“You’re safe!” Vatar said, clasping Ramel’s arm.
Ramel blinked at him. “Vatar! What are you doing here?”
“We were in Tysoe when we heard one of our scouts had been captured,” Vatar said. That much, at least was the truth. He’d been thinking about how to answer that question for most of the flight. “We came to see if there was anything we could do to help free you.” That . . . wasn’t quite the truth, unless you looked at it from a certain angle.
Ramel smiled. “Thank you. I always knew the Dardani could rely on you.” Ramel’s eyes widened when he turned to Theklan. “You’re . . . you’re one of them.”
Vatar shook his head. “No, Ramel. This is Theklan, brother of my life-mate, Thekila.”
“They . . . they all looked like him,” Ramel said.
“Red-haired?” When Ramel nodded, Vatar drew in a deep breath. He should have anticipated this difficulty. “Yes. Thekila and Theklan come from the same place as the Exiles, but they’re not the same at all.”
“Thekila and I are both Eagle Clan,” Theklan put in, drawing the lacings of his tunic aside enough to show the eagle-feather tattoo on his left breast. “We’re Dardani.”
This declaration seemed to settle Ramel, a bit.
Vatar gestured toward the interior. “Might as well come in and get a hot meal. You can tell us all about it.”
Ramel shook his head. “We have to get back to Zeda.”
Vatar put a hand on his shoulder. “If you were thinking straight, you’d know you can’t ride at night. It’s too dangerous in unfamiliar territory. You’ll kill or injure your horses if you try it. You’d do much better to eat a hot meal while you can, sleep in a safe place, and let your horses rest.”
One of the other Wolf Clan scouts who looked a little older put in, “You know he’s right, Ramel. In any case, we’re not going any farther tonight.” He gestured to himself and the third scout.
The guest house wasn’t too full, so Vatar managed to get them one end of the long table to themselves. “All right, Ramel. Tell us what happened.” He listened, aware of the growing unease of the other two Dardani, as Ramel recited what had happened after his capture.
This could hardly be worse. If there was a way to conquer the Dardani without even a fight, it was by convincing them their totem Spirits were on their enemy’s side. If Ramel got back to Zeda and started spreading this story around, the Exiles just might win . . . everything. Vatar shook his head as Ramel neared the end. “Nertan is no shaman. I doubt he’d ever even heard the word before.”
“He said he was,” Ramel said. Then he paused. “Well, actually, I asked if he was a shaman.”
“And what happened then?” Vatar asked.
“He turned to the Themyri raider that seemed to be working with them. The Themyri said ‘magic man’ and then Nertan said he was a shaman.”
Vatar nodded. “He claimed a title that would make you trust him, but not one that he’s entitled to. He certainly uses magic. That much is true. But he was exiled from his people for wanting to use that magic not to protect—as a shaman would—but for his own power and enrichment.”
“A sorcerer?” the other Wolf Clan scout, who had been silent up ’til now, asked.
Vatar grimaced. He disliked that term. Not just because he’d once been accused of being a sorcerer himself. But there wasn’t any way he could explain Valson magic to these Dardani that they would understand—or accept. The only one who could do that was their own shaman, Baraz. He shrugged. “I’m not a shaman to make that distinction.”
“But the Spirit of the Wolf—” Ramel started.
“That wasn’t the Spirit of the Wolf you saw,” Vatar interrupted. In fact, he was nearly certain it was Platan’s avatar—which would be frightening enough.
“How can you be sure?” Ramel asked.
Vatar floundered for a moment. “We in the Lion Clan usually think of our totem Spirit as tawny, the color you’d expect of a lion. Or, sometimes, an ethereal white. Never black. Is it different in the Wolf Clan?”
Ramel paused. “No, but—”
“Our stories tell,” the older scout put in, “that in the old days, before the clans united, the Wolf Clan used to capture and tame wolf cubs. One was selected to serve as the representative of the Spirit of the Wolf—a white one, if possible—and the others were kept as pets by the chiefs. Could it have been something like that? A tamed wolf?”
Vatar knew that was unlikely, but . . . “It’s possible.”
