Protector Of The Grove (Book 2) (18 page)

Arcon tucked the letter away and nodded. He bid farewell to the gnome and left the residence as quickly as he could before changing his appearance back to that of a green-sashed steward. When he returned to Aloysius’ estate and began to ready his things for the journey, the letter seemed heavy in his pocket. Should he do as Tobias requested or show the list to Aloysius?

The whole duplicitous plan had started as a way for Arcon to ensure his usefulness to Aloysius. Mellinda didn’t like that the scholar had found a rogue horse on his own. After all, how important was the slim chance she and Arcon could recreate rogue horses, if the scholar already had what he wanted? If it ever seemed that his stock with Aloysius was falling, he could offer himself as a plant within the resistance. It was just the kind of bold move that had saved him from the scholar’s wrath time and again.

But the more he learned about the breadth of Aloysius’ plans, the less Arcon liked being a part of it. What good was being out from under Mellinda’s thumb or Ewzad’s if he was going to be beholden to the despot Aloysius planned to be? Still, Mellinda had a point. Better to be one of the winners than a good intentioned loser.

One thing was for certain. Sooner or later, Arcon was going to have to pick a side.

The plains in the valley between the academy and the Tinny woods were vast and open, bordered on the east and west by tall mountains. During the spring they were beautiful, green and vibrant. But Jhonate’s party was traveling in the winter. Now the plains looked a dreary mess. The tall grasses turned brown in the fall and they were beaten down by harsh periods of heavy snows and thaws until they looked like a sodden heap; wet in some patches, icy in others.

Jhonate found Yntri Yni crouched between tufts of tall brown grass. The elf was peering at a small imprint in the snow.

“Have you found another sign of them, weaponmaster?” she asked. Jhonate hunched down beside him and examined the track. It was a single boot print, the sole featureless and smooth. Not a good tread for winter weather.

Yntri rubbed the stubble on the top of his head and replied in his language of clicks and whistles, “The flesh changers walk as men now. They were deer before. Then goblinkind. Now men. They think to fool us, but they do not know us.”

Jhonate nodded. The basilisks were underestimating his skills. Yntri had dealt with their kind for thousands of years, after all.

She replied to him in the common language. Jhonate’s people lived side by side with Yntri’s and she had learned how to understand his way of talking at a young age, but speaking his language was much harder than understanding it. The clicks and whistles were very difficult for the less-agile human tongue to duplicate. “Are these tracks from the same basilisks that have been following us? Are you sure there are not more than two?”

It was the scenario Hilt had feared the day Justan had been attacked; their small party alone in the wilderness and being harried by the creatures. Yntri had found the first signs that they were being followed on their second day in the plains. The basilisks had kept their distance in the three days since, but Hilt was sure they were simply feeling the group out.

“Their numbers are unclear. More than one,” Yntri clicked.

It was assumed that Justan was still their target since he had been the one attacked the first time. Hilt was sure that the only reason they hadn’t attacked him yet was because they somehow knew that Justan had already killed two of them. They would treat him differently since he was aware that he was a target.

The last three days had been tension-filled. Especially after dark as any creature, no matter how innocuous, could be a threat. The watch had been increased from one person at a time to a rotating shift of three at all times. It was a necessity, but Jhonate’s brothers used it as an excuse to tease ‘the great named warrior Sir Edge’ for all the protection he was getting.

Yntri stood and ran hunched-over through the grass, taking a path parallel to the road where the rest of the group traveled. They had lagged a bit behind the others while scouting for signs of the basilisks and the elf rushed to catch up.

The dark-skinned elf ran barefoot, seemingly immune to the effects of the cold. His feet left no visible prints in the patches of snow. How did he do it? Jhonate followed behind him, her staff held loosely in her right hand, aware that she was leaving a rather obvious trail of her own.

Jhonate ran hard to keep up with the swift footed elf. She was hesitant to ask Yntri the question she had for him. It seemed untoward to question his instructions, but she had promised Sir Hilt. He had given her quite a tongue lashing earlier that morning when he found out she had been putting it off. “Weaponmaster, I came to speak to you of something else.”

He glanced back and clicked, “Talk and run, child.”

Jhonate smiled and increased her pace. Most of her people didn’t get much one-on-one time with the weaponmaster, but since Jhonate’s staff came from Yntri’s Jharro tree, the elf had taken it upon himself to train her in its use. Yntri Yni’s people did most of their conversing while on the move and ‘Talk and run, child’ was a phrase she had heard from Yntri often as a child.

