Elanraigh Read online

  The oblivious Pot Boy lay belly down, playing penny toss against the granite wall of the residence. In a fury, Cook descended on him, her ladle smacking his buttocks in time with her words, “I-sent-you-to-the-smokehouse-an-een-since,-you-useless-grub!”

  “Ow! Ow-ah. Ow!” The boy wailed and danced, hand clapped to his bottom. Cook eyed him, her foot tapping. The Pot Boy sniveled and bent, keeping a wary eye on Cook’s ladle, to retrieve his two pennies.

  Thera saw Cook throw her hands in the air and then take the Pot Boy by the shoulders. She made him face her as she spoke slowly and deliberately. She shook his shoulders as if in emphasis. The boy dredged under his nose with his ragged sleeve, smiling moistly, and nodded his straw-thatch head. Cook, still blackly frowning, delved into her pocket, retrieved a wedge of meat-pie wrapped in cheesecloth and slapped it into the Pot Boy’s grubby hand.

  The boy skipped off on the belated errand, and Cook watched his direction for a moment. Her look was thoughtful and sad. Then she turned in a business-like way and re-entered the cookhouse with majestic swagger, slamming the door on the various hounds whimpering at the threshold odors.

  All these commonplace things and people that are my world, Thera thought, the Memteth will destroy if they can: the Cooks and Pot Boys, Nans and Shamics, mothers and fathers.

  Thera turned and walked back inside, her steps as measured and careful as if she walked on boggy ground. A hot flame burned in her heart. Anger fluttered like a dusty winged moth in her throat and chest. “No,” she murmured. “No!”

  “You must teach me!” She sent to the Elanraigh, “I will do whatever I must to stop this from happening!” Acknowledging her pledge, forest-mind rumbled its fierce and gratified response.

  Chapter Four

  The fire crackled and snapped in the huge fireplace. The only other sound in her parents’ retiring room was the rasp of whetstone against steel. Oak Heart’s expression was thoughtful as he slid the stone down and over his dagger’s edge. Thera’s mother laid aside the scroll she was reading.

  The amber glow of firelight held them all in its warm and fragrant circle. Lance, her father’s deerhound, lay sprawled before the fire. His tail thumped in drowsy contentment. Thera lay languid on the thick woven rug, its exotic colors blurred before her eyes. She rolled her head which rested on Lance’s ribs and furrowed her fingers through his silky fur. His tail thumped again.

  “Leon…” her mother spoke softly, as if she called Thera’s father from a sleep, “Leon…this alliance with the Ttamarini, if they agree, will it be enough…against the Memteth?”

  Her father’s brow quirked, “Oh aye, it will because it must. We will be a force to be reckoned with, the Ttamarini House of Chikei’ allied with our House of ArNarone.” Her father shifted his legs and stretched them toward the fire. He nudged the dozing hound with a stocking covered foot. The dog cracked one lid and sighed gustily.

  Leon’s voice rumbled on, “Not since the time my great-grandfather held Allenholme, has there been a Memteth assault such as now seemingly comes our way. We must make sure that after this,” his blue eyes flashed as he looked at Fideiya, “they will know our shores are bane to them.”

  “I was reading of those days,” Fideiya gestured to the yellowed parchment, “they are fearsome fighters, Leon. Your ancestor writes of great hardships suffered by all to repel the attack, and that was only a few raiding ships.” Fideiya’s fingers lightly touched the vellum surface, as if she sought the very texture of the personality behind the spidery scrawl. “Maxin said that Lord Teckcharin and his personal guard arrive at dawn?” She paused, “Have you met him, Leon?”

  The Oak Heart smiled ruefully at the fire, and stretched his arms behind his head. “Hmmm. You would ask, ‘Deiya.”

  Thera sat upright and exchanged a quizzical glance with her mother. Nan who was quietly mending a stocking looked up in surprise at Oak Heart’s comment.

  Leon leaned forward, elbows on knees, “I was only sixteen. The truce had been in effect since my grandfather, Leif’s, time. We were all forbidden to ride border raids, as were the Ttamarini fledgling warriors, no doubt.” Leon’s brow crumpled in sardonic amusement, “Though my father later told me that in his own youth there had been frequent skirmishes, equally forbidden, and as tacitly accepted.

