Into the Dark Lands (14 page)

No. She was going to go home and change. She turned around abruptly and ran into someone. She stopped, started to apologize, then heard an astonished squeak that could only belong to one person.

“Erin?” Belfas was either in shock or doing a good imitation of a fish out of water.

Erin felt her cheeks grow hot.

“Is that you?”

A number of silver-gray robes seemed to gather around them as they blocked the hall.

“Yes,” she hissed. “It's me. Can we go now?”

“The hall's behind you.”

She turned around and sighed.

“Can I, uh, offer you my arm?”

She smiled then, her cheeks still red. “Okay.” The brown velvet of her sleeve brushed against the new gray of his robe as their arms locked.

And the dinner went very well. Erin remembered everything that Katalaan had taught her, and ate, in her opinion, like a lady. Belfas—well, he was still Belfas. Every time he went to touch a fork, he'd look at her to see if she nodded or shook her head. Any time he wanted to reach for something, he'd do the same.

It made her happy to know that he was still Belfas and, even if he'd gone adult, he still needed her.

And Belfas was happy to have her back. So happy, in fact, that he didn't bother to feel guilty about becoming adult before she did. She was still Erin; of course she'd follow. They did everything together, didn't they?

He had almost finished his second dessert, filched from Erin's plate when both were sure no one was watching them, when the
door to the east hall flew open. The congenial chatter died away into the silence of four stone walls.

“Grandfather, initiates.” The silver-haired master scholar gave a low bow. ”I'm afraid that the festivities for the evening are over.”

Murmurs began as Latham paused to draw breath.

“The Lady of Elliath summons you to a council of the full circle in the Great Hall. Immediately.” He bowed again, obviously out of breath. “If Erin is among you, she, too, is to attend. Else, she is to be summoned.”

Erin stood, the brown and green of velvet marking her clearly. “I'm here.”

Latham nodded. Chairs scraped along the floor as the hall emptied.

 

The Great Hall was already crowded when they arrived. Erin caught sight of Elise, an older woman of the lines, wrapping her arms around a thin blue nightdress. Further into the crowd, she caught sight of Kredan's back. He'd only come from the front last eve. He caught sight of her—it was hard not to—and whispered, “Up to Telvar.”

She nodded and caught Belfas by the hand.

Just before they broke through the last rank of people, Erin heard the creaking of the great doors as they closed. Light, so pale a green it was almost white, flooded the hall, chasing the shadows away from even the arches that towered so high above them.

She stopped a moment, inhaling sharply. Belfas squeezed her hand. “Over here.” He used as quiet a voice as he could manage, but at least a dozen people heard him because the hall had suddenly become so quiet.

Erin nodded and allowed him to drag her the rest of the way. She managed to maneuver skillfully enough that she only bumped into one more person. But she recognized that person even before he turned to stare down at her.

Thanks, Belf.
A blush started to rise in her cheeks. Why did it have to be Telvar? She was on the verge of stammering out an apology when he nodded sharply. “You're here. Good.” He turned to face the altar, and Erin was forced to do the same; one didn't question Telvar when he was this curt and businesslike.

But she was curious. After taking a moment to catch her breath, she looked around at the gathering. Hundreds of people thronged the room in various states of dress. Almost all of them
were familiar to her in one way or another. But why had they been summoned?

She turned back to the empty altar and then craned her neck around again. Belfas was beside her, as usual. Kredan, she'd seen. Deirdre, still rubbing sleep out of her eyes, was four rows behind. Carla, war-scarred and wary even now, was standing silent toward the back.

They were all adult.

A flush of excitement reddened her cheeks, adding color that had been missing there for months. Daring Telvar's impatience‚ she began to search every face she could see.

All adult.

Belfas tapped her urgently on the shoulder, and she spun around again, half-rocking on her toes.

She wasn't adult yet, and as far as she could see she was the only child that had been summoned. It gave her a hope that she had thought she would never have again. The smile she turned on her best friend was both anxious and warm.