“It is about my . . . betrothed,” she said, having to leap over a large rock mid-sentence. Yntri grunted in response and she knew that she had let her training slacken. Such a slight bump should not have interrupted her speech. It showed a lack of concentration. Her face reddening, she continued. “I need a clarification on the instructions you gave me regarding his training.”

“Back then? Sir Edge is a grown man now, is he not?” said Yntri. “The bowl has chosen him.”

“Yes,” she said. When Yntri had first met Justan in the academy’s training grounds things had been very different. Justan had been seventeen, still with the body and attitude of a teenager. He’d been a bit gawky and had a mind full of incorrect assumptions. Jhonate had been his trainer, young and inexperienced herself as Yntri had pointed out at the time. Now Justan was a man, with the body of a warrior and an experienced mind. “However, I am speaking of his training with his Jharro bow. He still has not communed with our tree.”

Yntri glanced over at her, his expression curious as he lithely skipped over obstacles in his way. “Our tree is far, her whispers faint, but he is a bonding wizard. Distance should have been overcome. Has he not tried?”

“I do not believe so. Though I have not asked him,” she said.

“Why is this?” Yntri clicked, a sternness entering his tone.

Jhonate cocked her head and nearly stumbled over an ice-encrusted tuft of grass. “Should he not learn this on his own as you instructed? I cannot ask him if he has tried to speak with his tree without interfering with his learning.”

Yntri slowed to a stop and turned to face her, his expression dumbfounded. “You have told him nothing about the trees?”

“But Weaponmaster, you told me not to. You said that he must discover them himself.”

“What I said was, ‘One cannot teach the heart of the tree’,” Yntri said, putting a fist against his heart. “But one can lead a student to it. When I saw him last, he was not ready. Can you not see that he is ready now?”

“Yes,” she said. The relationships he had with his bonded had proved to her that he was ready to commune with the tree. “But there is also the matter of father’s rules. How much can I tell him when he is not one of us?”

“Senselessness! Idiocy!” Yntri snapped, gesturing wildly with his skinny arms. His clicking was punctuated by harsh whistles as he said, “You say he is not one of you? Xedrion bin Leeths does not determine who the trees choose as their defenders. Sir Edge did not bond with the bow by accident. Our tree chose him.”

Jhonate bowed her head. Yntri hadn’t scolded her this way since she was a small child. “I am sorry, Weaponmaster.”

With a tsk, he turned and ran towards the road where the rest of their party traveled. Jhonate followed behind him feeling quite foolish. Three times in the last week she had been rebuked, first by Justan and Sir Hilt and now Yntri. Was her thinking so wrong? She thought back over the decisions she had made as the rest of their group came into view.

Gwyrtha had gone to retrieve Deathclaw before the group had left Reneul, so the party was rather small; just eight people in all. Sir Hilt and Justan were walking in the front, leading their sole mount, the sturdy warhorse Stanza who carried most of their supplies. The two academy soldiers that had been sent as part of the contract were in the middle, talking to each other and laughing. Qurl and Jhexin walked in the rear, keeping a noticeable distance from the others, their conversation much more quiet.

Yntri made a beeline for Justan and a came to a stop in front of the warrior.  Jhonate winced as the elf let out a sharp whistle, placing a hand on Justan’s chest.

“Yes, Yntri?” Justan said. “Can I help you with something?” The ancient elf frowned and chattered away, pointing at the Jharro bow that Justan wore over his shoulder. “My bow?”

Hilt seemed amused as he translated. “He says he wants to examine it. It’s not making much sense to me, but he says something about wanting to make sure it hears the tree? He also grumbled something about Jhonate having the brain of a-.”

Yntri gave him a glare and waved him off, clicking a few more times.

Hilt raised his hands and took a step back. “And evidently I wasn’t supposed to translate that part as it is ‘none of my business’.”

Justan gave the elf a hesitant smile and took the bow off of his shoulder, careful to lift its taught string over the pommels of his swords. “Okay, Yntri. Here you go.”

The elf took it from Justan’s hands and unstrung it quickly before handing Justan the string. The rest of the group gathered around to watch the elf’s strange display, Jhonate’s brothers giving her amused grins. Jhonate sighed and moved to stand by Justan.

