Fires of Aggar (48 page)

And unfortunately, those more experienced scouts were already bringing themselves in this direction. Llinolae was not going to be pleased.

Llinolae stirred. She sat up, rubbing a hand over her eyes to banish the sleep. Immediately her thoughts turned to Gwyn, but the woman’s breath was steady and her pale skin was the hue of golden apricot. Gwyn’s slumber was just that now and nothing more. She probably wouldn’t even wake to a headache.

The warmth and scent of green, living things surrounded them. Llinolae’s smile was gentle and appreciative as she gazed around the openness of the tree’s chamber. While she slept, the glowing cocoon had drawn more and more from the Ancient’s strength, leaving Llinolae to rest more completely. The temperature had risen to that of a balmy summer’s day. The light had become tinged with the coolness of lime-mint, easy to the eye but keeping the darkness well at bay. The more usual inhabitants had crept back as well, sliding into the nooks and crannies between the cocoon’s wall and the tree’s timber. Even the spongy dust and mulch of the carpenter mites had grown more solid beneath the blanketing coat of that amarin cocoon; her nose no longer tickled with a yen for sneezing and her breeches were clean of the stuff again.

There was much she had yet to learn of amarin, Llinolae ruefully reminded herself.

She nearly felt the tree chuckle — or the equivalent of whatever such Ancients did.

A sense of Ril and concern became more acute, and her smile fled. Now she recognized what had awakened her.

With a glance to Gwyn, Llinolae left her to sleep and made her way back across the chamber to the haymoss. The cocooning light parted and sealed behind her as she slipped through. She’d sensed the danger of the approaching scouting party before she descended the short distance to the broad limb.

“Fates’ Jest!” She swore under her breath. There were nearly a dozen of them. Though still a few leagues out, they were moving with a systematic thoroughness and an undeniable direction. She recognized that spread formation only too well: sweep and corner. Whether they were looking for an injured Marshal or a wayward apprentice, she harbored no doubts they would know Gwyn’s signs when they did come across the tracks.

Ty’s sudden alertness sent her into a spinning crouch, and her Sight searched to the west.

“This is not good.” Lips set with an irritated scowl. She worked her way out further along the tree limb.

Both she and the sandwolves had been so preoccupied with the patrol in the southeast, they had forgotten that meddlesome apprentice who was still nearby.

Fates’ Cellars! Why hadn’t the boy settled in for the night? For that matter, the lot of them should just turn in!

A boot barely scuffed, and Llinolae recognized Gwyn’s approach more from a Sense of amarin than noise. The Amazon came out, keeping low, then settled on one knee beside her. Llinolae smiled at that confident pose, Gwyn’s elbow braced on the upright knee and her hand dangling loosely; she doubted she herself could have awakened in a strangely lit tree hole, mysteriously freed from pain and concussion, and so calmly gather herself together for duty.

“What is it?” Gwyn nodded into the shadows of the forest before them. The silvery sheen of the Twin Moons shone brightly through the overhead canopy, but the scout was not quite near enough yet for normal vision to help. “Is it that foolish apprentice again?”

“So nice to see you too,” Llinolae quipped, sliding a glance Gwyn’s way. “And yes, it is our favorite young scout.”

Gwyn had the grace to blush. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Llinolae took pity on her and squeezed her hand reassuringly. “He’s over that way a bit,” Llinolae pointed. “But over there, the patrol is our real problem. They will be here by moonset of the early Twin.”

A sigh whispered through the dimness. Gwyn understood: there would still be more than enough light for them to discern tracks and trails. “We could try it on foot — ?”

“Not a thrilling idea.” Llinolae agreed with the hesitance Gwyn’s tone implied. “I would rather be cornered up this tree than caught in a flat-footed race against their horses.”

“Where is Cinder? For that matter, where are Ty and Ril?”

“Hush! They’re all fine.” Llinolae pressed a kiss to the curled fingers still in her grasp. “Ril got Cinder back to camp. She had to give up the attempt to get the lost scout to follow them back around the east canyon side to Sparrow and Brit.”

“Not surprising.”

“Ty fetched me while they were off trying, though. Neither of them thought you could wait too long for help.”

A crooked grin acknowledged the truth in that. “So they are playing sentry somewhere below?”

Llinolae tipped her head, unconsciously adapting a very sandwolf-like manner. “Is your head all right?”

“Yes. Yes, whatever you did, it worked wonders.”

