Heart of the Exiled (8 page)

I will be in company for a while. Berephan has asked me to sup with him and his captains
.

Drink a flagon of wine for me. I shall be feasting on dried meat and apples
.

My poor love. The outpost at Midrange will have some comforts for you in another day or two
.

I have fixed my hopes on Highstone
.

He smiled, then sent love and farewell as he reached the garrison and turned to Lord Berephan’s house. A guardian showed him to Berephan’s hall, where high narrow windows to the west let in the last of the sun. On the walls were the Guard’s banners and pennants, lit by torches and fading sunlight.

Berephan and his guests were already at table and passing around platters of food. As Turisan entered, they fell silent and turned to look at him, rather more intently than he had expected.

The warden rose from his chair to greet him. Another movement caught his eye: Dirovon, nodding. Turisan smiled back, then clasped the arm offered by his host.

“Good evening, Lord Berephan. I am late and crave your pardon.”

Berephan dismissed it. “The Council have been talking your ears numb, no doubt. Have a seat; we have only begun.”

Turisan took an empty place between Berephan and another he recognized, Captain Hothanen, who commanded a company of the city’s guardians. Hothanen nodded to him and lifted a wine pitcher, offering to fill his cup while Berephan made introductions.

“Lord Turisan, may I make you known to Captains Phaniron and Sivhani?”

Turisan nodded to each of them. “Well met.”

Phaniron, a slender, fine-boned male who sat beside Dirovon, seemed shyly pleased to meet him, but Sivhani looked as if she feared he would do something alarming at any moment. Grow wings, perhaps, Turisan thought, concealing a smile by sipping his wine.

Berephan offered him a platter of meat. “What news from the Council?”

“They spent the day discussing equipments for the army—which realms can contribute weapons, horses, and so on. And they have decided to set up courier relays among the capitals of the realms. Both the Steppes and Eastfæld have pledged horses and riders.”

Hothanen accepted the meat platter in turn and helped himself. “It will take away riders who could serve in the army.”

“The Council thought faster communication would be worth the sacrifice.”

Sivhani spoke up from beyond Hothanen, her tone disbelieving. “Does Lord Jharan really expect to have an army assembled in less than forty days?”

Turisan looked at her, saw her eyes widen with the realization that she was addressing Jharan’s son, and answered patiently. “He holds to that hope. I cannot say what he expects. We must all do our best.”

A moment’s silence was broken by Phaniron. “Your lady is well, I hope, Lord Turisan?”

“Please, do not be formal with me here.” Turisan looked around the table. “Berephan, you do not mind?”

“Of course not. This is not the high court.”

Dirovon chuckled, and Turisan grinned at him before answering Phaniron. “My lady is well, thank you, though a bit tired. They are still riding.”

Phaniron’s face showed surprise. “You have spoken to her today?”

“Several times. We must keep testing our gift. If it is limited, we must know as soon as possible.”

Dirovon picked up a piece of soft flat bread and tore it in half. “What will happen if you lose contact?”

“She will retrace her movements until we can speak again.”

Berephan handed him a platter of roasted root vegetables. “Rather late for them still to be in the saddle.”

“They wish to make all possible speed.” Turisan helped himself, then passed the platter to Dirovon. “How long did you spend working those recruits? They looked promising.”

Dirovon grinned. “We had them out all morning, until the wind began to freeze their wits. The afternoon was spent getting them into barracks.”

“Which are now full.” Berephan poured more wine for himself. “We shall have to begin issuing tents.”

Turisan ate as he listened to the captains discuss the Guard’s ordinary business, which was fast becoming extraordinary as the preparations for war began. The mood at the table grew more relaxed, and soon the discussion turned to the tactics of mounting a defense at Midrange.

Berephan turned to him. “Has the Council discussed High Holding? We shall have to occupy it.”

“I mentioned it today. Lord Ehranan wishes to inspect it.”

“Have you been there in recent years?”

Turisan shook his head. “I have ridden through Midrange, but I have not gone up to the work since I stood guard duty at the outpost.”

He glanced at Dirovon, with whom he had explored the stone barrier that Lord Jharan had built after the Midrange War. The massive wall—the first public work Jharan had ordered in his new role as Southfæld’s governor—stood on a plateau at the foot of the mountains, guarding the eastern egress of Midrange Pass.

High Holding had been occupied by guardians for three centuries after Skyruach, but kobalen had not come through the pass again in large numbers, and the holding had at last been abandoned. Now only a few guardians stood watch at the more accessible outpost, which lay at the southward turning of the Silverwash.

Dirovon gave a grimacing smile. “I was up there this past summer. Much work is needed before the holding can be used again. The work is overgrown with brush and crumbling at either end. The spring failed a few decades ago.”

Turisan frowned. “I will raise this again in Council.”

“Do. Tell Lord Ehranan I am at his service whenever he wishes to inspect the holding.”

