Swords Over Fireshore (8 page)

Ehranan's eyes searched his face. I have demanded too much of you.

Not more than I was willing to give.

Rephanin remembered how to smile, and did so as he gazed wearily at Ehranan. The warrior's frown eased a little. He held Rephanin's hand in both of his, the warmth of his flesh a comfort as much as the light of his khi.

Rephanin felt a small stirring of desire, and willed it away. They had been in close contact for so long it was inevitable that a bond had formed between them. He never had been able to engage in extended mindspeech without being drawn to his partners, male or female, young or old. Ehranan must be aware, but showed no sign of it. Perhaps it was best ignored.

“Lord Ehranan?”

“Come.”

The cold breeze came again as a guardian entered bearing a wooden bowl and a half-loaf of bread. Steam rose from the bowl. Rephanin's stomach clenched with sudden need, so sharply he drew a surprised breath.

“Vishani is making some tea.” The young guardian cast a frightened glance at Rephanin. “We brought food during the battle, but he did not rouse—”

“Yes, yes.” Ehranan summoned him with a gesture. “No blame. Bring it here.”

The guardian, a Greenglen, hastened to where Rephanin lay, eyes growing wide as he looked down at the magelord. Rephanin idly wondered what he saw to make him so alarmed, then was distracted by Ehranan's hand beneath his shoulder.

“Can you sit up? Let me help you.”

Stiff muscles complained as Ehranan helped him rise a little from the makeshift couch of packs and blankets. Ehranan pushed spare blankets behind him to prop him up while the Greenglen stood watching, pale beside the dark Ælvanen commander.

Ehranan took the bowl and nodded to the guardian to give the bread to Rephanin. The Greenglen leaned forward and gently laid it by Rephanin's hand. Rephanin smiled his thanks and moved his hand to hold the bread, though he doubted he had strength to lift it.

“Thank you. Bring the tea when it is ready.”

“Yes, my lord.”

The guardian made haste to withdraw. Ehranan held the bowl closer and brought a spoonful of broth to Rephanin's lips.

Rephanin's parched mouth tried to water at the smell of salt and stewed meat. Venison, he thought. He opened his lips to let Ehranan tip the spoonful into his mouth. Its warmth moistened his tongue, then slid down his throat to waken his empty belly. He drew a grateful breath as the small spot of heat began to spread through him.

Another spoonful. He took it, then paused to feel his senses awaken, some painfully. He looked at Ehranan, who patiently offered the spoon again.

“Thank you.” Rephanin's voice was a croaking whisper.

“Drink.” Ehranan frowned, though his eyes showed concern.

You must have more pressing tasks.

Than keeping you alive? I think not.

Rephanin made no more protest. He was grateful to have Ehranan's help, and took several more spoonfuls of broth before he paused to let his flesh cope with the sudden nourishment.

You were not planning to leave us, I hope.

Ehranan's eyes were sharp with care, dark with a shade of dread. Rephanin managed another smile.

No.

Good. I have more demands to make of you. This is not the end of it.

Rephanin read his meaning in his eyes. More battle. More death.

I know, but I cannot... not now...

No, no. I did not mean now.

Rephanin closed his eyes. A shudder went through him. He heard the click of the spoon against the bowl, then felt Ehranan's hand cover his again.

Forgive me. I did not know it would hurt you so.

None of us knew.

I—sensed an echo of it, I think, while the battle was on. It was too late by then.

Yes.

Rephanin did not want to talk of the battle, or to think of it. He wanted to rest in the strange, odd silence that now enveloped him, silence in the absence of the army's thoughts. He felt alone, now, save for Ehranan's presence. Alone for the first time in many days, and he reveled in it.

The cold gust of the tent door's came again. Rephanin opened his eyes to see two guardians: the one who had brought the broth, and the commander of the twenty guardians posted outside to protect him—a female—some Greenglen whose name Rephanin should remember but could not find just now. She bore a brazier of coals, which she set on the ground near Rephanin's feet. She bowed stiffly.

“I crave pardon, my lords. I have been remiss.”

“No.” Ehranan shook his head. “You were ordered not to disturb him.”

Ehranan's voice was curt from long habit of command, but the Greenglen might not know that. Rephanin tried to comfort her with a smile. Her own lips curved for a fleeting moment, then returned to a grim line.

She glanced at the other guardian, who bore a steaming ewer and a slender pottery cup. He brought them forward and set them at Ehranan's side, then returned to his captain. Both moved to go.

“Thank you.” Rephanin's voice was still feeble, and he gave up, resorting to mindspeech.

Thank you for all you have done. For watching over my safety. I am grateful. I could not have done this without your help.

The captain seemed to take heart at this. She made another small, stiff bow, then departed along with the other guardian. Rephanin felt the echo of her relief as she walked away from the tent. Ehranan glanced after her.

You have a good understanding of a warrior's needs.

Of these warriors' needs, yes. I have been in close contact with them for some time now. These few set to guard me feel they have not done all they should, since they were not on the field.

Nonsense. Their task was of vital importance.

Ehranan's frown had returned. Rephanin watched him, knowing the frown betokened concern, not disapproval. So many concerns he had, being in command of two armies, of hundreds of warriors from three ælven realms and a dozen different clans. It was a vast responsibility.

