Swords Over Fireshore (20 page)

Deep within the weave, an echo of the handfasting ceremony whispered. Shalár sensed a female, sensed Othanin's delight in her, a hint of her scent, the brush against skin of a long swath of waving bronze hair. Deep, abiding love.

Angered, Shalár threw the ribbon from her. She opened her eyes and stood staring at it. It lay crumpled on the floor, a snake, a tether, but only a symbol of the pledge that was the greater object of repugnance.

Fools, to bind themselves so! Where were they now? Not together, she knew.

Othanin's correspondent was his partner. She was sure of it now. Handfasted, but dwelling apart. What did it mean?

She picked up the ribbon again and searched its length. Sometimes the couple's names were woven into their handfasting ribbons, along with the images and blessings. Shalár found no names here, but the initials “O” and “K” adorned each end of the ribbon, entwined with firevine.

Slowly she coiled the ribbon, then chose a plain grey pouch from the drawer in which to store it. Pulling the strings tight, she cast the pouch behind her boots and closed the wardrobe.

She returned to her workroom and found Ranad there, standing over a black-haired ælven male who was on his knees, head bowed, hands bound behind him. She gazed at the ælven for a long moment, then gestured to Ranad to loose his bonds. Ranad gave her a doubtful look, but knelt to obey.

The ælven came out of his stupor as his hands were untied. He glanced up at Shalár, blue eyes startled, then quickly looked away. His face was strained and somewhat gaunt.

Shalár gazed at him. “Are you not given enough to eat?”

He rubbed at his wrists but did not meet her gaze. “We are given enough.”

Starving themselves, perhaps. That might be how they were dying. She would inquire about it later, of those who guarded the houses where the ælven were held. One housed those captured in Darkwood Hall, three others the rest of the ælven taken in Ghlanhras.

Ranad stepped back, the ropes dangling from his hand. Shalár gestured to him to leave the room. He opened his mouth to protest, but shut it again and obeyed.

“Come, sit here.” Shalár waved at the chair before her table. “There is wine if you wish it.”

The ælven cast a wary glance at her, then got to his feet and sat in the chair. He stared at the tabletop and made no move to take wine.

Shalár returned to her own chair and gazed at him. “You were Othanin's attendant?”

“Steward of the hall.”

“For how long?”

“Two decades and more.”

“Othanin must have been pleased with your service.”

He made no answer. Shalár watched him, wondering how best to approach him. She could wrest what she wanted to know from his mind, but that was taxing and sometimes inspired greater resistance. Ælven were not easy to control, and she wished to conserve her strength for the building of her child's body. She would try first to coax what she wanted from him.

“You must know Othanin's lady, then.”

His startled expression told her she had guessed aright. After the first glance he returned his gaze to the table, frowning.

“Tell me about her. What is her name?”

He was silent. She could taste fear in his khi, see it in his breathing. Knowing her power, she smiled and leaned toward him.

“I can find it out easily enough. Spare me the trouble of fetching others.” She wrapped her khi around his, let him feel it. “Her name.”

His eyes widened, breath shortened. “Kivhani.”

“A Steppegard.”

He blinked. “Yes.”

“Why did she leave Ghlanhras?”

For a moment he did not answer. “Many have left. They fear the hunger.”

“Why did she leave?”

She saw him swallow, knew he was debating what to say. He glanced up at her.

“Why should I tell you? What will it gain me?”

She twisted his khi and he cringed, making a small, strangled sound. When she released him he fell forward, catching himself against the table. Slowly he pushed himself upright.

“Spare yourself. Tell me why Kivhani left her lord.”

“The hunger.”

Shalár frowned in impatience. “She did not leave him for fear of the hunger.” She tightened her hold on the ælven's khi.

“No! She left when she was struck with the hunger.”

Surprised, Shalár gazed at him. “But she did not seek death.”

“I do not know.”

“She wrote to Othanin.”

“I do not know.”

Shalár took up the bundled letters and held them before his face. “As steward of the house all messages passed through your hands. Have you not seen these before?”

He stared at them, then glanced at her fearfully and shook his head. “No.”

She shoved the bundle toward him. “Is it her hand?”

He turned his head to look at the writing. “Yes.”

Shalár set the letters aside. “What did Othanin say of her?”

“He did not speak of her after she left. He mourned her absence.”

The ælven fell silent and stared at nothing, as if lost in memory. Shalár doubted he knew much more that would be of use. She sat back in her chair.

“Ranad!”

The ælven looked up. “Wait.”

The door opened and Ranad looked in. Shalár held up a hand to stay him. “In a moment.”

Ranad glanced at the ælven, then withdrew. Shalár looked expectantly at the male before her. His dark hair hung lank about his face, and a look of hunger had come into his eyes.

“If I tell you something you will be glad to know, will you reward me?”

“I do not bargain with captives.”

“You will be glad to know this. It could save you from a danger.”

Shalár peered at him. Extracting information whose nature was unknown would be difficult. When she entered another's mind it was best to know what she was seeking. She tilted her head.

