Victory Of The Hawk Part 6

With that prayer, exultation kindled in Khamsin's heart and she smiled behind her korfi, for all that the messenger who'd come couldn't see it. She already felt kindly toward this young man for respecting her customs, and that he brought her such news made him all the more welcome.

"Indeed I do. Take word to the stables, and tell them to prepare my horse."

Near Dolmerrath, Kilmerry Province, Jeuchar 10, AC 1876 The Bhandreid had hundreds of Hawks at her disposal all over the realm. Every member of the Order in Kilmerry had been called into active duty to find the escaped slave girl and the fugitives Kestar Vaa.r.s.en and Celoren Valleford. Many from the provinces to the east and southeast had deployed as well, answering the rise of insurrectionists all over the province. But some, Pol Amarsaed discovered as he took his own forces out of Shalridan, were no longer available to answer a call from him. Some had already fallen to elven arrows. Others, according to scattered reports, had been driven eastward by what was calling itself the army of Nirrivy-increasingly larger forces that would indeed soon be an army in truth, if they weren't already.

All told, when he followed Bron Wulsten and Jekke Yerredes into the northern coastal woods, barely three score Knights of the Hawk came to join him. Not enough, he feared, to carry out the task that had been appointed to them.

But by the Father and Mother, he would not let them see him give in to that fear. Not when they'd need every ounce of their courage to face what lay before them now.

"I know what you're all thinking," he called when he gathered them together in the light of early morning, armed with sword and pistol, amulets out and gleaming faintly blue. "You've all heard the rumors by now of what's come over the telegraphs. Dareli in flames. The Anreulag Herself raining wrath down upon the people. You're wondering if the Voice of the G.o.ds has turned against us. And why we're here in these accursed elf-infested woods rather than joining our comrades in the east, to listen to the Voice and learn Her will for what we should do.

"But I say to you, brothers and sisters, that Her will is already plain. We have been called to find the heretic who thinks to challenge the G.o.ds with her power, and the traitors to our Order who've supported her. If the Anreulag is angry, let us appease Her by bringing Her the heads of Her enemies. Let us steel ourselves against the fear with which inhuman magic seeks to cloud our minds, and let us Cleanse the land of that magic's taint. We are Her eyes to see, Her swords to strike. Let us strike in Her name! Are you with me?"

A roar of affirmation rose up from sixty throats. "Ani a bhota Anreulag, arach shae!"

In dour satisfaction, Captain Amarsaed raised his fist and brought it swooping down again, signaling his force to move out. Small as their numbers were, they still had enough riders to rip paths through the cl.u.s.tered trees, and to shake the earth with their pa.s.sing. Amarsaed dismissed all concerns of stealth, for it was said that the elves possessed hearing far sharper than that of human men and women. All the better, so far as the captain was concerned.

Let them hear their doom approach.

"d.a.m.n them all to death and darkness. Vaa.r.s.en was right."

Over the past few decades Tembriel had accustomed herself to the humans who lived in Dolmerrath, and grown grudgingly willing to allow that every so often, the round-ears knew what they were talking about. But it was one thing to acknowledge the ideas of humans who lived among and appreciated her people. It was another thing entirely to grant that concession to a Knight of the Hawk.

But with the shadows of dozens of horses rippling through the distant trees and the echo of their pa.s.sing a growing whisper in her ears, she couldn't deny that Kestar Vaa.r.s.en's warning had been true. No matter how much it galled her to admit it.

Grimacing, she scrambled lithely down the branches of the tree where she'd been keeping watch, and took from her belt the horn of sh.e.l.l and silver that all the scouts of Dolmerrath wore on patrol. Only at greatest need were the horns to sound any warning, for a scout beyond the Wards upheld the rule of stealth above all else. With the largest Hawk force Tembriel had seen in decades encroaching on elven woods, though, the need was irrefutable. The risk of one scout revealing her location was far less than that of so many Hawks reaching her people's last safe haven-the only safe haven she'd ever known.

With her other hand on the branch above her, Tembriel lifted her horn to her lips and blew. Clear, rich and resounding, the note carried out into the morning, and even before she brought it to an end, other horns answered the call. Some met her horn's pitch, and others came in higher or lower, until a vast minor chord of warning sounded throughout the forest.

By the time she stopped to draw breath into aching lungs, she heard the deepest, loudest note of all sounding from Dolmerrath itself.

