Banshee’s Honor
Part Ten
by
~Chapter
Nineteen~
Looking
around at the mountain country she traveled through, Kyrian decided
that the scenery more than made up for the lingering chill. Huge, ancient trees stretched
endlessly, reaching toward an ocean of sky that was marred only briefly
by scattered drifts of clouds. There
were times when those clouds would gather and the party would have to
endure some rain, but the morning after such a shower, the trees and
bushes would be decorated in a lace of ice that glistened in the bright
sun.
Animals
just waking from their winter hibernation provided tough but plentiful
meat for the stewpot, and there were a few tuberous plants that added a
bland but filling variety to the meals. Devon
even managed to discover a cache of nuts that the owner had either lost
or been unable to use, which Kyrian immediately used to make several
loaves of hearty bread.
Carrying
on the sleeping conditions of the cabin, Elisira and Padreg shared one
tent while Thomas and Syrah shared another.
Aden, having grown rather fond of young Devon, took the
rapidly growing boy into his tent, treating him like a second son. It seemed only natural for Kyrian
and Azhani to take the last tent. They
had grown used to the other’s presence at night, having shared Kyrian’s
rope bed at the cabin.
It
was a small, but comfortable tent. Most
nights, the women had different watches, but on the nights when they
did end up sharing the space, Kyrian found that she was unable to keep
from gravitating toward the warmth of the warrior’s body.
Azhani
didn’t seem to mind being Kyrian’s rag doll, or if she did, she didn’t
say anything about it. Mostly,
the warrior kept a grueling schedule where she would practice late into
the evening and rise before any of the others to run through the woods,
battling imagined armies. Every
other day, she would return and spar with the stardancer. Devon, who had just begun learning
the basics of weaponless combat, loved to watch the two women spar.
Though
he devoted most of his free time to studying his spell book, Devon
readily absorbed whatever the adults around him thought to teach him. His magical skills improved daily,
and on days when the wood was wet, it was his spells that started their
fires. There were a few
occasions when even his burgeoning control failed, and twice he had
singed his eyebrows.
The
friendship between Kyrian and Elisira grew, as did the easy camaraderie
between Azhani and Padreg. While
the two warriors spent their days talking about old battles, the
stardancer and the noblewoman discussed music and art.
One of their other favorite topics was Azhani, since both
shared a deep affection for the former warleader.
Elisira
was free with her memories, happily sharing bits of the past with
Kyrian. The noblewoman’s
stories about Azhani were the ones that the stardancer most appreciated
and Elisira delighted in telling her about the warrior’s most
embarrassing moments.
“Did
I tell you about the time Azhani and I snuck into the kitchens to
snitch pastries?” Elisira started off her daily round of stories,
shooting a glance over at the darkly frowning warrior.
“Hey, I could always tell her about the fishing trip.”
Rolling
her eyes, Azhani turned to Kyrian and said, “I hope you don’t think I’m
a total idiot by the time she’s through destroying my perfectly honed
image.”
“Mm,
I don’t know, Azhi... I think it would be pretty hard to tarnish that
reputation of yours,” Kyrian said.
“You
haven’t heard all my stories yet, Kyr. Anyway,
so it was late and...” By the
time she had finished, both women were nearly in tears, they were
laughing so hard.
“Oh
gods, Azhani, you must have looked like a ghost with all that flour
covering you,” Kyrian said, spurring her horse up to ride beside the
brooding warrior.
Azhani
shrugged. “Probably. Theodan wasn’t amused when he had to
come down and calm down the cook. I
spent three days mucking out the royal stables for that one.”
Putting
a hand on the warrior’s arm, Kyrian said, “You know, if it makes you
uncomfortable for me to hear these stories, I’ll ask Eli to stop.”
Stop
being such a brat, warrior. Kyr
just wants to get to know you. Can
you really deny her that? Looking into the earnest green eyes
of her friend, she sighed. “No,
it’s all right, Kyrian. I
just... I haven’t thought of those things in a long while.”
“Okay,
but to be fair, let me tell you some of my embarrassing stories,” the
stardancer offered, smiling brightly.
Azhani
never turned down a chance to hear about her friend’s past. “All right,” she replied, a tiny
smile twitching at the corners of her mouth.
“But nothing to do with baking ingredients, right?”
“Right.” Yes! Bringing
out the warrior’s sweet, wry smile became one of Kyrian’s daily quests. Sometimes, she would relate an
anecdote from her years of growing up in a monastery; others, she would
bring some strange bit of rock or tree to the warrior and ask what it
was. Azhani would then spend
candlemarks telling the stardancer about it.
If she didn’t know what it was, Kyrian would in turn spend
the rest of the day coming up with the most ridiculous story about the
item and then relate it to the group that night around the fire.
To pass the
time as they rode, she told the warrior a rousing tale of chasing after
a group of chickens that had escaped their coop.
Azhani
laughed when the story finished. “Sounds
like it was quite a day,” she commented, still chuckling.
“Yeah,
I still have nightmares about being pecked to death,” Kyrian confided
quietly.
“I
promise to keep the chicken monsters out of our tent, Kyr,” Azhani
said, her voice filled with mock seriousness.
“Thanks,”
the stardancer returned drolly. Something wispy, sticking out of the
bark of one of the huge trees, caught her attention.
Carefully, she leaned over and removed it, softly crowing
in delight when she discovered that it was a feather.
The
plume had a grayish-purple tone and was banded in dark blue rings. It looked to be a down feather,
though by the size, the bird that had shed it would be the largest she
had ever seen. If it weren’t
so large, Kyrian might have thought it was a pigeon feather, but this
feather was nearly as long as her forearm and yet was as wispy as
eiderdown.
Gently
clutching her prize, she guided Arun up to Azhani’s side. The warrior had ridden on ahead,
leaving the stardancer to retrieve the feather.
“Hey, Azhi, check this out,” she softly called out,
offering the strange plume to the other woman.
Eyes
sparkling in mild amusement, Azhani took it, wondering briefly what the
stardancer had found to vex her with now. The
warrior slowly examined the feather, considering all of what she knew
of the flying beasts that lived in the mountains.
“It
kind of looks like a pigeon feather, but that would have to be some
bird to have lost that!” Kyrian said, making an exaggerated size
gesture with her hands.
One
dark eyebrow rose at Kyrian’s description, but Azhani didn’t rise to
the bait. Instead, she
continued to examine the feather, certain she had seen something like
it before.
Come
on mulch-for-brains, dig around in that castle middens you call a
memory and see what rises up to the surface. She
closed her eyes and pictured the feather in her head, trying to conjure
what it would look like on the bird – where it would be and what its
purpose was.
Kyrian
watched as Azhani’s mind worked, amazed at the peacefulness that utter
concentration brought to the warrior’s scarred face.
The stardancer was just barely able to stifle the desire
to reach out and stroke the dark scarring that marred the warrior’s
right cheek where her rank tattoo should have been.
Mentally, Kyrian growled. If
there was one reason for her to hate Arris, it was for taking away this
hard-earned facet of her friend’s life. The
rank-mark was something everyone strived for – its removal was almost
worse than the imprisonment Azhani had suffered.
Unconsciously,
her fingers strayed to her own face, lightly brushing the tattoo that
rested just below the corner of her left eye.
She vividly remembered her own Marking Day.
At
just eleven summers old, Kyrian was young to be seeking her future, but
like many of those whose blood was both elven and human, the goddess
had woken her menses early. So,
under the guidance of one of the starseekers, she went to the casting
pool, to discover if her life was written in the stars.
Though she was young, Kyrian was eager to see if she had a
calling, or if she would be making her own destiny.