He returned it with a confused glance. The whole of the line in the holding had been summoned—undoubtedly for a very good reason. Why on Earth was Erin smiling like that?

Erin wanted to hug him and laugh out loud. If Telvar hadn't been standing beside her, she might have done it. Of course he couldn't understand why she was suddenly so happy—he didn't really comprehend how significant his becoming adult was to both of them; he had never really thought of her as a child.

A movement from behind the altar caught her attention, and she schooled her face carefully.

The Lady of Elliath entered the Great Hall, sweeping through the open arch, her arms held out to either side as if in welcome. She entered the edge of the inscribed circle and came to stand before the altar.

Sight of the Lady was not unusual. But the light that she brought with her was; it glowed brilliant white, casting aside the previous green as if it were shadow or darkness. She was limned with it; her hair seemed to dance to invisible wind like strands of diamonds.

So magnificent was the Lady that Erin did not immediately notice the man who followed her. He was not a familiar face or figure, but it was obvious that he held great power—one of the twelve, perhaps. He was tall, his hair was pale and fair, his skin almost translucent. She started to glance at the Lady again, then suddenly stared at the man. For although he carried the white-fire,
his eyes, at this distance, were blue—not the emerald green that so clearly marked the Servants. She noticed then that he wore the surcoat of the line, and that it was not for dress; it was dirty and torn. In one arm he held a dented helm.

There were only two things that could explain this. Either he had visited the Gifting of the Bright Heart and had truly mingled with the blood of God, or he was the Sarillar of Elliath—the single Lernari warrior-priest chosen to be the vessel for a part of the Lady's power, her presence on the field of battle. And either of these things boded ill for the line.

“Line-children.” The Lady bowed her head gravely in the man's direction. “Andin has returned from Karana recently.”

Erin gave a small start at the man's name. It was truly Andin, Sarillar of Elliath. She found herself holding her breath, and tried to relax, as did everyone in the audience.

The Lady did nothing to still the disquiet of the Lernari. Instead, she stepped to one side, and Andin strode forward.

This close, Erin could see his expression. Beneath the light, there were scars across his face and brow—healed but nonetheless visible. The lines around his face were the only things that spoke of his age.

“Line-mates.” He bowed. “I will—I must—be brief. Karana has fallen.”

There was a ripple that passed through the audience, wordless but audible. Karana was the major trade city closest to the border. But it was not that close; a hundred miles or more from the fighting. At least it had been.

He allowed the information to sink in before continuing.

“A full four of the Twelve of the Enemy were present at the fall.” He closed his eyes. “And some six hundred of the Malanthi as well. Their exact numbers are unknown; Corvan was the only one among us who could memory-walk, and he perished. The enemy army has also availed itself of the nonblooded. Much planning has gone into this.

“The Ninth of the Bright Heart fell in battle; the Twelfth of the Enemy preceded him. But our losses were great.”

He seemed to slump for a moment and looked toward the Lady of Elliath.

“Yes,” she said softly, the thrum of her power touching everyone. “Karana was in Elliath territory. This night, I must touch the Gifting of God and I must travel to the ruins of that city.”

Again a rustle went through the Great Hall. The Lady of
Elliath—First of the Twelve of Lernan—had not taken to the field since the days of Gallin Bright Sword—the days of legend.

“The Sarillar will travel with me.”

Almost everyone in the crowd nodded; Erin felt herself doing the same.

“I will take some ten others. The cost to the Bright Heart will be high—but we cannot wait; behold.”

And she cast her arms wide. Power crackled down the thin bareness of her hands. Above her head an image began to coalesce beneath the beamed ceiling. It was white and formless at first, like clouds too thin to block all sunlight. But this mist drew slowly back into the blackness of night, punctuated by glimmering starlight.

Black against even the darkness were three of the four that the Sarillar had spoken of.

