Crown of Renewal(64)

“I don’t knit my own socks,” the doorward said. “I don’t have time.”

“Do you have time to darn? It takes longer than knitting something the same size.”

The doorward caught sight of Kieri and the Kuakgan and jumped up, dropping the sock. Paks reached out and caught it. “Sir king, I’m sorry—”

“Finish your darning lesson,” Kieri said. “Paks, here is a Kuakgan come looking for you. Master—?”

“Sprucewind. Like Master Elmholt, from whom I heard about the poisoning done here, I am a wanderer, not having bonded to a Grove. I had word by root from Oakhallow that I was needed here.” He turned to Paks. “And I am told you come on behalf of the Girdish Marshal-General, wounded by iynisin.”

“Indeed,” Paks said. She had given his sock back to the doorward and still worked on the other. She told him what she had told Kieri. “It happened to me, as well. Wounds that faded and then flared, exhaustion and weakness, and no other healing seemed to work. I remembered Oakhallow and what he did for me, but he does not travel so far.”

“Hmmm.” A hum like a hive of bees trembled on the air. “Are you sure all the fragments of the weapon are out of the wound?”

“We think so, sir, but one was stuck right in the bone, high on her arm. We could not tell if all came out or if it broke off.”

“And where is she?”

“In Fin Panir. Do you know where that is?”

“West of Tsaia, in Fintha … Tell me, what trees are there?”

“Not many. Pick-oak, a scrubby ash, juniper … it’s dry there, you see.” Then, to the doorward, “No, pull that back out—it goes in the other way … yes … and then out there. Now another one.”

“No stretches of forest? No spruce?”

“None.”

“Then she will have to come nearer or I must find a spruce—at least a fir—willing to come with me. My powers of healing depend on the trees. It is so with all of us. How bad are her wounds? Can she travel at all?”

“Not when I left,” Paks said. “But if hers are like mine were, her strength will vary—she will grow stronger again and then weaker. I think she will not travel this far, sir. She has duties there; she will stay.”

“Then I must find a tree,” Sprucewind said. “It will take some time. I will go to Fin Panir as soon as I find one.”

“Wait,” Kieri said. “Will you not stay the night at least?”

“I travel mostly at night,” Sprucewind said. “It is cooler then.” He smiled at both of them. “Fare well, king of Lyonya, and thank you for the welcome of your elvenhome. Paksenarrion, I smell fir upon you, a gracious scent and kin to my birth-tree. May the firs you left behind grow tall and straight.” Then he turned and walked out into the dusk.

“There are firs in Three Firs,” Paks called after him. She was not sure he heard.

“You will stay a night or two at least, won’t you?” Kieri asked.

“Until I’m called away,” Paks said. “It feels peaceful here. I think it’s your magery.”

“Elvenhomes are supposed to be peaceful,” Kieri said. “But I’m not sure about one with a soldier for a lord.”





Chapter Thirteen

A day or so later, Paks asked Kieri about how he had come to create an elvenhome. He told her in more detail about finding the place where his mother had died, the relics risen from the ground, and all the elven woman, the traitor, had told him. “That night she used elven magery to lure me away from the others and would have killed me if I had not killed her.”

“You killed a full elf? In spite of her magery?”

“Yes. And after that, I realized that the taig recognized me. I was surrounded with elvenhome light. When I collected the branches to lay on her, they fell into my hands.” He sighed. “And with that death ended the mystery that has haunted my life. A waste, all around. But I need not fear anything like that again. The taig itself tells me that none of the other elves here are traitors. My children will never be in such danger as I was.”

“So—the man who tormented you is dead?”

“He must be,” Kieri said. “He was not young when I was his captive, and he was human, not even part-elven. He boasted of that.”

“But he was a mage—you said he had great powers—”

“Yes, but not immortality. Why do you ask?” His heart began to pound, and suddenly he remembered. “You think he—he might be one who could—transfer bodies?” The very thought made him sick; his stomach churned.