by Barb Hendee
Sgäilsheilleache sounded glad to speak of caste matters and the everyday trials of tutelage. It reassured Most Aged Father that he had taken the correct approach.
Sgäilsheilleache was fiercely loyal to the caste, but between Brot’ân’duivé and that half-dead human woman, he followed a misguided path. Someone else needed to step in and relieve him of his burden.
“I am pleased to hear you fare well, my son,” Most Aged Father said warmly. “And what is your current location?”
Our location?
“To gauge the days until you reach Bela . . . and if possible, dispatch a military vessel to meet you.”
That would be most welcome, Father. We are southwest of the mountains below Droevinka . . . at the inland end of what the humans call the Everfen.
“In the swamplands? That will not be pleasant going. How far in?”
Barely a morning’s travel due west. We were fortunate to find an empty dwelling and will pass this one night in better comfort.
Most Aged Father could not extend his awareness beyond his people’s forest. But he could feel a sense of place when one of his caste spoke to him through word-wood. In touching such to a living tree, the speaker’s voice was altered subtly by what the word-wood pressed against.
“And you call me from a willow tree?” he said. “In the middle of that swamp? Ah, a hardy tree it is.”
He played this little game with a few of his oldest or dearest children— to see if Most Aged Father could name the caller’s tree.
Yes, Father, you rarely miss. Another pause followed. It is so good to speak with you again.
“And with you, my son.”
I will contact you again when we reach Bela.
“I look forward to your return . . . and will do what I can to hasten it.”
In silence and in shadows, Father.
The connection faded.
Most Aged Father had put Sgäilsheilleache’s troubled mind at ease, and this situation would soon be over. He clicked his fingers against his bower, waiting a long time, until another voice threaded through the oak’s wood.
Father, I fear that I have little—
“Wait, Hkuan’duv . . . and listen carefully.”
The next morning, Leesil had barely stepped outside to stretch when Sgäile called from around the shack’s rear.
“Léshil . . . Magiere . . . come!”
Magiere emerged behind Leesil, rubbing her eyes. “What’s he yelling about?”
Leesil shrugged and walked off around the dwelling with Magiere on his heels. When he saw Sgäile holding up the edge of a tarp, he stopped. Magiere nearly stumbled over him.
Sgäile crouched beside a narrow longboat pulled up the knoll. It looked sound and in good shape.
“This must be how the old man gained his supplies,” Sgäile said, far more cheerful than he’d been in days, “which means there is a settlement somewhere within reach.”
Leesil glanced at Magiere.
She raised one eyebrow. “He’s in a rare mood.”
When Sgäile had returned from his short evening scout the night before, his demeanor had altered drastically. He’d checked on the orb, nosed in on Wynn’s cooking, and Leesil could have sworn the dour elf almost smiled at the aroma rising from the blackened iron pot.
But in any case, the boat was a welcome sight. Leesil trotted forward to inspect it.
“Well, a settlement might not be so good,” he replied. “Not if Droevinka is turned upside down in a civil war.”
“True enough,” Sgäile agreed. “But it is an opportunity to renew our supplies . . . and make the rest of the journey more tolerable.”
Leesil looked up at him. “Did you find a flask of rum you didn’t bother to share?”
“A flask of what?”
“Never mind.”
Magiere stood with folded arms, quietly looking over the boat.
Leesil knew her feelings were mixed. She was desperate to reach Miiska but not eager to pass through her old homeland during a civil war—and neither was he, for that matter.
Wynn and Osha came around the side of the shack, erupting in excited chatter at the sight of the longboat. Chap came last, tail in the air. Magiere just rolled her eyes at them. She gazed around the marshes and cattails, moss-laden trees and murky green waters. Frogs croaked and enormous dragonflies sailed past.
“Never thought I’d miss this country,” she said, “but after so long in those mountains . . .”
“Oh, we must be mad!” Leesil returned with exaggerated drama.
Magiere half smiled at him as she headed back inside.
They had all passed a pleasant night, and what remained of dinner, from flatbread and honey to chickpeas and smoked-cured beef, was still welcome for breakfast. As they began gathering their gear, Magiere retrieved the orb herself.
Soon, everyone had coats or cloaks with weapons strapped on. All their belongings were piled at the knoll’s edge as Leesil helped Sgäile slide the longboat into the murky water.
“Store goods both ends—better balance,” Osha suggested.
