Shadows: Book One of the Eligia Shala (41 page)

“What will you do?” Baran’s question pushed through the noise.

“Take Ki-Nimh home, then go after them.”

“Them? I thought it was just Dhorani?”

“It was. I don’t know if Ki-Nimh injured Jai-Nimh, but Misha and Jai-Nimh both have to die. If Ki-Nimh can’t do it, I’m the only one left who can.” Chilled by realization that this was in fact true; apart from two very elderly Masters, she was the only member of their Order left if Ki-Nimh died; Jenevra fell silent, her eyes distant.

“Just promise me you won’t go after them alone.” Baran raked his long hair back from his face, blue eyes reflecting silver in the light from a nearby fire. “You can always call me up. I’ll go anywhere for a good fight, and Conall would never forgive me if I let you get hurt.” Baran squeezed her shoulder gently.

“I’d better get back to my Flight,” Jenevra noted. “Thanks, Baran. I owe you.”

“Maybe you can come back down to Lorthia some time and show us how to climb that mountain that you and Baudoin were so keen on?” The fact that she hadn’t promised him anything didn’t escape the Lorthian Crown Prince; a frown creasing his forehead as he thought about the information he’d shared with her.

“Baran?” Jenevra turned around, a sudden thought occurring to her as she walked into the darkness. “That man you met in Nixehafen … you were his target, weren’t you?”

She just caught a gleam of white teeth, as he disappeared with a deep chuckle.

After checking with Brogan how the Flight was doing, Jenevra wandered slowly back to her own small tent, deep in thought. Placing Ki-Nimh’s sword reverently on the table, on top of a large piece of white silk from her pack, she sat in the chair. Legs stretched out in front of her, the princess stared at the long blade, into its polished surface reflecting her own image, as the sounds sawing through her consciousness began to drown out everything else.

Pulling off her boots and the tight dark jacket and shirt she’d worn all day, Jenevra dipped into her supplies again, retrieving a neatly folded, heavy silk jacket that she wrapped around her. Tying the jacket tightly, she overlaid it with an elaborately embroidered sash; picking up Ki-Nimh’s sword and wrapping another of the red cords around the long hilt, before slinging it over her back on its slender strap.

It was sometime after midnight as closely as she could reckon it from the moons’ positions in the cloudy sky. The weather was changing; the wind picking up in a strong onshore breeze. The slight yellowish tinge around the edges of the scudding clouds gave her the certainty of a storm on its way in. The majority of tents were tightly tied shut and double pegged to stop the wind from taking them, making it all the easier for Jenevra to leave without drawing attention: slipping out of the back of her tent like one of the shadows her Flight was named for, and making her way to where the Flight’s horses were picketed on the far edge of the camp. Had she been a little less distracted by the deep resonance pulsing inside her that was now intensifying into a strong pull towards the coast, she might have noticed the Flight’s other insomniac, Finn Corrigan’s green eyes watching her from where the Flight was camped. She would have seen him wake Spider Baudoin quietly, and seen the pair of them begin to follow her.

Letting the feeling of the talisman guide her, Jenevra cantered easily back towards the coast; the buzzing resolving itself into an low whistling rhythm now, centered on the top of her chest, where the cold stone of the talisman lay. The closer she rode to the shore, the more intense the feeling became, pushing all other awareness aside, until it was coursing through her completely by the time she rode out onto the shore, wind howling around her.

The beach lay, long and narrow, in front of her, golden sand leached silver in the moonlight, alternating shadowed and clear as ragged clouds ripped across the faces of the moons. Black waves crashed heavily along the beach; white foam thrown high into the air as the wind whipped it up. The booming waters drew her attention to the cliffs rearing up from the northern end of the sand; high, perilous crags looming out of the sea in constant battle with the pounding surf. Sliding from her horse, bare feet sinking into the cold sand; a flicker of memory pulled at her from that day, seemingly long ago, when she and Misha had fled to the beach in mutual despair. It seemed almost impossible that it had been less than four weeks ago when she considered all that had happened since then. The wind whipped stingingly around her, almost unnoticed as she walked out towards the edge of the ocean; tugging at the heavy jacket, billowing the loose sleeves.

