Greendaughter (Book 6) (4 page)

Sharl glanced up at the sun, barely visible through the leaves. “How much farther?”

“At the pace of these horses, we will reach the bounds of Moon Lake lands in perhaps six hours. I would advise to stop in no more than five.”

Sharl thought a moment, then shook his head.

“The delay is too great,” he said. “It would cost us almost half a day’s ride. No, we continue until dark. According to what you say, every elf in the woods would have my blood anyway, so it matters little which clan we risk.”

“You enslave us to give you safety, yet disregard wise counsel,” Val said sourly. “As well you had not brought us.”

Sharl shook his head regretfully. “I’m sorry, Valann, but as long as your presence improves our chance we cannot spare you. Unfortunately, I’m not sure I can trust your counsel under the circumstances. You have my word that you will be freed as soon as we reach the edge of the forest.”

Val snorted. “My concern for you would not dwarf the least grain of soil, but I do not hold my life and that of my mate in equal contempt. Therefore you may rest assured that I do not lead you into hazard, for Inner Heart knives will drink our blood as readily as yours.”

They fell back.

(What can we do now?)
Chyrie wondered
. (If they will not stop, we may pass from Moon Lake territory before the Moon Lakes will have a chance to help us, if indeed they might do so.)

Val sighed.

(They could not but hear our speech,)
he thought encouragingly.
(And we will stop at midday for food. The dark would give advantage against these night-blind humans, but still there may be hope. An attack by bows would be most effective—the humans have only swords. The Moon Lakes must see this also.)

He ran his hands over Chyrie’s body, healing the remaining bruises.

(Would that my poor skill could deal with cracked bone,)
he thought regretfully
. (I can feel the pain of your ribs. That will serve you ill should there be violence and the need for quick action. Perhaps you should relent and let Rivkah heal you.)

(Never!)
The thought came so powerfully that Val winced slightly.
(Love, there are weaknesses in their binding. While we cannot ourselves raise hand to harm these humans, we can allow or even aid others to do so. We can plot and send messages as we will. What if one of these humans has already realized as much? If the woman lays her magic upon me again, how know we what bindings or ills she might lay upon me in the guise of healing?)

They rode in tense silence while the sun climbed higher in the sky, and higher. At last Sharl called back to them.

“Time for a rest,” he said after speaking to his companions. “We can stop at the next clearing.”

An old roadside campsite was located only a few minutes later, and Val helped Chyrie down from the horse’s back.

(Keep the humans’ attention,)
Chyrie thought to him.
(There is something in the bushes.)

“Do these humans never stop to make water?” she grumbled aloud, hobbling to the bushes. “I am bursting.”

“We are no more than a short ride from Inner Heart territory,” Val said, wandering over to where the humans were tying the horses. “Have you made a plan for passing through their lands whole-skinned?”

“We have been safe enough so far,” Sharl said, shrugging. “We haven’t seen another elf since we left the camp. They seem to be avoiding us.”

“Sharl, surely we can let Chyrie go,” Rivkah said persuasively. “I can see she’s in pain. Valann offered to let us tie him, or even knock him unconscious, if we lift the geas to let her leave, and then lay another on him. I can mix a sleeping potion for him to drink, if you like.”

“What makes you think she’s any better off alone and injured in hostile lands?” Sharl said, eyeing Valann suspiciously. “At least with us there are five other swords between her and death.”

“Each step takes us farther from Wilding lands,” Val argued.

“Even should we reach the forest’s edge and live to be freed, we two must then travel alone back to our own place. Having violated the territories of other clans, think you that they will be willing to let us pass again unmolested? If you care nothing for my life, allow at least my mate and the child she may bear to have some slender hope of reaching our people.”

“Sharl, listen to him,” Rivkah pleaded. “You’ll still have Valann as a hostage.”

Sharl was silent for a moment, then shook his head.

“I can’t allow it,” he said. “Chyrie’s presence insures that Valann won’t lead us into danger deliberately, and he said himself that they were safer from attack because Chyrie is fertile. Rivkah, I can’t let you waste your magic. If you hadn’t pressed yourself so hard healing Valann and casting the geas, you would have power available to conceal and protect us, and an additional geas would tax you even more. Chyrie will just have to go with us. If necessary, I’ll send guards to escort them home around the forest when we—after we’re out of the forest.”

Rivkah looked sharply at Sharl, but was silent. Valann scowled and walked back to Chyrie, who had emerged from the bushes.

(Sharl refused, as I knew he would,)
he thought sourly.
(What did you find?)