“I forgot the rest of the flatbread,” Wynn said and ran for the shack. “I will be right back.”
Sgäile spun the boat slowly, pulling its side in against the knoll. Leesil grabbed the pack Osha held out and tucked it in the bow.
“Magiere . . . ?” Wynn called out.
Leesil looked up.
The little sage stood at the shack’s corner just beyond the half-collapsed chicken coop, and then she backed up without turning.
“Sgäile!” Wynn shouted.
Chap bolted toward her as Leesil took off past Magiere. He grabbed Wynn, a freed stiletto already hidden in his hand, and pulled her back. Magiere raced around him to the shack’s front, hand on her falchion’s hilt. Leesil saw the source of Wynn’s warning as Sgäile came into the open.
A man and a woman approached through the shallow water at the knoll’s north side. Leesil went rigid at the sight of their gray-green attire.
Anmaglâhk.
Both weatherworn, the woman held a shortbow drawn with an arrow nocked. But Leesil focused on the man.
Cowl down, his hair was almost white and cut short, standing up in unwashed bristles. His amber eyes were flat and emotionless, and even trudging out of shin-deep water, his steps barely left ripples. He didn’t look down once, as if he’d never missed a step in his life. His gray-green cloak was tied up, and he held no weapon.
“Sgäile?” Leesil said, tearing his gaze away to glance at his companion.
Sgäile remained silent as the newcomers crested the knoll, stopping ten paces off. Then he nodded once to the older male.
“Greimasg’äh.”
“I have a purpose from Most Aged Father,” the man said in perfect Belaskian, and his tone was as emotionless as his gaze. “You will turn both the artifact and the dark-haired human over to me.”
Magiere ripped the falchion from its sheath, as the female anmaglâhk turned the bow on her.
Hkuan’duv had not seen these humans this close. It was unsettling.
He did not blink when Magiere pulled her weapon.
Somehow, her black hair with the strange red glints, her white face and dark eyes, made him feel tainted. The proximity of the shabby half-blood, the deviant majay-hì, and even the small woman in rolled-up pants did not affect him the same way.
This half-dead thing with the defiant face and unnatural color sparked revulsion.
Most Aged Father had warned Hkuan’duv about her, ordered him to eliminate her.
In spite of his discomfort at her close proximity, he was relieved to finally reveal himself to Sgäilsheilleache and Osha, no longer skulking behind them. He had openly given his purpose, and it superseded all others. This entire matter was over.
Sgäilsheilleache stepped out and raised a shielding arm before Magiere.
“I do not understand,” he said in Elvish. “My oath of guardianship is not completed . . . and cannot be broken.”
> “The word of Father outweighs all,” Hkuan’duv answered flatly.
“With respect, Greimasg’äh . . . nothing outweighs my oath.”
Hkuan’duv stared at him.
Sgäilsheilleache was openly questioning the will of Most Aged Father and the needs of his caste and people. Hkuan’duv studied him more closely, as Sgäilsheilleache’s gaze shifted wildly back and forth.
“We serve!” Hkuan’duv snapped. “It is our place to put the hope and safety of our people above our own concerns. You will turn the artifact over at once!”
Sgäilsheilleache’s eyes stopped shifting and locked upon Hkuan’duv.
Sgäile’s stomach clenched.
In the night, Most Aged Father had spoken to him like a son, asked after Osha, and expressed relief at the prospect of their homecoming. Now Hkuan’duv, one of the revered Greimasg’äh, had arrived by the next dawn— demanding that Sgäile revoke guardianship and turn over the artifact . . . and Magiere?
Chap lunged out before Hkuan’duv with a threatening snap.
The Greimasg’äh held his ground, but Dänvârfij backed a step, visibly uncertain of turning her bow on a majay-hì.
“Wait!” Léshil called, and the dog pulled up short. “What’s this about?”
“He will not listen to Sgäile,” Wynn whispered. “They want Magiere and the orb.”
Sgäile flinched as Magiere took a threatening step forward, trying to push past his arm. He grabbed for her, but she slapped his hand away. Sgäile shook his head sharply, holding up his open hand, and she stopped.
“Relinquish the artifact,” Hkuan’duv repeated, and his eyes narrowed. “Or I will take it.”
The tightness in Sgäile’s stomach released.
Hkuan’duv could not relinquish his accepted purpose. And Sgäile would not break his guardianship—to Magiere or her promise to the human sages. He stood opposed to two of his own caste.
