The Gathering Storm - Elsewhere, Book 1
Chapter 8

The early dawn light filtered through the wooden slatted walls of Horras’ barn and woke the travellers. Small birds flew between the rafters, chirping softly, and the animals could be heard beginning to stir in the stalls below and in the other outbuildings.

Horras’ wife had been up since well before dawn to provide them with a breakfast of freshly baked bread and enough loaves to see them through the first couple of days. Horras added to these some rounds of cheese and a ham, which were gratefully received by the Carnival folk. An obliging cow furnished them with warm milk to wash down the bread and then they made ready to leave.

Nula’s parents walked over from their neighbouring farm to see the group off and their closeness as a family was evident as they hugged and cried and reminded her to take care of herself. Maegren said much the same thing to Emerden, of whom she was very fond, and he reassured her as best as he could that he would keep Nula safe until they returned. Nula’s father placed a heavy hand on his shoulder and made more serious admonitions to protect his daughter and keep her out of harm’s way. Tom Little did not have an aggressive bone in his body, but nonetheless Emerden felt the weight of the older man’s concern pressing on him and did his best to convince him that he held Nula’s safety in equal importance. He drew Tom a little way from where Nula and her mother were standing.

“You know I love your daughter, sir. Nothing will happen to her if it’s in my power to stop it.”

“I sort of thought that was how you felt. I just wanted to make sure we were both on the same page.” Tom looked appraisingly at him and decided to say more. “You know I have four daughters Emerden and I always sorta’ wished I could have had a son – not possible of course since I married a Pixie. But I reckon you’d do, if you wouldn’t mind me lookin’ on you in that way. Not trying to replace your own dear father, may he rest, you understand.”

Nula’s father was plain looking and plain spoken, but he had a good heart and kind eyes. His farm was next but one to Horras’, and the two men had always been friends. He had only known Aedon the Storyteller by reputation, but recent revelations had convinced him more than ever that he had been the sort of man Tom would have liked very much.

“Of course not, sir,” replied Emerden, “and I would be honoured to have you consider me a son.” He paused, deciding whether or not to say more, then added, “In fact, I hope one day soon to make that a bit more official, if you take my meaning.”

The older man’s eyes lit up as he grasped what Emerden was telling him and he shook his hand enthusiastically.

“Well, you certainly have my blessing on that. I’d been hoping you might feel that way about the situation. Nula’s been so happy since she met you. I must say this day is turning out better than I thought possible. But we really should put a stop to all this ‘sir’ business. It’s very proper and respectful I’m sure and I’ve always appreciated that about you, but you really must call me Tom.”

Emerden grinned at his incipient father-in-law. “Thank you, I will. Oh, and can I ask that you not mention this to Nula? I haven’t really broached the subject yet.”

“Of course, of course.” Tom tapped the side of his nose and winked confidentially. “Not a word past my lips.”

Nula had been introducing her mother to her friends from the Carnival, but came over now to stand beside Emerden.

“You two look very cosy. Father, you haven’t been lecturing Em on looking after me have you?”

Tom shuffled guiltily and coughed.

“Of course he has!” said his wife from behind him. Maegren was short of stature, as was normal for her kind, with long, dark hair braided then coiled round her head. She was dressed in the manner of the village women; long skirts and a loose blouse and shawl, and she looked no older than Nula. Since Pixies normally lived for several hundred years they often showed few signs of aging until their fourth century and Maegren had not yet completed her third.

She had married Tom at the age of two hundred and forty three, when he had been only thirty, and their daughters had arrived over the following twelve years. Now Maegren was in her two hundred and eighty first year, yet she appeared youthful next to her sixty nine year old husband whose hair was greying at the temples and whose eyes crinkled merrily when he laughed. Rather than feeling jealous though, Tom considered this to be the considerable advantage of marrying a Pixie; that his wife would always look young and beautiful.

A muffled but noticeable noise began to approach them from the direction of the river. The Elven archers and Equiseen warriors were nearing the small bridge that spanned the bubbling River Mist near the farm. The Equiseen guard on duty at the bridge stood aside to let them pass, but the bridge was only four men wide so it was going to take some time for the troops to assemble on the near side. They tramped along the dirt path in formation; the heavy tread of so many men marching in unison rumbling through the morning like distant thunder. Emerden saw Prince Illion and Captain Moor at the head of the column, engaged in what appeared to be quite a heated discussion. As they approached him he was able to make out the subject of their conversation.

“That’s all very well, Captain, but bridal night or no he must be here by the time we are ready to march or we are going without him. It might be wise to send back to the village for a replacement, just in case. Such tardiness is unbecoming in an officer.”

“I am sure no replacement will be necessary, your Highness,” Garron assured him, sounding mortally embarrassed. “I expect he slept late and is even now running to catch up and cursing himself for this poor example. I have sent my daughter to fetch him, just in case. This is highly out of character, you have my word.”

