by S. A. Hunter
“A soldier’s scars are common enough these days, I would’ve thought, recruit?” she drawled.
The recruit sweated in the heat of his chagrin as he turned to salute Thera. “L-Lady Thera. Recruit Sword Eagin at your ser-service. Lady, your father wishes to see you privately in his conference room. I am to escort you there.”
* * * *
A frown fled Duke Leon’s brow as he lifted his gaze to her. He rose from his worktable and stood until Thera was seated across from him.
“You look lovely, my own.” He shook his head. “Am I soon to be left in the dust of memories of my little girl heeling a fat pony to a jog in the exercise yard?”
Thera laughed, but examined her father with the gift. “His words and manner are light, but he is heavily troubled.”
Leon sat, leaning back in the high-backed chair. His head tipped down and chin on chest, he stared rather bleakly at a closely written scroll. His thick fingers drummed the tabletop.
Thera clasped her hands in her lap. She eyed her father anxiously. It was unusual for her to be called to this room—as a child only after the worst misdemeanors. Her father’s old wolfhound rose heavily to his feet and swayed over to her. She fondled his head then pushed the grey muzzle aside. “No, you old ruffian, I am dressed for the hall.”
Her father roused and snapped his fingers, calling the old hound to him. As the wolfhound settled at his feet with a heavy sigh, Leon directed a keen and focused look at Thera.
“Thera,” Leon flicked a finger against the scroll. “I have here a formal request for your hand in marriage.”
Chamakin! Could it be? Mother said before I left for Elankeep that he had already asked and father had told him he must wait. Thera felt a heat rising under her skin and excitement tingled along her nerves. Her father’s fair brow rose as he scrutinized her. The corners of his mouth drew down.
“This does not seem to have come entirely as a surprise then?” Leon’s tone was heavy and Thera felt a squeeze of apprehension. A frown rumpled his brow as he toyed with the scroll, then shoving papers, scrolls, and maps aside, he rested his arms on the desktop. Thera abided in deepest anxiety while her father, cracking his knuckles, remained in thought.
“Well, my dear,” he said at last, “it is a noble offer. But…,” he glanced sternly at her, “you are very young yet and so I told him.”
Thera found herself clenching her hands together painfully. She deliberately relaxed her fingers, spreading them against the softness of cloth that draped her thighs.
“Father…”
Leon lifted his hand. “Well. The young noble is as full of ardor and promises to cherish you as any father could wish to hear. Indeed, my dear, I am only too aware of all that recommends this union.” Leon’s mouth drew down even further, “He seems a man enough—cocksure and arrogant for one so untried,” Leon muttered. He observed Thera’s puzzled frown, “but—but he is yet a young man. He will grow into the wisdom he needs. I am aware that a house of such wealth and status as Duke Perrod’s could choose a bride from any Duchy. To be sure, my dear,” her father’s lip curled slightly, “he touched on that most delicately. But—but I had hoped—Thera, what is it?”
“Perrod! You mean it is Lord Ambrauld of whom you speak?” Thera reared to her feet.
“Why, yes. Who did you—ah!” Leon too, levered from his chair. He paced a few steps and then spun on his heel, his expression bright. “Hah!” He strode toward Thera, taking her hands in his. “Then you are not taken with Perrod’s Heir?”
“No, father! No. I had thought you were speaking of —” Thera flushed and she bit her lip.
Leon gazed down at her a moment, then backed, pulling her with him, to sit hip-slung on his worktable. His mouth quirked in a small smile as he looked at her. “I see. My dear, let me tell you that over these past months I have come to have a great regard for our Ttamarini allies. In truth, Teckcharin is a man I could proudly call brother—and the son is very like his father.”
Thera felt she must be shining with joy. “Then you do not hold with great-grandfather’s feelings?”
“What is this?” Leon’s brow rumpled.
“Duke Leif ArNarone and the others refused to condone a marriage between Ttamarini and Allenholme—in Lady Dysanna’s time,” Thera reminded her father.
“Elanraigh bless you, lass—that old tale. Why would you think so? I have ever judged a man as I find him.”
