Now, the forest colony numbered three hundred and twenty-nine souls, and its growth was slow but strong. One turning point, Eliizar reflected, had been the long-ago Battle of the Forest. The threat of Xiang had been removed for good by the blade of his former Swordmaster, and in the natural confusion that had followed, a goodly number of folk had managed to escape from Taibeth and join the renegades—until events had settled themselves with the birth of Xiang’s son Quechuan. His mother the Khisihn and Aman, Xiang’s former Vizier, had declared themselves joint regents, and had taken control simply by slaughtering everyone who dared oppose them. Taibeth had been placed under martial law, and the constraints upon the populace had become so tight that the trickle of escapees had dried up almost completely. On the other hand, the new rulers of Taibeth were far too preoccupied with consolidating their own position to trouble themselves about one small independent colony on their borders. Besides, they had Xiang’s example to deter them—and, Eliizar strongly suspected, neither of the two rulers regretted the former Khisu’s demise, and were not entirely ill disposed to those who had brought it about.
The other turning point for the settlement had also been due, indirectly, to the battle, for that was the day that Finch and Petrel, the winged couriers, had decided to throw in their lot with Eliizar and his people, and, in the truest spirit of friendship and mutual cooperation, to found an adjacent Skyfolk colony in the mountains nearby. Not only had the two groups prospered, but together they had reached heights of progress that neither one could have achieved had they been alone.
Eyrie, the winged community, now occupied the nearest peak to Eliizar’s forested valley. Unlike the groundlings, they had started building in stone from the very outset, for, though wood was plentiful on the lower slopes, the weather at that altitude was far too savage in winter for mere timber to withstand. Eliizar had sent quarrymen and masons to assist in the construction, just as the Skyfolk had sent winged teams down into the forest to help with the felling and moving of timber for the homes of their earthbound friends.
Khazalim had helped the Skyfolk with the construction and cultivation of their terraced vineyards on the lowest mountain slopes, and winged scouts had soared over the forest, spotting game for Eliizar’s hunters. As the groundling settlement—named Zithra, which meant “freedom” in the Khazalim tongue—had grown and spread, more of the thick woodland was cleared, and fields began to be tilled. Nereni combed the forest with her band of woman foragers, discovering by trial and error which plants could be cultivated as cures for common ailments, and which were nourishing and good to eat. The Skyfolk hunted and eventually bred and herded the nimble, peak-dwelling goats and sheep, producing not only meat but soft, thick fleeces and skins of peerless quality, which they traded with the Zithrans for vegetables, fruit, and sweet river trout.
Both colonies became industrious and prosperous. Folk, winged and unwinged, tilled crops, hunted or herded beasts, foraged, fished, kept bees or mined metals in the foothills that lay between the two communities. There were dyers, weavers, and tanners; carpenters, potters, and smiths. And all the while, the two communities were growing in size, in comfort—and in friendship.—It was no mean achievement for a man who had started his life as a professional killer, Eliizar reflected. He knew, however, that he would never have managed it all without Nereni—and thinking of Nereni, where was she? He looked up with a guilty start to realize that the sun had crept a little closer to the zenith, and ducked quickly into the house. “Nereni? Nereni! It’s time to go—we’re late. Where in perdition are you, woman?”
She was not in the bedroom, but eventually, Eliizar found her, dressed in her new red gown embroidered with gold thread, and looking like a queen in such glorious finery. She was sitting at the kitchen table, crying her eyes out. He hurried to her side and took her hands. “Why, Nereni—whatever is wrong?”
Nereni looked at him, and broke into a torrent of fresh sobs. “I don’t want to go,” she wailed. “This is our home—I love it. We’ve been so happy here!”
Eliizar sighed. “But Nereni, our new home is so much bigger. You’ve supervised the planning and the building yourself—it’s just as you wanted it. The carpenters and weavers have been busy for months making beautiful new furnishings—because they love you. And someone else needs this house now.” He stood up and held out his hand to her. “Come now, my love—it is always hard to leave the comfort of familiar things, but we’ve done it before, remember? When we left Taibeth with Aurian to come here. And look how well that turned out.”
Nereni managed a watery smile. “Everything you say is true. It’s just that this place contains so many happy memories ...”
“You’ll take the memories with you,” Eliizar said gently. “Nothing can change that—and think of all the wonderful memories yet to be made in our new house.”
Nodding, Nereni got to her feet. “I know,” she sighed. “You’re right, of course, Eliizar. Just let me wash my face, and ...” Her words were drowned by the rumble of galloping hooves.
Eliizar laughed. “I know who that will be.”
Instantly Nereni’s tears were forgotten. “Oh no,” she cried in dismay. “It couldn’t be!”
The Swordmaster walked over to the window and looked out. A black horse was hurtling down the dusty road with a small, white-clad figure on its back. The rider jerked the huge animal to an abrupt halt in front of the cabin and slid down from the saddle. “Mother, Father—where are you? Are you never coming?”
“In here, my jewel.” Eliizar knew that a fond smile had spread itself across his face—and he didn’t care in the slightest. This child had been Aurian’s surprise parting gift to himself and Nereni—not the son and heir he had always wanted, the daughter he worshipped and adored.
“Amahli!” Nereni cried, as the slender, dark-haired girl entered the kitchen.
“Oh, you wretched, wretched girl—how could you?” She pounced on her daughter and began to beat the dust from her white embroidered dress, rather more vigorously than necessary, and scolding all the while. “Spawn of a demon—I swear I never mothered you? Did I not tell you, most particularly, not to get dirty today!”
Whatever reply the girl had been about to make was muffled as her mother began to scrub with a damp cloth at the smears on her face. “And there you are, riding around the countryside like a hoyden on that dangerous great beast—how you’ll ever get a husband I don’t know, unless you mend your ways....”
“Nereni,” Eliizar protested mildly, “the child is barely ten years old. She’s young yet to be thinking about husbands.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Eliizar,” Nereni snapped, “The child is your heir—it’s never too soon to start thinking about her future.” She had undone Amahli’s braid with lightning fingers and was yanking a comb through her waist-length hair. Eliizar noticed with fond pride that though the girl scowled and wriggled, she bore her mother’s brisk ministrations without complaint.
“There.” Nereni had rebraided the hair. She turned her daughter around and enfolded her in a hug. “All beautiful again. And mind, Amahli,” she added sternly, “you get one more speck of dust on you and I’ll take a switch to your behind! Do you hear me?”
“Yes, Mother,” the girl chorused dutifully—then sneaked a twinkling glance up at her father, who winked his one good eye.