Vatar could tell that the other two scouts at least wanted to believe him about the Spirit of the Wolf. Ramel . . . Ramel was going to be a problem. There was no way Vatar’s words could contradict what he believed he’d seen with his own eyes. The shaman might have a chance, but only if Baraz could be made to understand first. Which meant that Vatar absolutely had to get to Zeda before Ramel. Hopefully, enough ahead to convince at least some of the chiefs, too. Somehow, he had to delay Ramel to give himself time.
After they’d eaten, Vatar took the older Dardani scout aside. “I really think you should take Ramel to Tysoe. It won’t be that far out of your way and they have healers who can look at that wound on his head.”
“You think that . . . affected what he says happened?”
Vatar shrugged. “I don’t know, but Mother always said head wounds were unpredictable that way. Better to have a healer check on it before riding so far across the plains.”
The man nodded and headed off toward the sleeping area. Vatar slipped out the door for a little privacy and concentrated on Far Speech. “Orleus, did you get all of that?”
“Yes,” Orleus answered. “Thekila told us everything that was said. Sounds like Nertan really convinced him.”
“I think I’ve convinced his companions to bring Ramel to Tysoe so the healers can look at that bump on his head.”
“Do you think it’s a serious wound?” Orleus asked.
Vatar shook his head. “No. But we’ve got to keep him from getting to Zeda for as long as we can. And I have to get there before him—as soon as I can.”
“Why?” Orleus asked.
Vatar blew out his breath. “He’s told Nertan how to conquer the Dardani, Orleus. One clan at a time after they leave Zeda. And all the Exiles have to do is convince them that their totem Spirits are on Nertan’s side. I need to warn Pa. There’s no one at Zeda I can reach with Far Speech. And I’ve got to find a way to prepare the shaman. He’s the only one with enough authority to persuade the Dardani that the Exiles’ avatars are only imitation totems.”
“What are you going to do?” Orleus asked.
“We’ll have to take the boat back with them. It’d look suspicious otherwise. Maybe . . . maybe I can help persuade them to stay in Tysoe if I offer to take the news to Zeda instead. Then . . . the only way to get there with enough time is to fly.”
Vatar let the connection go.
Theklan stood just a little way off. “It’s bad, isn’t it?”
Vatar nodded. “Worse than anything I could have anticipated. We’re going to have to go straight from Tysoe to Zeda by the fastest method available to us.”
The boy brightened. “We? Me, too?”
“Yes. There’s got to be a way to make the shaman understand. And we have to have someone who can use Far Speech among the Dardani. But it’ll be a long flight.”
“I’ll make it.”
Chapter 27: Farewell
They hadn’t been back in Tysoe long. While the others settled the remaining details, Theklan went outside to remove the spear points from his spear and Vatar’s. None of them—not even Vatar—would be able to carry two spears, but Vatar figured the spearheads would be possible. It was the points that had magic worked into them, anyway, and they could affix them to new hafts at Zeda. Theklan was glad of that. He’d been afraid he’d have to leave his spear behind, but apparently the idea of leaving his spear didn’t appeal to Vatar any more than it did to Theklan. If there was any chance there’d be fighting, both of t
hem wanted their spears to hand.
He looked up when a shadow blocked his light. “Oh, hello, Sharila.”
She put her hands on her hips. “So, after dragging me all the way out here, you’re just going to fly off and leave me here—in a strange place where I don’t know anyone—by myself?”
Theklan let out his breath slowly, trying to remind himself how much he’d appreciated Sharila’s help and friendship when he felt alone at the Academy. It wouldn’t be any easier for her to be left here. Maybe harder. “I’m sorry about that. But you won’t be alone. Teran’s staying, too. And Orleus and Quetza will be here. Teran and Quetza are both from the Valley. They were teachers at the Academy, in fact. And Balan and Zoridan, too, though you haven’t met them, yet. But they’re Valson, too.”
“That doesn’t mean I know any of them. You expect me to stay in this . . . this cabin alone with a man I barely remember teaching me when I first started at the Academy. And you think that’s fine?”
