Anxiety balled in the pit of Kevral’s stomach. Danger never frightened Renshai, but sorcery could prove a threat she had no means to analyze or counter. “What is it?”
El-brinith shrugged.
Chan’rék’ril addressed Kevral’s need. “I don’t even notice it.” He indicated El-brinith by inclining his head toward her. “She’s working on it.”
“She’d better work quickly,” Tae said. “We’ve got company.”
Kevral jerked around, eyes scanning the silver. She saw nothing out of place, just a few shadows pressing dark against the fog. “Where?”
“Ahead.” Tae’s direction meant little since it varied by position and he did not point. Kevral studied the mist, orienting herself by Tae. Gradually, she noticed that some of the dark splotches appeared to be moving toward them.
Hands glided back to hilts and hafts, except Kevral’s and the elves’. The latter had too little training to perform an act so instinctively warlike, and Kevral avoided doing so as a matter of pride. Renshai training should make her capable of drawing and cutting faster than even the most readied soldier could strike with a weapon in hand.
But the three figures who materialized from the fog carried no obvious weaponry and took no notice of their visitors’ preparedness. All female, they sported long, silver hair so silky it reflected rainbow colors from the damp. Dark, slitted eyes more pupil than white peered out from heart-shaped faces that resembled elves more than humans. Slender arms and legs jutted from torsos shorter than, but nearly as bulky as, Béarnides’. Despite lumpish bodies carried on wiry legs, they moved with the grace of dancers. Expertly woven from material that shimmered in the gloom, their dresses swirled around their ankles with every movement.
Andvari’s fingers slid from his ax, and the others followed in subtle motions. As usual, Ra-khir accepted the position as negotiator, challenged by no one. Like herself, Kevral guessed, most felt relieved that he willingly took this responsibility.
“Hello,” Ra-khir said, avoiding the “greetings” salutation that had so irritated the Collector. “I am Sir Ra-khir Kedrin’s son, knight to the Erythanian and Béarnian kings: His Grace, King Humfreet and His Majesty, King Griff.” He bowed graciously.
The women glanced at one another. Then, they mimicked Ra-khir’s bow. The middle one spoke, her voice tinny and with an inflection as Western as his own. “Hello Ra-khir Kedrin’s son, knight to the Airyth . . . the Eryth . . .”
Kevral suspected the woman believed the entire title Ra-khir’s name. Recalling her own attempts to learn elfin names, she had to admit the woman had done better than she could have under the same circumstances.
“Ra-khir will do,” the knight interrupted hurriedly.
“Hello, Ra-khir.” The one to the right turned her stammering companion a glare. “I’m Lissa.” She gestured at her associates with a stiff-fingered hand. “These are Sassar.” The middle one nodded. “And Phislah.”
Ra-khir indicated each of the rest of the party, limiting himself to personal names without parentage or titles. As he did so, Kevral marveled at how strange it seemed that people from another world who appeared so alien spoke human trading tongue at all, let alone fluently. Communication had not bothered her during the previous two trials: it made sense that a former bard would speak trading, and the well-traveled Collector probably used many languages. Only now, she realized another reason why the Council had insisted on such a diverse party, beyond diplomacy. Among them, they spoke the languages of every known intelligent creature, save only barbarian. Of course, they only needed Tae, an elf, and me for that. Tae’s natural verbal propensity and his experience also made him competent to pick up new forms of communication rapidly.
Introductions finished, Ra-khir continued. “We apologize for barging in on your world, but we’re looking for something.”
“What are you looking for?” Sassar questioned. “Perhaps we can help you.”
Kevral smiled. It seemed this would prove the easiest shard of all to obtain. As much as she appreciated a rousing battle, had even hoped for one when they started, she knew it best to gather the shards with as little bloodshed as possible, especially of their own. She turned her attention to El-brinith as Ra-khir described the Pica shard. The elf had settled to a cross-legged position in the detritus, her head bowed and a hand gripping each knee. Blonde hair, with barely a trace of red, dangled like a curtain. Worried for her, Kevral looked at Chan’rék’ril.
