The Last Stand

by Pati Nagle

  Morning light woke her. She sat up, stiff and cold. The fire had long since gone out. She stood and looked around her home. Warmth and love seemed to flow through it. She felt undeserving of it.

  She rose and left the house, not bothering to straighten her appearance. The mists would only disarrange it again. She wound her veil about her throat and walked wearily back to the Three Veils.

  The conces were finished. Diranan lay beside them, his head pillowed by the blanket on which he had knelt. His tools were laid neatly in their box, which stood half-filled with water from the falling mist.

  Careyni looked at each conce, running her hands over the carving. Ghivahri’s was much as she had seen it. Josæli’s bore her name carved in strong strokes, surrounded by a wreath of rosemary. Each tiny leaf was perfectly formed, incised in the rock with precision.

  She went to Diranan and knelt beside him, taking his hand in hers. It was icy.

  Inhaling sharply, she felt in vain for a pulse, though she knew before seeking it that he had abandoned flesh after finishing his work.

  She sat for a long time gazing at his face, now relaxed and calm.

  She gazed at the conces, at the falls, and at the path to the clifftop. No one had gone up to watch the North Road yesterday. The first time since Midwinter that none had watched.

  Slowly Careyni stood. She would go to the North Road herself, but not yet. First there was something she must do.

  She picked up Diranan’s tools and carefully poured the water from the box, letting it spill away into the pool. She was not a stone carver, but it must not be so very different than working in darkwood. She would manage.

  She would carve a conce for Diranan, from one of the stones in his shop. It would not be as fine as his own work, but she would give it her best effort. When it was finished, she would bring it here to set with the other two.

  And when that was done, she would take the conce that he had made for Firithan north to Fireshore, there to find the spot where he had been slain, if she could. There to seek news of Marasan and Siruvon, and to honor them with conces of her own making.

  A new vocation might help to turn her thoughts from her loss.

  When will we get to Skyruach?”

  Eliani glanced at her father, riding at the head of their little column. Felisan's saddle creaked as he shifted in it, and she thought she saw him frown slightly, but he made no sign of having heard Curunan's plaintive question.

  Curunan opened his mouth again, but was forestalled by his elder cousin, Luruthin. “Peace, youngling. You will see the battlefield soon enough.”

  Eliani hid a smile at the momentary glint of anger in Curunan's green eyes, so like Luruthin's own. Most of her kin had such eyes, along with the russet hair of Clan Stonereach.

  She understood Curunan's impatience; she felt impatient at the party's slow progress herself, though for different reasons. Turisan's face came into her memory—very unlike a Stonereach's, framed in pale hair and the elegant clothing of Glenhallow's court—bringing with it all the discomfort of the choices before her. She turned from that thought, and looked ahead to the next ridge.

  “It cannot be far now.”

  The mountainous finger reached toward the plain, its pine-covered heights dark blue in the late sunlight slanting over the Ebon Mountains, paling to gold at the rocky tumble in which it ended. The Silverwash curved eastward around its tip, with the road running through a narrow flat between rocks and river.

  The crease in Felisan's brow deepened. “It is time we made camp for the night.”

  Curunan's cry of dismay was drowned in Eliani's and Luruthin's protests.

  “It is not yet close to dusk!”

  “We can pass that next ridge before nightfall!”

  Eliani met Luruthin's gaze, saw him start to grin, and looked away before he could make her laugh. She urged her horse up beside Felisan's mount.

  Father, we could camp in the next valley. It is not much farther to the ridge.”

  “It is too far for me.”

  The heaviness in his voice surprised her. Felisan was usually merry, far more likely to laugh and make jests than to take anything seriously.

  He seemed aware of her regard, for his voice was lighter as he turned his mount westward from the road. “There is a pleasant grove a little way up the hillside here. We can have a good, long night's rest, and start early tomorrow.”