Theklan blinked. He hadn’t exactly thought of it that way. “Well . . . but the cabin has separate rooms. And anyway Teran’s a teacher. He wouldn’t do anything like that.” He paused, staring up into her angry face. “If it bothers you, maybe Teran can move in with Balan and Zoridan.”
“Oh. And then I can be all alone in this cabin, unprotected.”
“We’re in Tysoe with Orleus’s Tysoean Guard to keep the peace and patrol the borders. What do you need protection from?”
Sharila stamped her foot. “You wouldn’t understand.” She tossed her head. “Maybe I’ll just go back to the Valley, then.”
Theklan almost dropped his spear point. “Don’t try that. You’d never be able to ride as far as the Forest by yourself.”
“What do you care?”
“I do care, Sharila. You’ve been a good friend to me.” He sighed. “But this is important. My people are in danger. I have to do what I can to save them.”
“Your people are back in the Valley.” She stepped closer, placing her hands on his shoulders. “You could . . . come back with me. We could be together, there.” She leaned closer and kissed him.
Theklan’s mind froze in shock for a moment. Without his willing it, his mouth responded to hers and his arms came up to hold her, before he stiffened and pulled away from her. He took a moment of deep breathing to re-establish his equilibrium. “I said you were a friend, Sharila.”
“You can’t say you didn’t like that.”
“I won’t try. But there’s a young woman waiting for me at Zeda. And I promised to come back to her. Kiara . . . Kiara is the one I want to spend my life with—among the Dardani. Not in the Valley. I’m sorry if you had a different impression.” He grabbed up both spears and walked off, trying not to look as if he was fleeing.
“Some Dardani? She can’t ever join minds with you. It’ll never be what you could have with me.”
Theklan shook his head. It was true. He’d never be able to join minds or have the kind of bond Thekila and Vatar had. The bond that even allowed them to share Far Speech—something no one else Theklan knew could do. He wished he could look forward to that someday with Kiara, but it was impossible as long as her magic was kept from her. She wasn’t the only one who’d been robbed by that decision of her distant ancestor.
He raised his head. And he still wanted only Kiara. It would be enough.
Chapter 28: Far Sight
Kiara sat, fingering the arm band she’d made for Theklan’s return, while Fenar, the twins, and little Jadar napped on the other side of the darkened hut. Since Savara had somehow given her access to her magic, she’d taken to spending this time trying to get a glimpse of Theklan with Far Sight. It didn’t always work, which was frustrating. Thekila or Vatar could probably have told her what she was doing wrong. It’d be nice to understand what she was supposed to do to get it right.
She had noticed, though, that having something she associated with Theklan—especially the bridle he’d made for her—helped. It was conspicuous to carry her bridle around, though. It properly belonged where it was likely to be used. Not that it was prohibited at all, but Mother would ask about it. And Kiara wanted to keep her new access to her magic a secret for now. She smiled as she imagined herself telling—showing—Theklan first, before anyone else. She didn’t want anyone to spoil that moment. So she’d sworn even Savara to secrecy.
Since she didn’t have the bridle to hand, the armband she’d made for him was her next-best link to Theklan. Kiara closed her eyes, clutching the beaded strip in one hand, and concentrated. Day before yesterday, a similar attempt to use her magic had shown her only a confusing image of two white eagles—one larger than any eagle she’d ever seen or heard tell of—flying over water. Probably something to do with those eagle feathers she’d attached to the armband. She was determined to do better today.
Eyes closed, she got a glimpse of Theklan sitting outside an odd structure that seemed halfway between a Dardani hut and a Caerean house. Except the unfamiliar part of the structure was made of wood, not stone. Was he in Tysoe? Or still in the Valley? He was doing something with a couple of spears. Odd.
Then he looked up when that girl appeared. Kiara stiffened and almost lost her concentration. She’d caught glimpses of this girl several times now. And she didn’t like her at all. One side of her mouth twitched up, though, as she watched. It sure looked like Theklan and the girl were fighting over something. Good. Pity Far Sight didn’t include sound. Or could it, and Kiara just didn’t know how to do that? Just one of many things she was going to have to ask Vatar and Thekila when she finally got a chance.
