The Betrayal (33 page)

Shalár nodded her approval. He spoke naturally enough, though the words were almost exactly as Irith had written from a conversation he had overheard in Ghlanhras. Shalár had taken Irith's notes back from the Steppegard, not wishing them to be found on his person in case he was searched.

“Why this charade, Bright Lady?”

“My reasons need not concern you. Be aware, however, that if you fail to carry it through, I will hunt you down.”

He grimaced. “There is no need to threaten me. I will carry it through.”

“Remember to inform them upon your arrival that you are a night-bider. A little haughtiness will serve you well.”

“That I can manage.”

“I doubt it not.” She looked at him, permitting herself a smile. “When you are finished there, come back to Nightsand.”

“Why in the name of all spirits would I do that?” His golden eyes flashed with sudden resentment.

“I will give you a house in the city and a position of honor in my guard if you desire it. A home, Steppegard. It is the only home for you now.”

He fell silent, and she did not press him further. He was wise enough to know he had no better choice. East of the Ebons, he would always be in danger of discovery.

She would treat him well when he came home to Nightsand. His strength would be a boon to Clan Darkshore. He would sire children, she hoped, though not upon her. She would not couple with him again, for it was with Dareth that she wished to conceive.

Some few nights brought them to Midrange, where they left the protection of Alpinon's woodlands the moment the sun set and rode cross-country into the foothills of Midrange Peak. There they unsaddled their horses and dumped the tack into a crevasse. The Steppegard wanted to keep his mount, but Shalár would not risk its being recognized. She turned both animals loose and sent him to approach the outpost on foot.

She stood in the shelter of the woods, following the Steppegard through his khi more than by sight. She could just see the glint of firelight at the ælven's camp below. This would be the moment that determined his chance of success in Glenhallow.

She extended her awareness through the ranks of trees and the small creatures of the woods to listen to the ælven even as she kept a wisp of khi around the Steppegard. She felt his anxiety but no great danger yet.

She could hear the ælven's voices, though it was hard to distinguish their words through the blurred awareness of trees and small beasts. She smelled horses and
fire. She sensed feelings from the ælven more easily than hearing their speech, and so it was their sudden surprise that told her they had noticed the Steppegard's approach.

She tensed even as she felt the Steppegard's tautness rise. Giving nearly all of her awareness to the effort, she looked through the Steppegard's eyes and saw glimpses of woodland, firelight, tall Greenglens much like those they had slain in Alpinon. Questions were asked, and the Steppegard answered too swiftly for her to follow at this distance, though she understood the guarded curiosity they represented. The effort was costing her khi, but she spent it willingly.

The Steppegard's khi sparked with anticipation. He was trying to convince them of his urgency. Suddenly they were moving, clasping arms. She felt the shock of the Steppegard's contact with ælven khi. She had warned him to avoid that when he could, for his khi might betray him. It seemed not to have done so, however. Before long she sensed the looming shape of a horse, then the motion of riding.

Shalár withdrew from the Steppegard's khi, leaving only a small tendril of contact. He had convinced the Greenglens and talked them out of a mount.

Relieved, she brought her awareness back to her surroundings. Midrange Pass was too exposed, but there were lesser trails over these peaks, accessible to a solitary walker. The ælven at the outpost were too few to guard every rocky way.

She struck for a landmark crag that Yaras had described to her, anxious to be west of the Ebons again. She wanted to observe Ciris's progress with the gathering kobalen, wanted then to be home again in Night-sand, preparing her hunters to be warriors. Despite these concerns, she found her thoughts running southward with the Steppegard.

She was taking a great risk, letting him go. He might turn on her, betray her intentions to the ælven, though it would bring him little advantage. She had taken care to let him know nothing of her plans for Fireshore, but the exposure of his charade would certainly be enough to arouse suspicion.

She paused, turning to gaze toward the road. In her heart, she knew he would carry out her plan. They were alike in some ways.

“Ride swiftly, Steppegard.”

She stood still, listening, her breath icing in the chill of coming winter. She closed her eyes, shifting her attention to him, feeling his anticipation, his strength of will. Oh, yes, he would carry through.

She smiled and sent a pulse of khi after him to show him she was not weakening. Then she released him and turned westward.

 Glenhallow 

Well before sunrise, Turisan donned his riding leathers. He had spent much of the night in the council chamber, talking with Ehranan, his father, and several others of the possible unfolding of a second Midrange War. Afterward he had walked in the fountain court for a time, trying to find peace, but even when he had retired, he could not rest.

His heart was filled with tumult. His thoughts leaped ahead to the moment when he would speak to Eliani from Skyruach—touch her thoughts with her full permission—a moment he desired with a passion strangely intense.

She had agreed to this test, and to send a message from Fireshore, and that was all. He knew he must not expect more, yet what he expected and what he desired were wildly different.

