Swords Over Fireshore (47 page)

“I will go and find Inóran, if I may. I have a letter for him.”

Kivhani frowned slightly but said nothing. She disapproved, perhaps, of Inóran's communicating with Davhri. Having seen how much joy and relief the contact had given to both of them, Luruthin could not agree. Perhaps he would take issue with that someday, but not now.

Othanin rose and extended an arm. “Thank you for your offer to guide us. I expect the journey will be hard.”

Luruthin clasped arms briefly. “Long, certainly. And cold. Bring your warmest garments.”

He left them, crossing the meadow toward Inóran's camp. He paused to look up at the stars, which seemed to glimmer with added brilliance after the rain. Standing in this meadow, he felt a calmness enfold him. With a small smile he acknowledged what it was: a tentative feeling of being at home.

Bitterfield

 

“D
o you await Othanin's return?”

Eliani glanced up at Dejhonan as she chewed a mouthful of braised fowl, part of the excellent dinner the theyn and his lady had provided for her and her friends. Their last such meal for some while, she expected.

She had debated the very question Harangue had asked all day. It would be wise to confirm that Othanin would travel south and not try to reach Woodrun. Her heart, though, wished to be riding for the trade road.

Turisan was coming; he was in the Steppe Wilds now. If she missed him, reached the road after he had passed....

No, she could not even bear to think of it. She would ride as soon as she might.

She turned to the theyn. “No, but I will ask you to give him a message for me, and to talk to him yourself. Try to persuade him not to go to Woodrun.”

Harangue filled Eliani's cup with more of the sharp local wine. “I will try. I cannot promise success.”

“Has he named a nextkin since Ghlanhras fell?”

Saharan's brows rose. “I do not know. That is an excellent question, and one I will put to him.”

“Thank you. I trust he will listen to you.”

“He may say that his nextkin is in Woodrun.”

“If that is the case, he should stay away, so that they are not both at risk.”

“Mm.”

“If all goes well, Turisan will be at Woodrun in a few days. Best he wait here for the news, if he does not leave at once for Highstone.”

Dejhonan smiled. “I will do my best, my lady. Our governor may seem soft, but he has much determination.”

“So I have discovered.”

Eliani sipped her wine and looked at her plate, but her appetite had fled, replaced by a knot in her gut. She wished she could leave now, which would be rude, or immediately after the meal, which would be unkind to her friends and to the horses.

She took a forkful of tender greens, knowing she might have no more for some days. They gave her no pleasure but she ate them, clearing her plate of them while she listened to her escort chatter.

They were a family now. The bonds they had made would go with them back to Alpinon and Southfæld, and perhaps assure that Clan Greenglen and Clan Stonereach were more than allies.

The thought increased her loneliness. Even as she sat resisting the urge to speak to Turisan—impolite, when she was in company—she felt the warming of her brow.

She took a swallow of wine.
I am in company, love.

I will not distract you. We are halting for the night at Riversease.

A tingle went through her. Riversease was the last town in the Steppe Wilds before the trade road entered Fireshore.

It will be our last chance to resupply.

Eliani could summon no simple response. She should say something polite, but all she could think of was how soon she might be in Turisan's arms.

She closed her eyes, trying to control her thoughts. A leader did not let personal wishes interfere with the good of her people.

I miss you as well, my heart.

She gave a cough of laughter and opened her eyes. Vanorin was watching her; the others were listening to Sunahran describe Woodrun's condition. Eliani had already heard his report and shared it with Turisan. The city was sending its children and weaker folk to Bitterfield—some had already arrived—and preparing to defend itself with some two hundred armed citizens.

And she should be thinking of how to help them, not indulging in selfish thoughts of reunion with Turisan. She took another mouthful of wine.

This will be a long night.

She knew her tone was bitter and regretted it, but Turisan seemed not to notice.

For me as well. It may indeed be selfish, but I intend to find you on the road, my lady. So dismiss any noble thoughts you may be having.

Her heart leapt with delight. Lowering her gaze, she allowed herself a small smile.

Yes, my lord.

Waymeet

 

A
sharp wind tossed Rephanin's hair as he stood with Ehranan and Filari in the public circle at the village of Waymeet. They were in the Steppes at last, a land less soft and bountiful than the western plains of Eastfæld they had left behind. Harsh bluffs of reddish rock had replaced the rolling hills deep in grass. Small pines, gnarled and twisted, clung to the bluffs in defiance of the wind.

