The Devotion of Delflenor

by R. Cooper

  She looked down at Prityal, then back up as she realized the bellow barely carrying to her on the wind was not Delflenor, but Delf.

  “Thank fuck,” Delf mumbled, shaking Prityal as if that would wake her. “They are here. They got the message.”

  She was not certain how many sunsets or sunrises there had been, but knew whoever had answered her call must have ridden out without delay. She was fortunate, or blessed, to have been found so quickly.

  She squinted at the figure in the distance, but gave up trying to identify them and slowed Frire before stopping altogether. Frire was breathing hard.

  Delf cooed to him as Prityal would have. “You are a noble beast and a warrior worthy of her. Thank you. We will reward you with so much attention when this is over.”

  Her vision went spotty. She could not remember eating last, which may have been why.

  Kee nosed her leg, then nipped it. Delf tangled a hand in her mane. “Sorry, dear one. I adore you, too.”

  “Delf!”

  Delf raised her head.

  The large figure atop a huge, sky-blue and white icor could only be Ange. Delf made a watery sound of relief and urged Frire back to a walk, now in Ange’s direction.

  Ange leapt from the saddle the moment she was close. “Shit. Look at you. How did you reach this place so quickly? You should still be… What the….” Ange was all in leather armor, a sword strapped to her back as though she had expected battle. She swept an alarmed look over Delf before focusing on the person resting limply in her arms. She stopped. “Tell me she’s not—”

  “She lives.” Delf’s voice broke but the words emerged. She swallowed but her throat stayed dry. “You have to take her. You have to get her to the Seat so they can find what’s wrong. I will follow, but I’m… Frire needs to rest. I promised I would get her there. I can’t… Ange, please.”

  “Delf. Delf.” Ange had the sound of someone who was repeating themselves. Delf forced herself to silence and Ange came forward. Frire, who knew her, stopped, although his ears stayed flat.

  “You have to take her,” Delf said, hot with temper or fever, as defiant as Frire himself. Her muscles locked when Ange reached for Prityal.

  “Delflenor,” Ange pronounced her name softly when Delf could not let go, “I will get her there. I promise.” She put a hand over Delf’s. “Give her to me, and let me see to her, and then I will see to you. Did you not rest? Your icors—”

  “There is no time for that,” Delf argued, her jaw tight, but pulled her arms away and allowed Ange to lower Prityal to the ground. Delf wanted to follow her, but her limbs were stiff and clumsy. By the time she was down, Ange had poured fresh water over Prityal’s mouth and rubbed her hands to warm them.

  “I have the knife he used, if they need it.” Delf didn’t know what pieces of the message had been sent, or what Ange understood, but she grabbed Rosset’s blade from the packs and handed it over. Ange tucked it into her belt with only a cursory glance. She frowned at Delf, then at Prityal, before picking Prityal up and settling her over her saddle. It was undignified and did not suit the Hope, but it would get a living Prityal to the Seat.

  Delf focused on what else needed to be done, and spoke, not recognizing her own voice, so harsh and dry. “He said we did not have much time, and worried about the setting sun, that first night. It has been at least three sunsets since then, perhaps four.” Perhaps five. Delf could not be sure. “You have to get her to the Seat, to healers. I don’t know what magic… she was feverish with no fever. Fatigued to where she could not stand on her own. At first, she barely ate, and then she would not eat at all. We raced—you have to get her there. Swear it.”

  Ange stopped Delf with a hand on her shoulder. “I will. There are more behind me, traveling slower. They came with a caravan for her.”

  Delf shook her head. “You will have to be faster than that. Take her. Now.”

  Ange narrowed her eyes. “What about you? I can’t leave you like this.”

  “I will follow,” Delf said again, her voice rising. “I will find the caravan. I will allow them to tend to me. Just go! Now! Please!”

  “Fuck,” Ange muttered, but jerked her head in agreement. “You had better reach the Seat, or I will kill you myself.”

