Authors: Vera Nazarian
“
My gods, yes!” He stared, his expression so focused upon her that Ranhé thought he could read her mind.
“
I could not hear what she said to you, this
lady
, this queen. And neither could I hear your answers. But I could see your passion. Your words to her must have been more intimate than I was meant to hear. And all along, there was a sound, wonderful, like a great river, like bells within a stream. . . .”
“
Why didn’t you tell me any of this before, Ranhé?” His eyes were inches away, earnest, glistening with liquid moonlight.
Ranhé took a deep final breath before speaking. “Because, my lord, it was not my right to speak of this. Because you did not ask. My lord—this was one of the reasons why I agreed to work for you. It had changed my mind, this sharing of your intimacy with
her
.”
“
Oh, Ranhé,” said Elasand. “I wish I had known earlier! I wish—” And then he looked away, staring off into the night, and began to speak, strangely, quickly, like a man drowning. “This
woman
, Ranhé, I
love
her. She has been haunting me since last winter, when I first saw a glimpse of her and of the
violet
in a snow landscape through a frost-covered window. . . . Then, I would see her everywhere—in shadows, in a bowl of still water, in the fading sunset, in my dreams.
“
At first I merely attributed this to some kind of wishful fantasy, an unattainable ideal. She was so different from the women I had known, so perfectly of the spirit. And she was beyond mortal beauty—truly, that was not what had drawn me. What she was drowned my self. She was—is love incarnate. She knows me, perfectly. And thus, I recognize her for who she is—
Laelith
.
“
I had thought I was going insane for a while, because the frequency of those visions grew. Normally, I am a rational man, known to be aloof. For that reason, I could confide in no one. Only, because of the visions, I was growing more and more distracted in my everyday existence. When you came upon me that first time, and we fought the Bilhaar together, it had been thus. I had just barely awakened from a daydream of her when the attack came, and had been distracted enough to allow the danger threaten me and the lives of others. And yet, even then, I had not learned my lesson. The vision came back that night. That one physical dream in the White Roads Inn, was the first in which I felt myself truly transported
within
another place. I was with her, and I could speak with her. For the first time, I could speak! I could tell her what was about to explode within me, an urgency, a mad need. I spoke to her, and she answered me, perfect and divine. . . . She responded to my soul in a way that was more intimate than I thought possible! And yet, I knew that was not the way to be with her. Just as she was about to reveal to me something of utmost urgency, the greatest truth, the dream dissolved.”
Ranhé listened, while fever interspersed with ice moved in waves through her body. His gaze was averted, and probably he never noticed the turbulence within her.
“
And that is why,” Elasand continued, “I must find out what she was trying to tell me. I must go to her. For, what she has to tell me will change more than just my life. What she has to tell me is the only hope we have, all of us, this sorrowful damned City. . . .”
Ranhé swallowed, trying to fight a constriction that was inevitably building in her throat. “Then, we are going somewhere . . . far, my lord?” she managed to whisper, while the knot again tightened, pulling at her, so that moisture began to well in her eyes, and the image of the gray moon shimmered with a pale bright auric corona, and began to double.
In that instant, Elasand turned to look at her, and it was just in time to see that single expelled tear, that damned traitor globule that had escaped from her, despite the perfect composed stillness of her face—not a single twitch in her facial muscles.
He turned, and he saw. “Why—Ranhé, are you crying?” he said softly, with genuine surprise.
“
I am not . . . my lord . . . of course . . . I am. . . .”
She could not finish. If she were to say another word, the dam would burst. And that must never be. And so she was silent, and she breathed, gradually stilling
that
what was within her. She was ever proficient in killing that which tried to surface from within, having had years of practice.
But Elasand Vaeste—looking intently at the upturned moonlit face of this strange young woman, her dilated intense liquid eyes, the single tear crawling like a bit of the moon upon her cheek—
knew
at last. He recognized the longing, the divine madness in her (having carried the same within himself), and knew it was directed at him.
And for a moment he felt a pang of
something
for her also, and then, he felt so utterly sorry for this one, because she was feeling for him what he was feeling for
another
. He knew now why she was here, at his side, why she agreed to be with him, why she would never let anyone harm him.
He knew, that if she must, she would die for him.
And he knew that—no matter what she had told him about someday leaving him, about how she, unpredictable and changeable in her loyalties, would abandon him, maybe even in his hour of need, about how there were to be no promises, how she refused to swear an oath of fealty to anyone—he knew that she would never, never leave him now.
She was his, this Ranhéas Ylir, mercenary woman warrior.
She was in love with him, hopelessly, and despite herself.
And Elasand, noble and perfectly fair as always, allowed her a moment of stillness to compose herself, because he could not return those feelings, nor did he feel it was appropriate to do so. For, he was Lord Elasand Vaeste. And she was—
Who was she, indeed?
He had trusted her from the start, by instinct, because she had appeared into his life at a moment of heightened adrenaline-laced danger, and she had fought at his side. That was all he had to recommend her.
And now, there was this bond.
He must never hurt her then, for, although her loyalty was unexpected, it will now be assured, perfect. And he could only respect and try to overlook this one weakness in her—the weakness toward himself.
And as he thought these things, observing her with silent sympathy, Ranhé gathered herself at last, and completely put down the mutiny of emotions that was brewing within her.
As the moon illuminated her pallor, her liquid eyes, she lifted her hand to wipe her cheek where the tear had shone, not bothering to hide the gesture. And then she smiled, directly, openly, facing his eyes.
“
Forgive me, my lord,” she said, her voice again steady. “There was something so sad in your story that it touched me, that is all. I am all right now. We have a long road ahead of us, and it is time for me to sleep, for I am now tired indeed. Tell me one thing, only, where do we go, truly?”