(This.)
She showed him a knotted cord, her earrings tied at the bottom.
(It is puzzling indeed. Here is the sign promising aid, but they have returned my rings. And I know not the clan sign at the bottom. Are they raiders, here to prey on the Moon Lakes, or have the Moon Lakes been conquered and their territory taken?)

(It matters not, if they offer help,)
Val thought grimly.
(I would ally with the very Silvertips who raided our lands last summer against these humans. But when will they strike? Soon we will leave Moon Lake lands, yet they give us no instruction to delay departure. What should we do?)

Troubled, Chyrie probed the forest.

(There are watchers nearby,)
she thought.
(Doubtless they have understood the humans’ plans and know that we soon leave. They will act in their own time. Let us take a good meal and rest. We may well need all our strength.)

Valann untied their packs, ignoring the supplies and wine Rivkah offered, and drew out their own dried meat, berries, and wine. They ate quickly, half expecting elves to leap from the brush, but the meal was uneventful.

(I know not what to think,)
Val confessed as they rode away from the clearing
. (Wildings would have attacked while the humans ate and their hands were occupied without weapons. Now there is little time before we cross the Inner Heart boundary, and the humans are alert.)

The Moon Lake markers came into sight, the signs glowing gently from stones beside the road. Val and Chyrie were still, listening intently although their expressions showed only composure. The group came closer to the markers, and closer—

—and then they were past.

Behind Val’s calm face, his thoughts were leaden with despair.

(Their offer of aid was a deception,)
he thought disgustedly.
(Why would even out-kin do such a thing, promise falsely and return your rings? What did it profit them?)

(Perhaps the offer was made in good faith, but some plan went awry,)
Chyrie thought sadly
. (Perhaps fear of the mage Rivkah’s powers held them back. Why should they risk themselves for out-kin?)

(True,)
Valann admitted.
(We should have expected no more. Certainly there is no reason to expect aid from Inner Heart, either. We must hope that the humans will honor their word to free us.)

Acute disappointment made the ride long and weary, although Sharl’s composure grew with each hour’s progress. By the time the sunlight began to fail, he was positively cheerful.

“My idea has worked,” he told Val. “It seems even these elves, fierce as you say they are, won’t attack us. Your fears for your safety are needless. You see we’re safe as long as—”

His words were interrupted as a shrill cry sounded above them. With amazing suddenness, a large and heavy net dropped, entangling elf, human, and horse alike in coils that seemed to constrict more tightly at each movement. Immediately, nearly a dozen elves dropped from the branches, swords and spears leaping to hand, and more materialized from the bushes at the sides of the road, bows at the ready. “Drop your weapons if you wish to live!” an elf shouted.

Chapter Four

Chyrie and Valann exchanged glances, then dropped their swords and bows. For a moment Sharl hacked at the net, clutching his sword despite the hopeless odds. Then, resignedly, he sighed and dropped the weapon. Rivkah, Romuel, and Doria quickly followed suit.

A slender female elf, nearly half again as tall as Chyrie, black hair coiled high at the top of her head and a hawk on her shoulder, stepped forward.

“I am Rowan,” she said, “Eldest of the clan of Inner Heart. For violating the boundaries of our lands, you are now our prisoners.”

Rowan waited until the elves had collected all of the weapons, then nodded. One of the elves stepped forward to slit the net open in front of Chyrie and Valann, and Rowan nodded to each as they stepped out.

“Welcome, kinsfolk,” she said, extending a hand to touch Chyrie’s cheek, then Valann’s. “My word assures your safety and fair treatment among us.”

She turned to the elves guarding the still-netted humans.

“The fair-haired female is as one Gifted,” she said. “Bind them all well, and cover their eyes, but gag her as well, also, lest she bespell us as she has our kin.”

She smiled at a stunned Valann and Chyrie.

“Reclaim your weapons, friends,” she said gently. “Did you not receive promise of aid?”

“That was in Moon Lake lands,” Val murmured. “But are you not Inner Heart?”

“I am,” she said. “Those elves there”—she gestured—“are Moon Lake, and those Redoak, and that one Owl clan. Our clans have joined our lands two years past, four clans and yet one. You are Wilding, are you not? Your people have been but legend to us, of a clan known but never seen by any.”

“Our ransom will be full paid,” Chyrie said quickly. “Our Eldest will send furs in trade, or rare herbs—”

“And a rich ransom indeed could I claim”—Rowan smiled—“for an elf who may be bearing child. I will decide what I may ask in return for your release when I have questioned all of you. For now there is food and fire awaiting in our village, and our Gifted One to tend your hurts, and many, many kinsfolk awaiting my slightest word to begin a festival to welcome you. Which word is now given,” Rowan said, raising her voice slightly. One or two of the elves laughed and disappeared into the undergrowth.

