by Pati Nagle
She had decisions to make that precluded her taking comfort in Luruthin’s arms, or anyone else’s. She laid her hand over his, feeling the bright warmth of his khi for a sharp moment, then moved onward back toward the camp, leaving him to finish tending his mount.
The smell of roasting fowl joined that of wood smoke as she approached the fire. A brace of fat woodhens now sizzled on a spit. They would be a pleasant complement to the trail fare the party carried.
Felisan had not moved from his seat by the fire. Curunan sat at his feet, lanky legs tucked beneath him. He looked up as Eliani approached.
“I killed the hens.” He beamed proudly, then glanced at Heléri. “Well, I snared them, and killed one. Hanusan killed the other, showing me how to wring its neck without causing it pain.”
Eliani grinned. “Well done.”
She sat and stretched her hands toward the fire. The evening was darkening, and the air was beginning to fall chill. She gazed at the flames, allowing her thoughts to drift. Eventually Luruthin returned, sitting across the fire from her.
Memories lay thick this evening. She was sure that Luruthin was thinking of their past intimacy, and equally sure he would welcome its renewal.
When the hens were done, Heléri and Curunan pulled them off the spit and portioned out the meat from the back of the supply wagon. Eliani rummaged for her camp plate, a pretty thing of hammered bronze graven with stags, then stood behind the waiting guardians. One of them offered her his place.
“Go before me, My Lady.”
“No, I will wait my turn. And if you ‘My Lady’ me once more, Firthan, we will settle it with fists or staves.”
Felisan looked up. “He is only following my instruction, Eliani. Jharan will think it strange if our guardians do not show you some respect, little though you may desire it.”
She snorted. “Little though I may deserve it, you mean. Jharan will have to resign himself to the fact that we mountain folk are strange.”
“Oh, he learned that long ago.” Felisan gave a gusty sigh. “I had hoped to repair the shattered dignity of my house before we reached Glenhallow, but I see it is not to be. Blood tells true, and you have inherited all my—ai!”
Eliani had left the line and stepped behind her father’s chair, sweeping his hair into her fist. She gave it another slight tug.
“All your worst tendencies. I know.”
He chuckled. “I yield! I am at your mercy.”
Eliani let go his hair, only to throw her arms around his neck, hugging him from behind. Her camp plate bounced off toward the fire, twirled once on its edge, and fell over, face down in the dust.
Felisan’s arms came up to grip hers. Eliani leaned her head against her father’s, collecting the comfort of a physical embrace that she had denied herself a short while earlier. Despite his jesting, his khi was heavy with sadness—old sadness—memories of Skyruach, no doubt.
She let him go, only to come around and kneel at his feet. Reaching up to clasp his hands, she gazed up at him as she had often done as a child. He seemed no older than he ever had, but faint lines creased his brow. She wanted to soothe them away.
“Let me bring you some food, Father.”
She started to get up but his hands tightened on hers. Startled, she met his gaze, saw the small shake of his head.
“I am not hungry.”
He said it quietly, and so seriously Eliani was surprised. She searched his face.
“You are fasting?”
He nodded, closing his eyes briefly. Eliani drew herself up.
“Then I will fast, too.”
Felisan smiled, sad and amused. “You have no cause.”
“Yes, I have.”
Eliani let go her father’s hands and turned to lean against his knees, gazing at the fire. She thought of her decision not to speak to Turisan from Midrange, of his request that she handfast with him. She had told Heléri of her discovery that she shared mindspeech with Turisan, but she had not yet told her father. She had much cause for fasting and contemplation.
She felt Felisan’s hand on her shoulder and reached up to clasp it. They sat together thus while the others gathered around the fire with their food.
Curunan, a bowl heaped with meat in his hands, settled nearby. He fished Eliani’s plate out of the dirt and offered it to her.
“Are you not going to eat?”
“Not just now.”
He shrugged. “More for me, then.”
