Shadows: Book One of the Eligia Shala (22 page)

“How dare you? Unlike you, Captain Tessier, Prince Mikhail knows how to control himself.” Jenevra’s voice shook with the lie.

“Ah,” Blaise stroked his moustache, knowingly. “So that’s why you’re so angry? Poor little Princess … never been kissed.”

“I have!”

“But not properly.” Captain Tessier exulted inwardly at the confusion apparent in the princess’s face. Manipulating women was his specialty, and it was starting to look as though Jenevra would be no exception.

Remembering her experience with Misha by the waterfall, Jenevra felt a sadness rise up inside her, choking her voice slightly as she added, “Not that it’s any of your business, but not everyone finds me quite as repulsive as you do.” Barging past him to leave, Jenevra looked directly into his eyes as he caught her arm. “Let go,” she warned softly.

Tessier could sense the tension in her, and the expression in her eyes—something between sorrow and loss—caught at him. Holding her gaze for a moment, he nodded, and loosened his grip.

The princess walked quickly away, hesitating as he called her name again. “Captain?” Jenevra fidgeted with her sword and cloak; looking at the floor, and chewing slightly on her lip.

“I thought I should tell you that I was wrong when I said what I did.” Tessier moved towards her. “I was angry.”

“And disappointed,” the princess chipped in.

Tessier acknowledged the truth with a slight nod. “Yes, Princess, disappointed.”

“But now you’ve reconsidered, and decided to bestow on me the great honor of a kiss from the renowned Blaise Tessier?” Jenevra turned cynical eyes to meet his.

Tessier closed his eyes. He could barely believe his own response. Rarely had he let morality overcome his opportunities. Here he was, standing with this challenging, vibrant young woman, wanting more than anything to take her in his arms and kiss her; and he knew he couldn’t do it. It wouldn’t be right, not here, not now. He could see she was shaken by everything that had happened. This was just a reaction. Far from just following Phillips orders, Tessier found, as he thought about it, that he didn’t want to hurt her. Letting out a long, slow breath, he opened his eyes again, and knew he’d just made a worse mistake. Deep hurt was in her eyes, and her cheeks were flaming, as she realized what he was going to say. “No … I can’t, Princess.”

He reached out to touch her, to explain, but she had already whirled around and was running down the hall towards her rooms. Cursing at himself he watched as the last glimmer of white silk and silver mail disappeared into the shadows.

Back in her rooms, Jenevra sat in almost total darkness, just the low fire glowing in the hearth. She couldn’t believe it; rejected again by the most notorious womanizer in the Palace. Even in a darkened hallway Blaise Tessier wouldn’t kiss her. Without thinking she poured a large goblet of wine and drank it down in one, followed by another two in quick succession. Leaning forward, her head in her hands, she gathered her thoughts again. The best place she could be right now was away from the Palace, away from Misha, and definitely away from Captain Tessier. Jenevra’s face flushed again as she thought about the encounter. Determined to leave as swiftly as possible now, she managed to unbuckle the straps on her outfit without assistance, stripped off the tight mail shirt and white silk tunic; pulling on her familiar gray clothing with relief. Bundling all of the formal gear along with another change of gray clothes, she crossed her swords over her shoulders and wrapped the belt designed to carry Spirit Sword around her waist. Grabbing a gray cloak as she left the room, she ran down the private stairs leading to the courtyard.

She could hear Brogan’s voice issuing orders in the barracks, and saw lights and movement in the stables. Dumping her gear on the ground she leaned against the wall, thankful for the quiet and solitude.

“Jenna?”

The sound made her jump. Gray among the shadows, Misha limped towards her.

Jenevra’s anger flared again. “Misha, what in the name of the seven gods did you think you were doing back there? I nearly killed you, you idiot!”

“I know.” He grimaced. “Ki-Nimh is furious with me.”

“So am I!” she spat. “What on earth’s got into you?”

“Jenna, I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to say. I could have hurt you.”

“Really? Remind me, Misha, who was it that ended up unconscious again?” She began to stalk off, but Misha caught her arm; letting his hand drop as he saw the look in her eyes.

“Jenna, wait! We can’t leave it like this. We have the Order.”

