King of Sword and Sky (35 page)

When he stepped back, a loud screech and a scratch on his ankle made him curse. "Jaffing hells!" he yelped, and turned with a scowl to discover that he had stepped on the tail of a nursing mother cat, who was curled up in a nest of cloth with a litter of kittens. A memory floated to the surface of Den's mind: the cat was the cook's mouser, Florrie.

Den's eyes narrowed when Florrie hissed and took another swipe at his ankle. The kittens, as if sensing their mother's distress, began mewing. Loudly. Den bent down, intending to grab the nest box and toss the cat and her kittens out the back of the wagon, when memories of his own flashed: his sister cooing like a daft looby over every fuzzy, big-eyed kitten she ever came across. He hesitated, struck by an idea.

If Ellie Baristani's sisters were anything like his own, what better lure to bring them close than a litter of kittens?

"But you," he warned, jabbing a finger at Florrie. "Scratch me again, and I'll put you in a sack and drop you in the nearest river."

Den crawled out of the wagon and circled 'round to climb up to the driver's box, waving at the members of Darramon's party who called greetings to him. Not one of them seemed to realize he was not the cook, and twenty chimes later, reins in hand, Den was driving along the cobbled roads, following Lord Darramon's caravan as it headed west out of Celieria City.

The Fading Lands
~
Dharsa

The next weeks passed in a blur. Gaelen and the other
chatok
spent the first five days evaluating the skills of every warrior, pressing them beyond the challenges of
Ro Faer
and
Ro Chakai.
The tests continued day and night, as each warrior demonstrated his sword mastery, his power and skill in each branch of magic, even his knowledge of military strategy and tactics. The strongest Fey in each field of expertise became the
chadins
Gaelen taught personally. Gaelen's tests were often brutal. Some of the physical combat maneuvers and swordplay resulted in broken bones and bloody wounds, particularly in the first few days of training on a new move. The warriors checked their red Fey'cha in the Academy's weapons room before assembling in the training ground each day, but apart from that they fought with bare blades, and plenty of them.

"Do you think the Eld fight with sticks?" Gaelen snapped when anyone complained. "Be grateful there are no
sel'dor
arrows in the Fading Lands. I'd shoot you full of them, then demand you fight with the barbs in your flesh, just so you wouldn't be caught unprepared in a real fight."

When their efforts did not meet his exacting standards, he would grab the offending warriors by their tunics, thrust his face right into theirs, and snarl, "Why do you think there's no banishment for blood spilled on Academy grounds? Fight like you mean it, Fey. Fight like your life depends on it, because when you face the Eld in battle, I assure you, it will."

More than one Fey gave back as good as—and occasionally better than—they got, and Gaelen spent as much time on his back, bruised and bloody, as he did on his feet ordering the Fey to prove their mettle. He took the battering without complaint, allowing the
shei'dalins
to heal him only when his wounds were so grievous they impeded his ability to fight.

"It is no less than I expected, and much less than I deserve," he told Ellysetta quietly after the
shei'dalins
healed four broken ribs, a shattered collarbone, and a sword thrust that had gone completely through the muscles of his thigh. "I walked the Shadowed Path. I betrayed my honor and my oath as a warrior of the Fey. Let them punish me for my shame. As long as they keep learning so they can better protect you and Marissya, I can bear what price they would have me pay."

Gil, Tajik, Rijonn, and Bel assisted him in those first training lessons, and despite their initial misgivings, the Academy's
chatok
observed with an interest that soon developed into active participation. Before the end of the second week, the
chatok
had mastered Gaelen's invisibility weaves and several of his other techniques, and began assisting in training the others.

Much to the disgruntlement of the Massan, Eimar v'En Arran joined the warriors training at the Academy and turned himself over to Gaelen's tutelage.

"If another Mage War is indeed on our doorstep," the Air master said with calm pragmatism, "all Fey may be called to defend the Fading Lands. I am not too proud to learn what I can to ensure the safety of my mate…even if that means learning from a
chatok
who once walked the Shadowed Path."