  “Ten of us decided to foray near the western Ttamarini grazing ranges, just north of the Silver Toss River. You understand, the idea was to collect some token, something of value which the Ttamarini would have to ransom back. I had in mind a particular colt I’d seen on a previous occasion.”

  The Oak Heart glanced brightly at his daughter, “Their horses are wonderful, Thera, graceful and strong.” He continued, “If we’d been able to breed the young horse to our mares before the ransom was paid—well, so much the better; it would have been a coup indeed.

  “We were following the course of the Silver Toss, keeping fairly close to the border of the Elanraigh. We saw signs the herd we sought had passed, but not the horses themselves. It was enough, though, to draw us further into Ttamarini territory.

  “After two days with no sight of them, we were deep in the foothills and with reluctance made ready to turn back.”

  Leon paused to lift a pewter tankard from the gleaming oak table beside his chair. He drank deeply and wiped the froth from his moustache and beard with the back of his hand.

  “Was Sirra Shamic with you that day, father?” asked Thera.

  Leon looked startled, “Blessings, no! He was a greybeard even then, with a dagger of a tongue, and a bludgeon for a fist. Somehow around my father and him I was always the stumble foot.”

  This last phrase her father had mumbled almost to himself, and he scrubbed at his beard with his calloused fingers.

  His eyes twinkled as he scanned his small audience, “No,” he continued, “this was to be my undertaking, so that when I came back with my troop and the colt as a prize, we would be treated as warriors. Hunnh. So.

  “It was the third day and we decided we must return when we see the herd. There’s the colt I want, driving northward on the high grass plain. There’s no turning back now. We left the cover of the Elanraigh and pursued the herd.

  “If I hadn’t had the best horse in my father’s stable, I doubt I would have caught up with that colt at all. I pull far ahead of the troop in my efforts to get a loop around the colt’s neck. Once it was done, I look behind for my troops’ congratulations, and then, what I see makes my blood run cold.”

  Nan gasped into the momentary silence and even Fideiya made a jerky movement of unease.

  Thera saw that her father was flushed with the obvious success of his story. Or perhaps, Thera thought, tilting her head, it was due to the memories he was reliving. In any case he warmed to his story telling.

  “The dust of a large troop of Ttamarini is on the eastern horizon; they are closing fast.

  “Dougall, who rides a mare almost as fleet as my own, is now within voice range…what he says to me,” Leon drawled, “I’ll forbear to repeat to my womenfolk’s ears...that he is fair bursting with rage let there be no doubt. They’d pledged to protect the Chief’s Heir with their young lives, and I was making it no easy task for them, to be sure.

  “Dougall and I ride back to the rest, who are milling about and undecided whether we fight or run. I can see there is no question…the approaching Ttamarini outweigh us in numbers, and are in the right. We are the interlopers here. So, we run and I have to relinquish the colt.” Leon sighed gustily.

  “We rattle down a deep crevasse. The Ttamarini plains are seamed with these deep gulleys, most running north and south. Riding two abreast we pound south for the Silver Toss and the Elanraigh.

  “It’s a credit to the horsemanship of my troop, that we lamed no horses on that ride, either plunging down into the crevasse or riding hard along its rocky base. So, we make the Silver Tos
s all uninjured, but closely pursued by about twenty Ttamarini horse.”

  Fideiya suddenly interjected, “Leon, you have never before told me this tale!” Her tone was accusing.

  Leon glanced up from under his brows, and said amiably, “Well, the mood to do so is upon me now, my own. In truth it has been the forthcoming meeting with the Ttamarini that reminds me.

  “So, we swim our horses across the river and duck into the Elanraigh foothill trails. I split the troop, to better elude pursuit; Dougall, Lydia and I take the upper trail, it being the hardest ride and we the best mounted, and the others follow the river.” Leon shook his head and smiled, “It was hard on them to leave me, even then they were my Heart’s Own, but it was the only way. We’d rein in to a close trot, sure that now all will be well.

