Swords Over Fireshore (23 page)

“Not a cloak, but it will guard you a little from the cold.”

Touched, Luruthin accepted the gift. The skin was soft and supple. His throat tightened with gratitude.

“Th-thank you. I did not expect this.”

Inóran smiled. “Put it on. You are shivering.”

Luruthin slipped the tunic over his head and settled it on his shoulders. It was not a cloak, true, but it made him feel warmer at once.

“Thank you, Inóran. It is a fine gift.”

Inóran smiled and offered an arm. “Spirits guard your path.”

“And yours.”

Luruthin clasped arms. The warmth of friendship shone through Inóran's khi.

“You are welcome here, for my part.”

“Thank you.” Luruthin smiled as they let go, thinking privately that despite the generosity of the welcome, he hoped never to avail himself of it. He would be glad if he could be assured he need never return to Fireshore.

Rejoining the others, he saw Eliani raise an eyebrow at his tunic. Luruthin smiled.

“A gift from Inóran.”

“Kind of him.”

She glanced toward Inóran and waved a hand in farewell. Luruthin did the same, and Inóran waved back before returning to his lodge. At the same moment, Kivhani came out of the woods with another of the Lost, each carrying bows and quivers full of arrows fletched in white. Kivhani stopped before Eliani.

“Please accept these, Lady Eliani, with our wishes for your safety as you journey homeward.”

Eliani looked astonished as she took one of the bows and ran her hands along the arched wood. “Thank you! These are fine work. You honor us.”

“As you have honored us, with your understanding and friendship.”

Kivhani came to Luruthin with a bow and quiver, smiling as she offered them. Accepting them, he felt a wash of gratitude. He had not had a weapon since his capture, and the sense of safety it gave him was surprising in its power. He bowed.

“Thank you, Lady Kivhani.”

“You are most welcome.”

She offered an arm and Luruthin clasped it. Her grip was firm, her khi stronger than he expected. She smiled again briefly.

“If ever we may be of service to you, call upon us.”

“You and Othanin are welcome to break your journey in Clerestone, if you wish. It is a day's travel from Highstone.”

Kivhani gazed at him. “If that will not trouble the people of Clerestone.”

Luruthin lifted his chin slightly. “My house is open to you. My people will welcome my honored guests.”

“Thank you, Theyn Luruthin.” She held his gaze for a long moment, then glanced eastward. “I must retire. Fare you well, and may spirits watch over you.”

Vanorin distributed the deerskin packs of supplies. The one he handed to Luruthin looked less full than the others. Luruthin glanced inside it, found a blanket, two pouches of dried food, and a water skin. He looked at Vanorin, wanting to protest that he could carry more, but he suspected that even this light burden would become a trial before long.

He settled the bow and pack at his back and started off after Eliani, who was already walking up the hillside toward the trail that had led them hither. As the trees closed in around them and the path became a narrow track, Vanorin took the lead, followed by Birani, Eliani, Luruthin, and the other two guardians.

Luruthin glanced back, but the meadow was already hidden by trees. Wishing the best to Inóran and the others, he turned his thoughts toward home.

Ghlanhras

 

S
halár stood with Torith on a high platform beside the city gates, gazing over Ghlanhras. Work on the enclosures was progressing. The way from the gates to Darkwood Hall was now completely covered, and passages to the platforms overlooking the north road and the other guarded points along the walls were roofed and partially enclosed.

The darkwood used on these passages was salvaged from vacant houses on the west side of the city. Shalár had ordered their destruction to make way for a holding pen for kobalen. She could see the pen from where she stood, some hundred or more kobalen huddled within it. Another hunt would be needed before long.

Shalár's blood stirred at the thought, though she knew she could not lead the hunt. She must consider the safety of her child, and too many matters required her attention for her to leave Ghlanhras just now. Nor would she care to be absent when her people arrived from Nightsand.

Her gaze rose to the peak of Firethroat visible above the darkwood forest, steaming sullenly in the night. A flash of orange light told of some small disturbance within the volcano's maw.

Shalár frowned. She would have to observe Firethroat more closely. The night was young enough yet for a walk to the shore.

“Thank you, Torith. Carry on.”

He bowed. “Bright Lady.”

Shalár climbed down from the platform and started back to the hall, but a hail from outside the gate made her pause. She listened to Torith exchange words with the newcomers, and recognized Gavál's voice. Interested, she turned to await the opening of the gates.

The massive darkwood gates swung inward, passing beneath the roof of the enclosure, which had been built high at the gates to accommodate them. Gavál and three other hunters came in, pushing before them two bound ælven, a Stonereach and a Greenglen, both male. The Greenglen limped. All came to a halt before Shalár.

A moment's hope was extinguished—the Stonereach was not the one she had conceived with. Still, she examined both captives with interest, walking all around them. The ælven did not look at her. She turned to Gavál, who appeared pleased with himself as he bowed deeply before her.

“Bright Lady, we found these by the Lanarindel. They were fashioning a raft.”

“Were there others with them?”

He shook his head. “No sign of any others.”

Disappointing, but she could not blame Gavál for their absence. He had at least caught two of the ælven who had attacked the city.

