Valor of the Healer (8 page)

Celoren was right, though. They couldn’t confront him without proof. And as long as Enverly seemed intent on upholding his sacred duties, Kestar could only ride at his flank as befitted a Hawk accompanying a priest of the Father on Church business—ride, and keep a steady face while his instincts thrummed a warning with each step of Tenthim’s hooves.

At Lomhannor the astonished footmen who met them in the drive relayed with dismay that Holvirr Kilmerredes and his family were at their noonday meal. Father Enverly sent one off to request an urgent audience of the duke and another to attend to the horses; Hetch the gardener he bade remain with them before either Hawk could say otherwise. Hetch tagged along as they strode through the entry hall and on to the front parlor, but his nervousness was plain. He wrung his hands behind his back, chewed at his lower lip and strove to look as unobtrusive as possible.

They didn’t wait long. Kilmerredes stormed into the parlor scant minutes later and stopped short three paces into the room. “Father Enverly,” he said, the thinnest veneer of politeness over his voice, barely hiding the rage beneath. This time there was no offering of the old ritual greeting to the Hawks, only the same curt acknowledgement he gave the priest. To the gardener he gave no acknowledgement at all. “Lord Vaarsen. Sir Valleford. What is the meaning of this?”

Enverly inclined his head in apology. “The blessings of Father and Mother, Son and Daughter upon this Hall, Your Grace, and a thousand pardons for the intrusion. I regret to inform you that by the holy authority vested in me by Her Majesty the Bhandreid Ealasaid, in this year 1876 of the Blessed Anreulag, and in the sight of Her Ordained Hawks, I’ve come to apprehend a reported mage upon these grounds.”

“Mage?” The single word was a soft but still audible snarl.

And far too unsurprised. There was no amazement on the duke’s face, no horror, no change in the anger palpably crackling from him. Something was wrong here, Kestar no longer had any doubt—but he’d have to tread with extreme caution to find out what.

Drawing the gardener forward, he said, “Lord Kilmerredes, this man bears witness to the mage’s presence on this estate, and identifies her as a young woman. Given his testimony, my partner and I have the authority for a formal search.” A search they should have already conducted, which should have given them the girl the first time they’d come. He wanted to shout; he wanted to demand of Kilmerredes and Enverly what they were concealing, why they were determined to keep two Hawks from carrying out their duty, why even now they were exchanging stares that seemed full of unspoken significance. Kestar did none of these things, and forced himself to say instead, “Out of deference to your lady wife, we’d prefer to have your leave and cooperation. Any assistance you can provide will make this easier for all.”

Hetch burst out, tugging at his forelock so desperately that he nearly pulled it from his scalp, “Begging your pardon, m’lord, please don’t be angry!” As the duke’s attention shot to him he broke into a sweat, but stood his ground. “What with the assassins breaking into the Hall and all, and Your Grace’s life being in danger and Her Grace the Duchess too, it only seemed like you must’ve not been able to give the girl over yet. I wanted to help. Please don’t turn my sister out, m’lord, it was me that decided to do it.”

Kilmerredes’s features didn’t ease as his servant made his plea. “Ah,” he rasped, more to himself than anyone else in the room. “That girl.”

“The unfortunate young wretch you’ve kept confined, Your Grace?” inquired the priest.

Enverly radiated wise, paternal serenity—an interesting switch for a man who’d seethed in the privacy of his own office, Kestar noted. “There
is
a girl, my lord?”

“A half-elf slave,” Kilmerredes rumbled. “She lost her wits four years ago. I’ve kept her locked up for her own good ever since. She hasn’t been a problem before now.” He slanted the gardener a narrow glance. “Look a little less like a frightened rabbit, Hetch. I won’t be turning you out today. That’ll be all.”

Hetch swallowed hard, tugged his forelock one more time, and fled. No one watched him go. “If she has magical ability, I must take her into custody—and pray that as she’s Cleansed of the taint of unholy power, the gods may see fit to rid her of madness as well.” Enverly piously bowed his head and starred himself. “
Ani
a
bhota
Anreulag
,
arach
shae
.”

Both Hawks echoed the gesture. But as his hand traced the star sigil across his chest and he murmured the expected
arach
shae
, Kestar could no longer contain his impatience. “Will you take us to this girl, Lord Kilmerredes?”

