Heart of the Exiled

by Pati Nagle

  “We are doing so. We have not found much—a few trade goods and a store of lamp oil. No darkwood.”

  “It goes straight from cutting to trade.”

  Or it had when she had lived here, so far as she remembered. She had paid little attention to the darkwood trade, though she had visited the cutting fields with her father on occasion. So many things to which she should have paid better attention, but she had been young and heedless.

  “I want any records you find brought here.”

  “Yes, Bright Lady.”

  “Thank you, Yaras. You have done well tonight.”

  He met her gaze, his expression watchful. It had been too long since she had enjoyed fleshly pleasures. Perhaps Yaras would accompany her to her new quarters when the night was done.

  Much as she enjoyed savoring such thoughts, there were two major tasks yet to be addressed. First and most pressing, she must send out hunters to catch kobalen. Her army needed to feed, and she preferred not to feed them on the ælven.

  She must then prepare to defend the city. The distraction at Midrange would not hold the ælven’s attention once word of Darkshore’s return reached them.

  She turned to Yaras. “Choose twenty to hunt. Pick them a good leader.”

  “I would gladly lead—”

  “No, I have need of you here. Send them out at once and tell them to bring their first catch back tomorrow night.”

  “Yes, Bright Lady.”

  Yaras bowed, then moved to stand. Shalár stayed him with a gesture and rose from her chair. Her silken cloak, the best mark of Darkshore’s authority she possessed, whispered about her as she stepped close to him.

  “When you have set them hunting, return here. I would take counsel with you in my quarters.”

  Yaras gazed up at her for a moment, then stood and met her eye to eye. “We have taken the city. We have accomplished your goal. I have done all I can to aid you in the effort, and that is all I pledged to do.”

  His voice was low but rang with emotion. Shalár found herself wishing he felt so intensely toward her, but she knew where his desires lay and knew his meaning.

  She stared back at him, appraising his mood. She had been able to command his arousal before and was certain she could do so again, whatever reluctance he might feel. His personal ideas of loyalty were tiresome. She was inclined to be annoyed with him.

  “Do you still wish to be steward in Nightsand? Or would you care to consider a higher place?”

  Yaras’s eyes stared flatly, betraying no change of heart. She stepped closer still, resting her hands lightly on his shoulders and feeling the tingle of his khi along her flesh. All in the hall were watching, she knew.

  “You could be my companion. You have earned a place of honor.”

  “Stewardship of Nightsand is honor enough for me, Bright Lady.”

  She stepped back and gazed at him. Part of her wanted to send him to his knees, but though that might inspire respect for her in the rest of the army, it would not make Yaras inclined to serve her. Gratitude would make him far more useful to her than enforced submission, especially at the distance of Nightsand.

  “When you have sent the hunters forth, return here.” A flash of resentment crossed his face, but she smiled wryly. “I will give you messages to carry to Nightsand. You will leave before dawn and take three hunters with you.”

  Fire lit his eyes now, where earlier she had seen blank resistance. “I can travel faster alone.”

  “You will take three with you and be careful to avoid any ælven you may encounter. Do not risk yourself or the letters I will give you. I will not lose my steward through needless misadventure.”

  A smile of sheer joy crossed Yaras’s face, then he bowed deeply. “Thank you, Bright Lady. I will not forget your kindness.”

  Kindness? She was rarely accused of that.

  She watched him back away, then straighten and stride out of the hall. Nightsand would benefit under his guidance, and her people there would benefit, too, from the summons she would send with him. She would welcome all her people to come to Fireshore and settle there to help her reclaim their rightful home.

  Yaras passed out of the audience chamber, following the broad corridor that led to the front of Darkwood Hall, and Shalár turned away. A pity Islir had such a hold on him.

  She returned to her chair, gesturing to a waiting hunter to bring forward his captives for her perusal. There was much yet to be done this night and much pleasure to be taken when the night’s labors were finished.

