The Betrayal

by Pati Nagle

  He hastened to rejoin the party, following Jhinani along the arcade and down a passage into the palace's interior. She showed them to a suite of rooms, high-ceilinged and richly appointed, where Lady Heléri chose to remain. Luruthin half expected Eliani to retire as well, but her father urged her to view the fountains, and she went along. They followed Jhinani down a long, curving stairway to the courtyard, where Luruthin hoped the fountains' beauty would lift Eliani's spirits.

  Eliani walked a little way behind the others, listening as Jhinani told the history of each fountain, described their workings, named their creators and the governors who had commissioned them. All were lovely. Eliani admired them, but they were not enough to distract her from her worries.

  At first she had been relieved that Turisan had not greeted them. Now she wondered if his absence signified displeasure. She knew she must face him soon.

  And tell him what? She was no closer to a decision. Every time she tried to think about mindspeech, a storm of emotions swept away rationality. She had not even had the comfort of Heléri's counsel, for she had avoided private speech with her eldermother since returning from Midrange Pass, not wanting to face her disappointment.

  Lady Jhinani's voice intruded on her musings. “This avenue is the newest addition to the court. It was commissioned by Lord Turon and is called the Whispering Walk.”

  Eliani looked up to find that the party had gathered in the center of the courtyard. Beside them was the entrance to what appeared to be a tunnel of water. Jhinani explained that it was made up of hundreds of tiny fountains on both sides of the walk, each sending a stream of water arching over the path, which ran from the center of the court to its south wall, a distance of some ten rods. At the far end Eliani saw that the path continued through a gate in the wall, out into the wooded land beyond.

  Jhinani led them into the walk, and Eliani at once understood its name. The soft hush of flying water was a constant whisper that had an immediate calming effect. She felt disinclined to speak within the arching passage, and indeed, the voices of the others were muted by the gentle sound of the water.

  She walked slowly, gazing up at the line where the narrow streams crossed overhead and formed a slight point in the arching roof. No drops fell upon her, but moisture hung in the air, active and energetic, akin to the sensation preceding a rainstorm in the woods.

  Eliani breathed deeply of the calming air, not caring that she was falling behind the others. Her steps slowed and finally halted as she closed her eyes, reaching out with all her other senses. Ripples in the air—the footsteps of the others—slowly faded into the water's whisper.

  Peace. Here was the peace she needed. A warmth seeped into her through the rippled khi of growing things within and without the courtyard, distorted by the moving water. Perhaps if she stood here long enough, the dancing air would wash away all her doubts.

  “My lady?”

  Eliani's eyes flew open. Her peace was at an end. Turisan stood a short distance away.

  She turned to face him. Best get it over with. As her gaze fell upon his simple gray-green tunic and legs, his hair caught back from his face in a braid bound with green ribbon, she felt her heart leap anew at his beauty.

  He gave a hesitant smile. “Forgive me. I meant not to startle you.”

  His eyes were warmer even than she remembered, though tinged with concern. Eliani did her best to return the smile, though she felt more awkward in his presence now than ever before. She grasped at the first thought that offered.

  “The fountains are entrancing.”

  “Yes.” He nodded, the smile widening briefly. “I am glad they please you. I am often drawn here, to think or merely to rest.”

  “They do seem very restful. And the intricacy of their workings is marvelous. Southfæld's artisans have immense talent.”

  “Thank you.” Turisan bowed slightly, then looked up, smiling. “Though I find I prefer the raw beauty of your Three Shades.”

  Eliani glanced away at the reminder of that night. She saw that the others had continued down the walk and were passing through the open gate into the gardens beyond.

  “I hope you will pardon me for not being present to greet you upon your arrival. I thought perhaps we had best meet in private first, in case you wished to discuss Midrange Pass.”

  Ah. He would have it out now. Eliani turned and met his gaze squarely.

  “You are displeased.”