“I hope you’re right, Captain,” replied Illion as they reached the spot where the Carnival folk were gathered. “Ah, Emerden. I see that you and your valiant band of adventurers are ready to embark on your quest.”

Emerden smiled. He had noticed that the prince often used a rather supercilious tone to mask his inexperience and nerves. It chaffed him a little, but he understood that it was not a true reflection of the young Elf’s character and he hoped that the experience gained on this journey would put him more at ease with command.

“Yes, your Highness,” he replied. “I hope nothing is wrong?”

“My son neglected to attend for duty at sun up this morning,” interjected Garron Moor before Illion could speak. “He was joined last night with the daughter of my second in command, Harran Mayorr and I didn’t think it unduly indulgent to allow them one night in the bridal tent before their separation. I was assuring the prince that he will be along shortly. I expect that he slept late, not that it is an acceptable excuse.”

“Of course not,” agreed Emerden. “But understandable, nevertheless. Perhaps we could extend a little leeway, your Highness? I’m sure you both remember your own wedding nights. If he arrives soon perhaps we could just let it slide. As I believe you mentioned Captain, he’s probably cursing himself for the embarrassment he’s causing you.”

“Illion nodded in agreement with Emerden’s diplomatic comments.

“Very well, if he’s here soon, we’ll drop it. As we expected it will take some time for all the troops to cross the bridge, and the village troops are still some way off.”

“Thank you, your Highness,” said Garron Moor, curtly and turned to attend to the formation of the troops as they crossed the bridge. Bellowing orders to vent his ire, he ensured that the men formed squads and marched to their designated starting positions, so that the area immediately in front of the bridge did not become swamped. As he did so he overheard so many comments about his son’s non-arrival, some of them a good deal coarser than he considered proper, that he quickly became convinced that Mikkol was going to be sufficiently punished by the mortification of his comrades.

The five squads from the villages soon began to arrive and the rumour started to circulate that one of the number had been delayed by an over-exhausting wedding night. Since it is in the nature of gossip that the original message will be degraded as it is passed along, by the time it reached the last of the Manguin troops it was being said that one of the Equiseen lads had got married the night before and decided that bedding his missus was more fun than showing up for duty.

“Wish I’d thought of that excuse!” exclaimed Peeter Smith, who still begrudged his father’s nominating him for the Lobor squad. “I’d have married my girl like a shot, then I could still be enjoying myself in her bed instead of marching the plains with you smelly lot.”

“Yeah, I know I’d rather be humpin’ my missus than humpin’ this ruddy pack to the Daraeyi Sea!” shouted Nate Joiner.

“I know what you mean,” added Dan Butcher. “I’d rather be humpin’ your missus too!”

This last comment was answered by a roar of laughter from the surrounding men, but Nate grabbed Dan by the shirt collar and aimed a fist at his eye. “Care to repeat that?” he asked in a threatening tone. “Ruddy bastard – insult my wife would ya?”

Just then their sergeant walked past and cuffed them both behind the ears. “Knock it off,” he ordered, gruffly.

“I wasn’t insulting his wife, Sarge,” grumbled Dan. “It was more by way of a compliment, really, if you think about it.”

“I don’t think I care for that style of compliment, Private,” said the older man cuttingly. “Keep them to yourself in future, eh?”

“Yes, Sarge,” agreed Dan.

Prince Illion, who was unused to the ribald nature of young men’s conversation in the Manguin villages, was disconcerted by the incident.

“I think we had better deal with this right away,” he said. “Decorum must be maintained among the troops or we’ll lose all control.”

“I don’t think you need to worry too much,” disagreed Emerden. “They’re just letting off steam. We’ve made them leave their homes and their families for a cause not their own and some of them won’t return. Discipline can be maintained without regulating their every comment. The men in charge of the squads are all good, mature, sensible men. They won’t let things get out of hand.”

“You know, you’re a born leader of men, Emerden,” said Illion admiringly. “You can organise, you have an eye for detail and yet you have a light touch and you seem to understand all the people, no matter what their race. They respect you so they want to follow your lead. I wish I had your talent for it. They mostly do what I say because Tilarion told them to. Will that be enough in a battle?” he wondered. “Will they trust me enough to risk their lives at my say so?”

“I think you underestimate yourself, your Highness,” replied Emerden, touched by the prince’s sudden frankness. “You’re liked, even if you don’t see it. If you show that you care about their welfare and won’t be reckless with their lives, they’ll learn to trust you.”

“Thank you Emerden; you’re a good friend,” said Illion with obvious relief.

“Always,” he responded, glad that the prince considered him such and would accept his advice.

By the time everyone had assembled and the wagons were being drawn into position and hitched to the waiting horses, there was still, of course, no sign of Mikkol. Just as Illion was walking over to Garron to tentatively suggest again that they would have to leave without him, a figure became visible in the distance on the forest side of the bridge, shouting and waving her arms. As she drew near Garron recognised his daughter and seeing her distress he ran back across the bridge to meet her.

