Chapter Thirty-Seven

It was still dark outside the infirmary window, yet footsteps pounded back and forth outside the door and voices echoed in the courtyard. Awake immediately, Thera quickly dressed.

“Eiryana?”

A very faint response, “Hunting.”

“Good.” Blessings be, Eiryana is very hungry. Thera grimaced and rubbed at her own midriff to subdue the rumbling there. A kettle of tea sat on the hearth beside a cloth-covered pot of oatmeal. Thera crouched, spooning some porridge into a bowl and dipping a spoon of honey over the grains. She ate ravenously.

The infirmary door cracked open, then swung wide. Sirra Alaine and First Sword Alba clattered in.

“Alba, you’re not using your sticks today!” Thera exclaimed. Alba smiled broadly. Though yet limping, she walks well, Thera observed. No dragging. Blessings be.

Alba lowered herself into a chair beside Thera.

“Pardon, Lady,” she carefully stretched the injured leg before her, “wish I could reach the tea,” she said to the room at large.

Alaine slanted a knowing look at Alba, but moved to pour two cups of tea, and fill two bowls of porridge. Handing Alba hers, she leaned back, one foot propped behind her against the fireplace stones.

“Sirra, won’t you sit?” invited Thera.

“I thank you, Lady. But there is an old soldiers’ saying that, ‘a standing belly fills the fullest.’”

“Honey,” mused Alba loudly and mournfully as she stared at her bowl. “No honey.”

Thera laughed, shaking her head, as Alaine moved to open the honey crock. “Never mind, Lady,” drawled Alaine, slopping a spoonful into Alba’s tea and more into her bowl. “Once that injury of hers is healed, that muscle in our First Sword’s leg will need hard work to stretch it again. Then will I come into my own.”

Alba spluttered.

“Hot?” inquired Alaine. “Well, Lady,” she turned to Thera. “We make ready to travel.”

“Today!” Thera’s heart thudded. Home. Chamak.

“No.” Alaine’s brows twitched. “No, but by the time the sun blesses the Elanraigh tomorrow we will be ready to depart.

“I wonder, Lady, if you know if we must take the coastal route or if the Elanraigh will permit us the forest track home? It is a difference of four days.”

Thera communed with forest-mind.

She roused when Alaine touched her arm. “You are smiling, Lady, the news is good?”

“Oh, blessings be, Sirra,” Thera wiped her eyes, “the Elanraigh is singing again and I was bound in its spell.” Thera continued, “Yes, it tells me it senses no Memteth presence anywhere near. It will gladly open a forest track.” Thera’s happiness at the shortened journey time brought an affectionate rumble from the Elanraigh.

Alba slapped her leg jubilantly, then winced. “Ahh! Demons of Hell.”

* * * *

The following dawn was thick with fog. The travelers assembled in the front courtyard. Horses snorted at the chill air; their breath gusting into the fog that crept along the ground and clung to the stone walls. Harness creaked and jingled. The Elankeep soldiers’ voices were muffled by the fog as they spoke among each other and to their mounts.

“I wish you could come with us,” Thera said to the Healing Mistress. She was checking Mulberry’s hooves when Rozalda joined her in the courtyard. Rising, Thera stoked the mare’s nose. “Though, of course, I understand.”

Rozalda reached her hand to the mare’s shoulder, smoothing the glossy hide. “Yes. I would have liked to see Allenholme again, and your lady mother, Thera. It has been many years since I’ve seen Fideiya. But, there are the elderly Damas to think of as well as the recovering wounded. Alaine has assigned the light duty wounded to guard and maintain the keep. The Elanraigh’s assurance to you that the Memteth have left this area does much to lighten heart and mind.”

Thera glanced over to First Sword Alba. Although Sirra Alaine had adjured, then entreated her to remain behind with the wounded, Alba would not hear of it. Even now, her head swung belligerently at any voice, as if expecting a rescinding of the grudging consent. She hobbled about her horse and gear, muttering, “…think I was infirm, to hear them. Huh…”

Alaine, coming to join Thera and Rozalda, said, “Better to have her along than trying to follow on her own. Hnnh. Stubborn.”

“She’ll be fine, Sirra,” said Thera watching Alba hop-hobbling around her placid horse.

“Aye.” Alaine slowly nodded. “So I think. Stubborn—always was.” Alaine swung onto her mount.

Thera caught the glimmer of Alaine’s headband, the silver Sirra’s emblem glinting in the light of the wall torch as she moved. As a matter of fact, the entire troop wore their dress greens, kilts, and cloaks. The garments looked freshly fulled, and every piece of metal harness and gear gleamed.

Sirra Alaine twisted back, observing the party; four hands of soldiers and Egrit to serve Thera, ten horses, and a string of five mules. Those that marched afoot were already underway.

Thera embraced the Healing Mistress and quickly mounted. Mulberry danced sideways, snorting and blowing. Rozalda laughed. “Whatever possessed Duke Leon to give you such a flighty mount, Thera?”

“Oh, but her blood lines are good. She is always restive at first; she’ll test me a little, and then settle in very well. She’s of good heart.”

“Aye.” Rozalda looked at Thera a long moment. “Aye,” she repeated. “Elanraigh guard you, Salvai.”

“I’ll send word as soon as we’re home, Rozalda.” Thera impulsively reached to grasp the Healing Mistress’s arm. “I will remember all your words to me.”

Rozalda nodded, lips compressed. She stepped back, tucking her hands into her sleeves.

Thera turned, waving energetically to the Damas clustered at the entrance to Elankeep’s hall.

Hands rose in formal blessing, their voices small in the heavy fog, the Damas chorused their various farewells. Dama Brytha, though, her bent form supported by Dama Ella, blew Thera a kiss.

How like her, Thera thought, feeling a tightness in her throat. Blessings on them. She dropped her arm to her side, and turned Mulberry to the gate.

“Tcht-tcht,” heeling the mare to a trot, Thera rode forward to join Sirra Alaine.