by Pati Nagle
He was good. So much better this way than bound and helpless. She should use this chance to try for a child, but before she could focus on the memories Yaras had shared with her, the Steppegard brought her to ecstasy. She pounded a fist against the snow and drove at him, feeling him flood her with seed, feeling his urgency ebb. They lay still for a moment; then Shalár softly laughed.
“Very good, Steppegard.”
He raised his head, the golden eyes that regarded her bright once more. “Ælven blood is so much better. Why do you even bother with kobalen?”
She raised her head, anger rising in her heart. “Because it is wrong. Understand, Steppegard, this is not our way. Today we had no choice but to feed upon ælven blood, but it is not our way.”
“But you care nothing for the creed.”
“That does not make me a savage. They are our kindred. Even the kobalen do not feed upon their kin.”
He was silent. She had the sense that she had not convinced him, but it mattered not. She controlled him; he would do as she bade.
They caught two of the ælven's horses and rode south until dawn drove them to seek cover. For Shalár, it required almost as much effort as controlling the catamount, since horses were terrified of her kind. Fortunately, the Steppegard had skill with the animals, and it seemed the hunger had not yet made him fearsome to them, so she had only her own mount to control.
She looked at the Steppegard, appraising his appearance with a critical eye. She had given him the fresh clothes she had brought for him: a tunic, legs, and cloak of Fireshore make, with a sash of Clan Sunriding's orange and gray, all from her carefully hoarded store. He would pass as an envoy, she thought. He must.
He had wanted to wear one of the Greenglens' swords as well, but that she would not permit. She had grieved to leave them all behind—seven swords of Southfæld make, a priceless treasure—but whoever discovered the slain Southfæld party must have no cause to suspect that any other than the catamount had killed them.
She turned to him. “How goes the darkwood harvest, Councillor?”
He glanced at her, eyes narrowing. “Well enough, though we have need of new saw blades for harvesting. The wood wears them too quickly, and our bladesmiths have all left Ghlanhras. I hope to speak with Glenhallow's smiths about commissioning some blades.”
Shalár nodded her approval. He spoke naturally enough, though the words were almost exactly as Irith had written from a conversation he had overheard in Ghlanhras. Shalár had taken Irith's notes back from the Steppegard, not wishing them to be found on his person in case he was searched.
“Why this charade, Bright Lady?”
“My reasons need not concern you. Be aware, however, that if you fail to carry it through, I will hunt you down.”
He grimaced. “There is no need to threaten me. I will carry it through.”
“Remember to inform them upon your arrival that you are a night-bider. A little haughtiness will serve you well.”
“That I can manage.”
“I doubt it not.” She looked at him, permitting herself a smile. “When you are finished there, come back to Nightsand.”
“Why in the name of all spirits would I do that?” His golden eyes flashed with sudden resentment.
“I will give you a house in the city and a position of honor in my guard if you desire it. A home, Steppegard. It is the only home for you now.”
He fell silent, and she did not press him further. He was wise enough to know he had no better choice. East of the Ebons, he would always be in danger of discovery.
She would treat him well when he came home to Nightsand. His strength would be a boon to Clan Darkshore. He would sire children, she hoped, though not upon her. She would not couple with him again, for it was with Dareth that she wished to conceive.
Some few nights brought them to Midrange, where they left the protection of Alpinon's woodlands the moment the sun set and rode cross-country into the foothills of Midrange Peak. There they unsaddled their horses and dumped the tack into a crevasse. The Steppegard wanted to keep his mount, but Shalár would not risk its being recognized. She turned both animals loose and sent him to approach the outpost on foot.
She stood in the shelter of the woods, following the Steppegard through his khi more than by sight. She could just see the glint of firelight at the ælven's camp below. This would be the moment that determined his chance of success in Glenhallow.
She extended her awareness through the ranks of trees and the small creatures of the woods to listen to the ælven even as she kept a wisp of khi around the Steppegard. She felt his anxiety but no great danger yet.
She could hear the ælven's voices, though it was hard to distinguish their words through the blurred awareness of trees and small beasts. She smelled horses and fire. She sensed feelings from the ælven more easily than hearing their speech, and so it was their sudden surprise that told her they had noticed the Steppegard's approach.
She tensed even as she felt the Steppegard's tautness rise. Giving nearly all of her awareness to the effort, she looked through the Steppegard's eyes and saw glimpses of woodland, firelight, tall Greenglens much like those they had slain in Alpinon. Questions were asked, and the Steppegard answered too swiftly for her to follow at this distance, though she understood the guarded curiosity they represented. The effort was costing her khi, but she spent it willingly.
The Steppegard's khi sparked with anticipation. He was trying to convince them of his urgency. Suddenly they were moving, clasping arms. She felt the shock of the Steppegard's contact with ælven khi. She had warned him to avoid that when he could, for his khi might betray him. It seemed not to have done so, however. Before long she sensed the looming shape of a horse, then the motion of riding.
Shalár withdrew from the Steppegard's khi, leaving only a small tendril of contact. He had convinced the Greenglens and talked them out of a mount.
