Swords Over Fireshore (29 page)

Within her heart she felt secure, and did not fear the curse. She had been exposed much more directly when Kelevon had drunk from her wounded hand, yet that was so long ago now that she was beginning to feel confident she was not in danger, at least from that contact.

She stayed beside Luruthin as the shadows deepened within the cave, kept back only by the flickering firelight. Looking out of the cave's mouth, she watched the sunlight grow golden-hued, then climb the far side of the valley as a line of shadow crept upward behind it, turning the evergreens to dusky blue.

Luruthin was gazing at the fire now, lying on his side. Eliani touched his brow and was relieved to find it cooler, though still unnaturally warm. The fever was breaking.

He was better, but she doubted he could travel far tonight. It would be best if he rested longer. A night and another day here? She glanced at Vanorin, saw him watching Luruthin with a worried frown. He met her gaze, and she knew he had concluded as she had. They would not try to move Luruthin tonight.

Vanorin went to where the packs sat against the wall and took out a blanket. He glanced at Eliani, offering with a gesture to bring another for her.

“Yes, thank you. Bring my pack, will you please?”

He brought it over to her, then settled himself on the opposite side of the fire, lying on his back with his sword unsheathed beside him. Eliani found her comb and went to work untangling her hair. She signaled Turisan, who answered at once.

Is all well?

As well as can be. Luruthin is somewhat better, but we will let him rest tonight and tomorrow.

I did not seal my letter to your father. Shall I tell him about Luruthin?

Eliani closed her eyes. She did not want to face this. To tell her father was to admit that it was real.

Yes, but please ask him to tell no one else as yet.

She felt as if she had betrayed Luruthin, passed judgment on him. Once Felisan knew of his affliction, he must as Alpinon's governor seek to find a new theyn for Clerestone. It would be Mathran, most like—Luruthin's steward. A faithful friend, loyal in service.

She set aside her comb and braided her hair again, tying it with the worn bit of leather thong she had used all through this journey, then arranged herself to rest. Pillowing her head on her pack and lying so that she could see the cave's entrance, she pulled her blankets close, seeking comfort against the bitterness in her heart.

Luruthin lay still, watching the fire that had gone to glowing coals, listening to the others and waiting until he knew they were at rest. His head had cleared at last. While he had lain in fever his thoughts had been confused, but he now had ample leisure to consider his situation, as little as he wished to think of it.

He could not return home. He would not see Jhinani, nor ever hold their son. All that he had known and treasured in life was lost to him now.

He closed his eyes wearily. He had no more tears in him, and his heart was once again numb. The hopes that had begun to flicker there were quenched. He had nothing left.

Slowly, with all the stealth he could command, he got up and left the cave. The falls whispered restlessly. The small pool at their foot lay dark, shadows crossing it as fitful clouds hid the sky. Luruthin stood gazing at the water, then followed the stream as it left the pool and continued down the valley.

The air was sharp but he ignored the cold. This was no more chill than a walk to the Three Shades.

He thought again of the last time he had been there, of the vision he and Vanorin had seen. Perhaps Josæli had not been drawn by the trouble at Midrange after all. Perhaps she had been drawn to him.

Walking warmed him a little. The way was easier now than it had been in the morning. He was going downhill, and he was rested. Nor was the sun shining to trouble him. Thinking back, he realized he had been avoiding the sun of late.

He reached the high fall and stood looking over it, down into the mist that drifted about the sharp rocks in the pool. They frightened him, but he could not let that stay him. He stepped down onto a dry space, a slightly higher ledge of rock just beside the cascade. Looking over its edge, he breathed the mist that rose up to him, listened to the roar below.

It would be quick, he hoped. No more than a moment's pain. A swift end to all his troubles.

How strange to be standing here, contemplating ending his life. He had never really understood, until now, why an ælven would make such a choice.

Ælven lives were long; it was thought that they could be endless, yet eventually each chose to abandon the flesh. The eldest ælven whom he knew had seen the Bitter Wars. None remained who had seen the first attacks of kobalen on ælven villages, or the founding of Clan Ælvanen and the setting of the creed.

By comparison to those eldest he was extremely young, not even a full century behind him. Sad to have come to this so soon, but he could not bear to think of spending centuries in fear of the sun, in fear of both ælven and alben, living by the suffering of others. He would rather walk in spirit, and hope someday to try again to make a life in the world of flesh. This life was broken beyond mending, he feared.

“Luruthin!”

Eliani's voice, so close that it startled him. Alarm tingled through his limbs. He should jump before she reached him, but he could not help turning his head.

“Luruthin, no!”

She was running along the river bank, slipping and scrambling in her haste. He knew a stab of fear for her. Vanorin was behind her, though. He would take care of her.

Luruthin looked down at the water again. The chill was beginning to reach him now. He shivered briefly.

“Cousin! I will not lose you!”

“Eliani, no!”

Vanorin's cry and a scuffle made Luruthin look back again. Vanorin had caught Eliani's arm, keeping her from jumping down to where Luruthin stood. A wise act, for the ledge might have crumbled beneath both of them had she succeeded.

“I am sorry.” Luruthin looked up at her, knowing it was useless to try to explain. He shook his head helplessly. “I am so tired.”

Suddenly the pain returned. Unexpected tears slipped from his eyes. Eliani stared back at him, her face anguished.

