Swords Over Fireshore (10 page)

 

T
urisan rode into the public circle at Highstone with a weary sense of satisfaction. He had not been here since his first visit, back at Autumn Evennight, and was somewhat surprised to see the city blanketed in snow. The year had turned; Midwinter was upon them now.

Moonlight threw a blue cast over the steep-roofed stone houses of Highstone, making the windows, lit by glowing candles, lanterns, and flickering firelight, look all the warmer. As on the first occasion of his coming here, those warm windows seemed to welcome him.

Rephanin reined in beside him. “How small it is.”

Turisan turned to look at the magelord, huddled in his cloak and leaning forward over his saddle. He smiled, remembering that he, too, had been unimpressed with his first sight of Highstone and Felisanin Hall.

Turisan's escort of five Southfæld Guardians looked around with curiosity. Some thirty-odd Stonereaches from Alpinon's Guard had accompanied them from Midrange, and these turned anxious eyes toward the houses of the city. A door opened in one and a female let out a muffled cry of joy as she ran to one of the guardians.

Turisan dismounted, and the others took this as a signal to do likewise. The Stonereaches turned from an orderly column into a chattering mass, laughing with relief and the pleasure of being home, fast melting away down the streets that radiated from the public circle.

The five Southfæld Guardians stayed close to Turisan and Rephanin. Attendants came from Felisan's stables to take charge of their horses. Turisan retrieved his saddle packs, then stood by while Rephanin slowly lowered himself from his own mount.

“Welcome, Lord Turisan! Is the fighting over at Midrange?”

Turisan turned to the attendant holding his horse. “It is over for now.”

“That is glad news. How fares Lady Eliani?”

A somewhat impertinent question, but understandable. All Alpinon loved Eliani, and it was natural for her people to feel protective of her.

“She is well. Has Governor Felisan retired for the night, think you?”

“Oh, likely not.” The attendant flashed a grin. “Minstrels are here from Clerestone, come to play at the Midwinter feast tomorrow. He is sure to keep them playing as long as there is strength in their fingers.”

“Then I will dare to intrude. Thank you.”

He glanced at his escort and saw that they were ready. He led the way across the trampled snow of the public circle to the stair that was cut into the hillside and led up to Felisanin Hall, eager to see Eliani's home again.

Her home. He frowned slightly. If Hallowhall was not to be their home together, could Felisanin Hall be so? He could not see himself living here, much as he liked Highstone. He was his father's nextkin, and would one day assume the governorship of Southfæld. It would not be possible to govern from the seat of another realm.

Well, they would know if they came here together and their handfasting ribbons came loose. Until the ribbons, bound by magecraft, loosened, their future home was a mystery.

Dismissing the thought for the present, he led his party through the open front doors of Felisanin Hall and into its spacious hearthroom, where a fire crackled merrily on the welcoming hearth. He rang the visitor's chime and a youth appeared through a curtained doorway.

“Lord Turisan!”

“Good evening, Curunan. Is the governor receiving guests?”

“He will certainly receive you, my lord! Welcome! Let me take your cloak.”

“Thank you. This is Lord Rephanin, master of the Magehall at Glenhallow.”

Curunan bowed gravely. “Welcome to Highstone, my lord.”

Turisan helped the magelord remove his cloak and handed it to Curunan, who disappeared through a side door, then returned and led them with due ceremony into the hall. The room was wide and doubly long, about half the size of Hallowhall's audience chamber. Its ceiling was high and vaulted, its windows of colorful glass depicting scenes of hunting and battle along with more placid images of gardening, woodworking, a scene that must be of Clerestone's crystal mines and an image of the Three Shades, the great waterfall near Highstone.

Turisan had not noticed that picture before, and his breath caught at the sight of it. It had been at the foot of the Shades that he and Eliani had discovered they shared the gift of mindspeech. The rumble of those mighty waters had haunted him during the last part of the journey here. Even now he could hear it, a low whisper of sound to shake the soul.

“Turisan!”

Felisan leapt up from his chair in the center of a long feast table. His face, so like Eliani's, was tense for a moment. Turisan smiled to reassure him that he bore no bad tidings of the governor's daughter. Felisan's eyes lit with relief, then with pleasure as he hurried around the table to clasp Turisan's arm.

“Welcome indeed! I had not thought to see you here. Has the battle concluded?”

“It has, and your guardians accompanied me here. They have gone to their homes.”

An outburst of excited talk followed this announcement. Several of the revelers hastily took their leave, and it was some moments before Felisan was free again.

In that time, Turisan noticed Lady Heléri, standing at her place at table beside Felisan's empty chair. Her hands were tightly clasped before her, her dark blue eyes fixed on Rephanin, and though her face was calm Turisan sensed she was concerned for the magelord.

Felisan at last turned to Rephanin. “Lord Rephanin, I am honored to welcome you to Highstone, and to my hall. Will you come and sit beside me?” Felisan glanced at Turisan to indicate he was included in the invitation.

“Thank you.”

Turisan followed them to the table and took a chair offered to him by a Stonereach female. He smiled thanks to her, thinking she looked familiar, though of course they all looked familiar. Eliani's eyes gazed at him from a hundred faces in this hall.

Lady Heléri drew up another chair for the magelord. The Southfæld Guardians were made welcome around the table and immediately pelted with eager questions about Midrange. Turisan had the governor's questions to answer. He told Felisan what he knew of the battle's progress, much of it gleaned from his conversation earlier with Lord Ehranan.

“Ehranan is bringing the forces from Southfæld and Eastfæld north. He will keep them on the plains road.”

Felisan's brows drew together. “Why do they march north?”

“Because of news from Fireshore.”

