Heart of the Exiled (22 page)

Escorting Heléri to Glenhallow’s public circle, Rephanin saw a large crowd gathered to see the delegations off on their homeward journeys. An honor guard of twenty Southfæld guardians waited to accompany Governor Felisan’s small party northward. Rephanin kept his hood drawn well forward against the bright, cold dawn. He could feel the coming winter settling into his bones—a dull, lonely ache.

Jharan kept his words of farewell brief and informal, for which Rephanin was silently grateful. The idle thought came to him that he could speak to all here assembled; he could enable Jharan to speak into their thoughts if the governor so wished. Such possibilities had not occurred to him before. In all his centuries of mindspeech, he had never thought of it as a tool for public use.

He was changed—profoundly changed—from what he had been before this Council had commenced. He looked at Heléri, her own hood and veil deeply sheltering her from the biting sun.

I cannot resist tormenting us both a little more
.

He felt her smile.
I am glad
.

He handed her into the chariot that had brought her to Glenhallow and stood silently watching the
small cavalcade’s departure. He could still feel the warmth of her in his heart. When she passed beyond the first gate, he expected to lose contact with her, but apparently the carriage wall was an insignificant barrier to him, or perhaps she had the window open.

Rephanin began to breathe a little faster. Could it be that outdoors he was a distance speaker? Why had he never thought to test this?

Are you with me, dear one?

Heléri’s gentle laughter rippled through her response.
Anxious, beloved?

I am wondering how long I will be able to speak to you. I can no longer see you
.

Her silence bespoke her musing upon this question. Rephanin waited, straining to catch every whisper of her, every glimmer of her khi.

The crowd around and between them made this difficult. He sorted through many random currents, seeking Heléri’s khi. Most of the others he could disregard, but he became aware of khi focused on himself from someone nearby. Glancing up, he saw Turisan beside him, watching him.

Rephanin made a small gesture to stay him, then stepped away from the center of the circle, still focused on the retreating Alpinon party. Behind him he heard Jharan making further farewells, heard the jingle of the harness bells with which the Steppegards were wont to adorn their horses on ceremonial occasions.

He walked to the circle’s edge, gazing eastward. The sunlight stung his eyes now. He blinked fiercely and pulled his hood as far forward as it would go but continued to stare into the morning, eyes fixed on a distant banner of violet and blue above the receding cavalcade.

Heléri?

Yes?

You said you chose to remain in flesh because you had not done all you wished here. What did you stay to achieve?

No answer came. For a long, agonized moment he thought he had lost contact with her; then a wave of warmth flooded through him, tender and loving, making him ache to touch her. He shivered, the morning cold against his flesh at odds with the heat in his soul. His heart seemed to melt within him, all fear vanishing in the fire of her love. He returned his own to her, sending his khi flying out to wrap her tenderly about.

I—hope you mean to stay yet awhile
.

A while, yes
.

Of course, he thought in a small private corner of his mind. Like you, Rephanin, to assume you were her only reason for remaining.

Still, he was pleased beyond expression. He stood watching her with his mind more than his eyes, heedless of his surroundings save for a dim awareness of successive departures. He could see the Steppe Wilds party on the plain now, but he kept his gaze fixed on Alpinon’s little column. The sun was well up by the time they neared the foothills, where the road drew away from the Silverwash to climb through a shallow pass.

The mountains may interfere between us
.

He nodded. The heartache was returning.

I will come to Alpinon. Wait for me
.

Warmth, a smile. Loving tenderness. He closed his eyes briefly, treasuring it, then opened them to catch a last glimpse of the banner as the column started into the pass.

I love you, Heléri. I love you, I love you, I love you—

A touch on his arm startled him. Reluctantly he gave part of his attention to his flesh, turning to look at Turisan.

Jharan’s son smiled gently back at him, then tilted his head toward the magehall. Rephanin became aware that the gathered crowd was dispersing, taking up their daily business. The councillors who were leaving this day had all departed.

Rephanin looked back toward the foothills. Alpinon’s banner had passed from view.

Heléri?

Gone. He swallowed, feeling emptiness soak into him, widening in his soul like a cold pool. His flesh was numb from standing overlong.

He inhaled slowly, turning to Turisan with a small nod of agreement. He took a step and was surprised at his unsteadiness. Turisan moved swiftly to help, grasping his upper arm. Normally this would have made Rephanin indignant, but just now he felt battered, bruised. Had Turisan felt so, he wondered, when Eliani had left?

No, for they could still speak. He swallowed a moment’s bitter envy, knowing it was unworthy of him.

Turisan’s khi hummed against his arm, muted by the sleeve of his robe. He withdrew from it, wanting to remember the tone of Heléri’s khi, wanting only that in his mind.

He did allow Turisan to guide him to the magehall and sighed with relief when they entered the shelter of the hearthroom. Flames flickered overhead in two small hanging lanterns of golden glass, and the warmth from the banked coals on the welcoming hearth eased into his chilled flesh. He put back his hood and looked at Turisan.

“Thank you.”

Turisan smiled. “Heléri did me the favor when Eliani departed. I could do no less for you.”

Rephanin returned the smile weakly. “How fares your lady?”

Only an instant’s hesitation, but it was there. Turisan tried to hide it with another smile.

“She is well, thank you. Shall I leave you to your rest?”

Rephanin blinked, finding his thoughts clouded. Fatigue, perhaps. And heartache.

He nodded. He did need rest. All his feelings were raw, and there was much to do. There was his circle—both circles, old and new—to attend to in the evening. Cloaks to deliver and weapons waiting to be blessed.

At least there were no more Council sessions to claim his attention. He turned toward the door into the magehall, pausing to look back at Turisan.

