Chapter Ten

Staring at her in horror, he slowly backed away.

Lea turned her head to look at him, and her blue eyes widened. “No, Caelan!”

He couldn’t bear to speak to her. What cruelty was this? What capricious god took amusement at giving him Lea against all hope or reason, then made her nothing more than a ghost?

Lea’s eyes tried to hold his. “You’re wrong. Please listen—”

With a cry, Caelan turned and ran, stooping, down the tunnel. He had to get out of here, had to get away from her.

She came after him, throwing her arms around his waist and squeezing tight to hold him.

He turned on her, pushing her off. “Get away from me!”

Tears filled her eyes. “I’m real. I’m real!”

He shut out her voice, refusing to listen. Again he turned his back on her and headed for the mouth of the cave.

She caught his cloak and tugged. “Please, please listen to me. Touch my hand. I’m flesh and blood, Caelan, just like you.”

Her pleas tore at his heart. He wanted to believe her, yet he couldn’t. All he trusted was the evidence of his own eyes.

“Do you not waver from the sight of others when you sever!” she asked. “Has no one ever been frightened by you? Has no one ever misunderstood what you are doing?”

He glanced back at her with a frown. “What?”

“Can you not come and go among people without being seen? Can you not step into the spirit world and exit as you choose? Can you not move faster than thought, so fast sometimes your opponent cannot see you?”

His frown deepened. He did not want to listen to her, yet he could not help it. How could she know what it was like?

“Oh, Caelan,” she said, her voice full of compassion, “do you not yet know what we are?”

He stared at her, too amazed to answer, but his mind was shifting into one rapid thought after another. Lea, who could read his mind, who had answered his thoughts as though they were spoken aloud since she had first learned to talk. Lea, who wished for things that then came true, as though her will could bend events themselves. Lea, whose gentle spirit had always been his guide and conscience.

“What are you saying?” he whispered.

She stepped closer, her eyes still locked on his. Holding out her hand to him, she said, “Am I real?”

He flinched back. “I don’t know! I have lately walked in a place where the mind can be twisted. All these years I have grieved for you, thinking you were dead, wishing I could see you again.”

“I am not dead. I am not a ghost. Caelan, look with truth. Don’t let your fear blind you.”

“What is the truth?” he asked hoarsely, dragging in a breath. “How do you still come to be here? How are you still alive? Who cares for you? What happened to you?”

“I told you this is a place of sanctuary.”

“Sanctuary? What do you mean?”

“A place of protection. The gentle spirits keep it. Anyone who comes here is safe. I knew this when I used to play here. You knew it when you left me here.”

“I knew nothing,” he said savagely. “Except that I abandoned you to starve.”

“You knew,” she insisted. “Instinctively, if nothing else. And when you told me to stay here until you came back, I did. In a way.”

He looked away angrily. “Impossible! Why do you lie?”

“Why do you refuse the truth?”

Her words were gentle; her tone was reasonable. But he couldn’t believe her.

“I’m sorry,” she said, looking hurt. “I thought you would understand by now. I shouldn’t have approached you this way. But I was so glad to see you, so happy. After all these years I had the chance to bring you back to me.”

“I don’t understand.”

She met his gaze, and her eyes were clear and guileless. “I wished you to come back to me, and you did. When I saw that you were coming through the Gate of Sorrows, I—”

“How do you know about that?” he demanded sharply, his suspicions reawakened. “Unless you are yourself some vision from the shadow world, how would you know about—”

“How do you know what you know?” she countered. “How do you see deeply into the souls of men, so deeply you find their threads of life? How do you command a warding key simply by holding it and wishing it to work? How do you walk among demons and men, known to both? Do you think it is possible that only you can do such things, when I am your sister, with the same blood and the same heart?”

He stared at her, letting her words sink in, and felt cold to his marrow. “What are we?” he asked.

She hesitated a moment, then said, “We are Choven.”

His mind surged within him, as though he might almost believe it; then his skepticism crashed back. “Impossible.”

“Do not fear the truth.”

He glared at her. “Choven don’t look like us. They aren’t—”

He broke off abruptly and didn’t finish his sentence.

Lea’s eyes never wavered. “They aren’t human?” she finished.

