Into the Dark Lands (9 page)

She nodded again apologetically. “I didn't—I didn't think about it.”

“i would have.”

Which was undeniably true. She let her head hang for a moment. Sometimes she wondered why Belfas put up with her.

“All right, all right. I didn't mean it, Erin. Come on. You'll miss the wagons.”

She looked up and smiled as if testing the water.

He smiled in return—with less effort than he would have thought it would take. “Can I carry anything?”

She shook her head, but held out her hand.

He accepted the peace offering, and together they walked the path to where the wagons were already loading. It was market center, the only place in Elliath with enough room for the impressive number of horses and covered wagons.

“Just be careful, Erin. Okay?”

“I will be. But I won't be fighting, Belfas. I won't be anywhere near the front.”

He snorted. “If anyone can find a way, you can. Just don't go adult on me when I'm not even around to appreciate it.”

She hugged him, a brief, hard hug that surprised them both. “I won't. Swear it.”

“And you'll hug that one, but you've nothing for me?”

They both gave a little jump.

“Kat!” Erin was already halfway across the green.

Katalaan smiled and held her arms out as Erin ran into them. “Thought you'd sneak off and leave, did you?”

“I didn't want to wake you. ”

“That's no excuse.” She gave her almost-daughter a very tight hug. “You be careful, all right?”

Erin nodded.

“And come back to me. I've gotten used to living with another person; it wouldn't be nice to make me live alone again.”

Erin shook her head and smiled. “Everything'll be fine.”

 

From the Woodhall, the Lady watched the wagons leave. She was alone; she had insisted on being left alone. If it had been within her power to curse, she might have done so; but there was nothing to curse but the evil of choice.

Lernan.
She longed to rest a moment in the hand of God as only true Servants could do. But she could not leave; the dread and anticipation of what was almost the present caught her in its ugly web and pinned her to Earth.

Why? Why is there no other way?

The drivers mounted their wagons, and the surrounding Lernari guards took up their positions. She searched for a glimpse of her granddaughter. Ah. There, sitting on the coach seat beside the driver. Talking. Erin so rarely talked, and never quite this cheerfully.

As the wagons began to roll, she started to her feet, then forced herself to be still.

Choice. Lernan's hope.

For the sake of certainty, she would have willingly borne all. But Lernan's hope was only that: hope—hope of an end to Darkness, to the Enemy and his schemes for all life; hope that rested not only on her choices, but on all the choices she could not influence and could not predict.

And for this she must sacrifice kin? For this she must forsake daughter and send granddaughter into a darkness that had no escape?

Yes. Because there is only one hope.

But not all of the choices that must be made are mine to make.

Oh, grandchild, as I must be strong, so must you be.

She let her head drop into her hands and began her endless wait.

“Well, Erin, you've certainly taken well to the traveling life.”
Gordaris's fingers were tangled in the red-gold of his beard. Just as well the lines wore gray—his hair was so striking, it didn't blend well with most bright tones. It was pulled back in the warrior braid and bound with what looked like copper. At this time of day, it looked as if the sunset had reached through the trees to touch and color him. “Where on Earth did you learn to pitch a tent so quickly?”

Erin smiled almost shyly at the compliment. Rain and the unusual chill of the past four nights hadn't managed to dampen her spirit. She watched Gordaris as he inspected her tent pegs; he'd done it every night since they'd left Elliath. And he always said the same thing, too; sort of like Belfas.

“Telvar,” she answered, as she straightened out her bed roll, taking care to see that it rested against the oiled tarp and not the sodden ground.

“That's right. You mentioned that. ”

She sighed. It was her first real hint that becoming adult didn't necessarily mean being adult. Belf would, no doubt, be something like Gordaris. It could be worse; he could somehow grow up to be Telvar. The thought made her want to giggle—but not in front of adults.

“Well, I imagine you'll be happy enough when we arrive. Hillrock's a few hours away yet, but we should hit it by midday tomorrow. I hear your mother's out that way. ”

She nodded, catching his momentary frown. Everyone seemed to react that way to the news that her mother was near the border. She couldn't understand it.

“Still, it's quiet enough now. The last attack may have cost us—but it cost the Enemy as well.”

She nodded; it was something that everyone hoped for. But she didn't really believe it. “Gordaris?”

“Hmmm,” he answered as he sat on a large rock, carefully avoided its sharper edges.

“Is the Sarillar going to be there?”

“The Sarillar? No.” He scratched his jaw thoughtfully. “Not unless things have changed quite a bit since we left. Andin's out on the northern flank. Fighting's worst there, and his power's needed.”

She hadn't heard much about the news from the north, but the Sarillar always went where the battle was fiercest.

She poked at the ground with her toes. The Sarillar was special; out of all priests, he was chosen by the Lady to be a vessel for a part of her power. The white-fire he could call at will was one example of that; he didn't need to complete the True Ward to do it. She envied him.

Of the seven lines, only Elliath had chosen—could choose—to invest so much of its power into a living being. But Elliath was special in other ways: Only Elliath, of all the seven lines, had been founded by a Servant of Lernan. The other six had been started by mortal followers of Lernan, their strength of blood the heritage of other Servants—Gallin of Meron, Bethany of Culverne, Gareth of Destarre, Curranen of Lovar, Marellesit of Laneth, and Guerdan of Cormont: the greater circle of initiates. They had all commanded great power in their day, and to guarantee that their power did not die with their mortal selves, they had vested it in various items: crown, staff, and ring.