“Of course. Far be it from me to obstruct the Church’s sacred duty.” The duke’s tone edged back toward civility, a sword easing grudgingly into its sheath, though his look was still sharp enough to wound. He gestured out to Lomhannor’s entry hall. “If you gentlemen will follow me.”

* * *

Kestar had seen only a handful of elves during his years in the Order. Most of the elvenkind had been driven out of Adalonia, and most of those left behind were slaves, born in captivity—or apprehended, with any magic they possessed neutralized by the Cleansings. The rest were insurgents constantly on the move through the wilderness, surfacing only to liberate as many of their kin as they could reach. Unless they used magic, they were almost impossible to track. The Order hadn’t pinpointed a mage of significant power for nearly eighty years and, ever since, they’d relied upon patrol circuits old and new to ferret out the mages who remained.

All these had been half-breeds no person of breeding would acknowledge, as they were blatant reminders that the blood of elves and humans could mix. No one ever willingly admitted to siring or bearing one, for to lie with one of the elvenkind was almost as great a sin as having elven blood or power oneself. It didn’t require much of the one to allow the other to awaken in even the most prosaic of citizens, and inexorably, the amulets of the Hawks found them all.

With the aid of his premonitions, Kestar’s own amulet had found a few. But it had never sensed anything like the girl in the cellar in Lomhannor Hall.

Halfway down the stairs the pendant roused, igniting heat that started at his chest and spread through him with every step. He barely heard Celoren’s shocked breath, barely caught the glimmer of his partner’s amulet and Enverly’s out of the corners of his eyes. As Kilmerredes led them to a small storage chamber, Kestar marked him only by his big hands producing an iron key, and by the curt order he barked into the room as he unlocked and hauled open the door.

In that instant pale light streamed over Kestar’s field of vision, and he thought he felt a ghostly breeze rippling over his hair, cool as the breath of trees.

Then his sight cleared, showing him only the blue-white glow of the amulets, and the room they illumined. There was no window through which sunlight could shine or an outside wind might wander, though he marked fresh bricks where a window once had been. For furnishings there was only a low shelf, a pallet with a threadbare coverlet, an empty crate beneath the bricked-up window, and a chamber pot in the corner. None of that mattered, though, when he saw the figure huddling facedown upon the floor before them. As the light dimmed, Kestar’s heart thudded beneath his amulet. Sweat dampened his brow despite the room’s chill.

The girl wore Tantiu clothing, though the sari swathed about her and the shapeless silwar beneath were as threadbare as the coverlet; what might once have been brilliant patterns in the silk were faded by time and hard wear. Her clothing alone was enough to startle Kestar anew. He’d seen far more half-breeds than pureblooded elves, but not one had been clothed like one of the Tantiu.

Who was this girl?

“You’ll go with Father Enverly and these two men,” the duke announced, with an impassive tone that belied his piercing gaze. “They are Knights of the Hawk.”

“Am I to die now,
akreshi
?” the captive whispered. She didn’t lift her head, and the angle muffled her voice, yet Kestar still caught the hollow resignation in her words.

“If you submit to the Anreulag’s Cleansing power, my child, the gods may have mercy upon you.” No such mercy, though, came through in Enverly’s voice. “Come, on your feet.”

“Obey him, Faanshi, as you would me,” Kilmerredes said. “Do not, and you’ll try
my
patience and mercy, and I possess neither in as great a measure as the gods.”

Without quite knowing why, Kestar helped the girl rise. He had to remain firm—this was a mage they were taking into custody—yet something about the tension of her frame begged for gentleness. Her head jerked up as his fingers closed about her arm, and her eyes, slanted and summer-green over her gauzy veil, froze him. His amulet brightened at their contact, reflecting against those eyes and calling up panic in their depths. And something else as well, a gleam of gold like sunlight through leaves, reaching back to illumine something in him—

Sunlight.

This girl was the source of the light in his premonition.

She stared up at him in naked fear, and for the briefest moment, guilt that he might have caused such fright stabbed through him. “Don’t be afraid,” he heard himself murmur.

When Enverly spoke again, however, the moment passed. “Bring her, Lord Vaarsen. You and Sir Valleford will accompany me as I escort her to Camden. Then your services will no longer be required.”

