The Betrayal (8 page)

“It has a sweet voice.”

He smiled. “I am glad it pleases you. Many blessings to you, my lady.”

He rose and made way for the next guest. Eliani laid the flute in her lap and smiled up at the first of the theyns.

Before long she had too many gifts to hold, and Curunan discreetly relieved her of some of them. Luruthin's gift was a crystal carved in the shape of a stooping kestrel, hung from a fine golden chain. She grinned up at him, and he smiled back.

“A memento of younger days, O Esteemed and Wise Lady.”

Eliani refrained from punching his arm as she was inclined to do. Instead she cast a demure glance at him.

“I will give you the benefit of my wisdom later.”

“I tremble at the prospect.” Luruthin glanced around the hall. “A pity Mirithan could not be here.”

Eliani managed not to laugh aloud, though she could not repress a grin. Every theyn in Alpinon save one had come to Highstone for her confirmation. Mirithan, theyn of the village of Althill, the smallest and northernmost settlement in the realm, had sent
messages of congratulation and regret that he would not be present.

A decade since, Eliani, Luruthin, and three other guardians had patrolled up to Althill and earned Mirithan's disapproval by running buck races in the meadow above the village one fine autumn afternoon. It had been a day of riotous fun, and absolutely nothing had been accomplished by the villagers during the impromptu festival, which had continued past sundown. That night everyone in Althill, even the theyn, had supped on cold cheese and apples, for there had been no time to build back the cook fires. Mirithan had yet to forgive them.

Luruthin grinned back at Eliani, obviously aware of her thoughts. He bowed just a little too deeply as he left.

By the time she had received the compliments and gifts of every theyn, the light was beginning to fade from the western windows. Her father rose, glancing at Curunan.

“Relieve the lady of those gifts, if you will. There is one more awaits her.”

Baffled, Eliani handed the contents of her lap to Curunan and accepted her father's assistance to rise. Gharinan came forward again, bearing across his arms a length of folded velvet, deep violet in hue.

Felisan threw back the cloth, revealing a sword. Eliani gasped as he picked it up, its golden-hued blade flashing in the fading daylight.

“This day you become warden of Alpinon's Guard. May this sword serve you well, even as you serve your realm.”

“Mountain-forged!”

Eliani glanced at Gharinan, who was smiling. His village was high in the Ebons, on the slopes of a peak whose fiery heart was the crafthall of mage-smiths.
The blades they made there were infused with fire-khi, the molten power of the mountains. They were stronger, sharper, more perfectly balanced than normal blades. As Eliani accepted the sword from her father, she felt a whisper of the smith's khi, and an echo of fire, running through it.

“Thank you, Father! Oh, thank you!”

Felisan smiled, then began to usher the theyns out to the public circle for the Evennight celebration. Luruthin came up to admire the blade until Felisan shooed him away.

“Time enough for that later. The sun is about to set.”

Eliani gave the sword into Curunan's keeping and glanced at the large basket where he had stored her other gifts. She wanted to wear either House Jharanan's brooch or the crystal kestrel. It would be a politic gesture to wear the brooch, but it was large and heavy, and she feared it would weigh down her gown. She opened the box to look at it again. The gilded stag's heads gleamed, and torchlight glinted on the stones.

It was almost too fine. She remembered her thoughts about the clasp of Turisan's cloak: how it was finer than anything Alpinon could produce, how he seemed unconscious of its worth. Closing the box, she put it back in the basket.

She unfastened the kestrel's chain and put it about her neck. The little crystal bird lay atop the silken veil just at the hollow of her throat. She smiled. This was a burden she could bear.

Getting up from her chair, she found Luruthin hovering nearby. He offered her his arm.

“I thought my father had chased you away.”

“I am not so easily got rid of. May I escort you to the circle?”

“Thank you.”

She laughed, glad to be finished with courtesies,
slightly giddy with her new gown flowing about her and an evening of celebration ahead. As they stepped out of the hall, she drew a deep breath of the cool autumn night, smelling wood smoke and roasting apples on the breeze.

All Highstone was gathered in the circle, the theyns mingling with the populace. Stonereach blue and violet flashed everywhere, accompanied by the colors of lesser kin-clans and autumn colors bright in the evening twilight.

The circle was decorated with flowers and harvest bounty: sheaves of ripe grain from the valley farms to the east, baskets of apples and grapes from mountain holdings. Minstrels played softly from the dais at the eastern side of the circle. They ceased as Lord Felisan stepped toward them, with Curunan bearing the Alpinon banner before him.

The governor walked to the easternmost point of the circle and raised his hands skyward. All fell silent.

“Ældar of the east, guardians of the air, we bid you welcome. Be with us this Evennight and watch over our celebrations.”

Solemnly he paced the perimeter of the circle, pausing again at the south to greet the ældar guardians of fire, the west to greet the guardians of water, and the north to greet the guardians of earth. Eliani watched and listened, knowing that someday, as governor, this would be her duty. Strange to think of herself addressing the high ældar. Those brightest of the spirits, guardians of the physical world, seemed remote to her.

Returning to the east, Felisan stepped onto the dais and raised his outspread arms. “Citizens of Highstone, friends, neighbors, and honored guests, welcome to this joyous celebration of Evennight. From now to Midwinter, each night grows longer.”

The setting sun touched the Ebons as he spoke, and
all paused to give honor to the west. Eliani did not look at the sun for fear of hurting her eyes but fixed her gaze on the mountains a little to the side. As the sun dipped below the horizon, golden rays streamed upward around the mountain peaks.

Felisan's voice broke the silence. “May we rejoice in the bounty of our harvest, may we welcome the repose of the coming winter, and may we all keep the creed in our hearts and in our deeds. Blessings to you all. Let the celebration begin!”

