“Then he needs to look more carefully, Elayne. He is missing what is right beneath his nose.”
Vertigern’s bodyguard flushed, made a feeble excuse and slowed her pace to fall back to where her Lord and Torvin walked behind them.
Jeren shook her head, alone once more. Why Vertigern had insisted that they come along at all, she didn’t know. They were neither wanted nor needed.
And yet some small part of her, a part she was desperately trying to quell, felt undeniably grateful for the company. After a lifetime of loneliness, even though she was never alone, her time with Shan had been a haven of companionship and love. She had not realised how much she had come to depend on the company of Lara, and even Indarin, over such a short time.
When Vertigern had requested and received an audience with Ariah, Jeren had thought little of it. But once there he had insisted that he would come with them to Aran’Mor, along with Elayne and Torvin of course, and bear witness for the Holtlands. Jeren was a child of the Holts after all, a mortal, and a member of the nobility. He was too, and once upon a time, she would have become his wife.
Apparently his arguments were compelling, because the next thing Jeren knew, they were coming as well. More disturbing to her was the news that Indarin and Lara would stay behind. She could only have so many witnesses, she knew that. Gods, but she had hoped one of them would be Shan.
As evening fell, they made camp on the edge of the sacred ground. The atmosphere was quiet, almost peaceful now. As the moon rose over the summit of Sheninglas, she drifted away from the main part of the company. Standing on the side of the mountain, on the edge of the world given to the Feyna by the Bright God Himself, Jeren breathed in deeply of that sharp, fresh air and a sense of peace enveloped her. He was coming back, Indarin said. How did he know?
It would be time to go all too soon. She was about to turn away from the edge, to return to the fires and try to get a brief touch of comfort and warmth before she and Ariah started the cold and lonely trek into the canyon which contained the Vision Rock, when her eyes caught a flash of moonlight off a weapon.
Jeren ducked the blade by instinct, pitching herself to the ground only to roll upright again.
Ylandra bore down on her, pale hair streaming behind her, unbound. Her eyes blazed with a wild rage. She moved in total silence, the blades in her hands cutting the air with the faintest whistle.
A cry went up from the camp as someone noticed the fight but Jeren didn’t dare look away. If anything distracted her, she would be dead.
“Ylandra? Where’s Shan?” she gasped and had to retreat as the Sect Mother came at her again.
“They have him,” Ylandra hissed, her teeth clenching over the words. “All because of you. And they’ll keep him unless I give you up. You belong with them, serpent-born bitch!”
Jeren darted to the left as Ylandra struck, sliding past the knife. She twisted, grabbed Ylandra’s arm, and slammed it against the rock face. Ylandra’s fingers convulsed but the blade didn’t drop. But the knife was visible for just an instant before its sister sliced into Jeren’s upper arm and Ylandra twisted out of the way.
Shan’s knife. Ylandra had Shan’s sect knife.
“Where did you get that?” Jeren growled through the pain. Staggering back, she pulled the sword from its sheath across her back. Knives to a sword made for an unbalanced match, but Ylandra was both quicker and stronger, and better trained. And what else could she do? Continue this unarmed and she was dead.
“It’s your fault!” Ylandra circled her, crouching low, waiting for an opening, and Jeren matched her pace, both hands on the hilt of Felan’s sword. There was no unease now. The sword knew its purpose and so did her magic. They were working together.
The clash of metal rang out as they joined again, and the evening’s stillness fell beneath them.
Noise erupted behind Jeren, voices, outrage.
“Ylandra, what are you doing?” Indarin called out, angry and dismayed.
“Someone help Jeren!” Vertigern shouted. “Someone has to stop this.”
Too dangerous, Jeren wanted to tell him, wondering why he didn’t see it, or try himself. If he did, she prayed someone would restrain him before he got them both killed. Ylandra danced on the edge of the drop off the side of the mountain. And so did she.
The attack came with such fury it drove Jeren back towards the higher rocks, past the camp to the canyon mouth. The Sect Mother sorely outmatched her. Blood already slicked Jeren’s arm, threatening her grip.
Shistra-Phail moved like ghosts around them, recognising the danger of interference. Jeren saw the truth of it. Distract Ylandra, and they might be able to save her life. Distract her and Ylandra would be on her in seconds and she would die.
Jeren ducked, parried and dodged the silver blurs made by the two knives. They moved too quickly for her to follow, or for her clumsy blows to get past. All she could hope for was to parry. Parry and pray. She couldn’t avoid such fluid and deadly grace for long and Ylandra knew it too. Jeren saw it in the smile that curved the corner of her mouth, the triumph in waiting.
“The Enchassa that took Shan said she’d have you too,” Ylandra sneered. “Said she had told you as much.”
Jeren’s heart spasmed, as if it had just stopped beating. It wasn’t true. It couldn’t be true. The Enchassa had Shan! Just as she had promised when she laid down her curse.
Jeren stumbled and Ylandra’s surprise kick caught her knee, felling her in a heap of pain and humiliation.
“Ylandra!” Ariah cried out in a voice that should have shaken the mountain. “Stop this, Sect Mother. Jeren is here to see her destiny and embrace the life of Shistra-Phail.”
Ylandra’s upper lip drew back, baring her sharp white teeth. “You? Shistra-Phail? You don’t deserve the honour, filthy True Blood. You don’t deserve to be one of us, you serpent-born bitch. You don’t deserve him.”
A slender figure clad in shining armour slammed into Ylandra’s side. Elayne caught the Sect Mother completely by surprise and before Jeren knew what was happening had grappled her to the ground. Torvin and Vertigern grabbed Jeren, pulling her back from the fray and then Indarin was there too, trying to help restrain the furious Ylandra. Like a woman having a fit, she twisted and convulsed, determined to tear herself free, even if she had to rip off her own limbs.
“Let me go!” Ylandra screamed. “They want her. Just her. Let them have her. She’s nothing but a True Blood whore. She isn’t his mate or Shistra-Phail, just a mortal with stolen magic and a curse. She beguiled him, bewitched him. It’s her fault the Enchassa took Shan. It’s her fault he’s nothing but food for the Fellna now!”
“You left him there?” Jeren exclaimed, incredulous. “You left Shan there as a prisoner?”
A hush fell over them all as Ylandra stilled, her eyes blazing silver fire at Jeren. Pure hatred spilled from them and behind it Jeren saw the shadows of self-loathing. Ylandra knew what she had done.
“You left him there,” Jeren whispered. It was no longer a question.
The calm words ignited Ylandra’s rage again and those holding her were caught by surprise. Ylandra tore herself free, knocking Indarin back. Only Elayne clung on grimly, still trying to bring the maddened warrior down. Ylandra snarled and thrust Shan’s knife through a chink in the bodyguard’s armour. Elayne stiffened, shock painting itself over her face.