"He's ready to see you now," Wynneth said. Elenya could not help but notice the satisfied glow on her face.
The princess excused herself, letting Dalih get to know his new friends as best as he could manage. Even before she stepped into the shade, she knew that Alemar had seen the end of the match.
"You walk with a lighter step, sister," he bespoke, grinning.
"I have you to thank."
"Thank Gast. Tell me, does this mean you will let me win if we spar?"
"If it will help your technique. But you don't practice much these days."
"I will now."
Her shock threw her back into mindspeech. "What? Why?"
"It has to do with my power," he replied calmly. "It was never gone, though it was temporarily drained healing the wounds Enns gave you. It's as Gast once told me-I have more of it than any man since Umar, the legendary Zyraii healer. It's long since been reaccumulated, but now it's blocked, except for certain specific channels such as the one I used with you yesterday. You could say that I am hoarding it."
"I don't understand. Why didn't you know?"
"I could ask why you didn't know the things you learned about yourself yesterday. I am not consciously blocking it. It is being held back by an inner reflex, something I suppose must be called self-preservation. That reservoir of energy can be used for other purposes. My inner guide knows that, and it is forcing me to save it. It knows I may need it."
Suddenly Elenya understood. "For the fight against Gloroc."
"Yes. Until that is resolved, I will not be able to heal others, except in mundane ways. Gast was right. No amount of Retreat would have restored me, because the fundamental conflict would have still been there. I will get my power back when the threat of the Dragon no longer hangs over me and my family."
She pinched a bit of bark off the tree. "I'm sorry. I wish I could help you."
He shrugged. "It's not so bad. I'm disappointed, yes, but now, for the first time in many months, or maybe years, I have no doubt of which direction my life will go. I was wrong to have taken us all into hiding for so many weeks. We need to consolidate our gains before the Dragon sends serious reinforcements. As soon as I meet our new ally, I'll give the order to break camp. We're heading south."
The announcement was met with grateful sighs, animated murmurs, and the particular glint in the eyes of warriors who have been held in check for too long. That night they held a celebration-a carefully inconspicuous one-and at sunrise the next morning every man and woman stood ready to ride and march.
They hugged a small tributary of the Thank River, using its trees, thick stands of marsh grass, and brambles as cover. As twilight neared, with a pair of moons promising a bright night, they reached the edge of the great forest. They had not gone far when they heard a subtle, pleasant song. It seemed to glance off every leaf.
The column halted. "Do you recognize it?" Alemar asked Elenya.
"The rythni canticle of well-being."
Alemar nodded, a small tear hovering at the tip of an eyelash. "Wait here," he told the company. He rode just out of speaking range.
Hiephora stood on a limb at his eye-level. When he drew near she stopped singing, but other, unseen voices carried on, spreading tidings of welcome through the foliage.
"Greetings, Prince Alemar," the queen said.
"Well met, Your Highness," he murmured. "I am very glad to find you here."
"And how could I stay away? You have the aura of a man who believes in himself." She laughed merrily. "I brought someone to see you."
"Who?"
Another rythni crawled out from behind a leaf. It was Cyfee.
"Greetings, my lord."
Alemar stroked the young rythni's body. She was real.
"It is truly me," she said cheerfully, and spun a slow pirouette. Her flesh was white and vibrant. The only trace of damage was where her wings had been anchored, where there were two long scars. "My queen returned in time to save the four of us who were injured."
"My prophecy was true after all," Hiephora stated. "Not a single rythni was lost in the battle."
"But your wings," Alemar said solemnly, leaning over Cyfee. "They won't grow back, will they?"
"No, they won't," Cyfee replied. "But that is not so great a thing compared to my life and health. Our menfolk have no wings. I had none when I was a child, and I would have lost them when my childbearing years were over. It is not so bad. Now I look old and wise a millennium early."
"Alas that she could not be wise as quickly," Hiephora added impishly.
Alemar chuckled.
"We came to warn you," Cyfee said, turning serious. "Omril's troops are only three leagues to the west. He has lost your physical trail, but he seems able to track you without it, given time."
Alemar made a sour face. "It's the gauntlets. It's hard to dampen their energies, and the wizard knows their pattern. We'll ride east, then, and camp only briefly tonight."
"That is best, my prince."
"And will you watch over us?" he asked.
"Yes. Sleep safely and well."
The rebels slept in a thicket without benefit of a campfire, their bedrolls scattered over a wide area where they could not easily be surrounded, sheltered by loosely hung tarps and shawls that could be taken down and packed within moments, should the alarm be sounded. Four of the company hid within the brush, keeping sentry duty. And, of course, from their vantage points on limbs or in their cleverly constructed bowers, the rythni held vigil.
The moons' light filtered only weakly through the canopy of leaves, leaving deep shadows, turning the clumps of trunk fungus into ghost-white specters. Crickets and nocturnal rodents made their discordant music. A male rythni, dozing in the grass near the camp, awoke suddenly, feeling a vibration in the ground on which he lay, as from the tread of a man or large animal. But he could see nothing on the path, nor did he hear any suspicious sounds. He closed his eyes and nodded off.
Had he been lying three paces to one side, he might have seen a bootprint form in the soft forest loam, then another and another, leading into the rebel camp. Perhaps he would have noticed a fern bend out of the way or a strand of spider web snap. But he still would not have seen the owner of the boots, nor heard any sound as twigs broke under foot.
The intruder stopped near one of the sentries, who glanced up at a moonbeam, oblivious to the surveillance. The stalker continued into the center of the area, weaving through unsuspecting sleepers. He did not harm them, because even if they died silently, their auras would change and the rythni would be disturbed.
Slowly but with few detours, the bootprints created a path to the fallen broadleaf tree where the twins had fashioned their shelters. The stalker approached Elenya first, but as he did, the amulet on her throat gave off a bright green flicker. She stirred. The intruder backed away, so quickly that for the first time, his tread was audible.
The flicker was not repeated. None of the sentries or rythni seemed to have noticed it. The stalker stood still for many moments, then inched toward the den where Alemar and Wynneth huddled.
On the prince's throat, another amulet glowed in warning. This time the trespasser backed up immediately, cancelling the effect before anyone had a reasonable chance to see it. Alemar slept on.
The intruder stayed where he was for a long time, all the way through the changing of the guard. The last watch of the night began. A daylark roused briefly and serenaded the grove.
Finally Wynneth opened her eyes, crossed and recrossed her legs, and sat up, grumbling softly about the curses of pregnancy. She crawled out of the shelter without waking her husband, and found a convenient spot several paces down the length of the fallen tree, where she raised her skirt and, using a spur of the trunk to brace her awkward body, relieved herself.