Realm Of Light Part 15

"I can't leave Elandra alone here."

"She won't be alone. The spirits guard her."

Caelan scowled stubbornly, but Lea did not argue further. Instead, she walked over to the nearest pony and untied a long, narrow bundle wrapped in bright cloth. Bringing it back with her, she held it out to Caelan.

He made no move to take it.

"This is a gift," Lea said. "Look at it and you will understand."

His frown deepened, but he took the object and stripped away the wrapping. He held a sword sheathed in a scabbard of beautifully stamped leather. The hilt was wrapped in gold wire; the guard was carved with strange symbols that seemed to dance when he looked at them too long. A large square emerald winked from the end of the hilt. Despite his suspicions, he could not resist the sword.

His hand closed around the hilt, and it seemed to arch itself into his palm as though alive. Startled, he tightened his grip and found himself pulling off the scabbard with a swiftness that made the blade sing quietly.

Its length flashed in the sunshine like white fire. When he swung it, the blade moved true. It was perfectly balanced, a thing of joy in his hand. He had never held such a sword, had never felt so totally attuned to a weapon. It was virgin steel, not yet bloodied in combat. The edge was honed to razor sharpness, the metal satiny smooth and lacking any nicks or blemishes. He knew instinctively that he would be the first warrior to fight with it. Its blade would sing with the strength of his arm, and no one else's.

It sang to him already, a low hum that seemed to vibrate in his very bones. "I am Exoner," it told him. "I am true."

Looking up in wonder, he found Lea watching him with something like hope in her face. "This was made especially for me?" he asked, astonished.

"Yes, Caelan. It was made for you."

He ran his finger down the center of the blade, admiring it anew. "Choven steel," he said aloud, then frowned.

Lea was nodding. "You have never held such a weapon before, have you?"

"No." His mouth felt suddenly dry, and his heart beat too fast. "Only-only kings carry weapons that are Choven-forged."

Lea smiled. "Will you come now? Please don't worry about the empress. I promise you she is safe. We will not be gone long."

He could protest no longer. In silence he sheathed the sword and carried it in his hand as he walked over to the pony waiting for him. s.h.a.ggy, st.u.r.dy, and unimpressed by him, it looked at him through its long forelock and snorted.

"Wear the sword, Caelan," Lea said, mounting her pony with lithe grace. From a saddlebag she shook out the folds of a fur-lined cloak the same blue as her gown, and swung it around her shoulders. "It is yours."

He stood there, feeling dazed and witless. The sword seemed so obvious a bribe, yet he found himself impatient with his own suspicions. It was a magnificent gift, impossible to refuse. He loved it, heart and soul, and already could not imagine going anywhere without it. Who would give him such a weapon? What was wanted in exchange?

"Gifts are free," Lea said softly.

He glanced up, but didn't meet her gaze. With a sigh, he buckled on the sword. Its weight felt right upon his hip. Confidence surged through him, and he felt as though he could walk into any battle now and win. Wearing Exoner was like having an extra man at his side.

Reaching into the saddlebag, Caelan pulled out a fur-lined cloak and warm gauntlets. With them on, he adjusted the stirrup lengths and mounted. His long legs almost dragged the ground, but he knew his pony was capable of carrying his weight all day without tiring. Indeed, he would take one of these ugly little steeds any day over the long-legged, flashy horses bred in Imperia.

A sudden commotion behind him made him whirl the pony around in time to see the nordeer bounding through the trees. Swift and graceful, they flitted away, their white coats ghostly pale against the snow.

"Quick!" Lea cried, spurring her pony forward. "They are our guide. Keep up with them."

There was no more time to wonder or question. Caelan galloped after the nordeer, settling deep in the saddle and ducking low to avoid branches. Without asking, he knew they were heading for the Cascade Mountains, and in less than an hour they were climbing a steep, rocky trail and picking a scrambling path through snowdrifts.

The Cascade River itself, so mighty and swift when it thundered through the mountain pa.s.s during summer, now lay frozen in slumber, buried beneath ice and snow. They crossed it at a reckless gallop, hoofbeats echoing down the mountain pa.s.s like thunder. On the other side rose a trail steep and harrowing, seeming to go almost straight up in places.

Yet the ponies never faltered or balked, no matter how difficult the way. Caelan strained to keep the nordeer in sight. Sometimes he lost them completely and had to rely on the quick clatter of their hooves or the swift flick of a tail as one bounded into sight among the rocks then vanished again.

