Foxfire (76 page)

The women's anguished cries turned shrill when they learned the Zherosi were pursuing them. In the same flat voice, Faelia gave orders to abandon the sheep Ennit had refused to leave behind, to fill their waterskins at the stream, and to gather the few supplies they had brought to sustain them until the Zherosi marched away.

“You'll command the rear guard,” she told Selima. “Choose ten men . . .” She looked around and grimaced. “Choose ten of the older boys to go with you.” As she turned toward her family, she saw Donncha pushing through the crowd.

“They want you!” she screeched, pointing a trembling forefinger at Keirith. “That's why the raiders came. Why they killed our men and burned our homes. Why don't you give yourself up and save the rest of us?”

When some of the other women took up the cry, Faelia unsheathed her sword. At her nod, Selima and Holtik took up positions on either side of Keirith who was trying in vain to be heard above the commotion.

Lisula stepped in front of Donncha and slapped her. The contentious voices broke off in a collective gasp.

“Don't be a fool, Donncha. If Darak's life didn't satisfy them, do you think Keirith's will? Or should we give them all of Darak's family? And these young men and women who have risked their lives fighting the Zherosi?”

Shaking with emotion, Lisula turned in a slow circle, fixing her fierce gaze on the faces around her. “You know what the Zherosi are capable of. They'll slaughter the children and the old folk. Rape the women and girls. And if any are alive after that, they'll rope them together like beasts and ship them to Zheros to spend the rest of their lives as slaves.”

Only the muffled sobbing of a woman and the wail of a babe broke the silence.

Lisula's grim expression softened. “If we turn on each other, the Zherosi have truly conquered us. Our strength lies in remaining together. Our strength lies there.” She flung out her hand, pointing south. “When our ancestors came to this land, they found shelter and sustenance in the forest. That is our home. And it's the one place the Zherosi fear. The forest is our past—and our hope for the future.” For Faelia, the flight south was a dreamlike amalgam of the one from Gath's village and that long-ago journey from Eagles Mount. Once again, young Braden, who had helped her herd the villagers toward the pass, darted back and forth along the line, exhorting stragglers, shifting bundles of food and clothing, and making the younger children laugh by pretending it was all a strange game of hide-and-go-seek. And once again, they were accompanied by sheep.

“I'm not leaving them for the gods-cursed Zherosi,” Ennit insisted. “We've only food for a few days and we'll have no time to hunt.”

She didn't waste breath arguing, but insisted that if the sheep wandered or slowed them down, they would have to be abandoned.

“You worry about the Zherosi. I'll see to my sheep.”

And with Lorthan's help, he did, driving the stupid beasts south as relentlessly as she drove the human members of their band.

Late in the afternoon, they spied the first scraggly pines. A few of the women wept. The older children echoed Braden's cheer. The little ones had long since stopped laughing, but even they managed to stifle their whimpers.

“Just a few more miles and we'll be in the forest,” Faelia told them.

“And then can we go home?”

It was Blathi, Madig's younger daughter. Before Faelia could reply, Colla took her sister's hand. “We're going to have a new home now.”

Colla had lost her mother when the Zherosi attacked her village. Now, both her brother and father were dead and her second home was destroyed. Little wonder her face looked as pinched as an old woman's.

Faelia led them deep into the safety of the forest before giving the order to make camp beside a small stream. She sent Braden and Holtik ahead to scout. To Mirili and Lisula, she gave the responsibility of rationing their food supplies. She considered sending the older boys and girls out with slings and snares, but since they didn't dare light a fire, she let them rest and conserve their strength for the morrow.

Finally, she turned her attention to the boy that Selima had sent from the rear guard. Quelling her impatience at his endless description of the day's march, she finally learned that the Zherosi were more than five miles behind them and had also made camp. She loaded him with six bulging waterskins and even managed a smile when he thanked her effusively for the extra food; no wonder Fa had nicknamed him the Chatterer.

“I'm that hungry I could eat grass,” Rendaron assured her. “I tell you, the sheep are the lucky ones. Or were. Not much grass to be had in the forest, is there? I don't suppose you mean to butcher any of them tonight? Nay, of course not. Still, what I wouldn't give for a nice bit of mutton. But we're tough. We'll make the Spirit-Hunter proud.”

His face turned bright red. “I . . . forgive me . . . I didn't mean to remind you of your loss. Not that you'd forget. It's just . . . I can't believe he's really gone. He was the greatest man I've ever known. The greatest! Not much of a talker, but . . . well . . . you know. Sorry. Gods.”

She leaped into the pause, thanking him for his report and asking him to convey her thanks to Selima for sending someone with such an eye for detail. Selima would detect the sarcasm; Rendaron simply puffed up like a blackcock in the mating season.

Faelia's smile faded as she wandered through the camp in search of her family. She found them sitting a little apart from the others with Lisula, Ennit, and their girls. She accepted a broken nutcake gratefully, but quickly became aware of Keirith's silence. She knew him well enough to realize he was still brooding over Donncha's remarks. Knew, too, that nothing she could say would ease him. Instead, she told them about Rigat.

Keirith's head came up, shock and disbelief warring on his face. Callie offered half a dozen possible explanations. Ennit made her go over and over what she had seen until she wanted to throttle him. Finally, they fell silent, all of them staring at her mother who had said nothing throughout the soft but heated discussion.

Mam glanced around the circle of faces. “Callie's right. There must be an explanation.”

Faelia clenched her teeth to bite back a retort. Her mother had always defended Rigat. She had coddled him as a babe. Excused his bad behavior as a child, claiming he was too young to know better. Even now, she refused to see him for what he was—an abomination.

