Banewreaker(35)

Cerelinde was too weary to care. Whatever ailed him, there was no room in her heart for compassion, save for those she had left behind. When Hyrgolf pointed to a hide tent his Fjel had erected for her, pounding tent-pegs into rock with sheer might, she crawled into it without a word, drawing the flap closed behind her. There she lay, staring open-eyed at the tent's peak, and reliving the bloody memories of Lindanen Dale.

Hours passed.

The hoofbeats, when they came, were weary and slow. Cerelinde lay tense and quiet, listening to the sounds of the camp. There was a Man's voice speaking in the common tongue, tired, yet filled with command. "How is she?"

"Quiet, Lord General," answered Hyrgolf's deep tone.

The voice spoke in Staccian, giving orders. For a moment, Cerelinde relaxed; then came the sound of booted feet drawing near her tent.

"Lady," the Man's voice said. "I bring you greetings from my Lord Satoris."

Her fingers trembled as she drew back the tent's flap. He averted his gaze as she emerged, allowing her to study him. The sight made her stomach clench. His was the face she had seen through the opening of a Pelmaran helm, bearing down upon her, a bloody sword in his fist.

Not until she stood did he meet her eyes, and she knew, then, that she had seen his likeness elsewhere, in the shadow of features worn by his distant kinsman. The dark hair was the same, falling over his brow; the stern mouth, the face, austere and handsome by the standards of Men. Only the eyes were different, weary with the knowledge of centuries beyond mortal telling.

Her voice shook. " You!"

"Lady." He bowed, correct and exacting. "I am General Tanaros of Darkhaven, and I mean you no harm."

"Harm!" Cerelinde passed her hands over her face, another wild laugh threatening to choke her. "O blessed Haomane, Arahila the Fair, what does such a word mean to you people? I know you, Tanaros Kingslayer, Banewreaker's Servant."

"So you name me." A muscle in his jaw twitched. "I did not choose such names, Lady. Is this how you return a greeting fairly given?"

"You cut down my guardsmen where they stood, sent one of Oronin's Hunters against my husband-to-be, unarmed in his wedding bower. How can you say you mean me no harm?" Anger set her words ablaze. "What happens to me matters naught, Kingslayer. I am resolved to die. But do not slay my kinsmen and tell me you mean no harm! In cold blood, unprovoked—"

Tanaros interrupted her. "Why did you agree to wed him?"

Cerelinde looked away, gazing past him, through the impenetrable cavern walls.

"Why?"

She flinched at his tone; the granddaughter of Elterrion the Bold. Yet there was steel in her—courage, and heart. Oh yes, Haomane's Children had heart. It had been Arahila's Gift to them, the only one Haomane had permitted. "You need to ask?" Her backbone rigid, she stood straight and tall. "There is valor in him, and a noble spirit. I am a woman, Tanaros Kingslayer, Ellyl or no." Color flushed her cheekbones. "And there is naught in him a woman would not—"

He cut her short. "You sought to fulfill the Prophecy."

Cerelinde opened her mouth, then closed it.

Tanaros laughed, a dry sound. "You sought to fulfill the Prophecy. Make no mistake. It was an act of war."

"I seek to preserve the lives of my people, Tanaros Blacksword." Her grey eyes were somber. "Can you say the same?"

"Aye, I can and do. You are a pawn, Lady, in a war of Haomane First-Born's devising." He raked a hand through his hair; it was greasy, after days under a helm. "Who talked you into the wedding? Ingolin the Wise? Malthus the Counselor, Haomane's Servant and Weapon?" Tanaros gave a bitter smile at her expression. "See how their wisdom availed them! Well, now I have taken you, and you are Lord Satoris' pawn. At least he is honest about it. And as his emissary, I tell you this: He means you no harm."

"I have been abducted." Cerelinde's voice trembled, with anger and the effort of holding her fear at bay. "Abducted by force, brought here against my will, held captive by—" Catching sight of Ushahin huddled against the far wall, she pointed with a shaking finger. "By creatures, by Fjeltroll and that foul Misbegotten—"

"Enough!" Tanaros struck her hand down, a sharp, shocking blow.

Too close for comfort, they stared at one another.

"Your people abandoned Ushahin, Lady," Tanaros said to her. "Remember that. Such as he is, your own children would have been, had you wed Aracus Altorus."

"Never!" She flung the denial out in defiance, his words touching on her darkest fear. "They will be conceived in love, in accordance with Haomane's Prophecy." Cerelinde shook her head. "It is not the same, not the same at all. Why do you think we name him thusly? It is not for the mixing of the races. Ushahin the Misbegotten was conceived in lust, in base desire." She pronounced the words with distaste. "The Sunderer's Gift, not fair Arahila's."