“Very nice!” Speros grinned at him. “Shall I teach you a few strokes, my lord?”
“I have seen it done,” Ushahin said wryly.
“Ah, come now, Lord Dreamspinner.” Speros plucked another blade from the row and tossed aside his sheepskin cloak, taking up an offensive stance. “If I were to come at you thusly,” he said, aiming a slow strike at Ushahin’s left side, “you would parry by—”
Ushahin brought his blade down hard and fast, knocking the Midlander’s aside. “I have seen it done, Speros!” The impact made every misshapen bone in his body ache. He sighed. “This war will not be won with swords.”
“Maybe not, my lord.” The tip of Speros’ sword had lodged in the wooden floor. Lowering his head until his brown hair spilled over his brow, he pried it loose and laid the blade back in its place. “But it won’t be lost by them either.”
“I pray you are right,” Ushahin murmured. “You have done your duty to Tanaros, Midlander. I am armed. Go, now, and leave me.”
After a moment’s hesitation, Speros went.
Ushahin gazed at the blade in his right hand. The edges were keen, gleaming blue in the dim light of the armory. He wished, again, he knew what his Lordship expected of him. Since he did not, he found a scabbard for the blade and a swordbelt that fit about his waist and left the armory.
Outside, the blood-bay stallion was waiting, its reins looped over a hitching rail. Beneath the murky pall of smoke that hung over the place, its coat glowed with dark fire, as though it had emerged molten from the furnace and were slowly cooling. It stood unnaturally still, watching him with its wary, intelligent gaze.
“Have we come to a truce, you and I?” Ushahin asked aloud. “Then we are wiser, in our way, than our masters.”
Perhaps it was so; or perhaps Ushahin, who had been abjured by the Grey Dam, no longer carried the taint of the Were on him like a scent. It grieved him to think it might be so. The horse merely gazed at him, thinking its own abstruse equine thoughts. He did not trouble its mind, but instead stroked its mane, wondering at the way his fingers slid through the coarse, black, hair. It had been a long time since he had taken pleasure in touch, in the sensation of texture against his skin.
“All things must be as they must,” he said to the stallion, then mounted and went to tell Lord Satoris that the Dwarfs had broken Yrinna’s Peace.
THIRTEEN
“Lady.” Tanaros bowed. “Are you well?”
She stood very straight, and her luminous grey eyes were watchful and wary. Her travail in Darkhaven had only honed her beauty, he thought; paring it to its essence, until the bright flame of her spirit was almost visible beneath translucent flesh.
“I am,” she said. “Thank you, General Tanaros.”
“Good.” He cleared his throat, remembering how he had burst into the room and feeling ill at ease. “On behalf of his Lordship, I tender apologies. Please know that the attempt upon your life was made against his orders.”
“Yes,” Cerelinde said. “I know.”
“You seem very certain.”
Her face, already fair as ivory, turned a paler hue. “I heard the screams.”
“It’s not what you think.” The words were impulsive. Tanaros sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Ah, Cerelinde! His Lordship did what was necessary. If you saw Ushahin’s … punishment … you would understand.”
Her chin lifted a notch. “The Ellylon do not condone torture.”
“He healed his arm,” Tanaros said abruptly.
Cerelinde stared at him, uncomprehending. “Forgive me. I do not understand.”
“Slowly,” Tanaros said, “and painfully. Very painfully.” He gave a short laugh. “It matters not Ushahin understood what he did. He bore his Lordship’s punishment that his madlings might not He did not want them to suffer for serving his will.” A stifled sound came from the corner; turning his head, Tanaros saw Meara huddled there. A cold, burning suspicion suffused his chest. “Do you have something to say, Meara?”
She shook her head in frantic denial, hiding her face against her knees.
“Let her be.” Cerelinde stepped between them, her face alight with anger. “Do you think I would permit her in my presence did I not trust her, Tanaros?”
“I don’t know,” he said quietly. “Do you trust her?”
The Ellylon could not lie. She stood close to him, close enough to touch, her chin still lifted. He could feel the heat of her body; could almost smell her skin. Her eyes were level with his. He could see the pleated irises, the subtle colors that illuminated them; violet, blue, and green, and the indeterminate hue that lies in the innermost curve of a rainbow.
“Yes,” Cerelinde said, her voice steady and certain. “I do.”
There was a sob, then; a raw sound, wrenched from Meara’s throat. She launched herself toward the door with unexpected speed, low to the ground and scuttling. Taken by surprise, Tanaros let her go. He caught only a glimpse of her face as she passed, an accusatory gaze between strands of lank, untended hair. Her hands scrabbled at the door, and the Mørkhar Fjel beyond it allowed her passage.
“What passes here, Lady?” Tanaros asked simply.
“You frighten her.” Cerelinde raised her brows. “Is there more?”
“No.” He thought about Meara; her weight, straddling him. The heat of her flesh, the touch of her mouth against his. Her teeth, nipping at his lower lip. The memory made him shift in discomfort. “Nothing that concerns you.”
Cerelinde moved away from him, taking a seat and keeping her disconcerting gaze upon him. “You do not know me well enough to know what concerns me, Tanaros Blacksword.”
“Lady, I know you better than you think,” he murmured. “But I will not seek to force the truth you are unwilling to reveal. Since I am here in good faith, is there aught in which I may serve you?”
Yearning flared in her eyes and she took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. Her voice trembled as she answered, “You might tell me what passes in the world beyond these walls.”
Tanaros nodded. “I would thirst for knowledge, too, did I stand in your shoes, Cerelinde. Never say I denied you unkindly. Yrinna’s Children are on the march.”
“what?” Yearning turned to hope; Cerelinde leaned forward, fingers whitening on the arms of the chair. There were tears in her bright eyes. “Tanaros, I pray you, play no jests with me.”
He smiled sadly at her. “Would that I did.”
“Yrinna’s Children have broken her Peace!” she marveled. “And …” Her voice faltered, then continued, adamant with resolve. “And Aracus?”
“He is coming.” Tanaros sighed. “They are all coming, Cerelinde.”
“You know it is not too late—”
“No.” He cut her off with a word. It hurt to see such hope, such joy, in her face. When all was said and done, it was true; he was a fool. But he was a loyal fool, and his loyalty was to Lord Satoris; and to others, who trusted him. Tanaros fingered the rhios that hung in a pouch at his belt. “Save your words, Lady. If you have need of aught else, send for me, and I will come.”
With that he left her, because it was easier than staying. The Mørkhar Fjel at her door gave him their usual salute. Tanaros stared hard at them. Too much suspicion and longing was tangled in his heart.
“See to it that no one passes unnoted,” he said. “Even the Dreamspinner’s madlings, do you understand? It was one such who served the Lady poison.”
“Lord General.” It was Krognar, one of his most trusted among the Havenguard, who answered in a deep rumble. “Forgive us. One looks much like another.”