Vengeance of the Hunter (26 page)

The Blessed One paused, and to Margaine’s hazed astonishment, indecision flickered momentarily across Her ashen face. The only answer She gave was the same demand as before, fiercer now, and the pressure in the princess’s thoughts slashed her from within as though with a thousand shards of glass and iron.

“Do you seek to bind me, human girl?”

She couldn’t answer; she could barely breathe, much less think or give voice to words. She had to shake her head in painful desperation, over and over again, until she could finally pant, “My beloved died to bind you. I only want you to be free.”

A mirthless grin spread behind the curtain of tangled hair, and one last time, the voice of steel and stone spoke.

“So be it.”

The last sight Margaine saw was a flare of lightning as the being she’d known only as the Voice of the Gods vanished—the last sound she heard, a boom like cannonfire directly over her head.

Then all her world fell away into darkness.

* * *

That Margaine regained consciousness at all was an unlooked-for comfort, and that the first sound she heard was a baby’s wailing, more so.
Padraiga.
Her daughter yet lived.

Remembering what she’d witnessed, she came fully awake, with a gasping, agonized start.

She found herself in a familiar room—one of the private chambers of the royal infirmary, where members of the Bhandreid’s family received the attention of physicians and surgeons if they could not be attended in the privacy of their own chambers. It was a well-appointed chamber, clean and comfortable, and the first thing she spotted was her maid. The young woman carried the baby, pacing slowly around the room, and sang to her as she rocked her gently back and forth.

The second thing she noticed was that she lay upon a hastily improvised cot, rather than in the chamber’s original bed. Which meant that the bed was already occupied.

Shakily, she rose from her cot and saw, without surprise, that Ealasaid lay there in the bed. The Bhandreid’s eyes were closed, her face still pale, but the slight rise and fall of her chest told Margaine that she, too, still lived.

And the feeble, thready voice that wafted up from her warned that she was awake.

“Young lady,” Ealasaid ordered the maid, “leave us. I wish to speak to the princess alone.”

“Don’t go far,” Margaine added. “I want to see my baby.”

“Yes, Majesty. Yes, Highness.”

The maid slipped out, taking Padraiga with her, and the old woman turned her head toward her and opened her eyes. Her gaze was as bleak and barren as the princess had ever seen it in her life.

“They tell me Deglis is dead,” she croaked.

Politeness demanded a courteous response.
I’m so sorry
or perhaps
The realm is weaker for his loss
—but all Margaine’s courtesy was gone. It was all she could do to manage an acknowledgement. “He is, my lady.”

“They tell me the Anreulag has been seen in Dareli’s streets. They tell me the Hawks are fighting Her. Do you know anything about this, girl? Speak!”

Margaine blinked, and then couldn’t help the bitter laughter that welled up from deep within her. “Know anything? My lady, I know what you did. I know Padraig is dead because of him, and because of you. The High Priest tried to kill me too.”

“Then you should have died!” Ealasaid sat up, far too quickly, for what little color she had drained out of her face. “What did you do?”

“I stabbed him, my lady—and then the Blessed One Herself finished him off.”

Had she been younger, had she been stronger, Ealasaid might perhaps have launched herself at Margaine. But as it happened she could only feebly lunge, enough that the princess was easily able to catch her and force her back down into the bed. That didn’t stop the Bhandreid, however, from spitting at her in withering contempt, “Do you have any conception of what that means? Do you know what you’ve done?”

“I know I’ve freed one who’s been bound by bloodshed and murder! Her hands bring lightning to the unjust—His Holiness said it himself.”

Ealasaid was too weak to fight her, but not to deliver a stinging slap across her face.

“Get out of my sight before I have you executed,” she hissed. “And I still may, if it’s not too late. Idiot girl! You’ve doomed us all!”

Chapter Twenty-Four

Shalridan
,
Jeuchar 6
,
AC 1876

Even with a promised place among the elves awaiting her back in Dolmerrath, Faanshi was strangely reluctant to leave the city. But they didn’t have a choice; Alarrah had promised Gerren they’d return within a week. Nor was it safe for any of them to be on Shalridan’s streets after what had happened at St. Telran’s. The tunnels beneath the streets likewise were no refuge, not when they were nine extra mouths to feed. And not when all their faces, many of their names and the elven blood that called the amulets of the Hawks ensured they’d be hunted and hounded without respite.

