Valor of the Healer (25 page)

The girl went paler, and this at last made her snap her gaze away from them all. Julian didn’t need to touch her to see the shudder that rolled down her frame, and at the sight of it, he drew back from her. She’d flinched like that when she’d learned what he and Rab did for a living. It troubled him to see her do it now.

“I’ll pray to Djashtet that that won’t be necessary.”

“Dare we hope there’s a chance to make a friend of him and not a foe?” Alarrah wondered.

Her tone struck him as deliberately bright. It worked; Faanshi relaxed. “That I can’t tell.” Then, to his surprise, she smiled up at him. “But perhaps we could ask him?”

Transfixed, he heard himself tell her, “We could. But if you feel this Hawk in your head, if that can take you to him, you’re going to have to show us the way.”

“I can do that.” Her smile grew, shooting through Julian with painful sweetness. All at once he no longer cared that the bedrock of his world had given way, or that he was falling with no chance of halting a plunge that could bring nothing but peril. For that smile alone, he’d go with Faanshi to find her good man, her Knight of the Hawk, and let her try to heal him. The elves could take care of the business of teaching her control of her magic. That was their purview. Death was his.

And if need be, to keep her free, he would deal it to Kestar Vaarsen.

Chapter Twenty

The temple wasn’t large, barely more than a gazebo cunningly hidden in one remote corner of the grounds. A casual visitor to Lomhannor Hall wouldn’t find it, and of those who might, most of them wouldn’t recognize its un-Adalon design. Intricately etched sandstone bricks tinted with a desert sunset’s hues paved it. Bordering these were bulkier, darker stones, a boundary between the lush gardens beyond the temple’s six walls and the tiny haven within them—between the press of the infidel northern land and a fragment of home in its midst for those of Tantiu blood to seek. It had cost much money to import the sandstone, as well as the delicate sandalwood screens placed behind stone latticework to give privacy from watching eyes. Holvirr Kilmerredes had even hired Tantiu artisans to craft what they could from a landscape that had never known the breath of a desert wind in all of its existence. But that had been the act of a much younger duke, a man about to marry his promised wife, an elegant gesture of affection to the young bride who would help him cement an alliance between formerly warring nations.

It had been no wonder then that he’d almost ripped it apart with his bare hands after Yamineh’s perfidy. Only a subtle word from Khamsin, stepping into her sister’s place, had preserved it.
A
fit
place
for
the
meditations
of
those
of
our
household
who
came
from
my
homeland
, she’d told him.

The memory of Khamsin’s words curled Ulima’s mouth. With unhurried patience she sat on the cushioned bench before the temple’s shrine to the Dawnmaiden, her back to the open archway that was its only entrance. As she lit another stick of incense, she was almost grateful to her sister’s remaining daughter. Khamsin had claimed the temple along with every other remnant of Yamineh at Lomhannor Hall—but in truth she barely set foot in it, and then only when it suited her. It suited her seldom.

Which made it an ideal place for a rendezvous.

There was always the chance she could be followed, that someone might lurk nearby, listening. But then, she could thank Almighty Djashtet that few of the duke’s Adalon servants knew the Tantiu tongue. Her words tonight wouldn’t be relayed to him through them. Nor would the Tantiu-born of Lomhannor betray her. She no longer led them in their prayers, but she still had more sway over them than she had ever let Kilmerredes, or even Khamsin, know.

Thus she was unsurprised to hear the scuff of a booted foot behind her, and a deep voice murmuring, “
Eshallavan
,
akresha
Ulima. Almighty Djashtet smiles upon our meeting.”

The voice was unlovely, harsh as a wall of stone, but its timbre didn’t matter. Like soothing rain on parched earth, the Tantiu cadences fell on Ulima’s ears; it had been so long since she had heard their language regularly spoken that each word of it now was a gift. With pleasure she replied, “
Eshallavan
,
akreshi
Semai. The blessings of the Lady of Time be upon you.”

Semai stepped to her side, then knelt and made his obeisance to the shrine before joining her on the bench. The oldest and highest-ranking of the Tantiu-born guardsmen of the Hall, a former soldier who’d led Clan Sarazen’s own forces against the Adalons during the war, he wasn’t a young man. Gray streaked his long ebon hair, and features that had been the color of rich chocolate in his youth were now a more weathered hue. But his movements were still powerful, his dark gaze still sharp. “How may I assist the Nobi in her hour of need?” he said.