Furious, he said, “I have been called everything from casna to donare. But—”

She slapped her hand against his breastplate loudly enough to silence him. “Hush!” she said, her blue eyes snapping. “Oh, how angry you make me when you are stubborn. Are the Choven evil? Are they?”

He frowned and reluctantly shook his head.

“They are mysterious and rarely seen. Does that make them evil?”

He sighed impatiently. “Of course not.”

“Then do not fear the truth.”

“But, Lea, I do not look like any Choven ever seen. Nor do you. We look like our parents. We were born in E’nonhold, our births witnessed by people who helped bring us up.”

It was her turn to sigh impatiently. She crossed her arms and began to tap her foot. “Stubborn and stupid. You have so many lessons to learn. Will you insist on seeing only the most obvious explanation? Or can your mind accept alternatives?”

“Explain.”

“I am trying to, but you won’t listen to anything.”

Wearily he tipped his head back against the wall. “I am tired, sister, and beset with worries. My chief responsibility is the life and safety of the empress sovereign. Make your words simple and don’t twist my mind with complications.”

“I’m sorry we have quarreled,” she said, her anger vanishing at once. “Of course you are tired, but you need not worry. You are safe, and the empress is safe as long as she stays here.”

“She has little time,” Caelan said. “The venom—”

“It cannot do its evil while she lies here.”

He looked into his sister’s eyes and felt the tension in his body relax. Closing his eyes, he murmured, “Gault be thanked.”

“Come,” Lea said, tugging at his sleeve. “You need care. Come and rest.”

He shook free and slung the end of his cloak across his shoulder. “No, I must guard her—”

“She is safe, Caelan. No harm can befall her here.”

“Any lurker could enter the cave—”

“No lurker would dare come in here. The earth spirits guard us. Nothing without can see the mouth of the cave. Even if they look directly at it, their eyes are blinded and they see only dirt and rock.” Lea tilted her golden head and smiled at him. “Don’t worry so much. Be at peace for a little while, sweet brother. You have fought for such a long time. Come and take refuge.”

She was right. He did need rest. He tried to think of how long it had been since the Madruns overran the palace, and knew he had lost all track of time. But he had been fighting too long, and he could not fight Lea too.

She drew him back into the deepest part of the cave, where he had first found her. The emeralds studding the walls glittered at him, and the air was so warm and sweet he threw back his cloak.

“Elandra should be in here.”

“The lady sleeps well where she is. Do not disturb her,” Lea said. “Sit, and take your rest.”

With a groan, he sank to the ground and propped himself against the wall. His muscles were stiffening, and his leg hurt. His armor weighed too much, and he could no longer resist the spell that Lea cast.

“Rest your mind as well as your body,” Lea said. “Here.”

He glanced up at her and blinked, for in her hands were a goblet of mead and a bowl of steaming soup. He frowned in astonishment. “How?”

“Eat,” she said, handing the food to him. “Then we will talk.”

It was morning when he awoke, finding himself covered with a soft fur robe. Tiny dapples of sunlight filtered in from natural ventilation somewhere. Blinking, he slowly sat up and looked around. His armor lay nearby, freshly polished and gleaming. The rips in his crimson cloak had been mended, and the garment itself was cleaned so well it looked cut from new cloth. A large, decora-tively stitched leather pouch fitted with a shoulder strap rested beneath his emerald. Smiling involuntarily to himself, Caelan brushed his fingertips over the surface of the stone before sliding it into the pouch and slipping the strap over his shoulder to check the fit. If the emerald continued to grow larger and heavier, he might soon find himself trying to carry a boulder around. Then what would he do? Start driving a cart?

But such flippant thoughts seemed disrespectful. After all, he was a guest in this place; he must not insult his mysterious hosts, even in his mind.

He wolfed down fresh, piping hot breakfast cakes stacked on a platter, emptied a mug of spiced cider, and felt almost renewed.

Running his hand over the itchy stubble on his jaw, he yawned and stretched as best he could in the cramped confines of the cave. Slipping through the narrow exit, he returned to the other cavern where he had left Elandra the night before.

She lay still and peaceful, as though in sleep, the glowing topaz still clutched in her fingers.

He knelt beside her, not daring to touch her, and fresh worry filled his heart. Lea had said she was safe here, but would she slumber forever in this cave, never to emerge?

