Chapter Thirty

Thera walked to the window, flexing her arms forward and back, until she felt a deep satisfying pull on her shoulders.

By the One Tree! I ache!

A few days ago Swordswoman Enid had offered to help Thera improve her weapons skills.

* * * *

“Lady Thera!” The soldier jogged to where Thera stood by the herb garden, and saluted.

Swordswoman Enid’s forehead still glistened with salve.

“Enid. Blessings. How is your healing?”

“Well enough, Lady, when I recall I was preparing to offer my soul to the Elanraigh as that Memteth swung his blade, about to cleave my skull.”

Thera nodded somberly, remembering.

Enid shifted to a slung-hip stance and jerked her chin toward the courtyard where some of the troop practiced weaponry. “Lady, you too were overpowered by a Memteth raider and most certainly he would have killed you had not the Elanraigh sent the grey wolf.”

“I…” Thera flushed deeply.

Enid quickly interjected, “Lady, I do not say this to pain you,” her color deepened also. “It is we who should be ashamed, who are sworn to protect the Salvai. I wish to offer my service to teach you any fighting skills you might wish to learn.”

Thera stared at Enid, intent on her own thoughts.

“Salvai Thera. I do not mean to offend—I know weapons craft is not a Lady’s task.”

“Enid,” Thera lightly touched Enid’s tense forearm, “I am grateful for your offer, I was just…thinking within myself. You see, I was once told that the sword would not be my weapon. The shade of my great-grandfather told me this, but I would like to be stronger of body. Could you help me train as you do?”

Enid’s features, still swollen from her injuries in the Memteth battle, cracked into what must have been a painful smile. “Elanraigh bless you, Lady! It will be my honor.”

* * * *

Thera rubbed at her shoulders again. Enid kept her promise all too well. She had worked Thera hard the last few days.

Yet this physical exhaustion did not relieve the restlessness Thera now felt.

No word from Allenholme in eight days now. What does it mean?

Her mouth drew down ruefully, her father’s missives had always been brief, but Thera needed those few scrawled words of home.

She lifted her head, sniffing the air and sending her thoughts out. Even the Elanraigh forest mind seemed distant from her right now, as if it were preoccupied.

Well. It seems I’m forgotten.

Outside her window, a dreary grey mist darkened the keep’s walls and moisture dripped from the trees. Thera bounced a light, determined fist on the stone sill.

“I swear I will trek back to Allenholme. By the One Tree, I will go if I have not word of them by tomorrow.”

A gust of wind swayed the hemlock trees with a sound like waves, and homesickness washed over her.

Mieta and Enid, dressed in light kilts and linen shirts, appeared in the courtyard below. Thera called to them.

“Enid…Mieta, Blessings!”

The swordswomen paused in their stretching routine. “Lady Thera, blessings of the new day! You are early to rise.”

“No earlier than you, it seems.”

Mieta grimaced. “We’re a little ahead of the others this morning. We go on our run soon.”

“I would like to join you!” Thera called.

Mieta looked so startled that Enid barked a laugh.

“Aye, Lady, do.” Mieta called, recovering. “We’ll be glad of your company to be sure, and perhaps the Sirra will choose an easier path than she threatened us with today.”

Thera dressed quickly, in the same kilt, shirt, and leggings she had been wearing for her training sessions with Enid. She smiled. Enid couldn’t wink with her eyes as swollen as they were, but she had flashed a conspiratorial smile as Thera spoke to Mieta.

She had asked Enid to keep their training sessions a secret, “No need to upset the elder Damas, Enid.”

So, she continued to improve her penmanship and knowledge of courtly protocols with Dama Ainise, and, with more enthusiasm, studied healing lore with Mistress Rozalda.

In addition, there were welcome summons from the Elanraigh. On the latest of these quiet retreats forest-mind had taught her the Bear’s Sleep Trance. Thera learned how to slow her body’s functions; how to draw needed minerals from her bones, and how to break down her own body’s wastes and reuse them, thus rebuilding what she had drawn from. This way, the Elanraigh explained, when she projected out of her physical body, even if for many days, she would not be so weakened and ill when she returned.

Thera ran down the main stairs, feeling the stretch and pull of the muscles in her legs. At the main hall she turned left and pushed through a small postern exiting into the north courtyard.

Mieta smiled an upside-down greeting from her spine-flexing bend. Thera followed Enid’s warm-up moves until she no longer felt the morning’s chill on her bare arms. As others straggled out, they gave her friendly nods and salutes.

When Sirra Alaine strode into the courtyard, she stopped by Thera’s side. “Salvai?”

Now why did the Sirra choose to use her title? Did she mean to side with the Damas and point out that it was undignified of her to be here? Thera studied the Sirra’s dark-oak features.

“I feel the need to—to be doing something, Sirra. The troops don’t mind me joining them.” Thera knew she jibbed like a restless colt, but she couldn’t help it. She felt that she needed to fill her lungs with air and fling her body against the wind.

Sirra Alaine nodded.

Mieta grinned broadly, as did others.

Alaine, observing this, spoke dryly, “We plan to run hard today, Lady. There has been much lolling about close quarters, what with convalescents to tend and the Elankeep itself needing repair.”

Mieta groaned dramatically, “My shins hurt already, Sirra. Bruised and sore, that’s what they are. The way Alba flails those walking-sticks of hers.”

Thera laughed with the others. Alba’s rapid recovery had lightened many hearts around the keep.

“Sirra, I ran with you before, if you remember the day I first came to Elankeep.” Thera’s gaze swung around the group. She drawled, teasing, “I won’t prevent the troop from being exercised to your liking.”

* * * *

The sun had almost burned off the morning mist, when the small group returned toward Elankeep. Rhul panted, “It’s going to be a steaming mug of Ella’s blackberry tea, warm barley bannock, and creamy cheese for me!”

Thera felt no need of food. Her body felt light as the sea hawk’s adrift on the wind—her blood ran hot under her wind-chilled skin. I could run forever!

“Alba!” Somebody behind her shouted.

Thera narrowed her gaze toward the keep. There was Alba, tottering on her walking-sticks and waving enthusiastically.

Alba is waving something—a letter! It has to be a letter from home!

Thera lengthened her stride. Edred laughingly matched her pace. They drew ahead of the others, who cheered them on. Thera reached for more speed as they passed the amazed guard at the gate, skidded past Alba, and collapsed against the keep wall. Their laughter echoed under the great stone arch.

“Cythian Hell!” Alba spun on her crutches as four hands reached to steady her.

“There is no one else here…” panted Edred, “…who can beat me at a foot race, Lady.” Edred, a lean sliver of a woman, cast an amazed look at Thera.

Thera paced the small paved area by the door, one hand holding the stitch in her side. “I would be…hard put…to say whose foot first reached the entrance, Edred.”

Edred smiled, and patted Alba’s shoulder. “Which was first foot, Alba?”

“Do not be asking me to judge! All I saw was a whirling storm of arms and legs coming straight at me!”

Thera wheezed a laugh. “What have you…there, Alba?” she eagerly eyed the small scroll Alba held.

“Something important enough that I stood in such unexpected danger to get it to you, Lady.” She handed the paper to Thera, “A carrier bird from Allenholme came in just now.”