Heart of the Exiled (47 page)

Shalár glowed with satisfaction as she looked over the audience hall, where a steady stream of captive ælven was being brought before her. She sat in a chair that had been pulled forward from the wall and hastily draped in black to cover the usurpers’ orange. Very little red was to be found in Ghlanhras, but she would soon amend that.

She was pleased with her army’s success in capturing the city. It had to be admitted that the ease of the seizure was due in part to the surprising lack of numbers dwelling in Ghlanhras, but those few had resisted, and the pack had dealt efficiently with some challenging situations.

Three of her hunters had been killed and seven wounded by the sword-wielding Stonereach who had been taken in the guest quarters. The so-called governor had submitted without resistance in his chambers, chambers that were even now being prepared for Shalár’s residence. The worst loss had been at a house on the public circle, which had proved to be filled with Stonereaches and Greenglens, all armed. Some of them
had escaped, but some had not. Shalár expected to find them a source of useful information.

Yaras approached and paused a few paces from her chair to bow. Shalár smiled, knowing this gesture was largely for the benefit of the captives, for Yaras was not ordinarily so formal. He came closer and knelt before her, resting a knee on the cushion placed for that purpose.

“Bright Lady. You sent for me.”

“Yes. What is your progress?”

“We have searched more than half of the city and are going through the outermost rows now. Those seem to be entirely unoccupied. Many of the houses are empty.”

“What of the female with the sword?”

Yaras’s eyes flicked downward. “No sign of her. Yet.” He raised his head. “She will not pass the gate.”

Shalár regarded him in silence, then decided not to remark. If the female was not found when all the city had been searched, then would be the time for reprimands.

“Have you found any more swords? Other weapons? Tools?”

Yaras shook his head. “Not in the outer parts of the city. All that were found have been brought here.”

Twenty-two swords had been captured, along with a number of bows. Shalár had hoped for more, but at least she could now arm more of her army. She frowned.

“Make careful note of any useful supplies.”

“We are doing so. We have not found much—a few trade goods and a store of lamp oil. No darkwood.”

“It goes straight from cutting to trade.”

Or it had when she had lived here, so far as she remembered. She had paid little attention to the
darkwood trade, though she had visited the cutting fields with her father on occasion. So many things to which she should have paid better attention, but she had been young and heedless.

“I want any records you find brought here.”

“Yes, Bright Lady.”

“Thank you, Yaras. You have done well tonight.”

He met her gaze, his expression watchful. It had been too long since she had enjoyed fleshly pleasures. Perhaps Yaras would accompany her to her new quarters when the night was done.

Much as she enjoyed savoring such thoughts, there were two major tasks yet to be addressed. First and most pressing, she must send out hunters to catch kobalen. Her army needed to feed, and she preferred not to feed them on the ælven.

She must then prepare to defend the city. The distraction at Midrange would not hold the ælven’s attention once word of Darkshore’s return reached them.

She turned to Yaras. “Choose twenty to hunt. Pick them a good leader.”

“I would gladly lead—”

“No, I have need of you here. Send them out at once and tell them to bring their first catch back tomorrow night.”

“Yes, Bright Lady.”

Yaras bowed, then moved to stand. Shalár stayed him with a gesture and rose from her chair. Her silken cloak, the best mark of Darkshore’s authority she possessed, whispered about her as she stepped close to him.

“When you have set them hunting, return here. I would take counsel with you in my quarters.”

Yaras gazed up at her for a moment, then stood and met her eye to eye. “We have taken the city. We have
accomplished your goal. I have done all I can to aid you in the effort, and that is all I pledged to do.”

His voice was low but rang with emotion. Shalár found herself wishing he felt so intensely toward her, but she knew where his desires lay and knew his meaning.

She stared back at him, appraising his mood. She had been able to command his arousal before and was certain she could do so again, whatever reluctance he might feel. His personal ideas of loyalty were tiresome. She was inclined to be annoyed with him.

“Do you still wish to be steward in Nightsand? Or would you care to consider a higher place?”

Yaras’s eyes stared flatly, betraying no change of heart. She stepped closer still, resting her hands lightly on his shoulders and feeling the tingle of his khi along her flesh. All in the hall were watching, she knew.

“You could be my companion. You have earned a place of honor.”

“Stewardship of Nightsand is honor enough for me, Bright Lady.”

She stepped back and gazed at him. Part of her wanted to send him to his knees, but though that might inspire respect for her in the rest of the army, it would not make Yaras inclined to serve her. Gratitude would make him far more useful to her than enforced submission, especially at the distance of Nightsand.

“When you have sent the hunters forth, return here.” A flash of resentment crossed his face, but she smiled wryly. “I will give you messages to carry to Nightsand. You will leave before dawn and take three hunters with you.”

Fire lit his eyes now, where earlier she had seen blank resistance. “I can travel faster alone.”

“You will take three with you and be careful to avoid
any ælven you may encounter. Do not risk yourself or the letters I will give you. I will not lose my steward through needless misadventure.”

A smile of sheer joy crossed Yaras’s face, then he bowed deeply. “Thank you, Bright Lady. I will not forget your kindness.”