The talisman’s song was becoming clearer now, distilling its harmonics into a chord of two notes, as she noticed the familiar figure striding out from the opposite end of the sands. She stood, silent and still until Misha came to a halt about ten feet away from her, auburn curls tied loosely back, an identical jacket being pulled about by the rising gale.

Gazing steadily at each other, they both knelt in the sand, sitting back on their heels as they contemplated what was to come; aware that there was no retreat: one of them would not leave this place. Misha lifted his twin swords from his back, placing them in front of him. Jenevra laid Ki-Nimh’s sword across her knees, hands resting lightly on the scabbard.

Back in the shelter of the pine trees, Finn and Spider were watching, discussing in harsh whispers what they should do.

“Absolutely nothing,” Baran Wargentin’s deep voice came from behind them, as he emerged from the shadows with Captain Tessier. “Your Captain has to go through with this. You cannot interfere.” He folded his hugely muscled arms across his chest, his expression somber. “We can only be here for her when it’s over.”

“Your Highness, Captain,” Spider was respectful, but puzzled. “How did you know?”

A grim smile appeared on Baran’s face. “How did you?”

Finn’s green eyes gleamed. “It’s what she does,” he noted, sparingly.

Sharing a coldly amused glance with them, Baran agreed. “Exactly. When I told her that Mikhail Dhorani was still in the area I knew there was no way she’d let that go. Not with the red cords around her wrists. She can’t let him leave without resolution.”

“I still don’t see why we can’t just go out there and take care of this,” Tessier grumbled moodily, his hair tangling around his face in the gale. “She’s a bloody nuisance. I don’t see why we all have to freeze out here when we could just go finish it.”

“I’ve told you, she has to do this. If anyone else does it, her oath is broken and she has to take her own life. I know you’d fight him … we all would; but you can’t, so just shut up about it.” Baran moved forward to the farthest edge of the darkness of the forest, pointedly ignoring Tessier’s angry mutterings next to him. Finn and Spider took their places next to them; four pairs of anxious eyes trained on the kneeling couple on the beach.

At some signal the watching men could neither see nor hear Jenevra and Misha rose to their feet. Slowly, they began to remove their heavy silk jackets, pulling them out of the sashes that bound them. As Misha laid his on the ground, facing her bare-chested in the storm, Tessier drew a disbelieving breath. “Gods, she wouldn’t!” Groaning softly, he watched her take her jacket off, bare shoulders and back visible; exhaling in relief as she turned round revealing a strip of some sort of material tied around her chest. Raising their weapons they took a formal position facing each other, swords poised for attack. As the first peal of thunder rumbled around the bay, the duel began.

Jenevra and Misha were both perfectly oblivious to everything else around them; the talismans whistling notes inside their heads. There was no storm, no weather, no sand, no surf pounding. The only reality was the metal in their hands, responding to every movement with notes only they could hear, creating a bizarre song forming deep in their very cores. As the swords clashed and swung, the symphony emerging within them was unlike anything ever heard, building in crescendos with each attack like the waves pounding the shoreline a few feet away.

Tessier, Finn, Spider and Baran could hear nothing other than the faint ringing clash of metal on metal, almost completely overwhelmed by the sounds of the sea and the storm.

The two figures on the beach were moving fluidly with no obvious advantage going to either. With no apparent change in the pace of the fight, Jenevra and Misha circled, clashed, thrust, span apart continuously; Jenevra meeting Misha’s twin swords with the one Master’s sword that she held. Angry thunder growled again and again, as the wind turned colder and a heavy, pelting rain began. Lightning began to dance around the skies in broad sheets, illuminating Jenevra and Misha momentarily in a surreal landscape: temporarily blinding the watching men; leaving them in darkness, uncertain of what was occurring on the beach.

