Swords Over Fireshore (38 page)

“Oh? How so?”

“The Ælven Council saw through my deception.”

Shalár's eyes narrowed. “Unfortunate. How come you here, then?”

“I escaped.”

He offered nothing more. She leaned forward, arms crossed on the table top. “Escaped from Glenhallow, when they knew you to be a deceiver? How did you manage it?”

“I found a willing friend.”

He let his voice drop on the words, and his gaze lingered on Shalár's throat. She sensed his desires—all of them—and ignored them.

“Your friend did not journey hither with you.”

“She would have slowed me.”

“Ah.”

“Particularly as I had to feed from her.”

Shalár frowned. “Does she live?”

“I assume so. I did not kill her.”

“How generous.”

“Well, she had been of help to me.”

Shalár made no further comment, but picked up a sheaf of papers and leafed through them. It angered her that Kelev had violated the one rule she had set for herself—never to feed upon the ælven—but she had first led him to do it, so she could hardly be surprised.

With that thought came the memory of their last coupling. It had been frenzied, the unexpected aftermath of a glut of feeding on ælven blood. The first ælven blood she had tasted, and the last she hoped to taste. There were few things she would not do for her people, but that was one of them. It was wrong.

She glanced up at him and saw him smiling at her with open appreciation. His smile widened to a grin as their gazes met.

He glanced toward the hunter and lowered his voice. “I was thinking of when we were last together. I did enjoy that.”

“It was not for your pleasure. I wanted a child.”

“I will gladly try again to give you one whenever you wish it, my lady.”

His gaze shifted to the curtained doorway behind her. She almost laughed aloud at his presumption, but instead she merely smiled.

“I will let you know when I wish it.”

She withdrew a page from her sheaf, studied it, then laid all down and looked at him. “What were you, when you dwelt among the ælven?”

“I trained horses.”

She scoffed. “Well, that is useless now. Have you any other skills?”

“I was a guide. I led trade caravans throughout the ælven realms.”

“How well do you know Fireshore?”

“I know the trade roads. They are few enough. I traveled less often here.”

“Do you know the darkwood camps?”

“I have seen some of them.”

Shalár nodded slightly and wrote another line, then put up her quill. She pushed aside her papers and gazed thoughtfully at Kelev. He returned her gaze, waiting.

“You have no other skills? Carpentry, perhaps?”

He laughed. “I am a poor hand at that. I can plan something pretty, but my hands will make a mess if I try to build it.”

“What if others did the building?”

He blinked. “You have a particular project in mind?”

She stood and retrieved a large roll of paper from a shelf, then spread it on the table before him. “I want covered passages to give access to key places in Ghlanhras. This plan is underway, but it is going too slowly.”

The Steppegard leaned forward, peering at the plan. “Perhaps I can help. Your folk are doing the work?”

“No. It is being done by captives.”

“Ah. I may indeed be able to help, in that case. I can be persuasive.” His voice rose on the last word, making it almost a question as he looked up at her.

“Hm.” She rolled the plan up again. “Take this and study it, go and observe the progress, then return and give me your opinion.”

He accepted the page with lowered gaze. She sensed a flash of something in his khi—anger? Impatience? It was gone at once.

“As you wish, Bright Lady.”

“But first, you are no doubt wishing for a meal and a rest.” She drew a half-page of paper toward her and scrawled on it, then stood and handed it to the guard.

“Take Kelev to the pens and give that to Wahral. You may have what remains of his feeder. Show him to a house near the circle.”

The guard bowed. “Yes, Bright Lady.”

The Steppegard stood, and she regarded him. “The houses are in disarray, but you will not mind that. Choose one you like and set it in order.”

Kelev bowed. “Thank you, Bright Lady.”

She watched him go, wondering how he had managed to escape. She should have questioned him about the ælven in Glenhallow, but there would be time for that. He was unlikely to leave after asking for refuge. There was nowhere else he could go.

Fairhollow

 

R
ephanin gazed out of the window over the town of Fairhollow, infinitely grateful to be indoors. Ehranan had bespoken rooms for him and Filari at one of the public lodges. A bed and a roof seemed extravagant luxuries, and he felt a slight pang for the army who were camped outside the town, but at least they, too, would have comforts they had not known in some days. The town was already preparing a feast for them.

Fairhollow was fairly large, a trading center for local farmers and hunters. Houses built of the blond stone common to the plains climbed up both sides of a shallow valley. A small river ran down its center, the road crossing it on a wide bridge built of darkwood, and smaller footbridges connected the two halves of the town on either side of the road.

Folk here were dark-haired, for the most part; Ælvanen in appearance, which roused Rephanin's memories of his first home. Here and there he saw a head of dark brown hair, sometimes curling, instead of black.

“Your pardon, my lord.”

He turned to find the host of the lodge standing in the open doorway, holding a tray with an ewer and cups. She was one of the brown-haired folk, and her eyes were dark green; a hint of Stonereach blood in her.

“I brought some wine for you and the lady.” She glanced over her shoulder toward Filari's room. “Should I have brought separate trays?”

“No, no. We can share. Thank you kindly.”

She blushed at his smile, and hastened to set the tray on a table near the fire. Rephanin crossed the hall and knocked on Filari's door.

“Filari? Would you care for some wine?”

The door opened and Filari looked out, suspicion in her face. Rephanin gestured toward his room, where the host was building up the fire. Filari gazed at her for a long moment.

“All right.”

The host seemed even more in awe of Filari than of himself. He doubted Ehranan had told her, but she had plainly learned that they were mindspeakers.

Filari carried a chair in from her room and put it before the hearth. Rephanin reached for the ewer but the host was before him; she poured wine for them both, offered to bring food, and finally withdrew after Rephanin told her rather firmly that they had all they needed.

Settling into his chair, he stretched his feet toward the fire and sipped his wine. “This is pleasant.”

Filari said nothing. She was in her most common mood: grim endurance. Poor company; he sought to change it.

Filari, what is it?

She was distant, withheld. For a moment he thought she would not answer, then she spoke so abruptly it startled him.

Do you expect me to spend the night with you?

Defensiveness bristled in her khi. Rephanin took another swallow of wine.

I expect nothing, though you are welcome if you wish to stay.

Filari appeared to relax somewhat.
It is what they are all saying. That you have chosen me as a lover.

Camp gossip. Shall I deny it?

They would only believe it the more.

Rephanin chuckled.
I fear you are right.

She took a deep swallow of wine. Rephanin wondered if he should not have accepted the host's offer of food.

Filari.

What?

I think you must have been hurt. Do you care to tell me of it?

She stared long at him, breathing sharply, then lowered her gaze. I do not see what that would serve.

It might help me avoid causing you further pain.

She pressed her lips together, then drank more wine. After a moment she put down the cup and closed her eyes.

It was the alben. Kelevon.

Rephanin nodded, though she could not see. He waited, not wishing to press her. She drew a ragged breath and sighed, rubbing at her eyes.

He—took control of me. In mind and in flesh.

Rephanin blinked. What she seemed to be saying was inconceivable.

He used khi to do this?

Yes.

Horror spread through Rephanin's awareness. This was a violation of the creed at its most basic level. One did not interfere uninvited with another's khi. To do so was to dishonor that other, and so to dishonor oneself.

Have you told anyone of this?

The healer who tended my hurts, but I think she did not believe me. She blamed me for his escape.

Filari stopped speaking abruptly and buried her face in her hands. Rephanin watched, his horror turning to anger against Kelevon.

You are not to blame.

I am. I knew in the back of my mind that he might deceive me, yet I persisted.

Blame is useless. Let it go.

She sat still, saying nothing. Listening, he thought. Waiting to hear exculpation.

Filari, remember when we talked of going on? That is what you must do now. Let go of the traitor, and know that any blame was his, not yours.

She did not answer. He could see her breathing deeply, steadily, and wondered if she was weeping. His instinct was to offer comfort, but he knew now that he must be very cautious in approaching her in any way. No wonder she bristled so.

If we are to succeed together as partners in mindspeech, we must learn to trust one another. I have sworn never to hurt you, and I stand by that, Filari. Yet if it hurts you to be touched at all, then I do not know how we shall manage.

She raised her head, blinking. Her eyes were dry, though her countenance was strained. She looked at him, and he could see the depth of her fear in her soft, dark eyes.

Poor child. To have been wounded so, and then blamed for it by her people. Pushed away by her family, and shunned by the Guard.

Rephanin reached his hand toward her, laying it on the table between them, palm up. She gazed at his hand for a long while, then slowly moved her own above it, holding it a handspan away, not touching but close enough that the khi from their palms began to blend. It tingled softly in Rephanin's flesh. He held still, leaving it to her to decide when and how far to go further.

You are very patient.

Rephanin smiled. Sometimes. Not always. I make no promises there.

Her lips curved slightly and her frown eased. She moved her hand a little closer and the tingling in his palm grew stronger.

Your khi is not like his.

She sounded surprised. Turning her head to meet his gaze, she looked thoughtful.

His was ... sharp. No, that does not describe it.

She seemed to be struggling for words. Rephanin watched her frustration.

You could show me.

She looked at him sharply, questioning. Fear leapt in her khi, then subsided.

With mindspeech we can show memories to each other, or even present sights, though that can be confusing. May I offer an example? May I share a memory with you? It means deepening our contact.

Filari blinked a few times, then gave a sharp nod. She was breathing rapidly, and he knew this frightened her.

Close your eyes.

She did so, and after a moment seemed to relax a little. She drew a deeper breath and let it out slowly.

Rephanin closed his own eyes and summoned a memory of Hollirued, of the coast near the city where he had often gone to gaze across the endless waters. He filled his mind with it, then opened the sight to Filari.

He heard her draw breath sharply. His own heart leapt with fear lest she react with violence again, for he had opened himself now and was unprotected. She did not, though. She slowly moved into his awareness, taking in the full sensation of the memory.

The sea. I have never seen it.