According to their beliefs, a man and woman destined to be together are born under the same sign, or star. It is each Galandorf’s duty to seek out the person they are predestined to love. When the two meet, they somehow know this is their soldmey. Generally, the two get married then assume roles on the Galandorf ships or home island of Tacstri, working together as pairs. Soldmeys may be paired together in any occupation: the important thing is, whatever they do, they share the task for life.
As Silver Rose put it, “Your soldmey works, fights, eats, sleeps beside you. He is your soul’s second half. During the day, your hand is in his. Under the moon, you sleep to his breath.”
It was an interesting concept, I reflected, a second half, a soul mate, a soldmey. I wasn’t sure of my opinion of it. Until I thought of the Simathe High-Chief. Never mind our current rift; it didn’t make me love him less. When I imagined the sound of his voice, the blackness of his eyes, and the ache of his touch… then I could understand why the Galandorf believed only one person, one love, one soldmey existed for each of them.
Dawn broke in a vivid panorama of red, pink, purple, and gold. Standing on deck, wrapped in a blanket, I watched the moon fall away and the sun gradually rise to take its place. The first tinges of morning light splayed themselves across the water. The clouds purpled then whitened.
We now sailed between mountainous terrain on either side. Trees covered the lower slopes next to us, slopes that rolled on down into the river, slopes that held back the high mountain peaks. Majestic, lofty, and proud, their snowcapped summits towered above trees, slopes, and the concerns of our little fleet on the river. Which actually wasn’t such a little fleet, after all. Sometime during the night, five more Galandorf ships had slipped noiselessly into our convoy. Apparently, word had already spread that the one they searched for was found, and these ships were all bent on accompanying us to Shayle.
Ahead of us, the mighty Largese was narrowing to pass between two great cliffs: sheer walls of scarred grey rock. Huge, twisted trees with purplish bark covered the flat, mesa-like tops of these cliffs, forming a ceiling of intertwined branches high overhead. Vines sprawled across the cliff faces, and scrubby bushes clung to clefts in the rocks. The channel was narrow enough that the ships were forced to spread out single file, with our tideracer taking the lead. The sight was one of the more rugged and beautiful of the journey so far, and I was busily scrutinizing the leafy canopy overhead when a hoarse cry from one of the ship’s crew caught my attention.
“By the—look ahead, Captain! At the end of the pass!”
I whirled, choking back my own cry. A huge wave was breaking towards us, nearly as high as the cliffs themselves. It had to have formed out of nowhere and in a moment’s time. It was immense, consuming, all-powerful… and it hurtled toward us like a ravenous predator, preparing to claim our lives. A dream image of standing beside pirates on a wooden ship, battling a sea monster formed from the sea itself, suddenly flashed into my mind’s eye, and I knew this was the work of the Dark Powers.
A hand grasped my elbow, the fingers hard and urgent.
“Can you stop it?”
I glanced up to see Ilgard watching the monstrous wave with a look in his eyes that I’d never seen before. Only when he peered down at me did I recognize what it was… fear.
Fear? Ilgard is afraid?
When his grip on my arm tightened, becoming so tense it was painful, I understood his fear wasn’t for himself but for me. He thought he was about to lose me. And if I could do nothing to stop this wall of water, he could be right.
But how can you fight water?
Our ship was shuddering ominously in the smaller waves that already assaulted her prow, forerunners of their gigantic sire that threatened to smother us all. The answer to my question materialized as I saw those whitecaps speeding towards us. There was no time to stop and plan, no time to explain. In one swift movement I’d torn loose of Ilgard and was over the railing, plunging deep into the river below. I opened up myself to my environment, while simultaneously reaching for the magic within. Quick as that, I’d Become the water, Become the river.
I surged upwards.