“Taya! Taya, what’s wrong?”

“They’re gone!” she shrieked. “Both of them are gone. I never thought they’d do it; thought he’d stopped encouraging her or it was all a trick or she was getting better, but she was lying the whole time! They both were. I hate her father, she tricked me and lied to everyone and she dragged Mikkol into her sedition. She’s a traitor and she deserves to be shorn. She betrayed me, father; she was supposed to be my best friend! I hate her!”

This last was more of a wail than coherent speech and the rest hadn’t been much better. Garron caught his daughter by the shoulders and tried to get some sense from her as she sobbed and panted, breathless from running.

“Taya, what do you mean? Where have they gone? What do you mean by ‘traitor’? What in all the realm are you talking about?”

“Aysh and Mikkol,” shouted Taya slowly, as if her father was an idiot. “He taught her to sword fight and I found out so they joined quickly and ran away before you found out because they made me promise not to tell you, but Mikkol said it was all because he was trying to cure her and she’d be better once she had a baby. But he was lying and now they’re gone!”

Aysh and Mikkol had walked to the copse of trees east of the village where their belongings were stowed, gathered up their packs and set off in a generally northerly direction towards the hills. Aysh had been delighted with her new sword belt, with sheaths for both her knife and her sword, and she fastened it on once she had changed into the simple tunic she had packed for travelling. It upset her to leave her bridal gown behind, but there was no room in their packs for unnecessary items. She wrapped it carefully in the waxed cloth that had been used to protect her sword and tucked it inside a hollow tree, in the vague hope that she might return for it one day.

The grasslands were quite flat and fairly even underfoot and the moon was bright enough to light their way, so they managed to cover twelve miles by the time they stopped for breakfast. The sky was brightening and the edge of sunrise was colouring the clouds a vivid pink above the mountains to the east. Birds sang merrily from nearby branches and the day smelled fresh and full of possibilities. They slung their packs onto the dewy grass and sat down to rest on a fallen tree trunk.

“We can’t risk a fire,” said Mikkol, pulling some fruit they had taken from the bridal tent out of his pack.

“Bread and fruit will do fine,” replied Aysh, tucking in hungrily. “Where will we sleep? I’m exhausted.”

“We can’t unroll our blankets on this grass; they’ll be soaked with the dew.” Mikkol pondered the dilemma.

“Just as well I brought these hides then,” said Aysh, unstrapping them from her pack and rolling them out on the ground. “They’ll keep the blankets dry. I’d thought we could sling them over a rope between trees, like a sort of tent, but if we sleep behind those bushes we’ll be in the shade for most of the day and hidden from anyone looking for us.”

She pointed to a clump of tall, leafy bushes a little way up the hill which would be shaded in the morning by the hills behind and in the afternoon would provide shade themselves.

“Do you think they’ll look for us? Our fathers are both leaving this morning. They’ll be angry but they won’t have time to spare on a search party.” Mikkol sounded resigned as he said it, but his eyes betrayed deep regret. Aysh squeezed his hand.

“Thank you for doing this for me, Mikkol. I can never repay you.”

“Don’t be silly; you’re my wife. We belong together.”

“I like the sound of that. Your wife. My husband.” She giggled. “It sounds so grown up.”

“I take it you don’t feel very grown up?” asked Mikkol, laughing.

“Not really,” she confessed. “Do you?”

“Oh, yes,” boomed Mikkol, puffing out his chest and trying to look incredibly serious. “Very grown up, with many responsibilities. The challenges of husbandry weigh heavy on my shoulders.”

At this Aysh snorted with laughter and giggled until her cheeks were wet with tears.

“What? What did I say?” asked Mikkol, confusion creasing his brow. Aysh managed to stop laughing long enough to speak.

“Husbandry is what the Manguin farmers call breeding their animals!” she explained. “If you replace that so challenging, maybe you should practice some more!”

At first Mikkol reddened at his mistake, but he soon saw the funny side. After a few moments though, he turned to Aysh and looked speculatively at her.

“Do you know, I think you could be right,” he agreed, slipping his arms around her waist. “Why don’t we go set up camp where you suggested and get right on that?”

Aysh blushed quite becomingly and nodded. It was their bridal week after all, she reasoned, and they had all day to sleep.

Garron Moor was stunned into near insensibility, unable to accept the truth of what his daughter was telling him. Taya’s hair was wild, her cheeks stained and blotchy from crying and her eyes red. Upon discovering the empty tent that morning she had at first assumed that they had taken a different path and passed her. She backtracked to the village and asked if anyone had seen them, but naturally no one had.

A terrible nagging doubt started to form in her mind and she had run as fast as she could to the copse of trees where she had discovered them training only a few weeks previously. She had hunted high and low for any clue to confirm her terrible suspicion, all the time denying to herself that it could be true and trying to ignore the pulsing queasiness in her stomach. She had found Aysh’s bridal gown carefully tucked away in the tree and as she unwrapped it and realised what it was she let out a screech that was equally piteous and frightening.

