Swords Over Fireshore (45 page)

“I had better put these on.”

He went to the guest room and dressed swiftly, cinching his belt tight over his querulous gut. Putting the spare silks and Davhri's tea into his pack, he carried it out to the main room and set by the hearthroom door with his quiver and bow.

Davhri was sitting at her table, writing. Luruthin put on Felahran's boots, which he hoped the guardian's family would not begrudge him, then gathered up Birani's leathers and laid them against the wall with Felahran's sword, where Vanorin would find them.

Voices out in the hearthroom made him turn his head. Davhri rose and went to greet Eliani and Vanorin, who came in with raindrops glinting in their hair.

“You found Sunahran?”

Eliani smiled. “Yes, and three others. Hathranen made his way alone through the forest to Woodrun. I could not have done it!”

“Good news.”

“Yes. I have an escort once more, and Vanorin a command. He was beginning to miss it, were you not?” She cast a sly glance at Vanorin, who returned a quiet smile.

“I was certainly missing the horses. It will be good to ride again.”

Davhri brought tea for them. “I will start a stew.”

“No, no, we are all asked to sup with Dejhonan and his family.” Eliani turned to Luruthin. “I wish you could join us. We shall miss you.”

“And I you.”

Eliani's smile faded. “Cousin...”

“We shall meet again at the Council.”

The hearthroom chime sounded. Davhri went to answer it and brought Othanin back with her. He declined the tea she offered, and came to stand beside Luruthin, wearing a dark grey cloak over grey tunic and legs, and high boots of soft dark leather.

“You are ready. Good, then let us begin. It is a long walk.”

Luruthin stood. Eliani and Vanorin rose also, each murmuring words of farewell. Luruthin clasped their arms briefly, and held still when Eliani caught him in a tight hug.

“Oh, Luruthin!”

He stepped back from her, trying to smile. Tears were starting in her eyes, and he felt his own throat tightening.

“Thank you for seeing me safely here.” He glanced from Eliani to Vanorin. “May spirits watch over your path.”

Vanorin nodded. “And yours.”

Eliani said no more, frowning up at him as a tear slid down her cheek. Without thinking he put a finger to her chin, lifting it. Her khi shone bright against his flesh.

“Keep you safe, Kestrel.”

He turned away before his own grief could spill out. Othanin followed him to the door, where he picked up his belongings. Davhri joined them, bringing a grey cloak which she put around Luruthin's shoulders.

“It is raining. I wished to send this to Inóran, so you might as well wear it.”

“Thank you, Davhri. Thank you for all.”

She smiled, pressed a letter into his hands, then held aside the tapestry. A bright fire crackled on the welcoming hearth. Beyond, the rain had darkened the sky to make the evening seem later than it was.

Luruthin tucked the letter into his tunic, then stepped out, pulling the cloak's hood up over his head. Grey, like the silks.

He was all grey now, no color to him. He walked between colors, between lives. He stood in the silent garden, looking up at the rain, feeling it on his face. He needed no tears. The sky wept for him.

Ghlanhras

 

K
elev was in the audience hall, a roll of paper in his hands. Shalár ignored him, turning to the hall attendant whose duty was to record the business of petitioners as they arrived.

Three others stood waiting, and it happened that two of them preceded Kelev. Shalár heard their reports and requests, and gave orders in response. When Kelev's turn came, the attendant announced him as “Kelevon, supervisor of the walks.”

Shalár turned a cold gaze on Kelev. “We do not use ælven names here.”

“Your pardon, Bright Lady. I am yet unaccustomed to your ways.”

“What is your request?”

Kelev stepped to the hall attendant's small work table and unrolled his papers atop it, causing the attendant to snatch up his inkwell in haste. Shalár disliked being compelled to go where Kelev directed, but it would be foolish to require him to spread his work on the floor at her feet, and inconvenient to view it there. She stood and went to the table.

Kelev pointed to the drawing. “These are the city gates as they are now. I propose converting these houses—which are empty except this one, in use by the watch at the gate—to a walled court that can withstand attack should the enemy achieve the gates.”

“The covered paths would allow them to pass around the walled court.”

“I will alter the paths at either side of the gates, adding a lesser gate to each which may be barred from without. Here are my plans.”

Shalár watched and listened with interest as he showed her several sketches. He had planned well, and thoroughly. Plainly he had given the idea much thought.