“
We go, my Ranhé,” he replied gently, “to a place outside the City, somewhere in the forests, possibly two days’ ride away. In the old days it had been called the Shrine of Light. I believe I can find it. Within it lies the answer to my visions, and to the future of us all.”
“
Then we will go there, my lord,” said she, eyes glittering with liquid intensity. “And I will be there gladly at your side. Good night . . . May you come to see the
lady
of
violet
, and may you be fulfilled.”
And saying that, she turned away, quickly, and walked along the garden path in darkness, back into the villa.
Elasand stood looking at the shadows in her wake, and he whispered, “Yes, good night. . . . May we all be fulfilled.”
And the moon, and the gardens, and the shadows, and the gentle wind of the night, all answered him with living silence.
PART III
Darkness
CHAPTER 13
Y
es, I am still here, still with you.
But now it has grown very dark. And you are no longer so sure. And yet you continue to move forward—or is it inward—while behind you and ahead of you is an endless fluctuating sea of darkness and veils. . . .
More than ever, you must now strain to look, and listen.
* * *
I
t was still dark when a knock sounded on the door of her room. Ranhé awoke from the abyss, disoriented, her lungs drawing in the first deep breath. Nausea tugged at her as she got up, and her head throbbed from lack of proper sleep.
“
Ranhé?” came Elasand’s gentle voice from the corridor.
“
Yes, I am awake,” she replied hoarsely. “I will be ready in a few moments.”
“
Good,” he replied. “Come downstairs when you are done, and we will eat quickly, and be on our way.”
Ranhé was true to her word. In the bathroom, by the gray light of a single candle, she used the facilities, splashed herself with cold water, and then hastily re-braided her long thick hair. Back in the sleeping chamber, she put on her old travel clothes, pulled on her own old warm boots, and arranged daggers in appropriate places about her body. Last, came her longsword, and only then she wrapped her cloak about her, concealing all.
At the foot of the stairs, Elasand met her, also dressed for travel, wearing his plain gray cloak. For a moment his eyes looked at her intently, searching for any trace of her discomposure from last night. And then, seeing her calm expression, he must have been satisfied, and smiled lightly in greeting.
“
By the way, the man whom you met yesterday in the Regent’s quarters is here already. He is Elasirr, Guildmaster of the Assassin Guild, and he will travel with us—but you know that already. Do not trust him.”
“
Yes,” she said. “I know.”
And with that, Ranhé entered the breakfast chamber, and saw the familiar blond, seated at the table and making himself quite at home, as he was buttering toasted bread, and biting into it with enthusiasm. He too wore very plain dark clothing, and she was almost surprised how easily his appearance had been transformed into that of a simple freeman. Only his hair, long and bright and groomed to satin, gave him away. That, and his strong beautiful hands on which two rings shone.
He saw her enter, and followed her with a stare, and possibly a smile—but she wasn’t sure, because he was busy chewing.
Giving him a curt nod, Ranhé sat down and ate hurriedly, otherwise ignoring him. When she was done, she drank down the hot strong tea, nearly scalding herself, because she wanted to be out of this room and away from him as soon as possible.
“
Careful,” said the blond. “Vaeste will not begrudge you these extra minutes.” And he took another big bite of the toast, stuffing the side of his cheek, and grinning insolently at the same time. He then took a leisurely swig of tea.
“
I’m done,” she said simply, looking back at him very directly, with impassive eyes. She then rose, and pulled her cloak about her, and went out into the corridor, where Elasand was waiting for them.
In a minute, Elasirr joined them, having stuffed a big chunk of bread and cheese in his pockets, and nonchalantly wiping crumbs off his cheeks.
“
We have provisions packed in our travel bags,” mentioned Elasand.
“
I’m sure we do,” replied the blond assassin, drawing his dark cloak around him. “But I plan to chew this stuff as we ride. Hope that doesn’t bother you, Elasand-re.”
Elasand, cool-faced, ignored that comment. “Let’s go then,” he said, and opened the door to allow in the predawn darkness.
Outside, servants held torches, and three horses were ready. Ranhé saw her own gray, and next to him she recognized Elasand’s pale great mount. The third one, greater even than that of Lord Vaeste, and dark as the night, she assumed was that of the master assassin. How appropriate.
They mounted and rode the empty predawn streets, passing in the pale darkness a bridge over the Arata, and were out of
Dirvan
into the common Markets area. Here, horseshoes rang against the cobblestones, and all the stalls were closed and dimmed for the night. Now and then, they passed straggling shadows of drunks, but otherwise, none dared approach them.
Elasand rode ahead, Ranhé just behind him, wary of any attempt against his life, while Elasirr brought up the rear. As they left the Markets area, Elasand turned directly South, toward the Free Quarter.
“
We have no time for toll-gates,” he said, glancing backward. “Besides, with the lord of Bilhaar himself to protect our back, who have we to fear?”
“
And once we’re outside the City,” came the deceptively lazy voice of Elasirr from the back, “which way exactly are we heading, Elasand-re, or is it still a secret?”
“
We ride northwest.”
And then Elasand said nothing more, spurring his stallion into a gallop. He did not want to take any chances of being stopped in the dangerous Southern Quarter, even though the Guildmaster of the Assassin Guild himself was with them to guarantee safe passage.
They rode, cloaks billowing, hoofbeats thundering against stone, as the dawn wind struck their faces, and milk-pallor began to seep onto the eastern sky. At the Southern Gates of Tronaelend-Lis, guards stopped them briefly, and they reined in the horses. But one of the guards obviously recognized the man with the beacon-bright hair, and his great black stallion, and bowed his head in obeisance.