Elanraigh - The Vow

by S. A. Hunter

  Her heart thudding light and swift, Thera vividly recalled her own battle with a Memteth lizard beast. Eiryana, swept along with Thera’s feelings, screamed her hunting cry. Below them, faces upturned and voices hailed Eiryana with their war cries.

  Sirra Maxin, whose face Thera recognized among the rest, now turned and barked at soldiers, Allenholme and Ttamarini alike. “Away with you now from gawking at the beasties.” Some he sent to the grisly task of collecting the bodies of Cythian and Memteth dead; some to scouting southward along the forest edge for survivors.

  The two Memteth ships that had survived the battle were already mere specks on the horizon. The Bride was under way to rescue the Cythian noblemen from their perch on the rocks of Lorn a’Lea Beach. Already the noblemen were up to their knees in the incoming tide. Winging closer, they saw Oak Heart standing with Dougall and Teckcharin. Duke Leon limped heavily when he moved, but his voice rang out with vigor enough.

  The two Cythian noblemen watched as the Bride O’Wind approached. The younger man reached behind his head, tying his hair that had loosened in the wind. He seemed a handsome man of fair complexion. His nose was small, but well shaped. Now he frowned and leaned toward his companion, speaking swiftly. His teeth were very white and even. His neck flared smoothly to broad shoulders. She heard his voice rise on the wind, a clear tenor.

  The wind elementals were again tearing at the blonde man’s taller companion. The man stood, arms folded across his chest, seemingly unperturbed by the frenzied wind elementals.

  “They really seem to dislike this black-robed man,” Thera observed with surprise.

  Eiryana whistled softly.

  “Yes,” replied Thera. She, too, felt a queer uneasiness as she examined him. He was older than her father. His long black hair was graying. He was tall and wide shouldered and as the wild winds molded his wet robe to him, Thera could see he was of a gaunt leanness. His eyes were deep-set. Even with Eiryana’s excellent vision, she could not determine their color, only that they were dark. His mouth was a red slash of color below his long black moustaches—his skin very white.

  The Bride launched a skiff to pick up the Cythians, the rowers pulling hard toward the awash survivors.

  “Eiryana.” Thera felt weary to her soul. “I must return to Elankeep.”

  “What will you do now?”

  “Sleep. Then I will gather the Elankeep troop and return to Allenholme.”

  “Rest, then.” Eiryana banked and with several strong beats of her wings, the battle scene was far behind them. “We will be at Elankeep by sunset.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Thera slitted open her eyes to the glow of blurred, amber light. What?

  “Thera! Are you well?”

  “Eiryana—where”? Thera felt the weight and contours of her own human form. “I’m in my body—how?”

  “I sent you back. The bond between you and your physical body drew you safely.” She added in wry voice, “you did not even wake.”

  Thera’s tongue felt thick in her mouth. “Hunn.” Thera snorted a small laugh. “I didn’t know we could do that.”

  “Nor I.”

  “I am curiously light-headed. And you? Where are you?

  “Near. A fine roosting tree on the promontory.”

  “Thera!” A different voice, a human voice, dinned in her ear while a hand shook her shoulder. “Thera.”

  Thera opened her eyes fully—I’m on a bed, not the planks of the north tower. The amber glow resolved itself into the lamp at the corner of the infirmary, a dark shadow into the Healing Mistress’ face. “Rozalda. Blessings,” Thera swallowed, “so thirsty.”

  Healing Mistress Rozalda looked weary, though the crease in her brow smoothed somewhat as Thera spoke. She disappeared from Thera’s view to reappear with a water dipper.

  “Here.” As Rozalda raised her shoulders and helped her to drink, Thera heard a murmuring of voices. “Yes,” Rozalda tossed over her shoulder, “she’s awake.”

  Egrit and Sirra Alaine loomed into Thera’s line of sight. Their faces were worried and grim respectively.

  “I’ve been home,” Thera said, “I have such things to tell you!”

  Rozalda motioned to Egrit and the girl plumped the pillows behind Thera’s back, propping her up in the bed. Thera bore Egrit’s fussing behind her with pricklings of impatience. To her surprise, she read disapproval in those about her.