The chase was thrilling. He found himself glorying in the whip of cold air against his face. The wild recklessness of the ride set his heart pounding in delight. He had not enjoyed anything so much in years, and he remembered how as a boy he used to live for those stolen moments when he could escape to the glacier and gallop free and wild across its expanse.

Today, he could feel the hearts of the nordeer, and a part of him ran with them, swiftly and effortlessly, like the wind itself.

Above them, the steep trail ascended into a cloud of fog and icy mist. Suddenly he could see nothing. The whole world was blanked out in damp silence.

Snorting, the pony slowed down, and Lea's mount crowded it from behind. "I can't see anything," she called out.

"Stay close," Caelan warned her.

This was always a danger in the mountains. The sudden fogs could lead an unwary traveler to an unexpected plunge over a precipice. He tightened the reins, although his pony was wise enough to pick a careful way through the rocks.

As for the nordeer, they seemed to have vanished completely. He could not see them, could not hear them.

It was tempting to halt and retreat. He could rely on his own knowledge of the trails to take them down safely again. But the glacier was so close now. The wind blowing in his face smelled of ancient ice.

Caelan's blood stirred. He loved the glacier. For too long he had been away. He would not turn back now.

"Let's keep climbing," he said, and kicked his pony forward.

The pony scrambled and lunged up a series of stair-stepped ledges that looked suitable for a goat; then the fog cleared, and they were above the cloud band, up on top above the rest of the world.

Caelan glanced down at the treetops below, dark green tips peeking out through the cottony cloud. The pa.s.s plunged a dizzying distance far below them; overhead, the blue wheel of sky arched clear. Caelan's head swiveled as he drank in the sight of the vast gray-green ice of the glacier itself.

His heart filled his throat, and suddenly he was a heedless boy again. Tipping back his head and whooping in sheer joy, Caelan glimpsed the herd of nordeer in the distance and kicked his pony after them. This was the one place where he felt at home, truly one with earth and sky. The glacier had been his refuge, his place of restoration, his own private sanctuary. Now his mind felt clear and peaceful for the first time in too long. He bent lower over the pony's neck, urging it faster after the bounding nordeer.

Lea followed at his heels, never falling too far behind.

The nordeer ahead slowed down. Suddenly he was among them, riding in their midst. The sunshine flowed over them, gilding their rippling shoulders. Their antlers looked tipped with silver; then, in surprise, he realized it was no illusion. The silver was real, and their large, solemn eyes were blue, not animal brown.

Nor were they wild creatures as he had originally thought, for now each animal wore a bright green collar around its neck, from which hung a silver bell. The bells were ringing with every bounding stride the animals made, heralding their arrival in a melodic, tinkling cascade of sound.

He had not noticed the bells before. Nor had he ever traveled so far across the glacier so fast. He seemed almost to feel distance slipping past his ears along with the rush of the wind, then they dipped down a slope and raced up the other side. At the crest of the rise, the nordeer stopped in a kicked-up flurry of snow and ice, great plumes of white breath shooting from their nostrils.

Caelan's pony stopped with them, and he sat there in the saddle, his fingers slack on the reins, his heart pounding from exertion, and stared at the array of tents spread out before him. They were fashioned of every possible color and hue-bright, billowy shelters that could be knocked down and moved in a matter of minutes. Smoke curled from holes in the tent tops, and there was a general bustle and activity in all directions, punctuated by the rhythmic hammering of smiths at work.

Some of Caelan's joy faded, and he felt nervous again. He wasn't sure why he had come here, or why Lea had insisted. The Choven were mysterious and nomadic. Seldom had he seen one; now and then they appeared at summer fairs to trade. Never permanently at one location, they could not be found by anyone who sought them. Those wishing to buy their magical wares had to leave word, and eventually the Choven would come of their own accord. They could not be haggled with. They could not be cheated. Sometimes they brought what a person had ordered; sometimes they delivered objects that they felt were more important. It was considered unwise to question a Choven selection; to refuse or break a deal was unheard of.

The nordeer trotted down to the camp, bells tinkling, antlers flashing silver in the sun. Caelan and Lea followed in their wake, and suddenly the flap of every tent seemed to open at the same time. Staring openly, the Choven peered out at them in silence.

Feeling very self-conscious, Caelan moved one hand nervously to the hilt of his sword, then dropped it. Could he be one of these people, as Lea had said? No, it was too fantastic. He refused to believe it. He had known both his mother and father. He looked like them. There had never been any hint that he and Lea were foundlings.

