The Betrayal (11 page)

Heléri favored him with a smile and set her work aside. “Sit down, Lord Turisan.”

He did so, taking the chair that had been Eliani's. Eliani remained standing, her heart full of unease, ready to flee at any moment.

“Tell me, my lord, what do you know of mind-speech?”

Turisan glanced toward Eliani. She paced to the window, unwilling to meet his gaze.

“Very little.” His voice was quiet, controlled. “Lord Rephanin claims the skill, but I have never witnessed its use.”

“Rephanin still presides over the magehall at Glen-hallow?”

“Yes.”

“He is able to touch the mind of anyone in his presence.”

“So it is said, but if he does so now, no one tells of it.”

Heléri looked thoughtful, frowning slightly. Eliani glanced at Turisan and was struck anew by the fineness of his features, frightened anew by conflicting feelings. Something had begun to burn beneath her heart.

He looked up at her, and she had to fight an impulse to turn away. She did not want to be rude to him, but neither did she want the closeness that was only a thought away.

Heléri continued. “This gift has not appeared for many centuries. It is a great boon. It gives me hope, arriving together with dark news.”

Eliani could not bear to be silent. “Forgive me, and I beg your pardon, Lord Turisan, but I do not see it as a boon.”

“Mindspeech ended the Bitter Wars, my child.”

Turisan stirred in his chair, glancing up at Heléri. He did not look at Eliani but nodded his agreement.

“The Battle of Westgard.”

Eliani frowned. “You mean the ballad? But that is just fanciful storytelling!”

“The ballad tells truth.” Heléri began to sing, her voice low and rich:

“I remember their return to Hollirued after Westgard. The warrior brothers, victorious—they were much lauded. Some of the tales about them are fanciful, but it is true that they shared mindspeech. I heard them speak of the battle and how it was won by their ability to communicate across the mountains.”

“You knew them?”

Eliani was astonished. She had known that Heléri was the mistress of many years, but Westgard had been fought twenty-seven centuries before.

“I knew of them. I had just come to Eastfæld's court. Dejharan and Dironen were the light of the realm, and they were inseparable.”

Heléri smiled softly at her memories, then seemed to brush them aside. She fixed Eliani with a stern gaze, then looked from her to Turisan.

“The choice belongs to you both, how you will use this gift. You may even choose to deny it, though those who have gone that way before have ended sadly.”

She looked again at Eliani, and her voice grew softer. “Take time to understand it before you decide. Find its limits so that you may know how best it can be employed. It may be that you are able to speak to others. It may be that you must be close by to hear each other. All this should be explored.”

Eliani's heart sank. The last thing she wished was to explore what she was rapidly coming to consider a curse. Turisan's expression told her he understood too
clearly how she felt. She would hurt him—had already hurt him, perhaps—and there would be arguments, recriminations …

He gazed at her in concern. “Lady Eliani—”

“Not now.” Eliani struggled to control her rising panic. “I am too tired to think of this now. Bid you good night.” She hurried to the hearthroom, catching her cloak from the hook, and escaped.

Turisan gazed after her, his feelings a mixture of regret and need. The urge to call out to her in thought was strong, but he knew that to do so would only worsen the problem.

“Give her time.”

He turned to look at Lady Heléri. Honored lady, elder of Stonereach, depths of wisdom in her blue gaze. She calmed him; she was still water, untroubled by the winds of change.

She returned to her work, and he watched for a while. The handfasting ribbon she wove was as intricate and delicate as any he had seen. His father's ribbon, which Turisan often had admired, was not finer.

Heléri's graceful hands managed the multiple threads with ease, blending the colors to create tiny beautiful images in the ribbon: stars and mountains for Alpinon, hills and open vistas that must represent the Steppe Wilds.

Heléri glanced toward the hearth. “Ah, the water is hot at last. Will you stay to drink tea with me?”

Turisan smiled. “Yes, thank you. May I be of help?”

“No, no. This will take but a moment, and you have much to think on.”

Instead of thinking he watched her bring out ewer and cups, measure dried herbs, and pour hot water over them. Fragrant steam rose from the ewer, which she set on the hearth to steep. Here was a scene he
would never have imagined: Lady Heléri, Clan Stonereach's eldest member, who claimed to know figures out of legend, was making tea for him.

She returned to her chair and smiled. “You are very like your father. A bit more serious, if that is possible.”

“I am not quite my usual self to night.”

“I imagine not, indeed. A most extraordinary evening. I would apologize for my young relative except that I believe you had best sort this out for yourselves.”

“Yes.” He gazed at the fire. “I do not know what to do, though. I fear anything I say will only anger her.”

“She is not angry. She is afraid.”

Turisan gave a bitter laugh. “Am I such a monster?”

“It has nothing to do with you. She has been hurt.”