  Eliani pulled up, unhappy with his decree. The Alpinon Guards who accompanied the party turned westward to follow their governor, and Lady Heléri's coach rumbled after them, but Luruthin and Curunan paused as well. Curunan's mount tossed its head, and Luruthin turned to him.

  “Come, youngling. Try that restive bay against my chestnut. I will race you to those rocks, where the river turns.”

  “Done!” Curunan grinned and nudged his horse forward. In a moment they were off at gallop.

  Eliani was about to join their race when Felisan wheeled his mount. His face was lit with alarm as he returned to the road.

  “Come back!”

  The guardians halted, turning in confusion. The coach grumbled to a stop.

  “It will do them no harm, Father.”

  The skin around Felisan's eyes looked tight, and his mouth was a straight line. “Skyruach lies beyond that ridge.”

  Elinani was unsure why this made her heart sink, but she nodded. “I will bring them back.”

  The horse caught her mood, and lengthened its stride to bring her near her two cousins just past the turning of the road. Pounding after them through the narrow space between the bluff and the river, she called out to them.

  “Hold!”

  Luruthin reined in at once, responding as any guardian would to such a command. Curunan was startled and his mount protested, threatening to buck. A series of small hops brought it dangerously close to the river's edge.

  Eliani fought the urge to catch at the reins. In a moment, Curunan had the horse under control and turned to her, breathless.

  “Afraid we would beat you, Eliani?”

  “Felisan wishes you to return.”

  Curunan laughed. “Catch me!”

  He started southward again. With an annoyed glance at Luruthin, Eliani pursued.

  The road passed around the tip of the ridge and as the bluff fell away behind them, a broad valley opened to view. Eliani caught her breath and reined in sharply at the sight of a tall hulk of black rock that rose from the sloping plain. Skyruach.

  It was larger than she had imagined, as high as the Three Shades, if not higher. Its sides were nearly vertical, and just the thought of climbing it made her feel weary.

  Yet Felisan had done so. He and Jharan had been atop that rock during the battle.

  Luruthin halted beside her. Eliani exchanged a glance with him, then walked her mount up to join Curunan.

  The youth was agog. “What are all those pillars?”

  “Conces.”

  Luruthin's voice was a soft murmur of dismay, and no wonder. Eliani had never seen so many conces in one place.

  Such stones were placed to honor those who perished away from their homes in unhappy circumstances, generally accidents, or attacks by catamounts or kobalen. The most she had seen together before now were the twenty-six conces high in the mountains above Highstone that marked where her mother and others had died fighting a party of kobalen.

  This was a much vaster grief. In the golden light of the setting sun a forest of conces glinted on the plain, pale and stark, casting long, pointed shadows down the slope. Like a woodland, they were scattered at first, then grew denser around the feet of the Skyruach.

  “So many.”

  Eliani gazed at the stones placed in memory of the hundreds of ælven who had perished in the fighting here. Some were tall, more than a rod high, and seemed to be spaced regularly across the field. Other, smaller conces clustered around them, thickest near the foot of the Skyruach.

  And this place was but a day's ride from Glenhallow. So close. She knew t
he last battle of the Midrange War had threatened Southfæld's main city, but knowing and seeing were different things. If such a great struggle had occurred this near her own home in Highstone...

  “There is something carved into the rock. I cannot read it from here.” Luruthin shaded his eyes, peering at Skyruach.

  Eliani followed his gaze and was able to distinguish a tall pillar, conce-shaped but at least three rods high, that looked as if it had been carved in relief from the side of the rock tower. It bore a great deal of text, but the words were too small to be read at their present distance.

  “A monument of some kind.”

  A silvery glint ran down through the field, curving around Skyruach’s root before running on to join the Silverwash. That stream had once served a mining village farther up the valley, Silverdale, abandoned ever since the war. Eliani had often wondered why Southfæld had forsaken its rich veins, which had not been depleted. Now she understood. No one would wish to live at the threshold of such a bitter place, or pass those many conces on the way to trade with Glenhallow.

