Shadows: Book One of the Eligia Shala (44 page)

“Not my fault, gentlemen,” she shook her head, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “All I asked for were men with no families. I just took what I was given. You all have so many men in your Flights. In fact, Captain Manvi, you have more men to choose from than any of us. Surely you can come up with enough competition for my twenty two? Or is it just that you don’t believe in training them?”

“Touché, Princess,” Baran laughed. “But I think in the interests of fairness I should bring my Guard to join your Flight for the games, just to even the numbers up slightly. Don’t you agree Tessier?”

“I’m sure I have absolutely no opinion on the subject Your Highness,” Tessier didn’t even meet his gaze.

“If we could get back to the games?” Raik’s tone brooked no further interruption, and the next hour or so was spent planning the events that would take place over the next day and a half. Following the games, each of the Captains would have a new assignment. Jenevra already knew she would take Ki-Nimh back to Mirizir, although she was mildly surprised to hear Baran offer to ride south with her Flight at least as far as the Menzetti estates.

“Actually, Your Highness, I had intended to ask you to return to the Imperial Palace with some dispatches for me, if it wouldn’t inconvenience you too much?” Raik declined his offer coolly. “I’m certain His Majesty the Emperor will have messages for your Lord Father. I thought I’d send Captain Tessier down to Mirizir. He has a small unit and can move faster to rejoin his Flight after that.”

“Don’t know why you all think I need a keeper,” Jenevra grumbled, irritated. Chancing a glimpse under her eyelashes at Tessier she caught a worrying gleam of satisfaction in his eyes.

“I hate to disappoint you, Commander,” Baran said. “But I really do need to return to Lorthia. My wife will be having our next child fairly soon, and my life won’t be worth living if I’m not back in time.”

Accepting reluctantly his lack of control over Baran’s actions, Raik moved swiftly on through the other assignments. Captain Manvi would move south through Southern Maressia, Jantara and Abalos-Colles. Stephan, in favor of any move that would bring him back to Princess Allegra, quickly announced that he would remain with Manvi’s Flight, and Richard elected to stay with his brother. Shadow Flight was assigned to Trevannta after Mirizir, and Captain Tessier’s Flight would head to northern Bortka and the Diruthian border. Satisfied with the arrangements, Raik dismissed his Captains to prepare their Flights for the games.

Shadow Flight was ecstatic at the prospect of games between the Flights. They knew that Finn Corrigan had out-shot everyone for the last five years, and Simon had almost taken the title of Swordsman last year. As Simon’s skills had improved during his short time in the Shadow Flight, they were hopeful of at least two of the more coveted titles being brought home to this new Flight, giving them some serious status among the other Imperial Flights. Wulfgar was a strong contender for several events, and Kallan Bana seemed promising for some riding skills. Gavin Logansson had asked to be excused from watching the games. He looked tired and pale; much like the Captain, Brogan thought to himself as he stood with her watching the Flight warm up with sword drills. Gavin had requested that Logan be buried back at the Palace Barracks. There was a small cemetery there that had been used for several centuries for warriors from the Border Patrol. “Not that he wasn’t proud to be part of this Flight, Brogan,” Gavin had explained. “But we were Border Patrol for a lot longer.”

Jenevra had been happy to agree to this, asking Gavin only if they could hang Logan’s sword back in their barracks. “That way we never forget those who fought with us.”

As midday came, bright and breezy, the heralds sent out a brassy call for the games to begin: summoning all of the Flights, or portions thereof, to the field. Baran Wargentin, true to his word, rode his personal Guard down to join the Shadow Flight at the far end of the field, joining Jenevra as she stood watching the events. “How are you feeling?” He asked quietly. “You look terrible.”

“Thanks,” she returned, wryly; wrapping her cloak closer. “I’m just really tired, and a bit cold.”

Baran squinted at the sun high overhead. It wasn’t cold at all, although, he reasoned, maybe the cold and wet from the previous night had given her a chill. He suggested it to her only to be met with a look of blazing indignation. “I’m never sick!”

