Shadows: Book One of the Eligia Shala (53 page)

 CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT

It was raining.

“You’ll catch your death.” Bernardo’s tall form moved out from the shadows at the side of the inn’s barn as Jenevra reached the doors. “So, what’s this about?” Pulling his cloak from his shoulders he draped it over the princess, ignoring her protests. “What does the Order want from you now?” he asked cynically.

“How did you know?” Jenevra pulled a long, wet strand of hair from her face.

“They never seem to give you a break, Princess,” he shrugged. “And I reckoned there was a good chance you’d be running away from Captain Tessier by now.”

“I’m not running away from anything, or anyone, Bernardo,” she growled.

Bernardo stood in the rain, hands loosely clasped behind him as if he was walking through a spring morning. “You forget, Captain, some of us have known you since you were tiny.” He smiled down. “Tiny-er. But in all those years, I’ve never seen you react to anyone the way you do with Captain Tessier.”

“Yes, so? He makes me angry. He’s always making fun of me. He just doesn’t take me seriously.”

“And you’ve never felt so alive with anyone else … have you?” Bernardo’s deep voice asked gently. “Admit it, Princess. If you weren’t so convinced you have to prove yourself to everyone—including this Flight—you could let yourself like the man?”

“It’s not that simple, Bernardo.” Jenevra stalked into the barn.

Bernardo‘s long legs soon overtook her. “Why not give him a chance, Captain? He’s a good man, despite his reputation. I bet you haven’t even noticed how he watches over you? That certainly earned him some points with the Flight.”

“Well, that’s just wonderful,” she muttered, each word Bernardo spoke reminding her of Tessier was like a knife. “I’m sure you’ll all be very happy together. But it’s irrelevant. I have to leave. I have something to take care of that doesn’t need any distractions, and that’s what he is. Will you help me?”

“You could just make it an order, Captain,” he smiled.

“I could, and if anyone ever questions it, you feel free to call it just that. But will you help me, Bernardo?”

“You know I will.”

Jenevra stopped; turning towards one of the very few men she would trust implicitly with anything. Sighing heavily she told him, “Jai-Nimh has an execution order on him for betraying the Order. Ki-Nimh’s in no condition to go after him. The added complication is that Lady Menzetti used to be in the Order. Jai-Nimh was her training partner—like Misha with me. When Ki-Nimh tells her what happened on the Island, she’ll want to go after him. She’s almost obliged to do so … assuming the shock of it all doesn’t kill her in the first place.” Concern for the older woman darkened her face. “I can’t let her do that, Bernardo. The journey alone would kill her. So, I’m going to have to take care of it before she tries.”

“Alone?” The point that he didn’t argue about her going at all wasn’t lost on her.

She nodded. “I think so. I really don’t want to go at all, but I know Graea will try to. Can you … misdirect people for a while? Just to give me a chance to get clear. You know you’ll be the one they’ll trust for tracking me.”

“What about Captain Tessier, Princess?” Bernardo was serious as he looked at her again. “He’s going to tear the Empire apart looking for you.”

“He won’t. Phillip won’t let him. And even so, it’s not my problem, Bernardo. Just try to keep slowing them down. I don’t know how,” she said, helplessly. “I’ll leave the Spirit Sword. Then you can all legitimately follow Tessier, at least back to Salanova, until you can hand it over to Phillip.”

“I’d feel better about this if I knew someone we could trust was going with you,” Bernardo wiped rain from his face with his sleeve. “Why not let me go with you?”

“Apart from the fact that it would be treason for any of you to desert the Flight like that … no, it really wouldn’t help at all. It’s better if I go alone, and soon: before anyone else tries anything stupid. Just get me a couple of weeks if you can, Bernardo.”

“Do you know where you’re going?”

She shook her head. “Not straight to Diruthia, that’s too obvious. Cieren’s stupid, but Jai-Nimh’s not. I’ll just have to try to find them. I’ve got a couple of leads.” Squaring her shoulders, Jenevra laid one hand on Bernardo’s arm; pulling his cloak off and handing it back to him. “Thank you for understanding.”

Bernardo grunted. “I learned a long time ago that arguing with you was the fastest way to talk you into doing something. Just promise me one thing,” he said, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Think about what I said. Captain Tessier would be good for you, you know … and there isn’t a man in the Flight who’d begrudge you—”

“Shut up, Bernardo,” the princess cut him off, gently. “Two weeks, my friend: just get me two weeks.”

As the darkness of night began to shift into the peculiar half light of early morning, Jenevra slipped out of the city on her horse, unseen by most. Leaving the open road for the cover of the forest as soon as she could, she met with a young man who took her horse and rode as hard as he could for Mirizir.

Melting into the dark shadows of the forest, Jenevra swung a rolled up cloak over her shoulders, and began running. She took nothing else with her except for a small amount of money. The paths she was planning to take would be mostly solitary, and if not, well, she’d just find a way to deal with whatever happened. Turning, she looked back once at the city, her eyes resting longingly on the house at the crest of the hill. Praying that she would live to see them all again, she turned resolutely to the west, determined to get as much distance between her and them as possible.

Two days later, running northwards along the Jantaran border, Jenevra crossed over into Coural, the land of her own birth. Small in contrast to the other territories that made up the Marissime Empire, Jenevra was quite convinced that Coural was the most beautiful. Thickly fragrant pine forests clustered along the feet of the southern Coural mountain range which stretched all the way from this point into the far north of Bortka. Deep tarns and waterfalls punctuated the high peaks; rapids and cataracts falling in miniature cascades, delicate and light rather than the rolling waters of the Great Hern River in Lorthia.

