Ambassador (Conqueror of Isles Book 1)

by Stephen L. Hadley

He was still sitting like that when Avans found him.

  “There you are,” the man said. “The girls told me you took off. Thought you might have tripped and broken your neck.”

  “I didn’t.”

  “Aye, I can see that. So? What’s got you hard-up?”

  Elias shook his head. He didn’t intend to share, but when the flighty desire for privacy did not return, he sighed and flopped back against the tree.

  “Tereus is alive,” he explained. “He’s the elven primarch now. And, according to the trow, he’s already made his mind up about marching to war.”

  Avans whistled softly and stepped forward to lean against the tree as well. Unlike Elias, he didn’t sit.

  “Damn,” he said. “I suppose that explains it.”

  “Mmm.”

  From the corner of his eye, Elias could tell that Avans was looking at him. He didn’t return his gaze. Instead, he busied himself pulling bits of dirt and rotting leaves from the leg of his trousers.

  “Do you think that information will satisfy Offert?” Avans asked.

  Snorting, Elias shook his head. “Of course not,” he said. “I doubt Tereus will bother leading the soldiers himself. We don’t know their numbers, where they’re headed, or how prepared they are. It might be months before they march. I’ll be lucky if Offert doesn’t ask for his coin back.”

  “Damn. I knew sailing with you was a mistake.”

  Alarmed, Elias glanced up at Avans’ face. Much to his relief, the man was smiling ruefully rather than scowling. But, even in the near-total darkness, it was hard to miss the pain in his eyes.

  “Yeah,” Elias said. “I’m sorry, David. For everything.”

  “Don’t be. I’m the one who agreed to it. And I’m the damned fool who kept your coin aboard. I should’ve left it with a moneylender.”

  His tone was congenial but Elias winced anyway. In the chaos of the last few days, he’d hardly spared a thought for all that Avans had lost. His coin, crew, ship, and even his sword were all gone. In many ways, he’d lost far more than Elias had.

  “What will you do?” he asked.

  “Start over, I suppose,” Avans said, shrugging. “It’s not the first time I’ve had to do it. I’ll try and find a ship with room for a new lieutenant. The pay’s never quite as good, but…”

  Elias opened his mouth to apologize, again, but stopped short. Despite Avans’ carefree tone, he could tell that the man was devastated. And somehow, he knew that showing remorse would not help his pain. So, instead, he climbed to his feet, crossed his arms, and glared at him.

  “I’m still waiting for some gratitude,” he grumbled. “I should have let that nereid eat you.”

  Avans stared at him in shock for a moment. Catching on, he huffed and stared back haughtily. “Thank you?” he sneered. “Likely as not, it was your damned stench that lured it in the first place!”

  For a few seconds, they glowered at each other. It was Avans who broke first. Chuckling, the man shook his head and aimed a playful swat at Elias’ head. Elias ducked and narrowly dodged the blow.

  “Bastard,” Avans teased. Laughing harder, he shoved Elias lightly in the direction of the camp. “Come on. Can’t have them sending out a search party for us.”

  Truthfully, Elias still was not in the mood to return. But rather than argue or refuse, he allowed Avans to steer him back toward the tents. Kyra and Rhona were waiting for him on the outskirts, though a stealthy gesture from Avans held them at bay.

  Elias wasn’t quite certain where he was heading. He roamed the rows of tents, watching as the trow disassembled the shelters with practiced efficiency. Before long, however, he found himself back at the fire.

  Gilla had emerged from the larger tent and silently watched him approach. Without a word, she stepped aside to admit him and then followed him back inside. Lucasta still had not risen. But, rather than toy with his sword, she stared up at him with thinly veiled sympathy.

  “What did your companions think?” she asked.

  Elias lowered himself to the blankets and did not meet her eyes.

  “They… they’ll understand,” he said, shrugging. “Many of them risked a great deal in coming here. But if Tereus is truly determined to fight a war, well, they’re better off poor and alive than poor and dead.”

  “A hard thing to accept,” Lucasta noted. “But, I think, a wise thing as well. Are you all prepared to leave?”

