The Sheening Of The Blades (Book 1) (70 page)

“My people wert attacked and torched by Tarq.  A short space wast I captive amongst them, used and abused as it pleasedst them until I couldst escape.”  He looked at her in horror, mind completely swept off his own problems.  Her face was calm, her words completely incongruous with her tone of voice.  She
’d said it without hardly any feeling at all—not like she’d come to terms with it, but like it didn’t even
matter
.  “I thieved a bow and learnt to hunt and survive on mine own, making a rough living on the Empire side of the Dragonspine until foundst by Tamaren.  She wast mine introduction to the Followers.”

Ari was still staring at her, aghast.  “That
’s…terrible,” he said with sympathy.  What do you say to someone who had been through such a thing?  She didn’t seem near as upset as he was.

“
‘Twas very rare,” she said, reassuring him.  “Tarq never partook of such things.  They cared little whether ‘twas man or woman or child they torched.  But, very occasionally, one of the upper class, the
ghuzkun,
wouldst accompany the war parties, to gather intelligence or survey for themselves a particular matter, or, when they didst build Tsagaroth, to collect slaves.”

Ari looked at her in surprise.  He
’d never heard any of this.  “Slaves?  From the Realms?  That must have hit the Rach hard.”  He thought of the dark, fiery Rach he’d seen at the Kingsmeet, and felt sorry for them, that they had been bearing the brunt of his people for all these centuries.

“Thou canst not enslave Rach.  When these aristocrats attended the raiding parties, they tookest from amongst the captured and tortured for their dark purposes.  But the reports of such things, for all the eons of war that were, art scarce.”

“But…that didn’t change it for you.”

She looked at him with those unwavering eyes, and for a second he was afraid he
’d said something stupid or way too personal.  But she said quietly, “There exists nothing, not even the most brutal, cruel violations of the body, that canst match an offense against the soul.  The great evil inflicted on me in that week with the
ghuzkun
wast to mine heart, for it planted seeds of such a torment of hatred and revenge that I couldst not rest, couldst do naught but plan and inflict pain and suffering and death upon mine enemies.  Such art the ways of the Destroyer, and great wast his success in me for many years.”

“You…you don
’t hate them anymore?”  That she ever had seemed more unlikely; he wasn’t sure he could believe that calm, strong face had ever been moved so passionately, especially by vindictiveness.  For all the alarming sense of power flowing off of her, it was the same clean, pure sort of strength of all the Whiteblades, like the clear, rushing force of the Kendrick as it poured out of the High Wilds.

“Hate them?  Ari,
‘twould be like hating a rat that drowneth in sewer water.  They have nothing.  They art lost.  They art prisoners whilst I am free.  So long as Raemon lives, they art trapped, bound in his malcontent and his evil.  I have only pity for them.”

He stared at her.  “How...?” He hated them, and all they
’d done to him was give birth to him.

“
‘Tis the grace of Il.  There ist naught of rational thought about it…,” she said, fortunately knowing what he was thinking, since his brain-mouth connection seemed to be shorting out.  “He openeth the shuttered windows and blocked doors inside of thee… so that thou art no longer trapped with thyself.”

“That
’s like what Verrena was saying…” he murmured, not even aware he said it aloud.

“V
’ren dost know.”

CHAPTER
33

Dorian led them high into the Tamarisks and over a dry, red, dusty pass onto the western flank of the mountains.  Everyone seemed happier they weren’t leaving such a flaming hot trail anymore through the middle of Enemy territory…but they hadn’t shaken all their pursuers.

They were sitting around the campfire one night, a treasure trove of nearby pools having allowed baths all around, when one of the sentries came in unexpectedly.

“Look what I found trailing along behind us,” Jordan said from the tree line, sounding amused.  A small, raggedy figure followed her into the firelight, and they all peered at it through the dark.

“What is it?” Rodge asked.

“SELAH!” Ari jumped to his feet, striding across the space separating them at almost a run and pulling her into a big bear hug.  He thought his heart would burst.  His Selah, back again!

“I guess she does know you,” Jordan concluded wryly.

Ari had ears only for the woman in his arms.  She was laughing into his chest, that rich, quiet laugh he’d longed to hear for so many months, and trying unsuccessfully and not very diligently to push him away.  Finally, he relaxed his hold a little, separating enough so that he could look down at her little face. 

It was unchanged, though filthier now even than when he
’d first seen it on the raft all those months ago.  She cleared her throat, and with a laughing look of warning at him, turned away, pushing herself out of the circle of his arms.  Composing her face, she walked with that familiar deft grace over to the fire and the rest of the company.

“Master Melkin,” she said in her plain, no-nonsense voice.  “May I join your party once again?”

Melkin just looked at her with those keen eyes.  “We aren’t needing a cook, anymore…”

Ari felt cold anger stir in his guts.  How long had she tracked them?  How willingly had she served them before, never asking for anything, and then had followed them all these leagues—

“…But you are welcome here anytime.”

Ari relaxed, enough to wonder at his momentary fury, and the air was suddenly filled with sound.  Banion was welcoming her warmly, Merranic-style, which meant a lot of noise.  Rodge was saying something ludicrous like, “NOW you join us, after everything we
’ve been through.  Where were you when it was dangerous?”