“But I see you are in pain, kinswoman,” Rowan continued, gesturing at the leather wrapping Chyrie’s chest. “If we assist you to remount your riding beast, can you reach our village, or need I summon our Gifted One to tend you here?”

“I am not much pained,” Chyrie lied. In actuality when she fell from the unaccustomed height of her mount, she had landed badly, further battering her wounded ribs. Rowan looked at her dubiously, but glanced at the hawk on her shoulder. It launched itself airborne and disappeared into the trees.

Chyrie walked slowly back to where the elves were freeing the frightened horses, concealing her pain as best she could, more worried about the beasts than herself. The elves had obviously never seen such creatures before and did not know how to safely free them, and the horses were half-panicked, the whites of their rolling eyes showing, their hooves tangling in the netting. Chyrie soothed them silently and they quieted, but she let Val help the other elves handle the heavy nets and lead the now-calm horses away from the trap. While she was with the horses, she quickly removed the three carved-bone bracelets and the bear-claw necklace she and Valann had planned to leave as an offering at the altars.

Chapter Five

It took some time and difficulty for the elves to assist Chyrie back onto the horse’s back, and Val protectively behind her, and by the time they were done, the humans had been searched, bound, and blindfolded. Rivkah had been gagged as well, but the others muttered to each other in their own guttural tongue until a sharp warning poke from a spear silenced them.

(It makes no sense,)
Chyrie thought puzzledly.
(We are no kin of theirs, yet we are treated as such. The humans are bound, but we, equally trespassers, are left free and our weapons returned to us. And four clans joined to become one? If Moon Lake or Inner Heart had captured Redoak or Owl clan, yes—the latter are but small clans. But this is clearly no such simple taking of territories.)

(Perhaps it is some trick,)
Valann suggested.
(Perhaps the clans fear human or Wilding invasion and wish us to believe their numbers larger to make them appear a more formidable foe.)

That made sense, Wilding sense, and Chyrie was, as always, impressed by Valann’s wisdom. She leaned back against his chest comfortably. Despite the pain in her ribs, the humans’ geas still upon them, and now their capture by an enemy, she felt safer than she had since they had arrived at the altars.

As would be the case with any sensibly cautious clan, there was no visible trail to mark the way to the Inner Heart village, and the horses were plainly not made for travel through the tangled growth of the forest. Their journey, already slowed by the painful pace of human and horse and punctuated by yelps and what Chyrie presumed to be curses by the blindfolded and stumbling humans, was further delayed while the elves at the rear of the group concealed the traces of their passage. Just as Chyrie thought wryly that she would have made better time, injured as she was, on foot, they emerged into a clearing and Inner Heart was abruptly before them.

Chyrie gasped, and Valann involuntarily tightened his arms around her, drawing a second gasp, of pain this time. The village was easily five times the size of the Wilding camp—and unlike the Wilding camp, which changed with the season, the amount of game available, and the supply of forage, this was obviously a permanent village. Some round huts had been built cradled between the branches of the trees as the Wilding clan did, but others were of a kind Chyrie and Valann had never seen—built on the ground in a sort of thick cone shape, point up to shed rain.

The elves who had run ahead had had plenty of time to alert the village, and apparently had done so, for it seemed to Valann and Chyrie that every elf in the forest must have been gathered in the clearing. Some of them were hastily stoking firepits or preparing food, and others were carrying wine, nuts, and vegetables out from storage, but most simply stood and
stared.

Valann slid off the horse, instinctively reaching for his sword before he remembered they were fairly Rowan’s prisoners. Rowan stepped up, laying one long hand on his shoulder soothingly.

“These are our kinsfolk and guests, Valann and Chyrie of the Wilding clan,” she said. “They have brought us four human prisoners and tidings from the north. Valann and Chyrie, share our food and fire, and be made welcome among us.”

“We are honored to share your food and fire,” Valann answered. “May joy and friendship be our contribution.”

“We bring these gifts for the Eldest, in thanks for the honor of our welcome,” Chyrie added, producing the bracelets and the necklace, which she held out to Rowan.

“I accept your gifts,” Rowan said, sliding the bracelets onto her wrist and tying the necklace around her neck.

A murmur ran through the elves, but they relaxed somewhat, some dispersing to help with the preparation of food, others coming forward to help lead humans or horses to some unknown destination.