“I think you might be now,” Baran said, pushing a damp strand of chestnut hair away from her face as a cover for touching her forehead. “You’re burning up.” His eyes were concerned. “You should go see the healer again.”

“Baran, I’ll be fine; stop fussing.” She pulled the cloak off, as if to make a point, but Baran could see bright patches on her cheeks that had nothing to do with his presence there.

Brogan, whose suspicious instincts had kicked into high gear when Prince Baran arrived to conspiratorial nods from Spider and Finn, was also concerned about his Captain. He too had noticed that the princess was looking decidedly under the weather, and had mentioned his concerns to Bernardo. “Something’s going on that we don’t know about, my friend, and I don’t like it one bit. Something’s wrong.”

The afternoon wore on and, as expected, Simon and Finn brought the two most prestigious titles back to the Flight. Wulfgar barely lost to another giant of a man from Mikyle Manvi’s Flight in the wrestling matches; and the newly arrived Sasha proved to be highly capable with a knife, out-throwing many more experienced men from all units. He was a quiet young man, totally thrilled that the older men of the Flight were congratulating him: it was as if he felt he had finally passed some sort of unspoken test. When Jenevra clapped him on the shoulder and offered her congratulations, he turned red, but still managed to ask shyly if she was going to enter the foot races. All the Flight was unanimous in adding their voices to the idea, but she declined, commenting that it wouldn’t be fair to depress that many men in one afternoon. Just then Baran was called to take part in a sword demonstration with one of the men from his Guard, and Jenevra was able to ignore D’Agostino’s comments on the subject under pretence of giving her undivided attention to the Prince.

Spider took advantage of Baran’s absence to ask her quietly if she needed anything: startled when she asked him to go ask the healers for a handful of laowenton leaves.

“Just tell them we need a small store for our supplies,” she told him. “Tell them Bernardo sent you for the Flight. Don’t mention my name.”

Spider returned quickly with bad news. “Healer Wynn said to tell you he’s not giving you any: if it’s that bad, you should be in bed. He said he wants to see you later, Captain.” Spider gave her a veiled look of sympathy as she pulled a face. “Something about telling you to rest, and not following instructions?”

As the day lengthened, the location for the activities changed, heading towards the evening’s ceremonies for the fallen. The few dead not of the Border Patrol had been taken to the beach where Jenevra and Misha had fought the night before: a huge pyre having been built for them. Jenevra drew a sharp breath as vivid memories of the previous evening assaulted her mind. Physically and emotionally exhausted now, she sat on her horse for a long moment, gazing with unseeing, burning eyes at the sea, hearing only the pounding of the waves and smelling the sharp tang of salt in the air. Unthinkingly she threw her leg over the front of her saddle, sliding down from her horse into Baran’s waiting arms, as he tried to stop her stretching and tearing open the wounds she’d received on that very shore. The images played in her mind almost as if she was back in the night before, the sounds of the swords connected through the talismans singing through her head again.

A group of officers had gathered near the pyre, and there seemed to be a lot of discussion going on. Baran was just going to send Finn to find out what was happening; a horrid suspicion building in his mind; when Richard Couressime strode up to them.

“Jenn—” Putting his hands on her shoulders, he stopped, unsure of how to break the news to her. She had said she was prepared to kill Mikhail Dhorani yesterday, but he wasn’t certain of how true that had been. How much had she really cared for Misha? “Jenn, they’ve found something … someone, down by the sea. It’s Mikhail Dhorani. I’m sorry, Jenn, but he’s dead.” Attributing the pale face and dilated pupils in his sister’s face to the sudden shock he’d given her, he hugged her close to him.

