Heart of the Exiled (44 page)

On the table between himself, Othanin, and Eliani lay the remains of a feast that would have made even Lord Jharan proud. Pheasants roasted and glazed with
a sweet sunfruit sauce; myriad vegetables, some of which he had never before encountered; rice flavored with delicate spices; rich sauces; and breads light and moist, hot from the oven.

Luruthin raised his goblet in salute. “A most excellent meal. Thank you, Governor.”

“I am glad to be able to offer my hospitality, and I may tell you that Ghenari, our cook, was overjoyed. She rarely has the chance to exercise her talent nowadays.”

“And a rare talent it is. May she always prosper.”

Othanin smiled, though trouble never quite left his face. “Were things not as they are, I would ask you to stay a few days. I suspect you will want to leave tomorrow, though.”

Eliani nodded. “Yes. I am anxious to return—to Glenhallow.”

She had been about to say “home,” Luruthin thought. Except just now, where was her home? Highstone, but also Glenhallow. Her home was wherever Turisan was.

Feeling a sudden sharp pang of longing for Jhinani, Luruthin nodded. “I, too.”

Othanin poured more wine into their goblets. “I will write letters for Jharan and Felisan tonight. The Council has disbanded, you said?”

“Yes. They plan to reconvene on the first of spring, in Highstone.”

Luruthin drained his cup and set it down. “If the fighting at Midrange is not over by then, there will likely be no Council at all.”

The others were silent. Perhaps that was too grim a prediction.

Othanin shifted in his chair. “You—you did not
encounter one of our exiles on your way here, did you? She would have resembled an alben.”

“No.” Eliani shook her head. “We have seen no alben.”

“It is just that she has not returned—from hunting—for some days now. My lady is becoming concerned.”

“Do the Lost never choose to leave flesh?” Eliani asked quietly.

“None have done so. That choice was made when they left Ghlanhras. They are dedicated to surviving, to continuing to dwell in harmony and mutual support, and to living by the creed as much as their affliction allows.”

Eliani frowned, as if she still doubted the feasibility of this. Luruthin looked at Othanin.

“Have they made a village?”

“Not so far, but that is under discussion. Some of them are growing weary of living as wanderers. Kobalen prefer it, but the ælven want a home.”

The ælven. Luruthin returned a half smile to show he did not disapprove, though he was not sure he agreed that Ghlanhras’s Lost were still ælven. By the Council’s ruling, they were alben, but that Council had met centuries ago, at a time when fear was high and no one understood the nature of this affliction. It was poorly understood now, but at least they were making an effort to learn about it instead of merely slaying or banishing those unfortunate enough to suffer it.

Eliani spoke softly. “I hope they find a home. I hope we can come to a better understanding of this hunger. If it is indeed a sickness, perhaps it can be healed.”

Othanin leaned back and folded his hands over his stomach. “There are records—letters and journals—from before the Bitter Wars. Many were burned in the purging of Fireshore, but a few were preserved. They
mention efforts at healing, none of which were successful.”

“But it is worth pursuing. They may not have had sufficient skill or sufficient time for a healing to be effective.”

“All avenues of hope are worth pursuing.” Othanin gazed at Eliani. “You are correct, my lady, when you say that to give Ghlanhras to the Lost would, in essence, reverse the decree that followed the Bitter Wars. I believe that would be a boon to us all.”

Eliani looked up at him, plainly dismayed by his words. Othanin seemed to wish to embrace those who fed upon kobalen, to welcome them back as brethren of the ælven. Luruthin’s instinct was to object, for he knew the Council would take strong exception to this proposal, but he held his peace.

Othanin looked from Eliani to him, then back. “Would it not be better to admit that decree was a mistake than to compound it by continuing to punish our own kindred for what cannot be helped?”

Eliani’s brow knit in a worried frown. “This is a matter for the current Council to decide.”

“And I will gladly plead my cause before them.”

Luruthin nodded. “That alone should go far toward reassuring the other realms of Fireshore’s goodwill.”

Eliani glanced at him, then looked back at Othanin. “Fireshore is not alone, Governor. It is not isolated, or should not be. This will be resolved.”

“Thank you.”

Othanin smiled, though the trouble did not leave his eyes. Perhaps it never would.

They fell silent. Luruthin thought Eliani looked tired and possibly upset. He turned to the governor.

“I think we should retire, perhaps.”

Eliani bestirred herself. “Yes. Thank you for your kind hospitality, Lord Othanin. We shall see you again in the morning.”

“Very well. Perhaps I will ride with you a little way toward Woodrun. Tenahran is forever urging me to get out of this gloomy manse, as he calls it.”

As they all rose from the table, Othanin offered his arm to Eliani, then to Luruthin. His clasp was light, almost hesitant, but Luruthin could feel strength in his flesh and in his khi.

“May you rest sweetly, my new friends. Thank you for the hope you have brought me.”

Bidding him good night, they left the hall and made their way to their chambers. Eliani was pensive, and Luruthin refrained from interrupting her thoughts. They would have plenty of time and more privacy to discuss Ghlanhras as they rode tomorrow. Meanwhile, a night beneath a solid roof would do them both good.

He bade Eliani rest well and retired to his room, glancing up at the narrow lattice-covered window that ran the width of the room at the top of the far wall. No glass, but a thin screen of tissue to mute the sun’s light and keep out insects and other unwanted visitors. Starlight now cast the faintest glow through it. He could feel the forest breathing beyond.

His saddle pack lay on a small darkwood table beside the bed. Folded neatly beside it were his clothes: two sets of tunic and legs, now clean and smelling faintly of sunfruit.

