SoJourner Page 18

  “That is my misfortune.” Rand acknowledged the bitter truth.

  “Name your mother.”

  “Chaeldra of Merboth.”

  “Chaeldra!” Shock showed on Eathnor’s face. “We thought her dead.”

  “I’ve not seen her since her imprisonment, but as far as I know, she lives, at least after a manner of speaking. But how do you know of her?”

  “Are you certain you want my answer? It isn’t pretty.”

  “She has spoken many times of past regrets. Tell me or I will imagine far worse.”

  “I doubt you can. I’m glad she feels remorse. She should, for having poisoned Lof Raelein Maeven.”

  Rand sucked in a painful breath. “Are you certain?”

  “Yes.”

  “No wonder she refused to leave Pilaer. She had nowhere to go.” Sorrow ached through him. He would no longer call the Kindren who had tormented her by the name of father. “Even when Freaer rejected her, she remained with him.”

  Eathnor plucked a blade of grass from a bunch at his feet and nibbled the end. The rushing of water mingled with the thud of stones turning in the weild’s bed. Eathnor cast the blade away. “Did you grow up at Pilaer, then?”

  “I did.”

  Eathnor gave a low whistle, and the horses raised their heads to stare at him with liquid eyes. “I don’t envy you. I’ve experience of the wraiths of Pilaer. They run at you, but when you strike at them, multiply.”

  The wraiths of Pilaer had become the least of Rand’s worries. “In my early days, I learned that if I didn’t strike at them, they’d go away. They couldn’t hurt me unless I let them.”

  “You were wise as a child.”

  “I survived. But tell me something.” Rand settled again on the boulder. “Now that you know I’m the son of Chaeldra and Freaer, why should you trust me?”

  “That’s a question I’m asking myself, and no mistake.” Eathnor gazed into the frothing waters. “I can’t explain it, except to say that I sense nothing to fear from you.”

  The dying screams of the innocent creatures whose lives he had ended and Urwan’s final gargling gasp echoed in his memory. What did Eathnor know of him? For that matter, what did he? “I hope I may honor your faith in me.” The words sounded stilted, insincere.

  The tracker’s eyes narrowed. “I expect more than hope, just so you know.”

  

  Elcon tossed a pebble into the pool, rippling the pattern created by the falling water. That had been his life—flowing ever the wrong way, pushing against the current, seldom at rest. He’d ascended to the high throne of Faeraven far too young. What did an untried youth know of rulership?

  His father had done everything right. At a young age, he had led the Kindren to victory against the garns of Triboan in the Last Battle of Pilaer, pleased his people by choosing Maeven of Braeth as his Lof Raelein, and established the high hold at Torindan.

  Why had the father succeeded while the son failed? He tilted his face toward the pewter sky, as if to find an answer written there.

  Here in the quiet before dark fell he could admit the truth. When his mother had bequeathed Sword Rivenn to him, she had said he would make his own history. That had been true, but not in the way she’d meant. Would he forever be known as the Lof Shraen who had destroyed Faeraven?

  No. He would not let a lie consume him, not this time. Freaer sought to destroy Faeraven, not him.

  A whistling cry split the air. A white ghost hovered on gossamer wings above the garden. Its ungainly flight and long tail feathers marked the creature as a kaeroc. He caught his breath at its beauty, transfixed until the rare bird disappeared beyond the trees.

  If only Mara had seen it with him. How much they had missed together. Might they capture something of what had been denied them? And would Aewen’s memory release him now that he’d made good on his promise to find their child?

  He hadn’t, really. Mara had found him. He’d taken the innkeeper’s word that his child lay in the grave with her nurse. Whoever’s infant that had been, if an infant indeed lay buried there, it had not been his. He hadn’t needed to see the star sapphire band, one of Aewen’s cherished possessions, Mara had offered as proof of her claim. Her resemblance to her mother spoke the truth.

  “Lof Shraen.”

  Elcon started and fought to gather his scattered wits.

  Kai straightened from his bow with a smile. “Forgive me. I caught you much in thought. Should I go away again and leave you to them?”

