The Betrayal

by Pati Nagle

  The governor's gaze flicked to her. His frown deepened slightly, but he nodded. “You are right, my lady. Turisan, you will ride at dawn.” He glanced around the council table. “I need one to ride with him.”

  One breath passed, then Luruthin stood. “I will go.”

  Eliani turned her head to look at Luruthin and saw the hint of protectiveness in his gaze. She smiled, not so much from approval as from a knowledge that his instinct was futile. He could not preserve her, and at once she knew she needed no protection. Turisan would not harm her. She might yet manage to harm herself, but that would have to be risked.

  The councillors had begun to murmur. Jharan silenced them, raising his hands.

  “Gentles, in light of this news, I suggest we adjourn until morning. I will remain here to discuss Midrange with any who wish, though we shall make no decisions to night.”

  The chime sounded, and the room filled at once with excited voices. Turisan, still standing, was surrounded instantly by Ælvanens and Greenglens. Only Rephanin remained seated, and even he was staring intently at Turisan.

  Eliani was thankful that her kindred were around her, for she saw that the councillors nearby would have trapped her otherwise. Indeed, they called questions to her even as Heléri and Felisan swept her from the chamber with Luruthin close behind.

  They hastened up the stairs and along the arcade to their suite, past the silvery whisper of the fountains below, into the privacy of Felisan's chamber. There her father caught Eliani by the shoulders, beaming with pride.

  “My child! This is wondrous news!”

  Eliani felt anything but wondrous. She hung her head. “Forgive me for not telling you at once.”

  “No matter, no matter.”

  Gently he took her chin in his hand, raising it. He was smiling with delight, though a slight frown dampened his joy as Eliani met his gaze.

  “Does it trouble you, my daughter?”

  Eliani opened her mouth, seeking words of explanation. Heléri spoke before she could form them.

  “It changes everything. Imagine how much stronger it will make your alliance with Southfæld, how much more effective your defenses will be if you can communicate with Jharan from Highstone in the blink of an eye.”

  Eliani glanced at Heléri, wondering if her elder-mother meant merely to distract Felisan or sought to reassure her that she need not be near Turisan to use the gift. Indeed, it would be most effective if they remained apart.

  That was no comfort. What ever distance separated them, she knew that to touch in thought would bring them closer than she wished. She had, by revealing their gift, made that inevitable.

  “Eliani.” Her father's hands were warm upon her shoulders; his face, when she looked up to him, filled with tender concern. “Your kindred will always be here for you. You are safe, my child. And Turisan is as good as kin; he will protect you.”

  She shook her head, helpless to explain her fears. Her kin could not protect her from this. She was near to falling, or perhaps she already had fallen when she had let Turisan kiss her. Remembering it sent a shiver through her. She wanted him, and dreaded his touch.

  Curunan took a decanter and a tray of goblets off a shelf and set them on the table. “That meeting was short. Are they all like that?”

  Felisan chuckled, turning to him. “Well, Councils never accomplish much at their first sessions, but I believe this was the least effective I have seen. Scarcely begun before adjourned.”

  Heléri shook her head. “I disagree. Eliani and Turisan have made to night's session one of the most important ever held.”

  Eliani stared at the fire, making no answer. She wished she were in Alpinon, on patrol, shivering in the snow, perhaps, but free of the terrible pressure she now felt.

  The Ebon Mountains

  Shalár paused to scramble on top of a high rock and look down the eastern slope of the mountain they had scaled. She had not been east of the Ebons since her people had been driven out of Fireshore. She could see the tree line, blessedly close, and far below a wisp of smoke rising from the woods.

  She tensed at the sight, suddenly feeling dangerously exposed, and instinctively crouched against the rock. She knew of no ælven village so close to this crossing, though her watchers had told her of one a day's journey to the north.

  A guard outpost? Travelers? The smoke was near the mountain road, she could see by the small gap in the trees. She frowned. She would have to go carefully.

  “Please.” The Steppegard leaned against a snow-strewn boulder. “Please, may we rest awhile?”