Someone had combed the tangles from Elandra’s auburn hair. It lay across her pillow in a shining fan, and a fur robe covered her to the waist. Her face looked peaceful, no longer pale and strained. The purple smudges were gone from beneath her eyes. He studied the thick sweep of her lashes against her cheek and wished he could somehow impart his strength to her.

“Good morning,” Lea said.

Startled, he turned and saw his sister smiling at him. She wore a gown of sky-blue wool today, and her golden hair had been pinned up in smooth plaits around her head.

Caelan smiled at her in greeting, hiding his doubts, which had returned, and reluctantly left Elandra’s side to join his sister.

“Come out,” Lea said.

Caelan followed her outside and found the sun bright upon a blinding expanse of fresh snow. The air was crisp and clean. For a fanciful moment it almost seemed that the trees bowed to him, but Caelan blinked and dismissed the thought. It was only the weight of the snow, bending them down.

“It is a beautiful day,” Lea said, throwing out her hands and whirling about in a little dance that took her to the edge of the stream. She jumped its narrow expanse—her skirts flying up to show off the red leather boots she wore—and clapped her hands from the opposite side. “Come!”

Smiling a little, he followed where she beckoned, climbing up the opposite bank with his breath streaming white about his face.

“Where are we going?” he called after her. “I don’t want to get too far from ...”

His voice died away as he reached the top of the bank and found himself looking at a herd of nordeer. The animals were pale and stately, gathered just at the edge of the clearing.

They peered back at him, their long, narrow faces solemn as they flicked long ears and chewed their cud. There were perhaps a dozen of the animals, a tiny herd containing what looked like an even mixture of does and bucks. The latter carried tall, racklike antlers with a graceful air of nobility. It was strange that all the nordeer were of similar size, and each rack of antlers showed an identical number of points. Caelan had never before seen a herd like this. Usually they migrated in vast numbers, bunching protectively around the old, weak, and young ones.

As he stared in wonder, some of them dropped their heads and pawed the snow for grazing. Caelan laughed aloud, and their heads snapped back up to look at him. They were alert, poised as though to leap away, and yet they seemed remarkably unafraid.

Lea was watching Caelan closely. When he smiled, she did too. “Are they not beautiful?” she asked.

“Magnificent,” he said, thrilled by the sight of them. Glimpses of wild nordeer this far south were rare.

“They came for you,” Lea said.

His gaze swung away from the animals, and he frowned at her. “What?”

She pointed, and he turned to see two shaggy mountain ponies saddled and tied in readiness.

Caelan did not understand, but he did not want to. He moved back a step. “No.”

“It is time you learned the truth,” Lea said.

“I can’t leave Elandra alone here.”

“She won’t be alone. The spirits guard her.”

Caelan scowled stubbornly, but Lea did not argue further. Instead, she walked over to the nearest pony and untied a long, narrow bundle wrapped in bright cloth. Bringing it back with her, she held it out to Caelan.

He made no move to take it.

“This is a gift,” Lea said. “Look at it and you will understand.”

His frown deepened, but he took the object and stripped away the wrapping. He held a sword sheathed in a scabbard of beautifully stamped leather. The hilt was wrapped in gold wire; the guard was carved with strange symbols that seemed to dance when he looked at them too long. A large square emerald winked from the end of the hilt. Despite his suspicions, he could not resist the sword.

His hand closed around the hilt, and it seemed to arch itself into his palm as though alive. Startled, he tightened his grip and found himself pulling off the scabbard with a swiftness that made the blade sing quietly.

Its length flashed in the sunshine like white fire. When he swung it, the blade moved true. It was perfectly balanced, a thing of joy in his hand. He had never held such a sword, had never felt so totally attuned to a weapon. It was virgin steel, not yet bloodied in combat. The edge was honed to razor sharpness, the metal satiny smooth and lacking any nicks or blemishes. He knew instinctively that he would be the first warrior to fight with it. Its blade would sing with the strength of his arm, and no one else’s.

It sang to him already, a low hum that seemed to vibrate in his very bones. “I am Exoner,” it told him. “I am true.”

Looking up in wonder, he found Lea watching him with something like hope in her face. “This was made especially for me?” he asked, astonished.

“Yes, Caelan. It was made for you.”