It was night, just after moonrise, and she was naked. A light breeze ruffled the shoulder-length curls of her reddish blonde hair, making her realize that it was time to cut it before it blocked her vision or before one of the brothers took a rod to her knuckles for her lack of personal care.
She could hear the wind rustling in the leaves, the rushing noise so loud, it was like being in the amphitheater after one of the Goddess Plays. Slowly, she approached the pool, kneeling beside it on the square of specially grown white grass.
Carefully, she began to recite the prayer that would activate the water’s powers.
“Astariu, lady of light, hear my voice tonight
Is my life thine to honor
or mine to hold?
Is the path written
or shall I carve the pen?
Astariu, lady of light, grant me sight
that I may serve all my life
in honor and in joy.”
Kyrian opened her eyes and stared down into the pond. Silvery ripples spread across the water, creating beautiful patterns in the dark pool. Thinking it only reflected moonlight, she started to stand. A misty fog began to rise, coalescing into a hazy shape. She blinked, rubbed her eyes and blinked again, willing the form to clear.
As she stared, the grayish shape twisted then dissipated to reveal her own face, hooded in the dark crimson fabric of a stardancer’s robe. On her right cheek, the distinctive three-teardrop tattoo of a Stardancer’s Mark glowed a light silver.
“A ‘dancer,” she whispered, reaching up to brush her mark-free cheek. Tears welled up in her eyes. To be called to serve the goddess so, was an honor that she would have never dared to imagine. Stardancers were revered above all other priests, having the ability to touch a person’s life in so many intimate ways. “Thank you, goddess!” she whispered exultantly. “I swear I’ll not use your gift lightly.”
Kyrian moved to leave, and then realized that the image in the pond was changing, shifting and revealing yet another picture. Mesmerized, she watched her future self fade to be replaced by a horrendous scene.
It was a battle – the dead and dying lay everywhere. A red robed figure moved from body to body, doing what little good it could to aid them. As they traveled along the field, Kyrian realized that the person was getting closer to the actual fighting. Several arrows whizzed by, narrowly missing the stardancer. Suddenly, the person was in the thick of the battle, using the heavy steel baton that was the stardancer’s only weapon, to defend against the attackers.
The enemy was fierce – demons and monsters straight from a child’s nightmare swarmed over the figure. Fangs and claws tore at the stardancer’s robes, shredding them and revealing a coat of studded leather armor beneath the fabric.
Still the stardancer pressed on, reaching the side of a dark-armored horseman. Together, they fought a hoard of monsters. They fought for what seemed like candlemarks, and blood and ichor thickly covered both figures. Then the horse was slain, sending the warrior tumbling to the ground. The stardancer helped the warrior up and they continued to hold off the monsters. Other warriors fought and died around them.
Suddenly, the ground in front of them erupted and a giant, monstrous form rose, reaching for and capturing the dark-armored warrior. Kyrian watched the pool in horror as the demon tore the warrior apart and then reached for the stardancer...
The young girl screamed and jumped away from the pool, shaking her head and chanting, “It’s nothing, just a dream, I’m sleeping, I’ve already gone back to the monastery and now I’m just asleep and dreaming, yeah, that’s it, I’m dreaming...”
Kyrian
shuddered as the memory faded. She
had nearly succeeded in banishing the nightmarish vision, but still,
sometimes, it haunted her. This
was the first time she had thought of it since meeting Azhani. A part of her wondered if it was
because the warleader resembled the dark warrior in her dreams, or if
it was because of all the stories she had heard of the demons that
lived in the mountains they were now skirting.
“Hey,
Kyr, you okay in there?” Azhani’s voice was tinged with concern. She had remembered where she had
seen the feather before and had opened her eyes to tell the stardancer
about it, when she realized that Kyrian was mentally miles away.
Kyrian
blinked and smiled up at the warleader. “I’m
fine. Just ... remembering
stuff, that’s all.” Her
smiled grew and she nodded toward the feather in the warrior’s hand. “Speaking of remembering... did you
figure out what that thing is, or do I get to make it up?”
Azhani
laughed and handed the feather back to Kyrian.
“Not this time, healer. I
remembered. It’s an
owldragon’s feather.”
“Owldragon? What the heck is that?” Kyrian
asked, wondering if Azhani were pulling her leg.
“It’s
a bird – fairly large and rather rare. They’re
nocturnal and solitary by nature like owls, but they’re scaled in
places like a dragon. I think
they’re probably a created race – some crazy old wizard playing around
with parts and pieces got a little too tossed on some good ale and
decided to pretend he was Astarus.”
“Really? You’re not just having some fun with
me, are you, Azhi?” Kyrian asked, wonder in her voice.
“Nope,”
Azhani replied, her wry smile breaking out on her face.
“Maybe we’ll see the bird tonight and then you’ll believe
me. Share watch with me, and
I’ll see if I can find him for you.”
“You’re
on,” Kyrian said, a challenge rising in her voice.
Even if the warrior were just pulling her leg, it would
still be nice to spend some time alone with her.
Before Padreg and Elisira had shown up, the two friends
would stay up talking about their childhoods.
After their guests had arrived, Azhani had thrown herself
into the role of a warleader and seemed to have less time to spend with
Kyrian alone.
Azhani
heard the dare and her smile widened. It
would be nice to spend a few candlemarks with the stardancer, just the
two of them, even if the owldragon didn’t show up.
Maybe she could get Kyrian to open up a little about why
she froze in battle. They
hadn’t had time to talk in a long while, and the warrior still clearly
remembered watching her friend turn into a statue when a group of
bandits had attacked them last fall.
“I’m
going to scout ahead. Tell
the others that I’ll be back shortly,” Azhani said, spurring her horse
into a light canter.
“Sure
thing,” Kyrian said to the warrior’s departing back and then guided
Arun back to Padreg, who was trying to teach Elisira how to weave grass
into a basket.
“Ah,
Kyr, have you come to save me from my own fumble-fingeredness?” Elisira
asked as Kyrian drew up alongside them.
Kyrian
laughed and shook her head. “No,
actually, Azhani sent me to tell you that she’s gone to scout ahead.”
“All
right. Aden, take point,
please,” the Y’Noran king ordered softly.
Aden
nodded and moved up to take the lead while Thomas dropped back,
allowing Padreg, Elisira and Kyrian to ride together.
Devon rode a little behind, his book open and resting on
his saddle, but every so often, the youth would look up and make sure
he was still on the trail.
“So
Kyrian, have you found any new and wondrous items to share with us?”
Padreg asked, his eyes dancing merrily.
Kyrian
tugged at a lock of her hair and chuckled. “Actually,
yes. I found an owldragon
feather today.”
“An
owldragon?” Elisira asked, disbelief plain in her voice.
“That’s
what Azhani said it was. She
even told me we could watch to see if we see it tonight,” Kyrian said. Shrugging, she held out the feather
for them to examine. “I’m not
sure if I believe her, but whatever bird it’s from, it’s pretty.”
Elisira
took the feather and examined it and then passed it to Padreg, who
studied it briefly before handing it back to Kyrian.
“Well, it’s nothing I’ve ever seen,” the noblewoman said.
“Nor
I, though I’ve seen larger feathers. There’s
a type of bird that lives in the Y’droran Mountains that drops feathers
twice as long as your arm. The
Dwarves call ‘em great eagles. I’ve
never seen one, but my father did, and brought back a fistful of the
feathers to prove it,” Padreg said.
“Do
you still have them?” Elisira asked.
Padreg
nodded. “Yes.
Mother had them made into this horrendous fan. She would pester father until he
would fan her like she was some desert princess, and he was her eunuch
servant. It was a source of
great merriment in our clan. I
think my sister may have the monstrosity now.”
