"A female."
"I see." She smoothed her skirts, was annoyed at the knobbiness of the knees under them.
"But I keep my attention on her lessons. The alternative is to study with Struth. I do enough of that. Something about learning from a big frog raises the hair on the nape of my neck."
"I didn't know you had any," she snapped, referring to the relative hairlessness of his body.
He blinked at her tone. "Janna has a gift for clear explanations. Hasn't she ever instructed you?"
"Not about sorcery. I have no gift."
"Of course," he said quickly. "So much goes on in this temple, it seems that everyone is a magician."
"No," Deena said. "Some of us must settle for less."
He frowned. "I didn't mean to imply you were a nettle among flowers."
"Sometimes I feel that way."
He regarded her carefully. "You are a mystery, Deena. How did you come here? How long have you lived at the temple?"
"Not long. Early winter before last, the Dragon's troops invaded Mirien, sacked my home, killed all my family. I fled to Serthe. One day I happened by the Oracle of the Frog God. I threw in a coin and asked what I could do to hurt Gloroc. Struth liked that. She gave me a home. I was not suited to be a priestess, so I helped in small matters of business. The goddess found it handy to have a woman around who had had some martial training-that happened because my father was a career soldier who had no sons. I escorted the last candidate from her home in Aleoth, and then I was chosen to help fetch you."
"What happened to that candidate?"
Deena paused. "She failed the tests. She died."
Toren scratched his chin.
"So you see," Deena continued, "why I have reason to favor the Elandri resistance against the Dragon."
"Yes. Did you lose children in the invasion?"
"No. I've never been married."
He refilled his cup. "I've never been married either. That did not keep me from having a son."
Her cup slipped from her grip and landed noisily on the table top, nearly tipping over. She sucked spilled tea from her fingers. "No wife? When you mentioned your child, I assumed…"
"A natural mistake, I suppose. modhiv are not permitted to marry. Their lives are constantly at risk; it would not be fair to a wife. In addition, a warrior must be able to go to a skirmish without worrying about a spouse left behind."
"But your son."
"A Vanihr must have offspring to carry the totem. I made an arrangement with a woman. She bore Rhi, and cares for him when I cannot. But she is not my wife. In fact, three years ago she married my cousin."
Deena traced patterns in the spilled tea. "Yes, it would be important, to have a recipient for your totem. Your immortality, as you said last week. I almost expected you to leave as soon as Struth restored your ancestors, to go back and be with Rhi."
"I long to," Toren replied. "But what would be the point of dying on the way? Until I pass on my totem for the first time, I must survive at all costs. I don't know what my final decision will be, but for now staying at the temple and developing my talents seems more sensible than running for the Wood with the Dragon's assassins at my heels."
"I hope you will choose to aid us," she said. "It is a good cause. And good people stand to die if the Dragon has his way. Like my family."
"I've thought of that. Self-preservation is not my only emotion." Suddenly he reached out and tenderly brushed the tip of her chin. "I'm well aware of the goodness of some of the people here."
She coughed, and to her dismay, the action caused him to remove his touch. "Whichever you decide-to go back to the Wood or to take up the gauntlets-I pray you do survive," she said emphatically.
She interlaced the fingers of her right hand with his. He did not pull away.
XXI
THE SUN BURST OUT from behind a thin, solitary wisp of cloud as Wynneth climbed the hill. She trod carefully due to the extra weight in her belly, but vigorously, no longer burdened by the sleepiness of the second and third month, no longer weakened by morning sickness. This was the good part, her female relatives told her. She had started to swell; she could feel the baby move. It was becoming real.
She clambered to an outcropping, joining Solint the Minstrel at his lookout station. To the south stretched yellow prairie. A dark line denoted the edge of the great forest, nearly lost in the shimmer of the warm, midday air. A hundred leagues farther, separated by tracts of pristine, barely explored timberland, lay the coast of Cilendrodel and the town of Old Stump.
"Do you think we've lost them?" she asked. No telltale smoke or cloud of dust rose into the sky.
Solint strummed his lute; he was not one to allow guard duty to prevent him from composing. "For the moment."
Eight weeks after the sack of Puriel's fortress, Omril still pursued the rebel band, accompanied by two cohorts from the garrison at Yent. He had left the punishment of Old Stump's citizens to the acting governor and had singlemindedly chased Alemar and Elenya into the wilderness. Nothing dissuaded him, not the difficulties of supplying such a large group of men over such a distance, not the tediousness of cutting their way through tracks of untamed forest, not the attrition of the company by wild animals, booby traps, or nighttime rebel harassment. Three times the twins had tried to establish camps and enjoy some much needed recuperation; three times Omril had located them.
In their latest effort, they had waded along a river for a day to conceal their tracks, while a few members of the band created a false trail. Wynneth hoped they had finally bought themselves some time. The wizard would think it unlikely that they had ventured into open terrain. He would assume that the rythni were still helping Alemar's band, and rythni would not leave the forest.
Thus far it had worked. For the first time, the rebels looked less haggard, and had caught up on sleep. But Wynneth still fretted. Alemar needed more than a few days respite.
"I brought some sour cakes," Wynneth told Solint. "We've got the oven working." She waved at the crude construction down in the camp. A faint trace of smoke rose from the stack: a risk. However, the plains were often dotted with the campfires of the indigenous nomads. It had been too long since the rebels had tasted fresh bread and other baked goods. The presence of the oven had already boosted morale.
Solint smiled, stuffed his mouth full, and kissed her. She brushed the crumbs off her lips and laughed, recalling the sweetness of his kisses during the years before Alemar returned from the Eastern Deserts and married her. If music and sex had been enough to fulfill her, she might have lived a very different life.
She descended the hill. Elenya was still drilling a half dozen of the company in unarmed combat. At the moment they were performing an endurance exercise, kicking by her count. They paused for one deep breath between each set of ten. They were up to three hundred, and had the other leg yet to go. Elenya still kicked high and strong. All but one of the others had withered. Two barely raised their feet higher than shin level.
Wynneth kept her face averted, sparing them the embarrassment of an extra observer. They grimaced in frustration. They had exercised continuously for over three hours. She might soon have to interrupt. She could use the freshly baked treats as an excuse.
Elenya was a hard taskmaster; she demanded performance close to her own level. Even those with the youth, strength, and stamina to match her normal pace were being taxed to their limits lately. Wynneth winced as the princess yelled for everyone to kick higher.
They needed Alemar's tempering influence. She glanced nervously up the hill to the north, to the cave where her husband had secluded himself. She should not interrupt him. Still, he might appreciate some of the sour cakes. She had not bothered him for an entire day.
Before she could talk herself out of it, she loaded a small basket and started up the path. She felt Elenya's glance follow her all the way up.