  “Eiryana, they are angry with me—after all we’ve done!”

  Eiryana’s response in her mind was sympathetic.

  Rozalda, sitting very straight, hands clasped tightly in her lap, spoke first. “You have been in the deepest trance I have ever witnessed! Hardly breathing and impossible to arouse. It was Enid who found you at noontide when she went on watch. She thought you were dead. You’ve lain here, almost lifeless, a full day. It is near midnight now.”

  “I had to see home,” Thera said. “I thought I would be back before anyone even knew I was gone. You shouldn’t worry about me.” Thera eyed them. “Blessings be! I am no longer a child to be coddled so. I know what I am doing.”

  Egrit looked unhappy. Alaine drew a quick breath—then gusted it out after a quick look and shake of the head from Rozalda. “Now,” Rozalda grasped Thera’s wrist and shook it. “Thera, all here are pledged to defend you; you are the Salvai. You have won their hearts as well as their loyalty—you should not abuse them so. How could any of us be sure this was a self-induced trance, when trance it has finally proved to be? How could we know what was happening to you, wherever you had gone or been taken? You did not see Enid’s face when she carried you down here after finding you on the north tower. Or Alba and the others, who have been in and out here all day, helpless to know what to do.”

  Thera stared.

  “Read past their anger,” came Eiryana’s voice.

  Thera folded her arms across her chest and frowned. “No,” she sent back.”They are so wise and sure. They will be sorry when they realize how they’ve wronged us.”

  “Thera. Do.”

  Clenching her jaw on her own anger, she slipped into her unique way of reading, and studied her friends’ energies. She sent Eiryana a terse acknowledgement. “Yes. I see.”

  “And your anger?”

  “Eiryana!”

  “Do.”

  Goaded, Thera read her own emotions, quick as if dipping her finger into simmering water.

  “All right,” she acknowledged. “Much of my temper stems from shame at worrying them so. Blessings be. I may now be ‘flying with eagles,’ as the Maiya said I would, but all this love tethers me”.

  Eiryana’s warm chuckle in her mind soothed the last of her ill mood. “All life is interwoven, Thera. They are learning too.”

  Thera reached her hand, touching Sirra Alaine’s sleeve. “I’m sorry to have grieved you.”

  Alaine’s rough hand gripped Thera’s painfully. “Next time, trust us. We will ward you. Promise me, as Salvai.” Her throat moved as if swallowing unspoken words.

  Thera nodded solemnly.

  Egrit swiped at her eyes with a corner of her apron. “I’ll get us tea,” she said, walking briskly to the fire.

  The Healing Mistress leaned forward and tapped Thera on the leg. “Do not think the only enemies your father has are the Memteth, Thera. Among the royal houses there are those who fear and loathe Duke Leon.”

  “Who? Why would…?”

  “Any one of many powerful men and women who influence the court.” Rozalda interjected. “Men and women, who live and die for favors and influence, equate honesty with stupidity. Until now, they have allowed that the stalwart ArNarone clan is well enough placed in its remote northern holding. It is fortunate, too, that the king, though generally a fickle man, always speaks warmly of the ArNarone, and especially of your father who is his cousin’s son.”

  Rozalda leaned back in her chair. “We are never complacent, however. Ours is a king surrounded with many clever and corrupt courtiers.” She paused, staring a
t the lantern, her gaze unfocused. “His idea, I think, is to retain those most dangerous near him, at court, where he can keep his eye on them. Though the king keeps his powerful houses on tight leash, ArNarone has enjoyed a kind of negligent indulgence. But now,” Rozalda returned her gaze to Thera, “with this new alliance of ArNarone with the Ttamarini—your father has disturbed the balance of power.”

  “Rozalda,” Thera whispered, “how do you know all this?”

  “As I told you before, Ainise and her brother belong to one of the minor houses that happen to be in the king’s favor. Her brother, however, with his unfortunate love of gaming has managed to impoverish the estates. Ainise made a place for herself here, serving Salvai Keiris.”

  “Did he gamble away even Ainise’s bride price then?” asked Thera. “It is surprising she is not more bitter than she is.”