  “Don’t do that.” Elcon waved a hand, inviting Kai to sit beside him. “Your company soothes me.”

  Kai’s mouth quirked into a faint smile.. “I don’t know why since I have so little peace myself. How odd that your mother said the same.”

  “Mother said much more of you, praising your faithful service, and I count myself fortunate to have you at my side again. I hope you will bend your knee to Lof Raelein Syl Marinda in my place.”

  Kai frowned. “Why speak of this now?”

  “My mind is made up. I will pass the Scepter of Faeraven and the Sword of Rivenn to Mara before Freaer’s forces reach Torindan.”

  “You plan to lead the guardians into battle.”

  Elcon tossed another stone into the pool. “If I survive, I will remain Lof Shraen of Faeraven. But if I die, Mara will have an irrefutable claim. In that event, you must take her to safety and help her ascend to the high throne of Faeraven. There is every reason to acknowledge her as my heir.”

  “Except Mara’s wishes.”

  “It is the burden of rulership to choose the good of your people over your own will. Mara is aware of that and will accept her duty.”

  “That is my understanding, too. However, I’m not certain she will do so readily.”

  “I will give her as much time as I can.”

  Elcon didn’t need to say what they both knew, that little time remained.

  25

  DEATH AND VICTORY

  Rand blew steadily until the tinder smoked and caught, then eased back in the soft grass to wait for his fire to take hold. The wind that ever followed the river breathed through the stand of keirkens behind him. With the afternoon sun on his shoulders, flitlings chirping in the trees, and the horses cropping soft grasses, he could almost believe he dwelt in a gentle world.

  At the top of the small hillock above the river bank, Eathnor, stripped to the waist and with his leather leggings tied above the knee, stomped toward him. The tracker carried a mess of fish strung on a line. “We’ll eat hearty this night and have plenty to dry, as well.”

  Rand drew his dagger and set about gutting the perckens. “I wish we didn’t have to risk sending up smoke.” Tonight, he’d burn the entrails and bones to hide any sign of their feast. Tomorrow he’d scatter the ashes and stones ringing their fire.

  Eathnor picked up a fallen branch. “We’ve traveled days with no sign of Draeg. Might he have turned back?”

  Rand considered the possibility, but ended by shaking his head. “I know him too well to delude myself he would.” He helped Eathnor tie the perckens along the branch.

  “We may well have outpaced him.”

  “Let us hope for that.”

  Their task completed, they set the pole with fish dangling on tripods made from lashed branches with whittled ends pushed into the soft ground.

  Hands on hips, Eathnor surveyed their handiwork. “Either way, we have little choice but to stop. Your rations were not meant to feed two, and we can’t continue to drive the horses without mercy.”

  “You’re right, of course, but I’ll not rest easy until we reach Torindan.” Rand did not miss the irony of his words.. The last place he’d expected to find rest was the stronghold of his father’s enemy.

  Eathnor crouched and poked the fire with a stick, making it crackle as sparks flew. He glanced up, his light eyes piercing. “I’ll speak for you when we do, but I can’t promise you’ll escape the dungeon.”

  “Thank you, and that’s a risk I’ll take.�
�� Rand sat on a boulder and broke off a wand of grass to twirl in his fingers. “What else can I do? By escaping with you, I’ve branded myself a traitor to my father’s cause. That’s a title I embrace but one that bans my return to Pilaer. Perhaps I can reveal enough of my father’s forces and weaponry to give Torindan an advantage. That is, if Elcon believes what I say. I can think of no reason he should.”

  “Perhaps you deliver yourself to your father’s enemy for another reason as well.” Eathnor leaned back on his hands and watched the fire as it flared and smoked with dripping fish oils. “I once loved as deeply.”

  “What happened?”

  He shrugged. “Her family welcomed my advances until I became a guardian of Rivenn. After that, they rejected me. They wanted a tracker who could put meat on the table, not a soldier who might leave her widowed with children to feed.”

  “How did she feel?”

  “She wept in my arms but allowed her father to decide the matter.” Eathnor stood and flung the stick away. “He gave her to another in marriage.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Eathnor perched on the boulder beside Rand. “If I had it to decide again, even knowing how it would turn out, I’d still choose to become a guardian. It sounds hard, but I can only walk the path before me, not that of another.”