Thus they left the tunnels behind, once more hiring the schooner that had brought her and Kirinil and Alarrah down the coast. If the captain was startled to take on five more passengers than she’d done on the previous trip, she gave no sign of it—certainly not after their group presented her with payment consisting not only of the rest of Kirinil’s banknotes, but the signet ring Ganniwer was wearing and a substantial bribe from Julian as well. Leaving didn’t absolve them from danger, for the Hawks coming dangerously close to Dolmerrath had already proven that. Yet it did make it slightly less likely that any of them would be shot on sight at any moment.

All the same, their leaving troubled Faanshi’s heart.

With more of them to ferry this time, along with other cargo the captain and her crew were taking out again, there wasn’t as much room to hide in the schooner’s hold. And so Faanshi lingered on deck as long as she could, out of the way of the crew, where she could sit with her back to a railing and her eyes to the moon and stars. Half an hour after they sailed out of the city, Alarrah found her there.

“Everyone’s settled in,” her sister reported, her voice a quiet murmur beneath the creaking of the ship, the rush of the waves, and the bustle of the crew. “Most of the others have settled down to sleep while they can. Why haven’t you?”

“I can’t sleep,” Faanshi said, just as softly. “I think perhaps the Crone of Night is trying to speak to me. But I can’t tell if I’m supposed to be awake or not to hear Her. My
okinya
always said you could hear Her best in dreams.”

“Well,
enorrè
, I have no wisdom on the ways of your Djashtet.” Alarrah sat down beside her and offered her a small one-sided smile. “And you could argue that I don’t have much wisdom yet in the ways of your heart, either, since you and I have known each other for less than a month. But I think I can hazard a guess or two.”

Halfheartedly Faanshi smiled back at her. “It wouldn’t be very hard. I don’t think I’m very good at not looking sad or frightened. It was easier when I still wore my veil.”

“Which is it, then? Sad or frightened?”

At that the young healer almost giggled, though it seemed odd to her to want to do so, as full and strained as her spirit felt within her. “Both. The people in the city, the ones who wanted me to heal them in the streets...they won’t be the only ones who’ll be sick or hurt or dying after the fire.”

“I’m afraid not.”

“And if there’ll be fighting—if the people want this land to be Nirrivy again instead of Adalonia—then there’ll be more death.”

“Yes,” Alarrah murmured.

It was just a single syllable, yet to Faanshi’s ears, it conveyed much. With a sigh she turned her gaze from the sliver of moon high over the waves and considered the other healer instead. “But now the Hawks are angry. Because the duke is dead, and the city was burned, and we took Kestar away from them. And they’re not going to stop looking for Dolmerrath, are they?”

“No. The Hawks aren’t foolish. They may not know where Dolmerrath itself is, but they’ve come too close to the Wards too often lately not to have a general idea. Sooner or later, especially if there is to be war, they may bring the Bhandreid’s army with them. Kirinil is powerful. But not even his Wards can stand forever if they burn down the forest, or if the Bhandreid sends her navy to fire its guns into our cliffs.”

The sheer thought of either possibility fell hard into Faanshi’s belly, as if she’d swallowed an ingot of iron. “I know Dolmerrath needs us just as much as Shalridan does, and I don’t think I could have healed everyone in the streets or the ones down in the tunnel without your help. I know I need to learn more. But...it doesn’t seem fair that I can’t help everyone. Is that foolish of me?”

“No.” Her sister smiled, just a little. “It just means you have a healer’s heart.”

“
Enorrè...
” It was growing easier for Faanshi to say the Elvish word for sister, particularly when Alarrah’s smile grew at the sound of her attempt. “Right now I just wish I had a little bit more of my okinya’s wisdom. Ulima thought I’m supposed to shake two nations. So does the
akreshi
Semai, now. But all I know is that people are going to fight, and they’re going to be hurt, and they’re going to die.” Her gaze dropped to her hands, and she curled her fingers in and out, pensively. “Djashtet gave me the power to hold back death. All I can think is that She must mean for me to use it.”