He went out to the stable courtyard, where a great number of attendants, far more than were needed to prepare two horses for a day's journey, seemed to have found occupation. Turisan saw the gray gelding he currently favored saddled and waiting, along with a lively roan from his father's string. Water skins and satchels of food had been tied to the saddles.

Luruthin joined him, dressed for riding, his hair
caught back in a hunter's braid adorned with hawk's feathers. Turisan summoned a friendly smile.

“Thank you, Theyn Luruthin, for taking part in this journey.” He offered an arm, but the Stonereach stood aloof, merely nodding.

Very well. Perhaps that was best. There was more than one test underway.

Luruthin was kin to Eliani; thus, it was natural that he should be protective of her. Turisan began to wonder if there might be more to his reserve than that.

They mounted and rode out of the stable yard along the broad way that led to the public circle. Even there, folk stood waiting to watch their departure, but the crowd that milled in the public circle was far larger. They commenced cheering as the two riders approached.

Turisan saw a banner of Ælvanen white and gold, borne by Eastfæld's herald, near the falcon statue at the circle's center. Beneath it stood a small group of councillors. With a glance at Luruthin, Turisan guided his horse up to them.

Lady Rheneri greeted them, holding two beribboned parchments in her hands. She held up a hand, and the crowd fell silent.

“Good morrow to you, Lord Turisan, Theyn Luruthin. On behalf of the Council, we wish you good speed and safe riding.”

Turisan bowed in his saddle. “Thank you, my lady.”

Rheneri smiled, then stepped toward the roan. “Theyn Luruthin, I give these missives into your keeping. When you reach Skyruach, hand them over to Lord Turisan.”

Luruthin reached down to accept the messages. Ribbons of blue and violet, of silver and green, fluttered in the cool of morning. He tucked the parchments into his leathers.

Ehranan stepped up beside Turisan's horse and gazed up at him for a long moment. “I was at Westgard. I wish you success this day.”

Turisan nodded gravely. “I thank you.”

A breeze caught at Eastfæld's colors and tossed them above the heads of the councillors even as the sun's first rays broke over the horizon. Turisan glanced at Luruthin, then turned his horse eastward.

As they rode from the circle, the crowd began another rippling cheer. Turisan wondered if Eliani could hear it. He resisted an urge to glance back at Hallowhall. The Council would continue in session this day, and Jharan, if he knew his father at all, would be keeping a close eye on Lady Eliani.

When they were beyond the gates, he gave his horse a loose rein, and the gray led the roan in a gallop that carried them across the bridge and all the way to the Silverwash before they slowed. He glanced at Luruthin, whose eyes were lit with the plea sure of the run, and the Stonereach gave a reluctant smile. Turisan smiled back and sat at ease in the saddle, letting the horses set their own pace as they started northward along the river road.

“May I ask you a question, Lord Turisan?”

Glancing up, Turisan found his companion's green eyes watching him rather intently. He nodded. “Of course.”

“When did you and Eliani discover you shared mind-speech?”

Turisan reached down to stroke his horse's neck. He had been relieved that this issue had not been raised in the Council. Now it seemed he had not escaped it, after all. He met Luruthin's gaze. “During my visit to Alpinon.”

A small frown creased the other's brow. “And you have not yet tested it across distance?”

The question stung—an overreaction, Turisan knew. He drew a deep breath and phrased his answer carefully. “Lady Eliani had not decided whether she was willing to make use of the gift.”

“Ah.”

Feeling suddenly impatient, Turisan quickened their pace, leaving little leisure for further conversation. Even riding swiftly, it was past midday when they reached the broad valley where Skyruach loomed, a great black rock towering at the foot of a long slope.

They crossed a stream and paused to let their horses drink, then followed the watercourse uphill toward Skyruach. They began to pass conces, a scattered few at first, then more thickly strewn until the horses had to weave their way among them. At the foot of Skyruach they dismounted and left the horses to graze beside the stream, which formed a small pool at the base of the rock tower before running down the valley to join the Silverwash. Conces stood thick here, silent reminders of those who had perished in the fighting.

They both drank from their water skins, then began to ascend the great rock. Dark, heavy boulders had calved away in places, impeding the steep, narrow path to the top. The way passed near a gigantic conce that had been carved in relief into the very rock of Skyruach to memorialize Turon's army. Luruthin paused to read some of the many names carved upon it.

The exercise felt good after more than half a day in the saddle even though Turisan's thighs complained at the unaccustomed work. He was warm by the time they emerged onto the flat, roughly even surface of Skyruach. A brisk breeze out of the mountains caught at his hair, cooling him. He strolled north along the barren stone, gazing toward the peaks of Midrange Pass just visible in the distance.

Luruthin bent down to pick up a dart head of ebonglass,
once razor-sharp, now weathered smooth by centuries of wind and rain. He turned it over in his hand, then looked up at Turisan.