Music sailed forth, bright and lively. The throng in the public circle resolved itself into rings, one within the other, for the dance of greeting that opened every feast day celebration. Luruthin led Eliani into the dance.

“Thank you for wearing my gift.”

“I thought it would go well with Heléri's handiwork.”

“It does indeed.”

Beryloni and Gemaron were beside them and clasped hands for the turns; Eliani and Luruthin merely crossed wrists. Most found touching hands too intense, for the palm was the strongest locus of khi. In some places, such as the high court in Eastfæld, Eliani had heard that dancers did not touch at all but held their wrists a handspan apart in the air. She thought it would be difficult to dance so, without the aid of a partner to balance.

As they made the final turn of the dance, Luruthin's wrist slid against hers and his fingers brushed her palm, leaving it tingling. She looked at him, and his smile told her it had been deliberate. She smiled back, but only slightly. She had fond memories of their time together, but there had been pain in the meantime, and she was not ready to try again.

The rings shifted and brought them to face new partners. The revolution of the dance began anew. Twilight glowed blue now, above the mountain peaks, and the first stars were beginning to shine.

A flash of pale hair caught her eye. Turisan was dancing past in the outermost ring. He moved like a catamount, smooth as silk yet with strength beneath the surface.

“—beautiful this evening, my lady.”

Eliani looked back at her partner with a hasty smile. “Thank you, Firthan. You look very well yourself.”

“You are too fine to be warden of the Guard.”

“Say that again at the next sword practice.”

He smiled. He was kin to her, and also a friend from the Guard. She liked him but feared that he liked her too well. She felt a sudden wish to shed her lovely new gown and return to her leathers. She was more at home in them, and safer in the saddle than in this dance.

Turisan was breaking fast the morning after Even-night, recalling the previous evening's festivities, when a knock on the door disturbed his reflections. He took a sip of tea spiced with sunfruit and clove to clear his throat.

“Come.”

The door opened, and a Stonereach—the theyn who had been named Eliani's nextkin—looked in. “Good morrow, Lord Turisan. Forgive the intrusion.”

“Theyn Gharinan, yes? Will you join me?”

The Stonereach entered and closed the door. “Thank you, but I have already broken fast.”

“Have some tea, then. It is excellently spiced.”

“That I will accept. By its scent, that is Heléri's special festival blend.”

“Lady Heléri makes teas?”

“She is an herbalist of high repute. Her teas are prized as far away as Eastfæld, where she could name any price if she chose to trade them. She does not, though. She prefers to make small quantities of high quality and for the most part shares them only with her kin.”

Turisan glanced at the cup in his hand. “I am honored.”

“As well you should be.”

Turisan raised an eyebrow. Gharinan grinned and sipped his tea.

“I called to invite you to join us riding out today, if you are so inclined.”

“I was hoping to see more of Alpinon. Thank you, I accept.”

“You came on foot, I believe. Lord Felisan's stables can lend you a mount.”

From what he had seen of Alpinon's horses, the mount would be humbler than what he was used to, but he smiled his thanks nonetheless. To show disappointment in Felisan's hospitality was unthinkable, not to mention that his father would consider it unforgivable.

He liked these folk. Their realm might have little grandeur that was not made by nature, but the people of Alpinon had few pretensions, and he valued their open friendliness more than any elaborate arts.

Gharinan stayed for as long as it took to drink two cups of tea, then took his leave, bidding Turisan to meet them in the public circle. Turisan wasted no time getting into his leathers. As he walked out to the circle, he was gratified to see that the party would include Eliani.

The half-wild forest girl he had met two days previously
was back, looking far more at ease in her worn leathers than she had in her silks. Turisan could not help smiling at the difference.

The mount he was given was small but sturdily built. He had brought his hunting bow and saw that the others carried bows as well. In Southfæld, all guardians went armed whenever they rode. Apparently it was so in Alpinon as well.

Eliani led them northwest on a steep road out of Highstone. The morning was brisk, a sharp breeze rising from the chasm to the east and north of the city, the whisper of the river far below.

The party rounded a ridge that revealed a prospect of the long, deep chasm stretching before them into the mountains. On the opposite cliff a high waterfall cascaded around two rock outcrops, forming a treble veil of white against dark rock. Turisan halted, compelled to admire it.

Drifts of pale mist moved across the plummeting water and billowed in clouds where the three streams struck the rocks far below and became one again in a wide pool. From this the water emerged into the Asurindel, the river that flowed eastward past High-stone.

Eliani reined in her mount beside Turisan's. “The Three Shades. This is the fairest prospect of them. There are other views, but only this takes in the whole.”

“Beautiful. Are they the highest falls in your mountains?”

“There are higher but lesser falls. These are the largest and best known.”

Beyond her, Gharinan leaned forward to look at Turisan. “Have you heard the legend?”

“No. Will you tell it?”

“It is said that three sisters were handfasted to three
brothers of Stonereach, who then went off to the Bitter Wars and never returned. The sisters climbed the cliff beside the falls—you can see the path there—and kept watch for a year and a day. When their lords still came not, they leapt over the falls and perished on the rocks below.”

Luruthin nodded. “Another version says they remained by the falls until they faded into the mists. One is supposed to be able to hear their voices in the rush of water, lamenting their lost loves.”

“A sad tale. Has it any basis in truth?”

“That is doubtful”—Eliani's voice was dry—“considering that few couples are blessed with one offspring, let alone three.”

“Davharin and Heléri had three.” Luruthin looked at Turisan. “Our elders. My mother told me of the shades. When I was younger, I spent many nights seeking them by the falls, and though I never heard their voices, I once saw pale figures flickering in the water.”