by S. A. Hunter
“There be bodies down there, Lady. Two caravaners by their clothes.”
“No!” Thera’s face twisted. Her memory of Nan on the beach came again vividly to mind; her memory of...“Are they womenfolk, Alba?” she whispered hoarsely.
Alba lifted off the barrel, and moved to the doorway. She hung there, inhaling deeply of the outside air. “I think not—but you see—something has been eating them.”
Thera’s hand shook on the jar she held. “No…! I have never heard that they…”
Alba’s shoulders shifted, almost impatiently. “Nor have I.” She continued, “It is likely they kept these poor folk to tell them where to find Elankeep. I had wondered how they knew of us. However, some beast has chewed on them. Perhaps the Memteth allowed it, to torment the poor souls into saying what they wanted to know.” She turned and looked at Thera. “What else? I cannot think of any known scavenger beast which could swim water, and climb into a boat, and leave wounds as great as these.”
Alba’s voice grated in Thera’s ears. “Let us give them to the fire, Lady. Burn the boats now.”
Thera’s brow puckered as she glanced about her. “There are great riches here, Alba. We should salvage what we can.”
The swordswoman’s features hardened—she regarded Thera steadily.
Thera did not notice. She continued, almost as if speaking to herself. “You see, a long time ago, or maybe it only seems long, I had an idea to establish a fund so that women could be free to practice a craft or trade of their choosing.
“I’ve heard tell of young folk who love each other but cannot marry because they have not the bride price demanded by father or brothers.
“Or of young women who must run away from their home, to a strange place, because they wish not to marry and have not the price to secure their freedom of choice.
“They are penniless, nameless women who suffer hardship because of it.”
Thera’s fingers clenched around the jar she held. “This fund can make a difference, Alba. These riches could be the start of such a fund.” She gently placed the jar back with the others.
The hardness left Alba’s face and a corner of her mouth tugged downward. “Aye, Lady Thera,” she said softly, “that would be a great thing.”
“It is just the beginning of things I have thought to do,” said Thera earnestly.
Alba folded her arms across her chest and smiled at her. “Aye. A beginning. Our Sirra Alaine said you would be a Salvai different than others.”
The swordswoman rubbed her chin. “Well. If we lay some planks up to the rail, and then down to the beach on the listing side, we should be able to roll or rope most of these near enough to shore that we can pull them in.”
They worked steadily, until the sun was past high. The raiders’ ship was finally stripped of most valuables.
There was now only one box left on board—an elaborate black case. Alba discovered it in a cabinet under the chart bench. She was speechless upon opening it. Inside, wrapped in white silk, was a magnificent sword. The blade was the width of five fingers at the hilt, the handle of some white, smooth substance she had never seen before.
Thera watched Alba turn the blade over and over in her hands, her expression rapt and reverent.
It is as if she communes with the weapon, Thera thought, the way I do with the Elanraigh.
Thera looked to shore, feeling satisfied with the morning’s work. They had secured the barrels and chests up off the beach, under a heavily bushed outcropping of rock. Maps and charts were wrapped in oilskin and tucked into chests and barrels.
She wiped her hands down her tunic. Her hands prickled with splinters; the rough planking of their improvised ramp had to be tediously moved and lifted each step of the way.
Finally released from her sword-spell, Alba exhaled gustily. She carefully replaced the weapon in its cloth.
“Such a prize, I never thought to see.” Alba’s voice became exuberant. “Ha! I can see the Sirra’s face! I have no doubt she be thinking I was somewhere lying under a tree with a daisy stem in my mouth all this time.”
Thera laughed then held her side, leaning back against the wall, she groaned. “Blessings! I ache all over.”
“Aye. Well, I know all about aching. Perhaps you will be joining us in the hot springs after evening meal, Lady?” The invitation was almost shyly given.
The Salvai probably never went into the soldiers’ quarters, Thera surmised.
Thera nodded assent with genuine pleasure. Then she looked about her; the emptied pilothouse looked battered and scarred. Thera’s expression darkened.
“One last trip ashore with this chest and we’re done. We can fire the ship and send the South Bole caravaners properly.”