  “Come away.”

  This time Curunan obeyed her, though he craned his neck to stare back at the battlefield as long as it was in sight. The three of them returned northward at a subdued walk.

  No wonder Felisan had wished to halt before reaching that valley. Perhaps there would be shades there. Eliani wriggled her shoulders to banish the unease of that thought.

  The Battle of Skyruach was the last battle of the Midrange War, the greatest conflict ever fought between ælven and kobalen. Felisan rarely mentioned it, and had never told Eliani the full tale. Clearly the thought of it gave him pain, even now, centuries later.

  Eliani had her own pain regarding the kobalen. She had seen an army of them gathering on the western wastes on the far side of Midrange Pass at the beginning of this journey.

  She could, perhaps, have informed Southfæld's Governor Jharan of the kobalen threat herself the moment she had seen it, through the mindspeech she shared with his son Turisan. She did not know if their gift, as Heléri called it, would cross such a distance. It was still new and strange to her and made her deeply uncomfortable. She had chosen to send the news with riders instead, and had as a consequence spent the last few days in self-reproach.

  Those riders could not have reached Glenhallow in less than four days. She had possibly cost Jharan four days of preparation in facing this new threat of kobalen, a threat that could become another war.

  Her dismay had abated only slightly when fifty of the Southfæld Guard had passed her party on their way north, bearing tidings from Glenhallow. They had confirmed that Governor Jharan was aware of the danger at Midrange; indeed, they were riding there at his behest.

  She wondered what Turisan must think of her. He would surely be disappointed, perhaps even angry. And she deserved his anger. Their gift could have been used to the benefit of all ælvenkind, had she chosen to do so.

  Why, she wondered for the hundredth time, had he burdened her with the offer to handfast? It complicated their situation even more. To him it had seemed a natural choice, that the intimacy they shared in thought should be reflected in their personal relationship. That they should become bound partners for life.

  But they were strangers yet. She was asked to commit her life to a stranger. Bad enough that they shared mindspeech. She had not yet decided whether she would accept that, let alone give her hand to Turisan.

  Though she did not look forward to facing him and making these decisions, she was anxious to be at Glenhallow. She wished this journey to be over.

  She became aware of the loss of light as they rode into the forest. While she was musing, they had ridden back to the valley and up toward the grove her father had mentioned. Just before the woodlands swallowed them, Eliani glanced up at the peaks beyond which sunlight still glowed. The mountains were higher here than at Midrange, and already heavy with snow. At least the knowledge that no passes lay this far south was a comfort; the kobalen would be unlikely to trouble them here.

  Eliani inhaled deeply, relishing the smell of pine needles and dry leaves. The slope was gentle, and a small rill chuckled down a pebbly bed toward the Silverwash. The trees were old and tall, the ground beneath them clear of underbrush. Plainly this place had been used often as a camping-ground.

  The breeze carried a hint of smoke now, its scent teasing them with thoughts of camp comforts. They reached an open space that was nearly level, the last sunlight spilling into it through treetops to lie in dappled golden pools on soft grass, still green here. Already the guardians were at work pitching tents.

  Eliani had one to herself, a distinction she had protested but upon which Felisan had insisted. He shared another with Luruthin and Curunan. The four guardians and two drivers crowded into a third. Heléri’s coach served as her abode at night as well as during the day. Eliani saw that she had emerged from it, and was sitting by the fire, wrapped in her dark blue cloak. Her long, black hair draped her shoulders, marking her as an Ælvanen, though she had long since changed her allegience to Clan Stonereach.

  Eliani swung down from her saddle and turned her horse loose to drink from the rill. “Good even, eldermother. Are you weary of your coach by now?”

  Heléri looked up at her, blue eyes calm. “It is not the most restful place, but travel is seldom restful.”

