Swords Over Fireshore (11 page)

“Yes.” His voice cracked on the word. He did feel better, if only for knowing she was close.

Heléri sat beside him on the bed, her weight shifting how he lay, drawing him toward her. He lifted a feeble hand and hers met it, her fingers cool and strong.

“Where are we?”

“The old hall. I live here alone now.”

Alone, since her lord had crossed into spirit. Alone here for centuries, yet she did not betray loneliness.

“Do you want tea? I have the kettle on the fire.”

“No.” He shook his head slightly. Even that small movement made the ringing increase. “Just sit with me, please.”

“Of course.”

Her hand squeezed his warmly. The other smoothed his brow, and he closed his eyes, sighing as he strove to let the tension seep away. Heléri's hands grew warm, a sign of the healing power in them. He basked in the warmth, and slowly the ringing subsided.

“Oh, Rephanin. How dreadful it must have been. Can you tell me? Can you show me a little?”

He cringed at the thought that she should know anything of Midrange. He wanted to forget it, not share it. He could see no purpose in showing her what would only aggrieve her. The mere thought of it brought moisture to his eyes.

He could not bring himself to voice an answer. It was all he could do just to breathe, and hold the memories at bay.

Heléri seemed to understand. She did not ask again, but sat quietly beside him, her hands warm on his flesh. Slowly he became calm again in the gentle light of her presence.

A part of him looked on in scorn. There was nothing wrong with his flesh. Nothing wrong with his voice. This self-indulgence was as wasteful as any he had known. More so, perhaps, because he was imposing on Heléri, who surely had more important things to do.

Enough!

Startled, Rephanin twitched violently. Heléri's hand tightened on his, even as he realized who had spoken.

Davharin.

Acknowledgment came together with a sharpening of awareness, the tingle of contact with Heléri as well as with Davharin, her lord, who dwelt now in spirit. A moment later Rephanin felt his being flooded with light, a light so bright it should have been painful but was not. It burned into every corner of him, stilling the small chiding voice within him, chasing away the shadows that had clung in his heart.

He yielded, trusting the spirit to know what he could tolerate. The darkness in his heart, the darkness that was Midrange, burned away in the brightness. Rephanin felt suspended in pure light.

Wisps of sensation brushed his awareness: a chord of music, a cool and pungent scent, a warm breeze. He noted them but did not try to hold onto them.

He did not know how long it had been when the light finally receded. He knew only that it was still night, and that the darkness that had troubled him was gone, at least for the moment. He opened his eyes and drew a breath. Heléri sat beside him still, eyes closed and a serene expression on her face.

Thank you, Davharin.

Wordless warmth was the reply. Davharin preferred feelings, images, or symbols to words, and Rephanin had to agree that they conveyed much more, much more simply, when they could be so employed. He had used thoughts in this way at Midrange, time and again.

Remembering Midrange did not hurt this time, not as he had expected. A small ache was there, but only in a distant, quiet way. What had Davharin done?

Healing.

It was Heléri who had spoken. Rephanin shifted his gaze to her face again, and saw that she was now gazing back at him. The tenderness in her eyes reached straight into his heart. He squeezed her hand, then sat up, surprised at how easy it was. His strength was returning.

He raised a hand to Heléri's cheek, feeling warmth leap between their flesh as he held it there. Warmth swelled within him, too. Gratitude and relief, and affection. He leaned forward to kiss her, softly, lips warm together for an instant, then his arms came up around her and he buried his face in her fragrant hair.

She sighed, returning the embrace. I was afraid for you. I feared you would leave.

He drank in the smell of her, seeking the heady intoxication of fleshly desire. No. I am not finished here. She had said much the same to him, not long ago.

She pulled back to look at him, but voiced no speculation on his meaning. This moment was too sweet, and he sensed she had no more wish than he to dwell upon what he must do in the future.

Abandoning words, he showed her his longing, his deep, unending desire for her. She smiled and kissed him, sharing her own need, so sharp and hot it took his breath away.

He sought for Davharin, who had sometimes shared in their lovemaking, but the spirit had withdrawn. Heléri's hand slid into his sleeve, flesh tingling on flesh, and he forgot all else as their hearts and bodies twined together.

Felisan pulled aside the heavy tapestry that covered the archway and held it for Turisan to pass through. He let it fall behind them, muffling the music and shutting out the bright light of torches. A slight smell of dust followed the fall of the tapestry, giving Turisan a strangely comfortable feeling.

Felisan's quarters were far from pretentious, and casually kept. Turisan remembered the governor's comfortably cluttered study to which Felisan led him. It was rather more cluttered now, books and scrolls scattered on every surface including the floor. Eliani had tried to keep it in some order, he suspected, but she had been gone a while.

Felisan poked at the coals in the hearth and added a log, then invited Turisan with a gesture to sit. “Do you care for more wine?”

“Thank you, no.”

“Will you rest in Eliani's chamber, or would you prefer another? Mind, hers is somewhat untidy.”

Turisan hid his amusement, though he did smile. “Nothing would please me more than to rest in Eliani's chamber.”

“You must miss her.” A small, sympathetic frown creased Felisan's brow. “Well, so do I. The Hall is too quiet without her.”

Turisan gazed at the new yellow flames. “I will not apologize for her absence.”

“Oh, no, no! I never meant that you should.” Felisan sighed and shifted his shoulders as he sprawled in his chair. “I knew she would go when you told us of the mindspeech. Suspected before then that she would go to you, at least for a time.”

Turisan tilted his head to look at Felisan. “Did you? I did not. It seemed to me I could do nothing to please her.”

Felisan chuckled. “Well, you did not know her. She fights her own heart, sometimes.”

“Mm.”

