Alemar lay at the mouth of the cave, staring up at the sky. The crescent of Serpent Moon hung there, a pale imitation of the brilliant blue and white half-circlet displayed at night. He heard Wynneth approach, but did not react.
She set the basket down near his head. "Your son and I have come to visit you," she said cheerfully.
He gradually turned and met her gaze. He glanced at the basket. "Just leave it. I'll eat later."
Wynneth sucked her lips inward, then puckered them, then sighed. She moved the cakes next to his other supplies and left, chin hung low.
Guilt settled on him like gnats at a lakeside. But he did not call her back. The visions in his head killed his involvement in the current moment. His relationship with his wife, his sister, and his comrades paled against the misery of those internal images. Rythni wings burned like oiled torches. Iregg's hand, crippled in battle, turned blue and lifeless as he held it. Memories of power now lost haunted him. The gentleness that caused the little people to be enamored of him eluded his grasp. He knew Wynneth had only been expressing concern, but all he wanted was to shut out the world.
Retreat. He waited for the ritual that he had learned in Zyraii to heal the healer. He clung to the belief that it would. Until it did, he could not face the challenges before him, could not forgive himself, could not care if he lived or died.
What had his teacher said? "The sorcery within is a fragile gift. When nothing is left but embers, it must be banked and nurtured, or it will expire."
Perhaps the embers had gone out.
Elenya's group paused. As Wynneth went to splash some water on her face at the spring, the princess walked over, limping slightly. "Well?" she asked, obviously trying to keep the tone conversational.
"No change," Wynneth said. The chill of the water made her shudder.
"They have a saying in Zyraii. 'There is nothing so distant as a Hab-no-ken on Retreat.'"
"I know why they say that," Wynneth murmured.
"In fact, if he were to follow the tradition of Zyraii healers, he would have sequestered himself in a spot where no one could have found him."
"Then I suppose I should be grateful." Her sarcasm dripped off her tongue like acid.
Elenya gently laid a hand on her sister-in-law's shoulder.
"I'm sorry," Wynneth said, sighing. "I just didn't expect him to cut himself off from me."
"Why don't you show me some of those things you've been creating in that oven? I was wondering when someone was going to make use of all these sourberry vines," Elenya said, waving at the brambles near the camp.
Wynneth tried to smile. Elenya took her by the arm and they walked together toward the rich, enticing scent. One of the other camp women withdrew a fresh batch of the tiny cakes. Elenya and Wynneth each snagged one. They blew on them to help them cool.
They had just swallowed them when Solint let out a cry. Instantly the entire camp was in motion. Elenya sprinted toward the lookout point, rapier drawn, followed by four others. Men rushed to put on their armor and saddle the oeikani. Wynneth and the women gathered supplies. She cast a quick glance toward Alemar's position, but could not see him.
The band paused while Elenya, Solint, and the others on the hilltop stared southward. A rabbit bounded across the grass, startling Wynneth; she had inadvertently stepped on its burrow. Elenya came down the slope at a less hectic pace than when she had ascended. Wynneth released a pent-up breath. Whatever Solint had spotted was apparently not cause for panic.
Elenya dispatched men to the flanks of the southern approach to the camp, ordering them to conceal themselves. She told the others to wait to break camp. "It's one rider. He's making straight for us. Let's see what he has to say for himself."
Archers lined up on one side of the path, arrows ready. The rider continued without slackening his pace, between the hidden ambushers, over the concealing rise to where the bowmen and the rest of the rebel camp waited. Only when he was well within range of the arrows did he rein up.
Elenya stepped to the front, a hundred paces away from him, rapier out. Her gauntlet glowed even in the daylight.
Thick dust, broken by sweat tracks, coated the rider's swarthy face, his raven hair tufted and scattered by the wind. A young man, he wore a loose-fitting violet robe, embroidered in the intricate whorls and geometric patterns common to the Eastern Deserts, very similar to that decorating the white Zyraii garb Elenya, by coincidence, wore that day. He carried a scimitar on his belt, as well as a demonblade, and a small recurved bow projected from the rear of his saddle.
He raised his hands to show his lack of drawn weapons, inclined his head toward the archers, and called out to Elenya in a voice rendered hoarse from long, dry travelling. Wynneth did not understand the language.
Elenya frowned, and haltingly responded in the same tongue. "Let him approach," she told her band.
The rider dismounted, left his weary mount to nibble at the nearest clump of grass, and walked forward. He moves with the grace of a dancer, thought Wynneth. It was remarkable considering how stiff he should have been from the ride. The grime quite possibly hid a handsome face. As he neared, he unhooked a scroll canister from his belt, which he held out to Elenya. He kept a respectful three paces distant.
Elenya hesitated. Wynneth guessed why and stepped closer. Finally the princess slipped the parchment from the container and unrolled it. Glyphs that Wynneth recognized as Zyraii characters appeared, the brown ink rendered almost black against the wheat-colored surface.
Elenya's eyes went wide. Wynneth could no longer stand it. "Is it from Lonal?" she blurted.
Elenya chuckled wistfully. "No. This man is a Surudainese. But the message is from Zyraii."
Wynneth blinked. "How did he find us?"
"The scroll led him." Elenya held it out, and translated: I can feel his pain even at this distance. Retreat will not cure him. But there is a way. Ask him to heal you. If he questions you, mention the name Ilyrra. He will understand what he must do.-Gast.
"Gast?" Wynneth whispered. "Alemar's teacher?"
"Yes."
"What does it mean?"
"Alemar will have to answer that." Elenya called over to the camp women. "This man has ridden hard. Feed him, give him wash water and shade to rest under. Someone should groom his oeikani." She spoke to the man. He nodded and went to enjoy the hospitality.
"Coming?" Elenya asked as she started for the cave.
Wynneth nearly stumbled over her sister-in-law's heels in her haste.
XXII
ELENYA FELT HEALTHY. The wounds from the ambush and the attack on Puriel's fortress no longer troubled her. It seemed odd to ask her brother to heal her.
"I can't," he said. "What brought you up here to ask that?"
"Word from an old friend. He said to mention the name Ilyrra."
Alemar stood up suddenly. "You've word from Gast? How?"
"I don't know how the messenger crossed the sea, but he found us." She handed him the scroll.
Alemar poured over it. "It's definitely his calligraphy. A Zee-no-ken could have helped him charm the parchment, so that it was drawn to me. Yes. Look. There's a strand of hair woven into the fringe-mine, no doubt. We kept samples of each other's hair and blood for use in certain healing spells."
Elenya was encouraged to see Alemar so alert and involved. "What did he mean? Why do I need to be healed?"
"You don't, exactly," Alemar said. "But we all suffer the affliction of being who we are. Most of us muddle through as best we can, even though we could benefit from care. Gast is suggesting that I perform a very special type of healing, like that I did for Ilyrra, a Sholi slave girl."
Elenya frowned. "How are you going to do it? Your power is drained."
"So I believe. But if Gast says that Retreat will not help me, I believe him. Shall we try his way?"