SoJourner

by Voigt, Janalyn

  Rand’s fingers cramped around the dagger he’d all but forgotten. It would do little good against a sword but at least offered some sort of protection. Eathnor had none. Without giving it more thought, he stepped in front of the tracker.

  Eathnor tugged on the back of his jerken, and a quick backward glance revealed the dagger gleaming in his hand. He’d underestimated his companion.

  Rand stepped aside.The welke dove at them.

  Rand wanted to jump aside but couldn’t make his legs work.

  “Watch out!” Eathnor’s shoulder rammed him sideways.

  Rand went down, keeping his dagger by some miracle.

  The welke rider leaned sideways, thrusting his sword at Eathnor. The blade ripped a gash in Eathnor’s shoulder. He cried out, pitching against the canyon wall. Blood ran from his wound.

  The welke bore down on Rand. It seemed a long time before the talons reached him. A strange malaise gripped Rand. How sad that this would be his death.

  At the last instant, the welke swept toward Eathnor, instead.

  Rand’s inertia broke. The point of his dagger pierced the rider’s leather leggings. Blood spurted.

  Roaring, the rider turned on him with savage fury and sent his sword whistling through the air.

  Rand sidestepped, the wind of the blade’s passing fanning his face. Instinct carried him into a move that had protected him more than once from Draeg.

  The sword thrust toward him. He deflected it with his dagger, but the blow jarred his arm and spun his weapon out of his hand.

  Eathnor launched himself at the welke from the side, drawing blood. The welke wheeled toward him, snapping its beak. Eathnor jumped out of range. The rider leveled his sword straight at the tracker’s heart.

  The welke screeched and slumped to the ground without warning, its mouth frothing as it writhed and moaned. The rider careened backwards out of the saddle, slammed into the canyon wall, and slid to the ground with his head at an odd angle.

  Eathnor pushed away from the blood-spattered canyon wall with a grimace. A dark stain seeped through the shoulder of his torn surcoat, and his hand shook on his dagger as he approached the rider. His posture eased. “He has no breath.”

  Rand straightened. “The welke is dead as well.”

  “I wish I knew how. I barely nicked it.”

  “I lost my dagger.” Rand caught the glint of metal in a patch of heather. “There it is.”

  He stepped into the sunlight and reached for his dagger.

  A welke flapped into the sky above him.

  26

  COLORS OF RIVENN

  Mara rose to greet her father, who entered her outer chamber clad in a blue surcoat embellished by a golden gryphon with claws ready.. His manservant followed with a length of blue silk over his arm.

  Her father swept her with a glance. “This day you must put on the colors of the House of Rivenn.”

  Mara glanced down at her plain tunic, then at the delicate silk as the servant placed it in Traelein’s arms. “What a beautiful color.”

  Her father opened his hand, revealing star sapphire droplets edged by diamonds suspended from a gossamer chain. “This necklace belonged to your mother. Wear it in tribute to her.”

  With careful fingers, Mara lifted the necklace to the light. “It’s lovely.”

  “Your beauty puts it to shame, my daughter.”

  Her face warmed. “Thank you.”

  He smiled with the gleam of moisture in his eyes. “I’ll leave you to prepare.”

  Mara closed her hand over this most precious of gifts. When had her mother worn this necklace? Her father would tell her if she asked him. Perhaps telling her about her mother would remove the haunted look from his eyes.

  Traelein helped her into the kirtle then fussed over arranging her hair to best display Arillia’s wingabeast ornament. Wearying of her maid’s attentions, Mara welcomed Kai’s arrival with a small guard to escort her to the presence chamber.

  She entered by a side door, at once longing to escape as cheers greeted her. At the Inn, she’d waited on crowds who seemed as hungry, but for the food she brought them. She hadn’t expected such a welcome, but the Kindren remaining at Torindan were those who had remained loyal to her father despite his marriage to her mother.

  With the Crown of Faeraven on his head and holding in his hand the jeweled golden scepter that denoted high rulership, her father sat on the carved and gilded throne of Rivenn.

  Arillia, bedecked in blue velvet and wearing the gem-encrusted circlet of Elder on her head, sat beside him on a smaller but no less magnificent throne.