The male elf sent Kevral a directed khohlar, *She’s locating the shard.* He raised one brow over a gemlike yellow eye. *And she’s fascinated by this magic she’s discovered. Apparently, it’s extensive. She thinks the mist is related.*
Phislah spoke her first words, her voice flighty and higher-pitched than the others. “I’ve seen nothing like that.”
“Me neither,” Sassar added.
Lissa only shook her head.
“But you’re welcome to look for it,” Sassar continued. “We’ll even assist.”
“Thank you,” Ra-khir showed his grin through the party. “I think we can find it. And you will be compensated.” He, too, studied El-brinith now. Beads of moisture rolled from the elf’s hairline, an oddity Kevral could not miss. She had never noticed elves sweating and wondered whether it came of intense effort or the fog.
Apparently recognizing every gaze on her, El-brinith raised her face, revealing a frown, and shook her head ever so slightly. “Can’t locate it.”
“Why not?” Darris piped in, needing the information for reasons beyond just finding a means around the problem.
“Interference.” El-brinith’s head shaking grew more fervent. “This whole world is vibrant with magic, and I can’t get past it to cast my own.”
Kevral turned the strangers a look that demanded explanation, but they seemed to take no notice of it.
“We’ll bring you back to our village,” Lissa suggested. “Let everyone know you’re here and your purpose. If no one else knows where to find this sapphire fragment, we’ll help you look.”
Ra-khir glanced around, seeking dissenters. When no one spoke up against the plan, he told Lissa. “That sounds fine. Thank you for your assistance.”
“Perhaps,” Tae suggested, “we should know what we might run into here.”
The strange women turned toward him. A light breeze that barely stirred Kevral’s bangs tugged their fine hair into streamers, and their light garments billowed around them. Again, Kevral marveled at the craftsmanship and fabric. Even in Béarn’s castle, she had never seen material both so gossamer and so sturdy nor one that seemed to glimmer from the spectrum of color that natural humidity evinced. The tailor had woven it in stitches so tight that Kevral could elicit no seams or flaws.
Tae clarified. “Other people less friendly than you. Perhaps enemies of your village or those among you who don’t like outworlders.” He used the term usually applied to elves but which seemed apt here. “Large or ferocious animals.”
Sassar laughed, the sound pitched almost beyond the range of Kevral’s hearing. “Nothing like that. You’ll find our people hospitable and the only intelligent creatures here. The few animals left won’t harm you.”
Phislah gave Sassar a look Kevral could not read.
Tae asked the question on every mind. “Left?”
Lissa explained, “We’ve not had a good year for our animals. Some years are like that, no?”
“Unfortunately,” Darris confirmed, more attentive than most to the cycles of nature as well as livestock. “Shall we go?”
Kevral added her nod to the others shifting erratically through the group. Only El-brinith gave no sign, having returned to her slumped position. As he often did, Chan’rék’ril spoke for her. “She wants to stay.” He did not explain, though Kevral guessed it had to do with her fascination with the odd magic and her need to unravel it. The Renshai had found herself as fanatically devoted to war maneuvers whose fundamental purpose, use, or execution eluded her at first.
Ra-khi
r opened his mouth to question, silenced by a poke in the ribs from Kevral’s elbow. She would explain later. Darris’ unsolicited nod suggested Chan’rék’ril had explained the situation to him in khohlar, wisely understanding that the bard would most require an immediate justification. Tae’s nostrils flared, but he chose silence. Familiar with subterfuge, he probably understood that the reasons might not please their hostesses and better remained with the party, even if only a few members knew.
“I’ll stay with her,” Chan’rék’ril volunteered.
Ra-khir acknowledged the elf’s words, and the sense of his decision, with a nod. Kevral knew a warrior should remain behind as well, in case El-brinith encountered resistance or open hostility. However, she worried more for danger at the village. To leave their only Renshai here seemed foolishness of the basest sort. They needed Ra-khir’s diplomacy, and neither Tae nor Rascal would prove much assistance in a face-to-face confrontation.
Kevral glanced toward Darris, but the bard had followed the logic as swiftly. “I’ll stay, too,” he said with a hesitancy that suggested he might have made a bad decision. Kevral suspected that had more to do with worrying that the more interesting material for song would occur at the village, though the need to understand El-brinith’s interest had to fascinate him as well.