He ran his finger down the center of the blade, admiring it anew. “Choven steel,” he said aloud, then frowned.

Lea was nodding. “You have never held such a weapon before, have you?”

“No.” His mouth felt suddenly dry, and his heart beat too fast. “Only—only kings carry weapons that are Choven-forged.”

Lea smiled. “Will you come now? Please don’t worry about the empress. I promise you she is safe. We will not be gone long.”

He could protest no longer. In silence he sheathed the sword and carried it in his hand as he walked over to the pony waiting for him. Shaggy, sturdy, and unimpressed by him, it looked at him through its long forelock and snorted.

“Wear the sword, Caelan,” Lea said, mounting her pony with lithe grace. From a saddlebag she shook out the folds of a fur-lined cloak the same blue as her gown, and swung it around her shoulders. “It is yours.”

He stood there, feeling dazed and witless. The sword seemed so obvious a bribe, yet he found himself impatient with his own suspicions. It was a magnificent gift, impossible to refuse. He loved it, heart and soul, and already could not imagine going anywhere without it. Who would give him such a weapon? What was wanted in exchange?

“Gifts are free,” Lea said softly.

He glanced up, but didn’t meet her gaze. With a sigh, he buckled on the sword. Its weight felt right upon his hip. Confidence surged through him, and he felt as though he could walk into any battle now and win. Wearing Exoner was like having an extra man at his side.

Reaching into the saddlebag, Caelan pulled out a fur-lined cloak and warm gauntlets. With them on, he adjusted the stirrup lengths and mounted. His long legs almost dragged the ground, but he knew his pony was capable of carrying his weight all day without tiring. Indeed, he would take one of these ugly little steeds any day over the long-legged, flashy horses bred in Imperia.

A sudden commotion behind him made him whirl the pony around in time to see the nordeer bounding through the trees. Swift and graceful, they flitted away, their white coats ghostly pale against the snow.

“Quick!” Lea cried, spurring her pony forward. “They are our guide. Keep up with them.”

There was no more time to wonder or question. Caelan galloped after the nordeer, settling deep in the saddle and ducking low to avoid branches. Without asking, he knew they were heading for the Cascade Mountains, and in less than an hour they were climbing a steep, rocky trail and picking a scrambling path through snowdrifts.

The Cascade River itself, so mighty and swift when it thundered through the mountain pass during summer, now lay frozen in slumber, buried beneath ice and snow. They crossed it at a reckless gallop, hoofbeats echoing down the mountain pass like thunder. On the other side rose a trail steep and harrowing, seeming to go almost straight up in places.

Yet the ponies never faltered or balked, no matter how difficult the way. Caelan strained to keep the nordeer in sight. Sometimes he lost them completely and had to rely on the quick clatter of their hooves or the swift flick of a tail as one bounded into sight among the rocks then vanished again.

The chase was thrilling. He found himself glorying in the whip of cold air against his face. The wild recklessness of the ride set his heart pounding in delight. He had not enjoyed anything so much in years, and he remembered how as a boy he used to live for those stolen moments when he could escape to the glacier and gallop free and wild across its expanse.

Today, he could feel the hearts of the nordeer, and a part of him ran with them, swiftly and effortlessly, like the wind itself.

Above them, the steep trail ascended into a cloud of fog and icy mist. Suddenly he could see nothing. The whole world was blanked out in damp silence.

Snorting, the pony slowed down, and Lea’s mount crowded it from behind. “I can’t see anything,” she called out.

“Stay close,” Caelan warned her.

This was always a danger in the mountains. The sudden fogs could lead an unwary traveler to an unexpected plunge over a precipice. He tightened the reins, although his pony was wise enough to pick a careful way through the rocks.

As for the nordeer, they seemed to have vanished completely. He could not see them, could not hear them.

It was tempting to halt and retreat. He could rely on his own knowledge of the trails to take them down safely again. But the glacier was so close now. The wind blowing in his face smelled of ancient ice.

Caelan’s blood stirred. He loved the glacier. For too long he had been away. He would not turn back now.

“Let’s keep climbing,” he said, and kicked his pony forward.

The pony scrambled and lunged up a series of stair-stepped ledges that looked suitable for a goat; then the fog cleared, and they were above the cloud band, up on top above the rest of the world.