Eliani watched him begin to devour his supper, smiling at memories of her own youthful appetites. She let her gaze wander around the fire circle, observing each of the others, their moods, their conversation. The guardians seemed tired but happy enough. They, like she, looked forward to arriving in Glenhallow.
What would their mood be tomorrow, she wondered, when they had passed that forest of conces?
She looked at Luruthin, who was sitting at the far side of the circle, listening to the talk of the guardians nearby as he picked at a piece of the roasted woodhen. He seemed not to have much appetite.
Heléri came to her chair beside Felisan’s, glanced at Eliani and her father, and set her plate down while she took away the kettle to fill it from the stream. Returning, she hung it over the fire and took her seat, nibbling a small slice of the hen’s meat and a few dried fruits from the party’s stores.
Curunan had emptied his plate, gone to fill it again, and emptied it once more by the time the kettle boiled and Heléri leaned forward to brew more tea. Dark had fallen full in the meantime. Eliani thought of her cloak, but decided she did not need it yet. The fire was warm enough, and she preferred to stay with her father.
Heléri brought cups of tea to them both, silently smiling. Felisan murmured a word of thanks. Eliani smiled back at Heléri, then sipped the fragrant tea, which tasted faintly of evergreens, of flowers and, somehow, of snow.
Curunan took the rest of the hot water away to wash with, collecting Eliani’s plate along the way. Being young, he was still learning the values and demands of service in such tasks as attending on the governor, and his duties on this journey included cleaning everyone’s plates.
“Curunan is doing well.” Heléri poured tea into another cup someone had passed. “This is his first long journey, is it not?”
Felisan nodded. “He has been no farther from home than Clerestone before.”
“Yet he bears his extra duties well. I have not heard him complain since the first night.”
“There is a simple reason.” Eliani glanced behind her toward the wagon, where Curunan had his arms plunged into a basin of soapy water, then grinned at Heléri. “On the road, the privilege of washing one’s hands in hot water makes kitchen chores a desirable duty.”
“Ah.” Heléri smiled. “It has been a long time since I last traveled.”
Eliani sipped her tea. “Have you been to Glenhallow before?”
Heléri glanced at her, then shifted her gaze to the fire. She started at the flames for a moment before answering.
“No. This is my first visit to Southfæld.”
Eliani watched her, wondering what she was thinking. Sometimes Heléri took her time answering even a simple question. Eliani had thought nothing of it before, but since learning that Heléri spoke daily with her partner Davharin, who had long ago crossed into spirit, she sometimes wondered if her eldermother consulted him before responding.
If so, that was private between them. Mindspeech was a terrifyingly private thing.
Eliani turned to her father. “Then you are the only one of us who has been here before.”
He nodded. She half expected him to take advantage of their inexperience, spinning a tale of a city made of gold or some such foolishness, but Felisan remained silent and pensive. It was not a night for foolishness, perhaps.
Curunan returned and built up the fire, fetched Heléri’s kettle away and brought it back full, then sat on the ground at Felisan’s other side, looking up at him in silent expectation. The soft voices of the guardian
s gradually fell away, while the new wood on the fire popped and crackled.
Felisan seemed lost in thought, but after some moments’ silence he stirred, and drank what was left in his cup. Heléri filled it for him again. He smiled his thanks, holding the steaming cup in both hands, and gaze a while into the fire.
“Tomorrow we will pass Skyruach.”
His voice was strong enough to carry across the circle, but to Eliani it sounded unlike him. Usually robust, tonight it was grave. She shifted so that she could look up at him.
“Curunan has asked me to tell you of the battle there.”
He paused, a slight frown creasing his brow. The others waited in silence.
“I had been governor in Alpinon for ten years when the war began. At first it was thought to be a kobalen raid against Nordale, a village that lay north of here, near Midrange. We heard news of an attack there, which the townsfolk repelled with the help of a patrol of Southfæld Guards. I doubled our own patrols, and thought no more of it until word came that Nordale had been overrun.”
