Shadows: Book One of the Eligia Shala (38 page)

Shadow Flight rode almost in silence, each of them making mental adjustments for the possibility of battle. Albor hadn’t been a confrontation, nor had the Island. This might be their first real chance to prove themselves as a unit. Jenevra rode at the head of the Flight with Ki-Nimh, Brogan and Baudoin. Tense and focused, her hands were still light on her reins Brogan noted with some satisfaction. They made good time, interspersing flat gallops with periods of walking the horses to conserve them. As twilight began to fall, dimming the warm summer evening to misty lavender, they came to a small copse of trees trailing across a hillside. Bernardo and Bran had ridden back to them, from scouting on ahead; advising that at least one of the forces they were looking for was camped just ahead of them, over the rise.

Jenevra called the Flight to a halt to water the horses at a small stream running down through the tall stand of ash and elder. Moving quietly among the Flight, she gave orders for setting up a dark camp—no fires, no lights of any kind, hidden between the sheltering trees. She spoke with Bernardo, ensuring he would find time to speak to the newer, young members of the Flight, putting them at ease as much as possible. “We both know a certain amount of nervousness is normal,” she noted. “I trust you, Bernardo. Use your own judgment on this one. Keep them close.”

“And you, Captain,” the tall man folded his arms. “How do I keep you close?”

She smiled, wistfully. “I have a job to do.”

“Just don’t go doing anything stupid,” Bernardo added gruffly. “That prince has had the same training as you. Let him fight his own damn battles.”

Patting him on the arm she moved away into the gathering shadows, calling for Spider and Bran to follow her up the long slope. Unbidden, Ki-Nimh and Brogan followed behind them, both unwilling to let the princess out of their sight for too long. They reached the top fairly quickly, the ground becoming suddenly steeper and rockier; requiring more scrambling than walking. Staying low, the three crawled the last few feet to peer over the crest of the hillside. Jenevra rolled her eyes at the arrival of Kian and Brogan, but said nothing.

A low broad valley lay before them; long grassy slopes of waving rye grass leading to a small river threading across the floor in a silvery ribbon. The trees Shadow Flight were camped in continued threading their way over the rise to the left of their current position, peering around the edges of the valley. A sprawling encampment lay between them and the river, cooking fires plainly visible even through the light mist that was settling along the low banks of the river; but, as far as they could see, only one group.

“Maybe Prince Mikhail hasn’t reached here yet?” Spider suggested.

Jenevra frowned. “I don’t know,” she said, doubtfully. “Raik’s scouts suggested that Misha would be at this area first.” She hesitated briefly before turning to Ki-Nimh. “It doesn’t feel like we’ve missed anything. What do you think?”

Ki-Nimh shook his head. “I don’t think so, Nimh’a. There’s no smell of battle. Do you get any sense of it, Sergeant?”

Brogan agreed with him. “No sign of a fight anywhere I can see.” He looked across at Kian and Jenevra. “Any chance this Jai-Nimh could have just overwhelmed them?”

“It’s possible,” Kian conceded, cracking his knuckles absently. “We don’t know what size force Misha set out with, and if this is Jai-Nimh’s…”

“Only one way to find out who’s down there then.” Jenevra unbuckled the Spirit Sword, handing it over to Brogan who was spluttering objections. “Don’t start, Brogan. I can get in and out of there without anyone seeing me. I know who and what I’m looking for. Spider, keep these for me.” She handed over her twin swords. “No point taking them; they wouldn’t be a lot of use against an army that size anyway.” Five other knives appeared from various places which she deposited with Spider too. She pulled her black jacket off, revealing a thin silk shirt of the same color.

“You can’t go down there unarmed!” Spider hissed.

“Unarmed?” She grinned at him. “I’ve got everything I need on me. Trust me.” Before they could stop her she’d slithered over the top of the hill and was moving quietly down through the rock on the other side.

Brogan was mumbling every curse word he could think of under his breath.

Ki-Nimh placed a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry, Sergeant. If anyone can get in and out, it’s her.”

“And if she doesn’t? What happens then? You do realize Commander Rabenaldt will have us all strung up by the balls, don’t you?”

“She’ll be fine. Have a little faith man. She knows what she’s doing.”