“Will this cause trouble for us with Cythia?” Thera asked.
Leon smiled even more broadly. “Well, I will send the young Cythian away, as soon as may be, right smarting from his thwarted love. Though I must credit him with good taste in his first choice, he strikes me as a young man who will soon be smitten again, come along another beauty of noble house. My own,” Leon fingered one of Thera’s curls, “I was troubled, feeling he was not worthy of you. We can well endure Cythia’s pique—we have Ttamarini allies by our side and I will make sure to have the favor of the King.” Leon slung his arm around Thera and walked her toward the map on the wall. He sighed. “It will be necessary to travel to court to formally present our new alliance and receive the King’s sanction of it. Tch. It is a tedious journey, and I am ever loath to leave Allenholme. However, the King must know the northern part of his kingdom to be at peace and strongly held.” Leon hugged her shoulders, “If he is the man I remember, the King will see reason, and be as satisfied with the Allenholme and Ttamarini alliance—and your betrothal, as are we.”
“Father!” Thera hugged Leon tightly, then leaned back to look at him, “but I have not seen Chamakin since I’ve returned. What if he does not feel the same about me?”
“Hah!” laughed Leon. “His father and I have long noted his increasing edginess, his lean and hungry wolfishness. These days he chooses to ride alone—fast and hard— over widow-maker trails.
“I was just the same way, you know, when I first saw and loved your mother. Old Lord Chadwyn denied my courtship of your mother until my anointing by the King as Heir to Allenholme. This ceremony, as you know, does not happen until your nineteenth year. Young Chamakin is just the same as I was that year.” Leon threw back his head in another laugh and hugged her against his side.
“My recruits dread arms drill these days, so fiercely does your Chamakin glare and bash at them in the practice yard. Hah! Just so did my Heart’s Own bear many more bruises than usual from the ferocity of our arms practice during those months I was held off from your mother. Oh yes, he loves you, my dear.”
Thera felt the welling of joyful tears. She swiped at her eyes with her fingertips. “He is a wonderful warrior, is he not, father? So brave in the battles with the Memteth, yet the Maiya’s teachings have made him both thoughtful and wise beyond his years.”
“Aye. Aye, lass, he is a good man. You never knew I extracted a promise from him, before you left for Elankeep, that he would not approach you until he had my consent for you to be courted. I told him you were too young, and so you are, but the Cythian’s interest has now forced my hand.
“I knew how difficult it was for Chamakin to not be there when you left for Elankeep, but I thought it best, and so I told him to grant you a time of growth at Elankeep. I knew he was a young man of honor and would keep his word to me, though it cost him, Elanraigh knows what pain, to let you go.
“A betrothal now with the wedding next Verdemas—that would be acceptable to your mother and I.” Leon cleared his throat, “Yes. Well, I have two young men to speak with this evening then—one I must disappoint and one I will gladly grant his heart’s desire.” Leon returned to the chair at his worktable, “Well then. I will see you again at evening meal. Your mother has arranged to have the tables laid in the garden. Send that recruit, Eagin, to me, if you will, my dear. I have messages.”
Thera spun happily on her heel with a muted tinkling of amber beads, “Yes, father. Right away.”
After sending the recruit in to her father, Thera carried on toward the Great Hall. The huge outside doors
had been pushed open and servants were busy carrying the long tables to the flagstone patio outside. Steward Valan came toward her and bowed. “Lady, is there anything I can help you with? Do you seek Lady Fideiya?”
“No, I thank you, Valan, I just came from my father. When do we dine?”
“At full eventide, Lady.”
A while yet. “Thank you.” Thera turned, and from the corner of her eye caught sight of a tall Ttamarini, just as her heart quickened she recognized him as Zujeck, Chamak’s close companion. The young Ttamarini saw her and veered her way. His handsome face was solemn as he saluted her, but he visibly warmed as Thera greeted him.
“Zujeck, Goddess bless.”
“Blessings, Lady ArNarone.”
Thera turned to walk toward the main doors, the Ttamarini pacing at her side. “You fared well in the Memteth battles, Zujeck? No injuries?”
“Yes, Lady, thanks be. Nothing to mention.”
