The Guardian (33 page)

“You compare me with him,” Shara answered.

“With reason!” Ellyn could not help squealing.

“He was a pleasant child,” Shara said. “Kindly, even; but when he gained his power … he changed. Power corrupts.”

“It did not corrupt my father! And my mother had talent and was not corrupt.”

“No.” Shara agreed. “But what has power done to Nestor? To Talan? To Eryk? Perhaps you’re like them.”

“I’m not!”
Ellyn wiped her wine-stained mouth. “The gods know, I’m not.”

“The gods hide their purposes from us,” Shara said, “and until you prove yourself worthy, I’ll not swear fealty.”

“And do I prove myself worthy?”

“Then I’ll give you my oath.”

Ellyn swallowed. She had thought herself cunning and found her ploy turned around. She felt a terrible embarrassment. How must this look to Gailard? As if she were a willful child, arguing with someone wittier and more sophisticated? She felt her cheeks grow warm, and wished she’d never begun this conversation. With all the dignity she could muster, she set down her napkin and pushed back her chair.

“I am tired. I’ll find my bed, do you agree.”

Shara nodded, her face calm. “Follow the lit corridors. Or shall I escort you?”

“No! I can find my own way.” Ellyn shook her head. Then, an afterthought, small retrieval of lost dignity: “Thank you.”

Shara said, “We’ll begin your teaching in the morning,” but Ellyn did not hear her, for she was making her way from the hall, fighting against the desire to cry.

She found the door—which opened before her seemingly of its own accord—and followed the corridor to the stairs, on to the passageway that led to her chamber. All were lit, as Shara had promised, and it seemed that shadows danced around her, beckoning her onward. Almost, she could discern them, like figures half-seen in a dream. They did not frighten her, but she wondered what they’d do if she sought to leave. The thought crossed her mind: take off this gown that had not impressed Gailard so much as she’d hoped and put on her traveling gear, find her horse, and ride away. Then she thought, to where? Back down that precipitous trail that had frightened her more than she was prepared to admit? Back to the Barrens? She knew she could not cross that wasteland alone, and even did she survive, what then? She had no idea where the Dur had gone, and they were her only other allies. No: she was caught here.

She found her chamber and flung herself on the great bed, letting the tears come now, pounding fists against the pillow, knowing herself caught, unable to leave this strange hold save Gailard came with her. And knowing he would not lest Shara agreed.

It was not fair, she thought. It was not fair at all.

“W
illful?” Gailard smiled ruefully. “I’d put it stronger than that.”

Shara smiled back, and shrugged. “She’s a frightened child on the edge of womanhood. She’s lost her parents, and all the comforts of Chorym. She’s lost in a land she cannot understand with only you and me to ward her—how else should she feel?”

“Thankful?” he asked. “Grateful that you risk your life to aid her?”

It was a question put so simply, so absent of guile, that Shara could not help laughing—which set Gailard to frowning.

“Have you not done that daily?”

Now he shrugged. “I accepted Andur’s geas; made Ryadne a promise. What else could I do other than my duty?”

She studied him, thinking that such honesty—such innocence—was rare. “You might have taken her back to Chorym,” she said, testing. “Or left her with Eryk and Rytha. Talan would pay you well for her.” She saw his face darken, and she knew that she had offended his sense of honor. “Another man might have done that.”

“I am myself.”

He scowled as he drained his glass, and Shara watched the candles’ light plane his face in patterns of light and shadow. He was a handsome man, and undoubtedly brave. But best of all, he was honorable: whatever guile existed in him was employed in military strategies, the tactics of battle. Face-to-face, he was likely the most honest man she’d known. She felt emotions stir, such as she’d not experienced in more years than she cared to recall. She wondered if those, as much the aetheric plea she’d heard from Ellyn, had brought her to the rescue. She had chosen to live alone, and now she was once more involved in the affairs of men. Another promise reneged? Had, somehow, Gailard’s soul called out to her as much as Ellyn’s innate talent?

“Forgive me.” She lowered her head in apology. “I intended no insult.”

He refused to face her for a while, then grinned. “None taken.”

