Banshees vengeance, p.35
Banshee's Vengeance, page 35
Some felt the animals were a burden, but Azhani couldn’t be more happy to have them. Once the mother was healthy, her skills as a hunter would help put meat in their stew pots. Even the kittens were capable of bringing down small birds and squirrels.
“I tell you, they’re no ordinary cats, Agrid,” Azhani overheard one of her men tell a dwarven blacksmith. “Just the other day, I watched Avisha bring down a buck all by herself! It was an impressive sight, I’ll tell you!”
Agrid snorted and spat. “Bet she damn near took yer arm off when ye went t’take the kill from her, Rythak.”
Rythak shook his head. “Nay. She’s been well-trained. Waited ’til we gave her the innards, then took off after another one quick as lightning.”
Approaching them, Azhani said, “So Avisha’s the reason I’ve been eating better of late, then?”
Snapping to attention, the two soldiers quickly saluted her while Rythak replied, “Aye, Warleader.”
“I’m glad to hear it. You know, I once heard they were the companions of the Firstlanders.”
Rythak nodded. “Aye. Bred special for their wit, strength, and loyalty to their chosen hunting partners. There’ll be no shortage of those waiting to see if the kittens will choose them.”
Now Azhani chuckled. “As Avisha chose Devon?” she asked, earning a heavy sigh from the hunter.
“Aye, though there’s more than a few who claim the mage captured her with one of his spells.”
“Devon would do no such thing,” she replied so sharply that Rythak winced.
“Peace, Warleader, I meant no offense. Perhaps she is only acting as she is named, as to be chosen is quite miraculous.”
“Please just try to remember that Devon’s as confused by the ‘miracle’ of her choice as you are, Rythak.” She consciously stressed the Firstlander word that was also the translation of Avisha’s name.
“Aye, Warleader. I’ll pass the word,” he said, saluting her again.
Within a week, all the kittens had chosen their two-legged partners except one, a small gray male who had a habit of moving from fire to fire, never staying more than a night or two with one person. Because of this, he was named “Zhadosh,” or “Ghost.”
Staring at a sea of reports, Azhani rubbed the bridge of her nose and bit back a groan. Rimerbeasts still roamed the area around the remains of Barton. Between rotating soldiers in and out of patrols so no one was overworked and the seemingly daily list of the injured, it was all she could do to keep enough people in the field to hunt them down. Even now, she had to weigh which duties called to her loudest. Anything she wanted was cast right out the flap of the tent. Sleep was for when she could hardly stand upright any longer. Eating happened when someone remembered to shove food at her. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d bathed or worn clean clothes.
An ache deep in her heart poked and prodded at her, urging her to throw it all aside and rush back to her family’s cottage. Honor and duty held her fast to her seat, where she spent candlemarks reading and writing reports that would then be sent back to Y’Syria. She did, however, pause long enough to assign Padreg the southern quadrant patrol. He would understand the importance of checking that area thoroughly.
The tent flap rustled and Azhani looked up as Starseeker Vashyra stepped in, a grave expression on her face. “There is trouble in Y’Syria, Azhani.”
“What is it?”
“Black-sailed ships captained by Ecarthan priests war with the Y’Noran and Y’Syran navies on Banner Lake.” She took a seat across from Azhani. “There are heavy casualties. The queen cannot spare any soldiers to bolster our ranks.”
“Damn it. Do we need to send some units back?” She wondered where she was going to find a few hundred men and women to reassign.
Vashyra shook her head. “They’ve achieved a stalemate, of sorts, and some of Ambassador Iften’s relatives are helping to fill the ranks that patrol the shore.”
Relaxing only marginally, Azhani sighed and tossed her pen aside. “What’s going on, Vashyra? Where did all these damned Ecarthans come from?”
“Best I can tell you, from what I’ve pieced together, is that they were cultivated by the sorcerer, Kasyrin Darkchilde. How he came to be associated with Ecarthus—and just exactly what Ecarthus is—well, we’re still trying to figure that out. The brotherhood of Astarus is in charge of ancient knowledge like that, and when even they are having a hard time finding references, I think you can understand how difficult it is for me to answer your questions.”