They'd paid a human ship, the Whippoorwill, to take Faanshi and the others to Shalridan and back again to recover Julian and Kestar-and so it shocked Faanshi to learn that the elven stronghold had its own boats. The boat cavern, deepest and largest of all the caves in Dolmerrath, had half a dozen longboats that were taken out for fishing under the cover of night or fog. But it also boasted three larger vessels. None were as large as the human ship, with only a single mast each to the Whippoorwill's three, yet even to Faanshi's eyes it seemed clear why the elves never sent their crafts to Shalridan. Each was graceful of design, almost ethereal compared to the other vessels she'd seen in Shalridan's harbor, with elaborate carvings of branch and vine all along their hulls, and sails of green and gold. And if they were obviously of elven make even to her, surely any human captain who followed the Church would think so too. There were many more human ships than these three elven ones, and human ships had great cannons of iron.

Yet Gerren had sent out the order to prepare every boat for sailing, and for the humans and half-breeds who dwelled in Dolmerrath to make ready to flee out into the ocean while elven scouts patrolled the Wards. Faanshi was lending her aid to the effort, carrying whatever was needed to the boat cavern's docks, when the great horn sounded its alarm.

Panic shot through her, for she'd never heard its like-not even the foghorns in the Shalridan harbor rumbled like that deep, reverberating note, thunder lifting its voice in a warning song. She froze on the oaken dock of the boat cavern, clutching the bedroll that was her latest burden, and then realized that her own dread was mirrored on every face in sight.

"Akresha, please, what is it?" she cried to a gray-haired woman who'd stopped beside her, and who now looked back the way they'd come, her eyes filling with terror. "What does it mean?"

At the sound of Faanshi's voice, the woman shook herself and then grimly replied, "It's the horn at the top of the caves, the one they blow when the scouts send the word. It means we're out of time, girlie. The Hawks are coming. Pray to all our G.o.ds we have clear waters when we get the boats out. If the Bhandreid's navy finds us, we're done for."

Hawks.

The bedroll dropped, forgotten, from Faanshi's arms. She had barely enough presence of mind to blurt an apology at the older woman as she whirled and ran off the dock, back toward the inner caverns. What the woman might have answered, she never heard. The threat of the Hawks had chased Faanshi from the very first day her magic had awakened-but at first it had been only Kestar and Celoren, and now Kestar and Celoren were friends. Nor were two men enough to make everyone in Dolmerrath abandon their home, or to fill the twisting stone corridors of the complex with the great horn's echoing call.

She didn't want to think about how many Hawks it would take.

Before she could make it back to the central cavern, Faanshi ran headlong into Kestar's mother, the akresha Ganniwer, who seized her in pa.s.sing and demanded, "What's happening?"

The woman was a baroness, or so Faanshi had learned. Ganniwer scarcely looked it now, clad as she was in a simple linen shirt and buckskin trousers, much like Faanshi's own, rather than the fine gown she'd been wearing when she'd been rescued along with her son in Shalridan. At any other time Faanshi might have succ.u.mbed to shyness-above and beyond her rank, this was also Kestar's mother-but Ganniwer's voice snapped with authority that would not be denied.

"The Hawks are coming!"

So quickly did Faanshi gulp out the words that she barely understood herself, yet they were enough for Ganniwer. The older woman paled, but her features grew stern and set, and she didn't release her grip on Faanshi's arm. "Then come with me, and let's find the rest of our group. You have a way of saving lives, young lady, and if my son's former Order has caught up with us, I'm disinclined to let you out of my sight."

Faanshi was disinclined to argue. There were enough hands loading the boats that they could do without her-and she could not help but worry that soon enough, her hands would be needed for far graver work. They didn't have to look long. By the time she and Ganniwer reached Dolmerrath's central cavern, the horn's alert had finally gone silent, and most of the stronghold's remaining humans had already gathered. They bore more weaponry than Faanshi had ever seen in one place in her life, and they stood listening to Gerren, who'd climbed onto a bench to see and be seen by all.

"You all know what the sounding of the horn means," Gerren called. "But what you don't know yet is that runners have made it in with the news-yes, there are Hawks headed this way, about sixty by the estimates of the scouts. We must face the possibility that some of them may make it past the front line of the scouts, and therefore over the Wards. If this happens, it falls to all of you to defend these caves."