The gods knew but he had a pleasant smile. She could understand why Ellyn found him attractive—and the girl did, that was increasingly obvious. Ellyn, she suspected, had sooner been alone with Gailard than share him. But the world turned as it turned, and the three of them were thrown together, and Shara sensed in her bones that Ellyn must learn to use her talent properly and be returned to Chorym’s throne. Else Talan would own both Chaldor and Danant, and Nestor would whisper in his ear and further the Vachyn aims
of dominance. So Ellyn
must
learn. And were she to come into her full power, then Shara must be her friend. The sorceress stifled a sigh; she could not deny she felt a powerful attraction to Gailard, and it would likely be pleasant if she took him to her bed. But … no, she told herself. I
cannot chance making an enemy of Ellyn. Are we to defeat Nestor, then Ellyn must trust me.
So … she sighed and made her mouth smile.

“Thank you.”

He stared at her, and she saw his feelings writ clear. She knew that if she granted it, he’d follow her to her chamber, and …
No!
She threw the thought away.

She said, “Are you done, perhaps we should retire. We’ve much to teach Ellyn, and we’d best start early.”

“You’ll teach her magic?” he asked.

“I’ll teach her how to use what she already owns,” she said. “And, the gods willing, how to use it wisely.”

And saw him frown again. “But you told me that Nestor can sense your magic. Do you teach Ellyn, then surely Nestor shall sense it and know where we are. Then he’ll find us …”

He was quick, this Highlander. She smiled and said, “Not here, not in this valley in the Styge, for there’s something about this place that hides it and conceals it from notice. How else do you think I’ve survived so long without the Vachyn finding me? I can use magic here without Nestor sensing it. This valley is safe, Gailard. Now do we find our beds?”

She watched as his smile transformed from anticipation to acceptance. He rose and bowed, as to some great lady. “My thanks for your hospitality. I shall see you on the morrow, then.”

She nodded, watching him leave the dining hall—tempted to follow him. But she sat where she was and waited for the shadows to come from the angles of the hall and clear away the dinner things. She wondered if they laughed at her, or chided her for her reluctance.

“I cannot,” she told them. “I must not. Yet, at least.” Amusement echoed against the vaulted ceiling, whispers of laughter and sympathy. Shara rose and turned away, thinking that all the simplicity was gone from her life—and with it all her safety.

She climbed the stairs and made her way along the corridor toward her chamber. She hesitated a moment outside Gailard’s door, and heard the whisperings of her invisible servants—some urging her to enter, others prompting caution. She shook her head and went on. But it was hard.

E
llyn’s tuition began the next day. I woke with unseasonal light on my face, birds singing outside my window, and the air warmer than it had any right to be at this time of year. Curious, I rose and went onto the balcony, from which I saw the canyon bathed in sunlight—even though the sun was not yet risen over the surrounding cliffs. It was as if the glow emanated from some source inside the hold that I could not see or recognize, but must accept as a characteristic of this odd place. I returned inside feeling simultaneously invigorated by what appeared to be a late-summer morning and troubled by this display of magic. There was so much here I did not understand, and whilst I trusted Shara’s intentions I could not help feeling somewhat uneasy. I was further disturbed to find a bath prepared land tea steaming on the table by my bed—both poured, I assumed, by the shadows that inhabited this strange place. But I was committed now, so I drank the tea and bathed, then dressed and went down to the hall, where I found Shara ensconced at the table, consuming such a breakfast as I’d not seen since quitting Chorym.

We had agreed the previous night, after Ellyn left us alone, that the child-woman’s, military training should precede Shara’s teachings.

“She needs to learn discipline” Shara had said. “She’s headstrong, and do I teach her to use her talent before she’s the discipline to use it wisely, she’ll likely use it only as a weapon. Like”—she smiled—“a Vachyn.”

So we had agreed that I should take Ellyn to practice swordplay for a while, and—hopefully—work off at least some of her frustrated energy.

Which she liked not at all, though I suspect she had anticipated our decision, for she came to breakfast wearing her traveling gear and a grim expression.

She seated herself and ate in silence as we explained. Then looked at Shara and asked, “When shall you begin our lessons?”

“When you are ready,” Shara replied. “But meanwhile …”

She turned to me and I said, “I’m ready now.”