Shalár tried to imagine an ælven attack on the city, the benefit that Kelev's inner court might yield. Certainly it would give her more time to prepare and carry out her next plan, whatever that might be. Perhaps it would be worthwhile to make such a court at each of the watch platforms, since they might also be vulnerable to attack. She would have to think on that.

“Very well. You may build this.”

“I thank you, Bright Lady. May I make a small request in return?”

She looked at him, watching his eyes. Golden eyes, though they were beginning to darken.

“I would like an ælven to look after my house.”

“You desire an attendant?”

“For myself, no. But I have been directing all my energy to the tasks you have given me, and the house you were also so kind as to give me is in a state of neglect. I would ask for an ælven to set it to rights.”

“Why an ælven?”

Kelev looked surprised. “I did not suppose you would set one of your own people to such a menial task.”

Shalár gazed at him, thinking there was more to his request than he claimed. Perhaps he wanted the use of an ælven for his pleasure. She would not deny him that, any more than she grudged it to any of her folk. She encouraged all attempts at breeding, but a perverse whim made her decide to thwart Kelev at this turn.

“Very well. I shall send an ælven to attend to your neglected house.”

She would send her own attendant's father, who was otherwise fairly useless, and no pleasant company. Let Kelev make of that what he would.

Kelev bowed, a smile of satisfaction on his lips. “Thank you, Bright Lady.”

He withdrew, rolling up his plans again. Shalár turned her attention to the hall attendant, who called forth the next seeking audience. This was Torith, with a report of what scouts had lately learned of Woodrun. The most significant news he brought was that the Greenglens had all left the town, riding south.

Shalár dared not hope that this portended a complete withdrawal. More likely, they were gone to rouse others to fall upon Ghlanhras and wrest it away from Clan Darkshore. She frowned as she listened, wondering how quickly Kelev could make his inner court.

A commotion at the back of the hall distracted her. Frowning, she glanced up and saw several hunters there, disputing with the guard who refused to let them in. Shalár glanced at the hall attendant, who hastened to the back of the chamber and returned shortly, looking excited.

Shalár raised a hand to stop Torith's report. He fell silent and followed her gaze to the attendant, who bowed deeply, then broke into a grin.

“Bright Lady, by your leave, Gæleth has arrived from Nightsand. He brings two hundred hunters.”

Shalár's heart leapt with delight. Now she could hold Ghlanhras. This was but the first wave of Darkshore to return to their homeland. She leaned back in her chair, smiling.

“Show him forward.”

Ebon Mountains

 

T
he walk was indeed long, and more than once Luruthin was seized with cramp and had to stop until it passed. Othanin stood by him, calmly waiting, offering no help for there was none he could give, and both knew it.

As they ascended the mountains Luruthin's breath began to rasp. He ached all over, as he had done on the first journey hither. His concentration narrowed to the task of walking, of moving one foot and then the other.

At long last a challenge rang out. Luruthin stood swaying while Othanin answered the watcher. Their words passed over him, no meaning lodging in his foggy awareness. Slowly he realized that the rain had stopped.

“Come.” Othanin lightly touched his shoulder.

Luruthin moved forward once more, sparing no strength to answer. They walked on and on, far too long, it seemed to him, but at last he saw the light of a fire ahead.

The Lost's meadow. Relief sang through him. He followed Othanin toward the fire, but before they reached it Kivhani appeared before them.

“Welcome.” She looked at Luruthin. Her face shifted, the smile replaced by a stern expression. “You need to hunt. Come with me.”

Othanin frowned. “Do not go alone.”

“No.” Kivhani glanced over her shoulder toward the fire. “Inóran may come, and Vethalin.”

Two others came toward them. Luruthin was too weary to greet them, too occupied with keeping himself upright. He felt dizzy, he realized. That was not good.

“Leave your bow, you will not need it.”

Obediently he unslung the bow and quiver and dropped them at his feet. He took off his pack as well, and though it was not much burden, he was glad of the difference. Raising his head, he saw Inóran beside him. He tried for a smile.

“Inóran. This is your cloak.”

Inóran smiled back slightly. “Keep it on for now.”

Kivhani stepped between them, caught and held Luruthin's gaze, then beckoned to him to follow. He obeyed, lengthening his stride to keep up with her as they left the meadow and struck into the forest. He heard Inóran and the other following.

Kivhani walked swiftly, and soon Luruthin was out of breath once more. He tried to be silent, but now and again he stumbled, or stepped upon a twig that cracked.