“You don’t wish us to witness the Cleansing, Father?” Kestar protested.

“Your patrol has been delayed long enough.” The older man’s tone turned severe. “You’ll ride with me back to the church, and then you and your partner will resume your circuit.”

“Father, Lord Kilmerredes, the girl must be guarded,” Celoren put in, pointing at each of their amulets in turn. “We’ve all now seen her power. The elven rebels would surely find her valuable. And the assassins who attempted to take Your Grace’s life haven’t been apprehended.”

“Might I suggest, Valleford,” Kilmerredes said, “that you and your partner focus upon finding the elven rebels? If the good Father requires guards for the girl, I’ll provide them. She’s my property. If she survives the Cleansing, I’ll want her back.”

Enverly smoothly nodded. “I’ll make every effort to see that she remains useful to you, Your Grace.” Then he glanced at both of the Hawks, adding, “So shall we all.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” the duke growled, stalking out of the cellar and raking his angry stare across priest, Hawks and slave girl alike. On the latter, his regard lingered longest. “And I’ll expect you to keep her in the state in which I yield her to you now.”

In the wake of the nobleman’s departure Enverly beckoned to the Hawks to follow. Kestar kept hold of the girl’s elbow, and Celoren fell in behind him, prepared to intercept her should she bolt. But she did no such thing. She crept along at Kestar’s side up the stairs and out of the Hall, each step wary, the progress of a small wild creature surrounded by predators that might bite at any time. Nor did she make any noise as he led her to where his restive mount waited, reins in the hands of one of the footmen.

“Do you know how to mount?” Kestar asked. She shook her head without raising her eyes.

Already astride his own horse, Enverly sneered down at them both. “Bind her and throw her across your saddle horn if you must, Vaarsen, but bring her.”

“I don’t think that’ll be necessary, Father,” Kestar answered, too distracted by the girl to give more than cursory deference. He couldn’t quite fathom how to treat her, and that bothered him. She didn’t strike him as mad in the slightest, no matter what the duke had said. “We speak the truth,” he offered as he helped her up onto Tenthim and then swung into the saddle behind her. “The Cleansing won’t be pleasant, but you’ll be harmed as little as possible.”

“Yes,
akreshi
.” She huddled in on herself in the saddle.

Kestar slipped an arm around her to hold her steady while he urged Tenthim into motion, and felt her go rigid in terror. Terror of him? That thought bothered him even more. When they were well on their way down the mountain, with the priest taking point and Celoren on Pasga in the rear, he murmured another question toward her ear.

“Your master...does he treat you well?”

At first Faanshi gave him no answer, and when she spoke at last he almost missed the toneless whisper beneath the clatter of the horses’ hooves. For all their softness, and perhaps because of it, the slave girl’s words seared.

“The
akreshi
duke’s always said that the Hawks would come and Cleanse me of my sin, and that I have much sin to Cleanse away. I suppose he was right. I’m treated as I deserve.”

* * *

Escorting Father Enverly and the girl called Faanshi down to Camden and then gathering their belongings from the inn to resume their interrupted patrol should have been the end of it.

Tenthim and Pasga seemed pleased to be traveling again, taking to the road with energetic wills. The horses’ mood at first rubbed off on Celoren, who sat easier on his chestnut riding out of Camden than he had riding in, and who hummed jaunty fragments of song in his rough tuneless baritone. But a formless worry simmered in Kestar’s mind, unease that neither Cel’s rising spirits nor the late afternoon sunshine could dispel. He tried to tell himself that they’d done their duty, that nothing else was required of them in Camden. And yet...

Halfway to Tolton, the next town up the Kilmerry River, Kestar pulled up hard on his horse’s reins. Tenthim blew out his annoyance at the disruption of his pace, but his rider paid no attention to his mount’s disgruntled shifting, or how Celoren halted Pasga a few yards farther along the road and turned in the saddle to frown back at him.

“What is it? Don’t tell me you’re having another—”

Kestar snapped his head up. “No,” he replied, lifting a hand to cut Celoren off. “I’ve got to go back.”

“What? Kes, we’re
done
. The mage has been apprehended.” Celoren nudged Pasga back toward Tenthim, staring hard at his partner. “Brother—friend—you’re getting obsessed with this.”