  He looked startled, then seemed to understand. Disappointment flicked across his face.

  “So you did not try.”

  He had not known, then. Eliani paced away restlessly.

  “Go ahead, curse me for a fool and a coward. I cannot blame you for being angry. I am angry myself.”

  “I am not angry.”

  She spun around to glare at him. “No? You should be! What if the kobalen had followed us through the pass and attacked at once? It could have been disastrous!”

  A troubled look came onto his face. “It is useless to regret what might have been. No harm was done, Eliani. Do not fault yourself.”

  His gentle words calmed her, though they did not ease her sense of failure. She turned away as if to follow the others, but instead stepped abruptly up to the wall of water.

  Always in the past she had run from problems, run from feelings that disquieted her. Heléri's words returned to her. She had used her past pain as a shield. That solved nothing, and indeed it was a lonely path.

  Watching the water rush past her eyes, she felt a faint mist on her face that suddenly reminded her of the Shades. Raising her palms toward the wall, she chanced to graze it with a fingertip. A splash of water fell across the walk, darkening the crushed rock underfoot; then the water wall healed itself as the fountain resumed its upward arc.

  The soothing whisper wrapped about her, sparkling with a hint of Turisan that seemed to augment rather than disturb its restfulness. She turned her head to look at him, seeing patience in his gaze, and acceptance. She felt a surge of gratitude.

  “Eliani! Come and see these orchards. They are …”

  The running footsteps that accompanied the call faltered to a stop. Eliani looked down the path at Luruthin, who glanced from her to Turisan, his smile fading.

  “Forgive me—”

  “Yes, you should see the orchards.” Turisan stepped forward, speaking with a diplomat's ease. “We are proud of our stonefruits especially. Some of the varieties are centuries old, descendants of cuttings brought from Eastfæld when Glenhallow was founded. Will you walk, my lady?”

  Eliani looked at him and nodded, not trusting her voice. She smiled at Luruthin, hoping to ease the discomfort that was writ plainly on his face, and started down the walk between them, unsure whether she was glad of the interruption.

  Nightsand

  Shalár received Irith in her audience chamber upon his return from Fireshore. He paused briefly to glance at Dareth, then came forward to kneel before Shalár.

  “Bright Lady.”

  “Welcome home, Watcher. Where have you been, and what saw you there?”

  Irith looked up at her, triumph in his hard face. “I have been to Ghlanhras, Bright Lady.”

  “To Ghlanhras!” Shalár sat forward, eager for news of Fireshore's chief city. “Tell me!”

  Irith leaned an arm across his knee and grinned. “We approached the city from the north. They do not watch that side. They have built a tall wall around all the city to keep out the forest and its creatures. All their guardians stand watch on the south side, where there is a gate.”

  A wall all around the city. Shalár frowned. That would make taking control of it more difficult.

  “Did you go within the wall?”

  “I did, Bright Lady. We watched from the forest for several nights and observed that parties of hunters often returned to the city at sunset with their game. I killed a small boar and slipped in with one of those parties, then hid myself in the city.”

  Shalár nodded, eager for more. Dareth strol
led up to the dais and stood beside her chair. Irith glanced at him, then continued.

  “I traded my boar for a room in a lodge and spent five nights in the city's taverns, listening to gossip.”

  “You were not suspected?”

  “I kept myself hooded and stayed out of plain view. I was taken for a Greenglen.”

  Shalár nodded. “What did you learn in the taverns?”

  “There are not many folk in the city. The governor is planning a celebration for the Spirit Feast and another for Midwinter.”

  Shalár sat up straight in her chair. “The Spirit Feast falls during the Ælven Council.”

  Irith nodded. “I heard no mention of the Council.”

  Her heart leapt with delight. “They do not know.”

  “It seems not.”

  Shalár stood up, descended from the dais, and began to pace the chamber. She must take advantage of this. She must move on Fireshore as swiftly as possible. If only she were ready now, but it would be impossible to start for at least another twenty or thirty days.

