Sadness passed over Lendri's face, and he set back to work on the stick. "I came. Once. Not too many years ago. But your mother would not have me. She honored her people, but her life was among the Damarans now. And I think she did not want me influencing you. She told me to leave. I honored her wishes."
Hweilan attacked the fallen tree with sudden savagery, sending bits of wood flying. "Doesn't death release you from your oaths?"
"I am not dead."
"But Gyaidun. Your… rathla. And my mother-"
"The oaths were mine," said Lendri. "Only my death will free me."
"You said you heard my whistle-knife," she said. "But why were you here at all? The Vil Adanrath dwelled far to the east."
"I am… looking for someone."
"Who?"
"I am… not sure yet."
Hweilan stopped her work and stared. The elf was so damnably odd. "What does that mean?"
"Later," said Lendri. "We see to Scith, then we must decide what to do with you. Now work."
Once Lendri had finished, he set the uskeche tet carefully aside, then used his heavy knife to help Hweilan finish her work. Once it was done, they stood and looked down at the corpse. Ravens had begun circling overhead, and Hweilan could hear more off in the woods, already eating. Together she and Lendri stood over Scith. In the short time they had worked, his skin had taken on a grayish cast, and frost now caked him.
"I can't do this," Hweilan whispered, more to herself than Lendri.
"You must. I cannot lift him in by myself. Honor your friend. Would you leave him as carrion?"-1
She did it. Hweilan cried the entire time, but she helped Lendri lift Scith into the shell they had hollowed out inside the tree. A heavy, completely dead weight. They covered him with the kindling.
"It will never burn," said Hweilan. "Too wet."
"Stand back," said Lendri. He peeled the glove off his right hand and curled it into a fist. A small ring, a dull yellow like brass, circled one finger. He pointed it at the log and said, "Lamathris!"
The air round his fist ignited, and a gout of flame shot outward, striking the tree and enveloping it in bright orange fire. A hot gale swept over Hweilan as the fire heated and pushed back the air. Flames rose, tumbling over one another and sending up thick clouds of gray smoke. Somewhere out in the woods, Hechin howled.
Lendri retrieved the stick he had spent so much time carving. He handed it to Hweilan. She examined it by the light of Scith's pyre. Into the pale wood, Lendri had etched many Dethek runes in a spiral down the length of the shaft, and within the carving he had rubbed some sort of resin. Turning the stick, she read them.
MERAH INLE THEWARI
SORAN OF HIGHWATCH
VANDALAR OF HIGHWATCH
SCITH OF THE VAR
KNIGHTS OF ONDRAHAR
PEOPLE OF HIGHWATCH
"Your honored dead," said Lendri. "I will sing. Add your own prayers if you wish."
Lendri sang. More of a whispered chant really, like a soft breeze through dry branches. At first he sang in his own tongue. Hweilan listened, understanding nothing but the names.
"Sing with me," he said.
"I… I don't know the words," said Hweilan.
"We will sing them in the tongue of the Damarans."
And so they did, Lendri chanting one line, Hweilan following. Flames of this world, bear this flame to our ancestors Our family burned bright Our family…
Lendri took the stick back from her. Holding one end with both hands, he stepped forward and thrust it into the middle of the fire, sending a great shower of sparks fluttering amid the smoke. He held it there as long as he could bear to be near the flames, then he stepped back. The end of the stick was black, but the resin pressed into the runes burned a hot red. Merah daughter of Thewari burned bright, Soran of Highwatch burned bright, Vandalar of Highwatch burned bright, Scith of the Var burned bright, The Knights of Ondrahar burned bright, The people of Highwatch burned bright. Their exile is ended, their rest assured.
Lendri looked up to the sky and sang in his native tongue, but this time loud-more of a shout than a chant. Then he looked down at Hweilan. His eyes seemed hard, not with any sort of religious passion. More in expectation.
"You still wish to bring justice to your family's murderers?" he said.
"Yes." No hesitation.
"Then do as I do. Take off your gloves."
She did.
He raised his right hand, long fingers outstretched, and he sang, "Our family burned bright. Those who robbed the world of their light will rest no more."
She repeated his words, not singing but speaking them clearly.
Lendri brought his open palm down on the top of the stick. Hweilan heard skin and flesh sizzle, a sharp intake of breath from Lendri, then he pulled his hand away. She looked at him with wide eyes.
"Hurry," he said, "before the fire consumes the wood."
She hesitated. What kind of fool put his naked hand on burning wood? But Lendri's gaze on her was fierce and unwavering. She raised her right hand. It trembled.
"Do it, Hweilan!"
In her mind, she saw Scith's last moments. She saw the last look her mother had given her, heard their last words, spoken in anger. She heard again her father's parting words to her on the day he'd ridden out of the fortress-Listen to your mother, Hweilan. She does what is best for you. Make me proud. The next time she'd seen him, his face had been pale and cold, more like lifeless stone than the always-quick-to-smile face of her father.
Hweilan slapped her hand down and grabbed the stick. Pain seized her entire arm. She gasped and tried to let go, but the muscles in her hand convulsed, squeezing tighter. She could feel the skin of her palm and the insides of her fingers burning away, her flesh fusing to the wood.
Control returned. She let go, flesh that did not want to come away from the hot wood tearing and peeling away. She stumbled back and landed hard on the icy ground. The world seemed to spin around her, going black, and she could hear nothing but a roar.
When the world cleared again, she could see the great cloud of her breath mixing with Lendri's. The elf knelt over her, his brows creased in concern.
"Can you hear me?" he asked.
"Yes."
"Foolish girl," he said, and it was then that Hweilan first noticed that he held her burned hand between his own. He was pressing snow into her palm. She couldn't feel the cold. Everything from her wrist down was only pain. "You were supposed to touch the stick, not grasp it. Why?"
She smiled weakly. "It felt like a good idea at the time. My family…" Tears began to well in her eyes again.
Lendri held her gaze a long time, then nodded. "Grieve for them, Hweilan. Honor them. But do not punish yourself. Punish those who killed them. I will help you."
"When do we start?"
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Hweilan's hand was still in agony, but the cold snow she held helped. Now that all of her attention was not focused on her arm, she felt a pounding headache coming on. Not like others she'd had in the past-pain behind her eyes or her forehead. This was a nagging pulse right at the base of her skull. Almost like a drumbeat.
"Try to open it," said Lendri.
Clenching her teeth against the pain, Hweilan opened her hand slowly. Pain shot up her forearm. She turned her palm down and dropped the snow. She could feel tiny tugs as bits of skin came away with the ice.
"I have some salve," said Lendri. He gently turned her hand and opened his mouth as if to say more. He gasped and his grip tightened, pulling her closer.
Hweilan winced and tried to pull away. "You're hurting me!"
He let go and looked at her, his eyes wide and his mouth hanging open.
Hweilan looked down at her hand. Most of the skin was gone, the flesh beneath burned. But across her palm, three of the letters from the names that Lendri had carved into the stick were clearly visible, branded right into the flesh of her hand in raised, puffy red flesh: