o0o
Eventually, she came to wonder if even her life was worth the torturous effort of her days. A bitterly cold wind now swept across the barren fields, and no amount of clothing kept her warm. Elzin found that her aching muscles had stiffened, making each movement as awkward as it was painful. Already she began to suspect why the Queen had been so willing to allow her to leave. Each time the Saire thought that she might give up and ask if they could return, she imagined the sarcastic, gloating welcome that Her Majesty would no doubt have prepared for her. When thoughts of her own safety were not enough, it was that which gave her the strength to go on.
o0o
At last, a day when the wind no longer slapped her horse's scarlet raiment against her legs. In the bright sun of the early morning, the cut crystals gaily sprinkled rainbows across the wintry fields. Elzin felt bent and achy as an arthritic crone, but her bones, though stiff, at least had warmed. The cocoon of her misery split, and for the first time she noticed that the count and his daughter seemed to be enjoying the long, cold days in the saddle. They laughed merrily as their dogs frisked about in the snow. For a moment, the blonde was envious of their happiness. How easy it must be for them, free from work or worry, simply by the accident of birth that made them noble.
By midday, when they stopped at an inn for their meal, the drifts had become a few shrinking, white islands in vast muddy seas. Though it fell often in the night during the brief winter season, snow was short-lived except in the mountains of Lhant. That it had lasted for three and a half days was a testimony to the unusually hostile winter that had seized the island in its unpleasant grip.
The innkeeper was plainly delighted at the prospect of having such distinguished and affluent guests, especially at this lean time of year. He put log after log into the stone fireplace, until Elzin worried that the roaring fire would surely leap the hearth. Mouthwatering smells drifted in from the kitchen: baking breads, roasting meats, bay leaves and thyme and cinnamon. Caldan unobtrusively slipped her a down pillow to cushion her much-abused rear from the wooden bench. A mug of hot, mulled cider was pushed into her hands; she took off her gloves and curled her palms around it, feeling the delicious warmth spread through her fingers. Leaning over her cup, she allowed the fragrant steam to bathe her face. Soon, the mug was empty and her heavy cloak warming by the hearth, instead of on her back.
The inns were what she looked forward to each day. Two stops, two milestones, one at midday, and one at night. It was exciting to be treated with such deference, to be waited upon hand and foot everywhere she might go.
Just as Elzin began to wonder where Caldan and his daughter had gone to, they appeared on the stairway. Castandra wore now a lighter, dark grey skirt, richly embroidered around the hem, waist and yoke. A dark grey jacket, embroidered in the same style, hugged the ruffles of the white blouse beneath so they frothed nearly to her chin. One of Castandra's twin servants carried a thinly lined grey cloak. The count, too, had changed into less heavy clothing.
They never seemed to mind the cold at all. Were all Tarskans that way, she wondered. Stuck high up in those dreary, cloud-shrouded mountains, she imagined that they must have to be.
They looked so alike, so tall, so lean, so dark-haired. Everyone said that Tarskans married with sisters or brothers, uncles or aunts, but she didn't believe it. Even if all five did look, well, sort of related.
Gods! Was it snowing again? And what was Beksann doing out there in the cold? The old woman stood statue still, hands tucked awkwardly beneath crossed arms. She didn't even move to brush away the white flurries that lit on her like icy flies. Who or what did she await, wondered Elzin. But a steaming bowl of spiced lamb stew demanded her attention, and by the time Beksann was remembered, she had gone.
Chapter Six
Luminous eyes mirror moonfire's glow,
Wary and certain to mark any foe.
Teach us to stalk on soft, silent feet,
So when danger is near we need never retreat.
Blend, become shadow--black, silver, or white,
Cunning can give us that pow’r over light.
Teach us your clever hunt of the rat,
We admire you, death, in the form of a cat.