She stepped toward the gate and addressed the Stonereach. “Come here.”

When he did not respond she took hold of his khi and compelled him. He gave a strangled cry, then shuffled after her.

Shalár glanced at the Greenglen, who hastened to follow. She led them just outside the gates, to where the head of an ælven attacker killed in the fighting, another Stonereach, was impaled on a spear set at the side of the road.

“Is this a friend of yours?”

She made the Stonereach look at it. He said nothing, but his eyes widened in dread. The Greenglen glanced at the head, then quickly looked down again.

Feeling she had made her point, Shalár led them back into the city and signaled for the gates to be closed. She turned to Gavál.

“Well done. Bring them to the audience hall.”

“Yes, Bright Lady.”

She released the Stonereach, who drew a gasping breath. Ignoring him, Shalár strode along the passage to Darkwood Hall.

She would visit Firethroat another night. She wanted to question these captives. They would not be kept with the other ælven, she decided. These were warriors, and might incite the more docile city folk to unrest. No, she would keep them where she had kept her Stonereach and Othanin, though she would make certain first that the rooms were secure.

Passing through the hall to her private chambers, she glanced around for her ælven chamber attendant. The female sat on the floor by the door between Shalár's workroom and bedchamber, as Shalár had commanded. She was rather gaunt and wore an air of dejection. Her black hair was braided back severely, without ornament.

Shalár went into the bedchamber. “Help me out of these leathers.”

The female rose and silently obeyed, her fingers fumbling a little at the buckles. Shalár stood still, observing the attendant's khi, watchful for any flare of resistance, but the female was submissive, as she had been since the first night of her service. Shalár had subdued her quickly then, with judicious application of khi and the threat of killing the female's father should she disobey. She had not had to repeat the lesson.

“Boots.”

The attendant knelt and pulled off Shalár's boots. The second came off with difficulty, and the female's tugging nearly pulled Shalár off balance. Shalár thrust a heel against her chest in rebuke, pushing her backward. The ælven sprawled and lay still for a moment, then slowly sat up.

“Bring me the broidered robe, then put those away.”

The female obeyed, keeping her gaze averted as she got to her feet and went to the wardrobe. She returned with the robe and held it for Shalár. It was silk, scarlet with firevines finely wrought in silver thread, one of the finest of Shalár's new garments. She donned it, then went out without another glance at the ælven.

Ranad was hovering idly at the door to the audience hall, and brightened at her approach. Shalár paused.

“Bring me that steward again, and bring a set of fresh clothes that will fit him.”

Ranad looked curious. “Yes, Bright Lady.”

She brushed past him into the hall, mounting the dais where her governor's chair stood. Its cushion had been covered in red at her orders, and flames carved into the curling smoke of its darkwood back. Darkshore ruled in Ghlanhras again, and all who sought audience with her would remember it.

Gavál was waiting at the back of the hall with his hunters and the ælven captives. Shalár beckoned one of the hall guards to her and gave him orders for the preparation of the holding rooms. He hastened away and she summoned Gavál with a gesture. He brought his prizes forward and made them kneel before her.

Shalár gazed at them for a moment, debating what information to seek of them. She already knew who they were, as far as she cared to know. She knew why they had come to Ghlanhras—to rescue Othanin and the Stonereach.

She knew from questioning the ælven attendants of Darkwood Hall that the female Stonereach who had escaped during her capture of the city was the daughter of Alpinon's governor, and she had found among Othanin's letters the messages that female had brought from the Ælven Council and the governor of Southfæld. It had amused Shalár to learn that Kelevon had escaped from them; she had assumed they would kill him. Fatally softhearted, the ælven.

She leaned forward, brushing her khi against that of the Stonereach. He flinched as if she had slapped him.

“Whither is your governor's daughter bound?”

He stared at the floor, blinking rapidly, silent. Shalár wrenched his khi and he cried out, but still did not answer. She twisted harder, until he fell into a faint. Releasing him, she turned her attention to the Greenglen, who hastily looked away from her gaze.

“Where is she bound?”

“I do not know.”

She felt her way into his khi, found the dull pain of an arrow wound in his thigh, and sent fire into it. The ælven gasped and collapsed forward, then rolled onto his side clasping his leg. She waited for a moment until she was sure he would hear her, then spoke again.

“Where did you leave her?”

He gasped. “Outside the city. Oh, please stop!”

“She came here to deliver letters. Does she return to Southfæld?”

“I do not know. I do not know!”

“How many are with her?”

“T-ten? There were—twelve of us.”

“Including your friends at the gates, I presume.”

He made a gulping sound, but did not answer. Shalár let him go and he curled into himself, weeping and shivering.

She was annoyed at his lack of knowledge, but unsurprised. She did not share her plans with her own warriors. No doubt the Stonereach leader kept hers to herself.

Eight warriors with her, and they had all slipped through Shalár's grasp. Disappointing. Most likely they were in Woodrun by now. In the Stonereach's place, Shalár would be inciting the people of that town to fight, to arm and come against Ghlanhras. She needed to know if that was indeed coming to pass.

“Take them away, Gavál. Check the holding rooms yourself. If they make trouble, you will answer.”