Felisan's eyes betrayed an unaccustomed worry. “You said she is well?”

Turisan turned his chair more toward Felisan. “She has been to Ghlanhras.”

Felisan leaned forward, eyes intent. “And met Othanin? What did he say? Why did he not come to Council?”

“Our messages never reached him. The alben intercepted the first party in the mountains. That was the party Kelevon had met, and he was taken with them.”

“Ah!”

“And the second party was slain here in Alpinon. We had word of it a few days ago from Clerestone.”

“So the guardians Eliani sent back arrived safely there? Good. She will be glad to hear of it.”

“Can you—can you speak to her now?”

Turisan nodded. “I will, but I must first tell you of Fireshore.” He looked down at his hands and rubbed them together. “I have no gentle way to say it. Ghlanhras was attacked and captured by the alben shortly after Eliani arrived.”

“What?!”

“Eliani escaped, but Luruthin was taken. So was Othanin, and the others dwelling in the city.”

“Where is my daughter?” Felisan looked as close to anger as Turisan had ever seen him.

Turisan leaned back in his chair. “She and her escort rode back to Ghlanhras to rescue Luruthin and Othanin.”

“No!” Felisan jumped up and began to pace. “I forbid it!”

“It is done, Felisan. They succeeded, although at some cost.”

Felisan stopped and met his gaze across a table cluttered with maps and candlesticks. “The cost?”

“Two dead, three wounded, three unaccounted for and presumed captured.”

A look of pain crossed Felisan's face. Just as swiftly, it fell into a neutral mask, reminding Turisan of his own father.

“Shall I speak to Eliani now?”

“Wait.” Felisan frowned in thought. “I had rather speak to her myself.”

Turisan's brows rose. “Would that you could.”

“I can, with Rephanin's help. And yours, of course.” He glanced at Turisan, a self-conscious smile curving his lips. “Rephanin has done me the favor before. He helped me and Jharan achieve our lifelong wish.”

A small tingle ran through Turisan's flesh. He knew his father and Felisan had sought mindspeech together in their younger days—had entreated the spirits to be blessed with the gift. It had occurred to him that the mindspeech he shared with Eliani might be the spirits' answer to their fathers' plea.

“Rephanin helped you share mindspeech.”

Felisan smiled as he returned to his chair. “Yes. At long last. It was a great gift.”

“My father did not mention it to me.”

“You were in the field, I believe.” Felisan laced his fingers and tapped his thumbs against his chin. “I think Rephanin would help you and me to speak together, if you are willing. That way I could tell Eliani my concerns directly.”

And share a moment's closeness, in case she does not return. Turisan did not voice the thought. Instead he shifted in his chair.

“Rephanin is weary. He was scarcely recovered from the battle when we came here, and the journey told on him.”

Felisan nodded. “I could see that. A day's rest may help. I will not trouble him tonight. Tomorrow, perhaps. Before the feast?”

Turisan hesitated. His contacts with Rephanin had been few, mostly in the field where he was but one of hundreds who heard the magelord's voice. More intimate mindspeech would be uncomfortable—he still felt a shadow of mistrust, an echo of his upbringing—but for Felisan's sake he was willing. He nodded.

“Thank you. Thank you, my son.”

Turisan smiled, touched by the endearment. “I will inform Eliani tonight. What more shall I say to her from you in the meantime?”

“In the meantime, give her my love.”

Turisan sighed. He became aware that his right hand was rubbing at the polished wood of his chair's arm. He stopped and folded his hands in his lap.

“How many alben are in Ghlanhras?”

“At least a hundred. Probably more.”

A look of disbelief crossed Felisan's face. “So few captured the city?”

“There were few ælven in residence. That is the other news Eliani sends.” Turisan drew himself up, misliking the task of bringing bad tidings. “Ghlanhras is dying. Most of the ælven have left it. There were only a hundred or so before the alben attacked.”

“The city is dying? Why?”

“The hunger has returned there.”

Felisan looked aghast. “The alben's curse.”

“So it is believed by many of Fireshore's people. Eliani tells me few of them will go as far as Ghlanhras any more. Most of the darkwood trade is now conducted out of Woodrun.”

“Poor Othanin.”

“His own lady was afflicted, and sought voluntary exile west of the mountains with a group of others who were likewise stricken. Othanin is deeply saddened. Eliani said he seemed hopeless.”

Felisan closed his eyes. “Fireshore has ever been a source of woe to us. Would that we had never gone there.”

“We would not have darkwood, in that case.”

“Darkwood.” Felisan shook his head. “It is not worth the cost.”

Turisan tried to imagine a world without darkwood, the hardest, strongest wood known. So many things were made of it—bridges, buildings, furniture. The roof beams of this very hall were of darkwood, hauled along the trade road from Fireshore.

“Have you told Jharan of this?”

Turisan nodded, saddened by the concern writ on Felisan's face. Felisan, who was always merry, no longer merry now and it was Turisan's doing. How he disliked being the bearer of bad tidings.

“Eliani has sent word of the fall of Ghlanhras to the Steppes. They may be expected to respond with action.”

Felisan let out a wry huff of laughter. “Battle on her doorstep? Oh, yes, Pashari will respond.” He shifted forward in his chair, leaning his elbows on his knees and dropping his head into his hands. “Another war.”

Turisan nodded though he knew Felisan could not see it. “I fear so.”

“All this is happening too swiftly.”

Turisan made no answer. They sat in silence for a while. Turisan watched the dancing flames and listened to the fire's gentle murmur.

Felisan sighed, his face wrought with trouble. “Ehranan marches north.”

“Rephanin and I are to join him there and ride to Fireshore.”

Felisan had been staring at the fire as he listened, but he glanced sharply up at this. “You are going to Fireshore?”