To this day, I don’t know how I managed to pull forward so much water so fast without disturbing our fleet, or if I simply created it right then and there. Nevertheless, the instant my head broke the surface a second wall of water, topping the level of the pass and ripping up gigantic trees by the roots, engulfed the deluge that was almost upon us. It slammed into our attacker, ramming it like ships in a sea battle of old, sweeping it far away from us and shoving it towards the far end of the gorge. Even as it demolished the first wave, my wave, the second wave, collapsed in on itself, spilling out into the open water at the passage’s end. As it did, the water level within the gorge swelled, bearing our ships high, then receded as both waves melted away and the river returned to its natural state.
The force of this surge, however, caught me unprepared, flinging my body helplessly against the cliff wall. My connection with the water, with my magic, broke. I heard myself scream as my skull cracked against solid rock. My mouth and nose slipped underwater, and I was engulfed.
Rescue
Her bond with the river ruptured as soon as she struck the cliff wall, and she was drowning. Norband was quicker than he. Before Ilgard could act, his Chief Captain had flung himself over the side of the ship and into the churning water below. Ilgard caught the ship’s rail, black hair swinging over his shoulder as he bent to peer into the watery depths. She had bounced off the rock and plummeted deep below the surface. He could no longer feel her breathe. Fear, as he had never known before Joining tightened the back of his throat, making him grip the wooden railing so hard splinters dug into his flesh.
The Simathe did not feel them. He felt nothing save the young woman losing the battle for her life beneath the waters of the Largese. She had saved the fleet—was it her fate now to perish? Iron Simathe mentality warred with the instinct to cast himself overboard. Self-control prevented it, reminding him that his Chief Captain was perfectly capable of finding her, and he would be needed onboard when Norband brought her close to the ship.
The instant his Chief Captain’s arm slipped about her waist, he felt it. The sensation was followed by that of Norband swimming for the surface, pulling the Artan along with him. Their heads broke the surface. Immediately she coughed hard and started to breathe. Finally, so did he.
She will live, Norband assured his lord as he began swimming, the girl in tow, towards their vessel. Grabbing up a nearby length of coiled rope, Ilgard tossed the end down to his Chief Captain who caught it, twisting his hand to wrap it solidly about his wrist. Bracing himself with one boot against the railing, Ilgard lost no time in hauling the two of them up with powerful hand over hand heaves.
One moment the pair was swinging free in midair, dangling by rope between ship and water. The next, the Simathe High-Chief was sliding an arm around his lady, supporting her weight as his subordinate officer clambered over the railing and dropped to the deck on the opposite side. Ignoring the anxious captain and crew, Ilgard eased the young Artan down to the deck, kneeling with her, checking the pulse in her neck, reassuring himself that her breathing was steady. He did not heed her wet clothing soaking his dry ones. He did not care.
Her lashes fluttered, once—twice. Her eyes opened, those beautiful mismatched eyes of green and brown. Her lips were bloodless, and she trembled with cold. The water had been icy. Her voice shook when she whispered, “Did it work?”
He made to reply, but his Chief Captain, who knelt on her other side, answered instead. Reaching out, he smoothed back her wet hair with a gentleness Ilgard had rarely seen from the man, saying gruffly, “Aye, my lady. It worked.”
Staring hard at his friend, the Simathe High-Chief suddenly saw flickers of a subtle emotion he had never thought to see. Care. Concern. Which meant even his callused Chief Captain was far from immune to this sweet woman’s spell. Perhaps it went against their nature
and creed as Simathe, but as he stared down into her wan face, so lovely to him now, the warrior-lord could readily understand why.
The Captain’s Lady, moored to stout trees on the forested riverbank, rocked gently on small, rippling waves. Her wooden bottom scraped the gravel shoal lurking beneath the river shallows, a continuous grating sound that apparently irritated the Ranetron High-Chief who was nervously stalking back and forth. Six paces to one wall and six paces to the other, from side to side in the captain’s tiny cabin he stalked, full of pent-up energy, his black cloak swishing restlessly. Norband leaned against the corner wall, watching silently with his arms folded over his chest. Ilgard could sense his amusement.
