He touched a tendril of hair curling around her face. “Why?”
“A meeting of my people comes. I need be there. If not, we have war.”
He didn’t look surprised. “I too would go to war for you.”
“Eldri, no.” She tried again. “They not fight over me. Leaders of my people meet. We vote about war. I must vote no.”
“Ah! A meeting of Bards and Memories. And you vote? This makes sense. You are a Memory. Yes, I see that. You are a woman of intelligence.” He tapped her temple. “I feel it here.”
Roca blinked. “Memory is title here of woman who leads?”
“Of course.” He paused. “Are you sure you cannot miss this meeting?”
“Sure.” Her node found the right word. “Absolutely sure.”
His mind nudged hers, though Roca could tell he didn’t realize it. Her instincts prodded her to strengthen her barriers, but she kept them down. She projected her mood to Eldri, both her concern that she not miss her ship and her interest in developing ties with him and his people.
He spoke carefully. “You would know my people better?”
“We would like that.”
“I have a proposal.”
“Yes?”
“Your ship comes in two days?”
“This is true.”
“Be my guest tonight at Windward. It is true that Garlin says I must know your people better.” He hesitated. “Or Brad’s people. Or whatever he represents. Even if Brad pronounces his title wrong, he is the only Bard here from the place he calls Allied Worlds. And you are a Memory from a different province.” He stopped as if confused by his own reasoning. “Anyway, let me offer you the hospitality of Windward. You and I will begin relations between our people. Tomorrow morning I will bring you back to the port. You will have plenty of time to meet your ship.”
Roca reached out to his mind, trying to gauge his intent. She sensed no deception. It was a well-made offer, given the limited conditions they had to work with. But she shouldn’t have linked to him; she also felt how much he wanted her. Erotic images of her without clothes were playing out in his mind. Her face heated. He certainly had a prodigious imagination. Rather than putting her off, though, as such fantasies would have with anyone else, his excited her.
Flustered, Roca snapped up her barriers, breaking contact. Eldri tensed, though she didn’t think he consciously realized they had been in a link. His desire was simple arousal enhanced by his fascination with her, much as she felt about him. No political calculation tainted his interest, none of the sexually charged avarice that edged the minds of the men, and sometimes women, who coveted her. Power was one of the most potent aphrodisiacs in existence, far more than her face or dancer’s body. Eldri had no idea of her power; he just plain wanted her.
He smoothed her hair. “Come visit my home.”
Roca tried to stop imagining what he could do with that hinged hand of his. She moved his hand away from her hair. “I accept invitation. But only for business.”
“Yes!” His smile blazed. “We can do that.”
She gave him a stern look. “No personal. And we send message to Brad.”
“Any message you would like,” he promised.
Roca pulled a clasp off her belt that regulated the temperature of her clothes. She fooled with its chip until she managed to program in a message. She wished she could have kept better comm equipment, but she couldn’t risk carrying anything Kurj could use to trace her.
She gave the chip to the rider Eldri chose, and the man headed back to the port. The rest of their group took off for the Backbone Mountains, thundering across the plains.
As they went, Garlin shot her a hard look.
The path crumbled under the hooves of Eldri’s mount, and rocks clattered down the cliff. With her heart beating hard, Roca turned her gaze forward so she wouldn’t see the drop-off to their right. The cliff went straight down for hundreds of meters. It astonished her that Eldri and his men took this so casually. She felt as if they were going to end up very dead, very soon.
They had climbed high into the Backbone Mountains. The stark peaks reminded Roca of spindles, and the upper ranges truly did resemble the skeleton of a giant. Their path wound along the edge of a mountain, following a trail barely wide enough for the lyrine to go single file. Another cliff rose on their left. The iron ringbolts driven into it would allow travelers to string ropes along the way or continue their trek when the winds became tricky, but nothing protected them from the drop-off to the right, no rail, fields, or cables.
Roca’s body ached from the long ride. Although her jumpsuit had kept her skin from being rubbed raw, the material was wearing thin. Another hour of this and her clothes would shred. Eldri had given her one of the furred jackets they all wore now, but the cold still made her shiver. She thought with longing of the temperature chip she had sent to Brad that would have regulated her clothes.
Eldri wrapped her in his arms, the reins held loosely in his hands. His lyrine seemed to know the route without guidance. “Are you all right?” Eldri asked. He didn’t seem the least bothered by the ride.
She shivered. “Is cold up here.”
