Leslie Moore - Griffin's Shadow

Seijon and Mistress de Guera aren’t the only ones who’ve fallen in love with Jelena’s husband, Magnes thought. “Ashinji reminds you of someone who’s close to you, doesn’t he?” Magnes asked. A flash of insight had made clear the old woman’s behavior toward his friend.

“Yes,” Gran replied. “I had a son once, very much like Ashi.” She said no more and Magnes didn’t press, sensing the terrible weight of grief behind her words.

Fadili came up behind him and touched his shoulder. “Everything is clean and packed up, Tilo,” he reported. “I’ll return to the temple now, if you have no further need of me.”

“Thank you, Brother,” Magnes replied. “Tell Brother Wambo that I’ll be back sometime tomorrow afternoon.”

After Fadili had departed, Magnes pulled up another chair beside the bed and sat. Seijon had made himself a pallet on the floor at the bed’s foot, and now lay curled up under a blanket with only the top of his head showing. Gran gazed at Ashinji’s face.

“You miss him, don’t you? Your son, I mean,” Magnes said.

“I miss all my family,” Gran replied. She reached out and laid a hand on Ashinji’s forehead, closing her eyes. Magnes didn’t realize he had been holding his breath until Gran’s lids fluttered open. “Ashi is adrift… lost in the gray lands between life and death. All I can do is to continue to call to him, in the hope that he hears and heeds my voice.”

“If he dies, what then?” Magnes asked. “Will you be able to do what you need to do without him?”

“I don’t know. I’m not even certain that we can prevail, even with every weapon at our disposal, and Ashinji’s death would make things that much more difficult.”

“Then he has to live.”

The night passed slowly. While Gran dozed and Seijon snored, Magnes remained awake, keeping watch. When the first light of dawn leaked in through the slats of the shutters, he rose, stretched the kinks from his back and reached over to press his hand to Ashinji’s throat. A pulse-weak, but steady-beat against the sensitive tips of his fingers. He breathed a sigh of relief.

His friend still lived.

He bent over to whisper in Gran’s ear. “Gran, wake up.”

“Hmmmm, yes, yes, I’m awake,” she muttered.

Her eyes flew open and before she could speak again, Magnes reassured her. “Yes, he’s still alive.”

“I know,” she answered.

The infirmary door rattled in its frame, then swung open to admit Mistress de Guera. “How is he?” she demanded without preamble.

“Still alive, Mistress, but just barely,” Magnes answered. Mistress de Guera advanced upon the bed and Magnes had to dodge in order to avoid a collision. She stood for many heartbeats, looking down at Ashinji, her face a mask of conflicting emotions.

At last, her eyes turned first to Gran and then to Magnes. “Leal admitted to stabbing Ashinji only after much…persuasion.”

“What’ll happen to Leal, Mistress?” Seijon asked, awake now, and sitting up on his pallet, hair tousled from sleep.

The mistress’s full lips compressed and a tiny vertical crease appeared between her eyes. She reached beneath the blankets and withdrew Ashinji’s hand clasped in hers.

She stood thus, unmoving, until Gran broke the silence. “Leal is dead, is that not so, Mistress?” the old elven woman asked. Mistress de Guera laid Ashinji’s hand down on top of the coverlet.

“Yes, that is so.”

Abruptly, the mistress spun on her heel and paced toward the door. Before she stepped through, she paused.

“My thanks, Brother Tilo, for your good efforts to save my slave. I am…appreciative.” With that, she departed.

Gran shook her head. “The mistress has made a terrible mistake,” she declared.

“What do you mean?” Magnes asked, though he already knew the answer.

“She has allowed herself to love a slave,” Gran replied.

A month had passed since Jelena gave birth, and to celebrate the newest Onjara’s first four weeks of life, the king commanded that a feast be given in the little princess’s honor. At the same time, he would officially present his granddaughter to the people of Alasiri.

The day of the festivities dawned wet and blustery. The spring rains had been much heavier this year, a gift and aid from the One, many folk said. The longer the rains lasted, the longer they would delay the Soldarans’ northward march.

Hatora remained calm and quiet throughout the entire presentation ceremony and the feast that followed. Even as her two proud grandfathers passed her back and forth between them like a game ball, she maintained an air of total contentment. Everyone present could see how much both the king and his oldest friend adored the granddaughter they shared.

The day after the feast, word arrived from the south. The Soldaran legions were on the move.

“Keep your eyes on your opponent’s face, Princess! The eyes! Watch his eyes! Yes! Excellent!”

Jelena parried a blow aimed at her midsection, feinted left, then whipped her blade up and to the right, clocking her sparring partner on the side of his helmet, rattling him hard. He stepped back and lowered his own blade. With unsteady fingers, he fumbled at the strap that held his helm in place.

“Are you all right, Mai?” Jelena called out.

“He’s fine, aren’t you, boy?” Kurume Nohe, swordmaster and Jelena’s teacher, answered. “My son has a very hard head.”

Mai Nohe nodded in agreement as he pulled his helmet from his head and let it dangle from his hand by the strap. “Just a little dizzy is all, Princess. Don’t worry yourself.”

“I don’t know, Mai. I hit you pretty hard.” Jelena dropped her own sword and removed her helmet. “You look pale.”

Mai laughed, his dark eyes gleaming. “Like my father says…I have a hard head.”

Kurume Nohe and his son had been working with Jelena now for several weeks, taking up her arms training where she and Ashinji had left off before he’d ridden east to his death.

“You are making tremendous progress, Highness. One would think that you were born to this.” Kurume nodded approvingly.

Jelena laughed in turn. “Hardly!” she exclaimed. “I was born into servitude in my uncle’s house. I never would have been allowed near weapons of any kind had it not been for my cousin insisting I receive at least a rudimentary education. I learned the basics from him.”

“You possess a natural ability, then. Frankly, I’m not surprised, considering your bloodline.”

“Yes, well… natural ability aside, will I be ready to ride to war at my father’s side?” Jelena caught Mai scrutinizing her from the corner of her eye. He seemed like he wanted to say something, but couldn’t quite work up the nerve.

“I would wish for more time, but there’s nothing like the forge of battle to temper a young warrior. You’ll be ready.” Kurume picked up Jelena’s sword and held it out to her, hilt first. “I think you’ve had enough practice for today, Highness. We will resume tomorrow, same time.”

“Until tomorrow, Master Kurume,” Jelena replied, taking her sword and carefully sheathing it.

Kurume bowed, then turned and headed for the gate that led out of the king’s private sparring yard. “You coming, Son?” he called out over his shoulder, never breaking stride.

“I’ll be along shortly, Father. I want a word with Princess Jelena,” Mai replied. “That is, if it’s convenient, Princess.”

“Of course, Mai. What is it you wish to speak to me about?” Jelena started walking toward the gate, helmet tucked beneath her arm. Mai fell in beside her. She kept her eyes focused straight ahead, afraid to look directly into Mai’s face, afraid of seeing what she suspected might be there.