Swords Over Fireshore (46 page)

Clumsy. A poor hunter he made, in this condition.

Kivhani slowed her pace a little, for which he was grateful. She turned her head to glance at him.

“Have you hunted before?”

Luruthin swallowed, feeling his cheeks burn. “Once.”

“Did you kill the kobalen?”

“No.”

“Good.”

They walked on. A sudden cramp sent Luruthin to his knees, retching dryly. Kivhani and the others murmured over him until it passed, then helped him up and onward.

When Kivhani stopped, Luruthin nearly stumbled into her. She caught his gaze and gestured for silence, and that he should stay where he was, then looked past him and jerked her head in summons. The Lost he did not know joined her, and both disappeared into the woods.

Kivhani must have scented kobalen. Luruthin was unaware of them, but then he was not much aware of anything, just now. He tried to feel the khi around him, to extend his senses through the woods, but he was too tired. He could sense Inóran's khi, that was all.

A nighthawk's cry cut the air. Inóran stirred, then touched Luruthin's arm and gestured to him to follow. They had not walked far when they came upon Kivhani and the other, with a female kobalen lying at their feet.

The other Lost squatted at the kobalen's head, his hand upon its brow. Its eyes were closed.

Luruthin felt mixed revulsion and relief. He looked to Kivhani, who spoke in a low, intent voice.

“We will teach you the ways of our hunting, but now is not the time. For now you need only give the benison. Say these words after me.”

She beckoned him closer to the kobalen. Luruthin's knees trembled from weakness as he came near. He dropped down beside the kobalen, and Kivhani knelt beside him.

“Ældar guardian of this creature, accept my thanks for the sustenance it gives me.”

Luruthin repeated the familiar words, the beginning of the hunter's benison. He had often said them over deer, or boar.

“Forgive me for the harm I cause to her. Accept my pledge of atonement.”

Atonement was not normally a part of the benison, though it was understood that the hunter would not waste the bounty of the hunt, and would foster the well-being of the breed he hunted. Luruthin repeated the pledge.

She pressed a cup into his hands. It was metal, cool in the chill night. Kivhani gestured to him to hold it against the kobalen's arm. He obeyed, and with her knife she made a small cut above it.

Blood welled, filling the air with its hot scent, slipping into the cup held by Luruthin's trembling fingers. He shifted his grasp, careful to catch the flow, ignoring the raging urge of his flesh to throw away the cup and drink straight from the wound. He could hear his own pulse throbbing in his ears as he watched the cup slowly fill, a tiny curl of steam rising from it.

Kivhani held another cup close by, and gestured to him to take his away. She moved the fresh cup to the wound as he did so.

Luruthin did not wait for permission to drink, gulping greedily until he had emptied the cup. He sighed and closed his eyes, tilting his head back as renewal washed through him.

The sensation was amazing. First the pain drained away, then strength flowed through his veins, and with it the return of awareness.

He could hear the nervous shifting of a squirrel in a tree, smell the damp, rain-freshened earth beyond the bright and pungent smell of kobalen, feel the deep-sleeping khi of the trees around him. It was as if a veil had clouded all his senses, and was suddenly lifted.

“Here.”

Luruthin opened his eyes and Kivhani reaching for the cup he held. He gave it to her, and she switched it with the other, offering the full cup to him. He drained it, not quite so quickly, and felt his strength increase further.

Once more she switched the cups, and now Luruthin sipped more slowly at the blood. He noticed its flavor, and the heaviness of the khi in it. When he had drunk half the cup he was sated, and could swallow no more. He lowered it and looked at Kivhani, who nodded toward Inóran.

Luruthin held out the cup. Inóran took it with a nod, murmured the benison over it, and drank.

Luruthin watched while he drank another cupful, then changed places with the other Lost, who also took a cup. Luruthin realized all at once why they touched the kobalen's brow—they were controlling it with khi, even as he had done by instinct at his first clumsy hunting.

Instinct, or experience? He had never previously used khi so upon a kobalen, or on any living thing. It was Shalár who had shown him that practice, who had practiced it upon him.