“Do you think they’re safe?” Kevral whispered to Ra-khir.
“We trust him with the king’s life,” Ra-khir reminded.
Kevral had little choice but to accept the answer. Though Darris’ sword skills had never particularly impressed her, she had had few chances to evaluate them. Embroiled in her own battles, protecting Matrinka concurrently, she had rarely watched him fight, though he seemed to hold his own. Others described him as more than capable. Accustomed to Renshai, she rarely considered any other better than barely adequate. The elves’ khohlar, when distilled into a cry for help, carried reasonably far. She trusted Darris to hold off enemies long enough for Chan’rék’ril or El-brinith to call for them. “Let’s go, then.”
Kevral and Ra-khir, Andvari, Rascal, and Tae followed Lissa and Sassar, while Phislah dashed ahead to warn the village of their arrival. The women moved with a graceful quiet amid the leaves, gliding through the roiling mist. As Kevral’s eyes grew more accustomed to light glazed into patches by fog, she believed she could see further. Dark shapes sharpened into trees, deadfalls, and a lake long before she worried for running into them. Fog seemed to billow from the water, like smoke from a steaming pot. Yet the coolness of the air around them defied the image.
Gradually, straight lines appeared at the edge of Kevral’s vision, and movement became discernible. The shadows resolved into a series of cottages with walls constructed from woven thatch. Massive looms filled the spaces between cottages, partially crafted clothing stretched across the frames. Figures drifted toward them, all similar to those of Lissa, Sassar, and Phislah. As they stepped into view, Kevral recognized Phislah at the head of a group of strangers. None carried weapons, and they all wore somber expressions, difficult to read. Kevral sensed no tenseness or hostility, so she offered them a smile.
Several grinned back at her. They appeared of like breeding: all silver-haired, dark-eyed, and female. Kevral wondered for their reproductive capacities, though she felt it impolite to ask. She noticed no children among them either. All appeared to be in their late teens to early thirties. Nearly all sported the rounded abdomen that seemed so out of place for their spindly limbs, and she wondered if they might all be pregnant. Her thoughts channeled in odd directions, and she wondered if a lone man existed somewhere. Perhaps he slaughtered the boy babies to avoid competition, which would explain why these women appeared so kindred. Kevral frowned at an idea so repugnant it bothered her long after she realized she was only guessing. Surely a group that appeared to consist of about twenty-five women, no matter how peaceful, would band together against such a heinous dullard.
As if in reminder, the baby kicked, drawing Kevral from her thoughts. A flash of rage accompanied the movement, and she wondered how much her ideas, and her disgust, stemmed from King Cymion’s dastardly and craven actions. She abandoned the train of thought for now, but moved nearer to Ra-khir. If such a system existed, it might endanger their men.
Phislah addressed Ra-khir. “I’m afraid no one’s seen or heard of this sapphire shard, but you’re welcome to look for it.”
Ra-khir’s expression went stricken, likely at the thought of combing an entire world for a tiny piece of gemstone that might turn up anywhere.
Apparently noticing Ra-khir’s discomfort, Sassar suggested, “We will help you, but we’ll need direction. Perhaps some of you could lead groups to look in the forest and others could stay and search amid our homes.”
The idea of further splitting the group jangled at Kevral’s nerves, but she trusted Tae and Rascal to evade trouble. She worried little for Andvari, and she would keep Ra-khir at her side.
“I’ll lead a group out,” Tae said, his intentions obvious to Kevral. He knew the woodlands best, and they would give him plenty of places to hide should danger appear.
Andvari’s gaze rolled to Kevral’s expanding abdomen. “I’ll head out, too.” He gave no reason; it would only incite a new wave of argument between them, but he clearly believed it best that she stay in the village.
“I goes wit’ him.” Rascal jabbed a finger at Andvari. Deliberately avoiding Tae, she clearly saw Andvari as the most reasonable alternative.
Kevral would have preferred that the three stay together, but she knew that would double the time it took them to find the shard.
