Greendaughter (Book 6) (15 page)

The tiny creature he withdrew fit comfortably into his hand, and Chyrie and Valann leaned forward curiously. The creature had a golden-furred body rather like a squirrel’s, but its front and rear paws, if they could properly be called such, more resembled tiny hands. Its furry tail also resembled that of a squirrel, but curled dexterously around Loren’s wrist. Its head was rounder than a squirrel’s, and set rather differently on its neck, and its eyes were large and bright; somewhat large, mobile ears, tipped with furry tufts, twitched nervously as the little creature hugged Loren’s fingers tightly.

“Come, Weeka, don’t be shy,” Loren chided. “They won’t eat you; they’ve already had their dinner, and one little chirrit is too small to make a decent meal anyway.”

Weeka chattered nervously, a high-pitched chuckling sound, but hopped off Loren’s hand and edged a few fingerlengths closer to the elves, eyeing them dubiously.

“Can you speak to my little one?” Loren asked Chyrie eagerly. “She’s my familiar, and chirrits are rather intelligent anyway for their size.”

Chyrie frowned a little worriedly—she had never seen such a beast in her life—but reached very gently for the creature’s thoughts. Both she and the chirrit jumped a little, startled, as Chyrie touched a mind more sophisticated than she had ever sensed in a beast—more like sharing silent speech with a clever child, Chyrie realized, than touching an animal.

“Chrrrrrreeee!” the little creature gurgled, leaping forward. Before Chyrie could react, it had scampered up her arm and into her hair, its handlike paws wound tightly into her short curls and its tail tickling her neck while it leaned over her forehead to peer down into her face.

“Did—did it speak?” Val asked incredulously, reaching to help Chyrie as, laughing helplessly, she tried to disentangle the chirrit from her hair. “Did it say my mate’s name?”

“Indeed she did speak, didn’t you, Weeka, my little one?” Loren laughed. “Come down, Weeka, come down at once, I say! Oh, dear, when she’s this excited, sometimes she makes droppings right where she is. Behave, mischievous little monster!”

Chattering affrontedly, Weeka allowed Valann to coax her down out of Chyrie’s hair, but settled herself adamantly next to Chyrie on the table, giving Loren a very “So there !” sounding chirp as she did so.

“Trying to make me jealous, eh, my pet?” Loren said, shaking his finger at the chirrit. “But I couldn’t be more delighted. Oh, what a pity, what a pity I can’t just walk right into the forest and meet all these wonderful folk,” he mourned.

Val grinned wryly.

“Had
you
been the first of humankind met by our folk,” he said, “likely we would have permitted it. It is an unfortunate truth that most humans have brought swords to our forest, not smiles. But how did you come to bring with you such a curious creature?”

“Weeka is my familiar,” Loren said. “I can hear her thoughts, a little, and she can hear mine, and sometimes I can see what she sees. It’s a special spell, very difficult, where a mage puts some of his magic into his familiar. Weeka was a gift to me from a friend, a mage who lives far to the west. But do tell me, however did you meet Rivkah? She’s always been my very finest pupil. I knew she’d do something wonderful one day.”

This time Chyrie and Valann exchanged glances more soberly·

“She and Sharl came upon us when we were being attacked by barbarian humans,” Chyrie said slowly. “They fought bravely to help us, and Rivkah healed my mate. We came to the city with her to speak for our people, and she has made us welcome.”

(Well spoken, if incompletely,)
Val thought ruefully.
(But we will keep our peace as Rowan bade us.)

“A fight and a rescue! How wonderful,” Loren exclaimed. “And now the lord wants an alliance. Very sensible. I’m glad Rivkah’s finally gotten him to marry her. He might have done it long ago if his father hadn’t gone on so about marriage alliances. I said, ‘Marry the girl, and nobility be damned’—didn’t I, Weeka?—but no, young folk these days can’t see what’s right there in front of their noses—”

A polite mental nudge distracted Chyrie from Loren’s ramblings, and she recognized Dusk’s touch through the brighthawk.

“Please excuse us,” Chyrie interrupted, standing and pulling Valann with her. She patted her rounded belly. “These days I seem to seek the privy every hour.”

