Fires of Aggar (34 page)

“I am still here, Ril.”

The sandwolf glanced up at the face of the woman, finding a soft smile of greeting. She returned it with a toothy one of her own. It shouldn’t have surprised her that Llinolae would still be sensitive to her, when Ril was so close. After all, Llinolae had reached across stars to the home world of dey Sorormin and across leagues to Gwyn’s own sword and lifestone. An arm’s length wouldn’t have thwarted her in the least.

“Thank you for returning.”

Ril tipped her head, moving forward to accept the offered ruffle of the curly fur behind her crown. Then the woman did something only a very few of Gwyn’s kin had ever even dared — she gently touched the smooth, leathery hide of Ril’s forehead.

At the sandwolf’s startled but pleased acceptance, Llinolae did more. She took Ril’s face between her hands and lifted that sandy-clear gaze to meet her own. “And thank you for watching over me so patiently. I know I’ve been a very, very long while away.”

Ril pushed closer, lightly butting Llinolae’s pale cheek in reassurance. She had been uneasy with this woman in the beginning, because of how deeply the sword’s images had affected Gwyn. And she had known through the depths of the packbond what Gwyn had been hiding from — that Gwyn would inevitably fall for this Blue Sight once they met.

Being a sandwolf, Ril did not presume to understand the heartbonds of human-to-human attachments, but she could grasp the feelings and the weight of their importance easily enough. She found it good to discover Llinolae’s growing affections were matching Gwyn’s own, and she credited Llinolae’s pledge with the honesty it deserved.

“I’m honored by your trust.” Llinolae’s smile softened, not expecting and yet touched by this last note. “Your approval means much. I promise you — I’ve no wish to hurt her. In truth, I’ll do my best not to.”

Unfortunately, Ril knew how there was often much said that couldn’t be done. She could only hope, for both Gwyn’s and Llinolae’s sakes, that the hindrances of the Fates and hearts wouldn’t clash too often — nor wound too deeply.

She rose with Llinolae to turn down the trail.

From a distance, thunder rolled in through the dimness of the late afternoon clouds. Ril sighed as she trotted after Llinolae — to her, that deep rumble sounded ominously like the Fates’ jesting.

A gust of wind swept the dampness in with Gwyn’s entry, and hastily she rounded to tie the tent flaps shut again. Llinolae glanced up from brushing Ril, slightly startled at the heightened excitement and anxiety in Gwyn’s amarin. The sandwolf nosed Llinolae’s hand reassuringly, and the woman tried hard not to sigh in agreement; her Sight was not always very helpful in what it allowed her to See. Most often she only caught hints of uncomfortable emotions or plotting intentions. Unfortunately, this afternoon her Gift had made it alarmingly clear that Ty’s reason for abruptly withdrawing from the camp had been her dislike of Llinolae.

“… admit I’m surprised this old healer’s tent is holding together so well.”

Llinolae smiled weakly as Gwyn’s voice registered. But the Amazon was busy shedding her drenched cloak and boots, and her back was still to the pair on the floor. Llinolae returned to Ril’s grooming, absently noticing their surroundings again.

The tent was nearly as broad as it was tall. The heavy canvas walls were supported by a circular, wooden frame, with four center poles fitting snugly around a ceramic brazier. There was a sort of chimney flap, also fastened to the center poles, raised above the rest of the cloth roofing and outer canvas. And although the brazier contained only embers at the moment, it was large enough to hold a cooking fire when desired.

The rest of the tent was equally well designed. Wall braces served double-duty as pegged racks for clothing. The planks of the storage crates had been transformed into a platform, raising the canvas and thick woven rugs of the flooring well above the damp ground. Wide bed pallets doubled as low couches when folded back against the wall braces. A collapsible table and set of camp chairs had also been unpacked from the Shea Hole’s supplies, as well as saddle racks and a set of short shelves. Glass lanterns hung from the rafters, sitting in little roped nests well above head height. All this, while still the structure seemed airy and reasonably uncrowded. But then it had been intended to house wounded and to allow the healers to work standing.

A Shea Hole, Llinolae had discovered, was not a shelter in itself. Rather, it was a hidden cache of necessary camp goods. Nestled in a small boxed canyon at the foot of the gorge, the ceramic lockers had been fashioned to resemble, in both color and shape, the tree roots and cliff rocks of its niche. With inner seals waxed tight to protect against wet and decay, the non-perishable supplies had been hiding, innocuously, longer than her lifetime.

