Heart of the Exiled (23 page)

“I found this.”

The pouch was ornamented with broidery and beads. It had been clawed at and chewed but not successfully opened.

“It was Leharan’s. I recognize the work; it is Kirilani’s.”

“Kirilani? Our Kirilani?”

Vanorin nodded, his eyes troubled. Kirilani was one of the Southfæld guardians in Eliani’s escort.

“Was Leharan sent with the second envoy?”

Vanorin nodded and stood up. “And they were seven. These are they.”

Eliani looked at the scattered remains, the torn cloaks, and swallowed. “I cannot believe that one catamount slew seven guardians. Could it have been kobalen?”

He shook his head. “Kobalen would have looted the dead. They would have taken this pouch and the cloak clasps and other things.”

Eliani glanced at the swords scattered near the fire. One had been dragged a little distance, apparently by something that wanted to eat the leather belt from which it hung. They would have to be collected, carried home to the families of the dead, with the pouch and what little else could be saved. The cloak clasps. Mishali’s feather.

Eliani’s throat went tight all of a sudden. She looked at Vanorin, whose face was blank, as if he had closed his heart in order to cope with what must be done.

A keening wail rose on the cold air. Eliani turned toward the sound, as did Vanorin. Running footsteps came toward them, and Vanorin hastened to the road. Eliani followed but stopped at the edge of the trees, watching while he went to meet the guardian who approached.

“Leharan!” Kirilani stared past Eliani into the woods, eyes haunted with grief. “Leharan!”

Vanorin caught her, restrained her. She struggled to
get away, and he spoke urgently, quietly into her ear. Kirilani shook her head, straining against his hold.

“Leharan!”

Vanorin shook her briefly, then caught her hands and pressed the leather pouch into them. Eliani heard him speaking again, though she could not make out what he said. The guardian stared at the pouch in her hands, then dropped to her knees, sobbing. Vanorin knelt to comfort her.

Eliani turned away, knowing she must inform Turisan and Jharan of the envoy’s fate. She walked down the road to get away from the stench of death, pulling her cloak tight around her.

She sank to the ground at the foot of a tree, leaning back against it with eyes closed. A few deep breaths to calm herself, then she carefully signaled Turisan by the means he had taught her.

His happiness flooded her like sudden sunlight. She caught her breath at its unexpected joy.

Yes, my love?

Turisan …

What is it?

Alarm edged his response. Eliani inhaled shakily.

Are you alone?

I am at Berephan’s house, supping with the Guard captains, but I have stepped aside. Berephan said Kelevon sends you his apologies, by the way
.

Eliani covered her face with her hands, frowning. She did not need the heartache of hearing from Kelevon just now.

Find a private place. I have bad news
.

Wordless dismay replaced Turisan’s happiness. Eliani waited, counting the heartbeats that pulsed in her throat. She looked up through the treetops to the western
sky, where a single star gleamed down through the branches.

I am alone now. What is it?

She told him, as briefly as possible, the fate that had befallen the envoy. Turisan listened without interrupting. At last she fell silent and sat staring at the darkening sky, feeling numb.

I will go to my father at once
.

Eliani nodded.
Tell him I am sorry. We are putting up a rough conce to mark the spot. Speak to me after you have seen Jharan
.

I will
.

His love enfolded her fiercely, briefly. The next moment she was alone again.

She pulled her cloak about her as if she could feel Turisan’s embrace in it and slowly walked back to the site of the killing. The wind had dropped, and the smell seemed even more horrible. She fumbled for her kerchief again.

Luruthin and two others had found a narrow pointed stone and hauled it down the hill to the road. All three had cloths tied around their faces as they dug a hole in which to set the stone at the roadside near the site of the killing.

An unshaped conce, a raw finger pointing skyward, unmarked save for a pale green ribbon tied about it, the color muted by moonlight. A humble token, but it must do for now. Others would carve the names of the fallen onto the stone, master carvers from Clerestone, perhaps. Eliani pressed her lips together and walked back down the road to where the escort waited.

She saw Kirilani sitting in the midst of the Greenglens, hunched over a sheathed sword, which she clutched to her, rocking slightly back and forth, the
sword’s hilt rising above her shoulder. Vanorin rose at Eliani’s approach and came toward her.

“She insisted on taking Leharan’s sword. I retrieved it for her, and thought I should bring the others down as well.”

Eliani saw the rest of the swords lying piled beneath the trees. She nodded approval.

“With your permission, I would like to send Kirilani back to Highstone to take word of the—tragedy.”

“Yes. Thank you, Vanorin. Choose one to go with her. She should not camp alone tonight.”

“That reduces your escort by two.”

“We shall manage.”

He held her gaze for a moment, then nodded. “Thank you, Eliani.”

She gave him a sad smile, then glanced toward Kirilani and lowered her voice. “Was she very close to him?”

Vanorin nodded. “They were not bonded, but yes, they were close.”

They were lovers. Eliani was certain of it, seeing the grief on Kirilani’s face. Her heart jumped in fear at the thought of losing a loved one so horribly. The very pain of the idea made her want to look away.

Instead she walked over to Kirilani. The Greenglens sitting near her looked up at Eliani’s approach, but Kirilani merely stared at the ground, face fixed in a frown, slowly rocking back and forth.

Eliani crouched beside her and watched her for a moment. “I am sorry.”

Kirilani stopped rocking. After a couple of breaths she looked up at Eliani, eyes dry of tears but deep with pain. On impulse Eliani reached out and laid a hand on her shoulder.

Kirilani closed her eyes and shuddered even as
Eliani felt the startling heat of khi rise in her hand again. She stayed still, and the heat quickly faded. Kirilani sighed, bent her head, and began to weep.