Yet what else explained why he was so drawn to the glacier, why he loved it so? What else explained how he could hold a warding key in his bare hands when doing so would kill any other man? Lea was no liar. She had loved Beva, who in his own rigid and stern way had been kind to her as a child. Why would she invent a falsehood against her own parents?

Caelan felt confused and wary as he and Lea rode to the center of the camp. It was a cleared s.p.a.ce, encircled by smithy tents. All the tent flaps were tied open. The smell of heated metal filled the air, and haphazard heaps of metal slugs lay about-gold, steel, silver, and pewter-along with pots of what looked like precious stones of every kind. This casual display of wealth seemed even more impressive because no guards were in evidence.

Still, he had never heard of anyone who would dare steal from a Choven tribe. What had they to fear?

The sounds of hammering stopped momentarily, and then even the smiths themselves came out to stare at Caelan and Lea. Stripped to the waist, their dark, leathery hides glistening with sweat that steamed in the frigid air, they were short, chunky individuals with broad, flat-boned faces marked by thick, dark brows and wide, thin mouths. Their eyes were tilted at the outward corners, as black as obsidian, and penetrating.

Caelan stared back at them, finding himself almost forgetting to breathe. It was said a Choven could look into your heart and read your future. It was said a Choven could look into your mind and impart whatever he wished there. It was said a Choven could whistle and the seasons would change in obedience to his will.

"Caelan," Lea said in a soft voice.

Startled, he glanced the way she was looking.

Garbed in flowing robes of white, a Choven male was striding toward them. Taller than the others, tall enough perhaps to come to Caelan's shoulder, he carried a long staff of gleaming black wood banded with gold. His arms were encircled with gold bracelets of the most intricate design.

As he drew nearer, Lea slid from her saddle and gestured for Caelan to do the same.

When he obeyed, the nordeer flicked their ears and melted away among the tents. The ponies went with them. Caelan was left feeling surrounded and cut off. Edgily, he moved forward to stand a little in front of Lea, and crossed his arms over his chest where he could grab his dagger and new sword quickly if he needed to. His gaze flicked back and forth among the watching Choven, in case they decided to close in.

Lea frowned at him in rebuke. "Stop it," she whispered. "Why do you fear?"

If she intended to shame his warrior pride, she succeeded. Hot-faced, he said nothing, not even when she stepped around him and hastened forward to meet the figure in white. She bowed to the Choven, and he stretched out a dark, long-fingered hand in response.

Up close, his skin had the texture of tree bark. His dark eyes moved like liquid in his face, and Caelan could feel his inquisitiveness like a physical force.

Stepping past Lea, the Choven came right up to Caelan and stopped directly in front of him.

Caelan's past experience with the Choven, although limited, had been that they either ignored a person completely or they stared in blatant rudeness. This Choven was of the latter variety. He took his time looking Caelan over from all angles, but Caelan had suffered worse scrutinies on the auction block. He put on his stony mask and gave the Choven a flat, rebellious stare in return.

When the Choven had finished his examination, he glanced at Lea. "Why does he fear?"

She inclined her golden head respectfully and steepled her hands into a triangle of harmony. "My brother is foolish and untrained, Moah."

Caelan shot her a glare that she ignored.

Moah tilted his head to one side and held out his long-fingered hands, palms up. "You wear the sword. You carry the emerald. You have followed the nordeer to us. We Choven bid you welcome, Caelan E'non, as we welcomed your sister Lea long ago. Are you ready to take your learning from us?"

Lea sent Caelan a radiant glance of pride, her blue eyes shining. The other Choven watched from their doorways. Silence floated over the camp.

Caelan felt a pull of sevaisin, sevaisin, like the strong current of a river. Instinctively he braced himself to resist it and glared at Moah. "For your kindness to my sister, I give you my thanks," he said in a stiff, formal tone that barely masked his anger. like the strong current of a river. Instinctively he braced himself to resist it and glared at Moah. "For your kindness to my sister, I give you my thanks," he said in a stiff, formal tone that barely masked his anger.

Lea gasped and turned toward him, but he ignored her as he went on glaring at Moah. "But beyond that, I am not your creature," he said. He drew the beautiful sword so swiftly the metal whistled against its scabbard. Sunlight flashed off the blade, and the other Choven lifted their voices in a deep, eerie cry of acclamation that made Caelan's hair p.r.i.c.kle up the back of his skull.

Swiftly he blocked his feeling of kinship with it, distrusting how alive and intelligent it seemed. He wanted nothing to do with something so strongly spell-forged, and he bent down and laid the sword on a brightly patterned rug lying on the ground in front of the nearest tent.