“Begin by taking care when you address me thus, even though we speak in the tongue of our fathers,” Ulima warned. “You know as well as I how many of our people in this place turned their faces from the Lady of Time and follow the Voice of the Four Gods instead. They’d be displeased to remember that a priestess of the Djashtethi walks among them.”

“A diplomat might say that as long as such persons follow the
ridahs
, it matters not in whose name it’s done.”

“And you?”

“I’m but a simple warrior,
akresha
. Diplomacy is not my strength.”

The old priestess chuckled, just enough to let the guard captain know that she approved, before levity left her voice. “I hope—I
pray
—that you’re strong indeed in your discretion, stealth and loyalty to Almighty Djashtet, for I’ve a great task to put before you.”

Semai straightened, eyes widening, and bowed his head. “Command me. My sword is yours.”

“Before you commit yourself, you must know this—the half-blood Faanshi, the casteless one who was taken away by the Hawks, is the child of the
akresha
Yamineh.”

“But the
akresha
was put to death, the duke beheaded—”

“So he announced before his Hall, but my sister’s daughter didn’t die when he said she did. She was kept alive long enough to bear her child. Only then did she take her own life.”

He absorbed this, and after a moment ventured, “They say in the barracks that the girl is gifted with great power. This is why she lived?” Then comprehension flashed across Semai’s face. His next words were no question at all. “Great Lady. You knew.”

Pleased by his quickness, Ulima inclined her head. “Before Faanshi came forth from her mother’s womb, I knew what she would be. The people of this cold land call her accursed because she bears the blood of their Hidden Ones, and by our own laws she’s casteless. But believe me when I tell you that she’s also blessed of Djashtet, and called to a task that will shake both this land and ours.

“Moreover, she’s one final thing—blood of our clan and of my family. That alone makes her sacred to me.” Her throat grew tight as she voiced words she’d held within her for eighteen years, but she didn’t falter. Sympathy came into Semai’s eyes, as if he saw more in her than just a Nobi of the Djashtethi, and that too pleased her. “I lay all these things before you because I must ask you now to break the oaths you swore to the man we’ve served these past many years, in favor of a higher purpose. Search your conscience. Listen to what Almighty Djashtet murmurs to your heart. If She doesn’t call you in the same direction as I, then I’ll send you on your way and we won’t discuss this again.”

Her heart leaped when he didn’t hesitate to answer her.

“Tell me what I must do,
akresha
.”

* * *

Faanshi’s
okinya
had always told her that the Crone of Night was the least forgiving of the three faces of Djashtet—for it was in the darkness, not the brightness of the morning or the noontime, when the souls of Her children were stripped clean and bare. Only once that had been done, Ulima had said, could one then meet the dawn reborn. Faanshi had never known the truth of that until she’d woken from nightmare-ridden slumber to find, even amidst the storm of the Hawk’s echoed weakness and confusion, a single clarion certainty warming her along with the sunrise.

Kestar
and
I
can’t
go
on
like
this
.

Once already her magic had escaped her, when the Wards had taken down the tenuous barrier between her and the Hawk, and his fright had overwhelmed her. The memory of pain rather than healing erupting from her own hands scared her, even more than losing herself in Kestar’s panic had done. She’d dreamed of that very moment, in every dream she’d ever had of fighting off the duke. Yet the truth of it made her recoil, down to her very bones, and made her breathe vows to the Lady of Time to make sure it wouldn’t happen again.

And for what she had to do next, she needed Djashtet’s courage all the more. She’d promised to guide the others to Kestar. That seemed laughable, for she had to look no further than her own breath and blood and bone to find him—she might as well have pointed at her own chest and cried,
He
is
here
! But that would gain them nothing, and Faanshi could see only one way to learn what they needed to know.

When Kirinil, Alarrah and Julian held council on where they should go when they broke their camp, she announced, “I must talk to Kestar.” Alarm flared in their eyes, but before anyone could gainsay her, she flushed and hastily went on, “How much danger will it cause us if I try?”

“After what happened when we came through the Wards, I’d say that the greatest peril is to you. You may lose yourself in your Hawk once again,” Alarrah said.

“Which might unleash your power against us once more.” Kirinil offered her the tiniest of smiles, perhaps to offset his earlier sternness, or the starkness of his words; she couldn’t tell which. “You may not be a warrior, but you might as well have been one last night, and your magic was as sharp as any sword. We have much work ahead of us to train you.”

Julian eyed her. “So you can’t be a compass for us, and just take us straight to him?”

