Chapter Twelve

The driftwood fire crackled, redolent of seaweed and salt. Thera leaned back comfortably. Long, rolling waves washed ashore—the expended fury of a storm far out to sea.

The sun had set as they finished their meal and now crimson cirrus clouds swept across the darkening sky, reflecting their hue in the ocean. A cozy air of contentment wrapped the small group from Allenholme.

The first day of travel, the Coast Trail took them through the forest edge, always within sound of the crashing surf. Though it rained all day, they were sheltered under the rainforest canopy. The second day, the trail descended steeply through banks of blooming yellow gorsgrass to the ocean shelf where the sea wind refreshed them and they tread crackling seaweed underfoot.

When taking halts, Thera insisted on helping Jon with the animals. He was frustratingly diffident and full of platitudes as to what noble ladies did and did not do. His patronizing ways grated at her nerves and she couldn’t help comparing his insufferable attitude to Chamak’s easy acceptance of her abilities.

Sighing, and minding Lady Fideiya’s constant admonition to be always gracious with the folk, she continued to help with steadfast, cheerful insistence. As Thera displayed a great degree of competency in handling even the fractious mule, Jon finally fell silent. How different, though, Thera thought, than when working side by side with Captain Lydia or Sirra Shamic. Jon acts as if he is indulging a precocious child.

Thera humphed as she slid Mulberry’s saddle off the mare’s sweating back and laid it over a log. Huh. Well, she may be constrained by her mother’s training, but she could imagine the results if a young cub of a swordsman ever dared to condescend to Captain Lydia or Swordswoman Nerla.

Ha! Thera chortled to herself.

She swiped at her horse’s sweaty hide with a coarse cloth. Mulberry grunted and rolled her eyes at Thera. She laughed again and patted the glossy shoulder.

Nan and Innic had set up the cook-pots and Jon the canvas shelters. Thera was thoroughly enjoying her second bowl of the savory stew Nan had put together. Steward Valan had seen that they had a plentiful supply of dried meat and tubers. Nan, it seems, had thought to pack her own cache of dried herbs.

Innic settled back against a log with a contented sigh. His heavy brow over deep-set eyes was relaxed in an amiable expression of pleasure. Thera watched as Innic reached into his pocket and withdrew a pipe, and then reached into a finely tooled leather pouch dangling from his belt. His movements were deliberate, almost ritualistic. Tamping down the aromatic leaves into the pipe, he lit them with a taper from the fire and drew in deep breaths that sucked at his cheeks. The sweet smoke drifted past Thera and she sniffed experimentally, her nose wrinkling.

Innic’s eye brightened as he watched Nan bending over the fire. “Ahh. Come here my little pigeon and sit by me.” He patted the ground beside him.

Thera smiled, delighted. Little pigeon! Yet it suits Nan so well.

“Did you have enough to eat, now, my lad?” asked Nan, archly ignoring the invitation.

Innic patted his lean belly. “Oh. Aye, lass. Enough to march a ten-day span, I swear. You be a fine cook, my dear.”

Nan smiled, “Oh now, that was nothing so much.”

“You be such a modest lass,” adjured Innic fondly, “and the best cook in the keep, to think. Better even than Goodwoman Tannis that’s been Cook these many years.”

“Oh? Do you think so, then?” Nan asked, her tone thoughtful and considering.

Thera’s jaw dropped. Nan’s reputation as an excellent cook was well promoted by Nan herself. The rivalry between Nan and Goodwoman Tannis had often reached epic proportions. Thera remembered recovering from a childhood illness and while having to be tempted to eat, their rivalry in creating savories and possets had almost done her in.

This type of dissembling was foreign to Thera. She had certainly seen her mother being playful with her father, and Fideiya did have a particular smile that was for Leon alone. However, Thera could not recall any occasion when her mother had pretended to be less than she was. Certainly, Thera thought, no man ever loved a woman more than father does mother.

Turning her head, Thera considered Jon as he was unpacking the night rolls. Beyond doubt he is a handsome boy, but he is so very vain. Also, he has very peculiar ideas of what kind of treatment is pleasing to me.

Thera sent grateful thanks to the Elanraigh, I would not wish to be the daughter of a poor man, with a duty to go with whoever contracted the most bride price. My happiness, Thera vowed, will never depend on how well I configure myself to suit some man’s wishes.

Yawning, she paused, mid stretch. Perhaps if I become the Salvai, I could work to change such things. She propped chin on fist as she thought about this. An impecunious young lover should be able to obtain a bridal price for his loved one from—who?—oh, the township perhaps. Or, even better; I, when Salvai, will establish a fund. Thera smiled, Yes, that’s it. The grateful young couple could then repay the bridal debt by services to Allenholme and Elanraigh.

It would be a departure from tradition, but it felt right to her.

At present, guilds that accepted a promising female apprentice would usually provide the girl’s family with a reasonable equivalent of bride price.

Captain Lydia’s case had been different, though. There was no such thing as a soldiers’ guild. Lydia had told her she had to put aside half her pay for five years before she was able to pay her father the same amount a chandler merchant had offered for her.

Thera considered this. My Salvai’s fund will also provide for women who do not wish to marry, the financial means to placate their families.