Simply put, the Simathe and the Ranetron had long been allies but never friends. The Ranetron were strict soldiers, all military precision and order. Undeniably skilled at what they did but too structured. Methodical. Derivative. This, at least, was how the Simathe tended to view them. At the same time, the Ranetron looked with disdain upon the Simathe, albeit it was a disdain they did not, as such, display. They considered the men of Treygon to be wilders. Loners. Not fully, openly committed to Aerisia’s service, but most deeply committed to their own goals and ends, whatever those may be.
True, the Artan had helped bridge that gap, uniting the two military factions in ways formerly unparalleled. Moreover, Ilgard knew there was fear for the Artan mingled with the Ranetron High-Chief’s impatience, a fear for which he could little fault the man. Sometime during the close of day they had joined the main body of Aerisia’s forces, with only a few miles remaining in the journey to Shayle. The Ranetron High-Chief and a number of his officers had boarded their vessel in hopes of meeting with the Artan and himself for a discussion on battle strategies. Those hopes had been dashed.
Ilgard looked over at the place his lady slept, dreaming peacefully upon the captain’s bed. She’d not awakened since being returned to the cabin. Not even when three female Galandorf, Silver Rose included, had come on board to see to her welfare. After excluding him from the room, they had washed her, bundled her into warm clothing, and tucked her into bed with brisk efficiency. He could have awakened her but through their bond sensed how desperately she needed uninterrupted sleep.
His quiet refusals to allow her to be disturbed were not appreciated by Lord Garett, but Ilgard little cared. Especially when, sighing in her sleep, she flipped over onto her other side, facing him. Her hand dropped from the blankets, dangling by the wrist over the side of the bed. He almost reached for it, but something prevented him. Whether it was their audience or their recent conflict he couldn’t say. However, as he studied her pale face in the gloomy lantern light, he felt prickles of remorse that he’d permitted anger to cause a breach between them. That he’d clung to assaulted pride instead of extending forgiveness.
Later, he promised himself.
Later, soon as he found opportunity, he would put an end to this discord. She did not deserve such coldness. What she had done was offensive, but had he not been so bound up in the quagmire of Kan’s treachery—treachery resulting in the first full Rending and subsequent execution in all Treygon’s history—his anger might not have flared so hotly. She had not delayed to seek reconciliation; however, all of his inner turmoil over his warrior’s fate had stirred up a wrath not easily propitiated.
Or perhaps it was more than that?
Staring at that hand, that small, delicate hand that held the future of an entire world, the warrior-lord acknowledged to himself for the first the deepest reason he had pulled back from her. It was because of her love. Not that her love in and of itself frightened him but because he knew, as well as she, that she might not survive this coming war against the Dark Powers. Should she fall, should she be required to make that ultimate sacrifice, what would be left? Only himself and hollow, pain-filled memories of a love he’d be helpless to forget.
He did not think he could stomach such pain. Not for the years and decades and centuries it might take him to outlive it. He had never expected, sought, or desired a woman’s love. However, now that he had tasted it, he understood why other men did. The longer he stared at that hand, he grasped that it held a great deal more than Aerisia’s future and welfare: it held his, as well. Which forced him to admit what he had sought so long to avoid.
Regardless of what the future might bring, Ilgard, High-Chief of the immortal Simathe, knew the outcome of this battle would not leave him the same. He was hers, this woman from two worlds, and would be. For as long as he lived.
For eternity.
Shayle
A couple of miles outside of Shayle, I sat on horseback, observing Aerisia’s troops winding their way down the hill and toward the city. Clouds had clashed and rain leaked out, leaving the landscape a mix of cold, damp, and mud. The road our soldiers travelled was a mire of mud and rocks, which meant hard going for both man and beast. Helmeted heads were bowed against the force of the storm, making Aerisia’s army appear a long, shiny snake with armored scales that gleamed in the gloomy half-light. The illusion was broken up only by the bare, black heads of the Simathe, who rode along appearing to care no more for the rain than if the day had been sunny and dry.