  Mara had given Arillia little thought until now. She’d borne no children but must once have hoped to provide an heir for her husband and for Faeraven. What might it cost her, even if only in ceremony, to surrender the circlet of Elder to the daughter of her rival?

  Arillia might be the one person present who shared her reservations about today’s events.

  Her father and Arillia rose together. One of the priests came forward to lead Mara up the steps onto the throne dais. Father drew the sword from the scabbard at his side and with both hands lifted it before him. Light falling into the chamber through the high windows gleamed along the steel blade and sparkled in the rubies, diamonds, and emeralds embedded in its hilt. “With this Sword, forged by Kunatel in the Viadrel burning at the heart of Maeg Waer, Timraen of Rivenn freed his bride, Maeven of Braeth, from the garns at Pilaer. This twain-edged Sword divides joint and marrow, spirit and soul, bringing judgment and destruction, but protection to those who seek it. It breaks magics and guides the lost to safety. Kneel, Syl Marinda of Rivenn.” She obeyed, and her father laid the flat of the sword on her head. “In this sword find birth, death, and life. Arise.”

  The priest behind Mara stepped forward and offered his hand to her.

  Father lowered the great sword and extended it by the hilt.

  Heart pounding, she accepted the weapon.

  He turned her to face the crowd. “Hold up Sword Rivenn!” he whispered near her ear.

  Mara obeyed, to the crowd’s shouting and applause.

  Her father’s eyes shone like the glimpses of the Western Sea that had glimmered on the horizon during her journey to Torindan. Arillia smiled beside him. Following Kai’s earlier instruction, Mara gave the sword into the priest’s hands.

  Her father raised the scepter, and she caught her breath, stunned by the majesty of the rampant gryphon spreading goldenh wings and curving its claws around the star sapphire orb at the scepter’s tip. “Syl Marinda, daughter of Elcon, open heart and hands to Faeraven, the ancient alliance of ravens, lands joined of necessity and choice.”

  “I receive and will keep the alliance of Faeraven.” She recited the ceremonial words Kai had taught her. Her father placed the Scepter of Faeraven in her hands, and she raised it amid fervent cheering. Peace and a sense of rightness overwhelmed her, bringing sudden clarity. She belonged to Faeraven, after all.

  

  Rand froze in indecision.

  The welke flapped nearer.

  “Have you lost all reason?” Eathnor’s call penetrated through the drumming in his ears. “Leave the dagger!”

  More than anything, he wanted to obey the voice of reason, but they needed every weapon against this foe. He bent to snatch up his dagger, the hum of bees in the heather loud in his ears.

  “Run!” Eathnor shouted.

  Rand launched himself toward the overhang where Eathnor brandished a dagger in one hand and a sword in the other. Rand’s feet pounded the ground, but the wings flapped nearer. He spun about. If he fought well, Eathnor might have a hope of surviving.

  The welke screeched, unsheathing wicked-looking talons. The rider brandished his sword.

  Rand hauled his arm back, gauging the distance he’d need to throw his dagger to embed it in the welke’s chest. Eathnor rushed past in a blur, the dead welke rider’s sword leveled. Rand barely stopped his throw in time. Swords met with metal clanging metal.
The welke shot beyond Rand but wheeled to return with talons stretched. The rider pointed his sword at Eathnor, who stood, white-faced and panting. His shoulder bled anew, and the sword he grasped seemed about to slip from his hand.

  Rand threw himself into the welke’s path.

  “Out of my way!” Eathnor bellowed behind him.

  With a jerk of the reins, the rider turned the welke broadside and leaned out to strike.

  Rand dived beneath the welke’s claws and came up on the opposite side before the creature could react. The raptor bird turned its head, but before it could peck him, Rand leaped on it. His dagger penetrated flesh. The welke screamed. Blood spattered.

  A blade sliced Rand’s arm.

  Staggering backward, he tripped over his own feet and crashed into the ground, driving the breath from his lungs. He scrambled to his knees and tried to gain his stance. The edges of his vision darkened. The ground tilted. He fell to hands and knees.