He stilled his emotions and shook his head slowly at Hkuan’duv.
“I am my people,” he said in clear Belaskian, “their ways and the protection of them . . . and I will not break a sacred oath!”
Leesil couldn’t follow anything said in Elvish, other than what Wynn had translated in a whisper—and one Elvish term.
Greimasg’äh.
How had these two anmaglâhk found them on the edge of the Everfen? He quickly calculated who he’d have to take down first. Between a master anmaglâhk and the woman with a loaded bow, it was even odds which was more immediately dangerous.
In truth, only Osha’s loyalties struck Leesil as uncertain. The young elf appeared confused and frightened by what was playing out before him. Sgäile would never break his word, and he’d proven that more than once. But Leesil didn’t truly understand the shifting authority in Anmaglâhk hierarchy. Who would Osha follow—his teacher and Sgäile’s oath, or a revered master of his caste, sent by Most Aged Father?
Leesil shifted his eyes to the woman with the bow aimed at Magiere. It was clear which one he had to take down first.
Sgäile spoke a final reply, clear for all to hear.
At the quick flick of the female elf’s eyes, Leesil snapped his hand forward.
Her bowstring released as the stiletto spun from his hand.
Sgäile shoved Magiere aside as Leesil pulled the catches on his punching blades. The arrow grazed Magiere’s arm and flew out into the swamp. The woman crouched swiftly, and the stiletto passed harmlessly above her.
Leesil pulled both winged blades as she came up.
She never paused. By the time he’d readied his blades, she’d notched a second arrow. Chap charged as the woman pulled back the bowstring.
Sgäile slipped into the master anmaglâhk’s path, bone knife in hand, and shouted, “Osha, do not interfere!”
“No!” Wynn shouted. “Stop, all of you!”
No one listened to her.
Wynn’s late cry accomplished nothing, and her mind raced for a way to stop this confrontation. But Chap did not even slow in his attack.
He snarled savagely, but the female anmaglâhk changed tactics before he closed. She hopped, folding her legs an instant before he snapped at her knee. One foot lashed down and struck the side of his head. Chap’s muzzle bit into wet earth as he twisted off his feet.
Wynn flinched, stunned that any elf would strike a majay-hì.
Magiere came back from Sgäile’s hard shove as Leesil went at the elven woman with both winged blades.
Osha jerked Wynn back, pinning her to the shack’s side. But she saw his stricken profile as he watched Sgäile and the Greimasg’äh in horror.
They slashed and feinted so fast that each time Wynn flinched another strike was already in motion. She counted half a dozen attacks. What would happen if one of them spilled the other’s blood?
“Stop them!” she shouted at Osha. “You must do something!”
Magiere rounded the older elf’s flank, cocking her falchion in a double grip. Osha blocked Wynn with his body, as if he didn’t know what else to do.
The female anmaglâhk ducked Leesil’s first strike as Chap hauled himself up.
A stiletto appeared in the woman’s hand as she whirled and slashed for Leesil’s face.
Magiere’s mind went blank as the woman kicked Chap’s head and the dog went down hard in the wet sod. Rage welled up inside Magiere.
Daylight burned in her widening sight. Her eyeteeth grew, her fingernails hardened, and then she saw Leesil charge the woman. The last of her wits turned her toward the male elf, hoping Leesil and Chap could deal with the woman.
The master anmaglâhk was the worst threat before Magiere. When reason overrode rage, she went at him, but she caught one last glimpse of Leesil.
The elven woman whirled away from his blade’s reach and slipped behind his first slash. The tip of her stiletto sliced down Leesil’s cheek to the corner of his mouth.
“No!” Magiere tried to snarl, but the word slurred.
Blood spattered from Leesil’s face as he twisted his head aside.
Magiere veered around Sgäile and the Greimasg’äh, charging at the elven woman. Chap struggled up as the female elf came about.
The woman faltered at the sight of Magiere and hissed something in Elvish.
Magiere ground her rear heel in the sod. Chap dodged out of the way as she brought the falchion down with both hands.
The woman vanished, and Magiere’s falchion only split wet earth. Her knees buckled suddenly, and her feet ripped from under her.
Magiere slammed down on her back, driving a grunt between her teeth. She saw the female anmaglâhk rise from a low spin, bow tossed aside, and a blade appeared in each hand. Magiere rolled away to one knee, whipping the falchion around to shield herself.