Yntri examined the straightened Jharro bow, running his fingers down its gray length. Then he tilted his head and placed the tip of it against his ear while pressing the length of it against his chest. He closed his eyes for a moment, then blinked and nodded before handing it back to Justan.

“What did you find? Uh, hey!” Justan said as the elf began manipulating his body, turning Justan around, raising first one arm, then the other. The elf then wrapped his skinny limbs around Justan’s torso and paced one ear against his chest. Justan slowly lowered his arms and patted the elf’s back. “He’s done this once before. Odd timing, though.”

“He’s not hugging you, Edge,” Hilt said with a chuckle. “He’s listening to you. There’s something he’s trying to figure out.”

“I knew that. I just-,” Justan stopped patting the elf and raised his arms again. “It’s just a reflex.”

Yntri didn’t move for a while and Justan glanced over at Jhonate while he waited. “What was he saying you had the brain of?”

She gave him a stern look, then told him through the ring,
If you must know, a muskrat. He may not be far off either
.

What do you mean
? he asked, surprised at her candor. Jhonate admitting she was wrong was a rarity.

We will discuss it when the weaponmaster is finished
. She sighed.
We shall have a lot to discuss
.

Justan didn’t press her further. His cheeks puffed out as he blew a breath through tightened lips. He waited a few seconds longer and when Yntri still didn’t move, he looked back over his shoulder. “No laughing, Aldie. You’re next.”

Aldie, son of Lance’s eyes went wide, his smile slipping. “Really?”

He had only just joined the academy at the end of the war and had been surprised to receive this assignment. Justan felt he was a good choice for the mission. Aldie had shown a good grasp of diplomacy during the war. In Jhonate’s opinion he was too green.

“He’s just teasing you,” said Poz. The freckle-faced son of the legendary Sir Weld had graduated with the nickname Butcher Poz because of the way he wielded his bone-cutting sword.

The council had seen Poz and Aldie as good fits for the exchange of men with the Roo-Tan. They matched Xedrion’s choice of sending a veteran warrior in Xendrol and his inexperienced younger son Pelgrath. Jhonate had recommended Poz for the post herself, feeling that he had spent enough time with her to know how to interact with her people.

Finally Yntri let go of Justan and stood back, a somewhat sleepy expression on his face. He gestured and, his voice sounding slurred between clicks, said, “I forgot what it was like to listen to a bonding wizard. He is a strong one.”

“What did he say?” Justan asked.

He said you’re a strong one
. Jhonate told him through the ring.

Was there any question
? he replied.

“So can we get back on the move?” Hilt asked, looking a bit irritated. “I would like to be at Pinewood by nightfall.”

Yntri clicked at Hilt to go ahead, then ordered Jhonate to follow him back out into the grass. “Talk and run, child.”

The elf loped ahead of the group, motioning her to keep up. His path seemed a bit erratic, almost as if he were drunk, but he never missed a step or lost his footing. It took her a moment to catch up.

“What did you find, Weaponmaster?” she asked.

“He is strong, your betrothed,” said Yntri, his whistles slightly off pitch. “His bonds are strong. All of them. Including his bond with our tree. You are correct. He has not communed with her. She reaches out to him eagerly each time he touches the bow, but I think he misinterprets her.”

“I see,” she said. “What can I do to help him?”

“You are foolish,” he replied, coming very close to a stumble. “And your stupidity could have cost him much. Fortunately, Sir Edge is strong and has a teachable heart. We may have time to prepare him.”

“I will be happy to do so,” Jhonate replied. “What am I allowed to tell him and what must he learn on his own?”

“Stop it, muskrat!” He came to a stop and sat down on a clump of brown grass. Then he grasped two handfuls of partially melted snow and rubbed them onto his face. Blinking away slush and speaking a bit more clearly, he said, “You used to be such a smart girl. I rarely had to scold you and never had to beat you. Why do I feel that I should beat you now?”

Jhonate crouched beside him. She felt as though she had been chastened enough for now, but she kept her feelings out of her voice as she said, “I am sorry, Weaponmaster.”

“Sorry indeed. It is your betrothed you should be apologizing to. I would have him spank you with your own staff if I thought it would help. You have left him utterly unprepared. It could mean his life and, if he dies, the lives of all of his bonded.”