  Elias nodded, using the pause to choose his next words with care.

  “More or less,” he said. “Though, I’d be grateful to have my sword back.”

  Gilla tensed at his words. Her mother, however, merely smiled. Retrieving it, she handed over the blade.

  “Of course,” she said. “You’re our guest, Elias, not a prisoner. Although, it would be best if you kept a close eye on it. I would prefer to avoid another incident like the one involving the Gwydas.”

  “I will,” he promised. “And that was just a misunderstanding. It won’t happen again.”

  “Good. See that it does not.” Turning to Gilla, Lucasta nodded. “Do it.”

  Gilla moved so purposefully and with such a resentful expression that Elias nearly scrambled away. He didn’t draw his recently recovered sword, but had one hand resting inches from the hilt when Gilla dropped to her knees beside him and pressed him gently but insistently to the ground. Her hands cupped his face, fingers cold and smooth against his skin.

  “Al no echar,” she whispered. And then, without any hesitation, she pressed her lips firmly to his.

  Elias was so taken aback by the kiss that he actually forgot to struggle. It wasn’t that the intimacy was unpleasant, quite the opposite, in fact, but it was disorienting to be on the receiving end of it from a scowling partner. Fortunately, he felt the sorcerous energies before he recovered enough to push Gilla away.

  The unnatural heat began at his lips, spreading outward with the swiftness of a flame amid kindling. For a few seconds, it grew and grew within his skull, until he felt certain that smoke must be leaking from his ears. Then, as Gilla pulled back, the warmth pulsed once and began to race throughout his body as if carried by his blood.

  Breathing hard, Elias sat up. “What did you—” he began. Before he’d even finished the question, he realized the answer.

  His aches were gone. His body itched beneath the bandages, but the twinging, burning pain had vanished, no matter how small or half-forgotten the wounds had become.

  Tugging his shirt aside, Elias peeled back a bandage to confirm that, yes, the scabbed-over scrapes had disappeared. And, in their place lay fresh, unbroken skin.

  “How did you do that?” he asked.

  Gilla did not answer, but a fleeting smile shone briefly on her face as she rose and exited the tent. Elias stared after her in awe.

  “My daughter was blessed at the temple of Ve’echa. Like most who travel there, she was rewarded with healing talents. Her abilities are modest compared to some, thus she was not asked to remain, but are sufficient to succor you and your companions.”

  “Modest?” Elias muttered. Shaking his head, he frowned as a thought occurred to him. “Why didn’t she heal us sooner? Why bother with bandages?”

  Lucasta smiled softly and with a hint of embarrassment, or so it seemed to him.

  “Such things are private and rarely done, even among our people,” she explained. “I assume my daughter wished your bodies to heal naturally, if possible. And, truthfully, I expect she wanted to be certain you would not prove enemies.”

  Elias nodded thoughtfully, somewhat embarrassed that he hadn’t realized such a thing sooner. Gilla would never have risked her people’s safety just to spare him a few hours of discomfort. He couldn’t blame her for that.

  “Now, Elias, are you prepared?” Lucasta prompted. “If Cotora searches for you personally or sends word to the capital, it will not be long before we are pursued. We must travel swiftly.”

  Again, Elias nodded.<
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  “I’m ready,” he answered. “Just say the word.”

  ***

  Perhaps it was thanks to Gilla’s healing, or perhaps his naps throughout the day had been more restful than expected. Whatever the reason, Elias found himself surprisingly alert when the last of the tents had been carefully stowed and fashioned into shoulder-slung packs. He’d even volunteered to help carry some of the trow’s possessions, mostly by miming, but every one of his offers was respectfully declined. Thus, aside from the bundle of stiff, salt-crusted clothing Lucasta the Younger had returned to him, he joined the others mostly unburdened.

  Judging by their expressions, each of his companions had been similarly exposed to Gilla’s lips. Avans was grinning like a fiend and, judging by the redness of Kyra’s cheeks, had been teasing her incessantly. Rhona, on the other hand, paced sullenly.

