Foxfire (45 page)

The rebellion had changed everything. Women fought alongside men. They endured the same privations and dangers, shared the same triumphs and defeats. When she allowed herself to daydream about the future, she imagined returning to her village with Temet, spending their days hunting together and their nights making love. But there were no children in that idyllic future—and certainly, no possibility of them now.

She monitored her moon times as stringently as she quelled her fears for his safety. Only once had her moon flow come late, and although it might have been due to the stress of battle or the ever-present hunger, she had purged herself with the herbs Hircha had given her. She'd been weak enough afterward to wonder if pregnancy could possibly be worse, but once the cramping and the bleeding ceased, common sense prevailed.

This war needed all her energy. She would think about the future after the Zherosi were defeated.

As she rolled her neck to relieve the ache of tension, she glimpsed Eilin's auburn hair off to her left. Keirith had insisted that Temet allow him to join the scouting party—a measure of renewed trust in the boy. So far, he'd earned that trust. But she still kept an eye on him.

He reminded her so much of Keirith as a lad. He wasn't much older than Keirith had been when the Zherosi had stolen him. And he had the same coloring. But it was the haunted look that sometimes flashed across his face that reminded her most of her brother.

The rebellion did that to some. Others—like Mikal—grew hardened by the violence. Perhaps she had, too.

She tensed, caught by a flash of movement in the scrub. It was probably just an animal; there was barely enough cover for a man to approach unseen, never mind a column of Zherosi warriors. The long grass on the slope of the hill rippled in the breeze. Easy to become hypnotized by its gentle swaying, but she had hunted the moors most of her life and it was easier still to notice a swath of green where the grass jerked back and forth.

She clasped Mikal's wrist, and he woke at once. She nodded to the slope, and while he rolled over to inspect it, she turned onto her side to string her bow, hissing softly to attract the attention of the nearest sentry. The alert passed silently, until every bow was strung and every pair of eyes sought the intruders.

From the same swath of grass came the liquid purr of a wood pigeon. There were none on this grassy knoll; it was the reason they had chosen that birdcall as the signal. After a moment a man's voice called out.

As Faelia heaved herself up, Mikal's hand came down on her back, pushing her flat. “Could be a trap.”

“I'm going to stand up,” the hoarse voice croaked. “For mercy's sake, don't shoot.”

Sorig staggered to his feet, arms extended from his sides, and stood there, swaying like the grass. “If you're there . . .” His gaze swept the hilltop. He took a step forward and fell to his knees.

Faelia pushed Mikal away. “I'm going down.”

He swore, then glanced over his shoulder. “Cover us.”

She charged down the hill, with Mikal behind her. Sorig's head came up as she approached, his face gaunt with exhaustion.

“Is Darak here? And the others?”

Fist pressed against her mouth, Faelia shook her head.

 

 

 

They helped Sorig up the hill. The others clustered around, grim-faced and anxious. In an agony of impatience, she waited for him to take a few swigs of water and plunge into his tale.

“We were scouting ahead when we spotted the komakh. On our way back, Iann slipped and twisted his ankle. I sent Liath on to warn Darak and got Iann to a hiding place where I thought he'd be safe. Then I made my way to the pass. The Zherosi marched in, but they never came out. I waited until the light started to go before I followed. There was no sign of a battle. No bodies. Nothing. So I figured Darak must have gotten the others away.”

“Then they'd have been here by now,” Faelia said.

“Not if they retreated east,” Mikal replied. “Or swung—”

“They went north,” Sorig interrupted. “At least, that's the direction the Zherosi went. There was no point in following. And I had Iann to think about.”

“Where is he?” Faelia asked.

Sorig's shoulders slumped. “The young fool must have come after me. He was gone when I got back to the place I'd left him. I spent half the night searching. Finally found him near the bottom of the pass. He'd broken his neck in the fall.” He rubbed his eyes with grimy fingers. “I buried him as best I could, then headed here. I'd hoped to find Darak and the others waiting for me.”

Faelia banished the traitorous thought; if anyone could lead the recruits to safety, it was her father.

“The Zherosi knew we were there,” Sorig said bitterly. “They were hunting us.”

“Someone in one of the villages must have betrayed your route,” Mikal said.

“Or else the traitor is one of our own.” Sorig silenced the chorus of denial with a violent gesture. “I'm not saying it's true. But we can't ignore that possibility.”

Faelia exchanged a quick glance with Mikal. Of the scouts at Black Hill, only they knew the details of Keirith's vision; if there was a traitor among them, Temet didn't want to warn him—or her—by allowing their suspicions to be known.

“We'd better warn Temet,” Mikal said. “And tell him the Spirit-Hunter's . . . missing.”

“I'll go,” Faelia said.

Sorig shook his head. “Bad enough I couldn't get back to help Darak. If anything should happen to you . . .” His fingers flew in the sign to avert evil.

“I can't just sit here worrying. I'll go mad.”

“She might be safer with Temet,” Mikal said. “Especially if that Zherosi column is marching here.”

Before Sorig could reply, a loud hiss drew their attention. “Someone's coming up the northeast slope,” Eilin called softly.

They snatched up their weapons and moved swiftly to their positions. Again, Faelia heard the throb of a wood pigeon. Again, a voice called out. “Don't shoot. There are two of us.”

Faelia squeezed her eyes shut and whispered a quick prayer of thanks. The next moment, she was on her feet, screaming, “Fa! We're here!”

He pushed himself to his feet, slow and ponderous as a bear. But a huge smile split his face and his arms came up as if to embrace her.