The trade road continued north from this place, while a second road struck northeastward into the Steppes, leading eventually to Watersmeet. Filari would take that road henceforth. An escort of eight guardians waited a short distance away, ready to accompany her.

Rephanin was relieved in part that she was leaving, for the need for constant vigilance in her presence was tiring. Yet he was pleased with her, and proud of her courage. He doubted that most understood how much courage she had. Turisan, perhaps, but no other, not even Ehranan.

She stood gazing at the Watersmeet road, squinting a little against the rising sun. Rephanin stepped toward her.

 “I have a small gift for you, Filari. May I give it to you now?”

She frowned. “A gift? Why?”

“Merely a remembrance. We may not see each other again for some time.”

“Oh. I have nothing—”

“Please do not feel obligated to make a gift in return. It is I who wish to be remembered.”

He smiled, then withdrew a cord from his inner sleeve: white and gold, Eastfæld colors. The small coil glinted softly in the morning light. Filari held out her hand, and Rephanin pressed the cord into it

“There is khi in it.” She unwound the cord to look at it.

“Yes. Blessings for your safety.”

She glanced at him, uncertain but no longer frightened, he thought. “Thank you. This is kind of you.”

Rephanin spoke softly. “Whenever doubt assails you—and it will, that is certain—remember that you are not alone. Spirits are watching over you, and you have friends who wish you well. You are safe.”

She gave a cough of laughter. “I will try to believe it.”

Believe it.

With the contact he was suddenly aware of the dread that gripped her. She was eager to be away from the army, but she feared going to the Steppes, a fear so deep and irrational that Rephanin knew its source.

Kelevon is far away. He cannot touch you, nor would he dare approach Watersmeet.

I know that.

She was breathing rather sharply, and had twined the cord around her wrists. Rephanin placed his hands over it.

Filari.

Slowly he coaxed her to ease her grip. He unwound the cord and coiled it again, pressing it into her palm. She did not resist, and seemed to take comfort in his touch, so he prolonged it, gently holding her hand between his.

He wished he could banish her fears, but he did not know how. She needed healing that he could not give her.

Suddenly tears welled in her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. Rephanin's hands instinctively tightened on hers.

“Oh, Filari. Child.”

I am not a child.

To me you are.

She pulled her hand from between his, stood swaying for a moment, then with a gasping sob threw her arms about his neck. Surprised, Rephanin held still at first, then gently embraced her. He smiled softly, sadly as he held her, allowing her to weep the tears she had denied for so long.

He heard Ehranan stepping away, giving them privacy. He felt a stab of heartache, but suppressed it. Ehranan understood, he hoped. Was it not obvious that his relationship with Filari was not intimate?

Gradually she calmed, then abruptly pulled away and wiped at her face. “Well, I should waste no more time. Thank you again for your kindness.”

She met his gaze with eyes that belied the gruffness of her voice. Rephanin smiled.

“Thank you, Filari.”

She glanced toward Ehranan, who was watching from a little distance. He strolled to her and held out a sealed letter.

“Give this to Governor Pashari, and tell her you come to serve the Steppe Wilds in this time of war.”

Rephanin raised an eyebrow. “Does not your letter explain that?”

“Yes, but Pashari is fond of ceremony.”

Filari slid the letter into her satchel. “I hope she will not refuse to see me.”

“You come from me. She will see you. Your escort will confirm this.”

Filari scowled. “I wish you would not make me take them.”

“No mindspeaker rides unescorted.”

Filari looked up sharply at that, as if still surprised to be called a mindspeaker. Rephanin smiled, then offered his arm. She clasped it, looking once more into his eyes, and he was glad to see that she was steadier. She exchanged a brief arm-clasp with Ehranan, then walked away to join her escort.

“Have you sought another mindspeaker?”

He turned to Ehranan, irritated by the question. “Every day. Every time we halt.”

Ehranan raised his hands, a gesture of yielding. “I thought you might have forgotten.”

“No. Shall I try again now?”

“I meant no offense.”

The weariness in his voice dispelled Rephanin's annoyance. His instinct was to offer unspoken reassurance, and he reached out without thought, opening his heart to Ehranan.

A moment's stillness, a sense of a chasm before him, the sudden awareness of the expanse of Ehranan's soul opened and waiting, familiar and unfamiliar. Not the simple openness to communication that was usual when Rephanin spoke to another, but the complete baring of a heart who knew what it was to unite in spirit.