However, the day wasn’t sunny and dry. It was cold and wet, I was cold and wet, and I was also hungry, tired, and more than a little cross. War plans, battle maps, and strategies—the meeting with my military leaders and advisors had been nothing but stress. Almost everything they’d discussed had gone right over my head. It wasn’t like I was there because I was some sort of military expert. Nevertheless, they would ask my opinion until I simply wanted to scream, “I work with magic, not battlefield strategies!”
Did Laytrii or the first Artan ever feel this way? I wondered gloomily.
Probably not. They’d probably both been excellent battle strategists.
The worst part of it all was that I couldn’t betray my frustration. Here, I was the leader. People were looking up to and counting on me in a way that frightened me. Since I couldn’t risk my anxiety or vexations being spread to my troops and affecting their morale, I had to lock everything inside and display the bravest face possible. I had to force myself to appear unperturbed and serene, when all I really wanted to do was turn tail and run. Or kick something.
I clenched the leather reins tightly in gloved fists. How did I get into this?
Out of nowhere, the Simathe High-Chief suddenly rode up beside me on his black Restless. The ebony stallion was hands taller than my own, who shied a step away.
“Well, we’re getting close, which means it’s about to start,” I observed, trying to conjure up a brave smile.
“It does,” he agreed.
“Might as well finish the trip, then, and get ready for it.”
I nudged my horse with my heels, but he leaned over and caught the animal’s bridle, pulling it to a stop.
“What are you doing?” I demanded.
Rather than reply directly, he edged his mount closer to mine, near enough to lay his bare hand atop mine where it rested on the pommel.
“This will be difficult, but it will be well,” he promised. “I will be with you.”
I admit I was a little taken aback. This was the kindest gesture he’d offered since our row back at Treygon over Kan’s punishment. I supposed it was his way of trying to make peace between us. Even though a part of me appreciated his effort, it didn’t soothe me completely.
I lowered my eyes, worrying at my lower lip. “I know.”
“If you know, then why so glum?” I glanced up sharply when he chucked me lightly under the chin. “Come, I would have you smile again. Do not fear.”
Easy for you to say, I censured silently. You don’t have to worry about failing an entire world. You don’t have to worry about dying. Not like me.
The warrior-lord pulled back. As if he’d read my thoughts, he said gravely, “Immortality does not rob one of all fear.” Raindrops clung like tiny jewels to his lashes as he looked deep into my eyes, holding me in
place, forcing me to acknowledge his words. “It is possible to fear another’s death far more than your own.”
Nothing further was said. He nudged his horse forward, and I did the same, tailing him as he descended the hill. Once on the road, he slowed until I drew up alongside of him. The remaining distance to the port city of Shayle was traveled with only rain and silence between the two of us, despite the hubbub of confusion and longing that stirred in my heart.
We camped at Shayle that night, both inside and outside her heavily fortified walls. Despite several small skirmishes by the enemy, no major attacks had been launched upon the city. By some miracle, we’d beaten the enemy here. For the moment, our luck held.
Shayle itself was an incredibly beautiful city. Tall towers with rounded onion domes, like those once popular in Russian architecture, soared high into the sky. Both these towers and most of the city’s other buildings were fashioned from a native stone so slick and shiny it was almost transparent and reflected back the blue, green, and grey of the sea until it seemed to absorb those colors into itself. When seen from an overlook, Shayle was built roughly in the shape of a triangle, whose bottom line bulged into a gentle curve. Its two straight lines met at the point where sea and river united; while the rounded curve faced open land.
Galandorf forces and The Captain’s Lady had been absorbed into Shayle’s private flotilla of ships and the Aerisian navy, gathered there to defend on river and sea while our army fought on land. The presence of the Galandorf as friendlies had created quite a stir initially among the other naval officers. The two parties had, naturally, been at odds for years. Still, once I vouched for the Galandorf, their aid was (reluctantly) accepted, and I had it from Silver Rose that more of her people were on their way to boost our numbers even further.
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