Heart of the Exiled (26 page)

The journey to Midrange—to which he eagerly looked forward—would soon begin. All that delayed them now was the lack of equipment, and another day or two should remedy that.

Beyond that, the future was less certain. He wondered what might await Eliani in Fireshore and what course the war would take.

His musings were interrupted by the visitor’s chime from below. He had sent his attendant away for the night, so he rose and hurried down the steps to the torchlit antechamber. When he opened the door, he saw his father outside, looking grim.

“Kelevon has escaped. I came to inform you so that you may warn Eliani.”

Turisan’s heart gave a thud of alarm. “Escaped?”

Jharan nodded. “He wounded a guardian. I am going to the garrison to learn what happened.”

“I will come with you.”

Turisan fetched his cloak and followed his father down the spiral stair to the palace. The rotunda was softly lit by torches and strangely quiet in the absence of the Council and all the additional visitors it had attracted to Glenhallow. Alone in the vast hall, they hastened down the grand stair and out into the city.

Turisan pulled his cloak tighter as a gust of snow blew into his face. “How long has the traitor been gone?”

“Since early evening was Berephan’s best guess. The four guardians watching over him were changed at sundown, and the new guards were found dosed with essence of dreamflower.”

“So he had help.”

Jharan’s face went stony. “Yes. The guardian who was wounded.”

As they reached the garrison near the city’s inner gate, Jharan turned toward Berephan’s house, where the guardians at the door admitted them at once. They were guided to a small chamber on the ground floor.

Berephan joined them outside the door. “Her sister is with her, and a healer.”

He knocked softly, and a moment later the door was opened by an anxious-looking female in a plain gown, her unbraided hair caught hastily back in a simple clasp. Her eyes widened as she stepped back to admit Jharan.

Turisan followed him in, and Berephan came after, softly closing the door. The female hastened back to the hearth, where a newly kindled fire roared brightly. Seated on a bench beside it were two others, male and female.

The male was lost in a trance of healing, his hands resting on one side of the female’s neck. She was the
guardian, then, though she wore only tunic and legs at present. Turisan noticed her Southfæld Guard’s cloak on the floor nearby, bloodstained.

Jharan spoke quietly to Berephan. “What has she told you?”

“Little yet. I thought it best that she be tended first. Her sister arrived only a short time ago.”

Turisan glanced at the sister, who had sat down beside the guardian and taken her hand. They were plainly kin, though the sister’s face was softer, rounder. The guardian’s was drawn with harsher lines, sharpened by care and weariness. She stared into the fire with dull, unseeing eyes.

“How badly is she hurt?”

“Two cuts, scraped hands, a few bruises. The wound to the throat is the worst.”

Turisan looked at Berephan. “Knife wound?”

Berephan nodded. Turisan exchanged a glance with his father and saw that they were pondering the same question: Had Kelevon fed from that wound?

Berephan stepped toward the guardian. “Filari, Lord Jharan has come to see you.”

The guardian’s eyes flickered and she looked up, mild surprise on her face. She nodded, hampered by the hands of the healer.

“My lord governor.”

Her words were a rough whisper. She cleared her throat, straightened her back, and gazed awkwardly at her visitors.

Jharan sat on the bench opposite her, and Turisan joined him. The healer stirred and withdrew his hands. Turisan winced at the sight of the long, angry gash showing red through a light dressing. The healer stood, glanced at the newcomers with a mild frown, and retired from the room.

Jharan leaned forward. “Do you feel able to tell us what happened?”

Filari gazed at him for a long moment, her face showing nothing. A slight crease between the brows was all the sign of distress she gave.

“It was my doing.” Her voice was hard. “I helped him go free.”

Jharan’s lips pressed together briefly. “Were you compelled?”

She blinked, gazing at the fire. “No.”

“Why, then?”

“He did not deserve to be held captive, nor to be killed.”

Turisan’s anger flared. “You do not know what he deserves!”

Jharan glanced at him in silent warning. Turisan gritted his teeth and was still.

He regretted his leniency with Kelevon, but despite his resentment, deep in his heart he knew that Filari was right. Kelevon’s ill deeds—even the latest, his abuse of her—did not justify his being slain or kept confined indefinitely. Nothing justified such fates according to the creed, because the creed made no provision for the sort of behavior Kelevon had shown. An ælven living by the creed would have died before doing such harm.

“Did he feed upon you?” Jharan gestured to Filari’s wound.

Pain clouded her eyes—the pain of affection betrayed. Impatient with Jharan’s gentle questioning, Turisan caught her gaze and held it.

“How did he leave the city?”

“By the grottoes.” Her voice fell to a whisper; her eyes pleaded that no pursuit be sent. Turisan could not help grimacing.

“Which trail did he take?”

“I do not know. West, perhaps. He asked about the pass.”

Berephan stirred, shifting his feet. “It is snowing.”

Jharan glanced at him, then nodded. “Send out trackers. No fewer than three together.”

Berephan nodded and started toward the door. Filari stood up suddenly.

“Why can you not leave him alone? Let him cross the mountains and be away. He wishes no harm to any of us!”

“He is a danger to all of us, whether he wishes it or no.” Jharan nodded at Berephan to go.

The warden left, and Filari slowly sat down again, looking bereft. A log popped on the hearth, sending a spark skittering across the stone floor. Jharan spoke gently once more, though his eyes were stern.

“What you have done has placed others in danger. Do you see that?”

Filari nodded, gazing at the floor. “I will atone.”

Misliking the flatness of her voice, Turisan hastened to speak. “You are an experienced guardian. You cannot be spared.”