  She once had thought idly of sending her own message to the Council in Fireshore's name. Perhaps it could work.

  Risky. Very risky, but possibly worth the hazard.

  She stopped pacing and returned to the dais before which Irith waited. “Tell me everything you heard. Every insignificant bit of gossip. Leave nothing out.”

  He told her. Shalár sent for chairs and settled in to question Irith closely and at length about his stay in Ghlanhras.

  The governor was Othanin. Irith had ventured near Darkwood Hall one evening and glimpsed him setting forth. Shalár demanded every detail of his appearance, his kindred, their homes. She made Irith tell her everything he had heard or observed about Clan Sunriding, the governing clan of Fireshore, formed in haste from a mélange of house holds that had volunteered to re-populate and govern Fireshore after the Bitter Wars.

  “Sunriding still has no uniform appearance. I saw Sunridings who resembled Ælvanen, Stonereaches, Steppegards—”

  “Steppegards.”

  Shalár stroked her upper lip, musing. She looked up at Irith.

  “Go on. What about the wall? Why did they build it?”

  Irith helped himself to more wine. “To keep out the forest and its creatures. I heard no other reason mentioned.”

  “Not to keep out the kobalen?”

  “I suppose so, but …” Irith frowned, looking perplexed. “They have a terror of the wild lands, particularly between Ghlanhras and the coast. It seems almost greater than their fear of kobalen. Few of them will venture into the deepest woods. The hunters I saw were the only exception.”

  “They do not visit the ocean, then?”

  “They have cut a wide road from the city to the shore east of Firethroat. That is the only way they will take to the ocean.”

  “They fear the forest.”

  Shalár frowned, pondering why. She remembered her own family's flight into that same forest centuries before. Ancient fear welled up within her, not of the woodlands but of the ælven warriors who had turned their wrath upon her people. She shook it away.

  When she had exhausted Irith's knowledge of Fireshore, she turned to his hunters and questioned them about everything they had observed while waiting for him in the forest. At last she relented, bidding them all to return to their homes, but she stayed Irith with a hand on his arm.

  “When you are rested, write down all you have told me and anything else you remember.”

  He looked mildly surprised but bowed. “As you will, Bright Lady. Do I then return to Fireshore?”

  “Not yet.”

  She watched him go, then strode to the gallery to look out over Nightsand. Cold air smote her, moist and sharp, stinging her face. The night was aging, but she had one task yet to accomplish before retiring.

  Dareth joined her. She glanced at him, then took his hand and stepped out onto the gallery, letting the drape fall behind them, shutting them off from the warmth of the Cliff Hollows. He stroked her hair.

  “What are you thinking?”

  “How best to use the tools that come to hand.”

  She watched the wind trouble the dark waters of the bay for a moment, then turned to look at Dareth. He was gazing at her, his face unreadable.

  “Am I one of your tools?”

  She caught him to her, kissed him fiercely. “No. Never think that.”

  He made no answer. She searched his face, kissed him once more, then pulled open the drape and led him inside.

  “I have an errand in the pens. I will not be long.”

  She left him and hastened to the pens, not bothering to fetch her cloak. If she returned chilled, Dareth could warm her.

  It had been some days since she had last seen the Steppegard and hence some days since he had fed, but she approached the door of his chamber with caution. He was on his feet and pacing, strength palpable in his khi even at a distance. He had taken advantage of the washing water she had sent, and looked in far better health save for the raging hunger she could see in his taut face. He caught sight of her and came to the door, lacing his fingers in the grating.

  “Bright Lady. Give me my freedom.”

  His eyes shone darkly in the eternal night of the pens. Shalár tilted her head, watching him.

  “What would that gain me?”

  His hands tightened into fists around the grating. “I swear I will serve you, only let me free.”

  “Serve me? You would run the moment you were freed.”

  She took a step closer, observing his agitated state. He watched her with restless eyes.