Satisfied with her idea, she smiled and briskly dusted the gritty sand off her hands. She paused as she remembered Chamakin’s vision of Maiya and Warrior working together with their people as teachers and leaders, and nodded to herself. It could be a useful and fulfilling life.

Yawning mightily again, Thera stood and said her goodnights. She doubted if Nan and Innic particularly noticed.

As she lifted the flap of her tent, swordsman Jon approached her.

“Is there anything I can get for you Lady Thera,” he asked, “some water, or an extra blanket?”

“No. I thank you.”

“I will be right here, then. You needn’t fear,” he smiled, even as he saluted.

Feeling her face flush, Thera nodded, and with considerable irritation, dropped the tent flap in his face.

* * * *

Thera caught herself nodding in the saddle. It must be near our noon halt, she thought muzzily, as her stomach rumbled. The drone of insects and heady scent of broom had lulled her.

Their route today had humped up and down ever since the tide last changed. In some places they had to dismount and walk the horses around the rocky outcroppings. The trail was becoming rougher. Some of the ancient crude-carved stone benches were crumbled, and whole segments had been broken to rubble by storms.

Nan was not an experienced horsewoman, and Thera read her increasing fear of the high black rocks that cantilevered out over the surf. Thera cleared her throat, about to suggest another dismount as if at her own need to Swordsman Innic.

Before the words were out of her mouth, however, Innic with the clear perception born of caring, rather than gift, was helping Nan off her pony.

“We’ll rest the horses and walk awhile,” he called back to Jon. He turned to Nan, clasping her hand, “Now lass, the trail goes down to the ocean again after the next bend and is a nice sandy beach for the next day’s ride. Will you be alright?”

Nan merely patted his arm and nodded. She turned to walk on, mopping at her brow with a piece of white linen.

Innic watched after her a moment, waiting for Thera and Jon to pass so he could tie Nan’s pony and Thera’s mare behind the pack mule.

The swordsman walked beside Thera. “Our Nan be weary, my Lady, but she doesn’t like to show it. Once we’re around yon bend, the trail descends to Shawl Bay.” He squinted skyward, “It be early yet, but by chance you wish to take mid-day halt there?”

Thera studied Innic a moment. He had the rough features of the veteran foot soldier he was. Thera could remember seeing him during festival games, wielding his sword with cool precision. He would distort his features into a rictus grin, meant to disconcert his opponent. It succeeded in its purpose with the novices, and was loudly admired by the other veterans.

The old soldier looked transformed, however, when his thoughts were of Nan. He need only speak her name, to gentle the craggy terrain of his face.

Thera blinked out of her reverie. She nodded in answer to his question.

“Indeed.” She smiled as she placed her hand on her midriff. “In truth my stomach has been growling like a bristlefang since Opal Fin Point.”

Innic’s deep carved features relaxed and he laughed, baring strong yellowed teeth, and strode forward to assist Nan.

Thera strolled along, admiring the colorful variety of starry flowers growing on the vines that netted the lichen-blackened rocks. She glanced back-trail, and laughed to see Mulberry dancing at the end of her lead and nibbling at the pony’s rump.

Their small party rounded the bend; the trail now steeply descending toward the roar of surf. It twisted past some sitka spars and turned to drive its way through more gorsgrass.

Thera sensed something. A chill…she looked up to see if a cloud covered the sun. No. The sun’s light ignited the washed blue of sky and she shaded her eyes from its brightness.

Clenching her hand on her dagger she pivoted to look back again. Jon appeared as usual, he had removed his skullcap helm and was wiping his arm across his forehead, but nothing altered his swinging stride or easy demeanor.

Thera’s gaze narrowed. The horses were uneasy. Mulberry’s ears twitched and her skin flinched, as if she were bothered with flies. Jon’s mount tossed its head, eyes rolling.

Ahead, Swordsman Innic walked alone, as the path was narrowing. He frequently turned, though, to talk to Nan. Thera could not make out the words they said, their voices were strangely muffled to her hearing as if spoken through heavy layers of cloth. Neither Nan nor Innic appeared alarmed.

Thera shook her head. Now she suffered a sense of smothering, of struggling to draw breath into her lungs. She sent her senses out groping for an answer.

It was the Elanraigh.

The Elanraigh was immensely angry.

Thera felt a sudden silence like an indrawn breath held ominous and tense, then rage gusted forth. Her hand rose to her throat where her pulse leaped under her thumb. Never had she felt such as this from the Elanraigh before.

It was as if an advancing army trod the air with pounding footsteps.

Her throat tight with fear, she tried to cry out a warning. At the same instant, hundreds of crows burst voiceless into the air where they swirled in their unnatural silence, as if they feared to alight.

They must have seen each other at almost the same instant, the Memteth raiders and the party from Allenholme. The Memteth crew were bent over a freshly fallen sitka spruce they had dragged down to the beach. Their bright-bladed axes hewed away its branches and skin. Their gibing joviality indicated no awareness or regard for the spirit of the deeply shocked sitka. Their black-sailed ship lay at anchor some several horse strides from the beach.

The apparent leader stood to one side. His manner was both brooding and watchful. The armored head swung from side to side as he scanned the beach and his partially scaled hand clenched an amulet that hung around his neck.

The Memteth leader’s strident yell and Swordsman Innic’s clashed in the air as they both cried out alarm.