“The horses’ tent is just as dry.” Gwyn reclaimed the Dracoon’s wandering attentions, sighing deeply as she sat herself down on one of the couches. “I didn’t bother with the picket lines tonight. If anything happens, I’d rather the mares be loose.”

“Afraid of lightning in a gorge?” Llinolae murmured absently.

Gwyn shrugged. “Perhaps more of a flash flood.”

“There were no high water marks.” Llinolae’s gaze didn’t leave Ril nor did her hands falter with those long, rhythmic brush strokes.

Mutely Gwyn watched them, but in her mind she saw the flooded stream bed of another rain storm and the broken body of the man that had tried to burn her with the barn. She felt a gentle tug along her packbond and found Ril’s soft, sandy eyes on her. A melancholy smile accepted the sandwolf’s assurances, but Ril’s compassion suddenly felt very minuscule within the tent’s empty, growing unease.

The sandwolf’s glance left her, and with that withdrawal Gwyn realized how hurt and confused she was by Ty’s absence. It was not at all like their packmate to volunteer for sentry patrols and refuse their company when neither Gwyn nor Ril thought there was any need yet for sentry posts — especially not after their three days of separation. It made Gwyn wonder if her bondmate had run into some kind of trouble with the Clans earlier, but Ril would have known of that. And she’d have gone out circling on Ty’s heels if there were wild baskers or buntsows to worry about.

It didn’t make sense. Gwyn had a distinctly disquieting impression that she should have understood Ty’s evasiveness. Actually, she had the impression that she ought to understand someone else’s moodiness as well.

Her copper gaze drifted to Llinolae and the Dracoon’s hand paused in mid-air at the attention. At least my presence isn’t being completely ignored, Gwyn thought.

“I beg your patience,” Llinolae sighed. The hand with Ril’s brush dropped abruptly as did her facade of nonchalance. Weariness suddenly shadowed every line of her body, from the faintly bruised hollows beneath her eyes to the slump of her shoulders. Even Llinolae’s skin tone had notably darkened a shade more than her normal light tan.

The transformation was subtle, as if Llinolae had looked this tired all evening and Gwyn had merely not been aware of it before now. But Gwyn’s experience with Selena and Kimarie — and especially with Bryana — had taught her differently. She was not in the least fooled by that shift of amarin; Llinolae had intentionally been projecting an illusion earlier — to hide her fatigue. After the closeness they had shared last night, it hurt Gwyn to know Llinolae felt any need to hide from her.

Two rejections in the same evening? What was she doing to be so unpopular? Gwyn tried to muster together some kind of smile saying, “Have you decided my barbering skills were even worse than my cooking? That you should trust me so little, so suddenly?”

Tenderness touched the melancholy in Llinolae. She looked up at Gwyn finally, amending, “No, I like my new haircut quite well. Thank you. I know you would have preferred for someone else to have done it, but I am grateful.”

“I suppose…,” Gwyn’s shrug was awkward. “It turned out well.”

“It did.”

Gwyn smiled at that richening tone of sincerity. And she had to admit that at least she’d gotten one thing right since eventide.

Llinolae’s hair was now short-clipped at both the sides and back, barely a finger-width long, and the black curls that wrestled on top were just long enough for one or two to fall forward over her forehead.

Guiltily Gwyn jerked her gaze aside, realizing she’d been on the verge of staring. The ice-clear blue of Llinolae’s eyes and the inky black sheen of her hair made a vibrant contrast — beautiful even in this weary state. Why didn’t it make her look younger, more innocent, Gwyn wondered. Instead, the high curve of her cheekbones and the slender arches of her eyebrows only seemed more prominent, more expressive. Llinolae’s subtle amarin of determination and intelligence were now underscored by her pondering expressiveness. Without the obstructions of either tangled hair or smoky soot, Llinolae was simply more compelling in her strength.

She should have been an Amazon, Gwyn mourned. Then the truth dawned; she was, in truth, more of an Amazon than any Gwyn had known from Valley Bay. Because Llinolae had been born of Terran descent — just as the Founding Mothers of dey Sorormin’s home world had been. Because she was a woman-loving-woman who cherished others’ lives so much that she risked everything as their guardian — just as the n’Athena had in bringing their ships and families across the stars to guard Aggar in that Imperial decline. Aye, she was an Amazon — by blood, by heart, by ethics of soul — she undeniably was.

So why is it so strange that I’ve lost my heart to her? Gwyn rebuked herself, and the audacity of that idea suddenly shook her.