The enormity of their betrayal, both of her personally and of their entire race, crashed in on her as she realised that everything Mikkol had told her had been a lie. He wasn’t trying to make Aysh better, he didn’t want her help in curing Aysh; he just wanted to shut her up while they plotted their escape. She screamed and ranted her rage, tearing Aysh’s dress into ribbons before collapsing to the ground in a sobbing, wailing heap.

After a while she realised that the only person who would really understand her rage, who would share it to the same degree, and who could replace and punish the two offenders, was her own father. So she had run to him, a growing hatred for her brother and long-awaited sister-in-law pushing her on long after she grew weary. She tripped and stumbled over tree roots and loose rocks, panting and crying in her haste, nurturing an emotion she had never felt before; a seething, wrathful need for vengeance. She finally saw the bridge; waving and shouting for her father’s attention she had half run, half fallen into his arms.

“Taya, you must calm yourself. I don’t understand what you’re saying. You can’t mean that Mikkol has run away. And Aysh too? But why? What did you mean about sword fighting? You’re not making sense. Mikkol wouldn’t do that; he’s an officer of the bridge guard. You must be mistaken, Taya.”

Garron sat his daughter on a nearby rock and attempted to process what she had shrieked at him, determined to unearth the source of her misunderstanding.

“Start from the beginning,” he said. “Tell me everything. I’m sure we can sort this out.”

“Father, they’re a pair of traitors. The only thing you can do to sort it out is to replace them and shear off both their braids.” She spoke with a vehemence he had rarely heard from his daughter and he reacted to it instinctively.

“That’s enough! Don’t talk about your brother that way. My son is an honourable young man, brave and good. He respects our traditions.”

“No, he doesn’t, father. He has broken with us.”

Taya told her father how she had followed Mikkol from the village, suspecting only that he was seeing Aysh in secret; that perhaps they were overstepping the bounds of propriety before their joining. She told him how she had observed the sword fighting lesson and how obvious it was that they had been carrying on in that way for some time. Garron’s face paled at this revelation, but he allowed her to continue uninterrupted. Taya related the conversation she had overheard about the reaction they would get from admitting what they were doing and their plan to leave after their joining. She told him how she had been discovered and the subterfuge Mikkol had used to convince her not to tell. She finished by telling him of her activities of the previous weeks with Aysh, and how she had found the empty tent that morning and the hidden bridal gown.

“So you see, father? You see how terrible it is? You understand how they lied to me, even though I tried to help them? You see what has to be done...?”

Her last comment was cut short as the back of Garron’s hand caught her across the mouth. She cried out and fell, startled and confused, putting her fingers to the sore, reddening patch on her face. She felt it sticky with blood where her lip had split on her teeth. She looked up at her father uncomprehendingly and saw him pacing, eerily silent, pulling his hands through his hair.

Garron was fighting hysteria, a growing kind of livid rage, disappointment and anguish engulfing him as he realised the full extent of his son’s actions. His face became pale and then reddened, contorted, his breathing rapid, as he clenched and unclenched his fists and paced a small area of grass near the bridge. Finally he drew his sword and with a great bellow of rage he brought it down on the bridge rail, splitting the wood and sending splinters flying in all directions. Again and again he hefted the sword overhead and sent it crashing into the wooden rail till precious little was left. With each stroke he gave a roar that was part exertion, part rage. Not only was he having to accept the difficult truth that Mikkol, his only son of whom he was so proud, had betrayed a lifetime of teaching, but also that his daughter seemed to have been an accomplice to his deception, however unwittingly or unwillingly. The icing on the cake was her rash decision to cast this revelation before him in front of all the assembled Elven, Equiseen and Manguin troops, making his humiliation total. How could he now command these men? How could they respect him? Now that they knew he could not even maintain discipline in his own household; that his children were both completely out with his control; one a liar, a deceiver and apparently a coward, the other stupid, self-centred and by her own admission complicit in their iniquity.

He rounded on Taya, who by her presence had unfortunately become the focus of his anger.

“Why did you not tell me at once?” he hissed at her. “Why did you not trust me to sort it out? I could have prevented the Joining, exposed Aysh for the insidious, perverted schemer she clearly is before my son was totally corrupted by her! I could have removed the shame from our family by convincing Mikkol to reject her, to spurn her publicly. You helped her to defile him – gave her more time to convince him of her depraved belief that women can fight, helped her seduce him away from the truth. How could my daughter allow such a vixen to become part of my family? To be joined in body and spirit to my only son! How could you?!”

This last question was asked with renewed anger and he grabbed her braid and raised his sword arm. Taya screamed and tried to jerk free of him. Emerden, who had been as shocked as anyone to hear the sorry tale but who perhaps sympathised more than most, made to stop Garron, but he was too far away. Illion, who was nearer, stepped forward and stayed Garron’s arm.