“You
have a sister?” Elisira asked, giggling lightly.
“You didn’t tell me that. Should
I expect her to be overprotective?”
As
their conversation grew more private, Kyrian allowed her friends to
move ahead. Looking about,
she filled her eyes with the sight of spring’s touch on the vegetation. Everywhere her gaze brushed, there
was a burst of color. Tiny
flowers peppered the edges of the trail, while the scuttling of small
animals shook the branches of the bushes and trees.
The elven part of Kyrian rejoiced in the awakening of the
forest after its winter nap.
%%%
“See
it yet?” Kyrian whispered for the thirtieth time as she handed a
steaming cup of tea to her watch partner.
“Nope,
not yet. Don’t worry, Kyr. I’ll tell you if I see it,” Azhani
said, taking the cup and sipping at the hot liquid.
It was a cold night; the earlier wind had picked up and
was now tossing the stardancer’s hair about quite viciously. “You should pull your hood up. You might catch cold.”
Kyrian
automatically reached for her hood and then stopped.
“If I do that, then I won’t be able to see or hear as well. I’ll be okay.
But speaking of hoods – I owe you a cap.”
Kyrian reached into her haversack and proudly pulled out a
newly finished cap. “Here you
go, one knit cap, specially crafted to fit your head.”
She held out the garment, smiling when Azhani took it.
The
warrior looked at the simple creation and smiled.
Kyrian had expanded on her father’s design, enlarging the
cap and adding a piece that would wrap around her throat, giving her
that much more warmth. “Thank
you,” the warrior said, honestly touched by the gesture. She set her cup aside and pulled the
cap on, carefully wrapping the end pieces of the scarf around her
throat. She turned her head a
few times, pleased when the hat didn’t pull on her braids or come off. The scarf stayed in place as well,
and she felt herself begin to grow warmer.
“You’re
welcome. I, um, well, I
figured that since you didn’t have a scarf, either, that I should just
go ahead and make you a ranger’s cap,” Kyrian explained shyly.
“A
ranger’s cap?” Azhani asked curiously, picking up her cup and taking
another drink.
Kyrian
nodded, and sat down next to the warrior. “Yeah. At the monastery, there is a group
of monks who go off and live in the wild – they’re the ones who take
care of the sick animals and downed trees and things.
Anyway, it gets pretty cold in Y’Syr and one of the
rangers designed this cap – said that having one item instead of two to
pack, was good. The design
caught on, and soon all of us novices were making and wearing them.”
“So
this is high fashion for a monk, hmm?” Azhani asked, cupping her hands
over her cheeks and making a silly face at her friend.
Warmth
suffused the stardancer at the bantering tone of the warrior’s voice. She was caught between wanting to
laugh and wanting to reach out and hug Azhani until she squeaked. Instead, she settled for shaking her
head ruefully, chuckling lightly and patting the warrior’s knee. “That’s right, you’re wearing the
monk version of velvet and silk brocade.”
“Well
then, I feel like monk royalty!” Azhani said teasingly, primping and
cooing like one of the many Y’dani courtiers she had seen over the
years.
Kyrian
couldn’t help herself - she started laughing.
Something
rustled overhead and Azhani clapped a hand over the stardancer’s mouth. “Shh!”
Instantly,
Kyrian quieted down. Azhani
removed her hand and quietly stood, then silently moved away from their
seat and into an open spot beyond the fire lit circle of their camp.
Scanning the skies, she searched intently for the shape she knew was
out there. When she spotted
what she was looking for, she smiled and waved to Kyrian, signaling the
stardancer to join her.
Sure
that she was about to be made a total fool, Kyrian softly padded out to
Azhani. As she reached the
warrior’s side, Azhani pointed toward a tree some one hundred yards
away.
“There,”
she whispered, “on the top of that tree – see her?”
Kyrian
squinted, trying to focus. In
the distance, she spotted the beast, but it was so far away she wasn’t
exactly sure how Azhani could see it as clearly as she obviously did.
The
owldragon was a large bird, bigger than two good-sized turkeys. It was too far away and too dark for
her to make out many details, but what she could see astounded her. Feathers and scales mixed in a way
that was both disturbing and beautiful.
Silently,
the two women stood together and watched the unusual avian as it moved
about in its nest. Kyrian
held her breath, hoped it would fly and nearly cried out when her hopes
were realized. In flight, the
owldragon was even more magnificent. It
leapt off the branch and glided, flapping huge wings minimally to stay
aloft. Suddenly, it folded
its wings in and dove, to strike something on the ground almost a
half-mile away. Kyrian heard
the shrill death cry of a small animal and watched as the owldragon
grabbed its kill and returned to its nest.
“Beautiful,”
she whispered, tearing her eyes away finally and looking at Azhani. “Thank you.”
Azhani
shrugged. “Told ya,” she
said, her trademark smile flitting across her face.
“Yes,
you did, and I’m very glad,” Kyrian said, smiling back at the warrior. “I guess this means that you earned
a treat tonight.”
“Treat?”
Azhani sounded remarkably like a child and her face lit up eagerly. “I love treats.
We haven’t had treats in a long time.
What’d you make?”
Kyrian
chuckled. “Devon found a
beehive today and somehow he managed not to get stung to death while
retrieving the main ingredient for these.” The
stardancer walked over to the fire and uncovered a pot.
Inside were several small, honey-covered seedcakes.
“Ooo,” Azhani
purred, reaching in and scooping out several of the sweet, gooey cakes.
“Not
too many – we should save some for Aden and Thomas.
Everyone else has already had their share,” Kyrian said.
Azhani
pouted, and reluctantly only took a couple more of the treats before
resolutely returning to her tree trunk perch.
Putting
the treats next to the fire to stay warm, Kyrian lifted the teapot and
brought it over to Azhani. “Refill?”
she asked, offering the pot.
Azhani
nodded, her mouth full of seedcake. Kyrian
filled the warrior’s cup and then her own, setting the pot on the
ground between them.
The
rest of the watch was quiet. They
talked softly, trading tales of their youth.
Kyrian had grown up an orphan, but surrounded by other
children at the monastery. Azhani
had her father, but they lived in the cottage, only seeing others when
they ventured into Barton for supplies. The
warrior was six when they moved to Y’dannyv to live in King Theodan’s
castle.
When
she was twelve, she accepted the Mark of a warrior and entered the
army, where she served as her father’s squire.
As she spoke of her youth, Azhani would reach up and rub
the scarred area where a sword-shaped tattoo had once been. In a burst of compassion, Kyrian
reached out and covered the warrior’s hand with her own.
“Maybe
you can have the Mark remade,” she said, as their fingers entwined.
Azhani
closed her eyes and just leaned into their joined hands. I don’t know
what I did to deserve her friendship, Astariu, but I’ll never stop
thanking you for the chance to know her. The warrior took a breath, not
bothering to hide the slight hitch of a sob.
Kyrian’s
heart hammered in her chest when she heard the warrior’s cry. Hug her, you idiot! her mind screamed. Slowly, so that the warrior could
pull away gracefully, the stardancer stood and opened her arms. “They’re free, if you want one,” she
said, taking a small step toward Azhani.
“I
do,” Azhani whispered, reaching for her friend and sobbing again when
the other woman enveloped her in a long, soothing hug.
Kyrian
rested her cheek on the top of the warrior’s head; the scratchy feel of
the yarn enough of a distraction to keep her hormones in check. Engaging another aspect of her gift,
she extended her empathy and wrapped Azhani in a circle of love and
acceptance.