“Thank you again.”

Turisan made a graceful motion, something between a nod and a bow. He stood watching, waiting until Rephanin went in before departing.

Kindness. Rephanin had grown unaccustomed to it, living for so long in sullen withdrawal. Now his shield of solitude had been torn away, and in his new vulnerability even kindness frightened him. Particularly coming from Jharan’s son.

Shaking away those thoughts, he opened the door into the magehall. Its comforting darkness welcomed him, and he breathed a sigh as he closed the door on Glenhallow and sought the privacy of his chambers.

Eliani rolled her shoulders, trying vainly to ease their stiffness. She glanced up past the tops of tall pines to the blue mountain peaks beyond which the sun had sunk some time since.

Clouds were beginning to gather, and a sharp breeze from the south whispered of winter. Eliani shivered and drew her cloak across her, throwing one corner over the opposite shoulder. Glancing down at the pale green, she reminded herself, still with faint surprise, that she was now a Greenglen.

Walk many paths, the creed tells us. I am on a new path now.

She glanced at Luruthin and the other Stonereaches of her escort, glad of their familiar company. They were her friends and her kin, unlike the Greenglens, who seemed strangers still.

Eliani peered forward along the road, which was dappled now by the shadows of tall pines uphill. Dusky pools of shadow spread beneath the trees, and a stillness lay upon the wood.

Too still. Too quiet, even for dusk. Something was wrong.

The horses sidled, and one uttered a low nicker. Eliani put a hand to the neck of her mount, patting to
reassure it. It raised its nose to the wind, tossing its mane. Unease spread swiftly to the other horses in the escort, and Eliani held up her hand to halt them.

Vanorin turned to her. “Wait here. I will go forward.”

Eliani suppressed irritation and nodded. She murmured words of comfort to her mount as she watched Vanorin advance, a pale shadow in the darkness, soon hidden by the trees that marched close to the road. She quested through the woods with khi, her awareness brushing against the somnolent pillars of trees, a scurrying mouse, a pair of raccoons startled from feeding. They fled, and a moment later Vanorin’s horse let out a high neigh of protest.

Galloping hoofbeats returned. Vanorin reined in, high color in his cheeks, eyes sharp with horror.

“A killing, just off the road. Southfæld Guard. I fear it is the envoy Governor Jharan sent to Fireshore.”

Eliani’s chest tightened. “How recent?”

“Not very. There is not much—left …” He paused to swallow, seemed unable to say more.

Eliani urged her mount to a trot, the others following. The smell of death assailed her, and her horse flung up its head, rolling its eyes in terror. She tugged at the reins, and the horse moved sideways, hindquarters colliding with Luruthin’s mount, which screamed in anger and fear.

“Halt here!”

She dismounted and strode up the road, accompanied by Luruthin and Vanorin. She pulled a kerchief from inside her leathers and pressed it against her face. Vanorin led them a short way, then struck uphill to the west.

Despite the cold and the scraps of snow that glowed blue beneath the trees, the smell of decay was overpowering. They reached what had plainly been a
campsite, with a fire circle over which the remains of two small animals hung on a spit, charred beyond recognition or the notice of carrion eaters.

The guardians had not fared so well. Only by counting the pale green cloaks and the swords that were scattered around them could Eliani tell that there had been five. The cloaks were rent and torn, covered with decaying remains that were gnawed to the bone in many places, and many of the bones were missing.

Long gouges in the earth led to a stand of bushes nearby, beneath which lay a sixth body, all its limbs torn asunder, lying in scattered disarray. Eliani’s gorge rose at the sight of the slashed leathers, which looked as if they, too, had been partially eaten.

Luruthin joined her, grimacing. “Catamount.”

Eliani nodded. “But why would it attack such a large party? I have never heard of such a thing!”

Vanorin approached. “There is one more, near where their horses were tied.”

His voice was tight, and Eliani glanced at his face. He looked pale but seemed in control of himself, brows drawn together in a frown of grief.

“Do you know any of them? I mean, can you …?”

“I have not looked closely. I will do so.”

He gazed down at the mangled remains in the bushes, stepped nearer to the head, and knelt to touch a pale tangle of hair. The skull beneath now stared hollow-eyed at the pines above, shreds of flesh clinging to the bone. The hair had once been braided but was pulled into a snarled mess, as though some creature had tried to nest in it. Vanorin touched the leather thong that had secured the braid. A small green feather was tied into the knot.

“Mishali, I think. She was with the second envoy to Fireshore.”

Eliani bit her lip. “I am sorry.”

Vanorin rose, blinking fiercely. “I will go and look at the others.”

He turned away and walked back to the fire circle. Eliani watched him go, breathing shallowly, her eyes stinging. She felt a touch on her arm and turned to look at Luruthin.

“We should burn them.”

She pressed her lips together and nodded. It would take most of the night to tend to them properly, but the horses must be rested in any case, and she could do no less than to honor the dead.

“A conce. We must set one by the road. Luruthin, will you see to it?”

“Yes. We cannot carve it, though.”

“That can be done later, but we must mark the place. I will send a message to Highstone.”

She shivered. Luruthin laid a hand on her arm.

“Are you all right?”

She met his gaze, saw that he was pale. Suddenly the horror of the killing overwhelmed her.

She turned away, stumbling to a bush as her stomach heaved up its contents. Luruthin might at least have held her, she thought peevishly, but then she heard the sound of his own retching nearby.

Trembling, she straightened and wiped her mouth with her kerchief, wishing for the water flask tied to her saddle. She had seen death before, even violent death, but nothing like this.

Vanorin had knelt beside one of the corpses. Still weak, Eliani joined him. He held up a leather pouch.