--Kyr children's verse
Elzin adjusted the thin, silver band atop her head and peered into the inn's mottled mirror. She frowned. Like bad draperies, her heavy black robe hung in shapeless folds. Not, thought the Saire wryly, the glorious raiment that she had looked forward to her new position providing. Still, tradition called for it or the white ones, and while she had every intention of eventually thumbing her nose at that dull custom, she was, for the moment, happy to oblige. An awfully lot of pregnant could be hidden beneath those dreary drapes.
Saire, the Flute's day, had dawned clear and cold. Elzin's stomach fluttered with both excitement and dismay when she peered out from between the shutters to see the gathering crowd. Gods! There must be a hundred already; far too many for the inn to hold. Strange, how they looked so different from the folk of Linden Mill. Many of them wore rough woolens in a striped design that she had never seen before, and most of the women had woven their hair into intricate coils. Shepherds and farmers, Caldan had told her; most had never seen the sea.
How strange, never to have seen the waves crest--never to have heard the mewling cries of seabirds above the surf's sweet song, or felt its cool, salt spray upon their faces. How odd to be of Lhant and not to know her lifeblood, the sea. From out of one deep pocket, Elzin withdrew a treasured shred of hem, a final relic of her former life, and examined the delicate, pink spall-shells her mother had so lovingly sewn into the cloth. Closing her fingers around the scrap, the new Saire shut her eyes and wondered what it would be like to live a life bounded all by land and no grey ocean waters.
With a toss of golden curls, she banished the odd thought and pulled the shutters tight. These people had come to see her play. Many had walked all night just to be here. More than anything else, she wished to please them, to give them something to remember, something they could tell their children and their grandchildren for years to come.
Don't disappoint them, she thought furiously to the silver instrument. Don't make everyone sneeze in unison or have an onion flower sprout from the ground or something stupid like that. She had heard accounts of ceremonies that had fizzled into the ridiculous, and she dreaded it would happen to her now. She wanted to help make something wonderful for the strangers who would watch her, but, more practically, she needed their respect. If they merely shrugged their shoulders and shuffled home, her journey gained her nothing.
Beksann and she, escorted by elite, proceeded to the clearing chosen for the ceremony. As she walked, she recognized that she trampled winter wheat, that some farmer's crop had been destroyed so that she might play, and she felt badly for the family's loss. Perhaps she could reimburse them. Surely Saires had money. She would have to ask Caldan. The guards led her to the ruined field's highest point and then stepped back, along with Beksann, to watch from a respectful distance.
Elzin bowed her head and then looked into the expectant faces all around. Please them, came the silent prayer. Caldan gave her an encouraging smile. Taking that strength, she lifted the Saireflute to her lips.
For a moment, she paused. She had almost forgotten the necklace. Reaching inside her collar, she adjusted the silver chain so the coin would touch her skin. Their gasps confirmed that it had produced the desired effect. Unable to suppress a jubilant grin, Elzin began to play.
o0o
Pain. The voice of the Saireflute reverberated as if the tremendous music had been trapped within her skull and would pound itself free note by note; and yet, she could not stop. Her jaws ached, her teeth felt as if they loosened in their sockets, her much abused-muscles and bones seemed to warp beneath her skin. She felt herself sink to her hands? knees? and still the Flute played her on and on and around her and in her the white light seared her eyes, burned into her brain. It changed her. Sh
e changed.
o0o
The change in Elzin's light was the change between the tinder that smolders and then bursts into flame. Like the others, Caldan shielded his eyes and turned away. The scream of the instrument became the scream of a woman, and then, the scream of another being--a familiar scream that turned his spine to ice.
At his back, the sun on earth extinguished. Very slowly, he turned.
Five times the weight of a full grown man, dense white pelt bright as a beacon, the predator looked out of place in the muddy, trampled field, so far from her mountain killing grounds.
"Snow lion." The twins clung to one another as Olkor interposed himself between the beast and them. The lioness turned in a tight circle, then stood, lashing her tail.