A
candlemark later, the rustling of bushes broke them apart. Looking up, they spotted a
sleepy-eyed Elisira, stumbling off into the woods for privacy. They shared a grin at the lady’s
loud sigh of relief that echoed through the camp only moments later.
Kyrian
reached out and silently ran two fingers down Azhani’s face. The warrior closed her eyes, bowed
her head and muttered, “Thank you.”
Stumbling
into the firelight, Elisira looked up, squinting at the sky. “I guess my internal clock is
getting better. Go to bed you
two, I’ll go get my grumpy bear up for our watch.”
The noblewoman waved as her friends bid her goodnight and
crawled into their tent. Smiling,
she filed away the memory of their sweet embrace.
“Please let them be happy,” she softly said and walked
over to her tent to wake Padreg.
~Chapter Twenty~
After
a fortnight of hard travel, they crossed into the Y’Syran forests. To celebrate their escape from the
mountains, they spent the night in an old shrine, safe in the knowledge
that Arris could not reach them there. The
atmosphere was jubilant, filled with hope and expectation rather than
fear of what lay around the next bend.
A
keg of ale was opened and shared around the fire, and each person
contributed a thankful prayer to the Twins for their blessings. Two elven scouts found them, and
Padreg was able to convince them that they were just passing through,
heading to Y’Nor for the spring foaling. Luckily,
Azhani was in the trees, taking her turn at watch duty.
Her distinctive scar would have given her away
immediately.
The
scouts wished them well and told them where to find the nearest
villages. Thanking them,
Padreg wished them good hunting and sent them on their way. After that, they traveled slowly,
and took their time to pass through the forest.
Stopping
in the villages provided them with a fresh source of food and clothing,
as well as new shoes for the horses. They
never stayed more than a day at any of the communities they visited,
though it was tempting to spend a few days sleeping on a real bed.
What
news they were able to hear of Y’dan, was discouraging.
Arris’ prejudicial laws had driven all but the most
stubborn non-humans from the kingdom. Rumors
of a new religious cult surfaced, but neither Azhani nor Padreg could
track down more than the haziest references to it.
They left the forests after another two and a half weeks
and entered the Y’Syran plains.
Staring
out at the vast, green fronds of grass that waved gently in the breeze,
Elisira gasped and whispered, “Is this what your homeland is like, my
lord?”
“Aye,
to a great degree. Y’Nor
isn’t as flat. There are
hills, smallish, to be sure, but they roll gently before the eye. However, even the beauty of the land
cannot compete with the herds, milady.” He
closed his eyes briefly, seeing memories of home play across his
eyelids. “Thousands upon
thousands of the most beautiful beasts share our lives, Eli. You will see, I promise.”
The
lady’s hand unconsciously went to the mane of her horse, Windfoot. Sifting through the thick strands of
hair, she lightly scratched the stallion’s neck.
Windfoot blew out a pleased breath and moved closer to
Padreg’s mare. “I think I
could like that, my lord. Perhaps
even love it,” she said, turning to look at the king, whose scruffy
appearance made him seem more a bandit than a ruler.
“My
lord, I hate to interrupt, but we need to decide where we are headed
next,” Aden’s soft voice rumbled from behind the couple.
Padreg
frowned, but nodded. “All
right. What does Azhani
suggest? Do we need supplies
yet?”
“Syrah
is checking the packs now, and Thomas and the Warleader are arguing
about which is closer – the capitol, or Myr.”
“Myr
is closer, if we’re where I think we are,” Kyrian said as she joined
the small group. “It’s about
a day and a half to the east, whereas Y’Syria is a bit more to the
south and west. One way takes
us back into the forest, the other to the edge of Banner Lake.”
“You’ve
been to Y’Syr before, Kyr?” Elisira asked curiously.
“I
grew up here. The monks at
the temple in Y’len raised me and I... I spent some time traveling
around the country before I moved to Y’dan.”
Elisira
watched in amazement as a myriad of emotions danced just behind the
shadows of Kyrian’s eyes. Something
very tragic had happened to the young stardancer here in Y’Syr.
Whatever it was, aroused the
lady’s curiosity. What evil
had befallen Kyrian that even the mention of Myr put tears into her
eyes?
“Which
would you recommend, then, Kyrian?” Padreg was asking.
“If
all we need are a few supplies, we would probably be better off going
to Myr. Your face would be
well known to the nobles in the capitol and your trip home would more
than likely be severely delayed.” Kyrian
heard herself saying the words, but felt as though she were hearing
them from somewhere far distant. The
last place on the planet she wanted to go was Myr, but logic had warred
with fear and won. Going to
Y’Syria would be more trouble than it was worth – even for a few
supplies. If it were just she
and Azhani, perhaps they could risk it, but with Padreg and the horses
– horses that were easily identifiable as purebred Y’Norans, there was
too much chance of being recognized. Kyrian
knew that Azhani wasn’t ready for Arris to know where she was.
“Myr
it is then,” Padreg said, turning his horse away to go and interrupt
Azhani and Aden’s conversation.
%%%
To
Kyrian’s great relief, it was Syrah and Thomas who took the wagon into
Myr, while the remainder of the party set up camp underneath a quiet
grove of trees. Saying a
silent prayer of thanks, Kyrian threw herself into making a good meal,
using the last of their special treats to create a thick, rich stew.
At
the edge of the clearing, Padreg and Azhani sat on a log and drank
deeply from a waterskin. They
had been sparing all morning and now were taking a break.
Handing
the skin to Azhani, Padreg said, “There’s no easy way to bring this up,
Azhani, so I’ll be plain. How
did you come to be exiled?”
“I
wondered how long it would take you to ask,” Azhani said quietly,
looking down at her feet. A
hundred emotions flickered on her face, but finally she said, “Much of
what you heard about Banner Lake is true, my lord.
I am guilty of slaying or maiming one hundred and six
soldiers of the crown. What
you will not hear is that I am innocent of the death of Ambassador
Kelani.”
“I
know,” Padreg interrupted. “Eli
told me.” He shuddered,
sickened by what his beloved had described.
A
haunted, pain-filled look entered the warrior’s eyes.
“Eli knows what happened?” she whispered haltingly.
“Aye,
she does. Do me a favor,
warrior. Never ask her to
tell you about it,” the Y’Noran chieftain said pleadingly.
Looking
away, Azhani whispered, “I can only imagine what she must have seen.” Tears gathered in the corners of her
eyes and spilled over. Hurriedly,
she dashed them away. “So
then all you need to know is this: I
was supposed to be Theodan’s heir, but Arris and his pet councilmen
decided that I was lying.” Shaking
her head, Azhani added, “I will regret, until my last breath, my
decision to enter that council chamber alone.
I was so arrogant, and so sure that they would accept the
word of their king, that I never even imagined they would deny me.”
“Will
you take the throne, then?” Padreg asked curiously.
There was no question that her story was truer than any he
had heard, either via the official proclamations or through rumor. He would accept her version with a
clean conscience and stand by her side knowing that the Twins blessed
his actions.
“I
don’t know, Padreg. I don’t
want it – I never did. All I
ever wanted was to marry Ylera and teach the sword.
Maybe have a few kids and see the kingdoms. Those dreams are ashes, and all that
I have left is my hate.” Her
gaze picked out the shapes of Kyrian and Elisira as they worked around
the camp. Turning, she looked
at him once more and quietly said, “And the friends who have clung to
me, despite my churlish ways.”
Padreg
cracked a smile. Clapping her
on the back he said, “Well, warleader, when people love you, that’s
what they do. They stick
around, even when the shit gets knee deep. Now
come on – it’s time for you to chase my lazy butt around the clearing
again.”
She
snorted and jumped up, taking the shaft of wood that had doubled as a
practice blade with her. “All
right, plainsman, you asked for it!”