Watching the sentries from the long damp grass, Jenevra lay still and silent for a long time, observing their movements. A simple pattern, she thought; obviously Jai-Nimh hadn’t established his usually perfectionist tendencies over the whole army. Sliding through the long grass like a breath of wind she positioned herself nearest to a spot shadowed by the hill and waited for the sentries to move to their furthest points away. Once past them she used the tents to cover her progress through the camp; dying fires providing enough light to find her way while also helpfully throwing shadows that she simply became part of. It quickly became apparent that the bulk of this army was of Diruthian origin as she heard the accent time and again as she slipped through the camp. Narrowing her eyes she thought back to Ki-Nimh’s revelation that Jai-Nimh was related to the royal house of Diruthia. It still didn’t explain his defection from the Order though, and she gnawed at the idea like a hangnail.

At the center of the camp were several large tents. One was emblazoned with the coat of arms she’d etched into her memory … the arms on the buttons from Albor: the arms of the Count of Fetu-Vallis. Even as she began to move towards the tent she stopped, knowing anger and impatience were clouding her judgment. Taking several long slow breaths to counter the vicious pain now welling up from the talisman, and to refocus, she waited, listening. Sentries surrounded the largest tent where there were lights and voices, but not the others. The tent opened, revealing Prince Cieren of Diruthia, leaving and heading for his own tent. Before the tent closed Jenevra thought she saw Jai-Nimh, always distinctive even on the Island by his preference for a shaved head; the only one of them not to have worn a braid. Making a simple deduction Jenevra reasoned that the remaining large tent must belong to another leader. She was completely unprepared to see Mikhail Dhorani emerge from Jai-Nimh’s tent and move purposefully into that last one; apparently quite at ease with his current company and certainly not under any guard that she could see.

She paused in the shadows, pondering what it might mean: obviously, in a camp of this size, there was little point in his trying to fight his way out of it, but he hadn’t looked as though he was feeling threatened. Her mind twitched through several uncomfortable thoughts: Cieren was Misha’s brother-in-law now, and Jai-Nimh was Cieren’s father’s uncle. Cieren and Misha had been together at Misha’s wedding. But why were they both here now with Jai-Nimh? Maybe Misha had just responded to Jai-Nimh as a Senior Master; after all Misha didn’t know about the massacre on the Island.

Pushing useless speculation aside, Jenevra crept around until she reached the back of Misha’s tent, waiting silently, patiently, until she heard him settling onto his bed. Like a wisp of smoke she slid underneath the heavy canvas walls of the tent. The dim light from a small oil lamp sputtered in one corner of the tent, throwing dark shadows over the furthest corners. Reaching out to place a hand over Misha’s mouth she froze, feeling the cold touch of a blade at her throat.

“Misha? It’s me.”

“I know.” The blade pushed her back, maintaining its pressure.

Slowly and easily she sat back on her heels. “You don’t need that, Misha.”

“Don’t I?” Jenevra had never heard Misha’s voice so cold.

“Not with me, Misha. Never with me: you know that. What’s wrong?”

“What do you want, Jenna?” Misha’s tone was bland, indifferent. He sat on the edge of his bed, still holding his knife against Jenevra’s throat as she knelt in front of him. The hazel-green eyes she knew so well were flat and hard as jade.

“I came to help you. At least that was the plan. Didn’t you get my warning?”

“Help me? How? Why? What makes you think I want help? And why would I need it from a traitor like you?” The edge of the razor-sharp knife dug into her skin, drawing blood. Misha could see her face clearly, the faint glow from the lamp throwing shadows around her familiar form. Striking like a snake he lunged forward, one hand closing tightly around her throat as the back of her head hit the floor hard. His tone changed, suddenly becoming almost anguished. “Why, Jenna? Was it just ambition?”

“What in the gods’ names are you talking about?” she gasped as she writhed under his choking grasp, trying to unbend her legs from underneath her; unable to believe this was really Misha. Never in all her nightmares would she have dreamed she would need to defend against Misha; against the one person she had thought she could always trust–and yet here she was for the third time since leaving the Island trying to stop him. Everything she thought she knew was unraveling around her.

“Jai-Nimh’s told me everything, Jenna—everything. How could you? Still, I suppose you always were Ki-Nimh’s pet. Is that why you didn’t want me? Why have the student when you can have the Master?”

“What?” One arm still pinned underneath her Jenevra writhed trying to free it, unable yet to pull his hand away from her neck as he leaned forward onto her heavily. As his free hand began tearing at her shirt, for the first time a cold wave of anger touched her, and trained reaction swept in. Twisting viciously, wrenching her arm and legs free, Jenevra broke his hold on her throat, pushing away and springing to her feet; slim bladed knife appearing in her hand. “I don’t know what Jai-Nimh’s told you, Misha, but he’s lying,” she whispered harshly. “Ki-Nimh and I went to the Island. They’re all dead, Misha … every last one of them. We’re the only ones left.” She spoke low and fast. “Jai-Nimh did that, Misha. He executed them: everyone from the newest novice to Dai-Nimh. He wants the talismans. That’s why he wants you with him. He’ll kill you for it.”

