Blackveil (14 page)
“Greetings, Captain,” she said, coming to a halt before Laren and Elgin. “This is an auspicious meeting.”
Laren swallowed back a surge of hysterical laughter. The words were said as if it were some everyday occurrence, like they’d bumped into one another on market day.
“Auspicious,” Laren said, “seems an inadequate description. The groundmites—you arrived just in time.”
“We heard them, knew they were on the hunt. Our paths, you see, run near this place.”
Laren was too dazed “to see,” but she nodded. “I thank you. You saved my life.”
“It is well,” Graelalea said. “And now we may proceed to your king.”
“What?”
“Our meeting is auspicious for we travel to speak with your king. Our paths have crossed, therefore we shall travel together.”
Laren closed her mouth when she realized it was hanging open. Elgin’s expression registered awe tinged with wariness.
Eletians were like that—enchanting, unearthly, the embodiment of
magic.
It was difficult to know the Eletian mind, for they’d been absent from the world for so long, their ways were alien. And they were dangerous. Laren had no doubt about it. She had only to look at the pile of dead groundmites behind her.
magic.
It was difficult to know the Eletian mind, for they’d been absent from the world for so long, their ways were alien. And they were dangerous. Laren had no doubt about it. She had only to look at the pile of dead groundmites behind her.
“My horse,” she said, “is tired. He needs rest and care.”
Graelalea made a graceful gesture indicating Laren should look at her horse. When she did, she saw the other two Eletians caressing Bluebird’s muscles and applying salve to cuts.
Graelalea herself set aside her longbow and stepped up to Bluebird. She spoke softly to him in Eletian and ran her hand down his nose, over his eyes, behind his ears. His eyelids drooped and his breathing softened. He lowered his head so that it rested in her hands. Killdeer appeared to watch and listen with interest, her ears pricked up and her gaze alert.
“He is well enough to continue,” Graelalea said in the common tongue. “We shall travel lightly.” Then, observing Killdeer’s interest, she turned to the mare and petted her. Killdeer curved her neck and loosed a deep sigh at the attention.
Laren and Elgin exchanged wide-eyed looks.
“She is an old soul,” Graelalea said of Killdeer, “but with a young heart. She will be your good companion for years more.”
An amazing transformation rippled across Elgin’s face. The hard lines softened and Laren thought her old chief was going to weep. But he did not. Almost more astonishingly, he bowed to the Eletian.
“Thank you,” he said. “I have never heard finer words.”
There was a hint of a smile on Graelalea’s face. They all stood there as the snow fell down around them in dizzying swirls and the forest darkened.
“I’ll ... I’ll take care of the corpses in the morning,” Elgin said, as if needing to break the silence. “Whatever the scavengers leave, anyway.”
Graelalea nodded and turned to Laren. “Captain? Are you ready?”
“I ... I guess so.”
“If you mount and ride, we will travel more swiftly.”
While they were on foot? But Laren did not question the Eletian. She put her foot in the stirrup and mounted Bluebird, grimacing at sore muscles making themselves felt.
“Sip some of this,” Graelalea said, and she passed Laren a flask.
Laren took a cautious sip, and then another. She’d tasted its like before when the Eletians last visited Sacor City. It was cool on the tongue, but heartening, and as the liquid passed down her throat it warmed her body. She thought of summer meadows and the golden sunrise on dew-laden grasses. It removed her from winter and loosened aching muscles and joints, restored strength and energy.
A small amount slaked her thirst and she took one more sip before giving the flask back.
“It’s wonderful,” she said.
“A summer cordial of Eletia,” Graelalea replied.
They bade Elgin farewell and simply walked into the woods. Graelalea led, with Bluebird following, and the other two Eletians ranging alongside or behind. Laren wondered if she were being led into some trap, as Karigan had once been trapped—caught up in spells and a web of dreams. But she did not think so. What reason had they? Just to be sure, she used her special ability and perceived from them no guile, only the truth. Truth and peace. Satisfied, she gave in to trust.
As night deepened, Graelalea produced a moonstone. Its light was not glaring to the eye, but produced a soft radiance that captured each snowflake that fell around them, flashing like silver glitter. Even with the light, however, Laren could not discern the path Graelalea followed, though the Eletian strode ahead without hesitation, entirely certain of her way.
It was almost a passage through a dream with no sense of time or place. Her whole world existed within the glow cast by the moonstone—the snow, her horse beneath her, the gray boles of trees they passed by, and Graelalea leading them. Laren felt buoyant, as light and insubstantial as the snowflakes that landed on her hair and eyelashes.
The Eletians glided through the forest so unhindered that Laren thought this must be one of the ancient paths they used long ago to travel into the land now known as Sacoridia. Graelalea’s brother, the prince, had spoken of them. He said the land recalled them.
Did the trees bend out of their way and the terrain mold itself to make their footing smooth? Laren almost laughed at the notion, but it
was
uncanny how she did not have to duck beneath branches and Bluebird did not stumble over uneven ground. There was not a single snag to circumvent their progress or a fallen log to step over.
was
uncanny how she did not have to duck beneath branches and Bluebird did not stumble over uneven ground. There was not a single snag to circumvent their progress or a fallen log to step over.
A time passed and they stepped out of the woods. The illumination of the moonstone spread around them revealing a snow-covered field. Laren, disoriented by the change, took a few moments to recognize where they were.
Graelalea suddenly extinguished the moonstone, and when Laren’s eyes adjusted to the absence of its glow, she picked out the flickering of lights in the distance. The gates of Sacor City were not far.
“Let us continue,” Graelalea said. “We shall speak to your king soon.”