Almost incandescent with anger that he should throw that at her after this evening’s performance, she turned on him, pushing him back against the Palace wall. With a hand on his chest she glared up at him. “The Order? Who was thinking about the Order when they were trying to get themselves killed tonight? Listen well, Misha, because I’m only going to say this once more. I don’t know, or care, what got into you tonight … or up at the waterfall. We are linked by this talisman,” she pulled at the chain around her neck. “That gives us both an obligation; to stay alive so that we can be here for the Order. That may mean we have to do things we don’t want to, like marrying or leaving someone we care about behind us. That’s how it has to be. We don’t have a choice. The Order is as much, if not more of, a duty than anything our families may throw at us. You know that.”

Misha lowered his head. “I know, Jenna. It kills me, but I do know. I just didn’t think it would be this difficult. But then, I didn’t know how I felt.” He stopped. “Look, I just came down here to tell you to be careful. You know how impulsive you can be, and I won’t be there to stop you.” He saw her eyes widen at his criticism of her impetuousness, and placed his hands softly on her shoulders. “Yes, alright, you don’t need to say it. Just promise me you won’t do anything stupid. Travel peacefully, Nimh’a.” He bent and planted a swift light kiss on the top of her head.

Misha drew back into the shadows as the barrack doors thudded open and Shadow Flight began to assemble in the courtyard before Jenevra could respond.

Muttering irritably to herself about the duplicity of men in general, Jenevra spotted Laio holding her horse and swung her gear up onto it. Springing lightly into the saddle she called the Flight into order. Word of the fight had obviously been passed around the Flight and a new level of respect was evident among the men.

Waving thanks to Laio and his assistants for having the horses ready, she led the Shadow Flight out of the Palace gates at a gallop, anxious to put it all as far behind her as she could.

 CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Leaving the darkened streets of Salanova for the large plains beyond, Jenevra glanced back at the Palace nestled on the lower slopes of the mountains behind them. It was still brightly lit; obviously the wedding festivities had resumed in full swing. She smiled a little as she saw growing illumination in the south wing upper floor: the Emperor’s suite; and prayed a short blessing under her breath for her sister and Phillip.

The moons were almost half full. Jenevra determined to put some distance between them and the Palace before they stopped to rest, and the Flight swung north behind her; leaving behind the plains of Salanova for the southwestern edge of the pine forests that Jenevra had landed in just a few weeks ago. Just before dawn she called a halt, dismissing the Flight to sleep for a few hours. As they rolled themselves in blankets and cloaks on the springy beds of pine needles accumulating beneath the trees, Jenevra wandered a little apart, taking the first watch of the night along with Finn Corrigan another night owl like herself.

Finn was another of the Trevanntans; like Will Theiss, Gervaise D’Agostino and several others, he had grown up in the north-eastern part of the Empire. Finn and the two Loganssons, twins, came from Kerspoint, the easternmost point of the Marissime Empire, almost isolated by mountains, lakes and the sea. For the most part, people from that region tended to be quiet, industrious; very dependent on each other for comradeship and strangely welcoming to visitors for such insular folk. The Logansson twins were not as quiet as Finn, but they were still no match for the boisterousness of some of the other younger members of the Flight. Finn Corrigan sat high up on a deadfall tree suspended from the ground by falling across two smaller trees, checking through a stuffed quiver for any slight imperfections in the fletching of his arrows. Each arrow was subjected to intense scrutiny as he peered along its length checking for any bending that might affect its flight. He was a tall, lightly built man, with arms and shoulders that spoke of a life-time of pulling his heavy bow; slim featured with surprising green eyes and straight dark hair. Gavin Logansson had told her that Finn sang well, but the rest of the Flight had hardly heard him speak. His skill as an archer was unquestioned though. Jenevra had heard Reiff Pichot boasting about the best archer in the Imperial War Host being in his Flight, and she had felt a despicable pleasure in seeing Finn arrive in her unit. As he inspected his bow for signs of wear on the string, Jenevra walked along the picketed horses, checking their hooves and legs after the long run. Mind whirling, Jenevra knew she wouldn’t sleep that night, so she excused Finn from his watch, assuring him she was perfectly capable of taking her turn. When the Flight woke with the dawn chorus of the birds around them, they found their Captain already working with Bernardo on preparing breakfast. Slowly, they were learning not to be surprised by their new leader.