  A battle cry pulsed the air. Eathnor vaulted over him.

  Rand pulled air into his lungs. and lurched to his feet.

  Blood streamed from the welke’s side. The raptor bird continued to bear its rider, seeming little effected by its wound. Rand could not say the same for himself. His shoulder blazed with pain, blood loss drained his strength, and his reactions were slow and clumsy. Eathnor’s condition was no improvement on his own. Life at Pilaer had taught him certain practicalities. He could admit the truth. Unless they found a way of escape, he and Eathnor would soon die.

  He scanned the canyon wall, and a darker patch in a shadowy indent snagged his attention. It had to be…yes! The mouth of small a cave gaped a short distance away. They’d missed it in the darkness last night.. If only he and Eathnor could enter the cave, the welke wouldn’t fit through the entrance to follow. They would still have the rider to contend with, but with shelter on three sides of them.

  The welke rider’s cursing recalled Rand. With his injured arm hanging useless and bloodied, Eathnor seemed able to do nothing but wait for the welke rider’s next strike. Rand shook free of his inertia and slipped behind the welke, looking for another chance to attack it.

  The welke levered to face him, claws critching. The rider flailed, obviously inexperienced to be unbalanced by a sudden move.

  Surprise arrested Rand, giving the raptor bird the chance to peck at his gashed arm. He cried out and leaped away. The rider’s sword cut the air where he’d stood.

  “A cave!” He shouted to Eathnor, his chest so heavy he could barely drag out the words.

  Eathnor stared at him, seeming planted in place.

  Rand gestured with his head toward the cave. “Go!”

  Eathnor’s eyes glinted, and his jaw tightened. Rather than retreating, he rushed forward again.

  Leaving him to fight while he fled must not have sat well with the tracker. The cave would have to wait then. Rand wouldn’t willingly leave a companion to die while seeking his own safety. He fought in tandem with Eathnor, taking turns running in from opposite sides..

  The welke ripped into Eathnor’s shoulder with its beak. He yelled and backed up, his sword thudding to the ground. The rider leaned toward Eathnor, muscles surging to deliver a killing blow.

  Rand’s dagger sliced the welke’s windpipe, cutting off its shriek. The raptor bird collapsed, pinning him under its bulk. He struggled to free himself from the welke’s carcass.

  Eathnor and the rider faced one another. Eathnor had recovered his sword somehow but could barely lift it. Lines of strain etched his face, and his chest rose and fell in panting breaths.

  A blow from the welke rider sent Eathnor’s sword spinning through the air.

  Eathnor drew his dagger from its sheath and circled the welke rider, turning ever to face him with a mocking smile on his face.

  The blood lust on the rider’s face reminded Rand of that shown by the crowd during his warrior training. Images of all he had seen and done at Pilaer flashed before him. He drew his dagger and gave a blood-curdling cry as he rushed at the rider.

  The rider swung about and whacked Rand in the side. He turned at once to meet Eathnor’s charge.

  Rand’s armor had protected him, but the shock of the blow brought him to his knees.

  Eathnor’s dagger pierced the leather covering the rider’s shoulder. The rider howled as blood welled.. The rider recovered his stance, but swayed and slid to the ground. He clutched his stomach, writhing as his mouth foamed. The breath rattled in his throat a final time and came no more.

  Eathnor pushed at the rider’s body with the toe of his boot. “Same as the welke. Some sort of sickness?”

  A horrifying thought occurred to Rand..“Let me see your dagger.”

  Eathnor laid the weapon in Rand’s palm with a questioning look.

  Rand ran his thumb over the hilt he’d carved with a gryphon. “Tell me, how came you to carry my dagger?”

  “Is it yours?”

  “I’d know it anywhere.”

  Eathnor shrugged. “I lifted it from Draeg while he slept.”

  Rand sucked in air. He’d lost his blade after trying to use it to assassinate his father. Draeg must have taken it from the guards. “The blade—I poisoned it.”

  “What?”

  “It’s a long story, and one I’d rather keep to myself.”

  “Nice blade, but you can have it back. I’m thankful I didn’t nick myself with it, and it’s just as well you cleaned the fish last night.”