  Luruthin stumbled into the small, empty room, pushed by ungentle hands. He managed to keep his feet and turned to face his captors.

  “Unbind my hands.”

  The two alben laughed at him, and one cocked her head. “And have you trying to claw your way out of here? I think not.”

  She slammed the door shut, and he heard something being done to it. Securing it, no doubt. Shuffling and more slamming followed. At least one other captive was put in a neighboring room.

  Luruthin waited until the alben voices and footsteps had receded, then silently went to the door. His hands were tightly bound behind him, with cord now instead of the nets. With his back to the door he fumbled at the handle, succeeded in turning it, and pulled but could not open the door. Discouraged, he slid down to sit on the floor.

  His arms ached already from the awkward position in which they were bound, and he knew it would only get worse. He was battered and bruised from the fighting. His only hope was that Eliani had escaped. He had not seen her among the other ælven brought into the audience hall.

  “Spirits help her.”

  “Who is there?”

  He had only whispered, but the answerer had heard. Luruthin’s head shot up, and he turned an ear to the gap beneath the door.

  “Othanin?”

  He had seen the governor in the audience hall, though they had not had opportunity to do more than exchange a glance. They had been brought before the alben leader, the one they all called Bright Lady. Bright she was—white as sunlight—and also cruel. He had seen it in her eyes and in what she had done to Othanin.

  After a long pause, Othanin answered. “Yes.”

  “It is Luruthin.”

  He heard Othanin sigh. “I am sorry.”

  “Is Eliani here?”

  “I have not heard her nor seen her.”

  Luruthin felt a flood of relief. He looked around the small room where he was trapped. Patterns of dust on the floor showed where furniture had stood, but it was empty now, and dim. Faint light came under the door from the passage outside. There was no window in the room.

  “Where are we?”

  “These are the rooms where the hall’s attendants dwell, those who choose to live here.”

  “Are you bound?”

  “Yes.”

  Luruthin closed his eyes. Little hope of escape, then. He wondered what the alben would do with them. Hold them as guarantee against the ælven’s retaliation, most likely. Their presence would discourage attacks upon Ghlanhras.

  “Tell me about Darkwood Hall, my lord. I did not get to see all of it.”

  He hoped Othanin would understand that he was most interested to know about the hall’s entrances, how many and where they were. Othanin began in a lackluster voice to describe the structure, which it seemed was much larger than Luruthin had guessed. Not only did it sprawl along a good portion of Ghlanhras’s public circle, it extended deeply into the city’s north side and included vast enclosed gardens and several smaller courtyards. Any of them might be an avenue of escape, and being surrounded by the hall, they might not be guarded closely. Luruthin began to be hopeful.

  Footsteps sounded down the passage, approaching. Othanin fell silent, and Luruthin did the same, fearing what might happen next as he listened. At least two were approaching. Their steps stopped nearby, and Luruthin heard the sounds of a door being opened.

  “Come along.”

  Shuffling and dragging sounds, the door being closed, t
he footsteps receding. Luruthin waited until they were gone.

  “Othanin? Governor?”

  Silence. The faint hope Luruthin had felt drained away.

  “Othanin?”

  They had taken him. To what fate?

  “Anyone? Can anyone hear me?”

  Silence stretched through the darkness. He was alone.

  Eliani crouched between two unoccupied houses, staring at the city’s outer wall. She had been there for some time, watching and listening for any sign that the wall was patrolled. All was still.

  She looked over the few items at her feet, things she had scrounged as she came through the deserted city: an ax shaft, two lengths of rope, and a broken-handled ewer she had filled with water from a well in one of the many gardens she had crossed. She would have given much for a water skin, but the ewer was the only vessel she had found.

  She would have given even more for a scabbard for her sword. Carrying the blade was awkward, but she dared not abandon her only weapon. She used it to cut a length from the shorter rope and fashioned a crude sword belt, the bare blade hanging from a cradle of knots about its hilt. She would have to take care if it became necessary to draw the sword lest she cut both the rope and her clothing.

