Heart of the Exiled (41 page)

Rephanin felt the battle before the column reached the outskirts of Midrange Valley. A deep discord echoed through the khi of all life ahead. He closed his awareness, guarding himself from the distressing sensation, and wondered how he would manage to serve as Ehranan demanded.

Thorian?

There was no answer. Rephanin tried the query signal as well, without result. As distance separated them, it had become apparent that it was Thorian who must speak first. Rephanin was, so far, unable to initiate contact, though he continued to try.

The day was well advanced, however, and they had agreed that they would always speak at sunset. Rephanin hoped Thorian would speak to him soon, for he expected that Midrange was about to engage his full attention.

The sun had retreated behind an overcast of cloud, becoming a sullen, misty globe. The mountain peaks were shrouded, the road muddy with snowmelt. Rephanin shivered, less from actual cold than from
dread. The guardians around him became alert, watching the ridge they were approaching with wary eyes. The horses, more sensitive to khi in some ways than ælven, grew restless despite their weariness.

A bloom of warmth touched his brow. He drew a grateful breath.

Thorian
.

Yes, my lord. We have halted for the night. Have you?

No. We are nearing Midrange. You remember all the messages for Jharan?

I have written them down
.

How close are you to Glenhallow?

I am not quite certain, but I should be there tomorrow, I think
.

Rephanin swallowed, wondering if he would ever return to the city that had become his home. He felt suddenly lonely for it, for the magehall and his circle. Most of all for Thorian.

He now understood as he had never done before the ballads that told of mindspeakers’ yearning. It was not simply that he and Thorian were separated—they were close in spirit, after all, and spoke daily—but that they were both close and far apart, which created a peculiar longing.

Give my best regards to the governor and to all at the magehall
.

I shall. And I will speak to you again in the morning
.

I may not be able to answer you. I think we are about to—to begin
.

Thorian was silent briefly and subdued when he spoke again.
Be careful, Rephanin
.

The magelord smiled.
Have no fear. I was not made to be heroic
.

He did not want to end his conversation with
Thorian, but a change of movement ahead drew his attention to a rider trotting back along the column. Rephanin knew there could only be one reason. His heart sank.

I must leave you now. I expect I will not be at liberty to speak to you for a while. Try in the morning, though
.

Spirits guard you
.

And you
.

The rider reached Rephanin’s escort and bowed in the saddle. “Lord Rephanin, the commander desires your presence at the head of the column.”

Unable to make himself answer, Rephanin nodded. Still surrounding him, his mounted escort moved off the road, leaving it to the companies that were on foot.

Rephanin clung to the saddle unashamed as they hastened forward. He was no expert rider and had nothing to prove. Were it not that he knew he was fated for this service, he would have preferred to be elsewhere.

The head of the column had paused at a rise where the road crossed the foot of another ridge. Though he had never traveled this road before, Rephanin knew that beyond that ridge lay Midrange. The darkness he felt from there must be affecting everyone in the column, but still they marched on.

Ehranan hailed him as he drew near. Rephanin acknowledged the commander with a nod, seeing in his face a strange mixture of grim determination and excitement. Could he actually be looking forward to this conflict? Rephanin could not pretend to understand a warrior’s feelings and had no desire to.

“Midrange Valley lies ahead. Would it be best for you to speak to the Guard before we enter it?”

“That might be best, yes.” Rephanin was dismayed to hear a tremor in his own voice.

“Please do so, then. When you are ready, I will give them greeting.”

Rephanin glanced at the ridge to the west. “The mountains may prevent me from being heard once we move forward. I could speak now but lose contact as we pass this ridge.”

Ehranan frowned up at the mass of stone. “Even in the open air?”

“Possibly. I think it likely.”

“Well, speak now and I will greet the army, then speak again when all have crossed this narrow.”

“Very well. I need a moment.”

Rephanin closed his eyes and cautiously opened his awareness. Dark turmoil to the north filled his mind, and he had to fight not to recoil from it. He faced it and saw that it ran on two levels: a high, clear flow of khi that came from hundreds of ælven and the dark, heavy, and much greater mass of khi from countless kobalen.

A third and much weaker element was the khi of all other living things in the valley, trees and plants and the few animals that had not fled, mostly carrion eaters. Rephanin shuddered.

He began building barriers in his mind, as he had lately learned so well to do. First he blocked all the lower, denser khi: the kobalen and lesser beings. That alone relieved him to a great extent. Next he divided himself and the Southfæld Guard from the other ælven ahead in the valley. Ehranan might wish him to speak to them all eventually, but for now he would touch only those who were prepared for it.

Finally, he made a shield around his own awareness, a cloud to filter out the feelings of the hundreds
of ælven around him. His escort of guardians, assigned by Ehranan to the sole duty of protecting him, would keep his flesh safe, but it was for him to guard his own heart.

Thus sheltered, he opened his eyes and gazed back southward. The Guard had gathered in the valley, waiting to cross into Midrange. He swallowed and, though he did not need it to speak, drew a deep breath.

Guardians of Southfæld, pray attend to your commander
.

The khi of hundreds smote him; a bright confusion of eagerness, dread, and courage. He shifted his mental shield to block it, then looked to Ehranan. The commander nodded in silent thanks, then faced the army.

We are at the threshold of battle. For your pledge of service, I thank you on behalf of all ælven realms. Remember that you stand between your loved ones and this threat
.

Rephanin retreated to the shelter he had made for himself, not needing to hear Ehranan’s words of encouragement. They were meant not for him but for those who were about to risk their lives.

A corner of his awareness he reserved to tend to his flesh, to keep himself from falling off his horse. Beyond that his escort would see to his safety.

