Vengeance of the Hunter

by Angela Highland

  “Enorrè, I know the life you led at your master’s hands, and so you’re not yet in a position to know. I am. Trust me when I tell you that armed Hawks are bad enough—but armed Hawks out of their minds with fear are even worse.”

  They hadn’t reached the bedchambers when the òrennel stole more strongly across the younger healer’s awareness, underscoring how tired she’d suddenly become. It didn’t make her sleepy, not yet. If anything, it gave shape and clarity to the realization already blooming in her thoughts. “We’re running out of time,” she murmured, and Alarrah gave her an unhappy nod.

  “If the Hawks are getting this close to us, then yes. Pray to your Djashtet that we can find Julian and Kestar again quickly, because if not, we’ll have to take our chances with your okinya’s vision without them. Gerren will have us leave this place, by sea if we have to, before he’ll put us to war with the Hawks again. We barely survived the last one.”

  And that was no comfort at all.

  * * *

  It took another day before a bird came back from the rag-and-bone man, bearing a terse message in a square, blocky hand. Not here. Don’t know where. Tell girlie hello. There was no room for anything else on the scrap of paper, and what few words were there were badly printed. That Aenghis Peddersen had thought of her, and written what little he could in the space allowed, bolstered Faanshi’s heart.

  But not enough, for neither of the other two birds they’d sent returned to Dolmerrath, and no reply came to the messages they’d borne.

  There was nothing else to be done then, so far as Faanshi could tell. She was going to have to try to reach Kestar herself. And so with Alarrah and Kirinil to watch over her, she laid herself out on her new bed and let her sister’s magic lull her into dreaming.

  In her mind’s eye the hearth where she kept her magic was sturdier now. Faanshi could see its every detail, each brick, each carved symbol, and each and every log upon the grate. Her magic burned in an unceasing fire within that hearth, this secret place at the core of her. Sometimes it showed itself to her inner sight like a true fire would, crackling and snapping. At other times it glowed like purest sunlight, without any shape she could discern.

  This time she saw it as low-burning embers, dark reddish-gold behind the hearth’s wrought-iron screen. And it was that screen that drew Faanshi’s attention, for it had taken shape in her mind bearing the symbol of a hawk worked into the iron.

  It didn’t seem right to try to change what she’d built within herself under Kirinil’s instruction, and moreover, she didn’t want to. Her mind was no longer in danger of being overrun by Kestar Vaarsen’s, but she almost missed the uncanny rapport they’d shared. Before the abbey, she’d had but to think a thing for Kestar to know it too.

  Now she feared she wouldn’t be able to reach him at all.

  Lady of Time, grant me this.

  Faanshi lifted a mental hand to curl her fingers around the hawk-shape in the iron—and with the other, she opened the screen so she could reach directly into her magic’s flame.

  With the power to fuel her, and with the same ferocity of concentration that had let her build her inner hearth, Faanshi gathered together all that she knew of Kestar Vaarsen in her thoughts. It had been days, no more, since she’d healed him. His echoes still resounded through her memory, easily summoned, easily assembled into all that she knew of the man who’d defied his own Church to help her. Beyond that she had to guess at what to do, for no one left in Dolmerrath had the gift of talking with another from afar.

  All she could think of was the messenger birds they’d tried to send. And so Faanshi imagined one now, a tiny fluttering form she pulled forth out of the hearth, shining upon her palm. With her other hand still pressed against the hawk in the screen, she threw the miniature firebird up and out from her to give it the lift it needed to escape the boundaries of her mind.

  Kestar! Kestar, can you hear me?

  It didn’t work, at least not at first, and in a rush of aggravation she called the Hawk’s name even louder, again and again. How long it took, she had no way of knowing; in her dreaming state, she had no sense of time.

  At last a bolt of wordless surprise shot across her awareness—and her heart leaped, for that reaction hadn’t been hers.

  Kestar, if you can hear me, come to the elves!

  Galvanized, Faanshi shouted with all her mental strength. But her head quickly began to ache with the effort of thinking that cry so fiercely she might as well have been shouting. And so she slipped into wordlessness, praying with all her heart that she had indeed touched his mind again. That she hadn’t cast herself so deeply into dreaming that she was imagining it all.

