WayFarer (23 page)

Elcon touched Saethril’s quivering shoulder, and his hand came away damp with sweat. Arrows shot past. He signaled a rapid climb. As Saethril spiraled upward, air cooled Elcon’s face. The one-eyed garn already pursued. In the small space of time he’d gained, Elcon looked about. All had fallen save Eathnor and himself. Only one welke rider dogged Eathnor now. Elcon frowned. Eathnor’s movements slowed and his lance wavered.

With renewed strength, he lifted his sword and raised the Kindren battlecry as he launched Saethril toward the one-eyed welke rider. A startled look crossed his pursuer’s face, but smugness soon chased away surprise. The garn turned his welke to approach Elcon from an angle that favored his good eye. Elcon again waited until impact seemed certain before signaling Saethril. His wingabeast bumped upward, just out of reach, and the welke’s claws clicked together below.

He came up on the garn’s blind side, close enough to hear him grunt. Elcon acted with speed before the foul creature could turn. He thrust his sword into the vulnerable spot below the garn’s helmet. Blood spurted. The garn went limp and fell from its seat as Saethril lifted away.

The welke screeched and circled toward Elcon.

His chest heaved. His ears rang. The edges of his vision flamed red. He gathered his remaining reserves of strength to point Saethril’s head toward the welke at all times. The foul creature’s circling narrowed. If he tried to break free the welke would attack.

A horn sounded and a battlecry Elcon knew thrummed through the air. As the two belated wingabeast riders approached, the welke abandoned Elcon and soared away. Eathnor’s attacker flapped past, ignoring him. Countless dark bodies streamed back through the barbican and broke formation as Freaer’s armies fled into the eastern desert, pursued by the armies of Chaeradon.

One man, bruised and bloody, stumbled toward the hold. Elcon squinted. Could it be? And then he was certain.

Dorann.

He had cheated death after all.

Part Three: Sojourn

21

Conviction

“And so you steal my daughter from me again.”

Elcon took Euryon’s measure. The Elder king looked older and gaunter than Elcon remembered, dwarfed by the lofty presence chamber where he huddled upon his throne. “I beg you—” He waited to speak again until he could soften his voice. “Let me take her home to Torindan, where I can hope one day to join her in the tomb.”

Euryon’s eyes, pale blue like Aewen’s, shone with tears. “She embraced you in life. I will not withhold her in death. Take her.”

Elcon swallowed back his own tears. “And the babe?”

“I don’t have Aewen’s child. Kai keeps her somewhere with a nurse, he said, although he did not tell us where. Did he not mention this?”

“No. Two of the wingabeasts in Kai’s care landed outside Torindan’s barbican, saddled and bridled, with the reins tied to their saddle horns. Both Kai and his wingabeast vanished. We suspect Kai met with an accident. Trackers now search for him.”

Euryon’s expression grew meditative. “If Kai did not come back to you, how did you find Aewen?”

“After the riderless wingabeasts returned, our guardians made inquiries. The owners of the inn on the White Feather River knew of Aewen’s death, and of our child.” He kept his words curt to curtail their pain. He did not want to dwell on what Aewen had suffered. He clenched his jaw, clamping down upon such thoughts. He could not allow painful memories to birth despair and bleed his strength.

Euryon’s face took on a look of penance. “I should have given you the aid you asked against Freaer. If I had, Aewen might yet live.”

The words settled between them like stone weights. Elcon shook his head. “I should not have forced her to travel so near childbirth. In my zeal to preserve her life I ended it.” His voice broke. “The fault ever remains mine.”

Twin tracks of moisture ran down seams in Euryon’s cheeks. “We must each bear our own burden.”

****

A wheel dropped into a pothole, and as the wagon tilted, the coffin edged sideways. The Anusians pulling it tossed their manes and whinnied. Elcon pushed to his feet and readied himself to jump, but the wagon shuddered and righted itself again. He settled onto the rough wooden seat, and expelled a relieved breath as he gathered the reins again. The wagon trundled onward.

Eathnor rode forward. “Will you not allow me to drive?”

Elcon gritted his jaw. Eathnor would no doubt manage the cart better but he wanted—needed—to bring his own wife home. He shook his head but spared Eathnor an attempt at a smile.

“I must go to my child.”