While
Azhani and Padreg sparred, Aden, Devon and Elisira concentrated on
gathering firewood and repairing torn clothing.
With the food cooking, Kyrian wandered the nearby forest,
reliving memories.
A
candlemark later, Azhani found her, sitting in the middle of a
clearing, running her fingers through a patch of yellowed grass. Tears stained the stardancer’s face,
which was haunted by a look of sadness so infinitely regretful, that it
tore at the warrior’s heart.
“Kyr?”
she called out softly.
Startled,
the stardancer leapt up. “Sorry,
I was just exploring the area. It’s
been a while since I was here and I wanted to see how it had
changed...” she babbled, edging away from the spot where she had been
sitting.
There
was a frantic, almost panicky quality to her friend’s voice, so Azhani
didn’t press for details. “All
right. I came to tell you
that Thomas and Syrah are back. We’re
all waiting breathlessly to try your new recipe,” she said, smiling
brightly.
“Oh,
yes, dinner! Of course, I’ll
come right away,” said Kyrian, the sadness vanishing so completely it
was as if it never existed. Yet
Azhani could still see the stains on the stardancer’s face, and there
were still shadows in her brilliant green eyes.
Casually, she dropped an arm around her friend’s
shoulders, pulling her into a loose hug. “Thanks
for cooking today. I know Eli
was getting tired of Aden’s ‘rat-on-a-stick’ routine.”
A
sweet smile was her reward. “Thanks,
I know how much you like my stew.”
“Hey,
a girl’s gotta have one favorite, right? Just
be glad it’s something simple, instead of some incredibly complex
marzipan sculpture,” Azhani replied teasingly.
They left the clearing, but the warrior painted the
details into her memory, knowing that one day, she would ask what
caused her friend so much distress.
When
Azhani and Kyrian returned, Thomas and Syrah had just finished
unloading the supplies from the back of the wagon.
Barrels and wrapped packages lay piled near the rest of
the party’s gear and the two exhausted horses were being treated to a
rubdown and a hot mash.
Heading
for the fire pit, Kyrian immediately started dishing out the meal. Fresh, warm bread spread thickly
with butter complimented the thick, hearty stew, and soon everyone was
busily eating.
Syrah
spoke first, leveling a strangely respectful gaze at Azhani before
saying, “Well, we’ve got some news. Most
of it is bad, so I’ll try to be quick. First
off, Warleader, you are worth quite a bit of gold to Queen Lyssera. If I wasn’t so loyal to his royal
beardedness over there,” the warrior nodded at Padreg, who rolled his
eyes, “I might be tempted to claim the money myself.”
“How
much is my carcass worth?” Azhani asked lightly, spearing a bit of meat
with her fork.
“Not
that much, only 25,000 goldmarks, but the warrant specifically states
to capture you alive.”
Everyone
whistled at the princely sum.
Azhani
only shrugged. “What’s Arris
paying?”
“Ah,
now there’s a man who knows the value of people.
The king of Y’dan is offering 50,000 Y’dani gold coins to
anyone who can bring him you or your head, he’s not very picky about
it,” Syrah said, taking a long swig from an aleskin.
“So
between them, I’m worth 75,000. That’s
not too bad,” the warrior said nonchalantly.
“Maybe I should turn myself in and use the reward money to
start up a bookbindery.”
Everyone
looked at Azhani like she was nuts.
“What?”
the warrior returned their stares. “Am
I not allowed to have a sense of humor? Come
on guys, I know I’m usually as prickly as a cactus in a windstorm, but
hell, I can enjoy a good joke, especially if it’s at the expense of the
idiots I’d like to grind into bone dust.”
Elisira
was the first to speak. She
looked directly at Kyrian and said, “All right, Kyr, whatever special
herbs you seasoned her food with, share!”
“I
didn’t do it, I swear!” the stardancer protested.
“All
right, if you didn’t do it, then,” she turned and mock glared at
Azhani, “who are you and what have you done with Azhani?”
Laughing
and shaking her head ruefully, the warrior said,
“I guess you can’t change overnight, can you?” Fiercely, she narrowed her eyes and
furrowed her brow, putting on her best, “I’m a bad-assed warrior” mask
and growled, “Is this any better?”
Elisira tried hard not to laugh. “Oh, yeah,” she said solemnly, “much better. Now you’re the sourpuss we all know and love.” Though come to think of it, she’s never very sour. It’s only when she thinks about Arris, or Ylera, that her mood changes. Even then, if Kyr’s around, she’s not as tense. Thank you, Astariu, for bringing her into Azhani’s life.
“So
what else did you find out?” Kyrian interjected, hoping to head off any
unpleasantness. By the look
in Azhani’s eyes, things were about to become very unfunny.
“Arris’
new laws are beginning to anger the nobility of other kingdoms -
especially the ones regarding non-Humans,” Thomas said, tearing off a
chunk of bread and dipping it into his stew.
“There’s mutterings of trade embargos and the like. A few folks want to know why the
High King hasn’t spanked the boy silly.”
“I’d
like to know that myself,” Azhani muttered distantly, and got up to
scrape her plate into the fire.
“I
plan on sending messengers to Y’mar to discover that very thing, just
as soon as I get home,” Padreg said as he leaned over to refill his
plate. “I’m also going to
send messages to the other kings – Arris’ actions should be shouted
loudly by any who will speak, not hidden behind the trappings of royal
decrees,” he added around a mouthful of food.
“Good stuff, Kyrian. I’m
almost tempted to steal you for myself – it’d be nice to have someone
around who knows how to make four week old venison taste fresh.”
Kyrian
stood to go and begin cleaning the mess from the dinner preparations. “As much as I’m flattered, your
highness, I’m afraid settling for being a cook isn’t within my
abilities – even if it was the cook of a king.”
Grinning
cheekily, Padreg slyly asked, “Are you sure?
I can promise you that you will have the finest that the
clans can offer, so long as you keep feeding me like this.”
The
stardancer laughed. “I’m sure. Besides, I think Azhani might have
something to say about losing her chief cook and bruise fixer.”
The chieftain looked over at Azhani, who frowned and said,
“You’re not trying to steal my best soldier, are you, Paddy?” Whoa, where did that come
from? the warrior
wondered. I
meant to say that she was welcome to go with him.
In fact, it would be the best thing for her if she went
with him. Yet the very thought of Kyrian
leaving her to face Queen Lyssera alone left a hollow ache in Azhani’s
chest.
Chuckling,
he scraped up the last of his food and shoveled it into his mouth. Kyrian reached for his bowl and he
wiped his mouth, saying, “Nah, I was just funning you, Azhani. I’m not the kind to challenge the
will of the gods, and from what I know of you and Kyr, your partnership
is definitely divinely inspired.”
“Is
that a comment about my priesthood or how difficult Azhani is to work
with?” Kyrian asked lightly.
“Knowing
Paddy, it’s probably both,” Aden grunted, causing everyone to laugh.
While
Kyrian and Syrah cleaned up, everyone else readied the camp for the
night. After tending the
horses, Devon found a place well away from the fire and pulled out his
book, conjuring a tiny ball of light that floated just above the text,
making it easy to read.
Wood
was stacked, dishes were dried and repacked and the fire was stirred
until it blazed brightly. The
sound of owls calling out in the night joined with the scratchings and
scamperings of other nocturnal animals, blending with the noise of the
camp and creating a pleasant hum of activity.
Padreg took
up a jaunty whistle, quickly joined by Aden and Thomas while Syrah
began to sing, adding words to an ancient tune.