“While my kinsfolk prepare the food, come to my speaking hut,” Rowan said, guiding them away from the central clearing. “Our Gifted One can tend your hurts, Chyrie, and there are questions to be answered.”

“Speaking hut?” Chyrie asked.

“When our clans joined, we built it for private meetings of more elves than one person’s hut would hold,” Rowan said, gesturing to a large cone-shaped hut, from which a few small wisps of smoke drifted from a small hole at the tip of the cone.

Private meetings? Chyrie wondered, although she said nothing. Wilding clan meetings were held around the central fire with all kin, as was proper. Who could be excluded from any business of the clan?

“You have not named the price of our release,” Valann reminded her.

“I will consider it,” Rowan said, “when all the truths are told.”

(All the truths?)
Chyrie thought to Valann.
(Truth is truth, and lies are lies.)

(Not at all,)
Valann thought back, squeezing her hand reassuringly.
(If I kill a doe, I say that is good, because we will eat well for many days, and that is true. But the stag would not agree, for his mate is gone, and that would be true, too.)

Two elves were standing guard outside the door of the hut, conversing with a third. The third elf was obviously no guard; judging from the ornate dyed patterns and beaded decorations of his tunic and the various feathers braided into his black hair, this elf was obviously someone of importance.

“Valann and Chyrie, I make known to you Dusk, our Gifted One,” Rowan said. “Dusk, Valann and Chyrie are our Wilding kin, brought here by the human prisoners. Has the hut been readied?”

When the Gifted One spoke, his voice was as warm as his rich brown skin.

“The speaking spell has been cast, and food and wine laid ready.” He glanced at Chyrie, his large eyes sparkling green. “So this is the beast-speaker. A thousand small minds have whispered your name to me. Come into the hut and I will tend your hurts, although I understand that your mate is a healer himself. Doubtless there is little enough damage left to mend.”

When they stepped into the hut, it was surprisingly bright, although the cone had no windows. A small fire had been built at the center in a pit lined with stones, and furs were strewn around it for seating. Small clay fat-lamps hung from the walls as well, explaining the hut’s surprising brightness. Platters of meat and fruit, and skins of wine, were laid by the fire.

The humans were seated around the fire. Their blindfolds had been removed, as had Rivkah’s gag, but their hands were still bound. They watched the approaching elves—Sharl indignantly, Rivkah anxiously, Romuel and Doria warily.

Rowan faced Sharl squarely.

“As I said before, I am Rowan, Eldest of this clan. What is your name, and do you speak for these others?”

Sharl struggled to his feet, awkward because of his bound hands. “I am Sharl, son of Loran of Cielman and High Lord of Allanmere. My companions are the Lady Rivkah, a mage in my employ, and Doria and Romuel, my guards, and yes, I speak on their behalf, although Rivkah is more fluent in your language than I.”

“Do you understand that you and your people are fairly our prisoners, captured trespassing upon our territory?” Rowan asked him.

“I understand, but I must explain that—” Sharl began.

“No.” Rowan cut him off sharply. “There will be a time for explanations. Answer me simply. Do you understand that it was our right to take you prisoner, and that we have fairly done so?”

Sharl sighed.

“Yes, I understand that.”

“Then if you, as leader over these three others, give your word that none of you will attempt violence or escape, nor will your mage cast any magic, we will free your hands and treat you with the courtesy due those who share food and fire until my judgment has been rendered,” Rowan said. “Will you give such word?”

“Do I have a choice?” Sharl asked wryly.

“Of course you do,” Rowan said evenly. “You can choose to remain bound and treated as an enemy, if that is what you prefer.”

Sharl sighed again.

“I give you my word as High Lord of Allanmere, on behalf of myself and my companions,” he said.

Rowan nodded, and Dusk drew a knife and cut the thongs binding the humans’ wrists.

“You are welcome to share our food and fire,” Dusk said, sheathing his knife, and Chyrie and Valann glanced at each other. His phrasing was of the lesser offer of food and fire, given to prisoners, rather than the full welcome given to guests and kin that had been made to Val and Chyrie. The subtle distinction, however, was apparently wasted on the humans, for Sharl and Rivkah glanced puzzledly at each other even as they rubbed the circulation back into their hands.

Val and Chyrie sat down, the jar making Chyrie gasp and press a hand to her ribs. Immediately Dusk turned back to her.

“Forgive me,” he said. “You should not have had to wait.”

“It is possible she is with child,” Val told him. “She ripened only days ago, and there has not been time for her scent to change again. Is it too soon to know?”