  She turned back to her icor and swung herself up into the saddle, then tugged Prityal closer to help keep her still for what would likely be a rough ride.

  “Just get her there,” Delf called out, swaying on her feet. She managed to stay upright until Prityal and Ange were dots in the distance.

  Then she fell to the ground, onto what felt like dry grass, and tried to catch her breath.

  DELF LET the icors eat, and rest, and then clambered onto Kee’s back and slumped forward once they were moving in the direction of the road. Frire followed, perhaps because he knew it was the way home, or perhaps to stay with Kee.

  It was sunset when she spotted the caravan. Two squires rode in front of it, and a priest of Owan, dedicated to healing skills, sat inside. The squires were familiar but names were currently beyond Delf. She fell from the saddle and instructed the icors to behave and spent a night lying on a cot in the caravan as it lurched back toward the Seat.

  The priest gave her water and something for her fever, or for her pain, that was bitter. She had her wound washed and packed with new herbs, and pretended she did not hear the woman hiss at the redness around her stitches. She obediently drank the watery porridge that was prepared for her. But in the morning, Delf was back on Kee and leaving the caravan to ride for the Seat at a faster pace, Frire close behind.

  Eighteen

  promise met

  DELF DID NOT recall the moment of reaching the barracks. She remembered sliding from Kee’s back, and squires and begleys parting to make way for the Stablemaster, and Frire following behind the Stablemaster like a tired pup. Then Delf was walked through a chilled corridor and across a courtyard.

  She woke in a room she didn’t know. It was not the room of a knight, if only because it was not filled with bits of armor or sewing. She also woke to pain radiating from her upper arm and was not sure if that was good or bad.

  She stumbled from the empty room without bothering to discover which, or to find her boots, which had been removed, or to sweep her hair back, though that would have pained Prityal. As long as Prityal breathed, Delf’s hair could be dealt with later.

  It was evening or early morning, judging from the light. Delf passed through the feasting hall, which was quiet. Begleys hurried in different directions—lessons were lessons no matter what else happened in Ainle—but they didn’t gossip or laugh together as they went. They looked at her strangely, and one offered to fetch her water, so Delf shook her head and moved on and didn’t ask them for news.

  She wandered instead, slowly, on trembling limbs, uncertain of where Prityal would be, or even of the location of Prityal’s room, until she found a hallway filled with too many people.

  No one wept, but the air was somber. Delf slipped in among the crowd, moving until she found a space of wall to lean against. The focus of all the attention was a closed door. Directly outside it were several priests, though for which spirits Delf could not say, but each priest appeared exhausted.

  She ignored the glances she received, and kept her tongue behind her teeth until a sharp tug on her shoulder drew her down onto a stool that hadn’t been there when she’d arrived. She sat hard, with a grunt, and stared in bewilderment as Tay drew up another stool next to her while Ona got situated at Delf’s other side.

  “An ambush?” Delf wondered, days of tension and little sleep or food revealed in her hoarse voice.

  “I did not think you would wake this early,” Tay observed. “But I was unsurprised to see you here instead of in someone’s care.” He clucked his tongue. “I had lessons to give this morning, and duties to oversee since so many other knights are otherwise occupied. But I thought I might be more of use here, at the moment. Well, with some assistance. Ona volunteered.”

>   Ona held out a cup with mer good arm. “Your wound was cleaned last night, but it looks as though it needs it again.”

  Delf spared a moment to stare at the exposed, reddened flesh below her shoulder. It was not a good color, though the stitches appeared neater.

  “A healer redid them last night while you were already asleep.” Tay filled her in. “Whoever did them originally did not have much skill with a needle.” Delf gave Tay a harsh glance, and he put his hand up innocently. “You had also torn some loose in your dash through the woods.”

  Ona pushed the cup toward Delf. It smelled strongly of herbs.

  “To help you heal faster. Nothing for the pain or to make you sleep. Although,” Ona paused, “they are mixed with wine.”

  Tay knew Delf too well.