Kindness? She was rarely accused of that.

She watched him back away, then straighten and stride out of the hall. Nightsand would benefit under his guidance, and her people there would benefit, too, from the summons she would send with him. She would welcome all her people to come to Fireshore and settle there to help her reclaim their rightful home.

Yaras passed out of the audience chamber, following the broad corridor that led to the front of Darkwood Hall, and Shalár turned away. A pity Islir had such a hold on him.

She returned to her chair, gesturing to a waiting hunter to bring forward his captives for her perusal. There was much yet to be done this night and much pleasure to be taken when the night’s labors were finished.

Luruthin stumbled into the small, empty room, pushed by ungentle hands. He managed to keep his feet and turned to face his captors.

“Unbind my hands.”

The two alben laughed at him, and one cocked her head. “And have you trying to claw your way out of here? I think not.”

She slammed the door shut, and he heard something being done to it. Securing it, no doubt. Shuffling and more slamming followed. At least one other captive was put in a neighboring room.

Luruthin waited until the alben voices and footsteps
had receded, then silently went to the door. His hands were tightly bound behind him, with cord now instead of the nets. With his back to the door he fumbled at the handle, succeeded in turning it, and pulled but could not open the door. Discouraged, he slid down to sit on the floor.

His arms ached already from the awkward position in which they were bound, and he knew it would only get worse. He was battered and bruised from the fighting. His only hope was that Eliani had escaped. He had not seen her among the other ælven brought into the audience hall.

“Spirits help her.”

“Who is there?”

He had only whispered, but the answerer had heard. Luruthin’s head shot up, and he turned an ear to the gap beneath the door.

“Othanin?”

He had seen the governor in the audience hall, though they had not had opportunity to do more than exchange a glance. They had been brought before the alben leader, the one they all called Bright Lady. Bright she was—white as sunlight—and also cruel. He had seen it in her eyes and in what she had done to Othanin.

After a long pause, Othanin answered. “Yes.”

“It is Luruthin.”

He heard Othanin sigh. “I am sorry.”

“Is Eliani here?”

“I have not heard her nor seen her.”

Luruthin felt a flood of relief. He looked around the small room where he was trapped. Patterns of dust on the floor showed where furniture had stood, but it was empty now, and dim. Faint light came under the door from the passage outside. There was no window in the room.

“Where are we?”

“These are the rooms where the hall’s attendants dwell, those who choose to live here.”

“Are you bound?”

“Yes.”

Luruthin closed his eyes. Little hope of escape, then. He wondered what the alben would do with them. Hold them as guarantee against the ælven’s retaliation, most likely. Their presence would discourage attacks upon Ghlanhras.

“Tell me about Darkwood Hall, my lord. I did not get to see all of it.”

He hoped Othanin would understand that he was most interested to know about the hall’s entrances, how many and where they were. Othanin began in a lackluster voice to describe the structure, which it seemed was much larger than Luruthin had guessed. Not only did it sprawl along a good portion of Ghlanhras’s public circle, it extended deeply into the city’s north side and included vast enclosed gardens and several smaller courtyards. Any of them might be an avenue of escape, and being surrounded by the hall, they might not be guarded closely. Luruthin began to be hopeful.

Footsteps sounded down the passage, approaching. Othanin fell silent, and Luruthin did the same, fearing what might happen next as he listened. At least two were approaching. Their steps stopped nearby, and Luruthin heard the sounds of a door being opened.

“Come along.”

Shuffling and dragging sounds, the door being closed, the footsteps receding. Luruthin waited until they were gone.

“Othanin? Governor?”

Silence. The faint hope Luruthin had felt drained away.

“Othanin?”

They had taken him. To what fate?

“Anyone? Can anyone hear me?”

Silence stretched through the darkness. He was alone.

Eliani crouched between two unoccupied houses, staring at the city’s outer wall. She had been there for some time, watching and listening for any sign that the wall was patrolled. All was still.

She looked over the few items at her feet, things she had scrounged as she came through the deserted city: an ax shaft, two lengths of rope, and a broken-handled ewer she had filled with water from a well in one of the many gardens she had crossed. She would have given much for a water skin, but the ewer was the only vessel she had found.

She would have given even more for a scabbard for her sword. Carrying the blade was awkward, but she dared not abandon her only weapon. She used it to cut a length from the shorter rope and fashioned a crude sword belt, the bare blade hanging from a cradle of knots about its hilt. She would have to take care if it became necessary to draw the sword lest she cut both the rope and her clothing.

She twined the rest of that rope around the ewer and the ax shaft, making a rough net that she could sling over her shoulder along with the remaining rope. She settled everything against her back, slopping a little of the water. It made a cool spot down her right side.

She was ready. Reluctant to leave her shelter, she sent a query to Turisan.

I am here, love
.

I am about to climb the wall
.

Are you near the gate?

No. On the east side
.

Be careful
.

Yes
.

Eliani closed her eyes. Her heart was already pounding with fear.

Turisan—if something should happen, remember all that you must tell your father
.