“No. He’s both too far away, and too close.” She ruefully spread her hands, and then brought them to rest on her breast. To be spoken to as an equal was still a wonder. But with Julian it was pleasure and consternation intertwined, and Faanshi voiced each word with care. “Also, I don’t know the land. I’ve been very lost ever since you took me from the church.”

To that the Rook scowled, and added to the elves, “She’s right. She’s never been outside the duke’s estate before now.”

“And if you have no idea where you are, where your Hawk is in relation to you doesn’t help us much,” Kirinil concluded.

Alarrah frowned, and only after a moment did she reluctantly admit, “If Vaarsen is a potential friend, it may serve us best if he understands why we must come to him. But if he’s not—”

“He can’t call the Anreulag down on us,” Faanshi blurted without thinking as a bubble of memory burst across her thoughts, making her skin grow chill. “He’s only a Hawk and the Hawks can’t do it. Only the High Priest can. Father Enverly’s trying to do it too. He took my blood and Kestar’s to make his spell. Kestar helped me figure it out.”

Julian’s one eye went wide, and then to her relief he let out a bark of bitter laughter. “Tykhe. So that’s why His Grace and his pet priest have been so anxious to hide you, girl. Is there anything else you’ve shared with that Hawk that you haven’t told us yet?”

As Faanshi swiftly shook her head, Kirinil blew out a long breath and stared at her so intently that she couldn’t help but blush again at his attention. “Then it is indeed less a question of immediate danger to us all, and more so to Faanshi herself,” he said. Of them all, he seemed least wearied by the difficult night she’d given them. The long silver plait of his hair was as immaculate as it had been before they’d crossed the Wards, and his simple garb showed no sign that he’d slept at all. Yet his eyes were shadowed, and he steeled himself, ever so slightly, as he rolled up each sleeve and held his right hand out to her. “Let’s try this thing. But you’ll have to trust me if I’m to keep you from falling further into your bond with your Hawk. Can you do this,
valannè
?”

Taking his hand in hers, Faanshi canted her head. “That word. What does it mean?”

“It’s one of our words, of course. Were you male, I’d say
valann
. It means...” Kirinil considered. “The closest word in Adalonic is
cousin
. It’s our way to call each other such. There are so few of us left that we strive to be one family.” He smiled then, broadly, and nodded toward the hollow beneath the tree where she’d slept the night before. “Sit and be comfortable. Alarrah, should she sleep to do this, do you think?”

“I think at the very least I should calm her, if that’s acceptable to Faanshi.”

Whatever god had made the elves had graced Kirinil with beauty, and the sudden bright spark of his smile struck Faanshi dumb with shyness. She sat as he’d advised, but her gaze skittered away from him, over the elf woman who came to kneel beside them and at last to Julian. Shyer still, she lifted her hand to him. As she’d hoped, his scowl eased as he stepped forward to wrap his fingers around hers. Only then did she force her attention back to Alarrah. “You should do that, yes,” she said. “I’ve only talked to him in dreams. I don’t know if I can do it when I am awake.”

“What if
he’s
awake?” Julian asked.

“As we’ve not yet actually found him,” Alarrah said, “he’ll have to manage for now without us. Faanshi, are you ready?”

Kirinil had her one hand, Julian the other. Faanshi gave a tentative squeeze to each and bobbed her head. “Yes.”

To her surprise, Kirinil settled his other hand upon the knife at his belt. “I’m about to do something as well, and I’m telling you now because I want you to trust me, and not be frightened. I need your magic to come to me so that I can drop my shields just enough to protect us both. You’ll take nothing of me into you, I promise.”

Trust
him
, Faanshi ordered herself. “Please go ahead,
akreshi
,” she said, with an effort that drained her voice to the smallest of whispers.

“Kirinil,” the elf corrected, unhurried. “Alarrah, if you please?”

The other healer leaned in, pressing her fingertips to Faanshi’s temples, and at that contact a heady languor spread down through her limbs—not quite true sleep, but rather, a peaceful detachment that settled round her like a blanket. She could easily have lost herself in the sensation, but Kirinil’s free hand was moving, flipping the end of his braid back over his shoulder. Faanshi watched the ornate bronze-and-amber clasp that held the plait in check vanish behind him; then he drew his dagger, and that too glinted in the sunlight. With one swift slash he drew the blade across his forearm. Part of her marveled that she didn’t shriek. The rest of her yielded to amazement as her magic surged.

Before she could do more than notice his pain, the line of red on his arm vanished. In its place came another layer over her consciousness, this one cool silver, washing like rain against Alarrah’s golden warmth. That was Kirinil. His presence filled her mind, yet only as a mirror of his hand gripping hers.