“Oh, of course, of course,” Loren said hurriedly. “But come and see me again soon, or perhaps I’ll come see you, or Rivkah and I might come—”

Chyrie hurried out, pulling Val with her.

“Is something wrong?” Val asked as they climbed the stairs to the watchtower.

“I think not,” Chyrie said. “But Loren is a kindly man, and he would have wanted to come, and I did not like to refuse him.”

As it was only midafternoon, they could actually see the brighthawk, a mere dark speck in the distant sky.

“Does Dusk have news?” Valann asked.

Chyrie touched the brighthawk’s mind and shook her head.

“No, I think he only wished my attention,” she said. “A moment.”

She settled herself comfortably with Valann in their seat on the wall and looked out through the brighthawk’s eyes, immediately seeing why Dusk had called to her; the brighthawk flew over a small group of elves, mostly children and women, some of the latter swollen with pregnancy. Most carried packs, while others dragged travois laden with sacks and bundles.

“It is the Brightwaters,” Chyrie murmured to Valann. “Dusk wished to alert me to their arrival, so we could see them kindly met at the gates.”

Val said nothing, and Chyrie pulled back her awareness to look at him. He was staring at the brighthawk, and the expression on his face reminded Chyrie of the aching hunger she had felt, looking at the forest through the stone slits of the wall.

Daringly, for she had never attempted such a feat before, she
reached
for Valann’s thoughts and the brighthawk’s at the same time. For a moment her perceptions fragmented into a host of confused images, and her mind seemed to stretch between her mate and the brighthawk, like a bowstring pulled too tightly, almost at the breaking point, but then Valann was with her, astonished and a little frightened, as they soared together far above the ground. Gradually Chyrie grew more comfortable with the unfamiliar sensation of touching two minds at once, and discovered in Val’s presence a kind of anchoring, giving her an unaccustomed feeling of security and strength.

She nudged the brighthawk higher, and they climbed together, powerful wings beating the air, until the elves below them were mere ants moving on the ground.

(Oh, love, never could I have dreamed this,)
Val sang in her mind.
(By the Mother Forest, how can I hold such joy?)

(You are my strength,)
Chyrie replied, urging the brighthawk for one last upward push
. (Let me be your wings.)

Suddenly she released the brighthawk and it dove, screaming its pleasure, wings folding tightly against its body. The wind whistled by them and the earth spun below, reeling drunkenly closer and closer, as the elves looked up in amazement—

—then their wings caught air and they curved sharply, only just missing the top of the first elf’s head, arching back into the sky. The brighthawk silently but strongly protested this unaccustomed recklessness, and Chyrie, strained by the feat, had no strength to argue; reluctantly, she abandoned the brighthawk’s mind and pulled Valann back with her to the watchtower.

They sat panting raggedly against the stone, both of them sheened with sweat, until Valann mutely folded Chyrie into his arms and squeezed the breath out of her, and Chyrie could feel his tears wetting her cheek.

(There are no words to thank you for such a moment,)
Val thought, too shaken to speak
. (Oh, love, how can you bear to return from such a flight? My soul cries for joy, and my blood burns—)

His grip became even stronger, and his mouth took hers almost savagely. For a moment Chyrie reveled in his ferocity, the fire in her matching his; then a moment of sanity was hers and she pushed him away hard, almost stunning him as his head smacked against the stone blocks. Brief anger flashed through his eyes, and he snarled and reached for her again, but Chyrie scrambled backward, reaching for his thoughts, at the same time trying to calm the fierce heat in herself.

(Valann, you are not a beast,) she thought firmly. (It is the wild blood you feel. You must not let it rule you. I will couple with you and gladly, but you must calm yourself, or you will hurt our children. Do you understand?)

Valann took a ragged breath and then flung himself away from her, pressing his face against the stone of the wall, clenching his hands until she saw blood trickle there. At last she felt him calm a little, and she went to him, holding him close.

“Forgive me,” she murmured. “I should not have done that without warning you.”

Valann took a deep breath and leaned his head against her.

“Forgive
me,”
he said. “I did not know how heady a wine a beast’s mind can be. I fear I became drunk upon it.”

Chyrie smiled.