Felisan shifted in his chair. “Kobalen had come through Midrange Pass in force, some three hundred strong. Nothing like it had ever been seen before. They burned the village and slew any who resisted them, then started down the road toward Glenhallow. A company of the Southfæld Guard stopped them and pushed them back to Midrange, only to discover more kobalen coming through the pass. It was then that they sent for our help.
“At that time Jharan was serving in Southfæld’s Guard, and he was captain of that company. He sent a rider south to warn Glenhallow, and chose to risk his own life rather than another’s riding north to Highstone. He rode far out into the plain to avoid the kobalen at Midrange. For all he knew there could have been another force of kobalen ahead of him, making for Highstone. As it happened, there was not.”
Eliani found herself picturing Jharan—who in her imagination exactly resembled Turisan—arriving at Highstone, frightened and exhausted, to beg for Alpinon’s help. To solicit his friend Felisan’s help, she realized, on behalf of Southfæld and without their governor’s knowledge. Jharan had risked his position, his rank in Southfæld’s Guard, in so doing.
“With Governor Hirion's permission, I gathered as many of the Alpinon Guard as I felt could be spared from our own defenses, and led them to Midrange myself.” Felisan glanced at Heléri, smiling slightly. “Heléri sent me forth with her blessing. Together with Jharan’s company, we pushed the kobalen back from the river, up onto the plateau where High Holding now stands.
“We could push them no farther. They outnumbered us, and every day more of them came through the pass. Reinforcements arrived from Southfæld, but were only enough to hold our position. We watched those black lines pour down from Midrange, and could do nothing to stop them.
“Turon was governor in Southfæld then. He had sent riders to Eastfæld as soon as he heard of Nordale’s fall, and sent more with the news of kobalen coming through Midrange. Every day we hoped for support from the eastern realm. Jharan and I celebrated the Spirit Feast atop Skyruach, keeping watch on our enemies on the plateau. Twenty days later, the kobalen began to advance.
“We sent riders north and south, then fell back down the river. We were by then some four hundred strong. Not enough to hold the kobalen, who numbered at least two thousand, but we begrudged them every rod of ground, and yielded it with blood.”
He stared into the fire a little while, seeming lost in memory. Those around the circle kept silent.
“Our greatest fear was that the kobalen would turn north and attack Highstone. They did not, though. They pursued us south, apparently set on reaching Glenhallow.”
Felisan paused to sip his tea. “There were a number of small settlements along the Silverwash then. They were all swiftly abandoned, their citizens fled to Glenhallow. We used the houses and lodges for defense, until we were pushed back again.”
Eliani thought of the conces they had ridden past on the road from Midrange, wondering how many of them marked where guardians had fallen resisting the kobalen incursion. She remembered seeing clusters of them in a few places.
“Ten days before Midsummer a courier reached us from Glenhallow. Turon had gathered all the Guard in Southfæld, and was bringing them to support us. We were to take a stand at Skyruach and hold the enemy there.”
Felisan looked up, glancing around the circle for the first time since he had begun to talk. Eliani looked too, saw the faces of the guardians grave and attentive, saw Curunan looking wide-eyed like a startled deer. No doubt he had heard few such tales.
“Skyruach is a tall thrust of blackrock, flat-topped, impossible to storm. You will see it tomorrow. It is near enough to the road for a party atop the rock, if they are well-armed and large enough, to control passage on the road. The Silverwash runs swift and deep here, as you have seen. To reach Glenhallow one must pass below Skyruach, or cross the river several leagues above it.
“The night we received Turon’s message we lit campfires and left a token force before the enemy, then slipped away to take up our position on Skyruach. Silverdale’s folk met us at the foot of their valley. Half of them had already fled; those who remained and were fit to take arms joined us, the rest departed at once for Glenhallow. We ascended the rock with our weapons, every arrow we could find, and three days’ worth of food and water.”
Felisan fell silent. Curunan stirred and looked as if he was about to ask some question, but Eliani caught his attention with a warning frown. Felisan drew a deep breath before continuing.
