“Presenting a weapon to a field commander in the field, even if his life is threatened, symbolizes a lack of confidence. A commander must rely on what he brings with him, for he leads alone,” Jethrar said crisply, falling into the military discipline of the well-trained leonin warrior.
“Correct, Jethrar,” Raksha said. “But remember also that only a fool refuses an ally. You want to know a secret?”
“Er, of course, my Kha,” Jethrar stammered.
“The prohibition against giving weapons to field commanders arose long ago, before Great Dakan united the tribes of leonin,” Raksha said.
“Yes, my Kha.”
“Be quiet and listen. It started as a competition among the strongest fighters of tribes at war, who led those tribes. Our people knew the futility of waging all-out war against their own kind even before Dakan, and these leaders, these champions, settled disputes between tribes one-on-one. It saved a lot of lives.”
“Yes, I imagine so, my Kha.”
“Any leonin champion who accepted help from anyone in such a contest was disgraced. The fight would end immediately, and the rulebreaker would forfeit. But not only did he lose the fight, he dishonored his tribe. The only way to redeem themselves was to tear their own champion apart with their bared claws,” Raksha said. “It was a fine system. Do you understand why we tell you all this, Jethrar?”
“To, er … educate me, my Kha?”
“Yes …”
“In the history of our people?”
“Not exactly,” the Kha said, smiling. “We tell you this for two reasons: First, you must realize that some of our proud traditions have a reason very different from what you have been taught.”
“And the second, my Kha?” Jethrar asked nervously.
“Traditions are made to be broken,” Raksha said. “Yshkar adheres rigidly to our traditions, but if you ever see him surrounded by nim without a weapon in sight, toss him a scimitar.”
“Thank you, my Kha,” Jethrar said. “What should I do after delivering your message, my Kha?”
“Well, sticking that dagger into the nearest nim would be a good start,” Raksha replied. “Point the sharp end away from you.”
“Yes sir!” Jethrar said, eyes flashing, and he turned to leave. He opened the tent flap and promptly collided with a blonde human female clad in silver and aquamarine robes. Her skin bore a metallic tinge of cerulean, and she carried an air of authority. The strange human stepped calmly into the tent as if it were her own.
Raksha, stunned by the intrusion but not yet feeling threatened, placed a hand on his sword hilt. “Who dares enter the our presence? How did you gain entry to our camp? Are you a friend, or an enemy?” he asked.
“A friend of a friend,” the human woman said. “I am Bruenna, I have traveled here by magical means. Glissa needs your help.”
Raksha had not expected to hear that name again soon. Glissa had left Taj Nar a friend of the leonin, but he could not help but blame her in part for Rishan’s death. Still, the elf was courageous, and the Kha did not give his friendship lightly or retract it without an honorable reason.
“First, tell us how you got here,” Raksha said. “Then we shall hear what you have to say.”
“Magic. I used a teleportation spell,” the woman explained. “Your perimeter is secure, I assure you. I regret I don’t have time to greet you with the protocol due a regent of your stature, Raksha Golden Cub, Kha of Taj Nar. But my business is of the utmost-”
With a roar, Jethrar leaped to his feet and stepped between Raksha and the newcomers, battle-scythe at the ready. “You will leave at once!” the guard bellowed. “The Kha’s presence is invio-”
The robed woman raised a hand and traced an ornate pattern in the air. Jethrar froze in mid-sentence. Raksha opened his mouth to ask what the mage had done to his guard, when he saw that Shonahn, too, was completely still. In fact, neither she nor Jethrar appeared to be breathing. Only the human moved as she calmly advanced on the Kha.
Raksha’s sword was in his hand in a flash, causing the robed woman to stop short. “What did you do?” he demanded.
“Stopped time, briefly,” the mage explained. “Forgive me, but I must speak to you without interruptions.”
“You claim to know Glissa? Why should we believe you, wizard? Why should we not cut you down where you stand?” Raksha snarled, brandishing his sword menacingly.
The human woman stood her ground. “Bring her in,” she called over her shoulder, and the tent flap parted to reveal a young elf girl wearing a patch over one eye and an ornate slagwurm breastplate carved with intricate runes. In her arms she held a still, familiar form. The girl’s resemblance to the unconscious woman she held was unmistakeable. Sisters, Raksha guessed.
“Glissa,” the Kha whispered. “What happened to your eye?”
“This is Lyese, Tel-Jilad Chosen and Glissa’s sister,” Bruenna said, and raised her hands, palms upward. “The unconscious one is Glissa. I was able to magically retrieve her from … a perilous situation. But I am no healer. I got her out, but I don’t know if I can keep her alive.”
Raksha sighed, and sheathed his weapon. “Very well. But you shall have to let time commence, human. The finest healer in the Glimmervoid is standing right over there, but she can’t hear a word you’re saying.”
CHAPTER 9
“Slobad!” Glissa cried, sitting bolt upright on the cot. She couldn’t see a thing, and for a moment she thought she was back in the Prison Tree. Then sensation returned in a rush, and the elf girl gasped. Someone was pressing a cool, damp cloth against her forehead, which was why she couldn’t see.
“There, there,” a soft, purring voice whispered in her ear. The accent and dialect were leonin, and probably female, though it was difficult to be sure. Glissa felt a warm feeling of safety wash over her being as the voice began a soothing chant, and the elf girl relaxed a bit.
“Where am I?” she asked.
“The private quarters of the Kha,” a deep, familiar voice rumbled. The chanting leonin lifted the cool cloth from her eyes. Glissa sat on a cot made of soft djeeruk leather inside a cavernous room-no, a tent, she corrected herself when she saw one “wall” wafting in the wind. Four small firetubes lit the room, dimly illuminating three figures that jumped from their seats at a table not far away and dashed to her side. Raksha Golden Cub, wearing fresh bandages like the one around Glissa’s own wound, moved slowest of the trio, or perhaps that was his regal demeanor in action-a king. A king does not arrive anywhere first.
Bruenna wore a look of relief, and Lyese, Glissa was somewhat relieved to see, had a grin a mile wide. Her sister’s attitude seemed to have improved since she last saw her.
“How did I get here?” Glissa asked.
“The connection between siblings allows many forms of magic to work over long dista-” Bruenna began but was cut off by Lyese.
“Glissa!” gasped her sister, and she launched into a rapidfire recount of the events that had brought them all back together. “It was me! We were almost here-we had to walk after a while, Bruenna needed to regain her strength, I guess. When you were in trouble, I heard you, or felt you, or something. It’s hard to explain. Then Bruenna used me finding you to find where to focus her magic, and then she cast this teleportation thing that made all my hair stand up on end, and there you were!”
Lyese sounded very much like the excitable youth Glissa had left behind only weeks ago. She a hand tentatively on Glissa’s shoulder. “Glissa, I’m so glad you’re okay. I’m sorry I blamed you for-I’m just sorry. It wasn’t your fault. None of it is.” Glissa gaped. Lyese hadn’t just had a change of heart, she’d had some kind of magical epiphany.
“Among the Neurok, close family can often feel each other’s strong emotions over long distances,” Bruenna offered. “Perhaps you experienced something similar, Lyese.”