  “We must get to the woods before dawn. It is not far.”

  She glanced at him, saw the shortness of his breaths, each puffing ice into the night. He was becoming a little too weak for her liking. She jumped down from the rock, landing softly in snow, and went to him. Taking hold of his arm, she sent a flow of warming khi through him.

  “Come. When we reach the forest, you may rest.”

  He gazed at her, golden eyes pale in the twilight, surprise at her sharing khi with him writ on his face. Gently she urged him forward, and he complied.

  They crossed a sloping snow-deep meadow, with occasional boulders thrusting up through the whiteness. Shalár regretted the marks their descent would leave, but there was little choice. By the time the ælven below took any notice, if they took notice, she hoped she would be far away.

  She took the lead, easing the Steppegard's passage by breaking a path through the snow. The catamount snarled in anger as it followed them, so insane by this time that it no longer feared her at all. Only her hold on its khi kept it from attacking them.

  She heard a surprised grunt from the Steppegard, turned to see him stumble to his knees in the snow. The catamount growled, and Shalár tightened her hold on it while she helped him to his feet. He was cold, very cold. She spent a little more khi on him and urged him onward.

  “Only a little farther. Do you see?”

  She directed his weary gaze toward the dark line of pine trees a short way below. He stared stupidly, then nodded.

  There was no stopping when they reached the trees, though, for the snow was still deep. Shalár pressed on down the slope between pines, hoping to find a sheltered place where they might rest for the day. She steered southward, away from the smoke that she now smelled in taunting wisps on the air. Wood smoke, a fire built up anew from latent coals. Roasting meat.

  Shalár paused, thinking. What ælven would be camped on this road in winter? No party of plea sure, no traders. A patrol, perhaps. Or a courier.

  She frowned, misliking the direction of her thoughts. Instinct warned her to learn more.

  Turning, she saw the Steppegard swaying where he stood. He was spent and could go no farther on his own. She put him up on the catamount's back and started forward again, this time heading toward the camp instead of away from it.

  Her hunger was now a dull ache that stabbed with every step. She cast a searching thought wide through the woods, but there were no kobalen near. Soon she would resort to the transitory satisfaction of feeding on deer or bear. The catamount's khi was now unwholesome, but even that might tempt her as a last resort.

  As she neared the camp, she moved with greater stealth. When she could hear the voices of the ælven, she made the catamount stop beside a copse of bare-branched saplings, leaving it and the Steppegard there in concealment while she ventured forward.

  Slowly, slowly now, each step with a hunter's caution. Press a foot down upon the snow, make no sound.

  She was close enough now to distinguish what the ælven were saying. She stopped behind a thick-trunked pine, spreading her khi through it and through its neighbors, the better to hear those around the campfire.

  “Will we reach Heahrued today?”

  “Tomorrow, more like.”

  “And then another ten days to the Steppes. I will be glad to be out of this snow.”

  Shalár thought the lilt of the male's voice had a hint of Southfæld in it, or perhaps Ea
stfæld. She closed her eyes, frowning in concentration.

  “Nine days if we press, and we should.” Another voice, male, a little lower than the first. “Remember, we must travel with all possible speed.”

  “Perhaps we can get fresh horses in the Steppes. That would speed us.”

  Horses! Shalár chided herself for a fool. She must be wearier than she had thought, not to notice.

  She extended her khi through the woodlands, careful not to touch the ælven's khi lest she alert them to her presence. A short distance away she sensed where their horses—seven, all told—were grazing.

  She made herself attend to the ælven's conversation. They were not a patrol, not if speed was important to them.

  The woods were filled with a dim blue light that set a ghostly glow to the snowdrifts and woke shadows beneath the pines. Day was coming. She should leave here and seek shelter. She moved forward.

  A glimpse of movement startled her into shrinking against a tree. She had seen a pale-haired, silver-cloaked form between the trees. The crackle of the campfire reached her ears, reminding her of how chilled she was.

  “If we can get horses at Waymeet, then yes, but we must not go afield in search of them. Jharan stressed that we should reach Fireshore as soon as we possibly can.”