“But your packbond isn’t working? You can’t tell where they are?”

“Oh no — I know they are hereabout someplace. But they are being overly protective.” Gwyn grinned broadly. “They have shut me out of their scheming perceptions for a time. They tend to do that when they are adamant about me resting.”

“Wise harmons, the both of them,” Llinolae approved.

The two of them fell silent. Their gazes drawn again to the forest steps. There were troubles to be dealt with yet.

Wind driven and being herded to the east, the clouds eclipsed one of the Twins, deepening the shadows. Glancing at them, Llinolae dismissed them as the moon reappeared, but then something whispered across the back of her mind.

Gwyn started slightly as Llinolae’s hand withdrew from hers. But as Llinolae pressed both palms to the tree limb, Gwyn realized some path of the Sight was being pursued. She waited uneasily, anticipating worse news of the Clan folk or some note of an entirely new danger. Concentration furrowed a crease between Llinolae’s brows and Gwyn began to relax; she was beginning to recognize that scowl. White teeth gnawed absently on a lower lip as Gwyn watched. She felt anxiety yield to satisfaction then she prodded, “You’ve got an idea.”

A slow nod answered her. Then for a long silence, there was nothing more. Until finally, Llinolae’s clear blue eyes turned to Gwyn. The Amazon grinned again at that measured air of consideration. “You have more than an idea. You have a solution.”

“Perhaps — it may work. Are Ty and Ril up to a good drenching?”

“A what?” Gwyn cocked her head in puzzlement then she realized what Llinolae was suggesting! Never — never! — had Gwyn even heard of a Blue Sight so great!

For the first time in their acquaintance, Llinolae saw the Niachero balk with fear and amazement at her Blue powers. It hurt. Until suddenly, her lover was chuckling in self-derision and fingering the non-existent bruise behind her ear, and Llinolae’s pain vanished with the shake of Gwyn’s head. Their eyes met. Gwyn’s smile broadened and then they were laughing together quietly, warmly.

“I beg patience,” Gwyn amended, eyes still bright with mirth. “I am finding I might not be as enlightened as I thought.”

“So I See.”

Their hands met halfway, fingers entwining strongly.

“I love you,” Gwyn murmured.

It was said so simply. But it was so much what Llinolae needed to hear. Her throat tightened. She almost had to blink away tears… how could Gwyn have known that saying more would have belittled the sweet sincerity of her apology? The grasp of their hands strengthened as Llinolae managed to nod. With a swallow, she found her voice, “Heartbound.”

“Soroi, ” Gwyn agreed.

Enough — ! Llinolae pulled herself to duties, and both turned toward the forest.

“What now?”

Llinolae gestured in the direction of the apprentice scout. “He will be here before I can bring the rains. But I am not certain of precisely when.”

“He is still combing for signs?”

Llinolae nodded.

“Ril and Ty could play basker pack again and hound him into the scouting party. If you just want to be done with him?”

“Tempting idea,” Llinolae allowed. She sighed.

“You would rather not toss away the plan quite so soon,” Gwyn saw. “Good. Neither would I.”

“All right then,” Llinolae glanced at her with a impish smile, “We are agreed.”

“We are.”

“How well do your packmates mimic the baskers?”

“Even Southerners can not always tell the difference.”

“Might be helpful.”

“Already has been.” At Llinolae’s raised brow, Gwyn explained. “They chased him off earlier with the trick after I got hurt.”

“He presumes you are dead then?”

Gwyn shook her head, “He never saw me. A hunting cat was stalking him — more for mischief than hunger.”

“They do seem to have a malicious sense of humor, don’t they?”

“Just be thankful they are so stupid.”

“So he was nervous because of the cat?”

“I pulled Ril and Ty way back, he was so jittery. Had his fire weapon unsheathed and was striking at shadows every now and again.”

“Mother…,” Llinolae hissed.

“What I had not realized was that damn cat had worked its way ’round towards Cinder and me. Startled it out of its wits in the tree above me. Thing screeched and he started shooting. Cinder went one way. I went another. Haymoss, smoke, whole tree limbs exploded! Don’t know where the cat went. Ril and Ty took off like baskers from the Cellar, and his horse gave him little choice but running. By the time I had worked my way clear of debris and realized I was not going to stay together long enough for Cinder to get me back to camp, I barely had enough sense to get clear of the area before hiding.”