“I will see.” Dusk flattened one hand against Chyrie’s belly. Chyrie was impressed; Dusk had obviously honed his power much more finely than Val, for she felt nothing but a slight tingling warmth from his touch. He sat back and eyed her puzzledly.

“You say you ripened only days ago?” he said slowly.

“No more than five days.” Chyrie nodded. “I am certain of that.” She hesitated. “Is something awry? The truth is that I was assaulted by humans, and Val and I feared—”

“And when was this?” Dusk interrupted.

“But two nights past,” Val said.

Dusk touched Chyrie’s belly again, frowning, then turned to Val.

“Was she injured in her childbearing parts such that you used healing magic upon or near them?” Dusk asked.

“It was the greatest healing I have ever attempted,” Val admitted.

“Then that is the explanation,” Dusk mused to himself. He turned back to Chyrie.

“You are indeed with child,” he said. “I was puzzled twofold. First, the life within you is too strong for a seed planted but five days before. It is as if the seed were planted months past, which was not possible if you only just ripened. But I have seen it happen that when very strong healing magic was used upon recently impregnated females, both animal and elf, that the seed of life was hastened toward fruition. We try to avoid such hastening because little is known of the consequences. You may expect to feel movement very soon, and birth in perhaps six to seven moons, not twelve.”

“You said you were puzzled twofold,” Val said quickly. “Is something amiss with the child?”

“Naught but the fact that there are two sparks of life, not one,” Dusk said, shrugging.

There was a moment of complete silence.

“Two?” Rowan asked in a very, very quiet voice. “She is carrying two?”

“Another Gifted One can confirm it, but I am certain,” Dusk said, shrugging again. “Both are healthy and strong, as far as can be told now. I have never seen the like. It is surely a gift from the Mother Forest.”

“Surely you have been sent to us for a great purpose,” Rowan murmured.

“We were not sent for any purpose of yours or of the humans,” Val said adamantly. “Surely you must see that Chyrie must be returned to our people for protection. She and the lives she bears are too precious for any other course.”

“Certainly nothing must endanger seed touched by the Mother Forest,” Rowan agreed absently. “I will consider this. Be assured, Valann, that no harm will come to you or your mate so long as one of us stands to defend you. Dusk, finish tending her, and then there must be talk.”

Again Chyrie was impressed at Dusk’s skill, for she felt nothing more than the easing of her pain as her ribs healed under his touch. When he had finished, he stepped to the side of the hut and touched one of the curving wooden supports. A line of pale light shot up the wood and spread to the other supports, flowering out until the entire interior of the hut glowed softly. Dusk returned to the furs beside the fire and sat down next to Rowan.

“This hut contains us within a spell of true speaking,” Rowan said. “No lies may be spoken within it by any of us. Take food and drink as you will, and I will hear Valann and Chyrie speak first.”

“There is little to tell,” Val said, shrugging. “But a few days ago we were on wide patrol for the Wildings, and saw Silvertip camping on the edge of our boundaries.” He quickly told of Chyrie’s impending ripening, their decision to travel to the altars, the attack by the humans, and the rescue by Sharl and his companions. “I can think of nothing else of any significance, unless you wish the details of our coupling.”

“Any coupling that could produce two lives at once might well be worth learning”—Dusk laughed—“but we will spare the privacy of your memory. Let us hear the humans speak now.”

Sharl was silent for a long time. At last he poured himself a goblet of wine and spoke.

“I am the youngest son of five of the House of Loran,” he said. “It became plain to me that I could remain in my father’s house as a hanger-on, living on my title and the inheritances of my brothers, or I could start anew and build a House of my own. I did not think it would be difficult. There were many rich lands to the southeast, and many peasants who would be more than happy to migrate to them in exchange for plots of land and the expectation of a profitable and thriving trade city. I chose the land and my settlers with equal care, traveling often to other holdings to seek out the restless, the discontented, those living in places where all the good land was already taken and the trade roads overburdened. The Brightwater River, I said, would be our trade road and our protection, and water for our crops. Quickly the settlers came to claim the lands they would hold under me, and the beginnings of a city began to rise above the land.

“But there were other difficulties,” Sharl continued. “Farmers were mine for the asking, as were some craftsmen who would come on a venture, but that was all. I lacked merchants, more craftsmen, troops—and more than that, I needed money and materials. Nobility were harder to entice away from their comfortable homes. The forest surrounding our new home was tenanted by elves who harried and hunted any who entered the forest for wood or game. Those elves showed no interest in treating or even speaking with us—they were far more interested in peppering our hides with arrows.