  Jharan! They were from Southfæld's governor. Shalár drew a sharp breath.

  How could she take them? There were seven of them, and she was so weary with the Steppegard and the cat to control.

  Her eyes narrowed. The cat.

  She reached her thoughts back to where the catamount crouched and took a tighter hold on its khi. Slowly she brought it forward, letting it utter no sound. When it stood beside her, she pulled the Steppegard from its back and leaned him against a tree.

  She paused to listen. The ælven still talked of horses. Shalár set her hand to the hilt of her kobalen dagger, then stepped away from the tree and started the catamount forward. She let it scent the ælven and their beasts, felt a growl building in its throat, and loosed it.

  For a moment the cat's footfalls thudding on snow were all she heard; then it roared as it reached the ælven's camp. Startled shouting, the frightened shrieks of horses, an agonized scream.

  Shalár started forward. The cat had killed and wanted to feed, but she would not let it do so. She paused to look through its eyes. A confused glimpse of a swinging sword that the cat dodged, then frightened ælven scrambling away as she sent it against them again.

  Withdrawing enough to remember her own flesh, she staggered forward, drawing her knife. The camp was in an uproar, two ælven down and four others huddled together, preparing to fend off the cat.

  One male had gone to the horses. Shalár circled the camp, following. The solitary ælven did not see her before she struck.

  A slash to the back. The ælven screamed in surprise and fell to his knees. Shalár slashed again, grimacing. Slitting his throat would have been quicker, but she wanted this to look like the catamount's work. She managed a cut down one side of the throat, enough to set the blood flowing freely, splashing across the snow. She hissed at its sharp scent.

  This one was finished. Hunger roared in her ears at the smell of his blood, but she turned away, left him bleeding into the snow and made for the camp where the four ælven were holding the cat at bay with drawn swords.

  Shalár swept her knife across the back of a male's neck, then sliced at his neighbor before he could turn. The distraction made them lower their swords, and the cat leapt at them. Shalár stumbled back, evading a wildly swinging sword. The cat snarled, pinned a female, then tore her throat out.

  Blood everywhere, spattered across the snow and the trees, its scent heavy on the breeze. The horses were shrieking in terror. She heard hoofbeats as one pulled free of its tether and galloped away down the road.

  Shalár ducked another blow from the sword of the sole survivor. Releasing the cat, she turned all her will toward the ælven, wrapping her khi around his in a fierce grip. He looked shocked and for a moment dropped his guard.

  It was all she needed. She parried his sword and stepped inside its reach, setting her knife to his throat, letting the black glass bite.

  “Drop your blade!”

  He stared at her, pale hair tangled across his face and his nostrils flaring with each short, sharp breath. The cat uttered a snarling grunt and commenced devouring the flesh of the female it had killed.

  The ælven's frightened eyes darted around the camp and widened with the realization that all his companions were slain. He let go his sword, which fell into the snow with a muted thump.

  “Good. Turn around.”

  Shalár stepped back as he obeyed her. The catamount growled, then sank its teeth into the shoulder of its prize and dragged the corpse away toward a thicket of gray bushes. Shalár caught hold of the ælven's long hunter's braid and laid her knife along his throat again.

  “On your knees.”

  He sank down in the trampled, bloodied snow. Shalár stood over him, pondering what to do next. She was dizzy and out of breath. She let go his hair and laid her hand on his shoulder, beginning to draw on his khi.

  The ælven gasped and sagged forward a little. Shalár tightened her grip on him. His khi gave her strength, though by now she needed more than just khi.

  “Where are you going?”

  “T-to Fireshore.”

  “Why?”

  “A message. For Governor Othanin.”

  “From?”

  “Governor Jharan.”

  Movement in the woods drew her attention. The Steppegard was staggering toward the camp. Shalár felt a stab of panic as she realized she had lost control of him as well as the cat, but he was too weak to be a threat or even to escape.

  He seemed to know it. He came to a halt beside a nearby pine, blinking as he leaned heavily against it. Shalár kept her gaze on him.