He looked up at her, startled.

“And that is more than I should have told you. Here, the tea is ready.”

He accepted a cup and inhaled the steam, enjoying scents of summer grass and sweet flowers. They sat in silence for some moments, sipping their tea.

“My lady, what can you tell me of mindspeech?”

“What do you wish to know?”

“Anything there is to know. What I should expect.”

Heléri smiled gently. “That I cannot tell you. It is different for each soul who finds it.”

Turisan rubbed the edge of his cup with a thumb. “I assume it is somehow related to khi.”

“I believe that is so, though the gift is so rare that there has been little chance to study it. My perception is that it is made possible by a resonance of khi between the speakers.”

“How will I know if I can speak to others?”

“By trying. Speak to me if you like.” She smiled again and sipped her tea.

Turisan set down his cup and drew a breath, then
looked into her eyes.
Lady, do you hear me? Will you answer?

Her smile did not change. He shook his head, saddened but not surprised.

“If you care to tell me, was there anything different when Eliani first heard you?”

Turisan thought back to the Shades, which could not but quicken his heart. “I was holding her hand.”

Heléri extended a hand to him. He took it, a bit surprised at the firmness of her grasp. Hesitantly, for it was an intrusion, he opened himself to the powerful depth of her khi.

Now do you hear me?

They stayed thus for a moment, gazes locked and hands clasped. He knew it was useless, though. He looked away, whereupon she pressed his hand and let it go.

“Do not be disappointed. From what I have seen, those who can speak to many can rarely speak over distance. The closer, personal bonds are those which can cross leagues, and that is a powerful gift.”

He smiled grimly. “I am sorry to say it, but I think we may soon have need of such a gift.”

“Yes. Eliani told me of the kobalen in the wood.”

“Did she tell you of the ring in its ear?”

“She did. I have been pondering the reason for doing such a thing.”

“The alben. They are returning.” His voice was tight with anger. The alben were hated for their betrayal of the creed, their cruel torment of kobalen.

She bent down to pick up the ewer. “It is well that your father has summoned the Council. May I fill your cup?”

Turisan straightened in his chair. “No. Thank you, I believe I should retire. I am preventing you from
finishing that fine ribbon, and it will be needed tomorrow, yes?”

“It will be finished in time.”

He lifted a coil of the ribbon, the silky substance sliding through his fingers. He felt a tingling of khi where it touched his skin.

“Your work is exquisite.”

“Thank you. You are welcome to stay; you will not hinder me.”

“That is kind, but as you said, I have much to think on.” He rose and made a deep bow. “Thank you, Lady Heléri. I hope to visit you again.”

“I hope you will, child. Good night.”

He walked slowly down to his house, crossing the circle in starlight. The voice of the Shades was a restless whisper on the night air. He paused outside his door to gaze up at the sky, thinking of Eliani and of mindspeech.

Imagine being able to pass commands from one side of a battlefield to another with merely a thought, as Dejharan and Dironen had done! It would give the ælven commanders an enormous advantage. There had been no battles since the Midrange War, but the recent increase of kobalen activity implied that the possibility was increasing. That had been part of the reason for his coming here.

He did not wish for war, but if it came, he would stand forth and do his part. As Jharan's son he could do no less, and in fact he would be glad to prove himself.

He had no trouble picturing Eliani in the midst of battle. She would be entirely at home. A smile grew on his face at the thought. She would be magnificent!

Assuming that he could convince her to accept their gift. What a difficult creature she was. He seemed destined to reap her displeasure no matter what he did. Had he discovered he shared this gift with any maiden
of Jharan's court, that lady would have been in raptures.

Eliani was not in raptures. She was frightened, Heléri had said. He wanted to fold her in his arms and kiss her fears away. He had felt so ever since the moment their thoughts had met.

 Nightsand 

Shalár heard a commotion outside her audience chamber. Voices of her guards challenged someone who demanded admittance. Dareth went to the entrance and a moment later returned with a tall, hard-featured male in hunter's garb, travel-weary but sharp-eyed.

“Irith!”

By the look of him, he had come to her straight from his journey. Shalár was glad, for she was eager to know the state of things east of the mountains.

“Welcome back, Watcher! What news of Fireshore?”

“I have no news of Fireshore, Bright Lady. I have something better, but your guards would not let me bring them in.”

“What have you brought? Kobalen?”

“No, Bright Lady.” Irith's eyes narrowed as he smiled. “Ælven.”

Shalár drew a swift breath, then strode at once to the chamber entrance. A glance through the archway showed her that Irith spoke true: A small group of ælven stood huddled together under the watchful gaze of five guards.

“Bring them in.”

Shalár nodded to the guards to let them pass, then returned to the chamber and mounted the step to her
chair. Irith followed as his five hunters escorted the captives into the audience chamber.