  Rand narrowed his eyes, blurring the frond he twirled. “We have something more in common, it seems.”

  

  The cushioned chair by the fire in her father’s meeting room dwarfed Mara. She twisted her hands in her lap and looked away from her father. “You ask too much! How can you expect me to surrender my future to a people I barely know?” The frankness of her words made her face heat, but she wouldn’t call them back.

  “You must look beyond yourself to duty.” Her father drummed his fingers on the armrest of his chair, but then sat back against its cushions. “I want all of Faeraven to know my choice of heir. Accept the Scepter of Faeraven and the Sword of Rivenn to preserve the alliance of Faeraven and, should I fall in battle, none could contest your claim.”

  “Don’t wish such a fate upon yourself.” Mara frowned at the thought that she sounded as superstitious as Traelein.

  “A shraen must consider all possibilities. I may survive the attack and continue to rule, but perhaps I won’t.”

  “And what of the Kindren? They resisted a Lof Raelein of Elder blood. Why would they accept her half-blood daughter?”

  “Whatever else you may be, you are a descendant of Rivenn—and my only child and heir. None can replace you. The Kindren will come to recognize you as their only hope.”

  There it was again—the thing that trapped her. If she refused this responsibility, she would disappoint her father and risk the alliance of Faeraven. She wanted to bolt from her chair and from the chamber. Instead, she fixed her gaze on her father. “I need time to consider.”

  “You ask for the one thing I cannot give you, daughter. My spies report that Freaer’s forces gather at Maeg Streihcan, the Broken Mountain rising above the Plains of Rivenn. By accepting the sceptor and circlet, you can give the Kindren the heart to go on if both I and Torindan fall.”

  “And if I do not?”

  “Freaer will destroy the Kindren and corrupt all of Elderland. And don’t think you will escape. He would make a point of hunting you down. You’d be murdered, or worse.”

  “Worse?”

  “Sometimes death can be a release.”

  A chill ran over Mara. She folded her arms against it and attempted a laugh. “What a gloomy future you foresee.”

  His face saddened. “I won’t withhold the truth from you, Syl Marinda, although revealing it breaks my heart. You weren’t raised a lof raena, but the title belongs to you nonetheless. Denying your own will for the greater good is the burden and privilege of rulership. Don’t learn this lesson by a difficult route, like your father.”

  He spoke of his marriage to her mother and the sufferings it had brought. Pity closed her throat. Could she allow him to go into battle, possibly to die, without feeling Faeraven could rise again without him? Whether she accepted the scepter and circlet might not matter if Torindan fell, but what if it could?

  She’d have to set aside her plans to run away from Torindan, but they seemed selfish now. She’d already proven that yielding to emotion above duty brought sorrow. Here, then, was a chance to atone for her mistakes. As her father had pointed out, she couldn’t escape her own identity.

  Don’t let fear rule you. Kai’s words returned in memory.

  Pushing out of the chair, she sought the warmth of the hearth. One of the marble gryphons supporting the mantle gazed at her with blank eyes. She pulled air into her tightening lungs. “All right, Father. I’ll do what you ask, even though it pains me.”

  His chair scraped back, and his fingertips pressed her shoulders in a light caress. “In time you may count serving your people more a blessing than a curse.”

  She blinked away a mist of tears. “I will hope for that.”

  “Tomorrow afternoon, we’ll proceed.”

  She spun to face him. “So soon?”

  “I can think of no reason to wait.”

  What of the fact that she needed time to adjust? But he’d told her he had none to give. She bowed her head. “You are right, of course.”

  In the outer chamber, Traelein rose from a chair beside the door with a questioning look. Mara gave no indication of her emotions while in the corridor, but once inside her chambers gave a shuddering sigh.

  Traelein turned a worried face toward her. “What is it, milady? How may I comfort you?”

  Mara struggled to calm herself. “I’m to be named my father’s heir.”

  “I don’t understand. Why do you weep where another would rejoice?”

  “Because I am a fool.” Her voice sounded bitter to her own ears.