Caelan glanced down at the treetops below, dark green tips peeking out through the cottony cloud. The pass plunged a dizzying distance far below them; overhead, the blue wheel of sky arched clear. Caelan’s head swiveled as he drank in the sight of the vast gray-green ice of the glacier itself.

His heart filled his throat, and suddenly he was a heedless boy again. Tipping back his head and whooping in sheer joy, Caelan glimpsed the herd of nordeer in the distance and kicked his pony after them. This was the one place where he felt at home, truly one with earth and sky. The glacier had been his refuge, his place of restoration, his own private sanctuary. Now his mind felt clear and peaceful for the first time in too long. He bent lower over the pony’s neck, urging it faster after the bounding nordeer.

Lea followed at his heels, never falling too far behind.

The nordeer ahead slowed down. Suddenly he was among them, riding in their midst. The sunshine flowed over them, gilding their rippling shoulders. Their antlers looked tipped with silver; then, in surprise, he realized it was no illusion. The silver was real, and their large, solemn eyes were blue, not animal brown.

Nor were they wild creatures as he had originally thought, for now each animal wore a bright green collar around its neck, from which hung a silver bell. The bells were ringing with every bounding stride the animals made, heralding their arrival in a melodic, tinkling cascade of sound.

He had not noticed the bells before. Nor had he ever traveled so far across the glacier so fast. He seemed almost to feel distance slipping past his ears along with the rush of the wind, then they dipped down a slope and raced up the other side. At the crest of the rise, the nordeer stopped in a kicked-up flurry of snow and ice, great plumes of white breath shooting from their nostrils.

Caelan’s pony stopped with them, and he sat there in the saddle, his fingers slack on the reins, his heart pounding from exertion, and stared at the array of tents spread out before him. They were fashioned of every possible color and hue—bright, billowy shelters that could be knocked down and moved in a matter of minutes. Smoke curled from holes in the tent tops, and there was a general bustle and activity in all directions, punctuated by the rhythmic hammering of smiths at work.

Some of Caelan’s joy faded, and he felt nervous again. He wasn’t sure why he had come here, or why Lea had insisted. The Choven were mysterious and nomadic. Seldom had he seen one; now and then they appeared at summer fairs to trade. Never permanently at one location, they could not be found by anyone who sought them. Those wishing to buy their magical wares had to leave word, and eventually the Choven would come of their own accord. They could not be haggled with. They could not be cheated. Sometimes they brought what a person had ordered; sometimes they delivered objects that they felt were more important. It was considered unwise to question a Choven selection; to refuse or break a deal was unheard of.

The nordeer trotted down to the camp, bells tinkling, antlers flashing silver in the sun. Caelan and Lea followed in their wake, and suddenly the flap of every tent seemed to open at the same time. Staring openly, the Choven peered out at them in silence.

Feeling very self-conscious, Caelan moved one hand nervously to the hilt of his sword, then dropped it. Could he be one of these people, as Lea had said? No, it was too fantastic. He refused to believe it. He had known both his mother and father. He looked like them. There had never been any hint that he and Lea were foundlings.

Yet what else explained why he was so drawn to the glacier, why he loved it so? What else explained how he could hold a warding key in his bare hands when doing so would kill any other man? Lea was no liar. She had loved Beva, who in his own rigid and stern way had been kind to her as a child. Why would she invent a falsehood against her own parents?

Caelan felt confused and wary as he and Lea rode to the center of the camp. It was a cleared space, encircled by smithy tents. All the tent flaps were tied open. The smell of heated metal filled the air, and haphazard heaps of metal slugs lay about—gold, steel, silver, and pewter—along with pots of what looked like precious stones of every kind. This casual display of wealth seemed even more impressive because no guards were in evidence.

Still, he had never heard of anyone who would dare steal from a Choven tribe. What had they to fear?

The sounds of hammering stopped momentarily, and then even the smiths themselves came out to stare at Caelan and Lea. Stripped to the waist, their dark, leathery hides glistening with sweat that steamed in the frigid air, they were short, chunky individuals with broad, flat-boned faces marked by thick, dark brows and wide, thin mouths. Their eyes were tilted at the outward corners, as black as obsidian, and penetrating.