"It sees we are unarmed," said Olkor lowly. "Why does it not attack?"
"Elzin," said Caldan.
"She’s gone."
“Is she? As if he were in the White Theater, as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred, the count gave the traditional bow. Castandra regained her composure a scarce moment afterward and curtsied. Elite and servants followed their master's examples, and the throng quickly took their cue.
"You’re sure it’s her, then?" asked Shagril.
Caldan did not take his eyes from the beast to answer the elite superior. "No. I am only sure that a panicked crowd would make things worse. Get them away--now."
"But is that thing the Saire?"
"I will know better in a moment, Superior Gage."
"Wait--"
But he did not wait. The snow lion allowed him to approach within a yard, then snarled and raised a forepaw larger than his head. Though the terrible claws were velveted, Caldan froze. If she struck him, she would need no claws to kill.
He softly spoke Elzin's name.
Growling, the cat pawed at her ears. The great head shook, the massive body gathered itself, the jaw that could splinter bone dropped. The great cat roared frustration to the sky. She sprang. Caldan crouched, but the lioness leaped nearly straight up, twisting to spring again in the other direction, away from him and the crowd. She bounded swiftly across the empty field that stretched between herself and the inn. At Caldan's back, the elite battled to hold the crowd. He followed the snow lion.
The creature's powerful hindquarters propelled her effortlessly to the roof of the inn's front entryway. Beams groaned beneath the animal's weight. Tail twitching with displeasure, she looked beyond the lone highlander to the mass of humanity which pressed ever closer.
She turned to the window behind her. The entryway's roof swayed like a hammock. Timbers buckled and cracked. Amidst falling shingles and snapping boards, the snow lion scrabbled for a foothold, then leaped between half-open shutters, which burst asunder in a shower of splinters and kindling.
o0o
Eager for a better view, the throng pushed against the Royal Elite. Voices rose, praising the Flute, its mistress, and the goddess Telriss, but above them all came shouts of the impatient, demanding to move into the inn. The quick-thinking innkeeper wormed his way closer to the guards and shouted out that for a suitable gratuity, he would be pleased to escort a "select group" into his establishment to see the creature in private.
Shagril Gage reached Caldan first. "My men cannot restrain the crowd forever, My Lord. Are you sure that beast is the Saire?"
"It must be, or I would surely have been killed." His tone, though, was more speculative than certain. A normal snow lion would have disemboweled him with a swipe of its paw for daring to come so close. Yet, if the great cat was Elzin in beast form, what did she intend? He became aware that Castandra gripped his arm fiercely, her face white as a morning moon. Brave girl! Unlike these lowland dolts, she knew swift death when she saw it. But she did not run. He squeezed her hand in mute praise.
o0o
White fur all on end, the great cat hissed at her terrible reflection in the room's looking glass.
"Elzin?"
She turned and dropped to her haunches.
The highlander slipped in through the doorway and latched the door behind him with an audible click, leaving even his hounds on the other side. If he erred, the door might at least slow the beast enough for the guards on the other side to set their arms. His own hands remained empty. No matter what the weapon, no one man stood against a snow lion and lived.
Obvious as a hen's egg in a hummingbird nest, the creature made no attempt to conceal herself, but sat like a statue molded in snow. She was not poised to strike. Caldan had seen snow lions cornered; he had seen snow lions die. But he had never seen them fear, or even show confusion. In this snow lion, he saw both.
"Elzin," he said. "Elzin." But she would not let him close. Instead, she sidled around him to rake the door with cruel claws, eyes beseeching, like a lapdog begging to go out. The highlander crouched beside her. "No, Elzin, you are safest here. Please stay." Something ugly glimmered to the surface of the beast's ice blue eyes. Beneath the curling muzzle, he caught a glimpse of fangs thick as fingers. Twisting, the cat rose against the door as floorboards groaned. Splinters showered like sparks from a smithy's forge, and her roar of rage and anguish drowned out his first warnings to the guards on the other side.