  “Actually she bears great affection for her brother, and he for her. He manages to maintain a position, of sorts, at court. He has his privileges of rank still, and earns his keep ferreting out secrets to sell. He regularly sends court gossip to Ainise. As a result we are amazingly well informed.”

  “This is all so—disgusting,” Thera raked her hair back. Her scalp felt twitchy with irritation. Like Farnash’s pelt when he is disturbed, Thera thought. “Well I have no wish to ever go to court. We don’t need Bole, or Cythia, or any of them.” She tilted her chin. “Hah! We defeated the Memteth without help from either the King of Bole, or Cythia.” Thera smiled, “And we have alliance with the Ttamarini now.”

  Rozalda’s brow knit and she sighed, shaking her head. “The King of Bole, Thera, is a jealous and acquisitive man who handles his snarling pack of hounds with a firm hand and a tight leash. Do not assume he is unconcerned with what happens even in the small and remote parts of his kingdom.

  “We have learned that Duke Perrod of Cythia is sending his son and Heir, Ambrauld, by ship to Allenholme. This is possibly at the king’s bidding. The Cythian Heir’s official position is that of emissary, but of course we know his purpose is to assess this alliance with the Ttamarini. What is more disturbing is that a Besteri accompanies the Heir.”

  “What is a Besteri?” asked Thera.

  “Pagh!” Sirra Alaine spat the word. “I know of them. They be vicious as were-weasels and just as sly.”

  Rozalda nodded. “They are an obscure cult from the far south. They are magicians of sorts—seemingly their gift is for knowing a thing. Their craft is for hire. Some few Besteri have settled in Cythia. One called Willestar has found favor with the Cythian Duke.” Rozalda frowned, “It is said that a Besteri, like most magi, use the knowing only in order to compel.”

  “Aye,” muttered Alaine. “Perverse.”

  Thera rubbed her arms as a chill riffed over her skin.

  The gleaming white’s of Egrit’s eyes showed as she glanced from the Healing Mistress, to Alain, to Thera. “Please,” she said, her soft voice seeming to break the chill spell, “I would like to hear now what happened to Lady Thera.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Thera’s audience were as enthralled with her tale as she could have wished. The Memteths’ strange blue fire and the threat it had posed to the Elanraigh struck them speechless with horror. Thera’s account of the sighting of the Cythian Heir and the man she now knew, thanks to Dama Ainise’s brother’s gleanings of court gossip, to be the Besteri mage, was swept away in their exclamations.

  “Wind elementals,” mused Rozalda. “I always felt that there must be something like elementals of the air. Well—and why, when you think of it, would they not fight to save the Elanraigh? Trees commune between earth and sky.” She sighed and nodded. “It is harmonious. It feels right that they would help each other.”

  “Aye,” Sirra Alaine eyed Thera with a satisfied expression, “and you bonded with an eagle.”

  “Eiryana.”

  “Eiryana. You fought off the Memteth, saving your father when he fell—and destroyed the Memteth reptile. It is a hero’s tale, Lady.” Alaine cocked an eyebrow. “Soon you will not need our meager help.”

  “Sirra,” Thera felt both pleased and embarrassed by the praise, “it was Eiryana’s self that fought the brave fight—I was just there as moral support, if you will.”

  “Oh, aye. But it was your will that saved the noble Eiryana’s hide from the Memteth arrows, and your combined wills that saved the Elanraigh.” She rubbed her hands together. “Enough to spin a fireside tale worthy of many ales!”

  Thera sipped tea from her mug, and then said, “Sirra, I feel my gift of joining with the raptor birds of Elanraigh, with Eiryana, should be kept between us. Whether sent by the Elanraigh or my own intuition, I’ve learned to trust these feelings.”

  Rozalda and Alaine shared a look.

  The corner of Thera’s mouth quirked, “Especially, I do not wish to tell my parents about the extent of my gift—at this time, anyway.”

  Alaine’s shoulders jerked as she swallowed a laugh with her tea. Rozalda chided, “No parents could love a child more, Thera, than do …”

  “I know, that’s it exactly,” Thera interrupted. “In their fervor to protect me they will attempt to do as they judge best.”

  Thera decided now was a good time to elaborate on her feelings. “It is time now for me to follow my own inner guidance.” She smiled, “Haven’t I been trained by the best for this—by those at Allenholme; by the Elanraigh forest-mind; by all of you here at Elankeep, and now Eiryana.”