  Delf took the cup and emptied it, causing Ona’s eyes to go wide. But ame accepted the cup and set it on the ground. Delf considered mer and then Tay, before staring at the door once again. “Tell me.”

  “You were right to bring the knife,” Tay explained immediately. “As best as they can tell, it’s very old, and etched and stained with markings they have not deciphered yet. Do you know where Rosset found it?”

  “I know next to nothing of that knife,” Delf answered blankly, then raised her head. The hallway was quiet, and the others were listening to her. “But he likely found it at that ruin. Did the sunset matter?” She looked at Tay. “He mentioned it. Does it matter?”

  Tay lost what trace of a smile he had. “It may. The old stories, when people did that sort of magic, usually had endings in mind. Not always. Three days have passed. So it wasn’t a three-day spell. Perhaps it is seven. Or perhaps there is no set ending.”

  That was not much of a balm. If Prityal could not eat or drink, she could not hold on indefinitely.

  “Seven days from sunset or from sunup?” Delf dropped her head and buried her hands in her hair. “How long did I sleep? How many days are left? We shouldn’t have stopped. I shouldn’t have stopped. I should’ve kept riding!”

  “Delf.” Tay grabbed her shoulder and turned her toward him, speaking over Delf’s involuntary gasp of surprised pain. “Listen to me. Healers and priests of the Three have been in with her since Ange brought her. They believe they are slowing the effects of the magic. Several of us are preparing to ride out to find this Rosset. They will take more priests with them.”

  Delf shook her head. “It will be too late by the time they get there.”

  “But they will get there all the same, and hopefully find some answers.” Tay lowered his voice. “A magic-user and knight. What times we live in.”

  “Like those before us,” Ona remarked, with too much excitement for Delf to approve.

  But Delf was worn, and closed her eyes. “I don’t know how long I rode. She has only another day. Or just today.”

  “We don’t know that,” Ona protested quietly.

  Delf looked sideways to Tay. He tightened his mouth, but nodded.

  The door burst open.

  Delf as well as everyone turned toward the sound with wide eyes and desperate expressions.

  Bon emerged. One of Delf’s former teachers and one of the priests meant to advise the chevetein. She appeared not at all as vibrant as she usually did. Her braids had slipped loose from the wooden pin at the back of her neck and her red robe was askew.

  Through the open doorway, Delf glimpsed Jareth, seated in a chair at a bedside, and Ran, standing. Delf could only see the end of the bed, and the barest outline of a body beneath many blankets.

  “You don’t understand,” Prityal’s voice was difficult to recognize, thick with sleep or herbs or magic. “I have to go.”

  “You have to rest.” Jareth put one hand on the bed, not nearly enough to hold down Prityal if she had been well.

  “I promised,” Prityal hissed, as though she would rage if her body would let her.

  Jareth, pale with worry or her own unhealed injuries, responded with a sad smile. “Rest now,” she said, in the tone of a merchant about to bargain, “and when she—”

  Bon closed the door behind her.

  Delf stared at it, then Bon, before drawing in a shuddering breath. “She’s awake again?”

  “They’ve been sending in anyone capable of spells for health and strength. It seems to be working. She’s talking more.” Tay hesitated. “Although no one can make much sense of what she says.”

  Bon looked at Delf directly. “We were hoping you might know.”

  “Ask better questions,” Delf returned, making as much sense to them as Prityal must. She bit her lip, but there was no point in concealing Rosset’s views, troublesome though they were. “Rosset believed she needed to be here to find the new chevetein.” She heard shuffling feet, exchanged whispers, felt the ripple of surprise carry down the hall. “Being Prityal, she all but vowed to do so. She likely thinks of it now, through everything else.”

  “Knights,” Bon growled, before throwing her hands up and storming from the hall. She snapped her fingers at several of the priests lingering there and they scuttled after her.

  “Prit doesn’t ‘all but’ do anything. She does it,” Tay pointed out once the hall was quiet again. He made a thoughtful sound. “Do you think she is meant to find the chevetein? I always thought it would be her.”