Relieved, she brought her awareness back to her surroundings. Midrange Pass was too exposed, but there were lesser trails over these peaks, accessible to a solitary walker. The ælven at the outpost were too few to guard every rocky way.
She struck for a landmark crag that Yaras had described to her, anxious to be west of the Ebons again. She wanted to observe Ciris's progress with the gathering kobalen, wanted then to be home again in Night-sand, preparing her hunters to be warriors. Despite these concerns, she found her thoughts running southward with the Steppegard.
She was taking a great risk, letting him go. He might turn on her, betray her intentions to the ælven, though it would bring him little advantage. She had taken care to let him know nothing of her plans for Fireshore, but the exposure of his charade would certainly be enough to arouse suspicion.
She paused, turning to gaze toward the road. In her heart, she knew he would carry out her plan. They were alike in some ways.
“Ride swiftly, Steppegard.”
She stood still, listening, her breath icing in the chill of coming winter. She closed her eyes, shifting her attention to him, feeling his anticipation, his strength of will. Oh, yes, he would carry through.
She smiled and sent a pulse of khi after him to show him she was not weakening. Then she released him and turned westward.
Glenhallow
Well before sunrise, Turisan donned his riding leathers. He had spent much of the night in the council chamber, talking with Ehranan, his father, and several others of the possible unfolding of a second Midrange War. Afterward he had walked in the fountain court for a time, trying to find peace, but even when he had retired, he could not rest.
His heart was filled with tumult. His thoughts leaped ahead to the moment when he would speak to Eliani from Skyruach—touch her thoughts with her full permission—a moment he desired with a passion strangely intense.
She had agreed to this test, and to send a message from Fireshore, and that was all. He knew he must not expect more, yet what he expected and what he desired were wildly different.
He w
ent out to the stable courtyard, where a great number of attendants, far more than were needed to prepare two horses for a day's journey, seemed to have found occupation. Turisan saw the gray gelding he currently favored saddled and waiting, along with a lively roan from his father's string. Water skins and satchels of food had been tied to the saddles.
Luruthin joined him, dressed for riding, his hair caught back in a hunter's braid adorned with hawk's feathers. Turisan summoned a friendly smile.
“Thank you, Theyn Luruthin, for taking part in this journey.” He offered an arm, but the Stonereach stood aloof, merely nodding.
Very well. Perhaps that was best. There was more than one test underway.
Luruthin was kin to Eliani; thus, it was natural that he should be protective of her. Turisan began to wonder if there might be more to his reserve than that.
They mounted and rode out of the stable yard along the broad way that led to the public circle. Even there, folk stood waiting to watch their departure, but the crowd that milled in the public circle was far larger. They commenced cheering as the two riders approached.
Turisan saw a banner of Ælvanen white and gold, borne by Eastfæld's herald, near the falcon statue at the circle's center. Beneath it stood a small group of councillors. With a glance at Luruthin, Turisan guided his horse up to them.
Lady Rheneri greeted them, holding two beribboned parchments in her hands. She held up a hand, and the crowd fell silent.
“Good morrow to you, Lord Turisan, Theyn Luruthin. On behalf of the Council, we wish you good speed and safe riding.”
Turisan bowed in his saddle. “Thank you, my lady.”
Rheneri smiled, then stepped toward the roan. “Theyn Luruthin, I give these missives into your keeping. When you reach Skyruach, hand them over to Lord Turisan.”
Luruthin reached down to accept the messages. Ribbons of blue and violet, of silver and green, fluttered in the cool of morning. He tucked the parchments into his leathers.
Ehranan stepped up beside Turisan's horse and gazed up at him for a long moment. “I was at Westgard. I wish you success this day.”
Turisan nodded gravely. “I thank you.”
A breeze caught at Eastfæld's colors and tossed them above the heads of the councillors even as the sun's first rays broke over the horizon. Turisan glanced at Luruthin, then turned his horse eastward.
As they rode from the circle, the crowd began another rippling cheer. Turisan wondered if Eliani could hear it. He resisted an urge to glance back at Hallowhall. The Council would continue in session this day, and Jharan, if he knew his father at all, would be keeping a close eye on Lady Eliani.
When they were beyond the gates, he gave his horse a loose rein, and the gray led the roan in a gallop that carried them across the bridge and all the way to the Silverwash before they slowed. He glanced at Luruthin, whose eyes were lit with the plea sure of the run, and the Stonereach gave a reluctant smile. Turisan smiled back and sat at ease in the saddle, letting the horses set their own pace as they started northward along the river road.
“May I ask you a question, Lord Turisan?”
Glancing up, Turisan found his companion's green eyes watching him rather intently. He nodded. “Of course.”
“When did you and Eliani discover you shared mind-speech?”
Turisan reached down to stroke his horse's neck. He had been relieved that this issue had not been raised in the Council. Now it seemed he had not escaped it, after all. He met Luruthin's gaze. “During my visit to Alpinon.”
A small frown creased the other's brow. “And you have not yet tested it across distance?”
The question stung—an overreaction, Turisan knew. He drew a deep breath and phrased his answer carefully. “Lady Eliani had not decided whether she was willing to make use of the gift.”
“Ah.”