  Thera placed the tea mug on the table. “You must trust me, too.”

  Alaine’s autumn-leaf eyes danced and placing hands on knees she rocked forward. “You are right, Lady Thera,” she said, rising to feet. “Do just tell us what it is you want and where you want to go. We will get you there.”

  Thera smiled brightly. “Then, Sirra, I want to go home.”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  It was still dark outside the infirmary window, yet footsteps pounded back and forth outside the door and voices echoed in the courtyard. Awake immediately, Thera quickly dressed.

  “Eiryana?”

  A very faint response, “Hunting.”

  “Good.” Blessings be, Eiryana is very hungry. Thera grimaced and rubbed at her own midriff to subdue the rumbling there. A kettle of tea sat on the hearth beside a cloth-covered pot of oatmeal. Thera crouched, spooning some porridge into a bowl and dipping a spoon of honey over the grains. She ate ravenously.

  The infirmary door cracked open, then swung wide. Sirra Alaine and First Sword Alba clattered in.

  “Alba, you’re not using your sticks today!” Thera exclaimed. Alba smiled broadly. Though yet limping, she walks well, Thera observed. No dragging. Blessings be.

  Alba lowered herself into a chair beside Thera.

  “Pardon, Lady,” she carefully stretched the injured leg before her, “wish I could reach the tea,” she said to the room at large.

  Alaine slanted a knowing look at Alba, but moved to pour two cups of tea, and fill two bowls of porridge. Handing Alba hers, she leaned back, one foot propped behind her against the fireplace stones.

  “Sirra, won’t you sit?” invited Thera.

  “I thank you, Lady. But there is an old soldiers’ saying that, ‘a standing belly fills the fullest.’”

  “Honey,” mused Alba loudly and mournfully as she stared at her bowl. “No honey.”

  Thera laughed, shaking her head, as Alaine moved to open the honey crock. “Never mind, Lady,” drawled Alaine, slopping a spoonful into Alba’s tea and more into her bowl. “Once that injury of hers is healed, that muscle in our First Sword’s leg will need hard work to stretch it again. Then will I come into my own.”

  Alba spluttered.

  “Hot?” inquired Alaine. “Well, Lady,” she turned to Thera. “We make ready to travel.”

  “Today!” Thera’s heart thudded. Home. Chamak.

  “No.” Alaine’s brows twitched. “No, but by the time the sun blesses the Elanraigh tomorrow we will be ready to depart.r />
  “I wonder, Lady, if you know if we must take the coastal route or if the Elanraigh will permit us the forest track home? It is a difference of four days.”

  Thera communed with forest-mind.

  She roused when Alaine touched her arm. “You are smiling, Lady, the news is good?”

  “Oh, blessings be, Sirra,” Thera wiped her eyes, “the Elanraigh is singing again and I was bound in its spell.” Thera continued, “Yes, it tells me it senses no Memteth presence anywhere near. It will gladly open a forest track.” Thera’s happiness at the shortened journey time brought an affectionate rumble from the Elanraigh.

  Alba slapped her leg jubilantly, then winced. “Ahh! Demons of Hell.”

  * * * *

  The following dawn was thick with fog. The travelers assembled in the front courtyard. Horses snorted at the chill air; their breath gusting into the fog that crept along the ground and clung to the stone walls. Harness creaked and jingled. The Elankeep soldiers’ voices were muffled by the fog as they spoke among each other and to their mounts.

  “I wish you could come with us,” Thera said to the Healing Mistress. She was checking Mulberry’s hooves when Rozalda joined her in the courtyard. Rising, Thera stoked the mare’s nose. “Though, of course, I understand.”

  Rozalda reached her hand to the mare’s shoulder, smoothing the glossy hide. “Yes. I would have liked to see Allenholme again, and your lady mother, Thera. It has been many years since I’ve seen Fideiya. But, there are the elderly Damas to think of as well as the recovering wounded. Alaine has assigned the light duty wounded to guard and maintain the keep. The Elanraigh’s assurance to you that the Memteth have left this area does much to lighten heart and mind.”