Light eyes pierced his. Eathnor seemed about to speak but instead dipped his head, nodded, and fell back to join Weilton as part of his rear guard. They must all think him mad. He’d not heeded Craelin’s warning against travel at such a time of unrest. He gripped the reins and scanned the rutted road. He had promised Aewen he would come for her. He’d kept his promise.

Aerlic rode Argalent, his silver wingabeast, as part of the advance contingent. Dorann traveled beside Aerlic on one of the golds. Since Sharten’s death, the tracker had formed a bond with Destrill, the wingabeast whose name described the sound of thunder. Dorann’s rough hide jerkin contrasted with the green and gold of Aerlic’s surcoat. Although willing enough to serve his Lof Shraen, the tracker refused the colors of the guardians. The two searched the green shadows of the kaba forest and tilted their heads to scan the thick branches knitting together overhead. They watched for beasts and for bandits. Elcon could not prevent himself from doing the same. Every flicker of movement caught his eye. This great forest of shaggy-barked trees seemed to go on forever, but when light broke across the road in the distance, he sighed in relief.

They emerged from the forest into rolling hill country covered in brush and dotted with homefarms. The wagon groaned and shook and bumped along. As the Anusians mounted the next hillock, muscles bunched, hooves clomped, and manes flew. Elcon struggled to remain seated. The wagon pitched and sometimes halted without warning as one wheel or another sank into soggy low places gouged by rainwater.

By the time they pulled off the road along the banks of the White Feather River, purple stained the horizon. The water tumbled over stones here before spreading wide and shallow to comb through glistening rocks. Elcon braked the wagon and stretched to ease aching muscles. Weilton brought him water, and he ate waybread and cheese. He made for himself a bed of furs beneath the wagon so that he might sleep near Aewen this final time. A willet hooted somewhere in the weilos as the camp faded to a palette of gray across which moved the darker shadow of Eathnor, first to take watch duty. And then the light leached away altogether and he saw shadows no more.

He opened his eyes in the night to watch the stars wink on as clouds sailed before the wind. Aewen came to him then, although at first he thought her whisper that of the wind. Her touch brushed his face and hair. Her mouth caressed his in the briefest of kisses. She smiled, her face and hair aglow, but a tear glistened on her cheek. He brushed it away. “Peace, now…”

She caught his hand and kissed it. “I’ll always love you, Elcon.”

He smiled even as tears wet his own cheeks. “I love you, Aewen.”

She squeezed his hand. “Promise me you will find our child.”

He reached to cradle her cheek but met only air. “Be still, my flower. How can I not seek my own flesh?”

He sat up, for he could see Aewen no longer, although her weeping rode the wind. Then, even that was gone. He peered into the blackness and struggled to free himself from the furs, which twisted about to constrain him. “Aewen, wait! Come back!”

“Are you well?” Weilton asked out of the moonlit darkness.

“Aewen.” He gulped in air. “I—I must have dreamed of her.” He wept then, tears of sorrow. Aewen would come to him no more.

“Try and rest, Lof Shraen.” Weilton’s whisper reached him.

“Wait!” Elcon rolled from beneath the wagon and stood.

Weilton turned back to him. “What troubles you?”

“She spoke—she spoke of our babe.”

“The innkeeper at the White Feather will know the child’s whereabouts. We should arrive there after midday on the morrow.”

Elcon drew a ragged breath. “If only I’d taken time to stop there on our way to Cobbleford. I might have found my child the sooner.”

“Only a little time remains before dawn. Try and spend it in peace, Lof Shraen. We’ll set out at once by daylight.”

After Weilton left him, Elcon settled into his furs, but sleep eluded him. He lay still as the river rushed on. He had not lain down in peace for far too long.

****

A distant rooster crowed, and Elcon jerked awake. Mist sparkled in a dance above the river and dazzled his eyes. He blinked to ease their aching and crawled from beneath the wagon to stand on stiff legs. His companions already moved about, his own weariness reflected in their faces. This sorrowful journey had taken its toll on them all. A night at the inn would come as welcome.

They spared scant time to gnaw hard cheese with dry bread before setting out. The passage of night had improved the road not at all. They did not pause for a midday meal but pressed onward as they neared the inn. The road eased onto a flat to run through rich farmland, winding near the river’s edge. The White Feather ran deeper here and at times undercut its banks. At one such place the road had washed out. Despite this difficulty, they arrived at the Whitefeather Inn not far past midday and gave over the wagon with its contents, the Anusians, and wingabeasts to the bright-eyed young stable hand who greeted them. Elcon gave the apple-cheeked youth a nod. “Our beasts will find safety and comfort in your hands. What is your name?”

