Swords Over Fireshore (49 page)

She turned and strode back toward the hall, leaving Gæleth and the others. On her way she met Torith hastening toward the gates.

“I have done as you commanded, my lady Governor. The kobalen will follow.”

“Good. Choose ten to guard them. They will not keep up, but no matter.”

“Yes, my lady.”

She strode on, leaving him behind, feeling the slight bewilderment in his khi. Reaching Darkwood Hall, she skipped a step in her haste, but would not let herself run. She passed through the audience hall and sought her own chambers. The ælven looked up in surprise from straightening the maps Shalár had left on the work table.

“Roll those up and tie them.”

Shalár went into the bedchamber, shrugged out of the robe, and stripped off her silks. Pausing, she smoothed her hands across her belly. Too early yet for the burden to show, but she felt its presence, a small glow within her.

I will take the best care of you I can manage, child.

As usual, she received no answer. Smiling nonetheless, she stepped to her wardrobe and pulled out a fresh tunic and legs, these of fleececod. She pulled them on and strode across the room to a chest that stood against the wall.

Above it hung the sword left behind by the Stonereach, a handsome piece, wrought with vines and the pommel a huge crystal, no doubt from Clerestone. She was saving this sword for her daughter. It was only fitting, for the blade had belonged to the child's sire.

Shalár touched the hilt, searching for a hint of his khi. Strong khi it had been, with its own distinctive tone. A whisper of pines and thin mountain air. She thought she felt it briefly, then her attendant intruded, holding aloft the roll of maps.

“Where shall I store these?”

“Put them on the bed and come here.”

The ælven obeyed, glancing into the chest as Shalár raised its lid. Its contents were also bounty from the capture of Ghlanhras. The black dye had not completely taken, but it was black enough. The ælven's face showed confusion as she met Shalár's gaze.

Shalár smiled. “Come, you must have seen armor before. Now help me put it on.”

The Trade Road

 

T
urisan reined his mount to a walk, though his inclination was instead to urge it to gallop. Sensing his mood, the animal neighed a protest, and he stroked its neck to soothe it.

The riders followed his lead, and their horses blew and snorted as they fell to the pace that was their rest for the moment. At the next halt they would have to switch to their remounts, but Turisan thought they would manage one more round of trotting before then.

Always he looked ahead, toward Fireshore. The sight of the Varindel was what he hoped for, though it would set him a quandary. Eliani was riding along that river—she had left Bitterfield three days since, the morning he had left Riversease.

If he had not met Eliani by the time he reached the Varindel, duty would have him press onward. He clenched his teeth, wondering how long he might wait at the river before his command began to question the delay. Or should he send them on, and ride westward from there himself, toward Bitterfield?

His father would disapprove that, and he felt in his heart it would be wrong. But he and Eliani had sacrificed so much. Would Jharan begrudge them one day to meet and be together again?

He knew the answer. Not even one day—nor part of a day—could be spared from the push to reach Woodrun. The fate of Fireshore depended on his arriving there before the alben.

A flush of heat rose into his face. How could he even have considered failing in that duty?

The road ahead seemed to climb endlessly. No sign of trees that would mark a river. They had crossed no streams since the morning. If they did not find water soon, he would have to turn west to seek it.

He thought of asking Eliani's advice, but did not send the signal. She had not been on the road when she came north; she would have little help for him. Glancing westward, he saw that the column had left Great Sleeper behind to the south. That white-shouldered mountain had taunted him for the last two days, reminding him of Eliani's sojourn there. A spark of annoyance rose in him at the thought, though she had proved to him that she had been true to him.

Sighing, he closed his eyes briefly. His moods were too volatile; he must quiet himself. Had he not lived a century and more without such emotional tempests?

Yes, without Eliani. And no, he did not wish to return to that lack of excitement. Nor could he, bound as they were.

“Lord Turisan?”

He looked at the rider who spoke, one of Eastfæld's captains. The rider nodded northward, and Turisan followed his gaze.

The horizon had not changed, but the air had. It held a spark of something different, a waver. Frowning, Turisan nudged his horse to a trot and rode ahead of the column, holding a hand in the air to signal they should not follow.

The steady rise of the road had leveled somewhat, though the change had been so gradual that he did not notice. Ahead stood two standing stones to either side of the road. At first he thought them conces, then he realized they were guideposts. As he drew abreast of them he inhaled.

The stones marked the edge of a cliff. The road turned sharply east and descended, switching back and forth on its way down until it disappeared into a forest of greenleaf that stretched as far as Turisan could see. His heart beat faster as he realized that somewhere beneath that tangle of green flowed the Varindel.

They had reached Fireshore.