“How big is this place anyway?” Tae shook back locks that barely fell past his ears, Matrinka’s handiwork. His tone contained clear doubt.
“Not too,” an unnamed woman said.
“You’ve traveled across most of it,” Lissa said. “We’ll find it.”
Kevral found the words reassuring for more reasons than that it would make searching simpler. It became much less likely that they would stray beyond khohlar range. “Whoever finds the shard should go to El-brinith. She should be able to call the rest.”
“Good idea.” Ra-khir took Kevral’s hand. “I guess that leaves the two of us to check the village.”
Believing her husband spoke to the strangers, not her, Kevral gave no answer. She watched Tae head out, trailed by a dozen of the women. Guided by Lissa, Andvari and Rascal set off in the opposite direction, another dozen women scuttling after them. Soon, the fog swallowed both groups, leaving Ra-khir, Kevral, Sassar, and at least twenty more of the strangers at the village. Kevral revised her count, guessing as many as sixty might live here, though that would mean at least four bodies to any one cottage.
“You make your own clothing.” Ra-khir stated the obvious, gaze traveling to the top of a broad, upright loom, attempting to elicit an explanation without directly questioning.
“We’re weavers,” Sassar explained. She made an arching gesture that included every woman. “All of us. That’s how we make our living.” Her words explained the perfect stitches of their clothing as well as the massive looms around the cottages. The skinny arms and long, narrow fingers would make their chosen profession a natural one. Kevral concentrated on a way to ask about the missing males, the train of her thoughts taking her away from the salient question of where they sold their goods and how they survived on a world with a single occupation.
As Ra-khir headed toward the first cottage, a woman tapped Kevral on the shoulder. “Would you like to start at opposite ends?”
Despite the helpful friendliness of all of the women thus far, something felt ominously out of place. Though Kevral could not direct or quantitate her discomfort, she refused to part from Ra-khir. As the sensation of misplaced uneasiness stole over her, she suddenly wished she had not allowed Tae to go off alone. In fact, the idea of splitting the party at all seemed stupid beyond consideration. “No, thank you. We’ll stay together.” She hurried to Ra-khir’s side, alert for hostile movement, as they
headed to the first cottage. She used the sudden fluid motion to cover her whisper to Ra-khir. “Stay alert. They make me uncomfortable.”
Ra-khir turned Kevral a bewildered look and hissed back as one of the strangers opened the door. “Why?”
“Doesn’t it strike you as weird that they’re all female?”
“What makes you think they’re female?”
Ra-khir’s words struck Kevral momentarily dumb. She watched the natives sort themselves, a few funneling into the cottage, others hanging back to leave room for the Outworlders. “What?”
Surely Ra-khir knew Kevral had heard him, yet he dutifully repeated. “What makes you think they’re female?”
Kevral continued to stare, still getting that impression from every one. “Their features?” she tried.
“Flat-chested, round-bellied, thin-limbed, long-haired.” Ra-khir shrugged. “That could pass for either.”
“But they all look the same.”
“I have trouble distinguishing elves.”
They edged toward the opening, ushered by slender arms that seemed to sway in the wind like weed stalks. Kevral attempted one last communication. “They look mostly all . . . well . . . pregnant.”
The sorrowful look Ra-khir turned Kevral discomfited her nearly as much as this world. Not another word passed between them, yet Kevral understood her husband’s point, even grudgingly agreed. Am I projecting my condition, and the frenzy it’s causing, onto them?
Kevral barely had time to wonder before she and Ra-khir stepped across the threshold into a cottage filled with smaller looms holding a dozen partially finished projects. Kevral stopped, looking at one parallel to the floor that held a colorful garment studded with twigs and leaves in intricate patterns. A perpendicular loom nearly too large for the room held a gossamer blanket that shimmered in the light admitted through the doorway. A door at the far end led to a second room that Kevral estimated by the outside dimensions could only contain half the space of the main room, barely enough for a pantry, let alone cooking and sleeping space. “Make sense of this,” she said to Ra-khir, not caring that two women had gotten between them and heard her. These gave her curious looks far gentler than Ra-khir’s warning glare.
The Children of Wrath Page 29