Lynn Flewelling - The Oracle's Queen

Nalia tried again to tell Korin the truth, but the horror in his eyes silenced her as harshly as the magic still stopping her tongue. At last she managed to whisper, “He fell.”

“I—I saw—” Korin stammered, slowly shaking his head. “I saw you!”

“Close that door,” Porion ordered, pointing beyond Nalia to the balcony door. “Close it and make it fast. Bar the windows, too!” Then he was pulling at Korin, drawing him away from her before she could find the words to make them understand.

He was evil! He was going to cast you aside as he did me! He was going to take your place!

The words would not come.

“I saw you,” Korin gasped again, then turned and strode from the room. The others followed and Nalia heard Korin cry out angrily, “It’s the madness. It’s in the blood. Guard her! See that she does no harm to my child!”

Nalia collapsed sobbing in Tomara’s arms and wept long after the sound of horses and trumpets had faded away outside. Korin was gone off to his war. He would never smile at her again, even if he did return.

I’m free of Niryn at last, though , she thought, consoling herself with that knowledge. My child will never be tainted by his touch or that false smile!

The late-summer sky overhead was blue as Zengati lapis the day Tamír led her army forth from Atyion. In the vineyards that lined the road women were cutting heavy bunches of grapes into deep baskets. In the distant meadows hundred of fine young foals gamboled among the vast herds, and the fields of grain shone like gold.

Tharin rode beside her, not yet ready to bid her farewell.

Behind them ranks of men-at-arms, archers, and mounted fighters marched under her banner and those of more than a dozen noble houses from Ilear to Erind.

Others, who had been levied from the towns and farms, had only knives, sickles, or cudgels, but they held themselves as proudly as the lords who led them.

The Companions all wore long blue tabards with her coat of arms emblazoned on their chests, and the baldric of her house.

Lutha and Barieus rode proudly, if a bit uncomfortably, talking happily with Una, who’d returned the day before with several regiments from Ylani.

Mahti rode with the wizards for now, with his oo’lu across his back in place of a sword. Word of their strange guide had spread quickly, soldiers’ gossip being what it was. Word of their queen’s sudden affection for the hill folk spread like wildfire. There was muttering, but their lords and captains kept everyone in line.

At midafternoon Mahti pointed inland toward the mountains. “We go that way.”

Tamír shaded her eyes. There was no road, only rolling fields, meadows, and wooded foothills beyond.

“I don’t see any pass,” said Ki.

“I know way,” Mahti insisted.

“Very well, then. We’ll go west.” Tamír reined in to make her farewells to Tharin.

He gave her a sad smile as they clasped hands. “This time it’s you riding away, rather than me.”

“I remember how that felt, watching you and Father leave. We’ll have some good tales to tell when we meet again.”

“May you hold the Sword of Ghërilain before the snow flies.” Raising his sword, he shouted, “For Skala and Tamír!”

The army took up the cheer, the words rolling back down the long line like a tide.

With a final wave, Tharin and his escort wheeled their horses and galloped back toward Atyion.

Tamír watched him go, then fixed her gaze on the mountains.

The following day brought them to the foothills, and the next to the forests that covered the foot of the range.

Late that afternoon, Mahti pointed out a game trail leading through a thick patch of wild currant bushes.

“Is that the start of your secret road?” asked Tamír.

“Soon come to,” Mahti replied. He spoke rapidly to Arkoniel.

“We follow this trail for a day, then follow a stream up to a waterfall,” Arkoniel told her. “The hidden trail starts just beyond it. He says the way is easier after that. We’ll reach the first hill folk village within two days.”

“I didn’t realize there were any living so close.”

“I not know these Retha’noi, but they see my oo’lu and know I be witch.” He spoke to Arkoniel again, evidently wanting to be certain that Tamír understood what he said clearly.

Arkoniel listened, his face going very serious. “The moment you see any hill folk you must call an immediate halt and stay still. He’ll go ahead and speak with them on our behalf. Otherwise, they’re likely to attack.”

Mahti disappeared into the underbrush for a moment. When he returned, he was wearing his own clothing and the animal-tooth necklace and bracelets. Climbing back onto his horse, he nodded to Tamír. “Now we go.”

The forest closed in around them, tall firs that scented the air and choked out the undergrowth. They saw no one that day or the next. The terrain grew steeper, and the wooded hillsides were strewn with large rocks. Mahti led them to the stream he’d spoken of and reached the small waterfall that afternoon. The faint game track they’d been following seemed to end at the pool beneath it.

“Good water,” Mahti told them.

Tamír called a halt, then dismounted with the others to fill her waterskin.

Mahti drank, then took his oo’lu from its sling and began to play. It was a short, hooting song, but when he was done Tamír saw a well-worn path leading away from the pool’s edge that had not been there before. The trees on either side were marked with faded handprints like the markings she’d seen around Lhel’s abandoned camp.

“Come!” Mahti set off briskly up the new trail. “You be in Retha’noi place. Keep promise.”

As they made camp that night Arkoniel joined Tamír and the others around their fire.

“I’ve just spoken with Lyan. Korin’s fleet tried to land at Ero. Tharin had word from the wizards and coastal lookouts that they were making for the port, and Illardi was waiting for them, with the wizards. He used the few ships you had there, setting them ablaze to trap Korin’s ships. The flames spread, and our wizards used their own spells to help things along. All the enemy vessels were destroyed or captured.”

“That’s very good news!” Tamír exclaimed. “But no word of an attack by land?”

“Nevus is bringing a sizable army south. Tharin’s already heading out to meet him.”

“Sakor bring him luck,” Ki said, casting a stick onto the fire.

Lying in her blankets that night, watching the branches sway against the stars, Tamír sent up a silent prayer of her own for Tharin, hoping that he wouldn’t be taken from her, too.

The next day the way grew steeper, and there was still no sign of a village. Just before midday, however, Mahti raised a hand to halt the others.

“There.” He pointed up at a jumble of fallen stones on the right.

Tamír signaled a halt. It took a moment to make out the man squatting on the highest rock. He was staring straight back at her and had an oo’lu pressed to his lips.

Mahti raised his own horn over his head and waited. After a moment the other man lowered his and shouted something to him.

“You stay,” Mahti told her, then climbed nimbly up the rocks to join the stranger.

“We’re not alone,” Ki whispered.

“I see them.” At least a dozen more Retha’noi were visible, watching them from either side of the divide. Some had bows, others long horns like Mahti’s.

No one moved. Tamír clutched her reins, listening to the low murmur of the two witches talking. Now and then the stranger’s voice rose angrily, but presently he and Mahti climbed down from the rocks and stood on the trail.