Eliani felt sorry for her and hoped her attempt at comfort had not made her feel worse. She stood up under the silent gaze of the other Greenglens and walked away to find her horse.

It was certain now that none of Jharan’s messages had reached Fireshore. She felt as if she was riding toward a blank space, a vast unknown. The envoy’s misfortune weighed upon her, and she had to fight a rising dread.

She silently asked the ældar of the wood to watch over the spirits of the dead, though by now those spirits were long gone, returned to the realm of light. The living needed protection more.

Eliani sent those of the Greenglens who appeared most disturbed by the gruesome attack away to make camp and look after the horses. She and the rest spent the night making a pyre for the dead in the clearing where the envoy had camped and been attacked. When all was ready, when the remains had been laid atop the pyre and the envoy’s possessions set aside for their kindred, Eliani gathered the guardians who had stayed to finish the work in a circle around the pyre.

She should say something, she knew. She disliked making speeches and thought fleetingly of asking Turisan for help but decided not to trouble him. Instead she tried to imagine what he would say. She cleared her throat.

“These were our brethren. Spirits welcome them, and may the ældar bless them with freedom from fear and pain. They carry the sorrows of flesh no more.”

Someone inhaled sharply, making her glance up. They were all watching her—Luruthin still somber,
Vanorin silent and pale. She had never seen the captain look so crushed and looked away from his pinched face, back at the pyre.

“What remains of their flesh, let it return now to light. Their lives will be remembered with honor and affection.”

She raised her hands, palms toward the pyre, and the rest of the circle did likewise. Sending her khi out into the stacked wood, she sought for a dry place to set a spark.

The pyre burst into flame. Sparks rose into the night sky, golden flecks dancing toward the whiter stars. Eliani stepped back from the sudden heat and watched the golden light wash over the faces of her escort.

Weary faces, and the journey not half-done. The sorrow of this night would affect them, but she dared not let it slow their pace. Fireshore would not wait.

“Father …”

Jharan turned to him—half questioning, half annoyed—and Turisan realized he had intruded upon a private conversation. He had walked into his father’s chambers without pausing, thinking to find him alone, but Lady Rheneri was with him, radiant in an elegant gown of Ælvanen gold and white, making Turisan suddenly conscious of his simple attire.

She gave him a tolerant smile, then glanced at Jharan. “I believe I would like some more of this excellent wine. Will you excuse me?”

Jharan gazed after her as she strolled to a side table that bore an ewer and goblets. He turned back to Turisan with a wry look.

“Yes?”

“Father, come outside with me a moment.”

Jharan’s eyes sharpened. “What is it?”

Turisan lowered his voice. “News from Eliani.”

“Is she in danger?”

“N-no. Please come away from here.”

Turisan nodded slightly toward Rheneri. Jharan pressed his lips together, then turned and strode out into the corridor without further ado, the skirts of his silver-woven robe swaying about his feet.

The passage opened onto a balustrade overlooking the fountain court. Turisan’s chambers opened off the same passage, though lately he had been residing in the Star Tower.

Jharan moved across to the balustrade and stopped there beside one of the great tree-shaped pillars. Turisan glanced along the colonnade to be sure that no one would overhear them.

“Eliani and her party have found the second envoy.”

He gave Jharan what details Eliani had shared with him. Jharan’s frown deepened as he listened.

“So Fireshore never did receive my message.”

“No.”

Jharan rubbed a hand across his face, looking weary of a sudden. “What can I do?”

The question caught Turisan off guard. “I cannot say. They have set a rough conce and sent messages to Highstone. I think there is no more to be done.”

Jharan drew a deep breath. “Give Eliani my—my regrets. And my thanks for her care of our clan-kin.”

Turisan nodded. For a moment he thought he saw grief, then Jharan drew himself up and calm settled upon his features. The glimpse of his father’s heart was gone; it was the governor who stood before Turisan now.

Southfæld had cost Jharan a great deal, more than Turisan had realized until now. What might it cost him someday when Jharan stepped down and he assumed the governance of the realm?

He walked beside his father, their footsteps masked by the whisper of the fountains below. Pausing outside his chambers, Jharan turned to him.

“Thank you for bringing me this news.”

“I am sorry the tidings are ill.”

Jharan shook his head, half smiling. “In this alone, you and Eliani have already given great service. Tell her to be careful.”

Turisan laughed softly. “I tell her that every day.”

With a fleeting smile, Jharan held out his arm. Turisan clasped it, then watched his father return to his guest. He saw Lady Rheneri look up as Jharan went in, just before the door closed.

Turisan stood for a moment, frowning in thought. The slaughter of the second envoy made him feel the need to act, though he could not help Eliani in dealing with it. He had his own preparations to make and little enough time in which to make them.

Briefly he wished that Eliani were not engaged upon her mission. If she were free, they both could join the army at Midrange, offering Ehranan the advantage of mindspeakers on the field, which had led to victory in the Bitter Wars.

Perhaps it was a less important advantage when the enemy was kobalen, not alben. The ælven were unlikely to have need of coordinating complicated maneuvers against the kobalen. What would truly be of use at Midrange was a gift, like Rephanin’s, that would enable the commander to speak to all the army at once.

Turisan drew a breath as a tingle of realization went through him. Why not have Rephanin upon the field?

It had not occurred to him before because Rephanin was not a warrior. He need not be, though. He could remain behind the lines …

Turisan hastened along the colonnade and crossed the arcing span that joined Hallowhall to the magehall. Rephanin would likely be at work with his circle, but
Turisan could leave a message for him. He sought the hall attendant’s chamber and was surprised to find Rephanin there, talking with Tivhari.

The magelord glanced up, and Turisan made a slight bow. “I am glad to find you. I thought you would be closeted with your circle.”