The youth gave a quick smile and ducked his head. “I’m Hael and pleased to tend your creatures, good Kindren. I’ve cared for wingabeasts
before.”

Elcon frowned. “What do you mean? How came you to tend wingabeasts before this?”

“Kai, one of your guardians stopped here often when he traveled to his homeland of Whellein.” His brows drew together in a frown. “I hear Kai has disappeared.”

“He has, but we’ve found no body.”

“I hope he lives.”

The inn was smaller than Elcon had expected but warm and clean. A black-haired Elder with eyes of brown greeted them when they entered the common room. “I am Quinn of Norwood, the keeper of this Inn. Do you seek a meal only or plan to stay?”

Quinn spoke to Elcon, but Weilton answered. “You address Elcon, Lof Shraen of Faeraven.”

Quinn’s eyes widened. “Lof Shraen! You honor my inn with your presence.”

Elcon inclined his head to acknowledge Quinn’s bow.

Weilton spoke again. “We’ll tarry the night should you have space for us.”

Quinn lifted an eyebrow. “We’ll manage, if you can sleep double.”

“You can’t expect the Lof Shraen—”

Elcon cut across Weilton’s protest. “After sleeping on the hard ground we’ll count it joy.”

Quinn led them up a flight of scarred but scoured wooden stairs. He paused along the short corridor to throw doors open in invitation. Their company dwindled until only Elcon and Weilton remained with Quinn. At the end of the corridor he led them into a small but comfortable room. “You’ll rest well here, I think. It’s not large but there’s a bed for your servant in an adjoining room. I’ll send water for washing.” With a final bow he withdrew.

Elcon sought his voice. “Wait.”

Quinn turned back with a raised brow.

“I have questions to ask of you. My wife, Aewen, died here.”

Quinn’s expression grew sad. “She did.”

“What became of our babe?”

Quinn’s glance shifted away and then back to Elcon. “I thought you knew. The nurse left to take the child to her sister’s homefarm in the north but along the way she wandered into a bog and, well…”

The small chamber closed in on Elcon. “What’s this you say?”

“She set off soon’s he left for Torindan. Bog cutters brought her back.”

“What do you mean?” Elcon passed a hand before his eyes, afraid he already knew the answer.

Quinn blew out his cheeks. “I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but both the nurse and child drowned. Their bodies were torn apart by wild animals, but what remained of them we buried.”

Promise me you will find our child.

“I would visit her grave.”

“Only rest a bit and I will show it to you, Lof Shraen.”

“Take me now.”

“As you wish. Come with me.”

Weilton followed Elcon behind Quinn back down the creaking stairway.

Quinn led them out of the inn. At the edges of the stableyard a path cut into the kabas. As it skirted the banks of the river, a freshet lifted Elcon’s cloak and rushed through the leaves overhead. The path soon bent away from the river and faded to a thin track that ended at a gate. Shadows weaved across the graveyard embraced by a wrought iron enclosure.

The hinges gave a rusty screech as the gate gaped enough to let them pass. Quinn went at once to a newly-turned grave and gestured to the single flat headstone barren of engraving that marked them both. “We didn’t know what we should write. It seemed best to leave it blank.”

Elcon hung back near the gate with Weilton silent beside him. He swallowed around a lump in his throat. “I’ll take my child home and lay her to rest with her mother.”

Quinn’s eyes glinted with an odd light, and he seemed about to say something but only twisted his hands and stepped away from the graves.

Elcon knelt beside the small plot where the daughter he would never know lay. Poor child. She hadn’t deserved this, nor had Aewen’s faithful servant. He bowed his head as tears bathed his cheeks. This was his fault, too.

****

Elcon joined his contingent in the stableyard and climbed into the wagon now bearing two coffins. The stableboy he’d met yesterday stood back and folded his hat in his hands. The advance guard set out, and Elcon slapped the reins against the Anusian’s sturdy necks. The wagon lurched and swayed as the inn fell behind. The road to the passes of Maegrad Ceid climbed and narrowed until it became nothing more than a steep footpath little suited for the wagon bumping over it.