“Garron, no!” he ordered.

“She’s as bad as them!” Garron argued, still holding Taya by the hair as she sobbed in terror.

“No, Garron, she’s not. She’s young and easily led and perhaps more gullible than she should be, but I don’t believe she’s bad. Regardless, any decisions on punishment - and I’m not denying your right to discipline your own child or trying to impose my own beliefs on the matter – those decisions should not be made in anger. Perhaps it should be discussed among your elders; isn’t that the usual process in serious matters?”

He sensed Garron relenting and let go of his arm, even as Garron released Taya, who scrambled away, weeping brokenly. Maegren came forwards and gathered the child into her arms, trying to comfort her. Garron turned away in disgust and from the corner of his vision saw another struggle going on as Harran Mayorr made to free himself from the grasp of two other Equiseen men who had held him back during Taya’s outburst and Garron’s subsequent reaction. He wrenched himself free of them now and pushed his way through the few lines of men separating them. The crowd was unsure what to expect and held its collective breath as Harran approached his commander. At the last moment he drew his sword and someone gasped, but he fell to his knees in front of Garron and laid the blade down in front of him.

“Captain Moor,” he said in a hollow and broken voice. “I am shamed beyond comprehension. That my own daughter could betray her womanhood and take up arms, that she could convince your noble son to train her, corrupting him and offering herself to him in return. That she, not grasping the honour and duty bound into the warrior’s training, would convince him to desert his post and abscond with her. That she could lie and deceive all who loved her. It is more than I can bear. I will understand if you can no longer have me in your command. But know this; from today she is dead to me.”

Garron took a few moments to consider his reply. He had known Harran all his life. They had trained together since boyhood and served together as men, fighting side by side in battle. Harran had been as proud of his daughter as Garron had been of his own children and raised her in the same way. Harran would be, in fact, the only one who could truly understand the grief and humiliation he felt. The offer to resign was sensitive and diplomatic, but Garron could see that it would do more for his credibility as a leader to forgive Harran, if in fact any blame lay at his door. He thought it likely that Harran was no more to blame than he was himself. He grasped his friend by the shoulders and helped him to his feet.

“Your gesture is touching, old friend,” he said in a voice loud enough that it would carry to the watching crowd. “However, I have need of your sword and of your council, now more than ever. Stay and fight at my side and we will console each other in our grief, for I too have lost a child today.” He threw a dark glance in Taya’s direction and added quietly, “Perhaps more than one.”

Harran grasped his forearms and nodded in grim acceptance. Looking about him, Garron felt a strong desire to leave that place and to have the people around him concentrating on other things, like walking till their legs ached. He turned to Illion.

“I see no reason to further delay our departure, your Highness,” he said in a leaden tone. “If arrangements could be made to have Taya escorted back to the elders of my village and for both my wife and Harran’s to be informed of what has passed here, I would consider it a courtesy.” With that he turned on his heel and walked away without even a glance in Taya’s direction. Harran followed him as they started to organise the departure of the whole assembly.

Illion looked at Taya, quite bewildered. He had never encountered such a bizarre and disturbing set of circumstances before and was not even sure with whom his sympathies lay. Emereden noticed the Prince’s unease and made a suggestion.

“I’m sure Tom and Maegren would be willing to take Taya home and make her people aware of what they need to know. They’re very discreet.”

“Tom and Maegren?” asked Illion, looking around him.

Emerden indicated to where Taya was being helped to her feet by Nula and her parents.

“Nula’s mother is also a midwife. She knows how to handle sensitive information. And distressed young women for that matter.”

Illion smiled in spite of himself at Emerden’s mild wit. The air was thick with tension and he appreciated the gentle attempt at levity.

“I’m sure,” he replied. “Well, that would be fine then. Goodness knows we can’t spare anyone else from the party. And we do need to get everyone moving. It’s not much before noon and we must at least manage a few miles before stopping for the first night.”

It was a sombre march that day. Nula kissed her parents before they left with Taya for the village, and they wished her a safe journey and a swift return home. Then everyone gathered up their packs and followed along behind the troops. There was some muted discussion about the morning’s events and on the whole morale was low for the start of such an endeavour.

They covered eight miles that day, stopping only briefly to rest and eat, and set up camp as the sun began its descent behind the hilltops. The ground, though not hilly, was uneven enough to prevent a quick march and in any case an army can only travel as fast as the supply train can go before late afternoon rolls around. The quartermaster had firm ideas about how long it would take to pitch tents, dig latrines, gather fire wood and cook dinner. It would be slow going across the plains until they reached the point where they could ford the River Meer.

It was a subdued and deflated Taya who walked into her village that afternoon; a confused and frightened girl who was no longer sure of the substance of her world. She was supported on one side by Tom and on the other clung to Maegren’s hand as if it was giving her all the energy she needed to keep walking. Leena, who had been watching all day for her daughter’s return, rushed to meet them.