He glanced at Jharan before continuing, wondering if his father’s thoughts followed his own. Filari could not continue to serve in the garrison at Glenhallow. There were four guardians there, at least, who would never trust her again.

“Come and serve in my command. We march for Midrange soon, and more than half of my guardians are raw. I need help training them. Let that be your atonement.”

Filari was still for a moment, then looked up at him with hopeless eyes. “If that is your wish, my lord.”

“It is.”

Turisan held Filari’s gaze until she bowed her head, closing her eyes with a small sigh. Her sister threw an arm around her shoulders and glared at him.

“She should rest.”

Turisan nodded. “Go home now. Report to me on the field at dawn.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“I am your captain now.”

Her gaze flickered to his face. “Yes, Captain.”

A warmth bloomed on Turisan’s brow; he returned the signal asking Eliani to wait. He watched as Filari allowed her sister to urge her to her feet. When the door was shut behind them, Jharan looked up.

“She is at risk of the alben’s curse.”

Turisan nodded. “I will observe her closely.”

“Not too closely.”

“Father, we are all at risk to some degree.”

Jharan was silent. After a moment he nodded. He looked weary as he stood.

“Come. Let us take what rest we can.”

They met Berephan in the hearthroom. He stamped his feet, leaving tracks of hardened snow upon the rug, and shook the snow from his cloak.

“Four teams have gone out, though they will have a difficult task in this weather.”

Jharan made a small, formal bow. “Thank you, Lord Berephan. Send word to Hallowhall when you have news.”

“Aye.” Berephan glanced at Turisan. “Keep warm. It grows bitter out.”

Jharan and Turisan stepped out into a night swirling with snow. The wind had risen and now moaned among the houses and larger halls. Turisan had to raise his voice to address his father.

“He may have taken shelter from this.”

“Or be gone beyond hope of finding already.”

Jharan huddled deep in his cloak as they strode up the avenue toward Hallowhall. Turisan pulled his hood forward to protect his face from the stinging snow and sent the signal of query to Eliani.

Yes, love. What were you doing earlier? I thought you were troubled …

He told her, bluntly and in few words, what Kelevon had done. She said nothing at first, listening to his description of Filari’s wounds and his concern for her.

I am taking her into my command
.

To be part of the garrison at High Holding? One might call that a harsh duty, being posted so near to danger
.

She should leave Glenhallow in any case, and I wish to keep an eye on her while I may. She faults herself for Kelevon’s escape and spoke of atonement in a way that I misliked
.

He felt the sudden heat of Eliani’s wrath, so strong that he nearly flinched. His boot slipped on the snow-slickened stone of the avenue, and Jharan reached out a hand to steady him.

It is Kelevon who should atone! Has he charmed her into thinking she is responsible for his misdeeds? I hope your trackers drag him back to Glenhallow. Save him for me, if you will
.

You will have to share the chance to discipline him with several others, I think
.

I claim precedence
.

Turisan smiled, bemused.
I believe my father precedes you
.

Precedence of grievance
.

Her tone was grim, making him wish he could fold her in his arms. Kelevon had hurt her in more than
one way. Her pain over their failed cup-bond had made her push Turisan away at first; he remembered it all too well.

He wondered briefly if he should have spared her the knowledge of the traitor’s escape but knew that he could not have avoided telling her. At the least, she had to be warned that Kelevon was now at large.

Have a care, my love. He may pursue you
.

He will have to make haste
.

I would not be surprised if he made for the Steppes
.

Turisan felt another flash of her anger, though this time it was quickly damped. In its place a brittle coldness filled her voice.

He is welcome to try
.

Eliani pressed her party onward despite a chill evening breeze blowing down from the mountain peaks. They were nearing Heahrued, and she was anxious to reach it before halting for the night.

It was not only the prospect of a night in a bed or the urgency of her errand that drove her. The guardians of her escort were grief-stricken, especially the Greenglens. She hoped that coming into a village where they might talk with other folk, even if only to tell them what they had seen, would bring them some relief.

She herself looked forward to the comforts of the village—company, a hearth, a roof overhead—to drive away the horror of the slaughter in the wood. She would not be surprised to learn, some years hence, that shades had risen in that place.

Shades. Had the envoy’s fate been what Luruthin and Vanorin’s vision at the Three Shades had portended?

She looked at Luruthin, riding beside her to keep her company. Vanorin, whose mood continued dark, had insisted on placing her in the center of the party. She had yielded, though with ill grace.

Luruthin noticed her gaze and turned in the saddle
to look at her. His lips curved in a wan smile. “Tired, cousin?”

“Ready for a respite, yes. I think we can talk Gharinan’s steward out of a few loaves of fresh bread.”

“You could offer to perform healings in exchange.”

She glanced sharply at him but had not the heart for banter, nor did Luruthin’s voice hold the edge of humor she would have expected with such a quip. He dropped the attempt and instead looked at her seriously.

“What led you to heal those two back at Midrange? I did not think you had ever studied healing.”

“The one asked me to bless her wound. I was as surprised as she when something happened.” Eliani raised her forearm, the woven handfasting ribbon gleaming in the moonlight. “I think it was this. Heléri must have put some sort of healing into it.”

“You do not think it may be your own gift?”

She scoffed. “You know I am far more likely to damage my own flesh than to heal another’s.”

“When you were younger, yes. But you have reached your majority now and left all such childish awkwardness behind you.”

She shook her head. “Sometimes I feel I no longer know who I am.”

“Then I shall have to remind you from time to time. You are Eliani, daughter of Felisan, governor-elect of Alpinon—”

“I have left my clan.”

The words fell starkly into the twilight. Luruthin made no answer.