“Usually not this much.” He sighed. “I should apologize for our weather’s poor showing to my guest.”
“Is not so ****” She had meant to say “terrible,” but it came out wrong. Her node supplied the pronunciation.
“I don’t know that word.” He rubbed his cheek against her hair. “But I love how you say it.”
Roca reminded herself to pull away. He had been persistent in his attentions during the trip. She told herself she didn’t want his lips against hers, his breath warm on her skin, his hands on her body…
“No more,” Roca muttered, to herself rather than him. At least he helped distract her from the danger of their route. The pounding of her heart came as much from the drop-off at their side as from his sensual voice.
“Why are you so cool?” He spoke near her ear. “You look like the suns but you act like ice.”
“Do not do that.” The way his breath tickled her ear was driving her crazy.
“I know a sun burns inside you,” Eldri murmured. “Let me be your second sun. We can orbit each other for a while.”
She couldn’t help but smile. “Who is larger sun?”
“Neither.” He nuzzled her hair. “We can be the same.”
Roca sighed. “Is only dream.” She didn’t have the luxury of such dreams. She had too many duties.
A shout came up ahead, followed by an exchange of calls in Eldri’s tongue. He lifted his head, his arms loosening around her.
“What is it?” Roca asked.
“A part of our path has collapsed.”
Her shoulders hunched. “We stop?”
“I am not sure.” He fell silent while they rode, listening as people called back to him. After a moment, he said, “I am sorry, Roca. Nothing like this has happened before.”
“We go back to plains?”
“I think not. It will be dark soon. Navigating this path then would be deadly.”
She felt the blood drain from her face. “Then what we do?”
“We cannot stay here. The lyrine must sleep, and if they do, they might step off the path. Also, the cold is more than usual. We haven’t protection enough for the coming night.”
“Good gods,” Roca said. “Is terrible way to travel.”
Eldri spoke patiently. “Perhaps your people can do it better. But this is the best we can do now.”
Roca closed her mouth. He was right, it didn’t help for her to criticize their lack of technology.
More shouts came back. The riders halted, their lyrine stamping on the path, breath curling up from their nostrils in the freezing air, making blue condensation. Roca had dealt with many cultures, but never anything like this. The situation was always controlled, with her staff setting up the meetings ahead of time.
Eldri called forward, and the riders relayed his words to the front of the line. They soon began moving again.
“They find new route?” Roca asked.
“There isn’t any.” He cleared his throat. “We have decided to cross the break.”
“You make bridge?”
“No. We jump.”
“
Jump?
”
“It is our best chance of survival.”
Roca closed her eyes. “Gods help us.”
Eldri answered in a low voice. “Yes.”
The climb seemed to take forever. The animals would walk a short distance, then stop. Apparently they had to wait as each rider executed the jump. Every time the line moved again, Eldri exhaled behind her.
Then came the long stop.
Roca knew tragedy had hit before the call came back. Shock reverberated from the riders. Then the word reached them: someone hadn’t made it. He and his lyrine had plunged down the side of the mountain.
Eldri leaned his forehead against the back of her head. His pain fell over her like a great weight.
“I am much sorry,” she said softly. “Know you him?”
“Yes.” His voice caught. “We grew up together.”
“I am so very much sorry.”
He said nothing, but she realized he was crying silently, his shoulders shaking.
After a while they moved again. Eldri lifted his head, but he spoke no more.
When they finally reached the break, Roca stared in disbelief. Their path here was more a ledge than a road, and it ended in a jagged breach. It didn’t resume until several meters beyond, leaving a broken stretch longer than a lyrine. Garlin was standing on the other side, bundled in furs, coiling a rope that had one end tied to several ringbolts in the cliff. Dark blue clouds covered the sky and cast a pall over the waning day.
Garlin threw the free end of the rope across the gap. Eldri caught it, then tied a length around Roca’s waist and his own. She doubted it was strong enough to hold them if they didn’t make the jump, given what had happened to the rider they lost, but it was better than nothing.
“Ready?” Eldri asked.
She took an uneven breath. “Yes.”
He backed his mount down the trail. Then he leaned forward and kicked with his heels. The lyrine surged up the path, its muscles bunching under them. With a great leap, it sailed into the air. Before Roca had a chance to breathe, its feet hit the other side and rocks went flying. As the animal stumbled, one hoof going over the edge, Garlin reeled in the rope, trying to pull them toward him.
Then the lyrine caught its balance and stepped unevenly down the trail. Eldri whispered in his own language.