The song was old, and in a language that neither Azhani
nor Kyrian had ever heard. Elisira
barely recognized it as an archaic form of Firstlander, the tongue of
the people who had settled the seven kingdoms of Y’myran.
It
wasn’t long, though, before an oddly harmonic descant joined Syrah on
the chorus. The whistling
stopped as everyone looked over at Kyrian, who flushed darkly.
She
shrugged and said, “Sorry, I’ve always had a talent for picking up
languages and chants. I
apologize if I made a mistake in the syntax.”
“No,
it wasn’t bad, Kyr. You and
Syrah should sing again,” Elisira said, reaching out to pat her
friend’s shoulder. “In fact,
I think I might have the general melody down and could probably play it
on my flute.”
“Aye,
and I’ve got a tambour hereabouts that I can add to fill the rhythm,”
Aden said, shuffling over to his saddlebags and digging around in a
pack.
Instruments
were found and lovingly brought out. Padreg
surprised everyone by producing a harmonica while Thomas improvised
with a couple of wooden spoons. Devon’s
nose was so far buried into his book that he barely acknowledged the
others until Elisira let out a shrill trill on her flute. The young man blinked, set aside the
book and grinned, gesturing at the small mage light.
The little incandescent ball shivered and split into
thousands of tiny, colorful specks and began to swirl around in the
air, flowing jerkily with the joyfully cacophonous music.
Other
songs flowed out of the musicians. Old
favorites that were well known joined new tunes that were gladly taught. Merriment filled the small clearing,
warming hearts and souls as the fire warmed their bodies. Only Azhani abstained from the tiny
celebration, not having a decent voice or instrument to contribute to
the entertainment. Instead,
after gathering more wood for the fire, she patrolled around the camp,
always within earshot of the revelers, but never close enough to
disturb them.
No
one noticed the warleader’s absence but Kyrian.
Keenly, she felt the hole the warrior’s absence made in
the warm circle of friends. A
part of her wanted to go after Azhani, but she wasn’t sure how to
extract herself without alarming the others.
An
opportunity finally came when she drained the last of her tea and she
realized that now would be a good time to locate a private bush. Politely, she excused herself, found
that bush and then went off in search of the warleader.
“Bit
of a chilly night to be out for a starlit stroll, don’t you think,
healer?” Azhani’s deep voice asked from behind her.
Kyrian spun
around and almost slammed into the warrior’s armor-clad chest. “Oof! Damn
it, Azhi, don’t you ever warn a body before you send ‘em to the
heavens?”
Azhani
smirked and put a hand on the stardancer’s shoulder to steady her. “No. What
would be the point? Anyway,
what are you doing out here? Did
Padreg hit a sour note and scare you away?”
Turning
to look back toward the camp, Kyrian chuckled to see that everyone else
had taken her leaving as a signal to stretch and refill drinks. Elisira and Padreg were snuggling,
stealing a moment to enjoy the almost palpable connection that, even at
this distance, Kyrian could feel. Empathy
was one of her minor gifts, but the love that flowed between the two
nobles was so strong, that even one who was sense-blind would swim in
it.
A
warm ripple of heat rolled over her and Kyrian stifled a shiver. Azhani was someone who she could not
shield out, no matter how hard she tried. Cocking
her head, she looked up at the warleader.
“No,
I just missed you. We were
having such a good time and I realized that I wished I could share the
moment with you, but you weren’t there,” she shrugged, hoping her words
didn’t sound as pathetic as she thought and added, “you’re my friend,
Azhi. I was worried about
you.”
“I’m
not much for parties,” the warrior said, stepping away from her friend
and starting to head back into the forest. “You
go on back and enjoy yourself. I’ll
keep an eye out for trouble – keep you all safe,” she said, her voice
starting to fade as the shadows swallowed her up.
“No,
wait, please,” Kyrian called out. The
faint outline of the warleader’s aura was the only clue that the
stardancer had that her plea had worked. “Join
us, Azhi. You don’t have to
sing, or play an instrument, just sit, and listen to us and be warmed
by the fire.”
There
was silence, followed by the rustling of some nocturnal creature in the
tree overhead, and then, “I can you know.”
Kyrian
frowned. “Well, yes, of
course you can. So come on,”
she said, reaching out for Azhani’s hand.
“Play,
an instrument, I meant,” Azhani said haltingly.
“It was the harp. She
taught me, to keep up her own skill, she said.
Though now I wonder if it was just another excuse to be
near me.” Blue eyes clouded
with tears and the warrior gritted her teeth, angrily dashing them away
with a balled up fist. “Anyway,
I didn’t join you because I didn’t want to, not because I can’t play. So go on back to your fire and your
friends and sing the night away, because I would rather just be alone.”
Kyrian,
who had half turned in preparation to return to the fire, stopped and
turned to fully face the warrior’s shadowed form. Oh
Ylera, I seem to always be chasing away your ghost.
I don’t mean to, but her life needs to go on. “Then I will stay out here, with
you. I’d like to spend some
time with you, Azhani. You
are my friend – Padreg and Elisira are my friends too, but I don’t get
to see you much during the day. So,
either come back to the fire with me, or put up with me out here in the
dark – it makes no never mind to me.” Kyrian
put her hands on her hips and cocked her head to the side,
determination clearly written on her elfin features.
Azhani,
taken aback by the vehemence in her friend’s words, could only stand
and stare at the younger woman, her mouth slightly opened. The snapping of wood from the
campsite startled the warrior, causing to close her mouth with an
audible click. She sighed in
consternation.
“Fine
then, follow me and don’t get lost. I
don’t feel like searching the entire forest for you, healer.”
Kyrian
only smiled and slipped up behind her friend, determined to show the
prickly warrior that she was quite capable of night walking.
%%%
The
High King’s silence bothered Padreg more than he let on, and in the
morning he was more than eager to be on the way to Y’Nor. He already knew exactly which of his
trusted men he would send out to which kings, and which of his spies he
would dispatch to Y’dan. Whether
or not he would support an open rebellion, or an assassination, he
wasn’t sure, but he did know that he would trust Azhani’s judgment,
should she ever have the chance to face the boy.
Whatever was decided, he knew something had to be done
about King Arris.
Other
news from Myr worried him as well. The
demons that had attacked Barton, as well as their small party, had also
harried the small border towns in the northern forests of Y’Syr. Three villages had completely
disappeared, and Y’skel, a town renowned for its artisans, had suffered
major losses during the last few weeks of winter.
The
unusual behavior of the demons, bothered the Y’Noran monarch. For though he had never fought the
monsters on home soil, he had sent troops to fight alongside the
Y’Syran, Y’dani and Y’droran armies who faced the creatures the last
time they had come out of the mountains.
Strangely,
it was only Y’dan and Y’Syr that saw any attacks by the demons. The dwarves had reported no caves
filled with the egg sacks that the creatures spawned, nor had they lost
any of their hill dwelling cousins to attack.
Instead, their winter had been filled with the typical
problems of cold, goblins and not enough ale.
Demons
attacked in a pattern that had been known for centuries. Every five years, the northern
kingdoms would make ready to repel the hellspawn.
So why now, after all these years, were they concentrating
on just two of the kingdoms? Why
were there so few? When the
ice demons swarmed, it was by the thousands, not the relatively few
that had been reported over the past winter.
Even
speculating on the answer, scared the plainsman.
He had to get home to a place where information was a spy
away, and not distributed by hearsay, rumor and gossip.
Azhani
seemed to agree with his silent assessment of the situation; she was
the first awake after spending most of the evening on watch and she
worked the hardest in breaking camp. The
pace she set, when she led the group out onto the road, was grueling
and backbreaking. By day’s
end, however, they were only another day’s journey from the border.