Faanshi cast an anxious glance around the cavern, searching through the faces she didn't yet know for the ones she did. She spotted Kestar and Celoren side by side, armed with swords and guns. Both wore expressions of firm resolve, but something in Kestar's stance and the set of his jaw spoke to that part of her that had learned the shape of his innermost self through healing magic. The link she'd forged with him had been shielded into silence, in both her mind and his, but not so her understanding of him. Kestar Vaa.r.s.en was profoundly troubled.

Before Faanshi could go to him, though, Ganniwer reached him first. The sight of the baroness fiercely embracing first her son and then Celoren struck Faanshi with the shyness she'd held off before. She had no parents of her own, but through Kestar, she knew something now of what it was to have a mother. Even then, she had no idea how she might possibly interrupt them.

"Gerren's going to need you," came Julian's voice then, just behind her.

Relief spun her around on her heels and launched her at Julian, while the impulse to follow Ganniwer's example brought her arms around him. Almost immediately she pulled back, blushing, for the cavern held many eyes-and Nine-fingered Rab was at his side, visibly smirking. "Pay me no heed," he drawled. "I'll be happy to pretend I'm not here."

He hadn't drawn any of the many knives she knew he carried, but his right hand hovered restlessly near one of his more obvious sheaths, fingers twitching. Likewise, there'd been an alert tension in Julian's frame as she'd embraced him, and she hadn't missed the hard shapes of multiple blades in place upon his person either. That same alertness glinted in his gaze as he took her by the shoulders and frowned down at her. "Gerren's going to need you," he repeated, "and I'll leave it to him to tell you where you should be when the wounded start coming in. Do what he tells you, dove. It'll go easier with me if I know you're as safe as possible."

Faanshi drew in a breath and let it out again in uneasy comprehension, looking from one man to the other. Both of them were wearing black, making them stand out starkly against the greens and browns and undyed linen favored by most of Dolmerrath. "You're both going out to fight." It wasn't a question. It didn't have to be, not when her magic had taught her as much about Julian as it had of Kestar Vaa.r.s.en, and what magic hadn't provided, days of riding with both men had. "But you're a.s.sa.s.sins, not soldiers."

"And there'll be a deplorable lack of shadows from which we might strike out there. But then, if the hoyden who helped take down Tornach sees me coming, all the better." Rab's smirk deepened, and he paused as Julian and Faanshi alike raised eyebrows at him. "What? I loved that horse."

"He was a fine horse," Faanshi agreed. Tentatively, she held out a hand to the fair-haired a.s.sa.s.sin. When he blinked and grasped it, she offered him a smile as well. "I won't worry, because I know you'll watch over Julian, and he you. And the Lady of Time will watch over you both."

The Rab she'd first met would have offered some sneering mockery in reply. This Rab, though, was the man she'd healed of a gunshot wound. Not so overwhelming a healing as either Julian or Kestar, not since Kirinil had taught her to improve her magical shields-but Faanshi had saved his life nonetheless. It'd been more than enough to give her glimpses into his thoughts. He had indeed loved Tornach, the only other living creature he treasured besides Julian, and he wouldn't welcome her acknowledging either sentiment too closely.

Now he simply crooked a fair brow of his own at her. "You might make sure She watches over you while She's at it, since you're rather good at putting our skins back together, and we're rather fond of them. Try not to die."

"I'll do my very best." To banter with Rab as Julian would do was sweet and strange-it set off a tremor of nervousness in Faanshi's breast, and she feared to say the wrong thing, or too much or too little of the right. She would have to simply trust in the sense she'd gained of the younger a.s.sa.s.sin as well as the older, and that in whatever words she might speak, he'd hear the ridah of truth. "Come back whole and safe, both of you. I honor the gift Almighty Djashtet has given me, but I'd rather not use it if I don't have to."

Rab grimaced-and then, surprising Faanshi greatly, he reached over and gave her an awkward one-armed hug. Before she could think to reciprocate, he was already pulling away, his face set and brisk, and turning to catch up with the other armed elves and humans heading out of the caverns. "Well, come on then, Rook, don't make me fight off all the Hawks without you," he called back over his shoulder as he went.

Julian by contrast didn't hug her at all, though his hands came back to her shoulders, and his gaze lingered upon her, fierce and dark and blue. His fingers squeezed, a single time, in unspoken invitation. Faanshi threw her arms around him, holding him for as long as she dared.

But at last he pulled away, just long enough to brush a kiss across her brow. "I'll be back," he said. Then he too was hurrying off, overtaking Rab in a few quick steps.