Feeling suddenly impatient, Turisan quickened their pace, leaving little leisure for further conversation. Even riding swiftly, it was past midday when they reached the broad valley where Skyruach loomed, a great black rock towering at the foot of a long slope.
They crossed a stream and paused to let their horses drink, then followed the watercourse uphill toward Skyruach. They began to pass conces, a scattered few at first, then more thickly strewn until the horses had to weave their way among them. At the foot of Skyruach they dismounted and left the horses to graze beside the stream, which formed a small pool at the base of the rock tower before running down the valley to join the Silverwash. Conces stood thick here, silent reminders of those who had perished in the fighting.
They both drank from their water skins, then began to ascend the great rock. Dark, heavy boulders had calved away in places, impeding the steep, narrow path to the top. The way passed near a gigantic conce that had been carved in relief into the very rock of Skyruach to memorialize Turon's army. Luruthin paused to read some of the many names carved upon it.
The exercise felt good after more than half a day in the saddle even though Turisan's thighs complained at the unaccustomed work. He was warm by the time they emerged onto the flat, roughly even surface of Skyruach. A brisk breeze out of the mountains caught at his hair, cooling him. He strolled north along the barren stone, gazing toward the peaks of Midrange Pass just visible in the distance.
Luruthin bent down to pick up a dart head of ebonglass, once razor-sharp, now weathered smooth by centuries of wind and rain. He turned it over in his hand, then looked up at Turisan.
Placing the dart head back on the rock, he straightened, reached into his tunic, and produced the sealed messages Lady Rheneri had given him. The ribbons fluttered in the breeze, blue and violet, pale green and silver.
Turisan's heart gave a sharp thump. He took the parchments—such fragile things, but they meant so much—and noted that the colors of the ribbons went well together. Stonereach and Greenglen. His heart quickened as he thought of them twining in larger, longer ribbons. Too sweet, that dream. He would be grateful for far less. With a wry half smile at Luruthin, he broke the first seal.
Eliani sat beside her father in the council chamber, trying to attend to the discussion. The topic had shifted from the probability of war at Midrange to the logistics of a general muster, and apart from giving the numbers of guardians Alpinon could contribute, Eliani had little to say. Her temples were beginning to ache, and she was tempted to lay her head on the council table, but imagining Lord Jharan's reaction quickly cured her.
Heléri was seated beside her, which she found a comfort. Lord Rephanin was also present, and Eliani had noticed him watching her intently more than once. She avoided meeting his gaze.
Eliani?
It was soft, it was gentle. Feather-light, Turisan's touch calmed her after her initial surprise.
She closed her eyes in acceptance. She had held herself so tightly to herself for so long that it took her a moment to relax, as if opening her cloak to a sudden ray of sun in the midst of winter.
I am here.
A wave of joy washed over her; his feeling, not hers, but she let it envelop her. It decreased a moment later as if pulled back, though not diminished.
Are you ready to write?
Eliani opened her eyes. Ehranan was speaking, detailing the forces that would be needed to defend Midrange Pass. She drew a page toward her and dipped her pen.
Yes.
Lord Felisan writes thus—
Eliani wrote “Felisan” at the top of the page and took down the words her father had sent with Luruthin:
My heart rejoices at your wondrous news.
This gift comes to us in good season.
May it bring you great joy.
The falcon and the kestrel are well matched.
That is very like my father. Eliani smiled as she completed writing the final line, and felt color rising to her cheek.
And on a separate page, Lord Jharan writes,
Eliani set the first message aside, noticing as she did so that Heléri was gazing at her. She gave her elder-mother
a small smile, then took a fresh page and wrote “Jharan” at its top. The Southfæld governor's message was longer:
To Lady Eliani and Lord Turisan,
Greeting—
Should your gift prove true it will be a great boon to our people. All ælven realms will honor you for the service you offer, which will be a ray of light in advance of the coming darkness. May it guide us through storm to a new place of peace. As the bards have written, “All blessings to the singers of the silent spirit, eternal joy rewards their dark and lonely toil.”
And that is most unlike my father, or rather, it is like him in that it contains a number of tricks.
Eliani frowned, reviewing what she had written. Tricks?
It is not in his usual style and includes errors. The verse he quotes is of the Lay of Lore, which our bards preserve by oral tradition, so it has never been written. He has also misquoted the verse. A further test, I must assume.
Eliani drew a breath and set down her pen. I think we may conclude success.
Turisan made no immediate answer. She sensed a vague regret, a breath of cool breeze, a glimpse of dizzying height.
Thank you, my lady.
She gazed at the two pages before her. You owe me no thanks. If I had not been so stubborn, you would not have had to ride out today. I—I apologize.
A flood of warmth threatened to overcome her. Never apologize! Never feel regret. I have imposed on you against your wishes; it is I who should apologize. Forgive me!
Eliani gave a soft laugh. Turisan's tenderness enfolded her, touching her to the core. It elated her and frightened her both. She felt dangerously adrift, yet she knew without doubt that she was safe.
Turisan?
She sensed his attention, again caught the brief impression of wind across a black cliff top. She felt as if she, too, stood at the edge of a precipice.