Alba reached for the lamp and cracked it briskly against the chart bench. She waved Thera out onto the deck as the oil spilled its dark stain against the wood. Thera leaned against the deck rail. There was no warmth left in the late afternoon sun.
Inside the pilothouse Alba moved rapidly, a darker form in its shadowy interior.
Thera felt drawn into the sounds around her, the water sucking at the void in the damaged hull, the restless creakings of the ship’s timbers.
Her eyes flew open, fixed on the pilothouse roof. Something huge! Something slithered across the roof, and then quick as an indrawn breath, it disappeared through the hatch. Thera heard a thump on the pilothouse floor.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Alba yelled.
There was a heavy thud against the wall of the pilothouse and a hiss, as of hot steel plunged into water.
Thera’s hand clenched tighter on Alba’s spear.
“Alba!” No response.
Calling on the Elanraigh for a blessing, Thera ran inside.
She had never seen such a creature before. Except for its great size, it resembled a sun-lizard, such as would bask on the castle walls come warm summer days.
She flinched back, heart tripping, as the lizard creature’s huge tail swept past the door. The flat, reptilian head swung slowly toward her. Thera spared a quick, panicky glance over to where Alba lay sprawled.
“Alba…”
Alba stirred, slowly, painfully. She shifted backward, propping her back in the corner. Her left arm dangled to her lap. Her right hand shook with tremors as she grasped her sword hilt. A dark stain spread across the material of her kilt. Blood seeped from under its hem and soaked into the deck floor.
“By the One Tree…” fear constricted Thera’s throat. “Alba, how bad?”
The swordwoman’s voice was flat. “Smacked me against the wall with its tail. Took a bite of my leg…unnnn.” Alba groaned and panted, “…before my sword was even drawn. It seems content to wait now.”
Part of Thera’s mind cringed and wailed its fear of the foul creature, flashing images of death, the reptile tearing at her entrails. Her pulse stumbled then raced.
So. Drawing a deep, shuddering breath, Thera weighed what she must do. She touched briefly, horrified, at the creature’s mind. Uhh, it is truly beast, not sapient mind. Gripping the spear, she swung it before her in jabbing posture. She must act now. Alba would bleed to death if she stood dithering.
“Hey-a,” she challenged. “You carrion-eating worm!”
The reptile fixed a yellow eye on Thera and its tongue flickered. It shifted on its short, bowed legs.
Thera blinked. As the lizard-creature moved into the dusky light by the portal, she saw flashes of color off its neck. It wore a gold collar, studded with jewels.
A Memteth’s cherished pet beast? Does it sleep at its master’s feet as does father’s deerhound?
The setting sun poured through the portal, flooding the pilothouse in dusty amber. The reptile’s mouth gapped open, slickly red. Fleshy gore clung to its rows of teeth.
It hissed, the pouches under its jaws pumping out the sound like bellows. She was overwhelmed with the stench from its mouth.
Again the debilitating fear constricted her chest. With a deep brea
th, holding the spear before her, she edged warily along the wall toward the wounded swordswoman.
She remembered the Elanraigh had told her a water elemental held sway here at the Falls. She still sent a quick prayer to the Elanraigh. “I must kill this Memteth’s creature, so that Alba might live.”
It was Farnash’s mind-voice that responded. “You are Clan. Be one with us.”
“Farnash?” What does he mean? Oh.
Thera searched for the predator in herself. Almost wonderingly, she drew this aspect of herself forward. Her body remembered the sensations she had felt while in hawk form, and had felt emanating from the Elanraigh wolf as he battled the Memteth raider. She felt the clanship of hunting with the pack, running shoulder to shoulder. Her heart throbbed with a young hawk’s feral joy, as it stooped to the kill.
Thera’s body tightened. Her vision sharpened, focused on the creature before her. She observed how the light sparked the drops of moisture on its mauve-hued hide, and the hint of red color behind the dark pupil of its eye. One of the lizard’s claws was torn and bled sluggishly. It favored the wounded foot as it turned toward her.