  “Now, I had heard that the Ttamarini have an affinity with not only horses, but all manner of beasts. Some special linking of the mind and spirit…such as some Salvais have been known to have in the ancient days. I have no doubt of the Ttamarini gift, now.”

  Thera straightened, now alert and curious. This was something she had never heard. The Ttamarini folk sound interesting, she thought.

  “Dougall, Lydia, and I ride a ridge that winds its way around the mountain base, some four pike heights above the river. The trail’s drop-off side is all loose shale and any false move will reveal us to the Ttamarini who scout below.

  “Above us is a small game trail that intersects our path some lengths further on. We see the Ttamarini leader hand signal several of his warriors up to scout the very trail we rode.

  “I look up to the game trail, to see if we have an alternate route. It is then I see it—the largest hump-back bristlefang I’ve ever seen. He’s loping easily along, hump swaying. We are downwind of him, so he is unaware of us, as yet. By some blessing our horses are also oblivious of the bristlefang.

  “There is no chance of our reaching the trail intersect before the hump-back, and no turning back with the Ttamarini coming up behind us. We decide to try to descend the shale cliff to the river, and then run like our tails were on fire.”

  Leon shook his head. His fingers scrubbed again at his chin as his lips quirked in a self- deprecating smile.

  “Obviously you escaped, Leon…” prodded Fideiya.

  “Hmm? No, no; you see, at that very moment the wind changed. Our horses catch the scent of the bristlefang above, and start screaming and plunging on that narrow trail. My mare loses her footing on the loose shale edge and both she and I have a rough fall down to the river.”

  “Blessings!” exclaimed Nan, the mending completely forgotten in her lap.

  Leon smiled and continued, “When I come to, an impressively strong old woman, all painted up and dripping feathers and bones, is raising my head to drink from a water-skin she holds to my mouth. About five other Ttamarini are seeing to my mare.”

  “Dougall and Lydia, I can see, are already remounted. They look pale but relatively uninjured. Lydia, who I’ve seen best lads four stone heavier than her in arms drill, is guarded by a formidable female Ttamarini warrior. This warrior may have grey braids, but she has a face like a granite cliff and corded arms covered in scars…I’ve never seen our Lydia look so subdued as then…and never since.

  “The old woman giving me water, their Maiya I found out later, sees my eyes open and calls to a tall warrior standing nearby. I hear the name, Teckcharin.

  “‘Deiya, I hurt like a Cythian hell, but I get to my feet. I say to myself, blessed if I am going to confront the Ttamarini Chief while lying in the dirt.” The Oak Heart rumbled a laugh. “Ah, what a sight I must have been: a gawky, straw-haired lad, all knees and elbows.”

  Lady Fideiya murmured some protest and glanced fondly at her life sworn. He flashed a smile at his lady, “Oh, I’d matured much by the time we met, my own. Blessings Be.

  “Lord Teckcharin, a seasoned warrior even then, wears his dark hair long, as they all do, one part by his face was braided with an eagle feather stuck through. His layered leathern hauberk was studded with shells and stones.

  “We were of a height, I remember. Well, I meet that gaze and hold it, even though I am suddenly very conscious of being young and not at my best. I am covered in dust, dirt and scratches.

  “That look. It was a long moment to endure. By the One Tree…” Leon shook his head, “...my own father or even Shamic couldn’t have burned me more with just a look.”

  “What is his appearance, Leon? I’ve heard they are a very…,” she paused, “compelling race.” Fideiya glanced at Thera, and lowered her voice, “I have told you of the rumor in my family,” she hesitated briefly, “that my old aunts would whisper about Lady Dysanna and Lord Chemotin of the Ttamarini. It seems a very romantic and tragic story to me.”

  Duke Leon shook his head doubtfully, “As for old wives tales about a romance between Lady Dysanna and Teckcharin’s father, remember we were at war with the Ttamarini then. I don’t see how such a union could happen.” Leon shrugged dismissively.

  “As to how Teckcharin looks, he has a powerful presence—a fine warrior’s appearance. Most Ttamarini have high cheekbones, dark hair and grey eyes. They are a lean, strong folk of high ideals.”

  Leon snorted, “I’m sure those eyes were glinting of something like amusement as they inventoried me that day.