  Heléri leaned forward to peer at a kettle she had hung over the fire from a small tripod, which began just at that moment to spit. She retrieved it and poured hot water into an ewer at her feet. The fragrant smell of winter herbs arose.

  “Aha! The truants are returned.”

  Eliani glanced up to see her father emerging from his tent. His tone was more like his customary humor, but she saw a hint of strain in his eyes.

  “We saw the battlefield.”

  He nodded. He was not best pleased, but there was no use regretting what could not be changed.

  Curunan came up, plainly excited, though he managed a courteous bow. “Will you tell us of the battle, my lord? Please?”

  Felisan sighed. “Very well. After supper.”

  Eliani watched her father settle himself in a camp chair and accept a cup of tea from Heléri. She wished she could ease whatever troubled him, but most likely it was unhappy memory. There was no cure for that, as she well knew.

  She felt suddenly restless. “I must tend my horse. Curunan, you should do the same.”

  “I already did!”

  Heléri turned to him. “Then go and help the guardians. Firthan was going to set some snares.”

  Curunan's eyes lit with interest and he darted away. Eliani saw her smile after him, then went to catch her horse.

  The guardians had made a picket line in a spot below the grove, where there was plenty of grass. Luruthin was there, tending his own horse. He smiled at her as she joined him, a smile that kindled memories of a time when they had been very close. Luruthin had been her first lover, and she would always have tender feelings for him.

  She opened her saddle pack and took out her horse's brushes. The simple task was soothing. She rubbed at the matted hair on the animal’s back where the saddle had lain, brushed long strokes down its neck and sides. The horse gave a noisy sigh of content.

  She glanced at Luruthin, caught him watching her. He smiled.

  “I heard Curunan wheedling at Felisan.”

  Elinai gave a derisive snort of laughter. “After raising me, Felisan should be immune to wheedling.”

  “The young have a special charm.”

  She glanced at her cousin, decided there was no hidden meaning in his remark. She dropped her brush on the satchel, picked up a comb and took it to the tangles in her horse’s mane.

  “Have you ever wished for a child, Eliani?”

  A prickle of tension climbed her spine. She combed a few more strokes before answering.

  “Any ælven would welcome a child.”

  “Some long for it more than others.”

  She glanced at him, wo
ndering if he spoke for himself. He stood beside his horse, brush in hand, watching her.

  “Clerestone has more than its share of children.”

  “Yes. We are greatly blessed.” Luruthin’s soft smile widened at the reminder of his village. “Though at times the blessing seems a burden.”

  Eliani turned back to her horse and began to worry a knot out of its mane. “If they become too burdensome, send one or two to Highstone for a few seasons. Ferashi will find work for them in the keep’s kitchens.”

  “And teach them her recipes? You tempt me.”

  “I make no promise about that. She guards her recipes like the treasures they are.”

  Luruthin laughed. After a moment he went back to grooming his horse.

  Eliani worked the last tangle from her own mount’s mane and combed through the smooth tresses. Perhaps she should braid it for their entry into Glenhallow. She might, but she would have to do it the morning before they reached the city, or the horse would pull her work all to pieces before they arrived.

  She put away her brush and comb and slung her satchels over her shoulder, leaving the horse to graze through the night. As she turned toward the camp Luruthin’s hand on her arm stopped her.

  “Eliani—”

  She looked at him, biting back a sharp rebuke. Luruthin was, among a confusion of other things, her friend and kin, and thus entitled to take some liberties. That he was also a former lover made for occasional awkwardness, but he did not deserve her abuse. She waited in silence.

  He searched her face. “You seem troubled lately. Can I be of any help?”

  She let out the breath she had been holding. “Thank you, but no.”

  His eyes were filled with concern. Also with love.

  “Well, I am here for you. Always.”

  Eliani answered with a slight smile. She was tempted to embrace him, if only for the comfort it would give her, but she did not wish to raise his hopes. They were perhaps too high already.