He swallowed. It was she who had passed the curse to him. Another cause for his rage against her.

Kivhani was now stanching the kobalen's wound. He had not seen her take a cup. Perhaps she had hunted recently, and felt no need. He looked at the kobalen, saw that it breathed. It lay peacefully, Inóran's hand at its brow.

“What gift can you give her?” Kivhani asked in a whisper.

Confused, Luruthin met her gaze. She nodded toward the kobalen, and he realized she meant he should give a gift to the creature.

“I have nothing with me.”

“Nothing at all?”

He frowned, thinking. He had nothing of his own—he had lost everything in Ghlanhras, and now even the clothes he wore belonged to others. The few things he had lately acquired were all in his pack, back at the camp. All he had with him were a water skin and a belt knife. He took these out and showed them to Kivhani.

“The knife.”

He met her gaze, wondering at her intention to arm a kobalen with a weapon of ælven make. She was quite serious, he saw. As she was to be his leader from now on, he did not question her decision, but removed the sheath from his belt and slid the knife into it, then placed it in the kobalen's slack hands.

“Good. Now, the mark.”

Kivhani took her own knife from her belt and carefully cut a curl of fur from the kobalen's brow. The bare patch left behind looked odd. She handed the cut fur to Luruthin.

“Keep that. Tomorrow you will use it in your meditation.”

Luruthin was confused and a little repelled, but he closed his hand around the fur. He watched as Inóran placed a pouch in the kobalen's hands, and the other Lost a string of clay beads.

Kivhani stood and stepped away into the woods along with the other Lost. Luruthin followed, trying to remember his name. He moved behind a tree, watching as Inóran slowly rose, his hand held out toward the kobalen, still holding it with khi. He, too, moved into the woods, and the kobalen stirred.

A stab of remorse struck Luruthin. It had been easy to ignore that the kobalen lived, that it had thought and feeling, when it had lain still before him. Not so easy now as he watched it wake in confusion and stare blankly at the knife in its hands.

Atonement. The knife was a gesture of atonement. He remembered one of the Lost saying they left meat for the kobalen. He was beginning to understand that their relationship with their prey was more complex than he had thought.

A brush of khi against his arm drew his attention. Kivhani summoned him, and he followed, silently now and steadily, joined by the other two as they moved through shadows away from the scene of their hunt.

They did not speak, but moved swiftly through the forest. Luruthin had no trouble keeping pace now, and he gave silent thanks again for the relief of feeling well and strong.

The journey back to the camp seemed much shorter. Soon Luruthin could see firelight through the trees, and hear the murmur of quiet voices. Othanin rose from the large fire circle to greet them. He smiled at Luruthin.

“You look better.”

“I feel better.” Luruthin turned to Kivhani and made a small bow. “Thank you, Lady.”

Kivhani acknowledged this with a nod and a slight smile. “You are welcome. Now that you are fit, we must discuss why you are here.”

Othanin turned to her. “I will join you, if I may. There is the Council to discuss as well.”

Kivhani quirked a brow at him, then nodded. “Let us go to my camp.”

They returned to the meadow and went to the small fire pit outside Kivhani's shelter. Othanin set about making a fire while Kivhani invited Luruthin to sit with her. She put back her hood and gazed at him, her black eyes deep, her pale brow slightly drawn with concern. When she spoke, her voice was soft and low.

“I am sorry for your suffering. You are welcome to come and live with us, if you are willing to abide by our ways.”

Luruthin nodded. “I am grateful for the welcome.”

“Hear what we require before you decide.”

Her tone was serious, and Luruthin felt a qualm of misgiving, but he was willing to listen. He had little choice.

“Have you ever killed a kobalen?”

The question surprised him. “Countless. I was in Alpinon's Guard for decades.”

“Well, you will never kill another.”

Luruthin stared at her, blinking in astonishment. “But they are a danger to ælven settlements!”

“That is for ælven settlements to address. To us they are a blessing, to be respected and fostered. Without them we would have no hope.”

Luruthin was silent, absorbing this. He could understand it, he supposed, yet it seemed very strange. All his life he had thought of kobalen as vermin. Kivhani spoke of them with reverence.