He stretched out on top of the bed in his borrowed silks, having no desire for more covering. Night in northern Fireshore was no cooler than day.

He closed his eyes, seeking to still his thoughts. He centered his awareness in his flesh, then slowly let it expand to the room and beyond, taking in the small
sounds of night-biding creatures within and without the house. There were few, very few.

And that was wrong.

Suddenly alert, Luruthin opened his eyes, listening and seeking with khi for the sounds of a normal evening. Though this land was strange to him, there should not be silence.

He sat up slowly, preserving his own silence. His flesh prickled with tension. He stood and walked with noiseless steps to the door, laying hands and forehead against it. Cautiously he explored the corridor with khi, following it back to the center of the house. There he found movement. Silent movement, of many feet.

Recoiling from the door, he stared at it. Could Othanin have been deceiving them? He disbelieved it but dreaded what he thought was walking in the governor’s house.

He opened the door a crack and peered down the corridor. Nothing moved there, but beyond it he felt shadows stirring.

For a moment he was still, pondering what to do. He must warn Eliani; they should leave this place. By stealth? But what of Othanin? If he was innocent and unaware, did he not also deserve warning?

A scrape of leather against stone from down the corridor told him it was too late to reach the governor. They were coming.

“Eliani! Arm yourself!”

He ducked into his room and caught up his sword. The bow would have been better, but he had left it on his saddle and it had not been brought to his chamber.

Stepping back into the corridor, he saw a figure at the far end of it opening a door with cautious stealth. The figure was male, dressed in black leathers, with
snowy hair caught back in a braid from a face paler than a Greenglen’s.

Luruthin’s breath came short and swift. No sign of movement from Eliani’s chamber. He could not now summon her without attracting the attention of the male in black. The best Luruthin could think of was to try to distract him while giving warning to Eliani. He gripped his sword and started forward, drawing a deep breath to shout both accusation and warning.

“Alben!”

Eliani sat up, startled by Luruthin’s cry. It took a moment to remember where she was, so deeply entwined with Turisan she had been.

Something is happening. I must go
.

Let me follow
.

He had sensed her fear. No time to argue; she leapt up from the bed, scrabbling her feet into borrowed slippers. The silk tunic and legs whispered softly as she moved.

There was noise in the corridor outside. Luruthin had shouted something—she had not quite caught it. She went to the door and stood listening.

“A sword!” The voice was unfamiliar. “This one is armed! Bring a sword!”

Eliani needed no more prompting. They wanted a sword? She would bring hers.

She drew it silently, then opened the door a crack and looked out. Luruthin stood a few paces down the passage with his back to her, sword in hand. Beyond him were three warriors in black leather, eyes black and wide, hair and flesh as white as sun-bleached bone.

Alben! That was what he had shouted!

A shiver of fear went through her. She inhaled, flung open the door, and strode forward.

One of the alben threw something toward her, a black shadow that spread as it flew. She parried with her sword. Torchlight flashed on metal, and a high-pitched ringing followed as her blade deflected the thing. She glimpsed a tangle of black cord and bits of metal—a net.

Poorly armed. She took heart as she joined Luruthin. The alben retreated before them, but she heard the voices of more beyond, in the heart of the manse.

Othanin! Spirits, were they here to capture him? Or could these be his Lost? No, they would have no reason to attack.

Luruthin glanced at her, green eyes bright beneath a frown of concentration. “Get out. I will hold them!”

“No! We stand together.”

Luruthin parried another net, and Eliani dodged clear of his blade. There really was not room for them both to swing in this passage.

“There are too many of them,” Luruthin gasped as he swung at an alben, who jumped back from the arc of his sword. “You must get away!”

“No, I—”

“Your
gift
!” He turned his head to glare at her. “Find a way out! I will follow.”

He was right, but she hated to run from a fight. She was no coward, though her heart was thundering.

More alben appeared, coming down the passage from the audience hall. That was the only way out that she knew of, but behind her the corridor extended toward the back of Darkwood Hall.

Luruthin stepped forward, menacing the nearest alben, who hastily drew back. Another net was thrown and tangled for a moment around Luruthin’s sword arm. He took the sword in his other hand and shook the net off.

“
Go!
”

He was right. Eliani stepped backward, felt a net beneath her foot, and flinched. Muttering a curse, she turned and ran down the passage.

Shouting pursued her. The passage turned right, toward the center of the hall. Eliani tried the nearest door and found that it opened on another bedchamber.

A shout of challenge sounded behind her, then the clash of sword blades. Glancing back around the corner, she saw Luruthin engaged with an alben, swords glinting in torchlight, feet scuffling. Beyond them, the passage was filled with more alben.

With a cry of frustration, she ran down the corridor. The doors on either side all looked the same. The passage ended in a smaller door; she wrenched it open to find a storage closet, no exit.

She started back, trying doors on either side, frantically searching for a way out. All led to bedchambers, those on the left with higher ceilings than those on the right. She gave up and ran back to the turning.

Luruthin had taken down the alben with the sword. She could see the blade lying on the floor where he had kicked it out of his opponents’ reach. She would fight beside him, then, until they were both taken. There was no other choice.

She started forward just as a shout went up from the many alben. Suddenly the air between them and Luruthin was filled with flying nets. He dodged, but there were too many to evade. One tangled around his sword; another caught at his legs. He stumbled, and a third net wrapped itself around his head.

“No!”

Even as Eliani screamed, the alben shouted in triumph. More nets flew, and Luruthin disappeared beneath the tangle of black. Three alben fell upon
him, and others scrambled past. One caught up the abandoned sword and started toward Eliani.

She turned and fled, sobbing with anger. She ran into a bedchamber, slammed the door behind her, and pushed a table against it. Not enough.