Azhani reached for a pot of mulled wine and poured them each a mug. “All right. Do you think they’re related to the rimerbeasts, ogres, sea monsters and the like?” she asked softly.
Vashyra shrugged. “Who can say for sure? Our auguries are…unusually difficult to read of late. I dislike such coincidence, though.”
“As do I. All right, thank you. Here is what I am ready to send to Lyssera today. I should—”
“Sleep. You should sleep, my friend. You can’t lead if you can’t think.”
Azhani wanted to argue, but it was late and it had been at least fourteen candlemarks since she’d seen Kyrian. “You’re right. Sleep sounds perfect.”
“It’s where I’m headed,” Vashyra replied with a grin. “Thank you for this, though.” She drained her mug. Standing, she shivered visibly. “It’s getting colder.”
“It’ll be colder still before this is done, Starseeker,” Azhani said as she cleared her table and covered the brazier for the night. “Rest well, my friend.”
“You too.”
In the days that followed, they learned that not only were the Ecarthan priests attacking their allies by water, but that they were also invading Y’Nor itself.
Azhani, Padreg, Elisira, and Kyrian sat huddled around a pile of messages from Y’Nym, each one bleaker than the last. Death tolls, herd losses, and of course, the dire news that the other kingdoms were suffering troubles of their own. Worse, Brannock Maeven had written, no one had heard from High King Ysradan for weeks.
Quietly, Azhani said, “If he’s dead, it’ll be utter chaos.”
Padreg nodded while Kyrian and Elisira each moved closer to their loved ones. “Aye. I’ve ordered the princess to stay in camp at all times. She was quite displeased with me.”
“Better unhappy than dead,” Azhani said sourly. “And if Ysradan’s gone, Ysrallan is going to need her.”
Kyrian took a breath. “If…King Ysradan is dead…what will that mean in terms of Y’Dan, and of Arris?”
She shook her head. “I wish I knew. Ysrallan is too young to rule alone. Likely, someone will be named as regent, and whoever that is will make the decision in Ysrallan’s stead.”
“Which means you’d be dealing with Pirellan Madros,” Padreg said distastefully. “And that nodwaffler wouldn’t know how to keep a promise if Astariu herself commanded it.”
The four of them sat glumly, each wondering what the future was going to bring.
Good news, when it came, was fleeting, but nonetheless cause for celebration. Ambassador Kuwell and his allies sent word that the mines and caves of Y’Dror had been scoured clean of all traces of rimerbeast activity and none of the monsters had made it into the forests south of their section of the Crest of Amyra. Because of that, he and his men were marching west and hoped to join the Y’Syran army soon.
Knowing the dwarves were at her back allowed Azhani to breathe a little easier. They would sweep the mountains to the east for any stragglers or strays that had eluded her patrols.
Hard on the heels of Kuwell’s missive, however, came a single, deeply distracting piece of intelligence.
King Arris was coming.
She had known that, since crossing into this section of the mountains, the Y’Dani army was actively working to drive out the rimerbeasts—though their patrols had never met, the signs were easy to read for someone who had trained with a good number of the soldiers now crawling along the western ridge of the Crest of Amyra.
This morning, however, word had reached her that Arris himself commanded Y’Dan’s army and he was leading them in her direction. If she did not change course soon, they were going to meet in the mountains north of the village of Ynnych, something that could be devastating for both sides of the conflict. She was duty bound enough to realize the rimerbeasts were the greater threat, but she suspected Arris would throw aside any pretense of defending his kingdom and commit all his forces to attacking hers just so he could hurt her again. That thought was enough to make her stomach roil.
A cup of steaming hot tea was set before her. Looking up, she was treated to Kyrian’s warmest, most loving smile. “Keep scowling like that, love, and your face will turn to stone.”
Azhani took the cup, sipped the sweet, hot beverage, and sighed. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. You appeared to need it.”