“Jai-Nimh executed them and wants to kill me?” Misha’s mouth twisted scornfully, as he held his talisman up to her. “So how is it that I’m still here? Not dead, Jenna, and with Jai-Nimh. How is it that I’m still alive, and you’re the one holding a knife on me?”

Jenna put her fingers to her neck, pulling them away, glancing pointedly at the blood on them. “I’m not the one who drew metal first … who broke our Oath, Misha.” She looked into his face, a cold knot forming in her stomach as she saw madness hovering in the flat jade eyes. “I can prove it to you.”

“How?”

“The talismans. I can show you what I saw on the Island.”

Misha laughed, scornfully.

Jenevra felt sick inside. She didn’t want to go near him again, but she knew there were few options left to her. “Then you take hold of my talisman, Misha. I won’t even touch it. You pull the memory.” She held her own arms out wide.

Misha shook his head. “If you’re as innocent as you claim, come with me to see Jai-Nimh. Make whatever peace you can with him.”

Sensing now that it was almost totally futile, Jenevra lowered her arms. “I can’t allow my talisman anywhere near him, Misha. He already has Dai-Nimh’s. Soon he’ll have yours. I can’t let him take this one too.” Taking a step closer to Misha, she reached up gently, touching his cheek with her fingers. She tried one last time, still not understanding the bizarre changes that seemed to have overtaken Misha since she had left the Island. “Come on, Misha. You know how hard Jai-Nimh tried to get me thrown out of the Order. Why would you trust him now? You know me better than that. Misha, please come with me, before he kills you too. Leave with me now. Trust me!”

She thought she saw a flicker of something in his eyes, but it was gone as quickly as it had come. He slapped her hand away, bringing his own across to back-fist her across the face, knocking her to her knees. “He told me you’d try that. But you deserted me, Jenna; you betrayed our bond. You could have asked the Emperor to override my marriage to Artela. He’s your cousin; he’d do anything for you. But you wouldn’t. You don’t care about me. You never did. It was all an act: a way to get through your training with my help. I should never have trusted you.”

Turning his back on her, Misha opened the tent and called quietly to the sentries. She was gone before they could respond, striding directly through the camp. Most of the men were asleep; but there was as much danger now in taking her time with stealth as there would be in just getting out of the camp as quickly as possible. Her progress was uneventful until she reached the final ring of sentries around the camp. A tough looking soldier, fairly young, challenged her. “No-one leaves the camp,” he growled.

Jenevra took several steps closer to him, until she was standing in enough light for him to recognize that she wasn’t a soldier—or at least not one like he’d ever seen. She gave him a glance of pure invitation, sliding her hands up onto his chest.

Lust overcoming all his reason as he glimpsed the promise of the body underneath the torn silk shirt, the soldier followed her into the shadow of the hillside. It was the last poor decision he would ever make.

 CHAPTER THIRTY ONE

The moons were sinking when she finally slithered back down the slope to the Flight’s camp, sliding down the last few stony feet of the hillside to where Spider and Bran were waiting with her swords and jacket. Washing most of the guard’s blood off in the small stream, she tried to ignore their questioning glances. “Where are Brogan and Ki-Nimh?” she asked.

“Commander Rabenaldt arrived and sent for them—and you.” Spider told her. “That’s not yours is it?” He nodded at the blood she was rinsing off.

“Just some idiot guard. How long ago did they leave?” She caught Spider’s look of concern and gave him a rueful grin. “Honestly, you’re all turning into Brogan and Bernardo on me.” Disappearing once more into the trees, dragging her jacket over her shirt to hide the rips, pulling hair from her braid loose around her face, she set off to report to the men gathered with Raik.

“Well?” Raik demanded as she sank onto the ground next to Ki-Nimh, in the low light provided by the fire pit, hair falling thickly around her.

“Misha’s there.” Her face was pale, but she showed nothing as she said it.

“What?” Brogan looked totally perplexed.

“He’s with them: and Prince Cieren too. Looks like Misha and Cieren came up together from Abalos-Colles to meet Jai-Nimh. Jai-Nimh told him that Ki-Nimh and I are responsible for what happened at the Island; and Misha, apparently, believes Jai-Nimh rather than me.” There was an angry undertone to her voice.

“Right, so what else did you find out?” Commander Rabenaldt rubbed a weary hand over his face.