  Faanshi, I can’t!

  Relief at a second contact swiftly changed to alarm as Kestar’s anger and frustration struck her like a spear. What little she could sense of his thoughts splintered right along with her own, and for a few dizzying instants, she was buffeted between The Hawks have us and They won’t let us go.

  Then everything jolted, and without warning, she was aware once more of lying in her bed in the elves’ stronghold. Alarrah was beside her, one leg on the bed and one off, and her hands were pressed to Faanshi’s head. Her expression changed as soon as Faanshi met her eyes, but before she could speak, Faanshi sat up hard. Only her sister’s hands, moving quickly to her shoulders, kept her from leaping to her feet.

  “Great Lady of Time!”

  “It worked, then,” Alarrah guessed. Her brow furrowed. “Enorrè, what is it? What’s wrong?”

  In truth though Faanshi scarcely known she’d spoken. She wriggled out of Alarrah’s grasp, waving away a further touch probably meant to soothe her abruptly aching head. There was no time for that—and at any rate, her own magic would banish the ache soon enough. She scrambled off the bed, and spared just enough time for one swift terrified glance at Alarrah before she bolted off into the caverns in search of Gerren and Kirinil.

  “The Church found Kestar,” she cried. “The Hawks came for him and Celoren. They’ve been arrested.”

  * * *

  “If the Order of the Hawk has taken him,” Gerren informed Faanshi when they’d gathered again in his study, “then most likely they’ll take him to Shalridan. The biggest cathedral in the province is there, and nothing less would suit the tribunal of one of their own.”

  His voice, his eyes and his entire bearing were grim. So too were the faces of everyone else in the room, enough that Faanshi had to fight down tremors of panic that threatened to overwhelm her at the merest slip of her will. “Does this mean he’s beyond our aid?”

  No one answered her, at least at first. Tembriel and Jannyn, present this time when Gerren had not allowed them before, didn’t even meet her eyes. It was Alarrah who finally sighed and said, “Enorrè, you must understand the problem before us. This won’t be like what we did before. The abbey was in the countryside. Shalridan is the largest city in the western provinces. Have you ever seen it?”

  Faanshi had to shake her head, for of course she hadn’t. The town at the foot of the duke’s mountain had been daunting enough, and she could scarcely conceive of a place many times greater in size, much less how many living souls must fill it. “I’d never even seen Camden before Father Enverly took me to his church. But you’ve been to the city?”

  “We had to go there to hire the Rook and his partner, yes. It’s possible for any of us to slip into the city, if we’re quick, and quiet, and very, very careful.”

  “Staying more than a few hours, on the other hand,” Kirinil said, “is tantamount to suicide. We already know the Hawks are gathering. Even if we use no magic whatsoever, their amulets can sense us. And if we do use magic, that’ll be an open invitation to a Cleansing, if not being shot on sight.”

  Tembriel tossed a nod in Faanshi’s direction. “Shot twice. You aren’t the only one who’s escaped a human master. And their laws against that never expire.”

  In mounting agitation Faanshi swung her gaze from face to face. “
You all speak as if you don’t want to do this.”

  “We don’t,” Jannyn said. He’d cleaned up since she and Alarrah had healed him, but he was still paler than he should have been, and his voice was harsh and blunt. “With only a rumor of a vision to go on, Kirinil’s right, we might as well just surrender directly—”

  “Jannyn, enough. Your point is made.” Gerren shot him a stern glance until he subsided, and only then did Dolmerrath’s leader turn back to Faanshi. “Whether we want to do this has become irrelevant. If your okinya’s vision is to be believed, we have no choice in the matter. What lies before us now is to find the path that’ll let us recover your Hawk as safely as we can.”

  “The Lady of Time would not announce Her will and yet give no way for it to be made so.” There was nothing particularly pious in Semai’s voice as he spoke up for the first time. He stood by the entry curtain, his arms crossed lightly along his broad chest, and the words that reverberated from behind his korfi might almost have rattled forth from strangely conversational stone. “To me, the way seems clear. If we cannot safely reach this man alone, we must seek the aid of those who can.”

