Elanraigh

by S. A. Hunter

  “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.

  “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.”

  Thera glanced over to First Sword Alba. Although Sirra Alaine had adjured, then entreated her to remain behind with the wounded, Alba would not hear of it. Even now, her head swung belligerently at any voice, as if expecting a rescinding of the grudging consent. She hobbled about her horse and gear, muttering, “…think I was infirm, to hear them. Huh…”

  Alaine, coming to join Thera and Rozalda, said, “Better to have her along than trying to follow on her own. Hnnh. Stubborn.”

  “She’ll be fine, Sirra,” said Thera watching Alba hop-hobbling around her placid horse.

  “Aye.” Alaine slowly nodded. “So I think. Stubborn—always was.” Alaine swung onto her mount.

  Thera caught the glimmer of Alaine’s headband, the silver Sirra’s emblem glinting in the light of the wall torch as she moved. As a matter of fact, the entire troop wore their dress greens, kilts, and cloaks. The garments looked freshly fulled, and every piece of metal harness and gear gleamed.

  Sirra Alaine twisted back, observing the party; four hands of soldiers and Egrit to serve Thera, ten horses, and a string of five mules. Those that marched afoot were already underway.

  Thera embraced the Healing Mistress and quickly mounted. Mulberry danced sideways, snorting and blowing. Rozalda laughed. “Whatever possessed Duke Leon to give you such a flighty mount, Thera?”

  “Oh, but her blood lines are good. She is always restive at first; she’ll test me a little, and then settle in very well. She’s of good heart.”

  “Aye.” Rozalda looked at Thera a long moment. “Aye,” she repeated. “Elanraigh guard you, Salvai.”

  “I’ll send word as soon as we’re home, Rozalda.” Thera impulsively reached to grasp the Healing Mistress’s arm. “I will remember all your words to me.”

  Rozalda nodded, lips compressed. She stepped back, tucking her hands into her sleeves.

  Thera turned, waving energetically to the Damas clustered at the entrance to Elankeep’s hall.

  Hands rose in formal blessing, their voices small in the heavy fog, the Damas chorused their various farewells. Dama Brytha, though, her bent form supported by Dama Ella, blew Thera a kiss.

  How like her, Thera thought, feeling a tightness in her throat. Blessings on them. She dropped her arm to her side, and turned Mulberry to the gate.

  “Tcht-tcht,” heeling the mare to a trot, Thera rode forward to join Sirra Alaine.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  They rode single file from Elankeep, rising into weak sunlight past Bridal Veil Falls and eastward along the Spinfisher River. Looking back, Thera saw dark treetops spiking through the gauzy veils of fog.

  Thera heard a sudden arpeggio of clear notes. “Elanraigh.” She reined to a halt. Rising in her saddle she saw a trail through the heavy forest, wide enough for two abreast to ride. “Blessings be,” she sent warm thanks.

  “Sirra. There,” Thera pointed. Alaine hand signaled the troop and reined in beside Thera. The two of them waited as the entire troop, wide-eyed and silent, entered the tunnel-like opening through the giant trees. Thera continued to hear the Elanraigh’s singing until after she and Alaine had entered. Looking back, the saw the path obscuring behind them

  Their party made better time then, the horses’ legs brushing easily through moist fern and shining salal. Riding near Alaine and Alba, Thera told them about the people of Allenholme. “I hope you will come to regard them as I do,” she said finally, “and feel at home when there. Though Allenholme is not in the midst of the Elanraigh, it is on its very borders.”

  “Our place is at your side now, Lady. You have pledged to the Elanraigh, and we have pledged to you. It is one and the same.”

  Thera fell silent. Alaine observed Thera’s expression and lifted her brow inquiringly.

  Thera sighed. “All my life I have felt this bond with the Elanraigh, accepted the Elanraigh’s love which seems to be given me unconditionally—never yet has the Elanraigh demanded any pledge or vow from me. I wonder about it. I do not know how the choosing happens with other Salvai. What do tales tell of how it was when Lady Dysanna pledged to be Salvai?”