Jenevra filled them in on the details of the camp; estimated number of soldiers and their likely experience; and most of the conversational details of her encounter with Misha, but left out the physical elements, knowing the reactions she would have to face. “You’re taking this a lot better than I thought you would,” she noted as Raik sat quietly.

“Being around you is like swimming in freezing water, Jenn. After a while, you just get numb. So, what else?”

She shrugged, tugging at a lock of hair across her face; twisting the long chestnut strands around her finger absently. “Nothing really. I suppose the only way to challenge them is that they have an army on Empire territory?”

Raik nodded, doubtfully. “The Emperor won’t like it. We can’t afford to have wars with two of our client Kings at the same time, and Aleksander and Corros hold the two largest territories.”

“Aleksander may not know what’s going on,” Baran Wargentin offered his opinion. Jenevra had been pleased to see this older brother of Conall arrive with his own personal guard, along with her brother, Stephan (who had torn himself away from Princess Allegra). Of a similarly huge build to Stephan, Baran had a reputation as a strong warrior, and seemed willing to accept Jenevra’s role far more readily than most.

“You think Mikhail’s acting independently?” Mikyle Manvi asked. “Maybe even against his father’s orders?”

“Could be,” Baran said. “Aleksander may have some issues, but he’s totally committed to the Empire. He made that very clear when we were at the wedding: even argued with Corros about it.”

“So Corros was speaking out against the Empire?” Raik queried. “Interesting.”

“Not the Empire exactly so much as the Couressimes,” Baran clarified. “Whatever his reasons, it seems to be a personal thing.”

“Look, couldn’t Ki-Nimh and I just go?” Jenevra asked. “The two of us can challenge the two of them? Just keep it within the Order so there’s no need to involve the political side of it.”

“There’s no way they would agree to that. It’s too even. All they have to do for now is sit there until we make a move. Then they can legitimately blame us for starting it.” Blaise Tessier spoke for the first time. He’d been listening quietly to everything, rubbing the deep bruise on his face where Jenevra had punched him. She had very obviously been trying to avoid looking at him, until now.

“How d’you work that out? They’re the ones sitting in Maressia with an army. At least we should try it. It’s the talismans he’s after anyway, and there has to be a reason why he’s left Misha with his so far.” Jenevra didn’t see any point in telling them that Jai-Nimh’s quest for the talismans was his path to her: she would deal with that issue when it was necessary. “And Phillip will find a way to work with whatever we do.”

“That’s true,” Raik conceded, rising to his feet. “Maybe we should just tell them to pack up and go home then.”

“Now you’re talking. Let’s go then!” Jenevra bounced up and away from the fire.

“Nimh’a!” Ki-Nimh’s voice cracked loudly, halting her in her tracks.

The men around the fire grinned as they heard a muffled curse from the princess.

Head down, she stood waiting reluctantly for her mentor to catch up.

Ki-Nimh stalked across to her, obviously deeply angry about something.

Sensing something afoot, the other men strained their ears trying to listen to the hushed argument taking place underneath the dark eaves of the small forest. Frustratingly, all they could hear were the two voices muttering indistinctly.

“Misha wouldn’t even listen to me!” Jenevra said plaintively. “I even offered him the chance to use my talisman to see the truth for himself … but he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t trust me.” Her voice choked. “How could he not trust me, Ki-Nimh?”

“What are you hiding?” Ki-Nimh folded his arms, gazing sternly at her.

“What? Nothing.” She mumbled, avoiding his eyes.

“Really? This is how you usually wear your hair is it?” He reached out and pushed a heavy fall back over her shoulder, showing him livid bruise marks already appearing along her neck and on her cheek. “How did this happen?” Ki-Nimh’s face darkened. “Not Misha?”

Recollection flooded her face, giving him the answer. “He didn’t mean—”

“What’s going on, Kian?” Raik strode up, determined to see what the intense discussion was about. “Anything we need to know before tomorrow?”

“No!” Jenevra’s eyes pleaded with Ki-Nimh.

“Yes, I think so, Commander. But I also think this would be better discussed in the light, so we can see what we’re dealing with.” Kian took a firm hold on Jenevra’s arm.

With Raik glowering at her Jenevra didn’t feel that fighting them both would be a good idea. But she did balk at the sight of the others still standing around by the fire. “Oh no, not them too,” she groaned, pink with embarrassment.

Slightly sensitive to her discomfort, Raik dismissed everyone except Brogan and they took their discussion inside Raik’s tent. The second version Jenevra told them of the evening’s events was much closer to the truth, although still not entirely comprehensive as she kept Misha’s accusations of the relationship between Ki-Nimh and her unreported. Exactly as she had anticipated, the three men erupted in rage.