  “I have offended you.”

  “You haven’t. I’ve suffered a shock, that’s all.”

  Traelein’s brow puckered. “Perhaps you are taken ill and should lie down and rest. Shall I assist you?”

  “No!” She refused to faint into bed like some pampered princess. “You are more than kind, but I only want a little time alone.”

  “As you wish.” The door clicked shut behind Traelein.

  Relief washed through Mara on a quiet tide. Now she could grieve without the burden of reassuring her maid. She sank into a chair, ready to let her tears flow, only to discover they had deserted her. Clutching a cushion, she stared into space.

  In some ways her father and Mam were no different. Without any thought to what she wanted, each had made plans for her future. She choked on a laugh.

  At least she’d never have to marry Rohan.

  

  The shrilling of horses and thud of hooves thrust Rand from sleep. A face, blued by moonlight, hovered above him. Eathnor. He sat up but caution kept him silent.

  The tracker scanned the sky, the tension of his posture telling its own story.

  Rand shifted to his knees and reached for his dagger.

  The flapping of wings punctuated the stillness, a sound Rand recognized. Although the sky lightened toward dawn, it was too early for a welke to leave its roost. Only training and a rider on its back would cause one of the raptor birds to fly at such a time. Glimpsing a welke rider had made Rand shake with dread since his early days. Only Pilaer’s fiercest and most skilled warriors earned the privilege of riding the raptor birds.

  A winged nightmare hove into sight, inky against the gray sky above the blackened keirken trees lining the weild. The urge to flee gripped Rand in sharp talons, but he held himself in stillness. Even the smallest movement could awaken a welke’s vision. The rider did not suffer the same limitations of vision. Rand and Eathnor had sheltered against the canyon walls beneath a jutting shelf of rock and could hope to avoid detection.

  That the welke rider hunted for them seemed obvious. Draeg must have returned to Pilaer to report them missing. His father could not hav
e been pleased. He might even have vented his irritation on Draeg, not that he would do any real harm to the son of Amora. A sudden thought made his mouth go dry.

  He knew of one his father would willingly harm.

  He curled his hands into fists. It seemed he won every crust of freedom at a cost in innocent blood. Would his mother pay the price this time?

  The welke moved north along the weild and dwindled out of sight.

  Rand released a shaky breath and might have spoken, but Eathnor pulled him deeper into shadow.

  “Don’t relax, just yet.” Eathnor murmurred beside Rand’s ear. “There may be more to come.”

  “True. My father has never tolerated his will being thwarted.”

  “We’ll have to find a better place to hide, and the sooner the—“

  The riffling of flight feathers carried to them on the night wind.

  Rand went still as did Eathnor, beside him.

  A dark shape flew over the canyon wall. Rand pressed against the rock wall with his skin crawling. Why did the welke hover so near their hiding place? Eathnor had spoken quietly, but a welke’s sensitive hearing might have picked up the sound of his voice.

  Wings spread, the welke glided downward and became a shadow passing over the ground on its way toward the weild. Rand had almost found his breath again when the raptor bird swung back toward them. The welke soared at their height but so close to the canyon wall that the rider on its back would not see them below the overhanging rock. The creature neared, filling his vision. Rand’s heart pounded so loudly it seemed certain the welke must hear.

  The giant head jerked sideways. The raptor bird peered toward them with hooded eyes above a sharp beak. If it caught their scent, it would find them. Rand held his breath to bursting, but he couldn’t do anything to stop his shaking. His mind traveled beyond the constraints of reason into the borderland of terror.

  The welke glided past, the ragged feathers at the tips of its wings rippling. The raptor bird flapped into the sky and out of sight beyond the canyon wall.

  Rand released the air he’d held and pulled in another lungful.. His knees went weak, and his legs shook. His voice stuck in his throat.

  Eathnor touched his arm in urgent warning. With a sick feeling, he followed the direction of the tracker’s gaze. Another welke skimmed the canyon floor. Its shriek reverberated along the canyon walls as it sailed toward them with deadly purpose. Metal scraped, followed by the glint of moonlight along the rider’s sword.