  Alaine’s chin dropped to her chest as she considered. “Hnnh. It would be better to ask the Healing Mistress such history. Or even Elder Dama Brytha.” Her eyes met Thera’s, “But it is my understanding that there is always a vow taken.”

  “Blessings be!” cried Alba suddenly.

  Thera and Alaine pulled up their horses—the troop fanning out behind them.

  “If the One Tree is to be found anywhere on this earth,” said Alba in hushed voice, as she gazed upward toward the distant tree canopy, “Surely this is where it will be.”

  Mulberry danced her feet nervously as Thera slid to the ground. “Hush now,” she murmured to the mare. Standing at Mulberry’s head, she gazed around her. It is a sight to set the soul singing, she thought.

  Here, far from the pearly mists of Bridal Veil Falls, the sunlight slanted through the evergreens like sheets of molten copper, illuminating the mossy trunks of the largest trees Thera had ever seen. Handing her reins to Alba, who took them silently, Thera walked forward. An eagle whistled high above her, but no mind-voice intruded. Even the singing of the small birds of the Elanraigh suddenly hushed.

  She approached the nearest forest giant. Its base was so wide that all of the troop, finger-tip to finger-tip, could not have spanned its width. The sitka’s huge base spread to grip the earth like the paw of some mythical beast.

  Thera’s breath quickened as she came close, reaching her hand to touch the ancient tree’s bark. Energy, like a shower of sparks leapt into her body. Thera gasped, caught in the tree’s powerful grip. Her breath came quick and shallow as visions began to flow; dappled sunlight, flowing swift as years passed in the single beat of her mighty heart; her roots delving the dark loam to grip the rocky bones of earth itself. Thera was dizzied by the spinning vision of eons of stars wheeling overhead. How many hundreds of years!

  “Ancient One, Blessings be,” Thera whispered her greeting. Never had she felt so small and insignificant. The sitka elemental’s mind-voice merged with the wind that moved through the branches so high above her head.

  “Thera, daughter of Allenholme, your vow will soon be demanded. It must be the true choice of your heart.”

  Thera felt tears rising. “Do you doubt my love?”
>
  Warmth and understanding enfolded her. “Child, you are our hope, but the vow must be made with full understanding. You must know your heart before you pledge it.”

  “I am ready now.” Thera felt tears on her face. “I will never choose other than to serve the Elanraigh.”

  “No. Soon.

  Thera folded down, leaning against the tree giant. It comforted her—yet, though it surrounded her with its love, it would not yet take her vow.

  Finally she felt a gentle nudge, “Continue your journey, you will be at Allenholme by dark. We guard your way.”

  Drawing a deep breath, Thera bid the sitka farewell. “I will prove my heart to you,” she promised. “I pray to do so.”

  As Thera walked back to the troop the forest sang—it was a paean of both joy and longing. She saw Alba freeze where she stood, one foot in the stirrup. The First Sword’s head tipped upward, her eyes squinting against the dancing, brilliant light. “Lady,” she murmured, “do you hear that?”

  “Yes, Alba. You can?”

  “Aye. Beautiful, yet…” Alba placed her hand over heart, her brow furrowing as she sought the words.

  “Piercing the heart like a spear of light,” Thera responded, remembering the words of an old folk ballad.

  “Aye,” Alba breathed.

  The troop crossed the grove; the forest closed like a curtain behind them.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Even Mulberry sensed that home was near. She tossed her head, continually trying to edge into a trot. Thera patted her neck. “Yes, you fractious child, we’re almost there. Blessing be. Perhaps the climb up Lorn a’Lea will settle you down.”

  Alaine eyed the young pair and her lips pursed. “Aye, like mistress, like beast, I think. Eager to be home.” She smiled at Thera who laughed appreciatively. “Hnnh. We are close to Allenholme then, if this be Lorn a’Lea point?”