“I’ll kill him myself!” Raik swore as he pushed her hair back to check the bruising on her neck. “Where’s this blood from, Jenn?” He pulled the high collar of her jacket to one side, the lamplight revealing the gash Misha’s knife had made.

“That’s the second time he’s hurt you like that, Captain,” Brogan growled.

“Misha used
metal
against you?” Ki-Nimh’s normally calm voice raised in such utter outrage it caused Brogan and Raik to halt in surprise. “He broke his Oath? Then he has forfeited his place in the Order.” He gave Jenevra a coldly assessing gaze. “You know that, Nimh’a. Did you bring his talisman back?”

She shook her head, jaw tightly clenched, lowering her eyes to the ground. She knew exactly what she should have done, according to the Order’s rules.

“He used metal against you, and you left him with his head, with Jai-Nimh, and with both talismans?” Ki-Nimh slammed his hands on the table, absolutely furious. “Nimh’a, you know your duty. And you even offered up your own talisman?”

“But he didn’t take it, Ki-Nimh. He could have done. He could have killed me, but he didn’t. He could have handed me over to Jai-Nimh, but he didn’t. That has to count for something. Even Dai-Nimh would have said so.” Jenevra’s whole being was pleading with her mentor for understanding. “By the time it happened, I had to get out of there before he called the whole camp up. And Misha broke his Oath a long time ago, Ki-Nimh; when he challenged me on the night I was invested. You didn’t object then!”

“I chose to sanction that, Nimh’a. Although the challenge was not something I approved of, it still gave you a chance to prove yourself as Protector. I hope you’re not feeling so sentimental tomorrow, Nimh’a—or so protective of Misha.” Ki-Nimh responded coldly. “He’s outcast now. We have to take that talisman back, whoever has it. And if he won’t give it up willingly …”

“Assuming none of us gets to him first.” Brogan observed, still angry. “You should have let us deal with him last time. I thought you said you were armed?”

“I was.”

“So why did you let him—”

“It’s called trust, Sergeant,” she flared. “Not that I actually expect any of you to understand that, but I trusted him. I expected him to keep to the same ideals I have. I won’t make that mistake again!” Wrapping her arms tightly around herself, Jenevra stormed off, heading back towards her own Flight.

In the misty quiet of early morning, with the Flight in place on the far left flank of the Imperial force, Jenevra cantered back along the line towards the group of Imperial Commander, Princes and officers.

Jai-Nimh, Prince Cieren of Diruthia and Prince Mikhail of Abalos-Colles were arrayed at the front of their troops, with a small contingent of officers, waiting for some sign from the Imperial side.

At Raik’s signal, a herald rode forward under a flag of truce, declaiming the Emperor’s wish for a peaceful resolution in a voice that could be heard by both sides. He called on the Commanders to approach to discuss terms.

Jenevra hung back just slightly, allowing Raik and Richard move ahead. Captain Tessier pulled his mount in beside her, noting her collar was unusually high and fastened, and the bruise on her face. Knowing that this was somehow linked to the raised voices in Raik’s tent the night before, Tessier decided, wisely, not to raise the issue with the princess. “Aren’t you even going to apologize for hitting me?” he asked.

“No,” she replied tersely, busily winding some red cords around her wrists, using her teeth to finish tying them off. “You deserved it.”

“Of course I did,” he said cheerfully. “But that doesn’t mean you couldn’t feel just a little bit sorry for hurting me does it?”

Without thinking she turned to snap at him, but that was it: he only had to wiggle his eyebrows at her to start a reluctant smile crossing her face. “Oh, dammit, Tessier,” she muttered. “Can’t you just leave me alone and go play with your Flight?”

“When I have you here, princess? Don’t be silly. You’re far more fun … even when you don’t play nicely.” He rubbed at his jaw again, mouth twitching in mirth as he watched her trying to contain her annoyance. “Especially when you don’t play nicely!”

Baran Wargentin rode alongside them, his long blond hair waving behind him in the light breeze that was lifting the last of the low mist. “My dear princess, I think you may have met your match. I told Conall he wouldn’t be able to handle you, but I think Tessier here just might.”

“Thank you for that observation, Your Highness,” Jenevra replied, frostily. “Although I’m sure your brother and I could have worked something out. He is, apparently, the brains of the family.” She kicked her horse forward to join her brother and the Imperial High Commander as they drew near Jai-Nimh.