He turned his private thoughts away from the madness ahead. He thought of Thorian, Glenhallow, and his magehall, all of which increased his longing but at least distracted him from Midrange.

Heléri came sudden into his thoughts. Heléri, for whom he also yearned though he had lately had little leisure to think of her. He was close to her now and also impossibly distant; she was a short ride away, but Midrange lay between them. He felt a sudden
surge of desire that manifested itself most intensely in his flesh. That seemed to him incongruous with his surroundings, and the thought brought his awareness forward.

The column was moving. He had crossed the ridge and was now descending into Midrange Valley. As he had expected, he sensed interference from the mountains, but the guardians who were nearby could still hear Ehranan through him. The commander’s voice in thought was ceaseless, giving guidance and encouragement.

It was cold here. Rephanin’s fingers pulled numbly at his cloak, drawing it closer around him. His hood was drawn forward as was his custom, and it blocked the sight of the battlefield, but he could hear the fighting, a constant crashing, growling sound of mingled anger and despair. He recoiled, instinct urging him to block all of it, everything, and for a moment he could not help but do so.

Ehranan’s face turned toward him, questioning, alarmed. Rephanin regained his balance and opened to Ehranan again, though it cost him unexpected effort. The instinct to preserve himself against the chaos flowing through this valley was much stronger than he had anticipated.

Maintaining contact with the Guard had been simple when everyone’s feelings had been calm for the most part. Here, emotions shot like lightning through them: anger, fear, horror, elation. Rephanin could not begin to understand them. He focused his attention on Ehranan’s voice, on lending it the strength to reach all the Southfæld Guard in the valley.

He became aware of a rushing movement. Ehranan’s force was advancing to join the battle. He himself had stopped moving; he was aware of his escort surrounding
him and Ehranan not far away, though he could not have said in which direction he stood. Confused, he gave attention to the sense of Ehranan’s words.

Lashiri, take your company to the left—there is a thinning of the shield wall there. Archers to the left as well, behind Lashiri’s company—array yourselves on the slope and send your arrows over our line
.

His instructions were to specific captains, but all the Guard heard them. Rephanin saw that practicing this technique in Glenhallow had been well worthwhile; the Guard did not answer, having been trained not to do so, but they heard and were able to avoid impeding the companies being ordered to move.

Rephanin dared to raise his head and look at the valley from within the shelter of his hood. He was appalled by what he saw.

A line of ælven stood across it, at the west extending up into the hills until it came against a sharp cliff, steep and unscalable. At the east it descended to the banks of the Silverwash, which was choked with dead kobalen, actually overrunning its banks and sending fouled icy water over the road in one place.

High Holding had fallen, then. Inevitable, but still a source of grief.

The line holding back the kobalen seemed tiny and frail. Beyond it they seethed and roiled, roaring with fury as they flung themselves against the ælven’s shields without seeming sense or order.

Rephanin shut his eyes and concentrated on Ehranan’s commands. As the Southfæld guardians reached the shield line, the tone of their khi changed, sparking with fear, pain, eagerness, weariness, grief. Blending with that of the Ælvanen warriors holding the line.

He could no longer keep Ehranan’s messages back
from the Ælvanen now that the Southfæld Guard was among them, and their surprise rang a new note through the khi of the ælven in the valley. A few Southfælders who stood with the defenders reacted with joy. These must be the guardians who had gone ahead to High Holding, but so few! So few.

Rephanin pushed aside his own shock and stayed with Ehranan’s voice, constant now though not always giving commands; a flow of words that soothed and steadied. He felt admiration growing in him, and fondness for the commander who would do this for his guardians, who gave them this gift of reassurance. Ehranan’s voice was a beacon in the midst of the storm, and Rephanin felt as grateful for it as any warrior.

The Ælvanen were beginning to retire now, retreating toward the south side of the valley, coming near to where Rephanin stood. The bright strength of the Southfæld Guard had lifted the spirits of all, and the shield line seemed less fragile now even as the Eastfælders left it.

“My lord?”

The spoken voice startled him; looking up, he saw one of his guardians standing beside his horse. He became aware of others moving nearby.

“If you care to dismount, we are establishing a camp for you here.”

Rephanin nodded, unwilling to add the complication of voicing a reply while his mind was still engaged with Ehranan. He slid from the saddle, noting the stiffness of his muscles, grateful to be standing on the ground.

A guardian took his horse’s reins and led it away. Others were erecting a tent, building a fire. The ground where they had stopped sloped upward behind them,
toward the ridge that marked the southern side of Midrange Valley.

Rephanin gazed at the battle line, confused at how distant it actually was from where he stood. In his mind it was immediate, and if he allowed it he could hear the roar of the battle through the awareness of the army.

Ehranan fell silent. The Southfæld forces were all in place now, and Rephanin sensed that Ehranan was talking with the commander of Eastfæld’s forces.

“If it please you, my lord, we have made a place for you to rest until the tent is ready.”

Blinking as he shifted his attention to the guardian who had spoken, Rephanin saw her gesture toward a makeshift couch of baggage covered with blankets. He followed her to it and settled upon it, murmuring a word of thanks.

Something was clawing at him. Panic shot through him, though he was in no physical danger. He was safe, apart from the battle, surrounded by his escort of guardians.

Seeking elsewhere for the cause of his unrest, he came to realize it was beyond the barriers he had built around his mind, muted by them, distant. It was the pain and fear of guardians who were dying.

He could feel their surprise at being shorn of their flesh, could feel their thoughts of loved ones they would not see again. He tried to shut out the anguish but could not block it entirely. He was trapped with it, for he must serve as he had pledged to do, and this would not cease.

He must feel their crossing, resist joining them, and lend his gift to Ehranan’s voice with no end in view. Even though he was distanced from the sensations of his flesh, he knew tears were running down his face.