“What say you?” Roca’s voice trembled.
He too spoke shakily. “By Rillia’s Arrow.”
“I know not Rillia, but if his arrow bring us here safely, I thank him.”
“I also.”
“Eldri?”
“Yes?”
She breathed in, trying to settle her pulse. “How go we back tomorrow?”
“I will send people to bridge the break.”
“You can do this? You say it never happened before.”
“My rock-builders have made many bridges. They can fix worse than this.”
She touched his arm. “My sorrow for your friend.”
“Thank you.” His answer was so quiet she barely heard. She felt the tears he kept inside, unable to shed them in front of his men.
They continued on, so other riders would have room to jump. The line of lyrine hugged the precarious path in the last light of the fading day.
T
he castle rose out of the dusk. Roca had sagged over the neck of the lyrine, but now she sat upright, gaping. Windward was literally sculpted from the mountain, with ethereal stone spires, flying buttresses, and soaring towers. Her breath caught. No primitive culture had created this keep. It stood on an island encircled by a canyon so deep, she couldn’t see the bottom. They were crossing an arched, buttressed span of rock that provided the only access to the fortress.
“Gods above,” Roca murmured. Wide enough for four lyrine to ride abreast, the bridge led to a portcullis in the massive wall of the fortress. “This is incredible.”
“You like my house?” Eldri asked.
“House?” She laughed shakily as they rode under the portcullis. “It is a monument.”
“It is as old as all time.”
Roca smiled. “All time?”
“Since before history.” He waved at the sky. “Legend says the wind god came down before time began and exhaled his great breath on the mountain to make Windward.”
“A good legend.” Roca could almost feel the weight of the millennia in the magnificent walls. She didn’t doubt the castle had endured for thousands of years. From what she had seen, these people had nothing close to the technology needed to carve a structure like this out of a mountain, isolate it on an island of stone, and have it survive for ages. The ancient Ruby colonists must have built Windward.
Light glowed within its windows, a welcome sight as night fell, its arrival hastened by the heavy overcast. When Roca turned her face up to admire the castle towers, snow fell on her cheek.
“Ah, no.” She brushed the flakes off her face. In accepting Eldri’s invitation, she had underestimated the problems of traveling in a primitive culture without the safeguards she took for granted. “Tell me this not snow season.”
“Season?” Eldri asked.
“Winter.”
“What is winter?”
“Cold time of year.”
“Year?” He sounded bewildered.
Roca pulled back the hair blowing across her face. “Does snow come more at some time than other time?”
“It comes when it comes.” He slowed his lyrine as a boy crossed the courtyard to them. “We never know what the weather will be. Snow, ice, rain, sun.” After handing the reins to the boy, he slid off the lyrine.
Roca jumped down beside him, then staggered as pain shot through her already sore legs. Her landing also jarred because she felt too heavy; although her node was analyzing the gravity and helping her adapt, it could only do so much.
The “boy” who had come for the lyrine turned out to be a girl. She smiled shyly and led the animal away, toward a structure Roca guessed was a stable, mainly because other people were taking animals there. All the riders were accounted for—except one. Eldri stood watching the stablehands, his face shadowed as if he were searching for the animal—and rider—that were missing.
Roca laid her hand on his arm. “Are you all right?”
“Yes.” He obviously wasn’t, but he tried to smile.
Garlin came toward them, his long-legged stride eating up distance. He was about six feet tall, two inches taller than Roca, and he towered over the other men in the courtyard. Roca was the same height as Eldri, but she too stood taller than most of the men. The Lyshrioli people seemed shorter than Skolians, perhaps due to their diet or the heavy gravity.
Garlin spoke in their language, ignoring Roca. Eldri gave him a look that reminded Roca of how she felt when her bodyguards hovered about. It didn’t surprise her that Garlin bothered him. The older man’s tension snapped against her mental shields; Garlin regretted that Eldri chaffed under his watchful eye, but he disliked Roca too much to back off. Perhaps he feared she would replace him in influence with the Bard. She had seen that dance of intrigue played out again and again among the noble Houses, as the aristocracy jockeyed for power. She didn’t trust Garlin. She wished it weren’t so important she return to the port in two days; she felt drawn to Eldri’s life and wanted to learn more.
Turning to Roca, Eldri held out his hand, palm up, hinging it as if to cup the air for her. “I am sorry your introduction to my home comes with such grief.” Sadness had replaced his earlier cheer. “But I welcome you.”