  Elias exchanged a few quiet words with Avans and Kyra while they waited for the trow to muster. From the corner of his eye, however, he could feel Rhona’s disquiet like a physical weight. And so, after a few minutes, he excused himself and strolled over to join her.

  “Something on your mind?” he asked.

  Rhona peered at him in confusion—puzzling out his idiom, he later realized—then halted.

  “Yes,” she murmured. “I think much. You cannot help.”

  “I could try,” he suggested.

  Again, Rhona glanced at him. This time, however, she sighed and allowed her pacing to carry them away from prying ears.

  “Before, I leave my people,” she said. “I do this because you are right. War is terrible and peace is important. Now, the trow say there is no peace. We are too late. And you… you agree! You return home! So easy! I cannot return home!”

  A sense of growing dread crept slowly down Elias’ spine, coiling into a hard knot in his stomach. He knew the cause without having to look for it. He’d been so fixated on protecting everyone, on finding a way to get them to safety, that he’d never even stopped to consider Rhona’s fate.

  “You could try,” he suggested.

  Rhona studied him, her eyes hard. “No,” she said. “I tell you before, in Eh’kaavi. My people do not understand. I cannot return.”

  He opened his mouth but the words wouldn’t come. Sighing, he closed it again. What could he possibly say? It wasn’t as though he could invite Rhona back to Islesmark. Even if she’d been willing to come, there was no way Offert would allow an elf in his city when the war could begin at any moment.

  “What will you do?” he asked quietly.

  Rhona shook her head and shrugged. “Think more,” she said. “I travel with you for now. Later, I go north, maybe. I find a new people who need a Gwydas? Tekali knows my place.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “If I’d known that things would end up like this, I…”

  He trailed off, unable to continue. Rhona, however, must have understood him. Wandering close, she patted his shoulder reassuringly.

  “It is not your fault, Elias,” she said. “You are a good man. You try your best.”

  Elias shrugged, wishing he could agree.

  Chapter Fifteen

  To call the nighttime march wearying was an understatement. Despite their relatively greater burdens, the sixty-odd trow moved with an ease that Elias envied. True, it no longer hurt him to move, but by the time the sky began to lighten and the elder Lucasta announced a halt, he almost wondered if it was only the superficial injuries that had been healed.

  From the faces of his companions, Elias suspected they felt much the same. Avans was calm and quiet, having endured the march without a single word of complaint. But his brow was slick with sweat and there was a stiffness to his movements that even Elias couldn’t fail to notice.

  Kyra had fared much worse. She’d been sweating and panting for the past league and dropped to the ground with a relieved groan when the matter was finally settled. She did not even open her eyes when he asked after her, offering only a grimace in reply.

  Oddly enough, it was Rhona who’d fared the best. Though her face was still clouded by troubled thoughts, she moved with an easy grace. Pulling the cloak from her shoulders, she wadded the garment and offered it as a pillow to Kyra, who gratefully accepted.

  Elias eyed the three of them, uncertain how to occupy himself. His legs were stiff and heavy but his mind was restless. He knew instinctively that it would take him a long while to fall asleep and since he wasn’t keen on dreaming away however much time they had, he wandered about, watching the trow.

  Most of those he passed hardly seemed to notice him. None had bothered with tents, though a few had spread blankets and sprawled upon them. More simply sat, sipping from water skins, sharing bits of dried meat, or conversing in quiet tones. Even those he strolled past rarely acknowledged him and never with more than a fleeting glance.

  He was just about to wander back to rejoin the others when he spotted Gilla. It wasn’t precisely the sight of her that made him pause, but rather what she was doing. Stretched languidly on a worn, grey blanket, Gilla grinned then threw back her head in a carefree laugh. Her companion, who lay alongside her, murmured something in a soft, mischievous tone. Elias neither caught nor understood the words, but whatever they were made Gilla groan and earned the male an affectionate shove.

  The scene was so completely ordinary that Elias grinned. But, it also made him feel strangely voyeuristic. He vaguely recognized her companion but couldn’t place him and was just about to turn away when Gilla spotted him. For just an instant, she froze. Then, a shade too quickly, she turned her gaze back to her companion.

