Back on the path winding through the towering white trees, Gaije’s company ran in three long rows, carrying all their belongings on their backs. His original company had split into three back in Ildahar. Gaije’s current, shortened company was still the largest, destined for the royal palace in the territory of Clan Tinharri. The other two parts of his company had dispersed to stations in other parts of Norr.
They had been running without pause for the last four hours, and Gaije was becoming winded. He wasn’t alone. A rest would be in order soon. The morning air warmed as noon approached. He ran with his mouth hanging open like a panting dog, when a crack of thunder startled the company.
A sharp stab of light plowed through the saehgahn up front. Afterward, a tremor rattled the rest of them, striking Gaije’s body like a mallet. The air in his lungs whooshed out of him. He fell.
Chapter 26
A Letter for the Farhah
Go back home, Lehomis Lockheirhen,” Alhannah said with her little lackeys nodding behind her.
“So then…you’ve heard nothing from them?”
“We have more important things to worry about than whether some saehgahn will fail to marry in this generation.”
“Well, it’ll matter to them, lass. What could be more important?”
“Nothing that concerns you right now. Go home and sharpen your arrows and watch over the clan like you’re supposed to do.”
Lehomis rubbed the bridge of his nose between his eyes. “It’s been weeks since my grandson left for the army, and my saehgahn have been asking me about the look on my face. They can smell the looming trouble, but I’ve kept my jaw locked up tight. What am I supposed to tell them?”
Alhannah rose as the other Desteer maidens kept their seats on the floor. “Absolutely nothing. We don’t need another civil war, wouldn’t you agree?”
He huffed and averted his eyes. “Yeah.” He stood too. “Okay, look.” He sharpened his eyes and pointed them right at hers. “I don’t know how old you are, but I’m fairly confident I’ve got you beat. Now, it’s not you alone who guides this clan, and not me either. It’s both of us. You tell the females what to do, and I tell the males. If you’d like to prevent elves from spilling the blood of their own, you’ll listen to me. You have to handle the royals, or they’ll get cockier than they already are. Matter of fact, we might have to fight ‘em—and hurt ‘em a little—to make it clear they’re not the only family in Norr with the right to reproduce.”
She stepped forward and jabbed her finger close to his nose. “We won’t fight the Tinharri Clan. Go home and tell your saehgahn nothing. If it comes to it, you can arrange a campaign with the unmarried to sweep the Darklands for stray faerhain.”
He put his hands up and drew his mouth tight. “Fine. We will. But you’ll be left with a meager company of saehgahn to protect you after we leave.”
Alhannah frowned while he spoke.
“It ain’t that easy, lass. We have to be firm with the royals, or we’ll wind up like the humans, begging and scraping under a full-blown monarchy.”
“It can’t be so bad,” she said. “Trisdahen is home now, and Tirnah will be pregnant again soon.”
He balled his hands into fists and turned around with a growl. He went halfway to the large double doors before stopping. He pointed his finger across all the seated females and counted their painted faces.
“Fifteen, not counting the head maiden! Excessive, don’t you think? Fifteen of you, across a mere three generations, chose the hall over the home.” He shook his head. Most of the fifteen were in their younger years, proving an increase in the last two generations. “And all of you except the head maiden were born in this clan.”
Alhannah threw her arms out to the sides, extending her wide sleeves like walls to protect her sisters. “I know where you’re going with this, Elder. Stop it!”
“Why did so many of you choose the hall?” He yelled it.
The younger faerhain eyed each other and mumbled; a slight hint of guilt touched the faces of the youngest few.
Alhannah pursed her lips. “Fifteen is not excessive.”
“It’s more than this clan has ever seen at one time. Do we need so many of your rank bossing around the faerhain? Hell, if we keep going like this, you’ll outnumber the faerhain. Who will you have to boss around then?”
“When you use foul common-tongue language, you’re no longer welcome in this hall.”
“Bah!”
“That also… You’re getting too tense. Go home. You’re excused.”