Ellyn scowled and followed us to an armory, where I found her a tunic and leggings and light helmet that fit well enough for practice that she’d not get hurt did I pull my blows, and then a buckler and a light, blunt practice sword. I found myself a heavier blade, of wood sheathed in some metal I did not recognize, and Shara took us through more winding corridors to a cobbled yard filled with fleeting shadows and straw-stuffed dummies.

“I’ll leave you now,” she said.

“You’ll not join us in this practice?” Ellyn asked, her voice scornful.

“Perhaps later,” Shara returned her, “when you’ve learned a little.”

And she was gone.

I heard Ellyn mutter, “I’ll give you a sound drubbing,” and smiled.

“What are you grinning at, hire-sword?”

“Your pride,” I said. “I suspect you might find her a more difficult opponent than you think.”

“Save she uses magic, no,” Ellyn snapped, and raised her buckler. “Now do we begin our lesson?”

I shrugged and raised my own shield to the defense position. “Come at me.”

She did—with such a will as expressed her frustration. She swung her weapon in great angry arcs that set the blade to rattling off my buckler and she to panting with the effort of her blows. She was agile, and—I assumed—had taken some lessons in Chorym, but her anger denied what skill she had, prompting her to furious attacks that wasted her energy. I let her go on awhile, then riposted my own blade to send hers tumbling from her hand.

She cursed volubly at that, and went darting after the fallen sword. I poked her in the buttocks, laughing. Then felt the laughter freeze as she swung to face me, her eyes narrowed and furious, her cheeks red with embarrassment and ire.

“It’s easy for you! This is all you know, isn’t it—to swing a blade and kill folk? How dare you laugh at me!”

I stifled my smile, and bowed an apology as she rubbed at her buttocks. I waited until she had retrieved her blade and went again on guard. “Forgive me,” I said, “I shouldn’t have laughed at you, but …”

“What?” She faced me over her shield.

“You assume so much,” I said. “That Shara’s your enemy … That you can defeat a common hire-sword …”

“You’re not,” she said quickly.

Now it was my turn to ask, “What?”

“A
common
hire-sword,” she answered, and had the grace to smile and blush. Then grinned. “So teach me to be an
uncommon
hire-sword.”

“First,” I said, “you must hold your buckler higher. Use it to protect your body and your face. Use it to deflect my blade—push my sword aside, so that you’ve room to use your own. And keep your temper! Don’t waste your strength in wild swings that I can block. You’ve a cutting edge and a point—use them wisely. Look …”

I brought her to the nearest dummy, which carried a shield on one wooden arm and a blade on the other, its head
connected by a chain to the gallowslike upright, so that it would swing with each delivered blow, and showed her the way of it.

She set to with a will, and I watched her for a span, wondering what Sham did the meanwhile in this strange castle. And all the while, from the corners of my eyes, I could see shadows watching us.

We continued at this until the sun stood overhead and sweat ran down Ellyn’s face. I thought she might quit, but she did not until I called for her to stop. She was panting now, her shirt dark with perspiration. I found a water bucket I’d not seen before (and that likely had not been there before) and dipped her out a cup. She drank eagerly and stared at me as we found a bench.

“Is battle like this?”

I chuckled—I could not help it—and gestured at the dummy she’d been hacking. “Usually your enemy responds faster.”

“Was it like this in Danant? At the Darach Pass?”

“No.” I shook my head, laughter suddenly forgotten. “There were arrows flying there, and javelins. Talan sent his chariots against us; and there was Vachyn magic in the sky and men’s minds.” I filled myself a cup, remembering, thinking of how it had been—how it always was. “Battle is chaos. It’s loud, with the drums and the horns blowing, the noise of men shouting, horses—and men—screaming, the sound of the chariots’ wheels, and that whistling sound the arrows make as they fall, the rattle of steel on steel. It’s …” I fell silent, shrugging, not enjoying the memories she’d invoked. “It’s noisy, and it smells.”

“Smells?” She frowned at me.

“Of blood,” I said, “and dung. Of sweat and piss. Of death. Men smell when they die.”

Her frown grew deeper and she shuddered. “But I shall have to fight battles, no? If I’m to defeat Talan?”

“Likely.” I nodded. “But you’ll be the commander, and commanders don’t have to join in combat.”