“I’m not certain, Niachero, ” Llinolae drawled, “but it might have been easier to tie yourself to Cinder than climb this tree by hand-over-hand knife stabs.”

Gwyn glanced below, not quite understanding the concern. “I don’t remember much aside from the last few falls from the saddle. Or maybe…,” she scoffed at herself, “…it’s only the one tumble that’s playing and replaying in my memory!”

Llinolae smiled wryly. She pointed a thumb back at the tree trunk. “You should get inside. It is going to get pretty chilly and damp soon.”

“I would rather wait for you. Unless I’ll be a distraction?”

“Never an unwanted one, Soroi.” Pleasure danced warmly across Llinolae’s smile, and Gwyn’s own answered her. “But don’t complain to me if you end up wet.”

“Understood. How do you start?”

“I already have.” Thunder rolled in on the last of her words.

The wind whipped down with cold vengeance suddenly, and a cacophony of rattling leaves and creatures shrieked loose. Roosts and nests and higher burrows were swiftly sought as thunderous black rumbles cracked in ground-shuddering glee.

Hair tore from its short braid, blinding Gwyn a moment. She gasped at the fury of the gathering elements, then caught her breath at the beauty of the small shea crouched beside her.

Blue eyes fastened outward, unseeing — uncaring of the raging press against them. Gwyn watched, almost feeling the exuberance — the eagerness of Llinolae’s harmon as it called those primal forces. Power pairing with power, respect meeting respect — differences binding to mold passions into purpose! All singing! Rejoicing! All things alive in her!

Skin glowed in dark glossy stain, taut stretched over bone. White teeth barred in front of the light. Ice-gem eyes widened. Aggar and daughter elated!

A basker bay from Ril jerked Gwyn from her trance. Her heart froze as she saw the lost scout had spotted them and drawn his bow. His arrow flew, but Llinolae spun in her crouch, hand flinging fingers wide. And a whoosh of flame took the arrow to ash.

Ty’s hound voice took up the call.

The Clan boy fumbled for his fire weapon, the mount shining beneath him.

The metallic weapon raised in one hand and sighted on them.

Llinolae stood and fists went skyward.

Lightning crashed.

The weapon disintegrated as the horse reared and the baying echoed near. The beast shattered its bone bit and bolted west. The rains descended in drenching torrents.

“Inside!”

Gwyn blinked, coming slowly from her daze. Llinolae’s hands urged her to her feet and steadied her against the rain. “Inside!”

Gwyn moved then, pulling Llinolae along with her. The wind howled, rising to meet the next crack of thunder and lightning. Llinolae’s footing slipped, but Gwyn caught her and pushed her into the netting of the haymoss on the trunk. Gwyn felt Llinolae tremble as she climbed — exertion claiming its toll. The storm pried at them, no longer heeding any mistress or equal. Then Gwyn climbed closer, huddling to protect Llinolae with her strength and body, until the crevice opened and they were falling inwards to the sheltering warmth and light of the Ancient’s waiting cocoon.

“What did you do?!” Gwyn gasped, rolling to her back with a great gulp of air.

“It had…” Llinolae’s sides heaved as she panted on all fours, and she had to swallow hard before managing, “It had to be strong enough to wipe clean the tracks and….” She swallowed again and shook her head. “And it had to stop them — the patrol — now… not let them wander until the moon set.”

“Stop ’em in their tracks, huh?”

Gazes met. Eyes sparkled and laughter bubbled up at the inane word twist. Llinolae collapsed completely as they howled and rolled into one another. It was inane — insane, and absolutely nonsense, but they hugged each other, still laughing anyway.

Then abruptly they stilled, Gwyn looking down at the most incredible woman she had ever beheld — Llinolae gazing up into the blazing copper eyes of the most remarkable woman she had ever imagined…!

Thunder cracked outside and the force of reality — all they’d nearly lost this night! — descended. Giddiness subsided. Passion rose fiercely and they kissed. Winds wailed as mouths devoured each other. Driving, sharing, needing the taste of each other — to claim, to surrender, to glow in the fire of the other as their lives and love stood in testimony against the Fates’ Jest!

Flushed skins of gold-brown honeywood and dark glossy polish contrasted. Hair of flame and ebony slipped through greedy fingers. With both hands, Llinolae pulled Gwyn’s mouth back to hers as the Amazon fumbled with the ties of tunic and jerkin — unseeing, uncaring — until things finally loosened enough to strip off, bound knots and all, over Llinolae’s head.