Shadows: Book One of the Eligia Shala (34 page)

 CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

Barely resigned to Misha’s marriage, Princess Jenevra Couressime was decidedly unwilling to witness his wife, Artela’s, triumphant emergence from the Bridal chamber the morning following their wedding. Having already set plans in motion to leave Abalos-Colles early, she paced the courtyard of the Abaleine palace, anxiously hoping to leave before seeing Misha again.

An invitation to hunt in Lorthia had been endorsed enthusiastically by King Caddoc at his younger son, Conall’s instigation, but it was Baran Wargentin, Caddoc’s older son, who led the contingent of younger royals away from the Abaleine court mid-morning; escorted by half of the Lorthian guard and Jenevra’s own Shadow Flight. Baran’s heavily pregnant wife had remained in Lorthia, so his early departure from the wedding celebrations was understandable.

Jenevra’s presence in the group had also allowed Princess Allegra to join them, much to her delight, and she rode alongside Stephan and Jenevra looking totally thrilled at the unexpected freedom.

Ki-Nimh had sent word for the Order’s ship to meet them on the north coast of Lorthia by the end of the week, but had not received any confirmation; which was unusual but not unheard of. He was growing anxious about the incident that had incapacitated Jenna and Misha so badly and wanted to talk to their Master about it. No communication had come through the talismans to call them to the Island, and they still didn’t know why everyone else had been summoned. Ki-Nimh knew that Jenevra would benefit from a day or two back amid the peacefulness of the Island too.

The ride from Kansk to Lorthia was a particularly scenic one, long rolling hills of waving green grass, huge rolling rivers with the Abanis mountain range to the far south. The skies were clear as they headed into summer, the temperature mild. The whole company was in good spirits as they cantered across the Plains of Abanos. As they crossed over the border into Lorthia they moved up along the path of the Great Hern River, deep and dark, spilling over itself in swirling rapids and cataracts as it fell down towards Abalos-Colles from the high Lorthian Lakes. The air chilled slightly as they began to ride higher. The Bastryk Mountains rose tall and stark on their right; some of the highest peaks anywhere in the Empire were contained in that range and Jenevra and Spider Baudoin stood side by side, looking longingly at them.

Baran Wargentin stood by them, his deep voice naming the mountains as they were known locally. “The peak out to the far right, the one on its own, they call Solitude. The tall thin one, there,” he pointed to a mountain that looked as though it had been sheared in two at some point in time. “That’s Timoris … fear. I suppose because it’s supposed to be terrifying to climb, all those sheer faces.” He shrugged, obviously not a climber.

“Don’t tell them that, Your Highness,” Brogan joined them, pulling his cloak over his uniform against the chill air. “If there’s one thing guaranteed to make them want to climb a mountain, it’s to hear that it’s difficult.”

Baran beamed, a hugely toothy grin that made Jenevra smile too whenever she saw it, it was so completely overwhelming; just like Baran. “Then you want that one, Princess.” He pointed to the largest mountain they could see, whose top was lost in cloud. “We call that one Mortis … death.”

“Oh gods!” Brogan clapped his hand to his head. “Why did you tell them that?”

Spider and Jenevra were looking at each other questioningly, an irrepressible excitement in their eyes. Taking a step forward they looked up at the mountain again. “Prince Baran,” Jenevra began eagerly. “How long would it take to get to Mortis from here?”

Baran’s smile faded slightly. “How long? Your Highness isn’t seriously thinking of trying to climb Mortis?” One look at her face convinced him otherwise. “Oh, well, it’s a good two days ride from here to the base of the mountain.”

“Two days? It’s that far away?” Jenevra glanced disbelievingly at Baudoin. “D’you realize how big that thing must really be?” The gaze they were giving the mountain became almost reverent.

“No time, Captain,” Brogan broke the spell. “We don’t have time to waste getting to a mountain, that’s before you’ve even begun going up it.”

“You’re spoiling all my fun, Sergeant.” Jenevra glared at him. “Which one is nearest, Baran?”

Baran nodded his head towards a point on the mountain range which seemed to come out almost in front of them. “We’ll pass within half a day of Khadne, the storm mountain. We could make it there without too much trouble.”

“We don’t have time.” Jenevra hadn’t heard Ki-Nimh come up behind them.

“But it wouldn’t take long: just a day. We could call it training.”

Ignoring that, Ki-Nimh signaled to her that he wanted to talk away from the others. “Has anything else happened with the talisman yet?”

Jenevra shook her head. “No, it’s really quiet; has been since we left Kansk.”

“What do you mean ‘quiet’, Nimh’a? What’s different?” He looked intently at her. “Try to think about how it feels, it may be important.”

“It’s not like noise, Ki-Nimh; not really,” she tried to explain the curious sensation the talisman gave her. “It’s more of a feeling. You know that buzzing feeling you get when you hit something wrong with a sword … the one that goes all the way through you? Well, it’s sort of like a really light version of that all the time: as though you can almost feel the life of all the Nimhin within the stone. But the last day or so it’s been really faint. I can barely feel anything, whereas when we were at Mirizir I could feel it quite strongly. I know Misha could too, but it was often stronger when Misha was around.” She stopped, a shadow crossing her face. Shaking it off, she looked at her mentor. “What do you think it means, Ki-Nimh?”