“Taya, what happened to your face? Were you attacked?”

Taya fell sobbing into her mother’s arms, afraid of the disappointment that would fill her eyes once she knew what had happened.

“I’m sorry Mother, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean it; honestly it was all a mistake. They tricked me – I didn’t want to be bad – please don’t take my hair!” she wailed. Leena instinctively held her daughter close, covering Taya’s hair with her own hands. She looked in bewilderment at Tom and Maegren, asking with a raise of her eyebrows for some explanation, yet fearing what they would say.

“It’s a sensitive matter, Mistress Moor,” offered Tom. “Perhaps you should go inside and settle the girl in bed, then we’ll tell you what we can, but it’s a sorry tale.”

Leena nodded, her brow still creased with worry and confusion, and took Taya into the house to rest. The poor girl was emotionally exhausted and, soothed by her mother’s gentle words, she soon fell asleep. As she came back outside, Keera Mayorr ran up to them.

“Leena, what happened? The hunters just returned with wild rumours about a commotion at the bridge this morning. They passed the expedition as they were bringing the early catch home and someone managed to pass on an unbelievable story about Mikkol and Aysh!”

“I don’t know, Keera. These people just brought Taya home in a terrible state. They were just going to explain it all to me.”

Tom had no wish to air their dirty linen in public, so he suggested going somewhere more private. Keera offered her own home just along the street, so they sat uncomfortably while she offered fruit juice and cakes in a futile attempt to put off hearing the truth of the rumours. As gently as he could, while leaving no room to suppose that he told anything other than the whole truth, Tom told them exactly how the morning had unfolded.

The anguished cries of both women as their hearts broke over the betrayal and desertion of their children could be clearly heard across most of the village, confirming to those listening the story brought back with the hunt. Perhaps strangely, or then again perhaps not, neither woman sought to blame the other. Once they had cried out their initial grief they embraced briefly then Leena left to check on Taya. One of the elders, having heard the rumour and also of the strangers who had brought Taya home, called for an assembly in the Gathering Hall. Tom was required, as a direct witness, to go through the whole story again, then those two kind people were asked to leave the village and go home with the elders’ gratitude for their care of Taya. It was Equiseen practice to keep matters of justice private within the community. Taya was closely questioned, then the elders went aside to discuss the matter and decide on her fate. Taya sat miserably outside with her Mother and Keera, all three silent and very much aware of the looks they received from passersby, which ranged from pity to open hostility. Eventually they were called back inside to hear the verdict. The spokesman stepped forward and looked sternly at them.

“We are very troubled by what we have heard today,” he began. “When our young people reject our teachings and traditions it threatens the very fabric of our society. The actions of Aysh Mayorr: taking up arms, convincing Mikkol Moor to train her in swordsmanship with seduction and lewd behaviour, persuading him to desert his duty and abandon his people, committing the same desertion herself at a time when all hands are much needed – this is a shocking list. And as for Mikkol himself: for colluding in the training of a girl, for freely joining himself for life with such a shamelessly corrupt young woman, for desertion of his post and duty. I can hardly countenance such depravity.”

Each of the mothers flinched at every item on the shocking list of charges. They both felt hollow, wearied by the glut of negative emotions that had surged through them that day. The elder lifted his hands in judgement.

“It has been decided that the self-inflicted exile of both these individuals will stand. If they return they will be shorn and turned away in shame and disgrace. If we weren’t so short handed we would have them hunted down and shorn publicly, since it is an affront to decency that they should suffer no punishment for their actions. However, from this day forward they are dead, and worse than dead. Their remaining possessions will be burned, they will have no time of mourning; it will be as though they never were. Weep for them only as for babes lost in the womb, without name or memory.”

The elder paused to let his words sink in before continuing, knowing the terrible sentence he was passing on the two women in front of him. At the back of the room, Halla Flax met their gaze steadily, tears stark in her eyes, understanding their pain only too well. She remembered the day her own beloved son had come home, his glorious hair cut short; how she had held him close and wept, and continued weeping in the silence of her heart long after he left for the carnival and her husband had burned his bed. She had never spoken his name again from that day forward, but it echoed in her soul every day. Hers were the only eyes in which Leena and Keera found any sympathy or compassion.

The elder continued. “Finally we come to Taya. We have discussed this matter extensively Taya. Some of our number wished to make an example of you, sentencing you to the same fate as your brother.”

Taya’s face paled and she bit her lip anxiously.

“Others were inclined towards leniency, believing this to be an error of gullibility and guilelessness and more your brother and friend’s fault than your own. Our decision is to show mercy. I am sure your mother will speak to you at length about your recent behaviour. I can see that your error was rather more to do with an attitude of self-centredness and egotism combined with a basic lack of common sense than with any real malice.”

Taya balked at having her personality flaws laid bare, but remained silent, grateful to be keeping her hair. The elder was not finished, however.

