Dave Smeds: The Sorcery Within

"What happened?" Alemar asked Fumlok.

The little man kept gulping and opening his mouth like a fish. At first, Alemar worried that the discomfiture concerned Elenya's gender; then he realized that Fumlok had been terrified to have been so close to Lonal's anger. When he could finally speak, his answer was tentative.

"It is a religious question. Toltac, most high of the Bo-no-ken, must judge."

"I don't understand."

Fumlok pointed to Elenya. "She wears white. She plays theju-moh-kai, the duel. And she kills a man in combat. Women cannot do this."

"Why not?" Elenya demanded.

When Fumlok replied, he spoke only to Alemar. "Because women have no souls."

LERINA PLUNGED INTO THE WATER,feeling the tug of drenched fabric against her body. The warmth of the Dragon Sea enveloped her, familiar as a lover. She surfaced, flung the salt water from her hair, and waded, waist-deep, toward one of the many small islets that dotted this section of Cilendrodel's coast. Fishermen and smugglers feared the reef offshore, providing Lerina with a privacy broken only rarely by visitors combing the tidewaters for shellfish. The isolation pleased her, the beach and the islets a refuge to which she would escape whenever possible, often spending entire days sunbathing or diving. Her favorite place of all was a tooth of land about a hundred lengths out. From the coastal side it appeared to be steep and rocky – inhospitable – but the far side had been worn by the ages into a minuscule beach, a treasured place she had never shown even to her lovers. As now, she went to it when she needed relief from the uninspired existence of Garthmorron Hold.

The water deepened; she swam the last of the way. The sun and the Sister both shone in a cloudless sky. Lerina slipped off her only item of clothing, a brief overtunic, and left it on an eroded chunk of stone above tide level to dry. As she reclined on the sand, she purred at the warmth penetrating her skin. Her jet-black hair curled as it dried; her nipples, enlivened by the swim, flattened with the effects of the sunshine. She was a petite woman, flushed with youth. As she created patterns with the salt crusting on her abdomen, she wondered how her figure compared to those of the fine ladies of the Calinin courts.

Lost in reverie, she almost didn't notice the first moan.

The rising surf lapped at her ankles, eroding her drowsiness. She sat bolt upright. Faint sounds of torment came from the cave at the head of the beach, ordinarily her ultimate retreat. Heart racing, she inched her way toward the rock on which she had laid her garment.

As she put it on, she discovered a bloodstain on its front. Not hers. She heard another moan. Holding the wet spot away from her breasts with one hand, she examined her surroundings.

Fresh blood on the rock had soaked into the fabric. Other drops marred the sand nearer the cave. The spoor of dragging footsteps was clear now that she was paying attention.

Abruptly she rushed forward, pausing briefly at the cave entrance to allow her pupils to adjust to the shadows. Now that the thunder of the surf no longer muted her hearing, she distinctly detected strained breathing.

He sat, body leaning against the far wall of the cave, eyes open and glazed. Sickly anemic skin peeked through the rents in his clothing, coughed blood brightening older, darker stains on the front of his jacket, clotted areas on his scalp and thigh betraying recent seepage. His hair hung in disarrayed, fevered strands.

"Oh, no…," she whispered.

He didn't respond when she squatted beside him. She brushed him on the cheek.

"Who are you? How did you get here?"

His eyes focused briefly on her hand. A croak emerged from his throat.

"What?" she coaxed, leaning her ear to his mouth.

"Water…"

He closed his eyelids. "I'll get help," she said, gently squeezing his unwounded shoulder. She rose.

"No," he said, and tried to lean forward. He made it only the width of a finger. He sagged back.

"But…" His expression contained a plea she didn't understand. "You'll die without care."

He didn't speak again but continued to stare at her. She was transfixed. The fear and helplessness on the surface couldn't hide the life of challenge and courage beneath. No men such as this lived in Garthmorron.

Finally, he closed his lids and slumped into unconsciousness. She had to do something. She arranged him more comfortably, leaving his upper body against the cave wall to ease his breathing. He would be dead by the time she returned. But then, he should have been dead already.

She ran, she swam, and she climbed. By the time she had gained the mainland, mounted the bluff, and navigated the forest trails between the shore and the hold, the wind of her passage had dried her apparel once again. She used the back entrance, through the vegetable gardens, and entered the central grounds without being seen.

Cooking smells wafted from the kitchens near the main house, stablemen groomed oeikani, and Lerina's great-uncle conversed with two serious-faced townsmen in the courtyard. She stole into her father's cottage and cast off the overtunic, choosing a blouse and skirt to replace it. Locating a watertight satchel, she stuffed it with tights, leggings, blankets, a cape, and sundry articles.

Next she slipped into the pantry while Brienna, the old cook, was busy in the kitchen. Lerina grabbed a large wicker basket and filled it with food, particularly that easy to consume in a weakened condition. Then she hid both basket and satchel behind a dilapidated, abandoned outhouse.

No longer concerned about concealment, she removed two large flasks from the tack room, and filled them at the well in the middle of the courtyard. The stablemaster greeted her.

"Good morning, young mistress," he said.

"Morning, Rictane."

Rictane limped to the other side of the oeikani he was grooming and reapplied the brush. "You must be very thirsty today."

She smiled. "I'm planning on staying at the beach all day. I thought I'd make sure I had enough."

Rictane waved an aged hand toward the main house. "Best ask your uncle about that. There's been some trouble in Eruth. He may want you close to home, especially with your father gone with Lord Dran."

"Trouble? What kind?"

"Can't say. Two riders pulled up a short time ago. They're talking with the chamberlain now. I don't like to repeat rumors until I've had the story straight."

"I see," she said thoughtfully. "All right. I'll wait."

The old man winked. She smiled and went to visit her favorite oeikani in his stall. The buck snorted and lowered his head so that she could scratch the bases of his knobby antlers. She patted him, checked his mane for burrs and the gap between his cloven hooves for lodged gravel. Rictane or a stableboy had beaten her to it. He shuffled impatiently.

"I'm sorry," she whispered into one of its ears. "We won't be riding today, much as I'd like to."

She returned to the tack room and its familiar, leathery smell. The shelves lost a quantity of bandages, needle and thread, ointments, cotton, and alcohol. Not so large an amount, however, that it would be missed among the supply needed to maintain a lord's stable.

A loose board at the rear of the stable permitted Lerina to squeeze out. She made it to the old outhouse and added her new booty to the satchel.

With the satchel looped over head and left shoulder, the flasks on the opposite side, and the basket cradled in arms, she almost bore more than she could manage. She had wanted to carry them on a saddle, but didn't dare risk taking an animal now. Even burdened so, she knew the grounds and made it to the forest without being discovered.

She had to stop frequently to rest her arms. Once, a gamekeeper happened along the path. She hid in the undergrowth until he had passed. The scent of salt spray increased. Her journey down the bluff was the slowest leg of all. With the extra weight, she didn't want to develop dangerous momentum.