He crossed his arms. “Well, I’ll be back in a week to ask again how you’re handling the royals.”
“The Tinharri Clan knows what’s best.”
He forced his mouth into a smile. “Keep sayin’ that. And keep encouraging young farhah to choose the hall. We’ll be dispersing into other clans if we can’t get some saehgahn mated. Oh, but I guess you Desteer don’t care ‘cause you’re used to getting passed from clan to clan.”
Alhannah shook her head as he turned and left.
The lock slammed on the door behind Lehomis. “Tch.” He tried to smooth his expression. Another day, another argument with the Desteer: the life of the elder.
He gathered up his hair and draped it over one arm like a sash. It hadn’t been braided since he last washed it; Mhina was too busy being charmed by her father. He didn’t want to bother Anonhet for the sake of his hair either. Now that she was eligible, he did his own housework so she could go to the practice yards more often to watch the saehgahn practice. It was an old tradition practiced widely among Norrian clans, but the Desteer had banned it recently for being “vulgar” somehow, so now the faerhain spied on them in secret. Lehomis would escort her there himself if need be. He had also shown her the new private location where the Desteer had ordered the saehgahn to bathe in the river so she could watch. A few other faerhain had already planted themselves behind the rocks and bushes, chatting to each other in whispers, when they arrived. The main thing Lehomis lamented about it was Gaije’s absence during Anonhet’s critical time. Nonetheless, along with his duties, training, and relocation, he’d be in the eye of other faerhain from other clans. All the better if he could bring one into this clan, but he’d have to accomplish the task before his initiation into the royal cult for a blessed discharge from the program. As Trisdahen had informed them, the queen didn’t want married saehgahn in her entourage.
Lehomis’s mood lightened when he arrived at Tirnah’s house and was graced by the smiling face of his little granddaughter, Mhina, as she ran across the field from her mother’s kitchen. She was the future. She, of all females, would choose the home. The clan was in her hands—and Anonhet’s, of course. A few other unmarried faerhain in their clan were still trying to decide on a husband, and a handful of young farhah would come of age soon. But day by day, the Desteer were imposing more rules on the saehgahn to prevent them from flaunting themselves before the females. Now they couldn’t even watch the saehgahn bathe or practice. Ridiculous. One wondered if the Desteer privately groomed the young farhah to choose the hall.
Mhina ran up and hugged his leg. “Good morning, Grandfather!”
“Good mornin’!” He knelt and hugged her.
“What brings you to my house today?”
“I’m here to see you, of course. Look what I made.” He reached into one of his long tunic’s pockets under his poncho and presented a small wooden horse he’d been carving for her. Her eyes lit up. “This is Miktik,” he said.
“Your best horse friend!”
It was lacquered in a deep, glossy black, like the real horse he had ridden centuries ago. Some additional gold leaf highlighted its hooves and closed eyes. The horse’s legs were curled underneath him as if he were resting.
“Oh, Grandfather.” She threw her arms around his neck. “I’ll treasure it always.”
A donkey brayed in the distance. Mhina gasped with a smile, and her hands shot to the satchel she’d been toting lunches around in. �
�Togha! I’m going to show him Miktik.”
Lehomis sighed as she took off toward the beaten road. Gaije, the sharp lad, had been right about Togha being a horrible marriage candidate. She wouldn’t be marrying him; he could easily cause enough trouble to receive the sarakren brand before long, labeling him unmarriageable forever. At least for now, he’d sparked her interest in marriage. She’d grow up to choose the home.
Mhina stopped and gawked when a different courier rode around the bend. “Where’s Togha?” she asked the dark-haired stranger on a pale, spotted donkey. He opened the flap on his shoulder bag.
Lehomis moved closer, straining his ears.
“I don’t know, farhah,” the new courier said. “I received his route, but was not told why.”
“Is he okay?” she whined.
The stranger handed her an envelope. “With apologies, farhah, I don’t know.”