Eimar's participation encouraged more of the Fey to join as well. Rain's meetings with the Massan became tense, curt skirmishes, and Gaelen's grueling training classes at the Academy filled to capacity. Soon, they even spilled over into the Academy's surrounding fields and buildings to accommodate the increasing number of
chadins
who came to learn the new skills their brothers had shown them. Even Tenn's cousin Tael showed up to learn Gaelen's magic Spirit weave.

As Rain and the warriors prepared for war, Marissya and Dax walked the hills of Dharsa to sow Amarynth and weave blessings of fertility on the Fey. Ellysetta concentrated on her magic studies and continued searching the Hall of Scrolls for information that might help her save the tairen kitlings. Most nights she and Rain would fly back to Fey'Bahren, so she could sing love and healing on the kits and begin to learn the ways of the pride.

Despite her rocky start with the Massan, Ellysetta began to make friends among the men and women of the Fey. Hardly a day went by without half a dozen couples coming to her for a fertility weave, and at least a score of beaming Fey maidens and former
rasa
had asked her to bless their
e'tanitsa
union. Though war was on the horizon, hope was blooming in Dharsa as quickly and abundantly as the tracts of Amarynth dotting the hillsides.

Ellysetta began to make significant progress with her magic. Though she still couldn't summon the trust necessary to throw open her mind to Venarra, she did manage enough of a connection to let the
shei'dalin
correct imperfections in her weaves and guide her in the summoning and control of her magic. Ellysetta's resulting weaves were reliable enough that Venarra had begun to allow her to heal the wounded
chadin
under her supervision.

Trust was much easier when practicing warriors' weaves with Jaren v'En Harad, whose affection for Rain Ellysetta could sense every time he took her hands to lead her through her next lesson. In truth, she owed much of her increasing discipline and control to his kind but strict guidance. The most difficult thing he required of her was spinning the weaves exactly as he showed her—without the golden glow of her
shei'dalins
love coloring the threads— because he feared that allowing
shei'dalins
love in her weaves might leave her open to the same empathic death other
shei'dalins
suffered when they spun killing weaves. Determined not to disappoint Rain's mentor, Ellysetta struggled tirelessly to eliminate the golden tint from her warriors' weaves while still infusing it in her healing patterns.

After each morning's magic lessons, she returned to the Hall of Scrolls to continue combing through the texts, looking for any clues that would help her solve the mystery of what was killing the tairen. The texts from her initial search hadn't turned up anything useful, so she began searching for everything related to the tairen, past sicknesses or mysterious deaths among the prides, and even demon lore, hoping something would lead her in the right direction.

Ellysetta learned how to ask the Mirror to lead her to a particular book, and began exploring even the tightly packed lower levels. The tomblike silence of the hall began to make her restless, so she had the Mirror make copies of the texts and began packing a bag of documents each day and carrying them to the Academy. She read while she watched her
lu'
tans
and the other willing Fey master the skills Gaelen had to teach them.

At first some of the Fey worried that the violence of Gaelen's training methods would torment her empathic senses. But surprisingly, though the soul pain of the
rasa
had driven her nearly to madness with the ceaseless need to ease their suffering, the bruises, blood, and even broken bones of the warriors on the training field didn't cause the smallest twinge. Even the rare handful of times one of the Fey suffered a truly life-threatening injury, her alarm sprang more from concern for the warrior's life than empathic distress.

Until the day Rain suffered a serious wound.

One of the warriors sparring near Rain rushed in for an attack, stumbled, and sent his
seyani
plunging into Rain's unprotected back. The sight of a Fey blade protruding from Rain's chest, glistening scarlet with his blood, brought Ellysetta out of her chair, power crackling so furiously that her hair rose up in a fiery nimbus around her head. She was across the field, at his side, in an instant, not even aware of the warning growl rumbling from her throat or the blaze in her eyes that sent the warriors stumbling back in alarm.

