Lynn Flewelling - The Oracle's Queen

“He talk to you and oreskiri,” Mahti called out to her. “Others stay.”

“I don’t like this,” Ki muttered.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be with her,” Arkoniel told him.

Tamír dismounted and gave her reins to Ki, then unbuckled her sword belt and handed that to him, too.

She and Arkoniel walked together toward the witches, hands outstretched to show they were unarmed.

This man was older than Mahti and missing most of his teeth. His witch marks showed clearly on his skin, warning that he had some sort of spell in place.

“This Sheksu,” Mahti informed her. “I tell him you come to bring peace. He ask how.”

“Arkoniel, tell him who I am, and that I will tell my people to stop their persecution, as long as the Retha’noi are peaceful toward us. Tell him we only wish to pass safely through his valley. We do not come to conquer or spy.”

Arkoniel relayed this, and Sheksu asked a sharp question.

“He asks why he should believe a southlander girl who hasn’t even known a man yet.”

“How did he know that?” Tamír hissed, trying to cover her surprise. “Tell him I will swear by all my gods.”

“I don’t think that will convince him. Prick your finger and offer him a drop of blood. That will be proof that you aren’t trying to hide anything from him. Use this.” He took Lhel’s needle from his purse.

Tamír pricked her forefinger and held it out to Sheksu. The witch caught the droplet and rubbed it between his thumb and finger. He shot a surprised look at Mahti and asked him something.

“He said you have two shadows,” Arkoniel murmured.

“Brother?”

“Yes.”

Sheksu and Mahti spoke again.

“He’s explaining about Lhel,” Arkoniel whispered.

“He say to see mark,” Mahti said at last.

“The scar? I’ll have to take off my armor. Tell him I need his word that this is not a trick.”

“He say no trick, by Mother.”

“Very well, then. Arkoniel, can you help me?”

The wizard managed to get one side of her cuirass undone and held it while she pulled off her tabard.

“What the hell are you doing?” Ki called, starting forward.

Sheksu raised a hand at Ki.

“Ki, stop! Stay where you are,” Arkoniel ordered.

“Do as he says,” Tamír told him calmly.

Ki stayed put, scowling. Behind him, the other Companions remained tense and alert.

Tamír took off her hauberk and pulled down the neck of the padded shirt and the linen undershirt underneath to show Sheksu the scar between her breasts. He ran a finger over the faded white stitch marks, then looked deeply into her eyes. He smelled of grease and rotten teeth, but his black eyes were sharp as a hawk’s and just as wary.

“Tell him that Lhel helped me so that our people could make peace,” Tamír said.

Sheksu stepped back, still eyeing her closely.

“It might help if Brother made an appearance,” Arkoniel whispered.

“You know I can’t make him come and go as I please—”

But suddenly Brother was there. It was only for an instant, long enough for him to let out a low, mocking hiss that stood the hair up on her neck and arms; but for that instant she thought she felt another presence with him, and the scent of freshly crushed leaves lingered on the air. She looked around quickly, hoping for a glimpse of Lhel, but there was only the feeling of her, and the scent.

Sheksu appeared satisfied as he spoke to Mahti and Arkoniel.

“He believes you, because no Orëska wizard could make that kind of magic,” said Arkoniel. “Brother just did you a great service.”

“Not Brother. Lhel,” she replied softly. “I wonder if he saw her.”

“He see,” Mahti told her. “She speak for you.”

Sheksu spoke to Mahti again, gesturing at his people still standing overhead, then down the trail in the direction they meant to go.

“He say you can pass with your people, but you must go quick,” Mahti explained. “He will send song about you to next village and they send to next. He say he not—” He frowned and looked to Arkoniel to clarify.

“You’ve been granted safe passage, and Sheksu will relay your story on, but he can’t promise you will be welcome, only that he has spoken for you.”

Sheksu said something else and Arkoniel bowed to him. “He was impressed that you offered your blood, and by what he read from it. He says you have favor with his goddess. If you keep your word, you should be safe.”

“I am honored by his trust.” She took a gold sester from her purse and presented it to him. The coin was stamped with Illior’s crescent moon and the flame of Sakor. “Tell him that these are the symbols of my people. Tell him that I call him friend.”

Sheksu accepted the coin and rubbed it between his fingers, then said something that sounded friendly.

“He is impressed,” Arkoniel murmured. “Gold is very scarce here, and highly prized.”

In return Sheksu gave her one of his bracelets, made with the teeth and claws of a bear.

“It will give you strength against your enemies and mark you as a friend of the hill folk,” Arkoniel interpreted.

“Tell him I am honored to wear it.”

Sheksu bade her farewell and quickly disappeared among the rocks.

“Go quick now,” Mahti told her.

Tamír put her armor back on and strode back to the Companions.

“That seemed to go well,” Ki murmured, handing her sword back to her.

“We’re not over the mountains yet.”

Niryn’s death and the manner of it cast a pall over Korin’s heart. As he led his army east, he could not shake off a sense of foreboding.

Nalia had killed Niryn; of that he had no doubt, despite her stammering assertion that he had only fallen. “Are all the women of the royal line cursed with madness?” he’d ranted to Alben as Niryn’s broken body was carried away. Moriel had followed the litter, wailing like a woman over his former master.

“Mad or not, she bears your child. What are you going to do with her?” Alben asked.

“Not just a child. A girl. A new queen. I’ve sworn before the altar of the Lightbearer that she will be my heir. Why am I still cursed?”

He’d questioned the priests about it before they marched, but there were no Illiorans left in Cirna, and the others were too frightened of him to offer anything more than hollow assurances. The Dalnan priest assured him that some women went mad while they were pregnant, but grew calm again after the birth, and gave him charms to heal her mind. Korin sent them up to the tower with Tomara.

Thoughts of Aliya and the monstrous thing she’d died giving birth to came to haunt his dreams again, as well. Sometimes he was back in that birthing chamber with her; other nights it was Nalia in the bed, her marred face twisted in agony as she pushed out another abomination.

Tanil and Caliel used to calm him after such nightmares. Alben and Urmanis did their best, bringing him wine when they heard him wake.

And then there was Moriel. The farther Korin got from Cirna, the more he found himself wondering again why he’d finally agreed to give the Toad a commission, knowing he’d been Orun’s creature and Niryn’s lackey.

Despite all these concerns, he felt increasingly lighter as the days passed. He’d been lax with himself since Ero, he realized with some chagrin. He’d let sorrow and doubt unman him, and depended too much on Niryn. His body was still hard, his sword arm strong, but his spirit had grown weak with lack of use. These past months seemed very dark, as if the sun had never shone on the fortress.

He turned in the saddle and looked back over the thousands of men at his back.

“It’s a brave sight, isn’t it?” he said to Master Porion and the others, looking proudly at the ranks of cavalry and foot.