Mhina’s mouth hung open when she turned back to Lehomis and the courier moved on.
“Oh, dear. I heard what he said, lass. So sorry.”
“What’ll I do without him, Grandfather?”
“What did the new courier give you?”
Mhina inspected the letter, and her smile returned. “It’s from Gaije!”
Lehomis dropped to a squat and crossed his arms over his knees. “Well, let’s hear it.”
After untying the twine, she unfolded it. A tiny stick fell out. “Look what he sent me!” She picked up the twig and smelled it. Lehomis detected the cinnamon-like scent before she opened the letter.
“A twig from a Norrian spice tree. He must’ve traveled all the way to the west coast to find it for you. Put it in yer teacup, and it should last you at least a week.”
“Oh, that brother of mine!” She took a long whiff with her eyes closed before opening them to check the letter. Her eyes ran across the many words to the one at the top. “‘Dear Mother, Mhina, Father, and Grandfather…’”
The lass struggled through a short story about how Gaije had met new friends, camped on a tall bluff looking across an endless black ocean with the moon glowing behind heavy clouds, and earned a copper hair cuff for his braids. His superior had joked that he’d lose it in his copper-colored locks. Gaije finished the letter with the usual Norrian formalities.
“‘I am honored to have…r-received this path, but…wish to return to protect the females I love. I pray I’ll see you again…someday. Please tell Anonhet I said…hello. From Gaije.’” When she looked up again, her eyes were glassy. “I miss him, Grandfather.”
“Aw, ha ha, come here, lass. He’ll be fine, and you’ll see him again soon. Let’s go have a cup of tea and use that spicy twig, what do ya say?”
Gaije collapsed, smoke swirling off his singed clothes. A sudden roaring spark of lightning had engulfed the saehgahn walking next to him, narrowly missing him. A larger, stinking pit of charred death was left up ahead where the brunt of the lightning had hit. He’d be dead, too, if he’d been in the slightest contact with the saehgahn next to him.
Where had the lightning come from? There were no clouds today. A storm might happen later, but today was as bright and cheerful as a spring morning could be.
Another angry roar of light jumped across the company. It came from the forest.
Gaije lurched backward before it could connect to him, falling into those who stood behind him. They tumbled into a pile and struggled to rise from the confused tangle while all around them their friends fried in raging circles of light. The victims continued standing until the crackling wires dissipated and released their charred bodies to fall into their own burn-scented pile of smoking corpses.
An arrow thudded into the saehgahn who struggled beside Gaije. The injured saehgahn wheezed, his lungs filling with blood, and he quickly became a limp weight atop the other poor soul beneath him. Gaije dragged the dead comrade off the live one and helped him to rise. Due to his vulnerability, he had to trust the rest of them to pick themselves up.
He collected his bow from the ground and nocked an arrow, pausing to survey the wooded road. Some trees had caught the lightning bolts and were badly charred, if not on fire.
Humans wearing dark colors, no uniforms or banners, crept about, raining fiery arrows into Norr. Others were chanting and rubbing stones between their hands to summon more lightning.
“Scatter!” Captain Malmirhen yelled. “Scatter to stop the lightning!”
Many of the humans brandished swords and bows, but the group obviously prided themselves on their vicious magic. Gaije ran to a wider area and stopped to aim his bow at any human rubbing his hands together. He pulled back on the bowstring and breathed as Lehomis had made him practice since he was four. The rock-like surface of his three fingers knew the string well.
He paused and let the bow rest. His cloak became a nuisance, so he untied it and flung it aside. It happened to land over a charging human warrior’s head before he could slam Gaije with a mace.
Gaije reflexively drew and released, his arrow pinning the cloak to the man’s throat. He exhaled. His large jumble of emotions rolled around inside, but any welling pride withered at the sound of Grandfather’s voice in his memory calling him a knockhead.
Stop thinking and shoot, knockhead!