Shaking him off, Jenevra pushed past him blindly, walking towards the spot where she had fought Misha last night; her mind reeling with a double-edged grief. They left him behind? They couldn’t even be bothered to pick him up and take him with them? Ah, Misha, you betrayed us all for men like that? She moved sorrowfully through the men surrounding Misha’s corpse until she was face to face with the reality of her partner’s death once more; her eyes taking in irrelevant details like the fact that both heavy silk jackets were nowhere in sight.

Raik was there, turning to her with a deep sympathy in his glance; like Richard he mistakenly put her lack of emotional response down to the shock of seeing the headless prince.

Baran’s arm was supporting her gently, holding her on her less injured side. His eyes met with those of Blaise Tessier and he signaled discreetly for the Captain to join them. “We need to get her away from here, Tessier. She’s not going to make it much longer.”

Tessier nodded slightly, his heart aching at the lost look on Jenevra’s face. “Commander,” he moved nearer to Raik. “I’m not sure this is the best place for Captain Couressime to be right now. Should I escort her back up to the camp?” Leaning towards Raik he whispered conspiratorially, “If we tell her that Kian Menzetti is showing signs of waking up she’ll probably rush up there to be with him.”

“Good idea, Captain,” Raik looked at Tessier in some surprise. “I didn’t think you two were getting on too well; it’s strangely thoughtful of you.”

Tessier shrugged, dismissively. “It’s hard not to feel something for her, Commander … especially after yesterday. I guess I never really thought she’d be able to go through with the whole battle thing.” A more normally cynical tone crept into his voice as he gazed towards Baran Wargentin hovering protectively around the princess. “And there’s always the added bonus of moving her away from his clutches.”

Raik smiled briefly. “I couldn’t agree more, Captain.”

The news that Ki-Nimh had regained consciousness seemed to break through the princess’s apparent grief at seeing Misha, and she headed to the horses at a pace far more like her usual, hoping Tessier wouldn’t mention the night before; she didn’t think she could handle any more emotional turmoil right now. Life had been so peaceful on the Island. If this was what life in the Empire was like, she couldn’t wait to leave it behind her again. Swinging up onto her horse she felt a pop in her side and knew she’d managed to split at least one of her stitches. Ignoring that, she rode uncomfortably alongside Blaise, who explained as they rode that it had just been a ploy to get her away from the beach.

Dismounting back at the camp, Captain Tessier’s help left his hands sticky with fresh blood and so, at his insistence, Jenevra checked in at the healer’s tent: her lack of protest telling him louder than words that she was far from well. Inside the tent, Wynn’s tall form moved quietly among the injured remaining in his care towards her.

With quiet professionalism he checked over the princess’s injuries; occasional clucks of disapproval emanating from him. “You do know you’ve torn the whole of that back wound open, don’t you? And that long cut too? And just to add to it, you have a fever. Fortunately it doesn’t appear to be from the wounds.” His expression was frosty; his ears seeming to jut out even more than usual, like warning flags. “I told you not to do anything—to rest; but no, you have to traipse around, riding … Tore knows what else. Fighting again, I suppose?”

“No, I haven’t. All I’ve done is ridden to the beach and back. That’s it. I even managed to avoid the games.”

“Huh,” Wynn grumbled, disparagingly. “Well, I can’t stitch that wound again, Princess. It’ll have to be cauterized this time.”

“I know,” she sighed, watching him blow into the brazier to bring it back to full heat, adding a little more fuel to the glowing embers. “I guess you’d best just do the same to the long cut too.”

One of Wynn’s assistants appeared with a large mug of a steaming brew, tiny yellow leaves floating in it, and handed it to Jenevra swallowed the contents swiftly.

Wynn nodded. “Laowenton. I thought I’d better have some ready. When you were asking for it earlier on I knew you must actually be hurting. Better drink it all before we do this.” He placed several long-bladed knives deep in the heart of the fire. “Let me clean that wound out again first. We don’t want to have to open it up again.” He called to Captain Tessier, who’d been hovering on the far side of the tent, to hold the princess while he treated the deep gash across her ribs, over-riding Jenevra’s objection, although she insisted firmly on remaining upright this time.