The Choven woman standing in its doorway opened her mouth in silent astonishment and fled inside.

Others spoke out loudly in a language that sent chills crawling through Caelan. He knew enough of the ancient words to recognize their tongue as one from darkest antiquity. The air was growing charged, as though spells were being summoned. Caelan could feel it around him, and his heartbeat quickened in alarm.

He did not know what could happen if a Choven became angry. But just then his own temper was boiling enough to keep him reckless.

Defiantly, he slipped the carrybag off his shoulder and dropped it on the rug beside the sword.

"Caelan, no!" Lea said in distress.

He refused to look at her and instead faced Moah once again, glaring down into the man's shimmering, unreadable eyes. "I cannot be bought," he said through his teeth, his anger like heat in his bones. "No matter how magnificent the price you offer, I am free, and I will stay that way. You told my sister we are Choven, but we are not. We are human, and we take pride in that."

His speech finished, he gave Moah a curt bow and wheeled around to stride away. "Come, Lea," he commanded. "We are leaving."

Chapter Eleven.

Lea trotted beside him, glaring in protest. "No, Caelan! You don't understand anything. Why must you be so rude?"

He lengthened his stride, refusing to listen. His ears were roaring, and he had to grit his teeth to hold back a rebuke. It was his fault, not hers, that he had come this far. He should never have held the sword, should never have admired it, should never have buckled it to his belt. Pausing in mid-stride, he yanked the scabbard free and flung it away.

Lea gasped. "You are stupid! You-"

He turned on her, rage swelling inside his chest. "I will not become a-"

Pain struck his chest as though he'd been speared. With a hoa.r.s.e cry, he doubled over and fell to his knees. This attack was worse than any of the previous ones. He felt as though his chest was being pried open. Desperately, he struggled to master the agony. If he could just sever sever the pain, then he could regain his feet and get far from here. the pain, then he could regain his feet and get far from here.

But severance severance failed him. He had lost his techniques, his knowledge, in the sea of pain. failed him. He had lost his techniques, his knowledge, in the sea of pain.

He cried out again, flailing with one powerful arm against an enemy that could not be touched. This battle raged inside him. Gasping for the breath that did not seem to come, he slewed around on his knees, falling off balance only to catch himself with one hand, and looked at the pouch containing his emerald. The leather was splitting along one seam. Through it he could see the stone glowing.

Again, his anger intensified. "Get away from me!" he shouted, fearing the emerald's mysterious power. "Get out of me!"

His heart was bursting. The pain grew worse, until he knew nothing but it. He had been told in the arena barracks that men did not pa.s.s out from pain alone. They might lose consciousness from loss of blood or shock or fear, but pain went on relentlessly.

Now, he prayed for oblivion, for release, but his agony burned ever more fiercely. It was unendurable, yet he could not escape it. He could not master it, could not master himself. Worst of all, he could not sever. sever. The calm void inside him had been filled with fire that twisted and tortured him. The calm void inside him had been filled with fire that twisted and tortured him.

He was drowning in pain, unable to breathe, his lungs jerking convulsively now. In a brief moment of clarity, he found himself writhing on the snow, its crusty, frozen surface scratching his cheek until it felt raw. Then another wave of pain, like a tide of heat, swept over him, driving him back into madness.

Suddenly an unknown voice spoke to him in words he did not understand. A cool barrier drove back the heat. He found himself able to breathe again. Shuddering, drenched in sweat, he lay there with his eyes closed while he dragged in breath after breath. The pain receded, leaving inexpressible relief. Spent and exhausted, he felt too weak to even lift his head.

"Arise," said the voice of Moah.

Caelan dragged his forearm across his face and slowly opened his eyes. He found himself lying on the ground with his fur-lined cloak a thin barrier between his body and the ice. Gone was the sunshine. Gone were the brightly colored tents. Instead, everything was gray, windswept, and desolate.

Struggling to his feet, he frowned at how weak he felt. He could barely stand, and his muscles felt drained as though he had been in combat for hours.

The only sound beyond his own labored breathing was the empty whistle of wind over the expanse of glacier.

Where had everyone gone? Where was he?

Suddenly alarmed, Caelan spun around and nearly lost his precarious balance. "Lea?" he said uncertainly.

He was alone, whisked by some means to the far end of the glacier and abandoned there. The wind blowing into his face was frigid and raw. As far as he could see in any direction, there was nothing but ice. No trees, no rocks, no tents. Just cloud, mist, and bone-chilling cold.