They emerged into the soft air of late afternoon, the lowering sun already staining rocks and trees in dusky amber. “Not all, I hear, were so fortunate?” prodded Thera.
“No indeed, Lady, there were losses and injuries enough.” Zujeck paused and Thera halted. Standing straight, hands behind his back, he tipped his head down to meet her gaze. “My own friend, Chamak, was seriously injured at the battle by Kenna Beach.”
“Chamak is recovered now?”
Zujeck shook his head slowly, his long hair swaying at his shoulders, though his face remained serious, his eyes began to dance. “The wounds healed cleanly and well, yet something seems to ail him. A continuing infection perhaps remains. We hope he will begin to mend soon, now.”
“I will offer prayer to the Elanraigh for his full recovery, Zujeck.” She smiled up into the warrior companion’s face.
Zujeck’s lips curved into a slow smile and he bowed gracefully. “I can imagine nothing more efficacious, Lady, than your intervention.”
“I will see you at the evening meal then,” said Thera happily. “Is—is Chamak now at your encampment?”
“Well,” replied Zujeck, “our Maiya commanded him to go and meditate, she was concerned with him, ‘scattering his energy’, when he was soon likely to need his wits about him.”
Thera felt a dimming of the joy within. “Oh.” Where could he be and for how long?
Zujeck rocked on his heels, hands at his back. He eyed the top of the old sitka tree on Lorn a’Lea Point where an eagle now perched. “I believe he has found some special place near here where he prefers to go when in the mood to be alone with his thoughts. He told me he met his destiny there once.” Zujeck regarded her keenly and Thera flushed to the tops of her ears. Zujeck returned his gaze to Lorn a’Lea with a satisfied nod while a smile tugged the corner of his mouth. “Yes. I believe Chamak told me that his spirit brother, the grey wolf, appeared to him there.”
* * * *
As Thera reached the old sitka, she paused as she always did to commune with the old tree. “To think how close we came to losing you and so many others to that malevolent Memteth fire.” The pounding of her heart stilled somewhat and she breathed deeply the tang of salt and pungent evergreen boughs. A mind-touch, light as a feather, told her that Eiryana was close by and withholding herself so Thera could have this time alone.
“Blessings, dear one,” Thera sent in return.
She steadied herself a moment, her hand resting on the old sitka, as the sky rapidly deepened it’s color from lemon to orange, then red.
In the next few moments my life’s path will be set.
Thera pushed away from the tree then, and began the climb, her eyes fixed on the granite spur of rock—“and right below is the mossy ravine where Chamak and I sat only three moons ago.” The Elanraigh’s presence was strongly with her and it sang to her the rightness of her choice.
“Blessings be”! sent Thera, “He is my only choice! Did you for one heart beat believe I could have chosen the other over him? Is this the choice of my soul that had to be made before you would take my vow?
A wind rose in the tree tops, as if the Elanraigh cavorted in its sharing of her joy.
“Will you take my vow now? Will you believe that we, Chamak and I, will work to bring our people close to you again, as it was long ago?”
Like a warm hand at her back the Elanraigh urged her on. Thera, you are our own, it thrummed. A shadow detached itself from the base of a huge tree and padded toward her. Thera felt the brush of the wolf’s pelt below her fingers.
“Farnash!” She knelt and fondled the huge head. “Oh, Farnash,” tears flowed freely down her face. The wolf head-butted her gently and the bright tongue lolled, then he turned his muzzle, nostrils distended, toward the cliff. “Yes. He is there. Do you come for him as well?”
“He is myia, brother of my soul.”
They reached the top of the granite rock together. Below them sat Chamakin, his hands resting on his knees. Two kirshrews were curled in the starmoss beside him. Though the little creatures shuddered and twitched in their dream sleep, Chamakin sat perfectly still, bathed in the setting sun’s red light. Thera felt herself reaching out to him, as if with physical hands, she touched his face. His eyes flashed open. He stared blankly a moment. Thera could imagine how they must look to him, woman and beast, dark silhouettes again the fading light. She saw his lips move. Thera. Then with a small sound, he passed his hand across his brow.