A bright flame leapt up from the fire pit. Luruthin glanced toward it, watching Othanin feed it with bits of shredded bark.

“You must leave your past life behind. You must never return to your former home. To live among us is to yield all other allegiance. You may never tell an outsider where we camp, what our numbers are or our names.”

“With some exception.” Luruthin glanced at Othanin, who met his gaze.

“This is the first camp I have been to. I shall probably never see another, nor this again after tonight.”

Kivhani handed him a larger piece of wood from a pile near her seat, then glanced at Luruthin. “It was my decision to bring Othanin here, along with you and your friends. I felt the circumstances merited an exception. There are some who still disagree, and I respect their views. Othanin is a friend to many among us, but he will not return to our camps.”

Luruthin felt a pang of sadness for them both. He glanced again at Othanin, but the governor's face showed nothing, though shadows danced across it with the shifting firelight.

“He is our link to the ælven world, and to all the gifts that world brings us.” Kivhani's gaze rested softly on her partner, and Luruthin sensed both great love and great sadness in her eyes. “Therefore we do keep contact with him, but at meeting places of our choosing. Without Othanin, we could not trade for tools and little luxuries. Our life would be much harder.”

“Perhaps the Ælven Council will change that. Perhaps you will no longer need such caution.”

Kivhani gazed at Luruthin, doubt in her eyes. He recalled Inóran's tale of being hunted by ælven, and suppressed a shiver.

Othanin moved back from the fire, which was now burning briskly. “Lady Eliani suggested that Luruthin might speak on behalf of the Lost at the Council.”

Luruthin hastened to explain. “I was at Jharan's Council in the autumn, so many there will know me. I believe Eliani's idea was that seeing and hearing from one they know who is now—afflicted—would make an impression.”

Kivhani's brows rose. “Possibly one you would not enjoy.”

Luruthin could not help grimacing. “Well, that is inevitable. At least I could try to convince them of your merit. They know nothing of your people, Kivhani—of your dedication to the creed, of the hard choices you have made. The three of us together can show them that the Lost are far different than the alben.”

Kivhani held her hands out toward the fire, looking thoughtful. “I suppose it would be of value to have one the Council knows speak as one of us. You are willing to undertake the journey?”

“Yes. Alpinon is my homeland. I can guide you along the mountain road, where we are less likely to meet others.”

“Your homeland?” Kivhani's face darkened. “You are not to return to your home.”

Luruthin blinked. “Forgive me, Lady Kivhani, but why is this forbidden?”

“Because it only brings grief to all. Your family will cling to you, promise you it does not matter, that you may still live with them and they will care for you.” Kivhani's face hardened. “But it does matter. We cannot dwell among the ælven. They fear us, and fear wakens cruelty. The last of us who stayed at home with family was slain by her own kindred.”

Luruthin drew a sharp breath. He could not imagine his friends and family turning against him, but nor could he doubt Kivhani's words.

Othanin coughed gently. “Luruthin wishes only to bid his folk farewell. Perhaps he could take his oaths after we return from the Council.”

Kivhani turned her head to gaze at him, frowning. “And live among us unsworn until then?”

“It is only for a few days. We must leave soon for Highstone in any case.”

Luruthin watched their faces, thinking they engaged in a wordless debate. Not mindspeech, perhaps, but something close to it. Thus the understanding between lifelong partners. He felt a pang at seeing it.

At last Kivhani turned to him. “I will not require oaths of you now, but I will ask that you abide by our ways while you are among us. You must learn our way of hunting.”

“Gladly.”

“Also we require that one spend a part of every day in meditation on the subject of atonement. You will use that bit of fur to perform a blessing for the kobalen.”

“I cannot commit to practices I do not know, but I will pledge to do my best to honor them.”

Kivhani nodded, seeming satisfied. “Very well. After the Council, if you choose to dwell among us, you must swear to keep our ways.”

“I understand.”

A brief silence fell. Thinking that the governors would like to be alone together before Othanin must depart, Luruthin stood and picked up his things.