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Brass trumpets blared the climax of the ceremony, and each of the Windriders
received a steel-edged shortsword, which would be worn throughout the training. They
would have to learn fast, Kith-Kanan had warned his new recruits, and he knew that they
would.
He looked to the west, suddenly restless. It won't be long now, he told himself.
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Soon the siege of Sithelbec would be broken and how long after that would it be
before the war was won?
20
Midspring, 2213 (PC)
Kith-Kanan couldn't sleep. He went for a walk in the Gardens of Astarin, relieved
that the griffons had all been moved to the sporting fields. There the creatures rested and
enjoyed the fresh meat that the palace liverymen hastily had butchered and carted over to
them.
For a time, the elf lost himself in the twists and turns of the elegant gardens. The
soothing surroundings took him back to his youth, to untroubled days and, later, to
passionate nights. How many times, he reflected, had he and Hermathya met among this
secluded foliage?
Anxiously he tried to shrug off the memories. Soon he and Arcuballis would take to
the air, leaving this city and its temptations behind. The mere sight of her was a source of
deep guilt and discomfort to him.
As if circumstances mirrored his thoughts, he turned a corner and encountered his
brother's wife, walking in quiet contemplation. Hermathya looked up, but if she was at all
surprised to encounter him, her face didn't reveal anything.
"Hello, Kith-Kanan." Her smile was deep and warm and suddenly, it seemed to Kith,
reckless.
"Hello, Hermathya." He was certainly surprised to see her. The rest of the palace was
dark, and the hour was quite late.
"I saw you come to the garden and came here to find you," she informed him.
Alarms bells went off in his mind as he gazed at her. By the gods, how beautiful she
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was! No woman he had ever known aroused him like Hermathya. Not even Anaya. He
could tell, by the smoldering look in her eyes, that her thoughts were similar.
She took a step toward him.
The instinct to reach out and crush her to him, to pull her into his arms and touch her,
was almost overpowering. But at the same time, he had sordid memories of their last tryst
and her unfaithfulness to his brother. He wanted her, but he dare not weaken
again especially now, after all that he and Sithas had been through together.
Only with a great effort of will did Kith-Kanan step back, raising his hands to stop
her approach.
"You are my brother's wife," he said, somewhat irrelevantly.
"I was his wife last autumn," she spat, suddenly venomous.
"Last autumn was a mistake. Hermathya, I loved you once. I think of you now more
than I care to admit. But I will not betray my brother!" Again, he added silently. "Can
you accept this? Can we be members of the same family and not torment each other with
memories of a past that ought to be buried and forgotten?"
Hermathya suddenly clasped her hands over her face. Her body wracking with sobs,
she turned and ran, swiftly disappearing from Kith-Kanan's sight.
For a long time afterward, he stared at the spot where she had stood. The image of
her body, of her face, of her exquisite presence, remained vivid in his mind, almost as if
she was still there.
* * * * *
Three days later, Kith was ready to embark. His plan of battle had been made, but
there remained many things to be done. The Windriders wouldn't fly to the west for
another six weeks. Under the tutelage of their new captain, Hallus, they had to train
rigorously in the meantime.
"How long do you think it will take to find Dunbarth?" asked Sithas when he, his
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mother, and Tamanier Ambrodel came to see Kith-Kanan off.
Kith shrugged. "That's one reason I'm leaving right away. I have to hook up with the
dwarves and fill them in on the timetable, then get to Sithelbec before the Windriders."
"Be careful," his mother urged. The color had come back into her face since the
brothers' return, and for the past several weeks she had seemed as merry and robust as
ever. Now she struggled not to weep.
"I will," Kith promised, holding her in his arms. They all hoped the war would end
quickly but understood that it might be many months, even years, before he could return.
The door to the audience chamber burst open, and the elves whirled, surprised and
then amused. Vanesti stood there.
Sithas's son, not yet a year old, toddled toward them with an unsteady gait and a
broad smile across his elven features. In his hand, he brandished a wooden sword, slashing
at imagined enemies to the right and left until his own momentum toppled him to the [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]