“You will come to me for tuition, Taya, every morning for the next four weeks. We will go over again the lessons you should have learned from earliest childhood: our history, traditions, and moral code. My hope is that we can restore your moral compass and ensure that nothing like this will ever happen again. By the time your father returns it is to be hoped that he will replace again the daughter he thought he raised. Perhaps he will even forgive you.”

Taya nodded earnestly and clasped her hands together. “Thank you! Oh, thank you so much. You won’t be sorry, I promise and I’m so sorry for what I did.”

“Yes, yes dear. Off you go home now. Help your mother.”

Taya looked round at Leena as if seeing for the first time the dark, hollow eyes and cheeks wet with tears. She had been so caught up with worrying about her own possible punishment that it had barely registered how the day had affected her mother. The elder, noticing this, shook his head. “I can see I have a lot of work ahead of me,” he said wearily. He watched the three women leave, the older two flanking the youth and wondered how it could have happened that a woman like Leena Moor; respected, selfless, upright and good, could have produced not one but two such children as hers had become.

The next twelve days passed for the travellers in a repetitive, mundane pattern of packing, walking and unpacking over and over again. The twelve heavily loaded wagons, each pulled by a burly farm horse, trundled their way across the countryside marking a trail of their passage on the bumpy, rutted ground. Garron Moor considered the pace to be depressingly slow and spoke to Prince Illion about it.

“My men could achieve much greater distances each day,” he commented. “They’re used to running the plains on the hunt.”

“I know, but what would be the point?” replied the Elf. “They’d only have to return each night to camp or if they went ahead and camped on their own they’d have to wait at the other end. We all have to board ship at the same time, so we may as well travel together. Besides, Captain, if there was any trouble, I need your warriors here to help defend the baggage train and the civilians who support the troops.”

“I understand, your Highness. It’s just frustrating and my men are growing restless. They have a lot of pent up energy.”

“Well, why don’t you help the quartermaster out with his food supplies? Send out a squad each day to hunt along the route. They can return with their catch each night and we won’t have to eat dried meat and peas all the time.”

Captain Moor gave a quiet snort of relieved gratitude, wondering why he hadn’t come up with the notion himself. “Thank you, Your Highness; that is a very good idea. I shall implement it at once.”

After that the Equiseen contingent became very popular. As good as the cooks were it is difficult to make a daily diet of dried meat stew with vegetables and barley especially exciting. The sudden influx of fresh rabbits, gazelle, game birds and even buffalo was very welcome and each night the camp was permeated by the delicious aromas of spit roasted meats. All in all, the journey over the Near Plains was uneventful; the weather continued fair as the rainy season would not begin for some weeks yet.

Each night they camped under starry skies and each day they walked in the heat of the sun. There was precious little shelter or shade on the plains and they were obliged to stop during the hours of the sun’s zenith to rest and to eat and drink. Makeshift awnings were erected around each wagon to provide a little respite and everyone was glad when the sun began to set at night and the air became less stifling.

Finally the first forks of the river came into sight on the morning of the thirteenth day. The river Meer was formed from four tributaries, two of which descended from springs high in the Lomoohr Mountains while the other two originated among the Misted Rocks of Even’s Doom where the Haraquin lived. The northern tributaries joined in a fork around seventy miles north of their current position and each time they forded the river they would have to make two crossings. Each branch of the southern fork was around forty feet across and once they joined the water cut a downhill track through the landscape and became a tumultuous, frothing force of churning, treacherous water. Strong undercurrents and hidden rocks made crossing below the join an impossible proposition. Where they planned to ford the river the first branch was shallow and clear, barely reaching the knees of most of those who waded through it, though the water was icy cold. The second branch, a mile further on, was deeper and murkier, with hidden rocks and clumps of river weed. The going was slow, cold and slippery.

Those who could not swim were taken across this second stretch of water in two of the wagons, which were emptied on the far side and returned several times to ferry them in groups. Many of the Elves were among this number, since swimming was not a common occupation among their kind. Nula also rode in the wagon, since she was not a strong swimmer and the water would in places be chest high on her. She had spent more time immersed in her studies growing up than playing in the water with her sisters and cousins. Dan stood on the bank, watching enviously as the wagon sloshed and jolted toward the far bank, waiting for his turn to cross.

“Not scared of a bit of cold water, are you?” asked Nate, noticing the longing look.

“No,” said Dan defensively. “Just don’t see why we have to get cold and wet and they’re ferried across, merry as you please.”

“Count it as your annual bath,” jested Peeter. “You’re starting to get a bit strong from the downwind side. I’m surprised you haven’t frightened off all the gazelle; I’m sure they could smell you coming!”

“Ha, bloody ha,” glowered Dan.

“Can’t you swim?” Nate prodded further. “They’ll let you on a wagon if you can’t, you know. ‘Course, we’ll all laugh and jeer as you go past, but that’s probably still better than drownin’. Just about,” he added, pretending to weigh up the options.