A
night’s sleep, and the sun’s rising brought the somber attitude of
those who know they will part, possibly never to meet again.
Elisira
tried once more to convince Kyrian to join them.
“Come with us, Kyr. I
know that Paddy would love to have you at the wedding, and I know that
it would be an honor to have your hands be the ones that welcome our
first child to the light of the goddess.” The
lady used her most persuasive tones.
Shaking
her head, Kyrian took Elisira’s hands into her own and drew the
noblewoman into a long, fervent hug. “I
am grateful beyond speaking that fate gave me your friendship, Eli, but
I belong by Azhi’s side. You
know that.” The stardancer
spoke softly, so that only her friend could hear.
“I need to be there, Eli. I
don’t know why, but she...” she fumbled for the words.
“She
makes your soul burn,” said Elisira, awareness showing in the way her
eyes locked with Padreg’s. “I
understand, truly, I do.”
Knowing
how the lady had given up everything to run away with the Y’Noran
chieftain, Kyrian didn’t doubt Elisira’s words.
“Then you know why I can’t be there.
Though,” Kyrian’s eyes crossed as she concentrated,
“you’re not with child – yet.”
Elisira
giggled as they parted. “Of
course not, silly. Paddy’s a
gentleman.” Seriously, she
added, “He takes great care that our bodies will be pure when we stand
before the goddess.”
On
the other side of the camp, Azhani and Padreg had their heads together,
quietly discussing potential plans.
“If
I find the people that Ambassador Kelani spoke of, I will send a
messenger to you. It is my
belief that the ice demons are a greater, more immediate threat than
Arris, but I won’t know for sure until I can gather some information. Arris may require my attention first. I cannot stand by and let him harm
his people out of a lust for power.” The
warrior’s voice hardened. “I
will not dishonor the memory of King Theodan that way.”
Padreg
laid a hand on Azhani’s shoulder and squeezed.
“You’re a fine Warleader, Azhani, I’ll not argue with you. You know what is best for your
people, and I can’t stand in the way of your duty.
However, the demons are a great threat – if they’re
spawning early, what’s to keep them from moving lower next winter? What’s to prevent them from seeking
to taste the flesh of my herds? I
must protect what the gods have charged me to shelter.
I will aid you in whatever way that I can, though. My agent in Y’Syria is a trader
named Brannock Maeven. He’ll
know the fastest way to contact me.”
Repeating
the name until she was sure she had memorized it, she nodded. “All right.
If you do not hear from me by midsummer solstice, then I
am unable to be of any assistance.” She
smiled wryly. “Have a good
wedding, Padreg. Make the
goddess proud.” They clasped
arms and then parted, each turning to head for their packs.
“Azhani?”
Padreg called out softly.
“Yes?”
A
mischievous grin danced on the chieftain’s face.
“I’ll wait until winter solstice if you promise to be
there, and you bring Kyrian.”
Blinking
in shock, she looked first at Padreg and then at her friend. An amorphous swirl of emotion
rumbled in her stomach, forcing her to close her eyes.
Her breath came in short, tight puffs as she considered
what he was saying. Kyrian? As my mate?
I...no! I love
Ylera!
Gritting
her teeth, she shook her head slightly. She
didn’t want to make that promise; couldn’t make that promise. Midwinter solstice was the
traditional time of a warleader’s joining. How
could he even suggest that she and Kyrian attend such an event? Her heart would always and forever
belong to her lost Ylera.
“Milord,
I –“ the warrior’s strong voice faltered and fell, swept away in a
blast of air as she sighed.
Three
strides had the king by the warrior’s side.
“Don’t you be telling me that you can’t read the hand of
destiny in your own life, Azhani. I’ve
felt Her touch, and I know the lance of fear that strikes the heart
when you contemplate life without Her gift.” His
voice was soft, almost a hiss, but filled with such passion and fervor
that the roiling emotion within Azhani burned to agree.
When she didn’t respond, he shook his head disbelievingly. “You may not understand it yet, or
perhaps you’re not ready to see it, but know this, warrior, as surely
as your life is bound to Arris’ fate, so Kyrian’s is bound to yours. Now, I will be fair and rephrase my
question. If fate will have
it, will you promise to come to my joining in midwinter?”
The
trap was still there, but the jaws didn’t seem as sharp, or as
inescapable. “If the gods
will it so, then who am I to fight the hand of fate?” she said in
resignation. A
promise I won’t have to break, if I can face Arris.
I’ll gladly marry a frog if I live through killing the
sniveling wretch who stole my Ylera.
A
tiny, almost unheard voice within the warrior whispered, Would
it be so terrible then, to share your life with Kyrian?
Allowing
himself to be satisfied with the warrior’s answer, Padreg knew that
time and the gods would prove him right. He
had seen the korethka that burned between the
stardancer and the warleader. Love
of the soul was a fire that would rage, unchecked, until one or the
other admitted their desire. What
flared between Azhani and Kyrian was, to his eyes, as bright as what he
and Elisira felt. Looking
over at his beloved, he sighed and promised his heart that they would
stand before the goddess by the following midsummer, no matter what the
coming seasons brought.
Devon
stood apart, clutching his book and his pack, watching as the group
separated. He knew that he
should be packing his horse, but what he really wanted to do was race
off into the grasslands and cry. Near
silent sobs wracked his chest as he watched his friends say good-bye to
each other. Gods blast it,
but he didn’t want them to leave. He
didn’t want to have to say all those things that people said to each
other when they knew they were about to die.
He remembered his dad, and how on that last, terrible day,
he had been called to the ailing warrior’s bedside to say good-bye. A sickly, crawling ache clutched at
his throat. Well, he wouldn’t
do it, not this time! Azhani
was all he had left of his dad, and even though he would never be half
the warrior that Polis Imry was, he would do everything he could to
make his father proud.
Screwing
up his courage, Devon made to walk over to the warleader.
“It’s
hard to say good-bye to your friends, isn’t it, Dev?” Kyrian’s soft
voice said.
The
young man turned, surprised to see the red-robed stardancer standing
behind him. Beside her, his
horse was saddled and waiting.
“You
were about to go and tell Azhani a million different reasons why you
should go with us, weren’t you?” she asked gently, smiling at the
consternation that sprung to life on the youth’s face.
He
scuffed his foot in the grass and ducked his head.
“So what if I was?” he asked sullenly.
“I’m not useless, you know? I
can do spells, and cook, and catch fish, and I know three languages,
and –“ he impatiently listed his skills, dropping his book to the
ground to tick them off on his fingers.
Kyrian
reached out and closed her fingers around Devon’s, drawing the young
man into an embrace. He
fought her briefly, and then collapsed against her, crying. “I know.
It would be wonderful to have you with us, Dev. But we need you to be with Eli and
Padreg. They need your skills
more than we do.”
“B-but
I don’t want you to go away and never come back, Kyr.
I don’t want to never see you or Azhani ever again. I can’t lose you now, not after I
found you! I don’t want to be
alone anymore,” Devon whispered brokenly, as he clung to Kyrian.
Kyrian,
who knew only a bit of the boy’s history, felt tears prick in her eyes. She looked up to see Azhani gazing
at them and shot the warrior a sad look while she held on to the crying
child in her arms. At just
barely fourteen summers, Devon tried so hard to be a grown up. They had all forgotten how young he
truly was, and how hard it was for him to let go of all he had ever
known.
“You
won’t be alone anymore, Devon. No
matter what, I will always be a part of you,” Kyrian said, her voice
husky and soft. “And I
promise to do everything I can to make sure that you see both me and
Azhani again, okay? This
isn’t good-bye forever, just good-bye for now.”