Drawing her lips back from her teeth, Thera snarled a challenge. Her spear tip jabbed out at the heavy dewlap of skin under the creature’s jaw.
With a furious hiss the beast backed, its massive head swaying. It swung its tail at Thera’s head. She lifted the spear, taking the worst of the blow on the shaft.
Even though the lizard’s movements were hampered in the confines of the pilothouse, the force was enough to break the spear shaft between her hands and drop Thera to her knees.
With a scrabbling of claws, the beast charged her, swift and low.
Alba shouted hoarsely, some word, it was all a roaring in Thera’s ears.
Now! Just as the boar hunters do.
Thera swung the broken, still deadly spear, before her and braced herself. The impact crushed her against the wall. Her head snapped back, and her vision sparkled.
Hissing, the reptile wrenched its body away. The spear shaft, embedded deep in its chest, tore painfully from Thera’s grasp. She rolled as far away as she could get, pulling her dagger from her belt as the creature thrashed violently from one side of the pilothouse to the other.
Finally it lay on its side, skin twitching. Its jaws gaped as it labored to draw breath.
Thera moved immediately, a wary eye on its tail. With her dagger, she cut its throat.
“A mercy stroke,” Thera murmured, “whatever you are.”
She crawled over to Alba, her bloody fingers reaching for the pulse at Alba’s throat.
The swordswoman’s hand grasped her wrist. “I live.”
Thera had felt the cold clamminess of Alba’s flesh.
“The wound…” Thera gasped. “Let me see.”
After a moment, Alba’s hand dropped, and Thera moved the bloody cloth of her kilt away. She sucked in her breath. A vicious wound, flesh and muscle had gone with it, but Elanraigh bless, it seemed the tendons and bone were intact.
“I will splint this, Alba, but your shoulder is dislocated.” She eased Alba down, and was about to rise, when the swordswoman’s hand again grasped hers, restraining her.
“Bravely done. Oh bravely done.” Her dark eyes, though glazed with shock, met Thera’s squarely. “I would not like to have died in the jaws of that beast.” Alba’s eyelids drooped and her head sagged back across Thera’s arm.
Biting her lip, Thera gently loosened Alba’s hand and ran outside to obtain the materials she needed.
* * * *
It was full dark by the time Thera had bound Alba’s wound and splinted her leg. The dislocated arm she bound to Alba’s torso. Repairing that was a procedure best left to the healer. Alba had not regained consciousness. This was well, as the only way Thera had of moving the heavier woman was by dragging her on a blanket, over the same improvised ramps they had made in order to move the ship’s cargo onto the beach.
Thera managed to drizzle some water down the swordswoman’s throat, but though Alba mumbled, she did not waken. A small fire made from driftwood and bits of lumber from the Memteth ship was enough to keep them warm, but was not what she needed to summon assistance. The others from Elankeep would be searching for them by now, but they might confine their search to the ancient grove.
Thera tucked the blanket securely around Alba, then taking two brands from the fire, she waded into the river.
The ship anchored farthest out she fired first. She spilled lantern oil over its deck, and even as she waded on to the next anchored ship, flames were crackling and shooting sparks into the air.
Thera’s body was so stiff and sore, she could barely haul herself over the side. Her jaws clenched as she again set foot on the deck.
The dead caravaners on this ship; it could have been us. It could have been Alba and I whose bodies now lay half devoured.
Thera stood a moment, eyes wide to the night, gripped by the horror of what might have been.
Again Farnash’s voice rumbled in her mind, his tone matter-of-fact.
They died. We live. All is well.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The burning ships lit the sky above the river. Thera was sure the Elankeep troop would find them quickly now, but she fretted as she constantly checked on Alba. The lizard creature’s mouth had been so foul. Alba’s wound might soon go bad without a healer’s care. She sat, knees drawn up to her chest, rocking slightly, then reached over to lay her fingers on Alba’s pulse just once more. Sighing, she lowered her head onto her bent knees.
A hand dropped on her shoulder. “Lady.”