Although Bortka was considered a separate part of the Empire, it was not a Kingdom in its own right; rather it was a series of Duchies that managed to stay relatively stable. There were natural barriers in the land that probably helped this peaceful co-existence. A spine of mountains ran straight down the middle of Bortka, with rivers flowing out of them, bisecting the remaining areas. As the Flight crossed the Valez River just west of the port of Iskayne, Jenevra called to the native Bortkans among them to lead the way. “Always use those who know the land best” she remembered Dai’Nimh’s lessons clearly. “They know the secret paths, the back routes that no-one else thinks of. You can come and go in a land with barely anyone knowing you have ever been there.”

Derian Ferris was from Iskayne, and knew the area well. He had come from Reiff Pichot’s Flight and had been patrolling the borders for several months now. He’d been quiet so far, but Jenevra knew he had something of a reputation for drinking; not a quiet drunk, but loud and arrogant. A hint of it came through as he rode point; just a little too proud of his new importance. As Ferris gestured imperiously for the Flight to follow him, Brogan, riding at Jenevra’s side, rolled his eyes heavenward. “Between Ferris, Theiss and Tarran Kerr, I don’t know who I’m going to have to hit hardest.”

“That bad?” the princess asked curiously. “Kerr was one of the better climbers. What’s he done that I’ve missed?”

Scratching at his beard, Brogan considered his answer carefully. “I’m not really sure I can put a finger on it, Captain. He’s … odd, I think. There’s just something about him that strikes me as very, very dangerous, in an unpredictable way.”

“You’re all dangerous, Brogan,” Jenevra noted mildly. “Think about the damage Wulfgar could do if we let him loose!”

“That’s just it, Captain. We’d have to order Wulfgar to get angry. Kerr flies off the handle at anything; loses control totally. He nearly took young Sasha’s throat out yesterday, for no good reason.”

“Sasha?”

“Alexander. He’s very quiet. He lost his parents a couple of years ago and only came to join the Imperial army last year. He’s still just settling in, really.” Brogan glanced across at Jenevra. “D’Agostino calls him Sasha, so, of course, it’s stuck.”

She smiled. “Yes, D’Agostino does seem awfully fond of giving other people names, doesn’t he? I think we’ll have to work on one for him.”

“I could think of a few,” Brogan growled.

“So we need to watch those three.” Jenevra mused. “Anything else strike you about the Flight? Anything we need to take care of while we’ve got the freedom?”

Brogan shook his head. “The main thing on my mind right now is making sure that the younger men are all able to defend themselves properly. It’s not an issue for those who’ve been in Flights for more than a year, but we have three that are still fairly inexperienced. I’d hate to see them get hurt simply because they weren’t trained.”

“I agree. Who are we talking about there? Sasha? He was one of my climbers too wasn’t he? What about Simon? I know he was champion in the Border Patrol, but how long was he with you? He’s only young, isn’t he?”

“Twenty-two,” Brogan nodded. “He was so good with his sword we didn’t work him on anything else.” He chuckled suddenly. “Commander Rabenaldt was so determined to beat Captain Pichot he told Simon just to focus on being our sword contender for the tournaments. Of course, the lad’s a natural. I don’t remember seeing anyone that good with a sword since the Commander himself … and without any formal training too.”

“Commander Rabenaldt has a competitive streak?” Jenevra laughed too. “Just wait till we get this Flight back home, Brogan. We have to win everything just so we can watch all of their faces. Of course they’ll complain that I’ve stolen all their best men. Anyway, back to the subject … Sasha, Simon, and who else?”

“Danya, from Vos; he’s twenty four, but another one totally without training. I haven’t seen enough yet to give you any clues as to where Sasha and Danya’s strengths will be, but they’re young, strong and healthy; they’ve got to be good for something.”

“Speaking of healthy, how’s Bernardo doing? I noticed he seems to have appointed himself as cook for this Flight now.”

“Oh, he’s a great cook, Captain. No other Flight eats as well as we did when we’re in the field, because of Bernardo. He knows where to find food and he works miracles with whatever he’s given. The Border Patrol may very well never forgive you for stealing him away!”

“I’m glad he decided to do that. I really didn’t want to lose him from the Flight, but some serious running could stop his breathing totally.”

“Really? I didn’t think it was that bad.” Brogan looked concerned. “He’s never had any problems before.” Brogan and Bernardo were old friends, having served in the Border Patrol together for twenty years each.

“How much running had you done before?” Jenevra asked pointedly. “The whiteness around his nose and lips after we went running is a sign of a serious problem. If we can keep him back with the horses; cooking, keeping weapons, being our quartermaster, he should be fine. I just don’t want him to start feeling useless or left behind. He’s too good a man for that.”