“It
’s dangerous enough where we’re heading,” Loren said eagerly, advising her conspiratorially, “you might want to turn back.  There won’t be much use for you anymore and you might get killed.”  He was very earnest and she blinked at him, a little taken aback.

“Where have you been?” Cerise wanted to know, doubtless thinking of clothes she would like washed out and an extra pair of hands to help with her hair.

“I lost your trail at Crossing,” Selah admitted frankly. 

“Yeah,” Rodge interrupted immediately, suspicious.  “Why
’d you run off?  Why are you so afraid of the authorities?”

She shook her head at him, big eyes serious and sincere.  “I was just the right age for a Follower; I would have been held there for hours until the Imperials decided I wasn
’t…which meant you’d either be detained for hours, which you couldn’t afford, or we’d be separated anyway.”

“No one would ever mistake you for a Whiteblade,” Loren said kindly.

Her lips twitched.  “Thank you, Loren,” she said gravely, “but I was referring more to the wait in line—you remember how many girls were there already.”

“It doesn
’t matter,” Ari said quietly.  “You’re here now.  Traive, this is Selah,” he said, suddenly remembering the Lord Regent didn’t know her.

They did their courtesies, and then she continued, “I heard that Jarl Banion had passed through Jagstag on his way to meet a party in Cyrrh, and, hoping it was you, started trailing
him…but I was quite a ways behind.  The floods didn’t help much,” she added ruefully, glancing down at the wreckage of rags hanging about her.

“You smell terrible,” Cerise announced matter-of-factly.  “Rodge, get her a change of clothes.  I
’ll take you to the baths,” she told Selah, who looked at her in surprise.

Rodge said, “Wait—why do I have to—”

“RODGE,” Loren said, both helpful and emphatic, “Do you really want to smell that for the next few weeks?”

Grousing, the afflicted rooted around in his bags, eventually handing her a wrinkled ball of fabric, that, frankly, Ari wasn
’t sure smelled much better.

But she accepted it very graciously, and was just turning to follow Cerise when suddenly she froze, eyes snagging on something in the woods across camp.  Everyone turned unthinkingly to look, she was so intense, but it was just Kai coming in from his restless wanderings.

Ari, close as he’d felt to the Dra the past few weeks, was suddenly as displeased to see him as if he were a Sheelman.  Why did he do that, Ari groused to himself, as Selah and Cerise disappeared toward the pools.  Why did he stare at her like that?  He barely met anyone’s eyes, and then only for a few moments, but his eyes would rest on her face and form indefinitely.

Ari fidgeted while the girls were gone, sitting with the group for a while then rising and pacing, then coming back to the fire.  What was taking her so long?

“What smells so good?” Roxarta’s voice said from behind him and he jumped up with pleasure at this fortune of chance.  Now Selah could meet her. 

“Beetleberry cobbler,” Yve said cheerfully, smashing berries into liquefied submission on a nearby rock. 

“Ugh,” Rox said, face falling.  “For Ash.  How she can eat that stuff I don’t know.”  She grabbed some rock-baked flat bread and settled down with the group, throwing Ari a smile.

“They
’re not the same as the rest of you,” Loren said wisely to her.  Ari hadn’t been paying much attention to the conversation, and it took him a moment to realize he was talking about the Hand.  Ashaura was one of the new ones that had come in with Ariella.

Rox looked at him sanguinely.  “Nothing gets past you, does it?”

Melkin snorted. 

“Why?” Loren wanted to know.  “Why would they be so different?”

“Mm,” she said thoughtfully.  “They’ve been around quite a bit longer, for one thing.  And for another…well, their purpose is different.”

“Their purpose,” Loren said carefully, as if he was taking notes.  He was getting quite interested in the subject of late, much to everyone
’s regret. 

“They were formed when the Ages of War were at their darkest, their most brutal and wide-spread, and so were present for all the long centuries of their conflict.  It was the intent of the Empress, by the grace of Il, to create a force that could
blunt some of the viciousness of the Sheelman attacks, turn some of the wrath, take some of the ferocity upon themselves that was falling on so many hapless innocents.  Their purpose from the beginning has been ever, always, only…to make war.  To defend those unable to defend themselves.”

“But why are they older?” Rodge cut in.  “I
’d think you’d want the youngest to play that role—ow!”

Having elbowed him sharply, Loren gave her an ingratiating smile.  “Ignore him,” he advised.

“They do seem older, don’t they?” Roxarta mused, toying with the thin bread.  “But you must consider what their lives have consisted of…year after year after year after decade after century…centuries and centuries of nothing but killing.  Of swinging your blade and taking life—even if it is for a good cause, think of doing nothing but that until the Ages are but a day and the world is covered in bloodstains.  It is a great, grave, hard thing that Il has asked of them, and they have never faltered, never complained.  Even now, they are out on watch when they should be resting, should be doing nothing but sitting and being revered…”

“There are two hundred years between Ashaura and Jordan,” she concluded matter-of-factly, “but it might as well be two thousand.”