Nodding, Turisan reached for his cup. As he picked it up, a stab of terror struck him. He felt the wine splash over his fingers as the cup fell back to the table and his attention left the hall, flying northward.

Eliani?

We are under attack!

“Ride! Forward!”

Vanorin’s shout was harsh and his eyes blazed as he moved his horse to Eliani’s left, placing himself between her and the darts that were flying out of the twilit shadows to the west. Turisan’s panic added to her distress.

What is happening?

Kobalen!

No time for more; a dart whipped past Eliani’s head as she urged her tired mount to a gallop and gave her attention to staying in the saddle. A horse shrieked behind her. She glanced back and saw the rider clinging to his rearing mount, a black-fletched dart sunk in the animal’s flank.

Breathing in short, sharp gasps, she leaned low over her horse’s neck and stared at the river ahead. By chance, they were near a bend where the water spread out, shallow enough to ford. Vanorin guided the party into the water at full speed, making for the woods on the far side.

Cold water slapped against Eliani’s leather-clad legs, splashing up onto her hands and face as the horses plunged across the ford. The horses surged out of the river and up the far bank, slowing as they entered the wood.

Not until they were deep within the wood, out of sight of the river, did Vanorin call them to a halt. The horses stamped and blew, their sides heaving. Vanorin, his face reddened by the cold wind, turned to face the valley, raising his hands.

Reaching out with khi, he searched the valley for sign of more kobalen. Eliani could feel it tingle in the air between them. Vanorin remained thus for a moment, then lowered his arms.

“It is only a small band. There are no others nearby.”

Eliani steadied her mount. “What if they are a scout from Midrange?”

Vanorin looked at her, then glanced around at the guardians. “Then they will not return there. I need ten to remain here with Lady Eliani; the rest will come with me. Theyn Luruthin, stay with her if you
would. If we do not return by dark, make for Highstone.”

Eliani felt a stir of anger and moved her horse closer to Vanorin’s. “Why diminish your numbers? I can fight!”

“My lady, I dare not risk you. You are not merely a guardian.”

She felt a touch on her arm and turned to see Luruthin beside her. “Your gift. Fireshore.”

He was right, of course. Swallowing frustration, Eliani looked at Vanorin, then nodded.

“Spirits guard you.”

The captain gave her a grim smile and started back toward the river, leaving Eliani with her handful of protectors. The others departed in a tumult of hooves thudding on fallen leaves, and in their wake the wood was strangely quiet.

Turisan became aware of tense silence as his focus returned to the room. His hand lay in a puddle of wine on the table. He righted his cup, blinking, and glanced around at the captains, who were all staring at him.

“I … forgive me.”

Berephan offered him a cloth, which he used to dry his hand. Trying to steady his breathing, he looked at the warden.

“Eliani’s party has been attacked.”

Several of the others exclaimed at once. Berephan gestured for silence.

“Is it over? Are they safe?”

“I—I do not know. Give me a moment.” Turisan inhaled and closed his eyes.

Eliani? What happened?

He sensed woodlands in dusk, similar to those he
had caught a wild glimpse of earlier. Eliani’s khi no longer rang with fear, but she was alert, listening to the breath of the forest.

Kobalen threw a volley of darts at us. It is just a stray band—Vanorin has gone to hunt them down
.

Where are you?

East of the river. Sheltering in a wood
.

Not alone?

No, with Luruthin and ten others
.

Turisan relaxed somewhat. Opening his eyes, he repeated what Eliani had told him.

Berephan’s brow creased with a frown. “Were there wounded?”

Turisan passed the question to Eliani and returned her answer. “One horse was struck. The rider’s fate is not known.”

Berephan summoned an attendant and sent him to fetch paper, pen, and ink. He turned to Turisan, offering a cloth. “You will want to inform Lord Jharan.”

“Yes. Thank you.” Turisan pressed the cloth into the spilled wine, watching the liquid darken the fabric.

“I will send twenty guardians north at once to reinforce the outpost at Midrange.”

“I volunteer to lead them!”

Turisan glanced up and saw Phaniron’s eyes shining with excitement. Berephan paused before answering.

“Thank you, Phaniron, but I need you here.”

Hothanen looked at Berephan. “Can the kobalen army be moving so soon?”

“I doubt it, but this is all the more reason to occupy High Holding at once. Step downstairs, if you will, Hothanen, and ask a courier to come up.”

Turisan gave Berephan a rueful glance as the captain departed. “I fear I have disrupted your evening.”

Dirovon’s crack of laughter silenced the others’ soft-spoken protests. “Nothing like! We should all be grateful to you. I know I will sup well for a week on the tale of tonight’s doings!”

He picked up a pitcher of wine and grinned. “Pass your cup, brother. You look as if you could use a draught—if you can manage to hold on to it.”

Turisan looked at him sharply, then reluctantly returned the grin. He pushed his cup toward Dirovon, holding its foot against the table.

“I make no promises.”