  “Teckcharin speaks to me in our language, though in a rather antique and formal manner, ‘You are young Leon Leif ArNarone.’ It is more a statement than a question, you see.

  “I bowed, don’t think I could have spoken. ‘Young ArNarone,’ Teckcharin says, ‘you are not yet a worthy rider of this noble horse.’ He turns from me and listens to another Ttamarini who is waving his arms angrily, gesturing between me and my mare,” Leon mused, “hopping with rage. Reminded me of Shamic.

  “Then the Ttamarini Chief says to me, ‘Tenatik tells me, young ArNarone, that your fine mare will recover with rest and care. It will be our pleasure to keep her with us. You also, will remain with us, until you may be safely returned to your father. Your companions have my leave to return to Allenholme now.’

  “At this point, I must suppose Lydia can no longer contain herself, ‘The Heart’s Own do not leave him in enemy hands!’ she says, ‘We remain with our Lord.’ She gets all that out without a quaver, though her cheeks were very red.

  “Dear Lydia!” exclaimed Fideiya, “I do love her.”

  “Just so, my own. Well, the stony faced woman guarding Lydia regards her steadily a moment or two, then speaks to Teckcharin… I believe she calls Lydia a hissing cub. I don’t have confidence in my knowledge of their tongue.

  “In any case, Lydia’s outburst didn’t do her any discredit with the Ttamarini. Teckcharin gives her the benefit of the friendliest expression I’d seen on his face so far. He spreads his hands and bows to her, warrior to warrior, ‘I hear a warrior’s words,’ he said.

  “Then he turns again to me, ‘A man who can command such loyalties, is a man to be reckoned with, your warrior companions return honor to you, young ArNarone. Your companions may remain at your side.’

  “This is all smooth as silk, mind, while maneuvering me onto a spare horse and preparing to get his troop underway. Before we heel our horses eastward, Teckcharin paces away from us several strides and stands with arms raised, facing the Elanraigh. His demeanor is both reverent and proud. He chants some blessing or thanks, and as he finishes, we all hear the unmistakable roar of a bristlefang from deep in the forest.

  “You think the beast responded to him, Leon?” asked Fideiya skeptically.

  “I truly do not know, ‘Deiya.” Leon cracked his knuckles, his expression thoughtful. “I suspect they have a bond of sorts with animal-kind, as I have said.”

  “And reverence for the Elanraigh, it would seem,” said Thera, alert.

  Leon nodded silently and then continue
d, “Our ride to their encampment is much of a blur to me. I don’t recall all that I answered to Teckcharin as we spoke, but I must admit, in spite of everything, I found myself warming to him. He was skilled at drawing a young man out. We talked of hunting and horses. He was interested in my father’s method of governance in Allenholme, and whether we were closely allied with Cythia. I was treated with so much courtesy I was scalded with it.

  “Naturally father was informed of my rescue, and in his ‘gratitude for my safe return the Honorable Chief Branch ArNarone would surely wish to offer the Ttamarini Chief, Teckcharin, the injured mare as gift.’”

  “Needless to say, the mare stayed to greatly increase the value of their herd, and I was returned two months later to face my father and Shamic.”

  Fideiya was pensive, “I’m surprised, Leon, that the Elanraigh permitted you to be captured virtually within its boundaries. The Elanraigh’s bond with us is so strong.”

  Thera stated wonderingly, as she prodded forest-mind, “The Elanraigh cares for the Ttamarini too.”

  Both parents and a startled maid regarded the girl a moment.

  Oak Heart nodded, “Hunnh. Our little Salvai here is correct, I think. The Ttamarini have great reverence, for the world in all its aspects: forest, plains, sea, and sky. The Earth itself is Mother, Bride, and Wife.

  “My brief time with them was not an unhappy one,” Leon mused. “It is strange, the Ttamarini expected us to be very insular and narrow minded. As soon as they saw our open interest in learning of their ways, they responded with an open hearted enthusiasm.” He leaned back, “Teckcharin himself instructed us in the bow. My improvement in archery almost reconciled my father to my adventure.

  “The female warrior, whose name was Chertai, taught us much about tracking. I would say she had taken a special liking to Lydia.