“That is not always an ill thing,” she said, chuckling. “I remember the first time I touched a wolf, and when we coupled I clawed you so that it looked as if you ran bare-backed through a bramble patch, but you swore I had never pleased you more.” She sighed regretfully. “I would gladly share the wild blood with you, but I have grown so large that it might be a danger. We must have more care.”

Val nodded, holding her tightly until their breathing quieted.

“No wonder you are my fierce and hungry she-fox.” He laughed, nuzzling her neck. “I have not burned with such a fire since my passage from child to adult. How do you bear it?”

“I was many years learning to master the wild blood,” Chyrie reminded him. “And still sometimes it masters me, as well you know.”

Valann raised himself on an elbow to look at her.

“How did you do it?” he asked. “How were you able to share that flight with me?”

Chyrie shook her head. “Like skill with a bow or sword, I believe my gift grows with use,” she said. “I would not have dared such a thing before. But the times have made me try feats I might never have dreamed of otherwise, and I saw how you longed to share my wings. It was not so draining as I might have thought, and there will be many other flights, but you must learn to master yourself afterward, and not only for my safety.”

“For a time I was not myself,” Valann sighed.

“And that is the danger,” Chyrie told him. “Just as I take Chyrie into the body of the hawk, so, too, do I bring back some of the hawk with me. Sometimes I hardly know what I am. Sometimes you are all that brings me back.”

“Then I bless the Mother Forest for making me your mate,” Valann said lovingly, “for this world would be a sorry place without you, my she-fox. Come, let us go and greet the Brightwaters, for your smell dizzies me and I am not certain of myself.”

“Very well,” Chyrie sighed resignedly. “But tonight you must doubly compensate me for your afternoon flight.”

“Love, if I am granted my wish, not one life in the keep will sleep all the long night for our cries.” Valann chuckled.

At that moment the trapdoor raised, and Sharl’s irritated face appeared.

“My guards tell me there’s a group of elves approaching,” he said. “I’d appreciate it if, since I’ve had to postpone my postnuptial celebrations, you’d take the trouble to come with me to welcome them.”

“We were just coming to do so.” Valann smiled. “And if you tell us which rooms we should use, you need not accompany us.”

“I can’t send you through the city alone,” Sharl said annoyedly. “We’ll take the carriage, and some wagons for our guests.”

Rivkah was waiting with the carriage, dressed in a simpler gown, and from the contented expression on her face, Chyrie speculated that although their “postnuptial celebrations” might have been interrupted, they had not entirely been postponed.

Val and Chyrie were suitably impressed by the difference a speech and a wedding had made in the people. As they rode through the city, humans stopped what they were doing to stare at the elves, but their curiosity no longer seemed so hostile. Some waved cheerily, and others called greetings.

Valann and Chyrie had entered the city through the east gate initially, but as the Brightwaters were following the river, this time the carriage took them to the south gate, where a considerable crowd was waiting.

Unlike the east side of the city, this section of the wall had been completed, and there were no work crews here, but the gate towers and wall walk were now crowded with guards and peasants, all staring at the small band of elves approaching.

Sharl climbed down from the carriage.

“It appears my guardsmen have forgotten their instructions,” he shouted angrily. “My orders were that the gates were to be opened to any elves seeking shelter, and wagons brought to meet them. I don’t recall saying anything about standing over closed gates and staring like frightened rabbits, nor yet allowing every citizen in town onto the guard wall.”

The guards hurriedly herded the peasants down from the wall and rushed to open the gates, most of them murmuring some embarrassed apology as they passed near Sharl.

About sixteen adult elves and as many children were waiting outside the gates; to Valann’s and Chyrie’s surprise, some of them were Longears and Southwinds, the lanky Longears and fair-haired Southwinds easy to spot among the dark-haired, sturdily built Brightwaters. The Brightwater with the longest braid coil, a light-skinned woman heavy with child, stepped forward expectantly, and Val and Chyrie, aghast at their own poor manners, hurried to join Sharl and Rivkah at the gate.

Sharl started to speak, but Chyrie touched his arm and shook her head, and it was Val who stepped forward.

“I am Arrin, of the clan Brightwater,” the Brightwater said. “I come to share your fire at the invitation of Rowan of Inner Heart, bringing with me these kinfolk of Brightwater, and of clan Longears and Southwind.”