  She twined the rest of that rope around the ewer and the ax shaft, making a rough net that she could sling over her shoulder along with the remaining rope. She settled everything against her back, slopping a little of the water. It made a cool spot down her right side.

  She was ready. Reluctant to leave her shelter, she sent a query to Turisan.

  I am here, love.

  I am about to climb the wall.

  Are you near the gate?

  No. On the east side.

  Be careful.

  Yes.

  Eliani closed her eyes. Her heart was already pounding with fear.

  Turisan—if something should happen, remember all that you must tell your father.

  He is here.

  What?

  He came to meet us. I have told him about the alben and about what you learned from Othanin.

  Oh.

  She felt relieved and realized it was because she had feared for Turisan’s safety. Also that what they had learned of Fireshore would be lost if they both suffered misfortune. Now Jharan knew it as well, and he would see that the news went to all the ælven realms.

  Give Jharan my fond regards.

  He sends you his as well. He has many questions for you, of course.

  Eliani smiled. Of course.

  So you must take care, love. Take every caution.

  She felt the tremor of fear in his khi. She did not answer, shaken by her own helpless dread as she thought of those she was leaving behind. Luruthin, her beloved cousin. Othanin, so gentle and patient. Vanorin and the escort and others she had not met who had suffered much already and were now suffering worse as captives of the alben.

  “Spirits help them.” She scarcely dared to whisper, fearing discovery. “And spirits help me.”

  I am going.

  Turisan stayed with her, a silent observer. She felt his presence at the edge of her awareness and was grateful. It was a comfort not to be alone.

  She stood, steadying her sword at her hip with one hand. With the other she settled her makeshift pack. Looking up and down the narrow space that ran along the inside of the wall behind the outer row of houses, she saw no movement. She stepped out of her shelter and across to the wall, then began to climb slowly and carefully, trying not to let the sword clatter.

  The rocks were rough volcanic stone, easy to find holds upon but sharp against her flesh. By the time she had reached the top, her hands and bare feet were bleeding from scrapes and cuts. She paused, raised her head just above the top edge of the wall, and looked toward the gate.

  No one stood outside it. If there were alben inside, they were blocked from her view by houses. She began to pull herself up cautiously, listening with every small movement. The sword made a tiny clank, and she froze for a moment, then climbed onto the top of the wall. More water spilled from the ewer, soaking her back. She hoped at least a couple of mouthfuls would remain, for she did not know when she would find more. She crouched atop the wall and paused to listen again, but no sounds of alarm troubled the night.

  Outside, the forest waited, dense and gloomy. The space between it and the wall seemed terribly exposed, but Eliani knew that only a few paces would take her across it. She shifted her position and began to lower herself down the outside of the wall, limbs trembling with the strain of moving slowly.

  Perhaps she should have waited until daylight for this. The alben could not tolerate the sun. The forest blocked much of its light, though, and they might care more about capturing her than about their own safety. No, it was best to be gone from Ghlanhras as quickly as possible.

  Her feet touched bare earth, and she sighed as she let go of the wall. She stood for a moment, trying to calm her breathing, wishing she could stop shaking.

  All she need do was elude any alben who might be watching the outer wall and get to the road without being seen. She would go to Woodrun, summon help from there. It would take days, but it was the best she could do. She could not reconquer Ghlanhras alone.

  She put a hand on her sword’s hilt and in three quick strides crossed the open space to the forest. Wedging herself through a tangle of vines, she stood just inside the woods, listening. No sounds of imminent pursuit came to her.

  Good. Forward, then.

  Within a few moments she realized the futility of trying to push through the undergrowth. It was so dense that she could not make her way through it. The ax shaft was useless. Only her sword would let her make any progress, and the sound of someone hacking through the woods would no doubt attract unwanted attention.