Picking up some food in the small town of Orsattim, Jenevra headed west through the forest, beginning the ascent to the lower pass through the mountains which would bring her out just east of Lake Vosta in Jantara. From there it would only be a short journey to Ralta, a port where she was hoping she would be able to pick up some clue as to Jaiyen’s whereabouts. At the very least she should be able to find a ship heading up the eastern coast towards Diruthia.

Although the pass through the mountains was navigable by horseback, Jenevra chose to forego the speed for secrecy, deciding that a horse was far more easily tracked by eyes other than Bernardo’s. She climbed steadily, barely resting at night, clambering over the higher slopes where footprints would not be seen and where there were no branches to be broken to give anyone an idea of where she was headed. Closer to her destination she acquired a horse from an inn and joined the heavier traffic on the road to Ralta.

Five days out from Virat, she rode into Ralta and headed directly for the harbor. A tidy looking inn on the harbor side, clean and freshly painted, was her first call. Depositing the horse in the stables behind the building, she pulled the hood of her cloak forward and slipped in to the main room, moving quickly to a table in a far corner. As the innkeeper’s wife approached with a tray full of darkly foaming beer which she was distributing around various tables, Jenevra reached out a gloved hand and placed a small token on the woman’s tray. With barely a raised eyebrow, the woman covered the token with her hand and bent forward to whisper under Jenevra’s hood.

Nodding briefly, Jenevra walked swiftly across the room, climbing the stairs and letting herself into the third room on the left: a corner room with windows facing out onto both the harbor and the main street approaching the inn. Surveying the location with a grim satisfaction, she pulled the long cloak off, draping it over a small chair.

“Peace, Nimh—” Entering the room, the innkeeper stopped in his tracks as he saw a young woman dressed in the standard gray of the Order in front of him.

“Nimh’a,” Jenevra supplied with a smile. “I need your help, my friend.”

“Forgive me, my Lady,” he was obviously perplexed. “I didn’t know.”

“I’m the only one. Your name?”

“Remiel, my Lady … Nimh’a.” He began to panic, never having catered for women before in his dealings with the Order. “Please forgive the humble room.”

“Remiel, please, I require nothing different from any other member of the Order. You must treat me exactly the same.” Jenevra motioned to him to sit down. “I need to stay a few days, Remiel. I’m looking for someone, and I’m hoping Ralta will be the right place to find some trace of them. They have betrayed the Order.” She nodded at his gasp. “I have to find them. But there are other people trying to find me. I have to be out of here before they reach me.”

“Just tell me what you need, Nimh’a. If we can help in any way, we will.”

Remiel placed himself, his inn and its facilities totally at her disposal, bustling off to find food and drink for his honored guest—albeit a guest whose identity he would never discuss with anyone other than his wife. Reappearing quickly with a large platter of fruit, cheese, freshly baked bread and a jug of clear water, Remiel rubbed one hand over his shining bald pate as he sat again to listen to Jenevra explain what she needed from him. The stocky man cracked each knuckle in turn as he pondered what she needed. “Maybe if we explain you as a niece of mine, or Fara’s? That should keep any enthusiastic hands off you, or at least give me an excuse to intervene. I still don’t see why you can’t let me listen out for you, Nimh’a. I don’t like the idea of you being out there.”

Jenevra’s smile widened. “Remiel, you are a blessing, truly, but I won’t come to any harm out there, believe me. I think being your niece, just visiting and helping out for a few days sounds perfect. I have to be out there. I’m not exactly sure what information will be useful. I just have to keep listening.” She paused, thinking. “Do you have many regulars here, Remiel?” When he nodded, she continued, “Why don’t you just tell your regulars—confidentially—that I’m here trying to avoid a nobleman who’s being a bit persistent in his attentions. It’ll make them all more accepting if I suddenly start dodging around or trying to hide.”

Remiel chuckled. “I can do that, Nimh’a. By the way, what are we to call you? Can’t keep on calling you Nimh’a can we? It had better not be your real name either. Not if people are tracking you.”

“What about Coretta? Will that sound too out of place here?”

The innkeeper smiled back at her. “Coretta it is. I’ll send Fara up with a change of clothes for you. I’m assuming you don’t have anything appropriate wrapped in that?” He nodded at the small bundle she’d carried in with her. “Welcome to Ralta … niece.”

As they’d expected, Remiel’s introduction of Jenevra as Coretta, his sister’s daughter, hiding out with them in order to avoid the persistent attentions of an unwanted suitor, drew on the protective instincts of all the regulars. Naturally suspicious of all nobles, they accepted the story as truth from the moment they set eyes on her. It was obvious to them that such a pretty, innocent looking girl would be the natural prey of most spoiled young noblemen, and a cadre of fierce protectors was soon ready to defend her from the unsolicited advances from anyone in the inn who’d had too much to drink. Coretta breezed cheerfully from table to table, smiling at everyone, but never hovering long enough for hands to land where they shouldn’t. Evening would draw in and find them entertained around the fire by Coretta’s stories of the Gods and the stars. Most townsfolk were unaware of the stories because they never got out to look into the sky. The sailors who rolled into the inn, the men who spent each night with a sky full of stars for company, loved to hear the constellations they were familiar with related to the Gods.