“Are you saying your Lady of Time wishes us to be in Shalridan, then?”

At that Faanshi did laugh, though it was a tiny, shaky sound, barely a giggle at all. “If I knew that, perhaps I’d be one of the Djashtethi, like Ulima. But I’m not. I’m only Faanshi, and I feel lost and small.”

“If it comforts you at all, not a one of us thinks you’re ‘only’ Faanshi.” Alarrah slipped an arm around her shoulders and squeezed them. “And I mean aside from your magic, which, while formidable, is not the beginning and end of you. I expect your Rook and Hawk believe that. I hope you do too.”

It was still wondrous and strange to Faanshi that anyone would want to hug her, but this was her father’s daughter, and so she readily returned that offered embrace. “That sounds as if I should be saying yes to it, but to lie does go against the
ridahs.
I barely know what I am aside from my magic.”

“I don’t believe that. I think you know more things about yourself than you think. Tell me some of them.”

Faanshi blinked, paused and considered. “I believe in Djashtet,” she began, confident at least in that unshakeable truth of her life, before lifting her gaze skyward once more. “I think the moon and stars are beautiful, and I think the ocean sounds like it has a voice.”

“Everyone I know who sails, human or elf, says much the same thing. What else?” Alarrah’s expression grew more peaceful now, and that let Faanshi be bolder.

“I never want to have to sew lace again because they made me do it all the time in the cellar of Lomhannor Hall. And I like the puzzle box the rag-and-bone man gave me. I think it’s wonderful that the gods gave us all different words to speak of the world, and I want to learn to speak them all, and write them.” The ambition startled Faanshi even as she uttered it, but it felt right, and so she sat up straighter as she spoke. “I want to help people with my magic. And I believe with all my heart that Kestar and Julian are both good men, and I praise the Lady of Time that we’ve found them.”

At her last few words, her sister outright smiled. “You see? You see beauty in the world and in the hearts of others, and you have goals, each in their own way quite large. That’s more than many can say about themselves or their lives.” Then she cast a look back over her shoulder, adding, “I just hope,
enorrè
, that your two good men, and those they’re bringing with them, agree that we’ve done the right thing.”

Following the path of her gaze to the open hatch that led down into the hold, Faanshi thought of the others. Of Kestar and his partner, as well as the stately lady she’d learned was his mother—and of Nine-fingered Rab, since she could hardly be surprised that the younger assassin would no longer be parted from the Rook’s side. Nine-fingered Rab’s presence in their company made her nervous, but with their shared allegiance, at least, she could find no fault.

“I hope so too,” she said. “And that we’ll all stay together, no matter what comes next.”

* * *

It had been a miracle beyond measure that even in the upheaval that had swamped the city, three of the tunnel folk had found Morrigh and Tornach running loose—and had kept them safe so that Julian and Rab could retrieve them. For that, at least in the privacy of his own thoughts, Julian had sent Tykhe the most grateful prayer he’d ever given Her.

So of course it would stand to reason that, while giving him the blessing of Her right hand, Tykhe would see fit to temper it with Her left. It was never easy transporting horses by water, and the
Whippoorwill
, the ship the elves had engaged to get them in and out of Shalridan as fast as possible, had no horse stalls on board. Even if it had, they had no time to go through the laborious process of loading two large, vigorous stallions down through the cargo hatch into the hold. Thus Julian had no choice but to turn over the rest of his and Rab’s immediate cache of funds to the Whippoorwill’s captain, convincing her not only to take on several extra passengers, but to assign two of her most trusted men to take Morrigh and Tornach up the coast by land until he could arrange to get them back again, and the sailors could rejoin their crew.

He didn’t like it in the slightest. But in the end there was no other practical solution, not when their speed, stealth and safety were paramount.

Especially—though he admitted this to no one, not even Rab—Faanshi’s.