The inevitable silence fell.  The northerners found themselves consistently lacking in the conversational skills needed to move easily over these little bumps in reality.  No doubt following that line of thinking, Rodge asked in a voiced that inferred as-long-as-we’re-talking-nonsense, “Is there really such a thing as a Phoenix?”

“Mm,” Rox asserted around a mouthful of bread.  She swallowed.  “Not one of Laschald
’s more carefully thought-out projects.”

“Do they really catch fire?” Loren asked eagerly.

She nodded.  “He made them with glands that excrete a flammable oil—that’s why the Tarq are so fond of them—and then had to use a compound related to the fire-shedder of Merrani to keep them from being burnt up.”

Everyone around the fire was looking at her like she was crazy.  “Being birds, of course, they
’re instinctively terrified of fire, so when they spontaneously combust, they go shrieking off in flight, which just fans the flames.  They’re miserable creatures…live in endless terror of their own plumage.”

The reemergence of Cerise and a damper version of Selah was greeted with profound relief just then.  Rodge and Loren politely said nothing, but, really, there wasn
’t much improvement in Selah.  Her thick, dark hair had grown out quite a bit in the months since Crossing, but the tangled wad it had been in had apparently required rather drastic and irregular trimming.  At least there were no sticks in it anymore.

They were up late that night, catching up.  Rox did not stay long, and the night was mostly empty of the other Whiteblades, as if they were giving them all time to get reacquainted.  Selah hadn
’t changed at all, Ari thought warmly as they bedded down.  The mountain nights were cool, so they all slept close to the fire, and as he watched the light play over her calm, steady face, he felt such a rush of thankfulness that he fell asleep with a smile hovering around his lips.

His little brown wren amongst all these brilliant hummingbirds. 

Ari rode in a dream of delight the next few days.  Selah was lent a sweet-tempered strawberry roan and they rode close together, sharing stories and talking so exclusive of the rest of the party that sometimes they lost sight of them altogether and rode barely in front of Rox and the herd.  His life seemed to even out, Il was a little more real, the sun shone a little brighter, and everything made a little more sense.

He had to pause in the rather personal recounting of his dream of Roxarta one day, though, as they came up on the rest of the party.  They were gathered around Dorian, now mounted on an opinionated mare that shone like ripe wheat in the sun.  She was frowning down at Tamaren, who tended to run reconnaissance and apparently didn
’t have happy news.

“Half a day?” Dorian repeated.  Tamaren, expertly resheathing an axe behind her back—Ari had never got the hang of that back brace—nodded.

“I am most reluctant to cross that Pass until needed,” Dorian declared almost under her breath.  “There is no more vulnerable spot save the ride into Zkag itself.”  She decided suddenly, “We’ll wait on this side for Rheine and the others—and pray Il they get here soon.  Bring it in.  We’ll stick to a 50-yard perimeter.”

One of Tamaren
’s tawny eyebrows rose, her golden-green eyes sliding to the group surrounding Dorian.

“They can be quiet,” Dorian said.

Suddenly, the shrill cry of a falcon on the hunt shattered the air.  Tamaren was gone like a wisp of smoke, and Dorian whipped around to stare intently at the trail leading south.

The boys had figured out a lot of the bird calls—they even knew some of the individual Whiteblades
’.  Voral’s was a kestrel.  But they had never heard this one.  Ari looked to Traive, who was frowning and looking very alert.

“What is it?” he said urgently, beginning to feel a little anxious.

“
Attack
,” Traive told him in an undertone.  “Cyrrh knows that call well…it has saved many a Sentinel.”

“Let
’s get back into the trees,” Dorian suggested, still staring intently to the south.

They were in a large glade here, the undergrowth much thinner on the west side of the Tamarisks and the trees spreading out over park-like grasses.   Ari didn
’t go very far, making sure Selah headed deeper in but not wanting to miss anything that came down the trail.  The Whiteblades were rarely alarmed, so to see Dorian so tense…his heart was thudding with anticipation and he almost jumped when Jordan suddenly appeared, flying over the little crest in the trail.

“Minotaur,” she said, eyes wide in wonder, and was gone, dashing into nearby cover.

Dorian had one instant, her face blank with puzzlement, before the golden mare under her suddenly neighed in alarm, throwing her head and pivoting.  She took off at a run just as a creature out of impossibility rose suddenly up over the crest.  And rose, and rose.  Ari felt his mouth go dry as it paused in its headlong motion, silhouetted on the crest a good two man-lengths tall.  It looked like a monstrous, over-sized bull, with two long, wicked horns extending from its poll and eyes of devilish red.

Another of Raemon
’s creatures?
He gazed, wide-eyed, leaning out of the saddle to see better around his selected tree trunk just as his gelding got a good look himself.  The brown immediately objected, bolting so quickly that it resulted in an unfortunate parting of ways.  Without much dignity, Ari thudded onto the ground, scrambling quickly to his feet with his heart thundering in his chest and the sound of his horse—along with Rodge and Loren—galloping away in the background.  The bull-thing turned its big head slowly, its gleaming eyes alighting  right on him.