Her body flinched in reaction, though in the same instant she recognized the voice. She had not heard them come up behind her and here she was sleeping as soundly as a babe in its cradle. Her relief was tainted with chagrin. Yet, there was no reproof in Sirra Alaine’s eyes.
Thera grasped the Sirra’s hand. “Alba’s hurt.”
Sirra Alaine nodded slowly. She jerked her chin to where Mieta and Rhul worked at securing Alba’s limp form onto a litter for portaging back up the steep trail.
The brackets at the corners of the Sirra’s mouth deepened as she watched the swordswomen snugging Alba’s form in blankets. Then she twitched her shoulders, looking down at Thera.
“It’s a fine field dressing you made, Lady. Good as any a healer could have done.” The Sirra squatted down and peered into Thera’s face. “What happened here, Lady Thera?”
Thera saw that the Memteth ships had burned down to blackened framework. She collected her thoughts and began to tell Alaine what they had encountered here.
* * * *
Thera sighed shakily as the small rescue party re-entered the silence of the ancient grove. We’ll be home soon.
She felt the forest greet her.
“Thera.”
“ Teacher?” Thera felt strangely awkward. How do I address this Elanraigh companion? Thera now knew that in life, Teacher had been Lady Dysanna. If what Chamakin and Salvai Keiris had told her was true, and why should it not be, then Lady Dysanna had suffered much because of her…their…ancestors’ bigotry.
“Teacher.” Thera projected the love and empathy she felt into her mind voice. “You are…were…my elder-aunt, the Lady Dysanna?”
“Ah,” the voice sighed. “Thera. It is so and yet I have for so long been one with the Elanraigh, that my mortal lifetime seems to me as something seen from a mountaintop, distant and small. You are to be Salvai now, my dear, and a woman grown. I must no longer be ‘Teacher’.”
“Do you leave me”? Thera was struck with dismay—not another loss!
“We are always here for you. You are Salvai and we are the Elanraigh.”
Dysanna’s voice altered even as she spoke, deepening into the familiar rumble of the Elanraigh. It is as if a soloist stepped back to join the chorus, Thera mused.
* * * *
There was a confusion of welcoming voices as they returned through the gates of Elankeep. Their t
orches had been spotted by the watch as they emerged from the ancient grove. Willing hands reached to relieve Alba’s stretcher bearers. Questions were called out, which Alaine deflected.
“The wounded need attention and the Salvai needs rest. Leave be. You’ll hear enough of rumor tonight. The story will be told when our Salvai is ready to offer it.”
Egrit clawed her way to Thera’s side.
“Lady!” Egrit’s eyes widened at the blood stains on Thera’s tunic.
Thera spoke quickly, to forestall her alarm. “I am well, Egrit. It is First Sword Alba who has paid the price of our adventure.”
“Oh! Not Alba! Lady, did she fall?”
Dama Ainise barely glanced at the form on the stretcher as she too, pushed forward. “Alba is a strong, sturdy soldier, my Lady. The Sirra will see to her care. Do come with us, I pray you,” her anxious eyes ran over Thera, “Egrit will draw you a bath and see to your meal.”
Thera’s brows drew down and she brushed from Ainise’s light grasp. Too angry to trust her words, she turned to follow Alba’s stretcher. Ainise lifted her gown hem and trotted after her. “Oh, my Lady, you should not go to the soldier’s quarters.”
Hissing a small sound, Thera spun on her heel, and was suddenly restrained by something in the elder Dama’s face.
Calling on all her mother’s teaching, Thera kept her voice kindly. “I will stay with swordswoman Alba a while, Dama Ainise. I am hungry, though. A bowl of soup would be good, if you would arrange for it to be sent to me in the infirmary. Enough soup for all, if you can manage that. Then you go to your rest, there are hands enough here for now.”
Ainise reddened, curtsied, and turned to hurry about her errand. Thera watched after her a moment. “So.”
“Pardon, Lady?”
Thera realized Egrit waited at her side.
“Egrit.” Thera dragged the girl along with her. “Healing Mistress said she would be perhaps two days away, so she might return by tomorrow’s eve. I pray so, for Alba’s sake.”