Nearby, Brother Jalen lifted his own mug and saluted her. “Have I mentioned today how grateful I am you came this way, Azhani?”
Azhani chuckled. “At least once, Brother Jae, but I’m glad too.” Glancing over his shoulder at the shrine, she smiled warmly. “You’ve done a beautiful job with it.”
Turning to look at the small building, he nodded. “It was work worth doing—and how else could I repay Astariu for Her healing?”
“She asks for nothing like that, Jalen,” Kyrian said quietly. “You know that.”
“Perhaps I do, but still—I felt it had to be done,” he replied.
Azhani stepped inside the shrine and walked up to the altar. Kneeling before the statues of the Twain, she used a piece of tinder to take flame from the oil lamp and touch it to a pile of incense, releasing a sweet scent into the air. Behind the altar, a massive crystal bowl overflowed with fresh water. This filled a pool that was designed to feed a variety of plants that grew out of pots concealed in the walls of the temple.
Spreading outward from the central altar were the bedrolls and cots of the priests and mages who had taken shelter within the shrine. Some were occupied, but for now, most were empty. Here and there, someone would shift in their sleep, revealing a hint of saffron, azure, or crimson fabric. With a slight shiver at the concentration of so much potential magick, she touched her hands to the altar, murmured a soft prayer, and quickly exited the building, returning to her seat by the fire.
Not too far away, Allyndev, Syrelle, and Devon sat on a blanket, a single plate of food shared between them and with Avisha, who was curled up at their feet. Acting like a queen receiving her due from her loyal subjects, she took tidbits whenever they were offered. Mostly, though, it was a race to see which of the three could eat the fastest, with Allyn and Devon outpacing Syrelle by a good deal.
Bemusedly, Azhani watched as Devon snatched the last small, meat-filled pie and held it just out of Allyndev’s reach.
“Hah, just try to take it now, my prince!” he crowed teasingly.
Smirking, Allyn grabbed his arm, jerked him closer, and bit the pie in half, then licked his lips with a satisfied smile as Devon gaped at him.
Syrelle just smiled fondly and shook her head.
They’re going to create a few waves if they ever figure out their feelings, Azhani thought wryly.
Kyrian touched her arm. “Hungry, love?”
“Aye, but I’ll fetch something. You sit and rest. It hasn’t been that long since you healed our good brother here.” She nodded to Jalen, who was proudly showing off his work in the shrine to one of Azhani’s lieutenants.
“Thank you.” Kyrian dropped onto a nearby log bench with a relieved sigh.
The meal was simple, but filling, and afterward they gathered round the fire to listen to Brother Jalen regale the group with the tales of his adventures. While Azhani and Padreg repaired their armor, Kyrian and Elisira darned several pairs of socks and patched as many pairs of breeches as could be rescued.
More than once, Azhani found herself smiling over some of the priest’s exploits, but it was Kyrian who burst into gales of laughter. “I can’t believe you snuck into the king of Y’Tol’s private cellar!”
With a beatific smile, Jalen replied, “I do not sneak, my dear. My entry into that hallowed chamber was by invitation—after all, he had offered me a reward for discovering the cure to that particularly nasty infestation of beetles. I simply chose to take it in the form of three bottles of one of his finest vintages.”
Woeful, Padreg shook his head. “Maybe I should just hand the key to my cellar over to you next time you visit Y’Nym, Jae.”
Jalen snorted. “You’ve not got a cellar, Paddy. Besides, I care little for ale or mead.”
“Ah, your palate’s too refined for my barbarian brews, hm?” Padreg slyly retorted.
In a sheepish tone, Jalen said, “Nay, ’tis not that at all. ’Tis only that they make me belch.”
Everyone laughed and the conversation flowed in different directions until Jalen asked Padreg when he and Elisira were planning to wed.
Somewhat pointedly, Azhani said, “Midwinter, wasn’t it?”
With a rueful shrug, Padreg looked to Elisira, who smiled fondly and replied, “Originally, that had been our thought, yes. However, we’ve decided to wait until we’ve returned to Y’Nor. Both of us want to be home and focused only on the joy of the event, not…” She glanced at the armor in Azhani’s lap. “Other things.”