He shook his head, frowning slightly. “I don’t know, Nimh’a; but I think we need to get to the Island as soon as we can. I’m not getting a good feeling about this. Dai-Nimh should have let us know by now if he wanted us back on the Island, yet neither of you have heard anything. Maybe it hit you both too hard the first time; disrupted the contact.”

“No, I’ve felt it since then. It usually gives me a sense of when something is dangerous, and I don’t have that now.” Suddenly thoughtful, she murmured almost to herself, “And that doesn’t make sense either.”

Ki-Nimh looked at her sharply, “What doesn’t make sense? This isn’t the time for secrets. If something changes, or something feels wrong, you need to let me know.”

“Whenever Misha was near me, I had a strong sense of danger. The talisman gives me a feeling that is almost painful, in my head,” she tapped her fingers on her forehead. “I talked to Misha about it, and we thought it was probably because he is quite dangerous.”

“But …” Ki-Nimh prompted.

Jenevra frowned. “So why aren’t I getting the same warning from the talisman now? You’re just as dangerous as Misha, if not more so. Maybe it
was
Corros, he was there too,” she mused.

“Let’s just wait and see,” Ki-Nimh rested one hand on her shoulder. “We’re heading for Liotchka, so just tell me if anything changes with the talisman. As soon as we can get to the Island for some answers, we will.”

As promised, Admiral Massili had arrived at the Lorthian Court just a day ahead of the royal party. Well-used to the annual visits of the flamboyant seaman, the Lorthian High Steward had taken care of him pending the return of the King and his family. Typically, Rafael had made himself quite at home, and the large party arrived in time to save Baran’s wife, Clera, from yet another hour of the Admiral’s reminiscences. Overwhelming relief flooded her face as she saw them all entering the main hall, and she hurried to greet them, wincing as she heard Rafael roar with delight at the sight of the new guests. Introduced to the Imperial Princess for the first time, Clera took to her straight away; Jenevra’s easy manners overcoming any qualms about rank that might have lingered, especially as Clera swiftly noted that neither Conall nor Baran stood on ceremony with any of the Imperial Party.

The Lorthian Palace was quite different from any of the others Jenevra had visited. It was far less a Palace and much more an extremely elaborate, huge hunting lodge. Constructed almost entirely from wood, it was warm and cozy, with a smell that reminded Jenevra of the forests of Northern Maressia; a mix of spruce and cedar that seemed to permeate everywhere. The ceilings were high with intricate carvings along rafters and gables, the various woods reflecting in warm pools of light from candles in highly polished surfaces. Tapestries and rugs in rich colors added another multihued layer of cheerfulness to the atmosphere. Unlike the sterile white marble of the Imperial Palace in Salanova, above all the Lorthian Palace felt like a home.

The Flight joined the Princes and the Admiral for their hunting sessions in the nearby forests over the next couple of days; supplying the evening tables with plenty of fresh game.

Jenevra and Allegra elected to stay with Clera. Hunting held no particular thrill for Jenevra, so it was no hardship to keep the pregnant woman company. Although Clera and Allegra were both several years older than Jenevra, they all shared a similarly sharp sense of humor, and they were both fascinated by the younger Princess’s training and outlook on life; so very different from their own. It was during one of these conversations that Jenevra discovered the curious connection between Prince Baran and Captain Tessier—they were brothers-in-law. Clera was Tessier’s younger sister; both of them belonging to a Ducal family just north of the Lorthian border with Maressia. The boys, Baran and Tessier, had known each other for years, and the families were very close. Jenevra realized, with a slight tinge of guilt, that she had never taken the time to really find out who half the people were that she’d met at the Imperial Court, and made a mental note to herself to pay more attention to the details.

When Odilia and Caddoc returned from the wedding, the young Queen joined them too, while King Caddoc joined his sons, and his old friend, Massili out on the hunt.

Still, there was no word from the ship used by the Order.

Ki-Nimh’s normally iron control was wearing thin; asking Jenevra about three times an hour if there was any change in the talisman, until she finally rounded on him. “Ki-Nimh, if you ask me that one more time Baudoin and I are going to disappear back to that mountain where you won’t be able to get to me! If you think we need to go to the Island that desperately, ask Admiral Massili if he can take us there.”

“We don’t know the way. The only one who knows the way is the ship’s captain, you know that.”

“But we could find it, couldn’t we?”

“How do you propose we do that?” He glared at her, exasperated.

She held the talisman up on its chain. “Couldn’t we use this?”

Kian’s long fingers rubbed his chin. “How?”

Screwing her face up a little, Jenevra thought it out aloud. “Well, if we assume that the feeling I get from it is connected to the Order, and the Order are all on the Island … wouldn’t it be reasonable to assume that I could sort of use the talisman in reverse, to find them, rather than for them to contact me?”

“I don’t know, Nimh’a,” he admitted. “What would we track? You said it’s been quiet. Can you get anything at all from it?”

“Not much,” she said. “But maybe it would be clearer out at sea; closer to the Island. I mean, we know roughly where it is, it would just be a case of homing in once we get near.”

“It’s worth a try, Nimh’a.”

That was when she understood how worried Ki-Nimh truly was.

Later that afternoon, when the hunters returned, tired, thirsty and successful, Jenevra made a beeline for Rafael Massili. “I need to discuss something with you, Admiral,” she stated formally. Dressed in her charcoal version of the Imperial army’s formal blue uniform, and with the Spirit Sword belted around her waist, she was obviously back in official Protector mode.