Forgetting all the lessons of control and moderation Venarra and Jaren had taught her, Ellysetta healed Rain with an instinctive, searing blast of power. As was typical with her magical outbursts, she healed him so swiftly and so well that when he came up off the ground, his eyes were blazing bright as stars, and his own power was rising as quick and hot as his blood. He carted her off the field to the nearest room with a door—an armory, as it happened—and they proceeded to rattle every shield and scrap of armor off the shelves. When they returned, Rain was smiling, the
lu'tans
and even the other warriors were grinning, and Ellysetta's cheeks stayed red as apples the rest of the day.

After that, the
lu'tans
began boasting of her tairen fierceness and calling her Ellysetta-
makai
instead of Feyreisa.

A few of the other Fey women, drawn by the admiring stories of Ellysetta-
makai'
s courage and strength, began to pay afternoon visits to the training grounds too, but none of them could stay more than a few bells before the constant thud of flesh on flesh and the occasional sprays of scarlet blood sent them fleeing for more peaceful venues.

"I don't know how you can stand it," Tealah told Ellysetta after her fifth valiant attempt to sit with Ellysetta at the training grounds. Venarra's assistant had turned out to be a friendly woman, curious, bright, and much more willing than the hall's keeper to accept Ellysetta as a sister instead of a potentially dangerous interloper in need of constant watching. "If I don't keep my barriers at full strength, I feel each blow as if it were striking my own flesh. Don't you?"

Ellysetta shook her head. "I feel the serious injuries—the worst of them I sense like a stabbing pain in my chest or my belly—but the rest"—she shrugged—
"nei.
I'm aware of the pain, but I don't…
feel
it. Does that make sense?"

"Aiyah,
of course. That's what my barriers do for me, though mine are clearly nowhere near as strong as yours, and apparently you don't need to constantly reinforce them like the rest of us do." Tealah uncorked the flask of
faerilas
she'd brought with her and took a sip. After her third visit to the Academy, she'd begun bringing a bottle of water from the Source, using it to restore the magical energies she expended maintaining her shields so she could stay more than a bell or two at a time.

Ellysetta crossed her arms over her knees. "If being here on the training ground is so difficult for Fey women, how do you manage to serve in the healing tents during war?"

"Only the
shei'dalins
serve in war—well, except the Mage Wars. But those were such desperate days. Any Fey beyond the first blush of childhood served in some capacity."

"But I thought all Fey women were
shei'dalins."

Tealah laughed. "No doubt that's because the only Fey woman Celierians have known in a thousand years is Marissya.
Nei,
many of us—most of us, these days, in fact— aren't
shei'dalins.
Or at least not
shei'dalin
enough to matter. We're all empaths, of course, and all healers—some stronger than others—but only the strongest of us can Truthspeak. That's what
shei'dalin
means: speaker of truth. With that gift comes the ability to withstand considerably more pain than other empaths can bear."

"But you're a
shei'dalin?"
She'd seen Tealah a number of times in the Hall of Truth and Healing.

Tealah nodded. "A minor one, though. Not nearly as strong as Venarra or Marissya."

"That explains why you can stay here, near the training ground, longer than the others who came."

"That," she agreed, then shook her
faerilas
flask, "and this. Nalia, Venarra, and Marissya could stay much longer than I—and without rejuvenation—but I doubt any of them could come and sit all day, day after day, as you do." She cocked her head to one side, her teal blue eyes considering. "There's even a sense of energy about you when you're here that you don't have when you're in the Hall of Scrolls or even in the Hall of Truth and Healing."

"Is there?"

"Mmm. You shine brighter here, and not because your shields are stronger. It's almost as if some part of you thrives on the violence."

Ellysetta drew back in horror. "You think I
enjoy
seeing them hurt one another?"

Tealah clapped a hand over her cheeks. "I'm sorry. That came out wrong. Of course, I don't mean you take pleasure in their pain. No
shei'dalin,
no matter how strong, would ever do so. I only meant…" Her voice trailed off. She shook her head and bit her lip. "Do not listen to my babblings. I am a fool. I don't know what I was thinking. Of course you shine brighter here. Your truemate is here. It must be his presence that affects you."