told Damias what had happened – from the time she went over the ridge until their meet up with the hunting party. “I practically killed the general myself,” she said. “I’ll never be a companion now. Serena will have me pack my bags the moment we return home.”
Damias glanced anxiously over at the general, who lay sleeping between the two walking Air mages. His guards clutched their weapons nervously, as if they might be attacked at any moment. Damias bit his lip. “Nonsense,” he said. “You didn’t kill him; in fact, you saved his life, as only a Weathervane could have.”