Erin froze.
Bright Heart . . . not again
. . .

Surrounded by shadow, they stood tall. Only their backs could be seen, but there was no mistaking them—or what they were doing.

Walking.

There was no sound; the Lady had spared them that. But jutting out at odd angles from the closest Servant's back were two flailing arms. The Servants, the nightwalkers of the Enemy, were feeding.

Erin's hand flew to her sword and smacked uselessly against her unadorned hip. She opened her mouth, but like the Lady's image, she, too, was silent, unable to voice what she felt.

The flailing arms fell into shadow even as she took her first step forward.

Two hands gripped her, one on either shoulder. The light, sure touch on her right she recognized as Belfas. But the other—she turned to her left to see Telvar's face. His lips were drawn back tightly and she wondered if she only imagined the tremor of his hand.

“Not yet, little warrior. But soon.” There was something strange about his tone of voice; it contained disapproval—with which she was only too familiar—but approval as well. She was not surprised to see that his hand rested squarely on the hilt of his sword. She couldn't think of a time when she had seen him walk unarmed, and this was no exception.

The image crumbled into light.

“The Grandfather of the line will travel with us. Katri, come forward.”

An older woman came quickly through the crowd at the Lady's command. Erin could see the likeness between the set of lines of her face and the familiar face of the Grandfather.

“Lady.” She bowed, looking completely formal although she was not dressed for the occasion.

“You will preside in the Grandfather's place, as is your duty and right. Guard your line-children well and see to the front—if I am not mistaken, there will be much activity there, and much loss.”

“Will you take Karana back, Lady?” someone asked from the audience. It was a male voice, one that Erin didn't immediately recognize.

“There is little enough to take,” she replied. “It is the Servants of the Enemy that are my concern; they must not walk further into Elliath lands. We will do what we can to succor those that survive.”

There were no more questions.

Telvar stepped forward.

“It will be some moments before your guard is ready, Lady.” He bowed once to her and then turned to the Sarillar. “Sarillar.”

Andin nodded.

“Lady, ” Telvar said as he straightened out, “your guard?”

“Yes, weaponsmaster. You shall accompany me.”

A look of relief flittered across his scarred face. “The others?”

“Only two here can memory-walk; the others are at the front.” Her eyes turned to rest upon Belfas, and Erin felt her heart sinking. To see him go out with the units in the long line that had taken her mother the first time was going to be difficult enough. To know that he was going into the lands that the Servants occupied was worse than anything else she could have imagined.

Not him, not Belf. Please, Lady, not him.

But of course the Lady couldn't hear her thoughts.

“Latham is completely untrained. He is master scholar; he must remain.”

Telvar turned to look at the newly adult Belfas, who was standing speechless beneath their gaze.

“Who did you train under, Belfas?”

“Carne.”

Telvar nodded. “He'll manage.”

The Lady looked out into the audience again.

“Kredan is one of yours, is he not?”

Telvar nodded. “He's returned from the front, Lady, but he's relatively uninjured.”

Kredan stepped forward. He, too, was armed; Erin could see this clearly.

“Carla.”

Carla stepped forward, grim-faced and sure; every inch Telvar's prize pupil. She came to stand beside her master. She, too, was armed.

“Evanyiri.”

Another woman came to the front, one that Erin didn't recognize. She was older, but her face attested to experience in battle, most of it hard. Like Carla, she nodded once to Telvar to show clearly whose pupil she had been.

“Anders.”

This time a man stepped forward and paused at a respectful distance from Telvar.

“Rodry trained me,” he said.

Telvar frowned for a moment, noticing the man's lack of weaponry, then nodded almost bitterly. “You'll do.”

“Dorse.”

Another man, this one maybe seven years older than Erin or Belfas. She recognized him and smiled to herself. He was a part of Kredan's unit and had just returned from the front. He, too, gave Telvar the name of the master who had taught him arms, and Telvar once again grunted assent.