“I can swim alright?!” snapped Dan. “Just leave it, will ya?”

“Alright, alright, no need to be so bleedin’ touchy,” said Nate, hands raised in surrender.

Just then there was a crunch and a scream as one of the wagon wheels hit a large rock under the water, jolting the wagon and flinging a surprised Elf into the river. The surface rippled and surged for a few seconds then she surfaced, gasping and shrieking. Her arms flailed ineffectively and she began to sink again as her legs became entangled in her long gown. Unable to gain purchase on the slippery rocks of the river bed she disappeared again under the surface.

Dan, who was two men from the front of the waiting group on the side nearest the wagon, pushed his way to the bank, throwing his pack to the ground and pulling off his jerkin and boots. He dove neatly into the water, ignoring the chill that pressed onto his chest as he swam strongly toward the flailing Elf. He reached her in a few strokes and fought the current to gain his footing while he tried also to steady her. She grabbed at him, pinning his arms to his sides and knocking him backwards so that they both went under again. When they surfaced, Dan had freed his hands and was holding her arms. He tried to talk to her but she was gulping and spluttering from the river water she had swallowed. Dan raised his hand and slapped her sharply across the cheek, so that her eyes snapped sharply into focus and she stopped struggling.

“Hold still,” he commanded. “I’ve got you. I won’t let you go under. Let your feet sink down; it’s really not that deep. Try to stand and I’ll help you walk across.”

“I can’t,” stammered the girl. “My legs are caught up in my gown.”

“You can. If you stop squirming and let yourself stand, the fabric will float loose. It only feels tight because you’re wriggling. Try. I won’t let go, I promise.”

The Elf girl looked into Dan’s eyes and decided she could trust him. Tentatively she let her feet replace the bottom of the river. She was startled to replace that it was not as deep as she had feared. In fact, as she straightened up she realised that the water was lapping against her thighs, a few inches below her hips. It was waist high on Dan, who was not the tallest of Manguin men, and she found herself looking down at him, blushing in embarrassment. The current pulled at her legs, but she was strong enough to stand her ground. With Dan holding her steady, she could reach her hands down to lift the heavy skirt fabric out of the way of her legs so that she could walk. She blushed a little as she looked at Dan.

“I thought it was deeper. I couldn’t see the bottom. I feel a little silly now. I nearly drowned and I could just have stood up.”

“That’s okay,” smiled Dan. “The jolt from the wagon took you by surprise is all. You weren’t thinking straight. The cold fuddles your brain too so’s you don’t know what’s what.”

Dan’s sergeant had waded across to them by this point and with one man on either side holding her arms she was able to walk to the far bank with only a few slips. There was a cheer from the riveted onlookers, who had been holding their collective breath during the action, as they climbed onto the muddy bank. Both Dan and the Elf girl were helped up onto the grass where they stood, panting and bemused for a moment. The girl stooped to wring out her skirts while Dan received beaming praise from Sergeant Smith for his heroic act.

“Weren’t nothin’ Sarge,” qualified Dan. “Please don’t fuss. If I hadn’t jumped in someone else would have.”

“There were two men in front of you who stood and stared, and more to either side who weren’t making too brisk with the diving. You did it. No harm in saying well done.”

“Thanks, Sarge.”

Sergeant Smith clapped him on the shoulder and walked back to where the rest of the party were now continuing their passage across the river. The shivering Elf girl looked up to add her thanks, suddenly noticing that her saviour was naked to the waist and strikingly well built. His sodden hose were also clinging to his legs, leaving little to imagine about his athletic figure. Despite the chill that had seeped right into her core, turning her lips slightly blue and making her teeth chatter, she felt unaccountably warm.

“Thank you,” she said shyly. “It would have been very foolish to drown in such shallow water. My parents would not have been proud of such an epitaph.”

Dan looked at her seriously. “It’s easily done, believe me. You don’t need to feel foolish. And like I told the Sarge, anyone would have done it.”

“But like he said, anyone didn’t. And I’m very grateful. I’m Kerise.” She held out her hand for him to shake, glad that she was standing slightly lower on the bank so that their gaze was level, and he took it firmly.

“Dan,” he offered in return. She was an unusual looking sort of girl, he thought, even for an Elf. Her hair was pure white and hung in thick, soggy ropes about her face, some of which had silver beads in the end. Her chin was almost as pointed as her ears and her eyes were a striking lavender blue. When she smiled they lit up with a sparkle and Dan suddenly found himself wanting to make her smile over and over again. There was a red, hand-shaped mark on her left cheek where he had slapped her. He apologised for that, but she waved it away.

“I needed it. I was panicking. Really, think nothing of it.”

Then Dan’s friends had found him and they accosted him with shouts of youthful enthusiasm and dragged him off to celebrate his heroism. Kerise watched him go, smiling gently.

“It was nice to meet you Dan,” she said quietly.