Not that Rab was going to let it alone. Once they settled themselves into one of the Whippoorwill’s miniscule passenger cabins, little more than a closet with bunks, the younger man asked him point-blank, “So. Do you buy it?”

Julian had stretched out on one of those bunks, ready to let the rocking of the vessel on the waves lull him as best it could for the next few hours. He was ready to sleep, sore and tired as he was. But this was a simpler weariness, one that spoke only of exertion and flight, and not of his body’s strength failing. The relief of that alone eased his mind. And Rab’s presence eased his heart, enough that he had to keep from laughing at the tart question leveled to him in the dark.

“Buy what?”

“Our little dove’s claims of her conveniently clairvoyant, not to mention conveniently dead, kinswoman’s prophecy. I’ve heard some outlandish excuses to coax someone back into one’s company before—”

“You’ve launched several of your own, as I recall,” Julian drawled.

Rab let out a sharp little bark of laughter. “Well, yes. I am an authority on the topic of excuses. So how much credence do you give this one?”

It was an excellent question, and for several moments Julian had to think hard on how to answer it. He knew little of the woman Faanshi had called her
okinya
, only that Ulima had apparently been the only soul in Lomhannor Hall to show her a modicum of kindness before he and Rab had stolen her away, and that Faanshi had loved her enough that speaking in her defense had shown him the first sparks of the spirit hidden behind her gentle face. Whether her
okinya
had had the gift of visions, and whether they’d been true and real, he had no way of knowing. But he’d personally seen—hells, he’d personally experienced—too much magic not to accept that clairvoyance was possible.

And beyond that...Tykhe.

“Faanshi believes,” he said. “She’s earned some credence, I’d say.”

To his surprise, Rab reluctantly agreed, “I can find no argument to that. All those people, chanting her name in the streets. I could begin to believe myself that she might actually inspire a war. Which, all things considered, is rather bad business for us. People don’t tend to want to hire the likes of us to kill for them if they’re already busy killing each other. So do we have a plan beyond getting our little dove back to the elves?”

“Keeping her, and us, from getting shot will do for a start.”

“One of your simplest and most economical plans yet. I approve.” A trace of amused bravado lightened his partner’s voice, yet not quite enough to hide what Julian heard beneath it, a dismay that fueled what for Rab was uncharacteristic talkativeness. Rab was too young to remember the war with Tantiulo, but no one over the age of five, anywhere in the realm, was ignorant of its effects. “Julian...if the realm goes to war again, what else can we do? You were noble once, but me, I’ve never been anything but a damned good thief and assassin.”

“Though not a modest one.”

“Well, no, but my point remains. I doubt most of the elves will welcome us with open arms, no matter how much our dove might like you. Would they want us to fight beside them? Do we want to?”

“That’s surprisingly generous, coming from a man whose last known opinion on the elvenkind was disgust at their failure to pay us.”

“Even I can see my way clear to forgiving a debt if a healer wants to go and save my life. Faanshi did, you know. Your brother shot me in the gut. You know what that does to a man. I sure as hells haven’t forgotten.”

It was true. Julian hadn’t forgotten the bullet to the gut that had killed Rab’s father either. “So what are you saying?”

“That your House didn’t come from Nirrivan blood, and damned if I know whether Da did—he never said—but I know what a home is. And Shalridan’s ours. If humans are going to fight for it, I can hardly hold it against them if the elves want to fight for their home too. Until we can make it back to Shalridan, maybe we can give them a hand.”

Julian listened until Rab was done, stunned by the most somber words he’d ever heard out of his partner, and then acknowledged, “Maybe we could at that.”

“And because I
am
such a generous soul, I’ll even let slide how you’ve been looking at our dove in a manner that would, were I not so generous, lead me to draw unfortunate conclusions about your mental faculties around her.”

He might have smirked at that, or tossed back another riposte; the repartee, more than almost anything else had done in days, made Julian feel whole within as well as without. Still, precisely because the younger man couldn’t see him from his vantage point on the bunk overhead, he smiled. “Not a dove. If anything...Faanshi is an eagle.”