Roca took his hand. “Thank you.” It felt odd to hold such thick fingers and only four of them.
Garlin spoke in their language, his voice low and taut, and Eldri shook his head. When Garlin persisted, Eldri scowled. Tightening his hold on Roca’s hand, he took his leave of Garlin and led Roca away. As they walked to the great double doors of the castle, she felt Garlin’s gaze like a laser burning into her back.
Many people joined them inside the castle. Their faces lit up when they saw Eldri. An older woman in a homespun tunic and leggings fussed about, taking his coat, drying him off, chattering in their musical language, making his face gentle with fondness. A white-haired man addressed Eldri with obvious respect. Others spoke as well. She needed no translation to see they were offering welcome and informing Eldri about the castle. Their affection and high opinion of him came through in their every gesture. She didn’t yet know the social hierarchies here, but she sensed none of the distance between Eldri and his people that in her universe set royalty apart from commoners. These people dressed in simple clothes and had work-roughened hands, but they treated Eldri as one of them.
Torches and antiqued oil lamps lit the hall. Actually, the lamps probably weren’t antique; they just looked that way to her. Although she doubted the plan of this building matched castles on other worlds, certain traits tended to repeat in human architecture, including windows and also artistry in great houses. Windward was no exception. Its arched windows were gorgeous, their borders engraved with intertwining lines and spheres, probably a stylized version of the bubble reeds in the plains. The openings were narrow, perhaps to make defending them easier. All had shutters in red, blue, green, or purple glasswood, which young people were closing throughout the hall. Roca could see why; the windows had no glass. Shutters provided the only protection against the storm.
People bustled around her and Eldri, drying the melted snow on their clothes. A huge fire blazed in a hearth at one end of the hall, defying the chill that seeped through the walls. Blue snow had scattered across the stone floor beneath the windows, as if the sky had fallen to the ground and collected in a pile. Two thoughts came to Roca, first that she understood the name of the world—Skyfall—and then that she didn’t understand at all. The sky of this planet was lavender. Snow here matched the color of the sky as seen from Earth, not from “Skyfall.”
Deep in conversation with his people, Eldri walked through the hall. He continued to hold Roca’s hand, keeping her at his side. The curiosity of everyone around them washed over her like a fountain, soaking through her shields. Although she knew almost nothing of their language, she was developing a feel for its cadences and sounds, aided by her node. It sounded as if Eldri was making arrangements of some kind. She earnestly hoped they included warm, dry clothes for the riding party.
Roca suddenly felt as if her shoulders heated up. Turning, she looked past the people around her. Across the hall, Garlin was coming through the entrance, his hair disarrayed from the wind. A woman in a red robe walked at his side. He was watching Roca with a scowl, but when her gaze met his, he turned back to his robed companion.
Eldri slowed to a stop and took Roca’s hands, drawing her to face him. “We will have a ceremony for Jacquilar in the morning. Then I will take you back to the port.”
“Jacquilar?”
His voice caught. “The man who died.”
She squeezed his hands, offering comfort with touch rather than words. His staff hastened off to take care of the arrangements, tactfully leaving their Bard alone with the unknown woman he had brought into his home.
Eldri curled his fingers around hers. “Tonight we will have a dinner in your honor.”
She spoke gently. “You need not do this.”
“But I must. I asked you here. It is not your fault we had a tragedy.” He released one of her hands and raked his fingers through his hair, tousling the shoulder-length mane. “Never before has it been such a problem to come up here.”
She ran her thumb over his thick fingers. “I wish I knew a way to make it better.”
“You do just by being here.” He lifted her hand and pressed his lips against her knuckles. Then he lowered her hand, turning it this way and that. “You have beautiful fingers. Strange, but pretty.” A hint of his earlier mischief returned. “One wonders what you could do with them.”
Roca flushed, remembering her fantasies about his hand. She disengaged her grip, feigning a coolness far different from what she felt. “Does one, now?”
“One does indeed.” He led her over to a more private niche in the wall. “Surely we could learn—what is the word? Brad told me once.” He paused. “Ah. I know. Anatomy. You must teach me your anatomy.”
“Diplomacy.”
“You have diplomatic anatomy?”
She barely managed to hold back her laugh. “I come here for diplomacy. Not anatomy.”
“You break my heart, beautiful lady.”
She slanted him a dry look. “Your heart is as strong as big, sturdy lyrine.”