  “Who carries the message?”

  The ælven turned his head, then pointed toward one of the dead. “Korian.”

  Shalár looked at the Steppegard and jerked her head toward the corpse. “Find it.”

  Slowly the Steppegard pushed away from the tree, swayed a little, then came forward and dropped to his knees beside the dead ælven. He searched and a moment later held up a sealed parchment. It shook with the trembling of his hand.

  Shalár nudged her captive. “Any other messages or copies of this?”

  “No.”

  She shifted her grip on the knife, preparing to kill the ælven, but hesitated. The Steppegard, still on his knees, no longer watched her. He was looking at the corpse before him. He started to bend toward it.

  “No.”

  He looked up, nearly snarling. The golden eyes flashed with raging hunger. Her own hunger flared in response.

  She cast a glance around the camp. Nearby she saw a length of narrow cord lying coiled upon a rock.

  “Bring me that snare.”

  The Steppegard stared at her angrily, then slowly retrieved the cord. He brought it to her and gave her the parchment as well. She tucked the message into her leathers, then sheathed her knife and bound the ælven's hands behind him with the snare.

  Rarely had she done this. Even though she had renounced their creed long ago, she did not like to feed upon the ælven, who were, after all, her kin, deny it all they might.

  She had no choice, however. She was nearly spent and must feed now.

  She came around to stand before her captive, who looked up at her with fearful eyes. A fair-faced Greenglen. She would remember him. She owed him that much, as kindred.

  She glanced at the Steppegard. “Kneel there.”

  He moved beside the ælven, who turned his head to watch him. While the ælven was thus distracted, Shalár swiftly stepped forward and opened the vein of his throat, then bent to the wound and fed even as he cried out in pain and alarm.

  The first mouthful burned through her like sunfire, hot and so rich that it stung. She held the knife to his throat so that he wou
ld not struggle, reinforcing the threat with a grip on his khi as she drank deep of his life. She felt herself reviving, blossoming with strength. Every sound, from the shifting of snow on the branches overhead to the panicked shifting of the ælven's horses, became sharper and brighter.

  She paused, raising her head to breathe the cold air. She had the strength now to dull her captive's senses, and out of pity she did so. He breathed, but as in a trance, eyes far away, as were his thoughts, no doubt.

  The Steppegard was watching her in taut anxiety. She took hold of his khi again, letting him feel her grip. He flinched a little but continued to stare at her, mute and demanding. She smiled slightly and with her knife made a second cut on the ælven's throat, a downward claw stroke. She watched the Steppegard bend to it, watched him swallow with desperate urgency, then returned to her own feeding.

  Sometime later she felt the ælven's spirit depart, felt the sudden absence of his khi from the blood she was consuming. She continued a little longer, until drawing from the corpse became an effort. Letting go, she raised her head and watched the Steppegard until he, too, gave up.

  He sat back on his heels and looked at her, flushed with strength, eyes aglow. Now, if ever, he would take his chance and try to escape. Shalár braced herself, watching him warily.

  “Bright Lady.”

  His voice was hoarse with emotion. Shalár gripped her knife's hilt harder.

  His eyes traveled her form. She sensed a different hunger in his khi, a different need. So strong! She shivered, tried to mute the sensation of his rising desire. He might yet attack her, might yet try to overpower her.

  Watching him, she set the tip of her knife to its sheath and slowly pushed it in. The Steppegard's gaze followed her hand, then returned to her face. He swallowed.

  Shalár stood up. “Come here.”

  He obeyed, stepping over the ælven on whom they had fed. Glancing around the camp, she saw where someone had bedded down, blankets still covering a pile of brush. She led the Steppegard to it.

  He threw off his cloak and pulled off his tunic, then reached for her leathers. Startled, Shalár bore down sharply on his khi, causing him to grunt in surprise. He meant no harm to her; she could feel that now. Relenting, she let him undress her, let him cover her on the cold blanket, let him drive into her. She had the strength now to stop him in a heart's beat, but there was no need.