“Understandable,” Azhani said quietly.
Padreg smiled. “And what of you and Kyrian, hm? Will you stand before Astariu and pledge your lives together?”
Made a bit uncomfortable by the query, Azhani peeked at Kyrian, who sat with a needle held between her teeth, staring at Azhani with a curious expression on her face. Eventually she took the needle from her mouth. “While I hope Azhani and I will be among your guests, I suspect that we aren’t yet ready to speak such oaths.”
Putting her armor aside, Azhani took Kyrian’s hand. “I am ready, my love. I’ve been ready since the night I came to you.” She smiled then and turned to Padreg and Elisira. “I pray your day of bonding is as full of joy as you could hope.”
“Thank you,” Elisira replied solemnly.
Padreg nodded. “You have my thanks as well, my friend.”
Their softly spoken words barely penetrated Azhani’s thoughts as she slid from the tree trunk to her knees. Looking up at Kyrian, she took her hand and brought it to her lips. For a long while, she knelt there, just staring into Kyrian’s eyes. The world narrowed to heartbeats and a glimmering, fire-touched sea of green.
Eventually, she took a deep breath and said, “Not a single day passes when I do not thank the Twain for your presence, beloved.”
Kyrian blushed and reached out to caress her cheek.
Azhani smiled. “When it seemed that my soul was lost to darkness, you were the light that came and soothed the hurts of my body and heart. I was friendless and then your hand was there, reaching for mine and taking it, pulling me back from the abyss that threatened to destroy me. Through you, I found the will to live again.” Gently, she kissed Kyrian’s palm. “Now, you are my most blessed love—the most cherished friend of my heart, the most beautiful song in my soul, and the brightest light in my life. Words do not exist to tell you more, my love. I cannot carve more truth with my tongue than the most simple fact that I love you,” she said, cupping her hands to Kyrian’s face and taking another deep breath. “And that there would be no greater gift, no finer honor than to stand at your side on Winter’s Solstice and pledge to the Twain that you, Kyrian, are my wife. Please, please, I hope you will do this. Will you share my life? Will you claim the right to cherish our love as long as the stars spin in the heavens above?”
Distant thunder rumbled overhead and suddenly, the skies opened up, covering them with rain as Kyrian slid into Azhani’s arms and fervently kissed her.
As the deluge soaked them, Kyrian laughed. “Oh, my beautiful love.” Leaning her forehead against Azhani’s, she said, “Everything and the universe—that’s what I see whenever I look into your eyes.” Softly, she chuckled. “You can even make me forget the rain. It always feels like the sun is shining whenever I’m in your arms.” Tenderly, she kissed her, then murmured, “Yes, I will marry you. Now, come on! I’m soaked to the skin and freezing!”
Laughing, they both rose and ran to the shelter of their tent.
Padreg Keelan liked to think of himself as a man raised to speak honestly and humbly, but having just witnessed Azhani give her heart so freely to Kyrian, it was all he could do not to throw himself at Elisira’s feet and beg her forgiveness for not offering her the same truth. Instead, he surreptitiously scrubbed at the tears scalding the corners of his eyes and watched as the two women made their way across camp to the warleader’s tent.
“’Twas truly a most wondrous and moving proposal,” Elisira said with a heavy sigh.
“Aye.” He felt thick-tongued and numb-witted in its wake.
“I’ll not hear its like again, I expect,” she said, her tone lightly teasing as she elbowed him in the ribs. “Though certainly, if someone could approach its sweetness, I might be so inclined to eat my boot.”
Padreg snorted. “Have you acquired a taste for old leather then, my lady?”
Softly, she laughed. “Nay, but—”
“Make no wagers in haste.” He turned to brush his lips over her cheek. “Else your purse may become quickly flattened.”
“By whom?” she retorted archly. “There are few enough with mastery of wit and words to match Azhani’s. I sincerely doubt any could outdo such purity and eloquence.”