She
cupped his face, wiping away his tears until he managed a half-hearted
smile. “You mean it?” he
hiccupped.
Nodding
solemnly, she said, “I do. Now,
go say good-bye to Azhani and make sure she gives you a good hug.” She turned him around to face the
warrior and he scampered across the grass, nearly flying into the other
woman’s surprised embrace. Smiling
sadly, the stardancer bent and picked up the boy’s spell book,
reverently packing the ancient tome in a saddlebag.
Kyrian
watched as Azhani spoke to Devon, saying something that was so serious,
the boy’s shoulders had stiffened to soldier-like straightness. Just when she thought the young man
would topple over from trying to imitate Thomas, Azhani presented the
boy with the dagger from her own belt. The
warleader reached out and ruffled the boy’s russet hair fondly.
Faintly,
the stardancer heard Azhani say, “G’wan you.
Get your stuff together and go serve your king.”
Devon
reverently slipped the blade into his belt, knelt before her and said,
“I shall do as you ask, my lady, on my father’s honor.”
Azhani
smiled approvingly and helped the young man to stand, hugging him
briefly before sending him to his horse.
%%%
As
they neared the border, Azhani sighted a patrol riding about a mile off
from where they were. Obviously,
the plainsmen had been searching for many days, hoping that their
chieftain would appear.
“Paddy,
you old she-goat, it took you longer than a mare in season to choose
your path home!” a tall, hawk-featured man with soot black hair and
agate green eyes said. He
closed the distance between himself and the king, pulling the other man
off his horse and into a rousing bear hug that involved much back
thumping, laughter and loud exclamations of joy.
“Stefan,
it makes my heart glad to see you here, in the tall grasses of our home. Come, I bring news heavy with both
joy and sorrow,” Padreg murmured, draping his arm around his friend and
walking him away from the others.
The
horses nickered softly, rubbing nose to nose with the ones ridden by
the other Y’Norans, almost as if they were exchanging their own,
uniquely equine, gossip. Aden,
Thomas and Syrah were surrounded by several of the other warriors and
were led off to an area where a midday meal was hastily being assembled. Young Devon sat on his horse’s back,
looking between the Y’Noran warriors and Azhani, with a lost and
longing expression on his young face.
Kyrian
closed her eyes and tipped her face up to the sky, letting the full
heat of the sun beat down on her as she inhaled, breathing in the scent
of the plains. This would be
the last chance she would have to make a choice about her destiny. After today, her life would be
inextricably tied to Azhani’s and she wanted fate to have the
opportunity to change her mind.
“If
you stare too long at the sun, Astarus will rain bird droppings on your
face,” Azhani said as she pulled her horse up beside Kyrian’s. “Then your pretty white skin will
turn red and blotchy – and you would be forced to take up the life of
an unwashed zealot.”
Kyrian
laughed and turned to bestow a bright smile on her friend, but Azhani
was already moving on, riding over to speak to Elisira.
“Azhi,
my friend,” said Elisira warmly, welcoming the warrior’s presence
happily. The young noblewoman
was eager to join the Y’Norans. She
was anxious to show these people who loved Padreg, that she loved him
too, and that she was ready to learn to love his land.
“Have you come to say good-bye, finally?
I know you must be impatient to leave us.”
The
warrior dropped her head, shaking it abashedly.
“You know me too well, old friend.
Yes, I would rather feel the wind in my hair and have the
sun at my back. But Padreg
asked me to wait. He said
something about getting me some supplies.”
Elisira
nodded. “He would want you to
have the best you could for your journey. He’s
a good man, my Paddy.”
Azhani
looked across the field at the Y’Noran king and smiled as he jovially
slapped one of his men on the back. The
warrior stifled a chuckle as Padreg, with arms akimbo, began to
animatedly describe something. Several
nearby Y’Norans had to duck to avoid their chieftain’s wildly flailing
arms.
“He is a good man,” the warrior agreed
softly, thinking back to the many quiet conversations she had enjoyed
with the man over the last few weeks. Padreg
Keelan was a man not unlike Theodan, whom she had served loyally for so
long. If fate had carved a
different path, she would be following him home to his herds and his
tents.
No other
choice had been left to her, though. Ylera
had to be avenged. The people
of Y’dan deserved a ruler that cared more for their well being than his
own. Finally, the unusual
attacks by the demons could not go uninvestigated – the safety of the
northern kingdoms of Y’myran depended on the knowledge of the beast’s
breeding patterns.
Life would go
on, and she would do everything she could to honor the memories of her
beloved and her king. She
turned her gaze back towards Elisira and said, “So, when can I expect
to hear of an Y’Noran heir?”
Elisira
laughed wryly. “Not anytime
soon, I’m afraid. Paddy has
been nothing if not a total gentleman. You’d
think that all that snuggling would be conducive to making heirs, but
I’ve got to say that nothing could be further from the truth. Ground is hard, rocks leave bruises
and there’s no way either of us were going to suffer through what
should be the best night of our lives.” The lady leaned over and added
mischievously, “Besides, shouldn’t one endeavor to be pure when one
stands before the goddess on her joining day?”
Azhani
chuckled, struck by a sudden memory of the flock of handmaidens
Elisira’s dear father had ordered to follow his daughter. Ostensibly, they were there to aid
the young noblewoman, but more than once, Elisira had commented that
they were really there to be sure she didn’t accidentally discard her
precious virginity. At least
not before he could ransom it off to the highest bidder. “I never thought you bought into
that horse manure, Eli. Don’t
tell me that all this traveling has finally driven you insane.”
Sticking
her tongue out at the warrior, Elisira said, “Not at all. I’ve discovered that having strong
beliefs does not make a man mentally ill. Padreg
takes his faith seriously, and he explained to me why he feels as
strongly as he does. I’m
willing to wait, because I love him and respect him.
Maybe I don’t believe as he does, but I’m starting to
understand a little of what makes his faith so special to him.” She looked across the gently waving
grassland and sighed. “Perhaps
being here, in this land that he loves so deeply, I’ll finally know
what Father Meryth meant when he spoke of his love for the gods.”
Two
dark eyebrows rose dramatically. “I
guess he must be the right one, if he can inspire you so, Eli.”
Elisira
made a face and then chuckled ruefully. “I
suppose I deserved that one, Azhi. Well,
lest you forget that I give as well as I get – how deeply does Kyrian
inspire you, my friend?”
Gaping,
Azhani stared at her friend. The
carefully worn mask of control had been cracked, slipping away to
reveal such a high level of astonishment that Elisira had to look twice
just to be sure that it was still her friend sitting astride Kushyra.
“I
know you care about her,” the noblewoman said quietly.
“And I know that Ylera would not want you to be alone
forever.”
The warrior
looked away, stiffening her jaw and closing her eyes until the mask
rose up again, hiding Azhani’s soul away once more.
An agate hard blue gaze burned into Elisira as Azhani
softly spoke. “Kyrian is just
a friend, Eli; nothing more, nothing less. To
believe otherwise would be foolish of you.”
With
that, the warrior turned her horse and galloped away, heading toward
Padreg and a small, heavily laden pack mule.
Elisira
watched her go, a small, sad smile lifting the corners of her mouth. Her heart ached for her friend, but
she knew she had pushed too hard, seen too far into the warrior’s
secret heart. “Ride with the
gods, Azhi, and may you find some peace in that journey.” Her eyes sought out Kyrian, who had
hurried to join Azhani as the warrior took possession of the pack
animal. “May the patience of
Starseeker Ezrau go with you, Kyr.” Invoking
the name of the Astariun priest, whose life’s work was the counting of
the stars, could do no harm.
Chapters Twenty-One and Twenty-Two