Half laughing, half crying, she plunged down the hill. He staggered backward as she threw herself into his arms. They lurched back and forth like drunkards, laughing at their clumsiness and from the sheer joy of seeing each other again. He was filthy and unshaven and tired—gods, she'd never seen him look so tired—but he was here, he was alive, he was safe.

“This is Kelik,” he said, belatedly introducing his companion. “And this is my daughter, Faelia.” Her father's gaze moved past her and his smile vanished. “When did Sorig arrive?”

“Just a few moments ago.”

“And the others?”

“He was alone.”

“Aye. Well. It would have taken them longer. They went east . . .” His voice trailed off as Mikal and Sorig clambered down the slope toward them.

Sorig pulled her father into a hard embrace. “Thank the gods,” he kept saying as he thumped Fa on the back.

Anyone watching would have believed that exhaustion alone tempered the enthusiasm of Fa's greeting. But Faelia had noted the tension in his body as Sorig approached, the sudden blankness of his expression before the smile returned.

“Gods, I'm a fool,” Sorig said. “You look half dead and I'm keeping you standing here. Take my arm and I'll help you up the hill.”

“I can manage,” her father replied.

“If he needs to lean on anyone,” she quickly added, “it'll be me.”

At her father's nod, Kelik followed Sorig and Mikal up the hill. As soon as they were out of earshot, she asked, “What is it, Fa? What's wrong?”

“What did Sorig say?”

In a hushed whisper, she told him.

“Is Keirith with you?”

“Nay. With the main band. They should be here by nightfall. What's troubling you?”

“I don't know. It may be nothing. I can't accuse the man without proof.”

“Proof of what?”

“That Sorig betrayed us.” Before she could speak, he added, “Later. They'll want to hear my story now.” The gray eyes bore into hers with sudden fierceness. “If I'm right, we must be careful. And we must keep him close.”

“
I
DIDN'T EXPECT YOU BACK so soon.” Jholianna motioned the Khonsel to the bench opposite hers. “Leave us,” she told her hovering scribe. “We'll deal with these later.”

The small walled garden was her favorite retreat. The splash of the fountain soothed her, and the stunted palms shaded the latticed pavilion from the sun's heat. Although she relished her privacy, her guards had orders to admit the Khonsel at any time.

He lowered himself onto the bench, eyeing the tablet-boxes that littered the simple wooden table between them. “Trouble?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary.” As soon as her scribe collected his writing supplies and withdrew, she demanded, “Well?”

“They're being taken to their cells now.”

“Loudly protesting their innocence, of course.”

“Oh, they admit to meeting with the Carilians, but claim they were only trying to bring the war to an end.”

She grimaced. She had no objection to secret negotiations—she had sent an envoy to Carilia three moons ago for exactly that purpose—but she could not allow a group of noblemen to take matters into their own hands.

As the Khonsel recited the names of the accused, she grimaced again. “Axhad do Vinikh? Why didn't he just come to me instead of going behind my back?”

“We'll find out soon enough. I've told the examiners I want the truth in two days' time. Before the Blessing of the Adders.”

“I can't believe do Vinikh would countenance any sort of violence.”

“Nor can I. But the streets will be mobbed for the procession. Which means you'll be exposed. And the boy,” he added as an obvious afterthought. “Have you learned anything more about his meeting with the Spirit-Hunter?”

“Enough to know I shouldn't bring up the subject.”

Although Rigat had assured her that the meeting had gone well, his manner suggested just the opposite. She'd told him that runners had been sent to all the major cities, ordering the tax collectors to conduct a new census of the Tree People. Even that news failed to pacify him. In the end, she'd had no choice but to accede to his repeated demands for a truce.

To prevent him from devising any new plans to help the Tree People—or spend her treasury's funds—she had done her best to keep him occupied during the last sennight: seeking his advice on every aspect of his recognition ceremony; inviting him to her council meetings; arranging for her Jherazo to instruct him in Zherosi protocol and her Stuavo to educate him about trade. In the evenings, she held feasts for visiting dignitaries, organized contests of strength and skill, summoned poets and singers and musicians to entertain him.

And still he'd managed to slip off to the north. To bring his half brother—Khallum, Khalli, whatever his name was—news of the truce. Or so he claimed.

“The moon of celebration has yet to begin,” she concluded, “and I'm worn thin from—”

She broke off as the Khonsel's head jerked toward the fountain. At first she thought his gaze had been caught by the iridescent sheen of the hummingbird darting between the rosy fronds of fireweed. Then she noticed the brighter gleam of Rigat's hair.

As he rounded the fountain, she and the Khonsel rose. Rigat bent to kiss her hand, then returned the Khonsel's bow, precisely deep enough to convey the proper respect to one of high—but still inferior—rank. Clearly, his etiquette lessons were bearing fruit.

She studied him intently, seeking a clue to his mood. His smile had wavered when he discovered the Khonsel with her, but the two had been sparring since their first meeting.

“Welcome back, Khonsel. You're just in time for the council meeting.” Rigat's gaze drifted to the collection of tablet-boxes. “Any news from the north?”

“Nothing since the Vanel's message from Deepford,” Jholianna replied.

She'd had her scribe read him Geriv's report—after she had learned its contents, of course. A brief yet depressing description of conditions at the fortress and a plea for yet another shipment of grain. Rigat had been disappointed that there was no mention of the truce until she reminded him that the orders could not possibly have reached Geriv so quickly.