Felisan's gaze sharpened, an unspoken question in the green eyes that were usually tranquilly lazy. Turisan gave a slight nod but said no more. Some issues were better discussed in private.

Felisan seemed to understand, for he reached for his wine goblet and an ewer from which to fill it. “Tell me of Eliani. Is my daughter well?”

“She is well. She sends you her love.”

Felisan's lips twitched in a smile, though the slight frown of worry did not leave his brow. “Give her the same from me, when you speak again.”

“Of course.”

“What is wrong with your shoulder?”

Turisan realized he had been rubbing it. He had worn the sling while riding, but had taken it off before entering the hall, and the weakened limb was aching.

“A slight wound. Nothing of concern.”

Felisan's brows went up. “Wounded? How did this come to pass? Jharan will be furious, you were supposed to stay out of harm's way!”

Turisan chuckled. “He was furious. I met him at Willow Bend.”

He told Felisan of his own adventures at Midrange and of leading the column of wounded southward until they met his father coming north. Felisan laughed aloud at his description of Jharan's reaction to his wounded state.

“Gave him a good fright, did you? Well, he cannot keep you under his wing forever.”

Turisan glanced at Felisan, surprised at the remark. It had not occurred to him that he was being kept under Jharan's wing. But then, neither had it occurred to him that he might ever dwell anywhere but at Hallowhall. He was only just beginning to consider other possibilities.

Kitchen attendants brought platters of food and fresh ewers of wine which they set before the new arrivals. Felisan raised an ewer, offering to fill Turisan's cup.

“Not as elegant as your father's table, I fear.”

“Yet far better than the camp cooking and trail fare we have been eating. Fresh bread!”

Turisan picked up a small loaf and tore it in half. Steam rose from the soft bread and set his mouth watering. He heaped the plate before him with cheeses, meat, and sweet cakes, and ate with zeal.

Before he had finished his meal, Heléri and Rephanin rose and took their leave of Felisan. Rephanin looked somewhat drawn. Turisan watched them away, glad that Heléri was with him. If anyone could bring Rephanin peace and healing, it was she.

The musicians struck up a new tune, one that sounded vaguely familiar. Not until a young female, rather like Eliani but softer of face and of form, stepped forward and began to sing did Turisan recognize the melody.

He glanced at Felisan, wondering if the governor had signaled his wish to hear the Ballad of Turisan and Eliani. Felisan grinned back at him, giving no sign of anything but guileless pleasure.

Turisan took a large swallow of wine and assumed a polite smile while he listened to the tale of his own ride to Skyruach earlier in the year, the ride that had been made to prove his gift of mindspeech. It was strange to hear himself lauded so, like the heroes of ancient lore. He did not feel heroic.

He had never heard the song through, only snippets of it when it was first being composed. Back at Hallowhall, he thought, and closed his eyes, suddenly weary.

The song drew to a close. The last verse, which he had never heard, described his handfasting to Eliani in such poignant terms that he found his throat tightening at the memory of the one night they had shared before parting.

Please the spirits, may it not be our only night together.

Cheering filled the hall at the ballad's conclusion. Turisan smiled and applauded, nodding to the singer whose cheeks colored with pleasure at the gesture. Felisan called her forward.

“Well sung, Kelari. Your voice grows sweeter every season.”

“Thank you, my lord governor.”

Felisan gave her a small gold ring, which she accepted with another bow and a shy glance at Turisan. Turisan smiled at her, but it quickly faded. The ring reminded him of the gold earrings that the kobalen at Midrange had worn.

Thousands of kobalen, all marked with rings of gold no kobalen could have made, nor had ever worn before. The first time Turisan had seen such an earring had been here, in Alpinon. It had seemed a strange thing then, worthy of concern. How much more alarming the thousands of earrings at Midrange, now melted in the charnel fires that still smouldered.

He and Ehranan had examined a number of those rings on the kobalen dead. All had been the same—finely wrought, engraved with a single ælven word: “preserve.”

No ælven had made those rings, nor set them in kobalen ears. It was the work of the alben. And since so many kobalen at Midrange had worn them, it made sense to conclude that they had been sent there by the alben.

“Are you tired, Turisan? You need not put up with all this noise.”

Turisan pushed aside his wine goblet. “The music is most excellent, but I fear I am a little tired. Will you object to my retiring?”

“Of course not. You will stay for Midwinter, yes?”

“I would be delighted.”

“You will be my guest in the Hall. I have only Curunan for company now, and he is always off adventuring.”

“You honor me.” Turisan lowered his voice. “May I have a private word with you, before I retire?”

“Of course.”

Felisan led the way to the back of the hall where an arch gave onto the governor's private quarters. A small hallway lit by sconces evoked a cozier feeling than the hall.

Echoes of his earlier visit here flitted through Turisan's mind—a cup of wine shared in Felisan's study, a farewell late at night following a handfasting, the Autumn Evennight celebration—and his chest tightened with a longing for Eliani, who walked through all his memories but was not here.

Rephanin lay in a weary daze, listening to the ringing in his ears. He was someplace quiet now, dark and warm, away from the noise of Felisanin Hall, yet the ringing remained to remind him he was far from well.

I am not ready. I am not ready to go on. Please, I need to rest.

A rustle of fabric nearby made him open his eyes. Soft candlelight filled the room where he lay, and a dark figure moved between him and the light, haloed by its glow. He did not remember coming here.

The figure leaned forward and a cool hand lay briefly on his brow. He smelled sweet herbs, and something warmer and more intimate. It was both strange and familiar, comforting and thrilling.

“Do you feel better?”

Heléri's voice, warm and low. Memories of the evening flooded back to him. He had been so tired, but then he had seen Heléri and known all would be well.