Eliani bit her lip to keep from saying something sharp or stupid. She could scarcely think, so impatient was she to reach the trade road, but she managed to avoid tormenting her escort with her feelings. At least, she hoped she had.

Their road followed the Varindel, twining through the forest in a way that made riding faster than a walk impractical. Sunahran and the others chatted happily as the horses ambled along. Only Vanorin was as silent as Eliani herself. She did not care to think about why.

She had done nothing to hurt him, yet she knew that he would inevitably be hurt. She could not prevent it, nor ease it. He must cope, that was all. And while she wanted to offer him comfort, express her regrets, she knew that this would only increase his distress.

Her mount tossed its head. Eliani sympathized, and loosened her rein. The horse veered toward the riverbank, reaching for grass. She let it pull a mouthful, then nudged it onward.

Too early in the day to halt. The horses must graze, but they could do so come nightfall, while their riders made camp. Eliani looked over her shoulder, trying to judge how long she had until sunset.

Not another night.

Eliani?

Oh! You startled me.

Forgive me. I...we are at the Varindel.

Her heart swelled with excitement. Without thought, she leaned forward and her mount picked up a trot, then a lope.

Grinning, Eliani shifted her weight with each turn in the road. Her mount was nimble; she really should halt, but the joy of the ride and the unbearable thought of waiting any longer made her give up all proper ideas.

One querying shout followed her, then the thudding of hooves came after her. No use telling them to stay behind. Vanorin would insist on accompanying her, his endless fears for her safety his excuse.

Just as her horse's breathing began to labor and she thought she would have to stop, a lightening in the forest ahead made her catch her breath. The road straightened; the horse ran faster without her bidding.

She saw other horses lining the river-bank, many horses, their riders watching them drink. The way widened before her and spilled onto the trade road.

Standing in a pool of sunlight, holding his mount's reins and talking to two Ælvanens, he was there. Turisan.

Eliani halted, suddenly shy. This Turisan—how did he manage to look so elegant after traveling for days?—was little more than a stranger to her. Yes, they had shared a bed, once. Many nights ago. The thought did nothing to calm her.

He looked at her and smiled, causing her heart to thump wildly. She dismounted and stood holding her reins, frozen in doubt.

“Allow me, my lady.”

Vanorin's voice made her turn. He stood beside her, offering with a gesture to take her horse. His face was stony and he did not meet her gaze.

Eliani swallowed and handed him the reins. “Thank you.”

He bowed, then led the horse away. She watched, her heart aching for him.

What is this?

Startled, she turned to find Turisan beside her. No longer smiling; a slight frown creased his brow.

Vanorin has...developed a fondness for me.

So I gather.

I did not encourage it.

Turisan gazed at her for a long moment.  “Let me introduce you to my captains.”

She followed him, obediently greeting several people whose names did not catch in her memory. Her misery increased.

He was disappointed in her. Regretting their partnership, perhaps. She had done nothing wrong, but she had failed him nonetheless, somehow.

Did he think she had lied to him? Was his opinion of her that low?

One of the captains addressed her. “How many days are we from Woodrun, Lady Eliani?”

“Oh...four.”

Turisan's eyes narrowed as he looked up the road. Too long; she knew that was what he was thinking. What they were all thinking.

Turisan shifted his gaze westward. The light was already becoming golden.

“Let us camp here the night, rest the horses well.” He turned to Eliani. “This is the last river before Woodrun, yes?”

She nodded. “There are streams, but yes. The Lanarindel is at Woodrun.”

“Very well.”

The captains dispersed to settle their companies for the night. They were strung out along the river, many moving up the Bitterfield road in search of room for their horses.  Not an ideal way to camp, but there were more than enough ælven to discourage any kobalen in the area from attacking.

Will you camp with me?

So formal. She met Turisan's gaze.
Of course, if you wish it.

I do. Shall I send someone to fetch your packs?

No need. I can do it.

Instantly she felt this was the wrong answer. His very khi radiated disapproval. She drew a sharp breath.

Will you come with me?

Again, a long stare. You wish me to?

Of course, yes. Please.

They walked up the trade road in silence, following a company of Ælvanen who were looking for space along the river. Eliani realized she was digging her fingernails into her palms, and forced herself to relax.

Why was it so awkward now that they were together? They had talked comfortably at a distance for all of a season.

Guardians gazed at them curiously, even pausing as they made camp to watch Turisan and Eliani pass. The great mindspeakers. Eliani huffed a laugh.

What is funny?

Nothing. Turisan...

Yes?

Have I done something wrong?

She stopped, bracing herself for his answer. He turned to face her.

I was thinking that I had.

Eliani shook her head, bewildered. She saw a swallow move his throat.