Only the Lady of Elliath could be assured that the death of the Sarillar—or, of course, if it were a woman, the Sarillorn—did not mean an end to her power, for it flowed back into her to wait again upon her choice for a vessel.

And among the initiates of Elliath, there was no greater honor, and no greater responsibility to the line.

At least the enemy Malanthi and Servants didn't part from their power for any common good. It was one of the few advantages the Lernari had in their long fight.

“Don't look disappointed, Erin. If I'm not mistaken, you'll be adult soon enough. And if you're one of Telvar's, the border's where they'll send you. You'll see the Sarillar—and more of battle than you could possibly want to see. They sort of go together.” He stood with a soft smile. “He's a sight when he calls the line power. Almost like the Lady—a little piece of God on Earth.

“Now come on, I smell what passes for food in these parts and I'm not going to trust my share of it to these wolves. ”

Erin smiled and joined him.

They were almost at Hillrock.

 

The road was rugged and hilly, twisting ever upward through dense thickets or scraping close under low-lying branches. The wagons, with their great wheels, had been built for it, though, and the horses seemed not to notice. Hillrock was aptly named, for it rested at the summit of a steady incline. Farms were there, but the ground was meant for mining, and the people of Hillrock split their time between these occupations.

Before the caravan entered Hillrock they saw the first wave of people from the village. A group of children, too young to be useful in the fields, caught sight of the wagons and came running. Erin watched them from the cab of the wagon, noting the way that their clothing fit—or didn't; Hillrock was not on an easy route for Elliath merchants, and clothing supplies were limited.

The children stopped about ten yards away; she could see the older ones craning to catch a glimpse of the wagons that followed hers. The little ones all shouted, waved frenetically, then turned heel and ran toward the farmhouses that were coming into view.

Gordaris smiled broadly.

“This is why we fight, Erin,” he said as he urged the horses on. “Don't forget it. No cause, no deep ideal, can possibly mean more than this.” His face hardened. “And this,” he added softly, “is what we stand to lose. But that part you'd do best not to remember.” He caught the curious look on her face. “War is a mass of contradictions and carefully acknowledged truths.”

Maybe, she thought, as the wagons rolled onward, Gordaris was more of an adult than he first appeared. The brief pain that showed on his face was only the barest hint of what he had suddenly reminded himself of. Without thinking, she reached out and clutched one of the hands that held the reins. She felt a warmth swell briefly in her and flow out through her hands.

The tight grip relaxing was barely noticeable. But it was there, and it made her feel better.

As the fields came into sight, Erin sat forward in her seat, precariously balancing on her hands.

“Back, Erin,” Gordaris said. But he smiled; she reminded him—for the first time—of his own young children, curiosity
evident in every move she made. Not that she would be a child for much longer. He sighed, letting his glance stray from the road for a short while.

There are so many of you that we cannot protect.

It was the hardest lesson of adulthood to accept. Even accepting it, no Lernari could dwell on it for long—leave that to the Lady and the other Servants of the Bright Heart.

The wagon rolled noisily into the village center, toward a series of large tents. It was obvious that they were not a permanent part of the village. They were gray, bearing the circle proudly atop their peaks, but they had also been decorated with ribbons of red and yellow—Hillrock's colors.

Erin's eyes widened.

“Yes.” He nodded at the silvered circle on the tent flap. “But wait until we stop. You didn't come this far just to break an arm or leg.”

She was so excited she didn't resent his comment, although it was obvious he was talking to her as if she were a young child. Instead she waited for the wheels of the wagon to grind to a halt.

Before that happened, the flap of the tent lifted and someone peered out. He disappeared too quickly to be identified, but Erin heard the happy shout that came from behind the cover of gray canvas.

She clambered down the side of the wagon, adjusting the hilt of her sword. For a brief moment she wished that she had waited until she'd achieved her True Ward—she could see clearly just what her mother's silent expression would say.

Then she had no time to wish at all—her mother walked into the open. Erin's small feet nearly flew off the ground in her attempt to bridge the distance.

Kerlinda had barely enough time to recognize the hurtling figure before it was around her. And then her eyes widened; she disentangled herself just long enough to free her arms, then scooped her daughter into them. Only the care that she took to make sure that Erin's sword hilt didn't jab into her spoke of her experience with the warriors.

Later
, Gordaris thought, as he took a moment to watch them,
later you'll wonder what she's doing here
. But it was the now that warmed him. He'd been fighting for long enough to take joy in any reunion, however brief or unusual. It was the one thing that all hoped for and too many never saw; no one here could take it for granted.

God, will this fighting never cease?

Kerlinda watched her daughter sleep on one of the makeshift cots that had served the injured so well. It was obvious that she was one of Telvar's young—and eager—students; even in sleep she didn't let the sword stray from hand's reach.

But this sleep, untroubled and gentle, made of the sword something of a stuffed animal; Erin's hands curled around it and drew it in.

Well, Erin, you may be a fine swordsman, but you are still a child
. The thought gave her comfort; it meant that among the faces of the wounded and dying that drifted through her life, Kerlinda would not yet have to dread seeing Erin's. She felt guilty at the thought and wondered if all mothers of Lernari warriors felt thus when their children chose to take to the sword.