Faanshi watched them go, then flashed a look to where Ganniwer stood before her son. With her mouth skewed into a grim line, the baroness was pulling back on the string of a bow someone had given her. It must have met with her approval, for she nodded and took up the quiver of arrows at her feet. Celoren and Kestar fell into step with her as she strode off in Julian and Rab's wake-but even as they went, Kestar looked back toward Faanshi.

She had but a moment to meet his eyes, and that was enough to glimpse what sparked in his gaze. Fear, yes. Yet there was also sympathy, and what she knew to be the steady, quiet resolve he could bring to any challenge that rose up before him. The sight of it heartened her.

"I hope, young Faanshi, that you'll do as the akreshi Rook has counseled you and keep shelter within these caverns. Blood doesn't belong on a healer's hands."

This time the voice beside her was in the language of Tantiulo, and that too was heartening. Faanshi turned to the old Tantiu soldier Semai el-Numair Behzad, former captain of the guard of Lomhannor Hall, and the last of the human companions who'd come to Dolmerrath because of her. "Eshallavan, akreshi, and do not worry," she answered in the same tongue as she bowed to him over her hands. "A great part of me wants to join those who go out to fight for Dolmerrath. But a greater part knows that if I did, my shields would crumble like sand in the face of such death and pain. I must do something to help, though."

Like Julian, Semai made a stark contrast to most of Dolmerrath's inhabitants. He was the only full-blooded man of Tantiulo among them, and he strictly adhered to Tantiu ways in his dress. He kept his head and most of his face swathed at all times in his slate-blue korfi. Only his dark eyes were visible above the scarf, and thus far, Faanshi had seen him face everything and everyone in his path with the same stoic, guarded gaze. "The Lady of Time calls us all to battle, each according to our strengths. How will you answer Her?"

It was as if a silk-clad mountain had issued her a challenge in a voice of stone, and Faanshi took a moment to let the deep rumbling words wash through her, so that she could think it through.

What would happen if she stepped outside to join the others?

"If I go out to the fighting," she said softly, "my magic will rise. It is strong, and I give Djashtet thanks for its strength, but I do not yet have the skill to deny it what it wants when it breaks free. And in truth, I'm not sure I should."

"If the Lady of Time has given you so strong a gift," he countered, "then to deny healing to any, simply because of their creeds or stations, would break the ridah of compa.s.sion."

"Wisdom is also a ridah, akreshi. Those who come here now seek to destroy Kestar, Alarrah, Kirinil and all of the people who shelter here. I can't believe that they will do as Kestar did and allow me to remain free if I heal any of them, or that Almighty Djashtet would call upon me to make myself a target. If I am struck down, I will not be able to help anyone."

"Well said." The approval in Semai's voice hinted at a smile behind his korfi. "Keep that foremost in your heart and Djashtet will smile upon you."

"I pray She smiles upon us all, akreshi."

Semai bowed to her and she to him, then the old warrior turned to follow the others streaming out of the cavern. Several of the elves were beginning to sing, far too quickly for Faanshi to follow. The ethereal harmony didn't rattle the stone of the caverns like the thunder of the great horn, yet it echoed through the air and caught at her ear and her blood. She didn't know the words, for she'd barely begun to learn the words of her sister's language. From rhythm and pitch alone, she could guess that they sang a song of war.

She wanted to go out with them, to sing with them. But Djashtet had given her gifts other than fighting, and she had other ways to help Dolmerrath's defenders as well, for she knew now that healing wasn't all that her power could do. At Arlitham Abbey she'd been the only thing standing between her friends and the Anreulag's searing blue-white fire. She'd shielded them, just as Kirinil shielded all of Dolmerrath with his Wards.

Faanshi drew in a breath, squared her shoulders, and began to search the cavern for her teacher.

Chapter Nine.

Outside Dolmerrath, Kilmerry Province, Jeuchar 10, AC 1876 It was bad enough that Jekke Yerredes had lost Bron Wulsten, and worse that the magic of the elven heretics had reduced her to a shuddering wreck, scarcely able to wield her sword and gun or to ride her horse. Fleeing back to Shalridan was no option; the city had already turned against the Order. Nor could she run to Marriham, for the town of her birth had joined the growing rebellion, and her own siblings had been among the militia who'd chased off Captain Amarsaed's patrol there.

She was in disgrace, banished to the very back of their charge rather than at the captain's side where she belonged. So there was no one behind her to see her flinch when the call of the horns rose up in the woods ahead of them, echoing from all directions, until it seemed that the very trees sounded an alarm against them all.