  “And where would you run? Across the Ebons, of course. But back to the Steppes? I think not.” She smiled and paced a few steps to one side, aware of his gaze following her. “Not for long. Certainly not once your hair whitens, which it will within a year, by the way.”

  His glance shifted to his hair, which looked cleaner now, tumbling in curls to his shoulders, almost as wild as when she had first seen him. When he looked back at her, his intensity was diminished, replaced by confusion.

  “What service can I perform for you? I will gladly earn my freedom.”

  Shalár resumed her leisurely pacing, her steps echoing softly down rock passages. It might do. She would not even mind losing control of him, as she certainly would, if she sent him all the way to Glenhallow.

  Her plan was coalescing. She smiled and glanced back at the Steppegard.

  “I will think on that and return when I am ready to discuss it with you. You may pass the time considering how to assure me that freeing you will be worth my while.”

  “Bright Lady, Irith is waiting in your audience chamber.”

  Shalár smiled at Galir. “Thank you. Has the catamount been fed as I ordered?”

  “Yes, lady. It was given a freshly killed buck.”

  “Excellent.” Shalár glanced at the closed door of her bedchamber. “Put out my leathers and pack my gear for hunting.”

  Galir blinked. “Yes, Bright Lady. I had not heard there was to be another hunt.”

  “It is not a pack hunt.”

  She turned away, thinking over all she had pondered during a lazy day in bed with Dareth. His strength was improving, as was his lust, but still there had been time for musing. She had tried to think of every possible flaw in her plan and had become more and more convinced that it could work. Therefore, she must not delay.

  Dareth would be displeased. There was no help for it; she could only hope to return to him swiftly, before he again fell subject to gloom.

  Hurrying to the audience chamber, she shivered at the evening's chill and sent an attendant scurrying for hot wine. Irith was waiting, looking city-clean instead of hunt-worn. He held a curl of paper in his hand and offered it as he bowed at her approach.

  “Bright Lady. I have written everything I can recall.”

  “Excellent. Thank you.”

  She took the pages, uncoiled them, and glanced through them, nodding. Irith had bee
n thorough. It was a quality of his she liked.

  The attendant returned with a tray bearing a steaming pitcher and two cups, which she placed on the table that had been brought in the previous night. Shalár took a cup of hot spiced wine and handed her Irith's pages.

  “Have a fair copy made of this at once.”

  “Yes, Bright Lady.”

  Shalár took a chair at the table, inviting Irith to join her. “Did you visit any other towns in Fireshore? I failed to ask you before.”

  “No. We made straight for Ghlanhras, and afterward I thought you would want our news as swiftly as possible.”

  “You thought aright. Well done.” Shalár took a swallow of the spiced wine, feeling it warm her all the way down her chest. “I hope you rested well yesterday.”

  “I did, my lady.” He glanced up at her over his cup, a smile twisting his mouth. “Do you mean that is all the rest I am to have?”

  She set down her cup. “I need to know of Westgard and of Bitterfield. The sooner the better.”

  Irith nodded and reached for the pitcher, offering to fill her cup before pouring more wine into his own. Shalár pushed it toward him.

  “Am I to start to night, or may I have a night to prepare?”

  “You may have a night. I will be occupied for the next few nights myself.”

  Irith again looked curious, but she saw no need to enlighten him. She gazed past him at the ælven tapestry on the wall.

  Dareth entered the chamber. She felt him even as she heard his step and turned toward him, smiling.

  “Dareth. Join us.”

  She saw unhappiness in his face before his tight smile replaced it. That he should burn so with jealousy pleased a small, greedy part of her, but her wiser self regretted it. She reached for his hand and pressed her cup into it as he took a chair beside her.

  Irith tossed off the wine in his own cup, then set it down on the table with a sharp clack of pottery on wood. “By your leave, Bright Lady, I have much to do this night if I am to return to Fireshore.”