  Gerren inclined his head, offering their Tantiu visitor a small smile, though that expression did little to ease the severity of his gaze. “As I was about to suggest. We’re not without allies in Shalridan, else we’d never have survived as long as we have, and we’d never be able to set foot in the city at all. There are ways we can do this, but Alarrah’s right—”

  “Wait,” Alarrah said, while Tembriel and Jannyn started. Exclamations in Elvish burst out of them both. Faanshi didn’t know the words, but their shock and disapproval were plain, for it mirrored that on her sister’s face. “Did you just say we?”

  “You can’t be thinking of going on this excursion,” Kirinil said.

  “I’m sending none of you on a quest I wouldn’t undertake myself. And you can’t go.” Gerren snapped up a hand, forestalling the objection visibly roiling in his brother before it could erupt. “I’m expendable. The Wards on Dolmerrath are not, and they’ll fall if you’re Cleansed or killed.”

  “The hearts of Dolmerrath will fall if the same happens to you! No, brother, I have to overrule you on this. You’re no more expendable than I am.”

  “I second Kirinil’s sentiments.” Alarrah’s voice didn’t rise, but it resounded with fierce conviction nevertheless. “I saved your life once, Gerren. I don’t want to have to do it again.”

  Gerren glowered at them both, but finally blew out a breath. “Jannyn, you’re staying. I know you have no love for humanity, and I need you to keep the rest of our scouts alive. There’s none among us better at that than you.”

  Jannyn began to speak and then caught himself and nodded grudgingly, not bothering to hide his relief. “It’ll be done.”

  “Good.” With that, Gerren turned to Jannyn’s sister. “Tembriel, Dolmerrath cannot go entirely undefended, and I will not risk our only fire-mage. I need you here with your brother.”

  “Fortunately for us all, I can set humans on fire here just as well as in their nests. Especially if they keep coming to find us.”

  “Try not to set anything or anyone on fire that isn’t absolutely necessary. Alarrah...”

  In the handful of days Faanshi had known her enorrè, this daughter of her lost father, she had begun to learn the range of Alarrah’s moods. She’d seen her wary and frightened, elated and exhausted. Through it all the she-elf had maintained a well of calm and peace that seemed her greatest source of strength. No sign of calm, however, showed in her face now. Her cheeks were livid, and her eyes were afire now with a determination Faanshi had seen only once before—when they’d faced the Anreulag. “Do not tell me I’m not going.”

  Gerren’s expression changed, growing strangely awkward and open, and reminding Faanshi all at once of how Julian had looked at her. He was, she recalled, the first person Alarrah had ever healed. “Faanshi must go, and we can’t leave Dolmerrath without a healer.”

  “My sister has barely begun to learn her power, and she’s not getting across the Wards without me and Kirinil, much less to Shalridan.”

  “I’ve saved lives,” Faanshi added earnestly, “but if I have to do it again, I would appreciate her guidance.”

  Kirinil flashed a long considering stare from his brother to the older healer and back again, and then finally stepped forward, taking Gerren by the shoulder. “I side with Alarrah on this, brother. Our people need you here, and you can’t teach Faanshi her magic. Alarrah and I can.”

  “Well. If I’m to be overruled, so be it.” Gerren scowled at them all, but Faanshi noted the slight relaxation of his bearing as he glanced at Alarrah—as well as the grateful look her sister threw her and Kirinil both once Gerren’s gaze went elsewhere. Then Gerren strode to Alarrah and embraced her tightly. “Come back to me, hìorollè, fast as you can. If you can’t come back in seven days’ time, I’m going to have to begin evacuations, and I don’t want to take to the open sea and risk Adalonia’s navy without you.”

  Faanshi didn’t know the elven word he uttered, but its meaning wasn’t hard to guess when she’d heard it uttered only between Alarrah and Gerren.