Reclaiming this valley was a feat that would be lauded as much as the first Midrange War. A part of Rephanin was horrified, another found it richly amusing.

“Can you take a little more broth, or do you want the tea?”

“Broth.”

Rephanin gripped the bread on his lap and tried to pull off a piece. His hands were too weak, though. They shook with the effort.

Ehranan set down the bowl, tore off a few morsels of the bread and dropped them in the broth, then offered one, sopping, in the spoon. Rephanin took it and slowly chewed. He was relieved to feel his strength returning, and somewhat abashed that he had neglected his flesh so badly. Another time he must take care to be more watchful.

Another time. He closed his eyes and swallowed. How could he bear another battle? He wanted to weep, but the tears would not come.

So many dead.

“Rephanin, you saved lives. Hundreds of ælven lives. This would have been much worse without you.”

Would it?

That was a dreadful thought. He had no desire to imagine worse.

“Eat a little more.”

Rephanin managed two more bites of broth-soaked bread, then leaned his head back. Ehranan set the bowl aside and poured tea into the pottery cup, wrapped Rephanin's hands around it, then helped him guide it to his lips.

The tea was simple, a blend of gentle flowers, the sort brewed for comfort. The warmth of it spread through his fingers, the fragrance filled his senses.

“Lord Ehranan? ”

The commander turned toward the door. “What is it?”

“Lord Turisan is here, and desires a word with you.”

“Turisan?” Ehranan glanced at Rephanin. “May I leave you for a little while?”

“Of course.” Rephanin was pleased to find that his voice had improved to a hoarse whisper.

“Do you want someone to stay with you?”

Rephanin shook his head and smiled to assure Ehranan that he need not be watched so carefully. He would not slip away. He welcomed solitude.

The commander stood and went out, and his voice sounded at once outside the tent, consulting with Avhlórin, who commanded the forces from Eastfæld. Their voices faded to a murmur as they walked away, leaving Rephanin in silence.

Silence at last. He had never thought he would cherish it so. He closed his eyes and drew a deep breath, letting it out in a sigh of relief.

Fireshore

 

E
liani was beginning to hate the darkwood forest. It closed in all around them, filled with unfamiliar khi, strange smells, and the calls of birds that never flew in the pine forests of her homeland. Instinct told her that danger dwelt beneath the darkwoods, but she had chosen to follow Othanin and would not now turn back.

They walked close to the stream, from which the undergrowth had been cleared to make a passageway. The Lost kept this way, which began a few rods into the forest from the road. After struggling through that dense growth, Othanin urging them all the while to leave no sign of their passing, this small cleared path had seemed wonderfully spacious, but that feeling had long since given way to a sense of confinement.

Sunlight did not reach the floor of the forest. Instead a greenish glow surrounded them, and steamy heat dulled their senses. Eliani wondered if it was dark enough here that alben would risk coming into the forest during the day. She hoped not.

Luruthin, ahead of her on the path, stopped walking. Eliani held up her hand to signal the halt to those behind her.

Othanin was in the lead, with Vanorin behind him for his protection should they be attacked. Vanorin disliked having the party strung out single file on the path, Eliani knew, but there was no help for it.

Luruthin knelt to scoop water from the stream with his hands. Eliani joined him, glancing anxiously at him. He looked so drawn and weak, and there was a haunted fear in his eyes, but he had made no complaint during the journey.

Whenever they stopped to rest, which was often, he drank from the stream and then sat with eyes closed. Eliani had not spoken to him, sensing his need to conserve his strength for the march. She ached for him, though. He had plainly suffered as a captive of the alben, and she feared his suffering went beyond what could be seen.

She had regretted leaving him behind from the moment she had done so. Now she saw in part what it had cost him, what he had suffered for her sake. She did not think she could ever repay him.

Her brow grew warm. She sat back and closed her eyes.

Yes, love?

Where are you now?

In the forest, west of the road. Othanin is leading us.

Does he know his way?

He seems to.

Turisan's concern crossed the silence. It comforted her, wrapping her like a warm, soft cloak.

We are all right. I do not think we shall be followed.

How is Luruthin?

Weak. I have not had a chance to talk with him.

If he has a message for Jhinani, I can ask Rephanin to pass it to Glenhallow.

Eliani was surprised, struck for a moment at the realization of the power of mindspeech. Among the four of them—herself, Turisan, Rephanin, and his partner Thorian—they could send a message from Fireshore two realms away to the southernmost city on the land, Glenhallow, where winter must now be taking hold.

I think that would be a great comfort to him. I will offer.

She opened her eyes. Luruthin had leaned against a tangled root of darkwood, and a green-winged fly had settled on his brow. Eliani brushed it away, and the movement startled him into looking up at her.

Green eyes, like her own, but sunken now and filled for a moment with fear. Eliani laid a hand on his arm.

“A fly. It is gone now.”

Luruthin seemed to relax, and sat blinking at her. Khi leapt to her palm where it touched him, telling her even through his sleeve that he needed healing. She moved to face him and raised both hands.

“May I?”

He hesitated, then nodded. The sharing of khi was an intimacy most ælven avoided except in private.

Healing was a form of this, and from the little she had done so far Eliani had gained a great respect for those who devoted their lives to this kind of service. Jhinani was one of those, and Eliani could not help thinking of the golden-haired, gentle Greenglen lady as she now took Luruthin's hands in hers.