Minute after endless minute passed; ten minutes, then twenty.

Misha hadn’t fought in the battle earlier, and it was starting to make a difference. Having given a huge amount of energy to Ki-Nimh through the talisman, Jenevra was starting to feel the blows he was raining on her sword and, just once, was fractionally too slow in getting her sword where it needed to be. Misha opened up a long slit in the skin over her ribs, causing her to gasp in surprise. An expression of harsh triumph came into his eyes as he redoubled his efforts, sure now of his victory; and she realized that she would have to think hard and fast if she was going to walk away alive. This time Misha was truly trying to kill her. Sinking her mind deep into her training she found that all that would come into her mind was a chess lesson where Ki-Nimh had explained the need to sacrifice a piece to make a greater gain.

Watching Misha’s eyes and moves carefully she judged her moment, moved her sword high, and gave him the opening he was waiting for. As he thrust, she turned; grasping hold of his hand and pulling his sword further into her. Trapping his sword within her own body she met his eyes as he hesitated, hardly able to believe what he’d just done. Swirling her sword around, she slit his throat deeply. Pushing him away as he collapsed slowly onto the sand, she pulled his sword out of her side and dropped it next to him. With her left hand pressed tightly against one of the burning wounds the sword had made, she looked straight into Misha’s dying eyes and swung her sword one more time, taking his head neatly off with a clean backhanded stroke. A searing pain tore through her so powerfully it took her breath and made her vision darken, as she slumped onto her knees; one hand holding her side, the other supporting her on Ki-Nimh’s sword from falling prone into the sand. Soaked now, gasping through nausea for breath, and icy cold from the driving rain, she dragged herself to sit upright and saw a small troop of mounted men heading towards her from the far end of the beach. Noting Prince Cieren at the head of the group, she knew with deep certainty that if he reached her here, tonight, she was dead.

Gritting her teeth, she bent down and pulled the talisman from what was left of Misha’s neck, pushing it deep into a pocket. Slinging Ki-Nimh’s sword over her shoulder quickly, she took the only route open to her; plunging into the crashing sea; diving under each huge wave until she disappeared from view.

Captain Tessier had been almost uncontrollable since Misha had landed the first cut on Jenevra. It had taken the combined strength of all three of the others to keep him from dashing out to her. As he saw her vanish under the waves, everything seemed to drain from him. “No.” His voice was hoarse and angry as he turned on Baran, Spider and Finn. “If you bastards hadn’t stopped me … gods, we’re dead men when the Emperor hears about this.” He broke off as Spider pushed a hand into his chest.

“No, Captain. She knows what she’s doing.” A small, admiring grin creased Spider’s sharp features, fading slightly as he turned and regarded the storm tossed sea at the base of the cliffs. “If she can get there without getting too badly hurt on those rocks at the bottom.”

“The rocks?” Looking shaken at the unexpected outcome of the night’s events, Baran looked across at the high, jagged cliffs, his eyes widening disbelievingly at Spider. “You’re not serious! She’s already injured: she’ll never make it to the cliffs!”

Dark curls plastered straight against his head by the rain, Spider shook his head. “I’m sure she’ll try for it. It’s her only option.” He pointed at Prince Cieren’s group down on the beach, waiting for her to be washed up on the shore. “Other than heading back towards them.”

“Maybe we should be up there then, you know, in case she needs any help,” Finn suggested over the storm still raging about them.

“You don’t seriously think she’ll get through that?” Tessier shouted, pointing at the roiling sea.

Spider nodded. “She’ll aim for that second cliff,” he said, assessing the rocks. “It’ll just depend on the current.”

Tessier was already on his horse, aiming for the path leading through the trees up to the cliff top, as the others swung up to follow him. By the time they caught up with him, he was hanging over the edge of the second cliff peering down at the waves smashing against the sharp rocks a hundred feet or so below them. “She’ll never make it!” He shouted across to Spider whose eyes were busy raking the sea for any sign of the princess.