 

 

 

She took the first watch; tired as she was, her mind was too restless for sleep. Twice before she had been forced into the role of leader, once after the flight from Gath's village and again after the ambush near Black Hill. Both times, she had led her people home. Now she was leading them into the unknown, like her father during the quest through the First Forest.

Oddly, the thought comforted her. She was her father's daughter, after all, and the forest was a second home to her. But nearly a hundred lives depended upon her, and she longed for Temet's strength and Fa's wisdom.

Staring up through a break in the pine boughs, she found the Archer. She had always thought of it as Fa's constellation, for both were hunters. And no matter the season, the Archer was always present in the night sky, just as her father had always been the most powerful, enduring presence in her life.

Now he was gone. Yet the Archer maintained his nightly vigil and on the morrow Bel would still rise in the east. After all Fa had done, surely the world should note his passing. A star should fall from the sky. A storm should sweep across the land. Winds should howl their grief.

She could imagine what her father would make of such thoughts: “Aye. Well. A shower of brogac would be nice. Then the world could get drunk in my honor.”

Her chuckle turned into a hiccuping sob. She pressed her knuckles against her mouth to stifle it. Later, she would allow herself the luxury of grief. When her family was safe. When the Zherosi had been defeated. When Rigat had been stopped.

The scratchy chorus of night insects ebbed and flowed as she made her way back to camp. Picking her way between the sleeping figures, she heard the whimper of a child, the restless moans of a dreaming woman, the harsh ratchet of snoring men. She shook Callie awake and reminded him to pass along her instructions to the next watch. Then she lay down beside Keirith and closed her eyes.

She never knew what awakened her. Perhaps she had spent enough time with the rebels that the mere crunch of pine needles was enough to disturb her sleep. As she rolled over, two shadowy figures sat up. In silence, Hircha and Mam watched Keirith slip away from camp.

“I alerted the sentries,” Faelia whispered. “They'll stop him, Mam.”

“He's not going to the Zherosi.”

“After what Donncha said—”

“He gave his oath.”

They watched him weaving in and out among the trees, little more than a moving shadow in the darkness. When he reached the top of the slope, he simply stood there, barely visible in the light of Gheala's newborn crescent.

“What's he doing?” Faelia whispered.

“Seeking a vision, perhaps,” her mother replied. “Or escaping from his dreams.”

As Faelia rose, Hircha's hand snagged her wrist. “If you want to help, keep him busy. And away from Donncha and the other malcontents. Let him scout with Holtik. Put him on sentry duty at night. Perhaps he'll be too tired to worry—or dream.”

Faelia hesitated, then decided to speak her mind. “There's another way to keep his worries at bay. But you're the only one who can offer him that.”

Hircha's fingers tightened on her wrist. “Stay out of it, Faelia.”

She returned to her wolfskins and stared up at the Archer until Keirith returned. Her fingers fumbled for his in the darkness and she felt him start, then relax.

Death, she understood. Privation and struggle. The blood-pounding excitement of battle and sex, the bone-deep ache of grief. She would never understand Keirith's complicated relationship with Hircha, any more than she could understand the strange magic he possessed or the demons that haunted his dreams. All she could do was try and protect him from the dangers of this world: the women who accused him of cowardice, the Zherosi who sought his blood—and Rigat, the greatest threat of all.

J
HOLIANNA WELCOMED RIGAT BACK to Zheros with a feast and an invitation to her bedchamber. He left the feast after the fish course, but remained with her all night.

She thought she had seen all his faces: the man-god wild with rage when his wishes were flouted; the wide-eyed new-comer laughing with pleasure over each new experience; the weeping child; the blushing adolescent; the grim-faced avenger. But the dispassionate young man who spent the entire night discussing affairs of state was a stranger.

His questions were thoughtful, his suggestions intelligent. He volunteered to help bring the war in Carilia to an end. Offered his assistance with the upcoming trade negotiations with Lilmia. Weighed the merits of executing the noblemen who had conspired against her versus the benefits of leniency. Promised to visit the estates of the slave owners and ensure that all the Tree People who wished to remain in Zheros were allowed to do so. But he shied away from discussing the northern provinces, save to urge her to appoint a new Vanel who would continue Geriv do Khat's practice of buying the loyalty of wavering chiefs with grain.

“Why change an effective policy just because the commander who devised it is dead?”

He showed the same lack of emotion when he learned that she was planning a state funeral for Vazh do Havi.

“People will expect you to honor him. Just don't expect me to be there when you do.”

“And your family?” she asked, daring his displeasure.

“I'll deal with them in my own way.”

She knew enough not to pursue the subject.

After that, she rarely saw him during the day, although he usually returned to her in the evening. Only then, as he boasted about his successes in Carilia, did she catch a glimpse of the eager boy who had taken her to that northern forest. But mostly, he was restless and edgy, prowling about her bedchamber like a caged beast.

When he was in Pilozhat, Nekif brought her daily reports of Rigat crying out in his sleep, Rigat kicking a slave for failing to chill his berry juice properly. When he was in Carilia, birds brought messages from the Vanel of the Eastern Army that mixed extravagant praise for the Son of Zhe's tactics with carefully neutral descriptions of similar bouts of temper.

She burned the messages and displayed unfeigned delight each time Rigat returned to her with the account of his latest triumph. At this rate, the Carilians would be subdued before the second harvest. Later, alone in her bed, she wondered if these proud recitations of his accomplishments repeated a pattern begun long ago with his mother. Although she would sometimes catch Rigat watching her with his old fascination, he failed to respond to her tentative overtures. She accepted the change in their relationship with equanimity; if it ensured a victory in Carilia, she could play the surrogate mother as easily as she had played the lover.