"Let her pass!" he cried.
With a shriek of torn metal, the door ripped from its hinges. The snow lion thundered down the stairs and bounded to the inn's main entrance, where she skidded to a halt. Snarling, the creature crouched and bared the four-inch long fangs that could crush an elk's vertebrae to powder. Seabold, a young elite just chosen from the reserve, interposed himself between the cat and the people who had overrun the outnumbered guard. With a single swipe of her paw, the furious creature flung him aside, where he lay, a heap of bloody rags.
Hissing, the snow lion glanced behind. Utterly savage and filled with fury, she was every inch the beast at bay. If Elzin's mind was yet imprisoned in that deadly form, it did not hold the upper hand, and Caldan knew that for the safety of all, Elzin not the least, she must be allowed to escape. The baleful glare turned outward again, and the councilor found his voice.
"Gage! Clear a path for her! Castandra! Your dogs!" He called upon his own hounds as well, and they began to part the crowd, silent as black smoke spun on an erratic wind, their lips drawn back to reveal pointed rows of polished white, sharp as broken glass. While most of the villagers believed that Gage's men would not harm them, they had no such confidence in the enormous, foreign dogs. Quickly, they fell back before them.
The snow lion rushed through the opening like steam through a kettle-spout and streaked northward into the wood without a backward glance.
Castandra rushed to the fallen guard's side, and Superior Gage was soon at Caldan's elbow. "Will you ride with us after the Saire?"
"I cannot pretend to know if the beast is the Saire any longer, but, yes, I will ride after her. Leave half of your men here. Too large a group will slow us, and the crowd must be kept from following."
Not ten paces from the stable, Olkor met him with Thunder. The big bay was saddled and ready, a heavy riding cloak thrown over his saddle.
"There are journey cakes and water, and some grain for Thunder. Wind to your back."
"Better you at my back than even the wind," the councilor declared, swinging aboard his stallion. "Remain here; the Saire may yet return, and Beksann must be watched as well."
"It will be done."
o0o
Calling the hounds to him, Caldan reined in his horse. It had been hours since they started after the snow lion, and neither Shagril Gage nor his men had caught up. By the same token, neither he nor the dogs had sighted the snow lion. Gage's delay was no surprise; Val Torska knew that Olkor's quick thinking had given him a good head start. However, the big cat's endurance alarmed him. Snow lions were not designed for fast travel over long distances; they preferred to outwit their pursuers and wait for them in ambush. Yet Dagger and Arrow had gleefully raced on, straight in their course as twin arrows, as unconcerned as if they ran
rabbits in an open field. They were no pups; they had hunted snow lion, and never had they acted so irresponsibly.
It had to have something to do with the magic of the Saireflute. From the moment of the snow lion's appearance, the hounds had shown indifference to it. What did they see when they looked at the creature? See, and perhaps, scent as well?
Behind himself, he saw no sign of Superior Gage or the rest of the Saire's Royal Elite. Thunder breathed easily now, blowing gentle puffs of vapor as he snuffed the air experimentally. He could afford to delay no longer. Elzin was dangerous, to herself and to others. Caldan sent the hounds out again.
They hurtled through the woods, two low, dark shadows, silent as if cast by the laboring horse and man that followed them. Val Torska trusted Thunder to follow the coursers while he fended off the branches that snatched at him from all sides. Each tree seemed determined to shake off the remains of the melted snow; he was soaked with their bounty. When he tossed his head, once more to fling his dripping hair from his eyes, Thunder stopped so suddenly he was nearly unseated.
The coursers sat, side by side, grinning widely.
"Resume," he ordered.
Dagger and Arrow tipped their heads quizzically.
"Resume!"
The dogs were having none of it. They sniffed the air politely, then turned to him, as if awaiting further orders.
"Elzin?" The count studied the woods, darker now as the sun began its descent. "Elzin!" An owl, awakened early, sleepily answered his call.
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