  “Everyone thinks that. She is the best of us.” Delf stared at the others in the hallway without noting a single face, then blinked and recognized each of them as people she had taught, or eaten with, or shared conversation with on a long ride. They were watching her as if she had the answer, expecting her to know how to save their champion.

  Delf rose to her feet and pretended the hallway did not spin. “Pray to whichever of the Wise you favor that an answer will be found. We don’t have much time.” Rosset had said ‘sunset.’ Rosset had wanted them to be here, as though a solution could be found only at the Seat. “Seven days,” she whispered, before looking at Tay. “She is all that has been holding us together. That was wrong of us to let that happen. It was too much to put on anyone, even someone as great as her. And she’s still worrying about it even though she is….”

  She did not say the words, but some of those around her flinched.

  Delf took another breath. Prityal had not asked to be Ainle’s hero, she had decided to be. She still was. Delf considered the door and the marvelous person beyond it.

  “Rosset took the Strength but Hope remains,” Delf murmured, and turned from everyone else but Tay. The other knights of the high circle were gone on other tasks, or injured. Tay would lead if they could not.

  “The barracks and Ainle will not fail her.” The words were still rough but Delf did not speak them quietly. “There are people, potential students, in that village. When they go to find Rosset, tell them that they are welcome here. Offer them a way to come if they have none. And ask the priests about attending to their shrines. The land will not fail her, either.”

  “All right. All right.” Tay meant it to be soothing, but he stood up and he pulled Delf with him. “And you cannot fail her, or us, so you need to clean. To rest. Perhaps eat. And tell me more.”

  “Yes,” Delf agreed with no intention of leaving the doorway, though she would have chastised Prityal for doing the same. “I will do that soon enough.”

  “You will do it now,” Ange boomed from behind her. Delf turned. Ange straightened to her full height to glare down at her, but her sternness elicited not even a shiver.

  Delf took her position and held it. “Later is fine.”

  Ange snorted. “Delflenor the Most Stubborn.”

  Delf went cold, then flushed with heat.

  Ange’s expression grew knowing as she went on. “You will not fail her, and you will not fail us, by dying of an easily preventable wound-fever and exhaustion. You will clean, and you will rest, and you will eat, and then you may return here. I’d have you do it sooner, but I am not sure what effect you’d have on her like this.”

  Delf met Ange’s eyes. “
Seven days, Ange.”

  Ange’s glare softened. “It’s only one theory. And she is awake again, which is better than when she arrived. She has said that name twice now, you know,” Ange continued, only for Delf and perhaps Tay to hear. “Not much else that we can follow, but that epithet has Jareth curious. And probably every priest who heard it. And me.”

  “You cannot quest or sit vigil in the shape you’re in,” Tay butted in while Delf fought for an answer, situating himself as the voice of reason. “Let us tend to you, as you would have her tended to, and then you may come back here.”

  “I’ll fucking carry you if I have to,” Ange added with relish, as though ready for battle.

  “You can worry just as well there as here,” Ona commented, with a more cunning smile that Delf would have expected from mer a few moments before.

  “Or think of a solution,” Tay chimed in, sliding his arm under Delf’s to steer her around.

  Delf would have put her foot down if she’d had the strength, which supported her friends’ notions that she needed care. She stared at them unhappily, regardless. “What makes you think I will do either of those things?”

  “We know you.” Ange swept Delf out of Tay’s hold and into her arms. Delf was not light, but Ange did not put her down. “And so does Prit, it seems.”

  DELF SAT hunched in one of the tubs used to wash those too sick or injured to use the communal warm-water baths, her arms around her bent legs, water streaming from her hair down her face and back because Ange had enjoyed dumping several buckets over her head. She was also in the laundry building, because it had heated water available and offered some privacy in the form of Tay and Ange standing guard around the tub. Though Delf suspected they were also there to keep Delf from leaving until the bath was done.

  She stared back at them, unembarrassed, and ignored the busy launderers and squires running around not too far away.