“That’s a very thoughtful view for a Flight Captain.”

She laughed lightly. “I’m not supposed to be playing favorites, Brogan, but who do you think used to sneak me food and teach me what to look for when I followed you and the Border Patrol? There’s nothing you can tell me about Bernardo’s abilities: he’s been looking after me for years without the rest of you knowing about it.”

“Captain!” Derian Ferris was bellowing from some distance ahead.

“Marvelous,” she muttered to Brogan. “We’re trying to sneak through the backwoods of Bortka, and mouth almighty there wants to tell the world!”

Ferris had spotted a large cavern that he’d been looking for where they could camp for the night, and he led the way quietly after Jenevra threatened to remove various appendages with a blunt knife if he drew attention to them like that again.

Jenevra sat out on the ledge outside the cavern, back resting against the mountain. They were still fairly high up, and there was a dark smudge on the horizon where the sea began. From this side of the mountains there was nothing but lowland and sky to be seen, except the dim glow of firelight from the cave. The land lay shadowed in front of her as the sky reached out into a vast canopy of indigo; myriad stars thrown across it like blessings. That was the story she had loved more than any other at the Temple on the Island; how the Creator of all, Tore, the first God, had thrown his blessings out over the world. Some had fallen to earth as people; some remained in the heavens waiting for their time to be born. A falling star always presaged an important birth as it was the great God’s way of letting mankind see his hand at work. Balor, God of night and dreams, cared for each and every soul that resided in the stars, pulling their blankets over them at the end of every night, so that they would not be disturbed by the arrival of his sister Jarina with the bright sun.

Jenevra had loved to hear the Masters’ voices as they recited the lists of stars in their constellations, as they whispered the stories to the night sky. She drew that peace around her as she sat on the edge of the mountain, softly, and rather tunelessly, humming songs from the Island.

As Bernardo served up a hot stew for supper, several of the men moved outside to the ledge to eat. Bryce Baudoin brought a plate out for the princess, sitting on the outer edge to eat his own. Bernardo wandered outside too, mainly to check that the princess was actually eating. He knew she had a tendency to forget about food when she was preoccupied with other things. Clearing his throat loudly, he looked pointedly at the plate as Jenevra tore herself away from contemplating the sky. “Eat … Captain.”

“Nag,” she smiled, picking up a spoon and eating.

“Captain, when are we going to find these raiders—the ones who burned the village?” Dillon Boyd, another Bortkan, sounded worried. “The report said they’d attacked near my village. Shouldn’t we be trying to track them down?”

Jenevra looked at him thoughtfully. Boyd was usually chirpy; a bit of a joker. “Baudoin?” she asked. “Where did that report come from that you dashed into the throne room with?”

Baudoin turned round, leaning back on one elbow. “From some messenger who rode in. I was just coming back from the stables and he sort of fell off his horse onto me. He was quite badly hurt, so I just brought it in to you.”

“Brogan didn’t ask you to bring it in then?”

“No, Captain.”

Setting her plate down, ignoring Bernardo’s glare, Jenevra called into the cave for Brogan. “Who did you ask to bring the message in last night?”

“Well, I asked Kallan to come get us, but everything else happened before he had a chance to.”

“And you didn’t think it odd that Spider brought the message of an attack instead of Kallan?”

Brogan frowned. “No. Why?”

Jenevra swore under her breath. “Baudoin’s report is real! There really has been an attack. And we’re sitting here when we should be riding north to see what’s happened and what we can do about it.” She swore again. “Right, here’s what we do. It’s too late now to do much. Tomorrow, first light, we ride. I want you in front, Dillon. Wulfgar with you, I think. You know the way.”

“Tomorrow, Captain?” Dillon blurted. “Not tonight?”

Jenevra paused taking in Dillon’s anguished expression and relented. No-one should have to wait to find out if their family was safe. “You’re right, Dillon. Sergeant Brogan? Let’s get this Flight back on their horses. We’re heading for Bereznay tonight. Back roads, Dillon. Go discuss the best paths with the others.” Dismissing Dillon to his fellow Bortkans, she turned her attention back to Brogan, who was pacing about, obviously angry with himself. “Forget it, Sergeant! We both missed it. There was too much happening last night for us to get it all in place. We just need to focus on now.” With one last glance at the stars, she silently asked for their blessings to fall on the Shadow Flight as they headed into the night.