Then came the greatest horn of all, with a voice like the bellowing roar of an angry mountain, and her scream of terror drowned beneath the battle cry her brothers and sisters of the Hawk hurled back in reply. Jekke held on for dear life to the reins in her one hand and her gun in the other, and prayed to any G.o.d who would listen that she could still fight beside her fellow Knights-that they'd take her howling as part of their own zeal to carry out the will of the G.o.ds.

But if the Anreulag had turned against them, she could see no fate before them but blood and fire. The Good Folk of the North knew they were coming. The forest, the earth and the air all sang of their fury.

Jekke rode, and as her amulet began to blaze, braced herself for the wave of bone-deep terror to surge over them all.

When the magic struck, the force of her panicked weeping almost blinded her. Her thoughts wheeled in desperation, searching for something, anything on which she could anchor herself for strength. Just before she tumbled from her horse, she found it. Saint Merrodrie, the very first of the Order of the Hawk, would not have crumbled in the face of elven magic. Merrodrie the Holy, Merrodrie the Far-seeing, would have ridden through blood and fire and come out again on the other side.

You are no Saint Merrodrie. You're not worthy to ride in the Order of the Hawk. You let Bron die and you'll die with him!

She couldn't argue with the terror, for she didn't have the strength. Somehow, still, Jekke found it in her to lift her head and her voice in song.

Her voice wasn't strong-if anything, it cracked harshly on the first several notes, and she shrieked more than sang half the words. But it was enough to get the attention of the riders nearest to her, and soon they too joined in on the song she brandished like a blade before her to strike back against the demons howling unworthy and alone inside her.

The demons might have had a point about her unworthiness-she had indeed, after all, fled and let Bron die at elven hands. But she could not, would not, let his death be meaningless. In Bron's name and in his honor, she would sing.

Hers was not the only panic-stricken face, or the only voice breaking as they rode headlong into whatever sorcery the elves had used to fill the woods with fear. But as their voices joined together, more and more of the riders around her began to sit taller in their saddles. Soon the singing gained strength and purpose and power. Fear still cut into the expressions of her fellow Hawks, but resolve rose up against it. Every member of the Order of the Hawk knew "Merrodrie's Lament," from the newest cadet to the oldest captain. Soon enough even Captain Amarsaed's ba.s.s joined in at the front of their line, grounding the growing harmony.

At the sound of his voice, their singing redoubled into the prayers of a choir of war.

For a few long moments the air around them all grew thick and close, while Jekke's amulet burned so hot against her chest that she feared it would set her uniform alight. But their singing held, and all at once, they broke through the spell woven through the woods. The air cleared, showing her a stretch of woods little different than what they'd just ridden through-save that now she could see the trees thinning, giving her glimpses of jagged sandstone cliffs and the distant blue expanse of the sea. A salt-laden breeze struck her face. Jekke welcomed it, for it cleared her thoughts along with the air. She sang more loudly, and her compatriots sang with her.

Another song entirely rose up to answer them, sung by more fluid voices than any man or woman among them could produce, and the earth beneath them shook with the thunder of approaching horses.

"They come!" Captain Amarsaed roared. "In the name of the Father, Mother, Son and Daughter, I bid you, Knights of the Hawk, to meet them!"

From her vantage point at the back of the charge, Jekke couldn't see where the rocky ground led or what paths marked the way from the ridge they'd found down to the ocean. For all she knew, the elven riders might have ridden their horses straight up the cliffs from below-for they thundered as if out of nowhere into her line of sight, lean and lithe, with two dozen archers and their hail of arrows in the lead. Riding among them was a copper-haired she-elf with eyes like molten gold, whose arrows burst into flame as she shot them. An elf who, to Jekke, looked abruptly and terrifyingly familiar.

She was one of the ones who killed Bron.

This time the howl that tore out of Jekke Yerredes was a howl of rage, and she cast aside all thoughts of hymns to Saint Merrodrie as she drew forth her gun to let it sing in her stead, a lethal paean of powder and steel.

Dolmerrath, Kilmerry Province, Jeuchar 10, AC 1876 Kirinil started and swore in an outburst of Elvish, his eyes unseeing, and Alarrah had to catch and steady him before he could fall out of his chair. "Astllemerron!" she cried, before flashing a glance at Faanshi and shifting to Adalonic. "What did you see?"