Thera could wait no more. “Chamak!” She ran down the narrow trail that led to the ravine with Farnash leaping like a tame dog at her heels.
Chamakin sprang to his feet, “Thera!” He grunted as Thera flung herself against his chest. “Is it really you, Chaunika myia? Ahh—” and he crushed Thera to him with one arm and lifted the bandaged arm to trace the side of her face with the backs of gentle fingers. His eyes searched hers, then flickered to meet those of the grey wolf. “Chaunika myia, what company you keep. Blessings, brother of my soul,” he murmured.
“Do you wonder,” he said to Thera, “that I thought I was seeing visions.”
“He is here to be your companion, Chamak, his name is…”
“Farnash. Yes,” Chamak’s face lit with his entranced wonder, “I hear his voice and he has given me his name.”
Farnash loped forward toward Chamak, dropped to his haunches and lifted his head to Chamak’s hand. Above them Eiryana whistled her high-pitched call.
“Sky Sister,” Chamak said, looking up at the watching eagle, then at Thera, “Farnash calls you Sky Sister.”
“Yes.” Thera felt like both laughing and crying, her emotions were in such tumult. She saw Chamak look up and gaze around him. Wind tossed the high branches and evening shadows flew like dark birds across their small clearing.
“What is that sound I hear?” Chamak looked at Thera, his face reflecting her own wonder and joy, as the sound grew around them.
“It is the Elanraigh, my own,” Thera sobbed with joy. “It is the Elanraigh singing. Oh, I have so much to tell you!”
“Warrior and priestess, wolf and eagle are One—the forest rejoices,” declared Farnash.
Epilogue
Thera couldn’t help but compare the differences between this feast and that one at which she’d first met Chamak, only three months ago. Chamak then had seemed so grave and stern, whereas now his hand sought hers as he was animatedly exchanging a battle story with Captain Dougall, Zujeck, and Sirra Alaine. Thera could hardly contain the joy she felt as she and Chamak were bathed in the love and well wishing of family and friends.
Of Allenholme’s council, only Mika ep Narin, the Fishing Guild Master was absent. Oak Heart said the Cythian Heir had been determined to return to his own domain immediately. Mika volunteered to journey them home on the Bride O’Wind. Mika observed the peeved and thwarted expression on the Cythian Heir’s face as he whispered to the Besteri Mage, and the old sailor clenched his pipe between his teeth to suppress a grin.
Mika would have been disturbed however, had he overheard the whispered excha
nge between Ambraud and Willestar.
“It is obscene, Willestar—he wastes her on the barbarian. What can he be thinking?”
Willestar responded mildly, “My Lord, he must yet win consent of the King. Much can happen in the meantime.”
“I want her and none other,” affirmed Ambraud.
* * * *
Thera privately rejoiced to know she’d have no further encounters with the Besteri mage. Indeed, on hearing the Cythian Heir and his mage had departed, Thera felt completely lifted in spirit—nothing now to dim my happiness in this evening’s celebration.
“Friends, My Own,” her father rose with his cup in hand, “I offer this toast to our victory, thanks to our honored allies and the Elanraigh…” The roar of response thundered from all tables. Leon waited until this had somewhat subsided, then raised his hand, “and with the greatest joy, her Lady mother and I, wish to announce the betrothal of my daughter and Heir,” Leon gestured Thera and Chamak to their feet, “to Chamakin Dysan Chikei of the Ttamarini—Elanraigh bless them!”
This time the thunder of cheers and mugs beating the tables seemed likely never to end, until a sudden gust of warm wind snapped the torch flames, flared through the courtyard, creaking the branches of the old oak. As the people subsided their noise and looked about them, voices began to murmur, “What is that? That sound?”
Thera knew, and her heart swelled as she grasped Chamak’s hand. Chamak raised her hand to his lips, and a shiver of sheer joy thrilled her. The Elanraigh was singing, and her people for the first time were hearing the unearthly beauty of its voices lifted in an upwelling peon of joy.
All present were enthralled by the Elanraigh’s otherworldly chorus, until gradually, it receded and the sounds of night returned.