So he did. He nocked another arrow and released. Nocked and released. In training, Gaije had learned to hit the bull’s eye as well as the mark with friendly figures standing beside it. His training had graduated through the years to mock battles with real saehgahn sparring each other on the field as the archers stood on the hill and practiced hitting thin wooden target posts among them. The mock battles had graduated again with brother saehgahn playing as assassins and sneaking up on the archers. He’d had to stop all mock attempts on his life and continue his duty to thin the enemy on the battlefield.
In real battle, his wits and stamina drained fast. He missed a spell caster and then watched another eruption of lightning murder his comrades. A cold sweat beaded on his brow and stung his eyes as it dripped. He focused, ignoring the carnage, and concentrated on hitting the proper marks. The humans wore scrappy leather armor with openings easy for him and the other archers to target, but many were quick to raise some sort of glowing shield to deflect the elves’ arrows. The shields lasted a few moments before the enemies had to recast them, giving Gaije opportune shots between magic shields.
His arrows were dwindling, and soon he’d have to perform the skillful task of entering the battlefield to scavenge more. He had practiced that in training too, but they hadn’t used head-frying electrical magic in the practice yard. Thank the Bright One for his father’s honorable discharge and the fact that his grandfather lived near his mother and sister. If Gaije died, he would be one less saehgahn to protect them.
He drew back and released. A kick to the back of his knee brought him down, and his last arrow flew wildly. The human he’d shot in the throat wasn’t dead. He tackled Gaije, grinning eerily. His throat gash didn’t bleed—the arrow must’ve pierced only skin.
Pinning Gaije to the ground, the man reared back with a dagger pointed at Gaije’s eye.
Chapter 27
Her Religion
Well, here we are,” Bowaen said, putting his arms out. Del sighed and stretched as if they could stop and rest already, though they’d merely crossed through the portcullis.
“Carridax?” Kalea said, looking around at the vaguely familiar scenery. Father Liam had brought the vestals and novices here on pilgrimage when she was fourteen. Back then, the portcullis had marked the doorway to Kalea’s future—the moment she had decided to live for the Creator alone. She’d forgotten her long-running homesickness and bonded to Father Liam and her convent sisters on that trip.
The portcullis seemed smaller now; it spanned wide enough to squeeze one wagon through at a time. The road behind it serpentined between the buildings and disappeared around a distant curve. The fabulous cathedral spires poked the sky from behind the houses.
“Of course, Carridax,” Bowaen said. �
��I told you I was going there. Here we are. You can look for your elf lover.”
She stared down the road. “You’re right. I followed the sword, and it led me here. Dorhen must be here. My sisters could be here too.”
“So, uh…” Bowaen sniffed, avoiding direct eye contact. “Take care. Hope you find him.”
Kalea smiled. “Thanks. And thank you for indulging my madness. I’m sure you don’t think I’m all there, but you did a great thing.”
Bowaen chuckled. “I believed ya then, and I still do.”
Kalea turned to Del. “Work hard. And stop smoking.”
He shook his heavy pipe at her as it hung off his arm. “My smoking saved your life the other day.”
She giggled. “Someone else’s smoking saved our lives.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” He waved his hand and turned his attention to the city.
As they walked away, Bowaen whirled back around. “I’ll be visiting the Dax Manor for a day…just in case you need help or something. You get me?”
A shaky laugh burst from her throat. “Thank you, Bowaen, that’s kind of you.”
He bowed his head. “And if you and your elf need an escort anywhere on the way to Wistara, I saw you have a valuable stone worth bargaining for.”
She put a hand over the lump under her bodice. “I won’t need another service, thank you.”
“All right.” He turned and walked up the road with Del stalking behind him, their cloaks waving in the afternoon breeze until they turned down an alley.
They’d been walking for a day since the incident with Chandran at the tavern. Bowaen and Del had kept her things safe during her time with the sorcerer. She had abandoned the gaudy dancer’s outfit and changed back into her comfortable old kirtle and cloak after finding them at the place she and Chandran had stashed them before entering the tavern.
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