Faanshi hadn't had to work to find Kirinil-Gerren had ordered her to his brother's quarters, even as he himself rode out with Dolmerrath's scouts. She'd found Alarrah on the way, and her sister had briskly informed her that their task would be to sustain Kirinil while he in turn strengthened the Wards. Faanshi stood on Kirinil's other side now, letting him grip her arm for support as he was Alarrah's, and stared unhappily at his strained, ashen features. She hadn't needed to understand what her teacher had just cried out. Even if the look on his face hadn't been warning enough on its own, her magic, roused in response to his, sensed the urgency shooting through his frame. His heart pounded. His brow gleamed with sweat. And his voice, normally a mellifluous tenor, had roughened to a hoa.r.s.e croak.

"They're coming over the Wards, aren't they?" she asked him, and her heart sank as Kirinil gave her an unsteady nod.

"I've never felt so many humans trying to cross the Wards at once," he rasped. "Can't tell what they're doing, not from here. I can only tell they're coming."

"Then we've got to strengthen the Wards. Can Faanshi and I help?" Alarrah said.

Once more Kirinil nodded, slamming his eyes shut. "Got to shift them so the boats can get out."

The boats with most of Dolmerrath's humans on them. The old. The young. And the elves who can't fight. Without her gift of healing and shielding, Faanshi might have been among them-but then, if Djashtet hadn't granted her those gifts, she would still have been in Lomhannor Hall as the Duke of Shalridan's slave. Nor could she spare any worry for how those who sailed the vessels would fare with neither of Dolmerrath's healers to sustain them. Those she knew the best and loved the most were all fighting to keep the stronghold free, and she could do nothing less.

Faanshi clenched her teeth, prayed for the Lady of Time to bless the steadiness of her hands, and held on to Kirinil's arm as his power surged. It felt terrifyingly familiar. She'd crossed the Wards before, and she'd lashed out in blind panic with her own power when the elf's older and far more skilled magic had overwhelmed her human blood.

That same protective magic scalded her senses now, enough that she nearly screamed with the force of it, only to dimly note Alarrah urgently calling for her to shield. Kirinil's power roiled for a wild moment, and he too called out to her. But it was too late now for her to flee, no matter what threat the full strength of her teacher's magic might pose to her.

I can do this.

Faanshi remembered pulling Julian and Kestar to her in Arlitham Abbey, just before the fire of the Anreulag struck-and with that, the hearth she'd constructed in the center of her mind, the place she'd learned to make the seat of her magic, erupted with sunlit radiance across her thoughts. It banished even the possibility of pain, for with her power roaring at its greatest height, she could do whatever the Lady of Time might command of her.

"Yes, that! Do that, Faanshi, share that shield with Kirinil and let him guide its strength. Do you have it, valann?"

Not the voice of Djashtet, but then, the voice of Alarrah was almost as bracing to Faanshi's spirit. And perhaps to Kirinil's as well, for he let out a rough laugh of triumph. He didn't change how he sat in the chair, or the grip of either of his hands on their arms. All at once, though, the churn of his power steadied and wrapped around Faanshi's, clasping it, just as his fingers held her arm.

"I've got you, Faanshi," Kirinil said, and despite its raggedness, his tone warmed with wonder. "Mother of Stars, what a shielder you're going to be! Let's just get through this so I can train you. Hang onto my power now."

Praise was still a new concept to Faanshi, strange and marvelous enough to make her blush, though now it was tempered with hope. Guide us, Djashtet! "You have to train me to make me a shielder," she said, striving to sound brave through the shaking in her voice. "So don't make us have to heal you first."

Her teacher laughed again, a slurred and unfocused little chuckle. Then she forgot to breathe, for her awareness abruptly widened-past herself, past Kirinil and Alarrah, past the walls of the quiet chamber where they'd taken refuge to work their magic. All at once she could perceive the shape and path of those walls and where they led, out through the corridors and caverns, and finally to the open air. Everywhere her awareness touched was home, limned in silver by Kirinil's pa.s.sing. Faanshi followed the flow of Kirinil's power in every direction it took, and for all that his body remained hunched and motionless before her in the chair, she was certain she felt his spirit dancing.

Only in the boat cavern, perceptible at Faanshi's distance only as an expanse of air and cool salt water, did Kirinil draw back his veil of silver rather than throwing it farther. The boats can leave now, she thought. Djashtet, keep them safe.