“What reward do you desire?”

He met her gaze. “Free my daughter.”

“No.”

To set any of her ælven captives free would be to send information about her people and her position in Ghlanhras to her enemies. There was no question of it, and the ælven looked as if he knew it.

“Then ... spare her from being used to breed.”

His face went hard with the words. Shalár felt a ripple of anger in his khi.

Her custom always had been to encourage her hunters to breed with ælven captives. She would reward any of her people who bred successfully, as they well knew. Here in Ghlanhras there were far more ælven available than she had ever had at a time in Nightsand, so she doubted any one of the captives was overused. Still, she understood their hatred of such treatment. Interesting that this ælven did not ask to be spared himself, but made the request only on behalf of his child.

“What is your daughter's name?”

He looked up at her, fearful and hopeful at once. “Teshali.”

“Very well. If I find your information useful, Teshali will be spared.”

“Your word on it?”

Fool. He expected her to behave as an ælven.

“You have my word.”

Shalár smiled. Perhaps she actually would spare the daughter—once. Just to torment the father with the fact that she had quite literally kept her so-valued word.

Or perhaps such strong concern for his daughter might be used to make him do Shalár's bidding. A cooperative ælven might well be of use. He could be sent into Woodrun to gather information. He would not be suspected, and he would certainly return, knowing that to fail would be to doom his daughter to unimagined torments.

He was watching her, searching her face. Shalár raised an eyebrow. Her patience was not infinite.

He licked his lips. “Kivhani is not alone.”

“What do you mean?”

“There are others—many have been cursed with the hunger. Not all seek death.”

Shalár leaned forward. “What do they seek?”

“They go into voluntary exile.”

“Where?”

“West. At first they were sent away. Governor Minálan would not allow them to remain in Fireshore. He sent them across the Ebons.”

Shalár knew of ælven who had occasionally wandered into her lands. Once in a great while such a one was taken captive, and if they showed sign of the hunger, was offered a place among her people, which was usually refused. More often they were found dead of sun poisoning or starvation, pathetic bodies discovered by her hunters, shriveled in lonely death on the rugged western slopes of the Ebons. It had been some decades since any such had been found.

“Governor Othanin was more lenient. He gave them help, tools and supplies to make some kind of life, when he sent them west.”

Shalár's eyes narrowed. “How generous.”

“He never spoke of them afterward, but everyone knew....”

Shalár coiled her khi a little tighter around the ælven's. He closed his eyes.

“Knew what?”

“That they were together. They had made a life, together.”

She knew nothing of this. A community of ælven who suffered the hunger, yet did not seek refuge with Clan Darkshore?

“How many are they?”

“I do not know.”

“Where are they?”

“I do not know.”

Shalár brought pressure to bear on his khi. He winced, and his breath came short, but he shook his head.

“I do not know! West, only west. I know no more.”

She relented. “Is Kivhani with them?”

He squeezed his eyes shut, as if anticipating pain. “I do not know. Othanin never spoke of her again.”

She watched him for a moment, seeking any sign that he was withholding information. At last she released him. He gave a small, choked gasp.

“Ranad!”

Her attendant opened the door and looked in. Shalár gestured toward the ælven.

“Take him away.”

“The sun has risen, Bright Lady.”

“Hold him here until nightfall, then. And give him something to eat.”

Ranad moved to take hold of the captive's arms. The ælven looked up at Shalár. “My daughter?”

“Ah, yes.” Shalár looked at Ranad. “When you return him to holding, bring back a female named Teshali.”

The ælven jerked against Ranad's hold. “But you said—”

“You want her spared from being bred. My people have access to any of the ælven in the holding houses. I have given them my word.” Shalár watched his face, enjoying the dismay that crossed it. “She may dwell here, if she does as she is bid. I need someone to look after my chambers.”

The ælven stared at her, his expression desperate. “She will not be troubled?”

“I expect not.”

Shalár smiled, and with a gesture told Ranad to take him away. She was well pleased with what she had learned, and with what looked to be a useful arrangement. If the daughter cared as much for her father as he for her, they could each be made to do Shalár's bidding for the other's sake.

And the information he had given was of value. Shalár took up Othanin's letters. She did not recall any mention of others in them, but she would look through them again with an eye to finding hints about these voluntary exiles. A band of ælven outcasts, wandering together in the west. The steward had been right that such might be a danger to her. She would have to learn more of them.

Ebon Mountains

 

E
liani felt confined when she entered Kivhani's shelter, but she kept the thought to herself. No more than a framework thickly covered with evergreen boughs, the shelter was a single small room that smelled of pine sap and dust.

The ground on which Kivhani invited her to sit was cold. No fire, for to make a smoke hole would be to admit sunlight. The opening left as a doorway in the side facing the meadow was covered by a curtain of deer hide.

Kivhani sat across from Eliani, gazing at floor between them. Her hair was braided tightly back as always, but a wisp had escaped near her neck and it curled in a pale white spiral across her shoulder. Othanin sat beside her, but it was she who spoke.