“Tell Jhinani I love her.”

Eliani scowled. “How can I tell her that if you abandon her? She bears your child!”

Luruthin closed his eyes briefly. “He is lost to me now.”

“No! Not if the Lost become a clan! Luruthin, you can help them! You can speak for them at the Council.”

“Kivhani will speak for them.”

“But she is not known to the Council. You are!” A passionate fire lit Eliani's eyes now, a look he knew of old. “They have named you a hero! If you join your voice to hers they must listen!”

A call to service. He frowned, not wanting to answer it, not wanting to let his heart reawaken, let the pain in again.

“They need you, Luruthin. The Lost need you, and I need you! Do not leave me, Cousin, I beg of you!” She gave a gasping sob.

Luruthin turned away, gasping himself as he gazed down at the rocky death below. Was it selfish of him to seek escape?

“Luruthin.” Vanorin's voice, steady and controlled as ever. “Three of us are safer together than two. Stay for her sake.”

It broke his will. How vexing of Vanorin to remind him of his pledge. While there was breath in him, his sword was hers.

Luruthin turned away from the falls, stepped toward the river bank, and slipped on unseen ice. He fell, landing hard on one knee, and felt the rock crack beneath him.

“Luruthin!”

He flung up a hand. “Stay back! The rock is crumbling.”

His heart was pounding. He shifted his weight and felt the ledge shift as well.

Looking up, he saw Vanorin push Eliani unceremoniously back and kneel at the edge of the bank, reaching down to him. Luruthin stretched his arm, not daring to move his legs. He had to lean forward to reach Vanorin's hand. As they clasped each other's wrists, the rock beneath him broke away.

Eliani gave a sharp cry as he fell, rock bruising his knees and his arm jerked so hard he let out a grunt of pain. Vanorin's grip held. The captain leaned back, straining to pull him up.

Luruthin's arm felt like fire, like it would pull free of his shoulder. He scrabbled with his other hand for a hold on the bank, but could find no purchase. He saw Vanorin's feet slipping as the captain strove to push backward.

His flailing hand was seized and pulled upward. Both shoulders protested with pain as Eliani and Vanorin hauled him onto the bank.

The three of them tumbled together into the snow, gasping for breath. Snow was in Luruthin's face, in his eyes. He pushed himself up to his knees, wincing as the one he had fallen on protested his weight.

“Forgive me.”

Eliani threw her arms around him. In that moment he was glad to be alive. He would have to hope for more such moments, to ease the darkness of his path.

He stood, with Eliani's help, and found he could hobble well enough. They returned to the cave, and Vanorin built up the fire again. Luruthin sat beside it, shaking now, unable to stop the chattering of his teeth. Eliani wrapped blankets around him and stayed holding him until the shivering subsided.

After a while, Vanorin stood and left the cave, carrying the little cup with him. Eliani frowned, then got up to follow.

Luruthin watched her go, then returned his gaze to the fire. Spirits, he was more tired than he remembered ever being. He stared at the flames, content to think of nothing.

Eliani found Vanorin kneeling on the flat rock, the knife he had held in the fire and the cup he had taken with him sitting before him as he unlaced one leather bracer from a forearm. She stepped onto the rock and stood in front of him.

“What are you doing?”

Vanorin glanced up at her. “He is too weak to travel,” he said in a voice so low it barely reached her.

He set his bracer aside and pushed up the sleeve of his tunic, then held his arm over the cup and picked up the knife. Aghast, Eliani crouched before him.

“No!”

“There is no choice. There are no kobalen this high in this season. He cannot continue without food.”

“Vanorin—”

He had set the blade to his flesh, though, making a neat cut from which blood quickly welled. Eliani watched as the blood dripped into the cup.

“You will weaken yourself.”

“A little will not harm me.”

“You cannot do this every day!”

“No.”

His face was calm, a little stern. He glanced up and met Eliani's gaze. Suddenly decided, she began to unlace her own bracer.

“I will contribute.”

“There is no need—”

“This will be from both of us. It is better so.” She held his gaze. “It will not be easy for him.”

Vanorin's eyes showed his understanding. He made no further protest as Eliani picked up the knife and pressed it to her own flesh, hissing a little as she cut herself. She held her arm over the cup, nearly touching Vanorin's, so close she could feel his khi. It would have made sense to wait, let him give his share first before giving hers, but she was ever impatient.

They sat silent as they bled together. Eliani felt a great warmth toward Vanorin, who had convinced Luruthin to live, who had pulled him to safety, who now gave of his very flesh for Luruthin's sake. Always giving, never expecting thanks. Her heart swelled with fondness for him.

When the cup was close to full they withdrew their arms. Vanorin handed Eliani a kerchief with which to stanch her cut. She pressed it to her arm, staring at the blood which now steamed gently in the cold night.

A snowflake drifted into the cup, melting as it touched the warm, dark liquid. Eliani glanced up. She had not noticed the sky clouding over.

Snow again. She looked at Vanorin, saw him frowning. The snow would slow them, possibly even trap them. She regretted having been so insistent upon avoiding the roads.

Her arm had stopped bleeding. She handed the kerchief to Vanorin and pulled down her sleeve, then put on her bracer again and pulled the laces tight. Picking up the cup, she sighed.