“We knew we could only hold the kobalen back from the road for a short time. We counted on Turon to support us, to block the enemy on the ground with a mass of warriors. The next day was one of the longest in my memory. We waited atop that black rock in the heat of midsummer, waited for the enemy to appear. Noon passed, and they did not come. The sun drew near the mountains, and they did not come. Finally at dusk a single rider appeared on the road, galloping toward us.
“We watched him eagerly, dreading and hoping for the news he brought, but we never heard it. He was slain by a kobalen dart before he reached us. The enemy had arrived, and at day’s end they made their camp on the plain below Silverdale, fouling it with their filth.”
Felisan shifted in his chair, peered into his cup, and set it down. Eliani saw a slight tremor in his hand as he let go the cup.
“It was much to our advantage that the kobalen see poorly at night, and are prone to sleeping through the dark. We left them alone for a time, until the moon had set. Then we began to pick off their sentries. It probably did little good, but it heartened us, and we hoped it would cause them dismay. We knew that the real fighting would begin with the dawn.
“At first light they formed a column and started down the road. We waited until they were within a few rods, then loosed our arrows. The first volley took down some fifty, and halted them for a time, but they came on.
“We felled them as fast as we could fire, tens and tens of them, until they had to pause to drag their dead off the road before trying again to pass us. We held them back all that day. When the sun set, they stopped. They tried to remove their dead, but we slew any that came near that ghastly heap.”
Felisan closed his eyes for a moment. He leaned back in his chair, seeming to shrink with weariness.
“We took stock of our arms, and found we had used over half of our arrows. We waited until the kobalen slept, then we slew their sentries again, and a party crept down to the plain to recover arrows from the heap of kobalen dead. I did not join in that horrible task. Jharan convinced me that I should not risk myself. But he went.”
Curunan sat up “Jharan went? But he was governor-elect!”
Felisan glanced at him. “No, he was not. There were seven others between him and Turon. He was a guard captain, no more. He was daring, then. He had no reason not to be.”
Felisan’s mouth curved in a hint of a smile. It vanished as he resumed his tale.
“Those who went do
wn brought back many arrows, also many of the kobalen’s throwing sticks and quivers upon quivers full of darts. We were unpracticed in their use, but we soon learned how to sling kobalen darts with deadly accuracy.
“At dawn the struggle resumed. The kobalen tried again to march past us, their dead blocked their way and we slew those that tried to remove them. Then another mob of kobalen came at us, at Skyruach. They tried to climb the rock, which is difficult to scale even in the best conditions. We divided ourselves, and some defended the rock while the rest continued to hold the road.
“By midday there was a heap of kobalen dead around the foot of the rock as well as that on the road. We were beginning to lose heart, then Turon arrived on the road with the Southfæld Guard.”
Felisan’s face cleared somewhat, his eyes growing bright. “We cheered! How we cheered them, even as we loosed our last arrows and slung darts at the kobalen below us. They drove into the kobalen on the road, pushed past the barricade of dead, and forced them back from Skyruach, off the field and back to the ridge.
“We were exhausted, but we could not rest. Turon sent word that we were to continue guarding the road. We came down from the rock to collect arrows again. Silverdale Creek had been fouled by the kobalen, nor did we care to draw water from the Silverwash, for they had pushed some of their dead into it from the road. We rationed what water we had left, and returned atop the rock to rest.
“We watched the Southfæld Guard hold back the kobalen all day. They kept coming, black waves of them from the north. Toward evening Turon began to give ground. Jharan led half our number to join him while I stayed atop Skyruach with fewer than two hundreds.”
Felisan closed his eyes. Eliani felt an urge to comfort him, but did not move. When he spoke again his voice was low and unsteady.
“I feared for Jharan. As I watched him go I thought I might not see him again. His party joined Turon’s, but they could not hold back the kobalen. They retreated, slowly but steadily, until they were nearly even with Skyruach. The kobalen swarmed over the plain again, up toward Silverdale and then around Skyruach, trying to attack Turon from behind. We concentrated our arrows on them, and stopped them from reaching Turon, but it was clear by then that the kobalen were too many for us.”