  Elias did turn then, only to find himself face-to-face with Gilla’s mother. The elder Lucasta smiled knowingly, but didn’t comment. Instead, she canted her head.

  “You won’t sleep?” she asked. “I expected you and your companions to be tired.”

  Elias glanced past her. Kyra and Avans both appeared to be sleeping, the latter snoring audibly. Rhona, on the other hand, sat beneath a small tree, reclining against it and plucking distractedly at the grass between her legs.

  “Not yet,” he said. “I’ve… got a lot to think about.”

  Lucasta nodded sagely. Then, rather abruptly, her smile widened.

  “Come with me,” she said. “I have something that might help.”

  She didn’t take his hand, but Elias could no more have refused than if she’d dragged him by it. Lucasta led him to the small, flat patch of earth where she’d deposited her bags. Retrieving one of the many blankets that had comprised the floor of her tent, she made a space for him and gestured off-handedly for him to sit. He did so, watching curiously as the trow produced a leather flask, like a miniature water skin.

  “Try some of this,” she said, offering it to him.

  Elias accepted the flask, opened it, and took a wary sniff of its contents. Rather than the sharp aroma of spirits he expected, the scent that greeted him was subtle and vaguely floral. And so, satisfied that Lucasta was not planning a bit of fun at his expense, he took a sip.

  The flavor that greeted him didn’t burn his throat or tongue like alcohol, but was no less intense for it. Instead, he found the drink so bitter and astringent that he nearly spat it out despite himself. Swallowing urgently, he tried and failed to hide his shudder as he passed the flask back to Lucasta.

  The trow matriarch chuckled softly and sipped as well.

  “Gano,” she said, sealing the flask. “We brew it from a type of river flower. It’s not particularly pleasant to drink, but it’s good for numbing pain. Mothers drink it undiluted before they deliver children.”

  Elias frowned and pointed at the flask. “That’s diluted?” he asked.

  Lucasta nodded, grinned, and returned the gano to her bag. “It is,” she said. “Quite diluted, in fact. Fortunately, it grows stronger with age, even when watered down. Barneis gifted me the original almost five years ago, before he paired with Gilla.”

  “Barneis?” Elias said.


  “Gilla’s anathki,” Lucasta said, nodding toward her daughter and her companion. “You have met him, yes? My daughter said he was the first to descend when you fought the marsski.”

  “Oh,” Elias said as the pieces came together in his mind. “Yes, I suppose I did. Briefly. But, ah, what is anathki?”

  Lucasta started to reply then halted. Closing her eyes, she exhaled slowly. When she finally spoke, her voice had completely lost its bizarre, infinitely understandable quality.

  “If… if you say husband?” she said, haltingly. She reopened her eyes and recovered her easy, too-smooth tone. “Some concepts are hard for All-Tongues to explain. Gilla and Barneis are bound to one another until death. If they desire children, they may bear them together. Or, if both agree, either may seek to lie with another. But, if they do, both will accept any child produced as their own. Do your people have such a union?”

  Elias shook his head, struggling to wrap his mind around Lucasta’s words.

  “No,” he admitted. “I don’t think so. Our relationships are a bit more… well, closed?”

  “Jealous, you mean,” Lucasta said. It took Elias a moment to realize she was teasing him. “And you, Elias? You are young to my people, hardly more than a child, but yours are surely accustomed to such things. Have you a jealous-anathki of your own?”

  The question was so forward and so unexpected that he had no time to dread its approach. He shook his head, awaiting the ever-ready ache to grip his chest. But, much to his surprise, it did not come. In fact, there was no pain at all. In place of the raw, familiar wound, he felt only numbness.

  He frowned in confusion, and then froze.

  “Gano,” he said. “What exactly does it do?”

  Lucasta stared at him. “It numbs pain,” she repeated. “All pains.”

  He should have been angry. In fact, he tried to be. But the effort required made the emotion slippery and impossible to maintain. It was like trying to force himself to feel any sort of extreme through sheer will. He could manage it for a moment, but the sensation slipped from his grasp the moment his mind wandered.