  “You could have let me see it sooner.”

  “I didn’t want you to know I carried a weapon.”

  Rand could guess why. They traveled together, but didn’t trust one another very far. It seemed time to start. He extended the other dagger by the hilt. “Go on. Take it.”

  Eathnor’s light eyes gleamed. He accepted the dagger. “Thank you.”

  Rand sheathed his dagger and, using his good arm, collected the swords of the fallen riders.

  “We’ve a new visitor.”

  The strain in Eathnor’s voice brought Rand’s head up. Another welke rider flew above the weild from the north. Rand’s hand tightened on the weapons he carried. “Will they never stop?”

  “We’d better hide while the rider remains distant. I’m loath to play host again.” Eathnor relieved him of one of the swords. “Now, tell me. Where is this cave? You brought it up when I was a bit…occupied.”

  “Not far. Just there.” He pointed the way and let Eathnor walk before him. The blood staining Eathnor’s surcoat had spread, and shredded flesh hung from his wounded shoulder. Rand’s own arm throbbed dizzyingly.

  Eathnor poked a stick into the cave, and receiving no response, ducked into it.

  About to follow, Rand turned his head at the flap of wings. How had the welke rider traveled so quickly? He dove into the cave and rolled away from its mouth as a sharp beak pecked the air where his legs had been. Rand fetched against Eathnor, cringing as a screech echoed through the cave.

  “Mind your manners.” Eathnor pushed him to the side. “Your cave is a bit cramped.”

  The ceiling was too low to allow standing, but Rand scrambled into a crouch. “Best I could do on short notice, and it’s already saved our hides.”

  Eathnor crouched beside him. “Yes, but we’ll have to fight in this position.”

  “We’ll be able to see and the rider won’t. Have your eyes adjusted?”

  Rand blinked. “Is there more to see than darkness?”

  A shadow blocked out the light at the cave’s entrance. “Come out and you may be spared,” a gravelly voice called.

  “Why do I doubt that? Say, there’s an echo in here.” Eathnor shifted backwards and away. “Hold on.”

  “Hold on?” Rand’s voice rose on a note of panic. “Eathnor? Eathnor!”

  Shadow shifted at the entrance and formed into the shape of a head and shoulders. Faint light limned the edges of a blade. Rand’s skin prickled, and he gripped his sword with sweaty hands.

  The rider crawled into the
cave with his sword before him, but from the way he groped along the wall with one hand, he couldn’t yet see.

  An arm caught Rand around the waist and hauled him backward. Rand pushed away from his assailant.

  “Quiet.” Eathnor whispered near his ear.

  Rand let the tracker guide him through the darkness with a hand on his arm. He crawled on his belly through a narrow tunnel behind Eathnor while at every instant expecting a hand to catch his heels or a sword to thrust after him.

  Unable to see, he felt his way. A breeze chilled his face in a place where water dripped. Eathnor pulled him to his feet but kept a restraining arm about his shoulders. He understood why when a rock at his feet dislodged, followed for a long time by the clatter of stone against stone. They skirted a narrow ledge before stepping onto firmer ground. Prisms danced along the cave walls, giving enough to light their way.

  Eathnor released his arm.

  A wall of rough stone blocked their way, but a hole cut by the rivulet running beside them showed in the light wavering above the surface of the water. Eathnor’s hand pressed his back. “Time for a bath.”

  Going into the water was the only way forward, but he hesitated, daunted by the small opening. “Might there be another exit?”

  “Maybe, but this is the one we’ve found.”

  The echo of a soft footfall behind them ended Rand’s deliberation. He plunged into the stream, gasping at its coldness.

  Eathnor waded into the water behind him. “When you’re ready.”

  Gathering his courage, Rand ducked through the opening. He walked hunched-over until the stone ceiling above him vanished. Blinking in sudden light, he stumbled to a stop.

  He stood on a small ledge with water falling a long way into a pool that frothed. Eathnor emerged from the cave, and Rand put out his arm. “Careful. There’s no way down.”

  “We’ll have to jump.”

  “It’s a long way.”