“Don’t chide yourself so,” Llinolae’s soft voice came.

Gwyn caught her breath. Heart racing and skin flushing from deep gold to burnished brown in a single beat, she kept her eyes downcast to the whitened knuckles of her fists.

“The ill will between your sandwolf, Ty, and myself is from a misperception. We’ll sort it out. I promise you.” At the confusion of Gwyn’s amarin, Llinolae added, “Ril was leery of me too in the beginning. Remember?”

With an effort, Gwyn managed a shaky nod. She concentrated on breathing and relaxing, until bit-by-bit her fingers began to uncurl. Perhaps she was going to be politely left alone in this foolishness. Or more likely, the intensity of her inner turmoil wasn’t allowing Llinolae’s Sight to accurately decipher details quite yet. That wouldn’t matter much in the long run, Gwyn knew. Sooner or later her amarin would be clearly discernible for what it was.

A brief memory of the young scribe in camp with Llinolae returned to Gwyn, and she felt the knotted muscles in her shoulders gradually release more of their tension. There had been compassion, not ridicule, in Llinolae’s deciphering that evening. Gwyn had nearly forgotten who she was dealing with — this woman who so valued others. There was nothing Gwyn need fear in what Llinolae would learn with her Sight. And it wasn’t as if Gwyn expected her companion to return the interest!

“There is something else….”

“Well…,” a derisive little smile lifted the corner of Gwyn’s mouth at that tactful comment. “None of us is perfect. Are we?”

Llinolae glanced across to her then, and their eyes met, glowing softly as humor rose to gentle both of their nerves. They shared a chuckle that grew. Then suddenly they were both laughing, skin tones flushing even darker while Ril’s ears pricked forward; she seemed puzzled, but their laughter was warm and chased the anxiety from the tent. Llinolae noticed the poor sandwolf’s confusion, and she laid a reassuring hand to her ruff, trying to catch her breath before explaining, “It’s all right, my friend. We’re simply being silly.”

At which point, Ril heaved something of an exasperated sigh and returned her head to her paws for slumbering.

“A most proper response for sandwolves to take when humans are being hopelessly human,” Gwyn quipped, half to Llinolae and half to her packmate.

Ril opened a single eye in disdain, then shut it with a snorting “humpf.”

Feeling better, Llinolae stroked that furry back sympathetically. In a moment she shifted her attention back to Gwyn. But she too was aware of the camaraderie that had returned. A lump tightened in Llinolae’s throat. She knew that what she was about to bring up might strain this new friendship beyond repair.

Gwyn waited, watching her expectantly. Llinolae exchanged her hesitation for directness. “I need to ask you something you may not like.”

Gwyn’s head tilted inquiringly, a feathery strand of red slipping into her eyes. She tucked it absently behind her ear again, noticing Llinolae’s distraction at the movement. But she only said, “I’m listening.”

“I need you to tell me why you came to Khirlan in the first place — to Clantown in particular. And why you’re so certain my blue eyes mark me with the Sight.”

“I came because Bryana told me of your need.”

“My need… me?” Llinolae pointed at herself, brow wrinkled and only partially comprehending.

Gwyn nodded. “Bryana reasoned your dilemma was King’s business and asked me to come.”

“Bryana…?” She tongued the sound as she groped for a face to match that name, and then she had it. “The Ring Binder of Valley Bay? That Bryana?”

“Aye,” Gwyn sent her a rueful grin. “Actually, she’s my mother.”

“Your — ?” Llinolae blinked, remembering the slightly built woman in the garden apron.

“You did ask her not to involve the Council in anything.”

“I remember.”

“But she felt your complaints about the neglect of King and Crowned legitimate enough to warrant some investigation. So, she spoke with me.”

“How is it you’re the Binder’s daughter and a Royal Marshal?”

Gwyn shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve always wanted to be more like Jes than Bryana. I’m built a lot like Jes, taller and stronger than most of Valley Bay. She’s a Marshal herself, and I’m not Sighted. My sibling Kimarie now — she’s a head smaller than myself and has M’Sormee’s Blue Gift as well. Although, I admit she’s never aspired to be arbitrator nor adventurer, so she had no intention of vying for a seat on the Ring of Decisions either. And she certainly has no patience for out-of-time Seeing, so she could never connect the Ring of Valley Bay to n’Sappho of our home world for conferences. She much prefers wandering the meadowlands of the upper Valley and herding the beasites about.”