  The she-elf returned his embrace and touched her brow to his. Softly, simply, Alarrah murmured, “I will.” Then she turned back to the room and looked with calm determination at them all. “Kirinil, Faanshi, akreshi Semai, gather what you need, but bring only what you must. We ride light, we ride fast and we ride with the next rising of the moon.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Marriham, Kilmerry Province, Jomhas 30, AC 1876

  Kestar had expected many things once he, Celoren and Father Enverly were taken under guard out of Arlitham Abbey. That the patrol would confiscate Cel’s and his weapons and amulets and deny them control of their own horses were both inevitable. Likewise, the patrol had permitted them no more than the barest minimum of personal items. No mentions were made of ropes or chains to bind them, and for that Kestar was grateful. Even if their comparative ease of movement meant only that the Hawks and other guards had them under constant watch at all times, and that if any of them showed the slightest sign of resistance, they would be shot on the spot.

  Not that he could hope to run very far regardless, not when his fellow Hawks’ amulets could track him relentlessly down.

  All of this Kestar accepted with numb resignation. But not in his wildest flights of fancy had he anticipated that their journey would take them into range of someone else’s fomenting rebellion—or that half their patrol would suddenly abandon them, taking Father Enverly along with them.

  Amarsaed, with Wulsten and Yerredes flanking him, came for them in the morning. The Hawk captain was visibly seething, but to Kestar’s surprise and disquiet, he interrogated them only briefly, just long enough to determine that they’d seen nothing more than Follingsen coming to liberate the priest. Then, finally, he ordered them both chained at the wrists before they took to their horses.

  No one offered Kestar or Celoren the slightest scrap of information, not while they were in earshot. And with the captain’s thunderous countenance scowling at them all, neither of the other two Hawks spoke more than the absolute minimum. They traveled swift and light out of Marriham, and only when their route began to reach disturbingly familiar roads did Kestar finally call out, “Captain, this isn’t the road to Shalridan.”

  “Well spotted.” Amarsaed didn’t bother to turn in the saddle as he called back, his voice crackling with contempt. “In light of recent events, we’re taking a brief detour. We require reinforcements and suitable motivation to ensure that the two of you aren’t suddenly going to vanish out of our custody like the priest. We have orders to take another prisoner.”

  Riding beside him, where the other two Hawks could keep them both in easy sight, Celoren went white-faced. “Oh gods, Kes, no,” he whispered.

  Kestar’s spirits plummeted further, straight into his road-worn boots.

  They were on the road t
o Bremany, and if Captain Amarsaed felt they required leverage to make sure he and Celoren wouldn’t escape, that could only mean one thing.

  They were going to arrest his mother.

  * * *

  Vaarsen Hall put up no resistance, in no small part because a party of four more Hawks had preceded them and confined Ganniwer Vaarsen to her chambers until the captain’s patrol could arrive. Only grudgingly, and only with Wulsten and Yerredes to accompany them, did Captain Amarsaed permit Kestar and Celoren to be unchained so that they could go up to meet her. It was the tiniest of mercies, but under the circumstances, Kestar was willing to take what he could get. His heart leaped into his throat when Bron knocked at his mother’s door, and she called out a weary acknowledgement from within. “Enter, if you must.”

  She didn’t come to meet them, and when Bron opened the door, Kestar glimpsed her sitting straight and stiff in a red-cushioned chair by the windows that overlooked a rolling expanse of floral gardens on the western side of Vaarsen Hall. Ganniwer was embroidering on a swath of spotless white linen, and she stabbed her needle into the cloth with such vindictive force that he was sure she was imagining holding a sword. He had to clear his throat before he could get her attention, and even then, his voice came out in a hoarse little croak.

  “Mother.”

  Only then did Ganniwer look up. She tossed the embroidery hoop and linen aside and sprang from her chair. Heedless of her skirts, she hurled herself at him and hugged him desperately close. “Kescha! Oh my son, I thought I’d never see you again. You didn’t try to come back here, did you? You should have known you wouldn’t be safe here!”

  “I knew, Mother. They caught us before we could leave Arlitham Abbey.” Kestar readily returned Ganniwer’s embrace, before pulling back to study her in anxious concern. “But I’m pleased at least that you can know that I’m alive.”

  “For now, anyway,” Celoren said, which drew Ganniwer’s attention to him. He couldn’t quite manage a smile, not with Bron Wulsten standing vigil at the door just behind them, but he did incline his head to her in respect. “My lady. I hope you’re all right?”