Then the girl’s attitude changed. Just the way she stood, the look on her face, put Kiara’s back up. If Kiara were there, she’d wipe that look off the other girl’s face and give her a good reason to keep her distance from Theklan. But she wasn’t there. And all Kiara could do was watch helplessly as the girl leaned forward and kissed Theklan. And . . . he kissed her back!
Her eyes burned and she felt as if the solid floor of the hut had suddenly tilted. With a sob, Kiara lost her concentration. Her throat was too painfully tight for any other sound. She stared at the beaded armband in her hand—the one she’d worked so hard on—and then flung it against the far wall.
Savara yawned and looked up at her through big, blue eyes. “What’s wrong, Auntie Kiara?”
Kiara took a deep breath to steady her voice. “Nothing. Go back to sleep.” She turned her back to hide the tears glistening in her eyes. Everything was wrong. Theklan had betrayed her! He’d promised to come back to her, given her a courting gift. And then he’d kissed that other girl. Her gut burned with that knowledge.
He was probably going back—or going to stay—in the Valley with her. Good. He’d better never come back to Zeda. She didn’t ever want to see him again.
Chapter 29: Flight to Zeda
Vatar led his group toward the same height overlooking Narycea Lake from the north side of Tysoe that Orleus had shown him. Even though he couldn’t follow, Teran had chosen to come along to see them off. Only Sharila had turned her back and refused to even wish them luck. From the way Theklan had been looking anywhere but at her, something had happened between them yesterday. Whatever it was, they’d have to work it out themselves—or not. He had more urgent things to think about right now.
And not just getting a warning to Pa and the other chiefs about the Exiles and the terrifying prospect that they now knew exactly how to use their magic against the Dardani. First they had to get to Zeda. Among them, only Quetza had flown even close to that far—last year when she met them at the edge of the Forest to join their trek to the Valley. She’d estimated that it would take at least two days—more likely three—to fly from here to Zeda, especially burdened as Vatar would be.
Out of all of it, that was what bothered him the most. Thekila refused to be left behind so she and Quetza had cooked up this scheme to have him carry baby Taleara in her basket. True, he was the largest of them and the most able to fly w
ith such a burden, but . . . what if he made just a single mistake? It didn’t matter so much if it was just him. He’d made his choice. Taleara didn’t get a vote. And she had no chance at all of saving herself if he did something . . . unfortunate.
And the duration of the trip posed several problems of its own. Not least of which would be finding a height sufficient for take-off on subsequent days. Yes, there were rock outcroppings scattered across the plains. Even the highest of them would likely be barely high enough—and that’s if they weren’t already occupied by a pride of lions or some other predator.
Then, after they managed that, they’d have to find a way to persuade the shaman. Not just to accept Theklan’s return. That had become the least of their problems, now. No, they had to find a way to convince the man that the very same kind of magic was good, in their case, and very bad, in the case of the Exiles, because of the way the Exiles would use it. That was a distinction it had taken Vatar months to learn. But, without the shaman on their side, they had very little chance of persuading the chiefs—let alone the Dardani as a whole—to fight the Exiles in spite of the way they’d likely use their magic.
And only then could they start to make any kind of a plan for that battle. Oh, no problem at all.
He looked up from his circling thoughts to find that Orleus and Quetza were already there, waiting for them.
Quetza hugged each of them in turn. “Good luck.”
Orleus clasped Vatar’s arm. “Take care. Keep us informed. I’ll bring as many of my troops to help as I can, but we can’t leave Tysoe undefended until the Exiles and their Themyri troops have left the area. We probably won’t be able to come until just before any fighting starts, so don’t forget to let us know what’s happening.”
Vatar shrugged and swallowed hard. “We’ve planned as well as we can.” He glanced aside. “I still think it would be best for Thekila to stay here with Taleara.”
“Not a chance,” Thekila said. “I have more flight experience than the two of you put together. And there’s no way I’m going to sit this battle out. Too much depends on winning. The Dardani are my people now, too, you know. And the Valley was my first home.”
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