So mesmerized by the journey had Laren become, that she had forgotten its purpose. She shook herself as if to awaken from a long sleep.
“What is it you wish to speak to him about?”
“Kanmorhan Vane,” Graelalea replied.
Blackveil.
This time the shudder was involuntary.
This time the shudder was involuntary.
AN INVITATION
O
nce Laren entered the city gates with the Eletians, she sent a guard up the Winding Way to inform the king of their arrival. When they reached the castle, they were ushered into a meeting chamber, which was warmed by blazing hearths at either end; the table was set with an array of refreshments.
nce Laren entered the city gates with the Eletians, she sent a guard up the Winding Way to inform the king of their arrival. When they reached the castle, they were ushered into a meeting chamber, which was warmed by blazing hearths at either end; the table was set with an array of refreshments.
Zachary sat at the head of the table in a smaller version of his throne, Lady Estora to his right. Since autumn, he’d included her in his meetings and audiences, and she took to her role as queen-intended naturally, remaining serene and dignified, but unafraid to speak up when she felt it necessary. Laren thought she’d probably learned well from her mother, the lady of Coutre Province.
Zachary maintained an air of respect toward her. It was difficult for Laren to ascertain how well they were getting along on a personal level, for he would not confide in her on this matter, but she hoped it was quite well for the sake of their mutual happiness. In a state marriage, however, personal compatibility certainly was not a requirement.
Absent from the chamber, Laren was pleased to note, was Lord Richmont Spane, Estora’s cousin and self-appointed counselor. Laren tired of him constantly whispering into Estora’s ear like a spider perched on her shoulder. And there was that smug smile of his, as if he were on a level with the king himself.
With Estora to be queen, Clan Coutre was in ascendance, and Spane was in a greater position of influence than ever. While his maneuvering for power irritated Laren, it was not unexpected; for what other reason did the aristocracy exist if not to seek greater authority and position over others?
To Zachary’s left sat the Eletians, with Graelalea sitting between her two companions. Laren remembered Telagioth from the Eletians’ previous visit—how could she forget his clear, cerulean blue eyes? The other Eletian was introduced as Lhean, his hair pale gold like the cool winter sun. The Eletians outshone everyone else in the room, including Estora, who was considered the great beauty of the land. Laren had to drag her gaze from them.
The king’s other two primary advisors—Colin Dovekey and Castellan Sperren—also joined them. Footmen moved unobtrusively from person to person with ewers of wine and filed seamlessly out of the chamber when they finished. Only one of the king’s Weapons stayed with them, silent and statuelike, his black uniform allowing him to fade into the shadows of the corner he stood in.
The Eletians remained stoic while Laren spoke of their encounter in the woods and the demise of the band of groundmites.
When she finished, Zachary put his hand to his temple and bowed to the Eletians. “I owe you a debt of gratitude,” he said, “for I’d be lost without the captain.” There was a tremor in his voice and Laren warmed with affection for him.
“We are pleased to have been of aid,” Graelalea said. “Our meeting, however, was not entirely chance. We were on our way here to speak to you, at the behest of my brother, Ari-matiel Jametari.”
“I see,” Zachary said, “and what did he—”
At that moment, the chamber door opened and Lord Spane burst in. “Many pardons for being late,” he said, giving Zachary a perfunctory bow. “I just heard we have guests.”
Laren bridled her annoyance at the intrusion.
“I am Lord Richmont Spane,” he announced to the Eletians. “Counselor to Lady Estora. I look after the interests of Coutre Province.”
Graelalea nodded in return.
An awkward few moments passed as an extra chair was brought in and Spane insinuated himself at Estora’s right hand, forcing Colin to move over. If Spane was the least bit impressed by the Eletians, he did not show it, and if Zachary was at all perturbed by the interruption, he hid it well.
When everyone was settled, Zachary started again. “What did your brother wish for you to speak to me about?”
“My brother,” Graelalea replied, “wishes to inform you of his intention to go ahead with sending an expedition into Kanmorhan Vane.”
Already Spane was leaning toward Estora to whisper something to her.
“I thought it likely he would,” Zachary said softly. “He seemed determined to proceed when we spoke in the fall.”
Graelalea did not respond. Laren remembered how she protested to her brother when he mentioned the idea to Zachary. It would be, she said, a fatal mission into a land that was a sad corpse of what it once was. The expedition would be led, Jametari said, by his sister. When Laren looked upon Graelalea now, she saw no fear in her. Only calm.
“When will you go?” Zachary asked.
“When day balances with night,” Graelalea said, “and no sooner. The equinox. We dare not enter the forest while night still dominates.”
“I don’t understand,” Spane said, his voice abrasive against the somber mood. “Why would anyone go into that evil place?”
Laren supposed it was a fair question, since he was not present to hear Jametari’s reasoning, and Zachary had not discussed it with anyone beyond his immediate advisors.
“Blackveil was once Argenthyne,” Graelalea said, “and it is our prince’s desire that we see what may remain of it that is good.”
“Argenthyne!” Spane said in incredulity. “Why that’s a child’s tale ...” He trailed off when Graelalea leveled her gaze at him. Maybe, as he looked into her eyes, eyes that had witnessed the passage of centuries, he recognized whom and what he addressed. He blinked rapidly and looked away.
“Argenthyne is no legend,” Graelalea said. This time no one countered her words. “My brother,” she continued, turning her steady gaze on Zachary, “expresses his hope you will not impede our passage through the breach in the wall to reach the forest.”
Laren suspected the Eletians would not be deterred one way or the other, and that Jametari was simply conferring a courtesy by giving Zachary notice of their intentions.
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