Caelan stared back at them, finding himself almost forgetting to breathe. It was said a Choven could look into your heart and read your future. It was said a Choven could look into your mind and impart whatever he wished there. It was said a Choven could whistle and the seasons would change in obedience to his will.

“Caelan,” Lea said in a soft voice.

Startled, he glanced the way she was looking.

Garbed in flowing robes of white, a Choven male was striding toward them. Taller than the others, tall enough perhaps to come to Caelan’s shoulder, he carried a long staff of gleaming black wood banded with gold. His arms were encircled with gold bracelets of the most intricate design.

As he drew nearer, Lea slid from her saddle and gestured for Caelan to do the same.

When he obeyed, the nordeer flicked their ears and melted away among the tents. The ponies went with them. Caelan was left feeling surrounded and cut off. Edgily, he moved forward to stand a little in front of Lea, and crossed his arms over his chest where he could grab his dagger and new sword quickly if he needed to. His gaze flicked back and forth among the watching Choven, in case they decided to close in.

Lea frowned at him in rebuke. “Stop it,” she whispered. “Why do you fear?”

If she intended to shame his warrior pride, she succeeded. Hot-faced, he said nothing, not even when she stepped around him and hastened forward to meet the figure in white. She bowed to the Choven, and he stretched out a dark, long-fingered hand in response.

Up close, his skin had the texture of tree bark. His dark eyes moved like liquid in his face, and Caelan could feel his inquisitiveness like a physical force.

Stepping past Lea, the Choven came right up to Caelan and stopped directly in front of him.

Caelan’s past experience with the Choven, although limited, had been that they either ignored a person completely or they stared in blatant rudeness. This Choven was of the latter variety. He took his time looking Caelan over from all angles, but Caelan had suffered worse scrutinies on the auction block. He put on his stony mask and gave the Choven a flat, rebellious stare in return.

When the Choven had finished his examination, he glanced at Lea. “Why does he fear?”

She inclined her golden head respectfully and steepled her hands into a triangle of harmony. “My brother is foolish and untrained, Moah.”

Caelan shot her a glare that she ignored.

Moah tilted his head to one side and held out his long-fingered hands, palms up. “You wear the sword. You carry the emerald. You have followed the nordeer to us. We Choven bid you welcome, Caelan E’non, as we welcomed your sister Lea long ago. Are you ready to take your learning from us?”

Lea sent Caelan a radiant glance of pride, her blue eyes shining. The other Choven watched from their doorways. Silence floated over the camp.

Caelan felt a pull of sevaisin, like the strong current of a river. Instinctively he braced himself to resist it and glared at Moah. “For your kindness to my sister, I give you my thanks,” he said in a stiff, formal tone that barely masked his anger.

Lea gasped and turned toward him, but he ignored her as he went on glaring at Moah. “But beyond that, I am not your creature,” he said. He drew the beautiful sword so swiftly the metal whistled against its scabbard. Sunlight flashed off the blade, and the other Choven lifted their voices in a deep, eerie cry of acclamation that made Caelan’s hair prickle up the back of his skull.

Swiftly he blocked his feeling of kinship with it, distrusting how alive and intelligent it seemed. He wanted nothing to do with something so strongly spell-forged, and he bent down and laid the sword on a brightly patterned rug lying on the ground in front of the nearest tent.

The Choven woman standing in its doorway opened her mouth in silent astonishment and fled inside.

Others spoke out loudly in a language that sent chills crawling through Caelan. He knew enough of the ancient words to recognize their tongue as one from darkest antiquity. The air was growing charged, as though spells were being summoned. Caelan could feel it around him, and his heartbeat quickened in alarm.

He did not know what could happen if a Choven became angry. But just then his own temper was boiling enough to keep him reckless.

Defiantly, he slipped the carrybag off his shoulder and dropped it on the rug beside the sword.

“Caelan, no!” Lea said in distress.

He refused to look at her and instead faced Moah once again, glaring down into the man’s shimmering, unreadable eyes. “I cannot be bought,” he said through his teeth, his anger like heat in his bones. “No matter how magnificent the price you offer, I am free, and I will stay that way. You told my sister we are Choven, but we are not. We are human, and we take pride in that.”

His speech finished, he gave Moah a curt bow and wheeled around to stride away. “Come, Lea,” he commanded. “We are leaving.”