Eldri grinned, his grief seeming to ease, at least for this moment. He set her against one wall, in a carved archway that went nowhere. “Will you not give me a single kiss?”
“No.”
He wasn’t the least deterred. “You are an ice queen beyond compare, Roca. A matchless woman.” He put his hand against the wall behind her, his palm near her head. “Can no man melt your heart?”
Roca couldn’t help but smile. “Oh, Eldri, stop.” She ducked under his arm.
“Come back,” he protested. By the time he turned around, she had moved several paces away.
“We agreed,” she said. “We do business here. No personal.”
“I remember you saying this.” His lips quirked. “I don’t remember agreeing to it.”
“You must behave.”
Eldri sighed. “Very well.” He approached her with more decorum. “Shall we have a conversation?”
Roca could tell he was hiding his sorrow behind bantering. She gentled her voice. “I wondered what call you this world.”
He said a beautiful word, his voice chiming. Roca thought he must have incredible vocal cords, to create such melodic sounds. It happened when he spoke English, too, but much less so, perhaps because the phonetics didn’t lend themselves as well to the music.
“Is a lovely word,” Roca said. “Can you say again?”
“Lyshriol.”
“Lyshriol.” It sounded so dull and pedestrian on her lips.
Eldri smiled. “Something like that.”
“So you not call this place Skyfall?”
He waved his hand in dismissal. “Brad’s friends at Starlane Resorts call it that.”
“Is wrong?”
“Not exactly.” He paused. “It is hard to translate Lyshriol. It means something like ‘the clouds have come to the ground.’ ”
Roca had to admit it was a clever interpretation by the resort planners. Skyfall resembled Eldri’s translation, but at the same time it would have meaning to people from Earth, where the sky was the color of the clouds here. “Does it bother you that they say Skyfall?”
“What they say matters little.”
“But when the others come, will not this bother you?”
“Others?”
“The people who want to build here.”
“You talk in puzzles.” When she started to answer, he shook his head. “Let us enjoy this night. Tomorrow is so soon.”
Roca let it go. His sorrow had come closer to the surface of his mind, clear now despite her barriers. She wondered if she and Eldri could ever fully shield their thoughts from each other. The compatibility that linked them went further than desire or fascination. If only she had more time to know him. If only she wasn’t supposed to wed Dayj Majda. If only.
Roca realized then that she felt more than Eldri’s grief. Another anguish went deeper in him, the suppressed pain he had revealed in the plains when he had spoken with such vehemence:
No! I am not different!
He wanted to enjoy tonight, not because tomorrow would come too soon—but because he feared it would never come at all. It startled her that someone so alive and vibrant could feel such despair. He guarded that part of himself so tightly, she doubted she could pick up the reason for his dread even if she dropped her barriers all the way.
Outside, the snow continued to fall.
The dining hall made Roca’s breath catch. Hundreds of white and green candles filled it with golden light. Clusters of red bubbles hung under rafters made from green glasswood. Mosaics in gold, blue, red, and purple glasswood patterned the walls in star designs that fascinated her. In places, their symmetry broke into scenes of mountains, suns, and plains. Roca couldn’t be certain, but she thought some of the images included stylized starships in the sky, symbols probably long forgotten by Eldri’s people.
The room was smaller than the hall where they entered the castle, but still substantial. Along table filled its center, made from blue glasswood that looked as deep as a sea when Roca gazed into it. Afire roared in the hearth at the far end of the hall, the flames gold, green, blue, and red, taking on the colors of the glasswood logs they were consuming.
The people of the castle and the riders from the plains poured into the hall together, filling it with their musical voices and bright clothes. The men dressed like the riders, and some had overshirts lined with fur. The women wore knitted leggings with fur-lined knee-boots, and tunics embroidered in glistening threads.
A shy girl had taken Roca to a chamber with sun and moon mosaics on the walls. She had given Roca a pair of leggings dyed a vibrant blue, and a gold tunic edged in blue and green embroidery. The leggings stretched to fit Roca’s long legs and she managed to pull the fur-lined tunic down to her hips, but the clothes clung to her more snugly than to the other women, who were smaller. The boots hadn’t fit at all, but Eldri had found a pair of his that she could wear.
Now Eldri sat at the head of the table, with Roca on his right. People filled the seats on both sides, and Garlin sat at the opposite end of the long table. No class distinction seemed to exist here; these were the same folks who took the lyrine to the stables, tended the hall, and set the tables.