  The ground was uneven, root-covered and vinetangled and full of dangers to her bare feet. She was forced to conclude this was not the way to get to Woodrun.

  She turned and for a moment panicked, for she could not see the wall. Even this little way into the forest she was close to becoming lost. Taking deep, deliberate breaths, she noted the displaced vines and broken twigs that marked her passage and followed them back to the edge of the clearing.

  I must take the road. It means passing the gate.

  Wait until daylight.

  Yes.

  Was it merely hopefulness, or had the sky brightened a little? She could see clear sky above the wall, and though stars still gleamed to the west, she thought perhaps the night was no longer fully dark.

  She unslung her rope pack and took a swallow of water from the ewer, which was less than half-full. The silks she wore were now torn and damp and clung uncomfortably. She worked her way a little farther into the woods and leaned against the trunk of a young darkwood tree. She could still see the wall through a gap in the foliage but felt confident she would not be visible to a casual observer.

  She sighed, trying to relax. Patience had never been one of her strengths.

  Turisan?

  Yes, my heart?

  I am afraid for them. Luruthin and the others.

  I know, love.

  She felt tears gathering at the corners of her eyes and brushed at them angrily. This was no time for self-indulgence. Luruthin had given up his own freedom to preserve hers. She must use that gift to bring back help. She must stay alert.

  Something crawled over her right foot. She gasped, jerked her foot away, and gasped again as she stepped on something sharp.

  “Who is there?”

  Eliani froze. Quiet footsteps came hurrying toward her from the direction of the gate.

  A pale figure in dark leathers appeared, hurrying along the foot of the wall. Eliani shrank against the tree and tried to blend her khi with that of the forest, but these plants were strange to her and the darkwood’s khi was rather heavy and impenetrable. The alben stopped and turned, then returned a few paces, frowning as her gaze searched the woods. She lifted her head as if scenting the air, and a sharpness
came into her eyes.

  Dark, dark eyes. Darker than Turisan’s and far colder. They traveled straight to Eliani, and the nostrils below them flared. Smelling blood.

  Eliani swallowed as their gazes met, silently cursing the wall that had cut her hands and feet. For a moment they stared at each other, as if each disbelieved what she saw, then Eliani pushed away from the tree.

  She stumbled toward the alben, trying to get clear of the woods so that she could draw her sword. The alben stepped back and reached to her belt.

  No time for the sword. Eliani plunged forward, out of the trees and straight at the alben, who threw her net, but too late. It thumped half-unfurled into Eliani’s chest, and she carried it with her as she charged the alben.

  The alben lost her footing and fell. Eliani landed heavily on top of her. Water splashed up her back from the ewer.

  Eliani pushed herself up and grabbed at the net, shoving part of it into the alben’s mouth as she opened it to shout. One of the alben’s hands was caught in the net, pinned under Eliani’s weight. Eliani grabbed the other hand and tangled more net around it, then put her knee over both and fumbled at the alben’s belt.

  The alben kicked. A crunch and wetness down her back, then Eliani’s hand found what she had glimpsed and sought. She pulled the dagger from its sheath, putting the point to the alben’s neck.

  “Be still.”

  The alben blinked several times but ceased struggling. Eliani sat up with a small clatter of broken pottery. She shrugged the tangled ropes off her shoulder, letting them fall to the ground.

  The alben’s eyes were furious. She would fight. The easiest and safest course would be to kill her, but Eliani rebelled at that thought. There had been too much killing already. Taking life without absolute need was against the creed, and the creed was what separated her from this angry female. One of the things that separated them.

  Eliani swallowed, leaned back, and with her free hand carefully drew her sword. The alben’s eyes widened with fear as Eliani laid the blade against her neck opposite the dagger.

  “Do not move or I will kill you.”

  The alben was still. Watching her, Eliani slowly got to her feet, keeping the sword blade at the other’s throat. Her flesh prickled with fear that at any moment another alben would come along.