Sword of Shadows (8 page)

Eolyn wrapped her arms around herself and lifted her face to the breeze, inhaling fresh
aromas of silt and sedges. On a low hill nearby, the men waited with the horses, Delric scanning the landscape, Borten’s gaze fixed upon Eolyn and her students, silent sentinels under the midday sun.

Late in the afternoon on the third day, the South Woods came into view, a dark smudge of tall oaks and giant pines looming over abandoned fields. Mariel clapped her hands and challenged Eolyn and Sirena to a race.

The maga laughed and spurred her horse. Leaning forward, she connected her spirit with the animal, bringing hooves into synchrony with the pulse of her heart.

In a moment, she left the girls behind. Wind tore ribbons out of her hair, the smell of horse hide and summer sweat saturated her senses. The high branches reached toward her, and she closed her eyes, opening them just in time to see the forest whip around with its dark embrace.

Eolyn reigned in her steed, breath coming in short gasps, cheeks flushed and hair spun into wild curls.

Dense foliage and heavy trunks shut out the sun, erasing all traces of the world left behind. The maga dismounted and inhaled a rich aroma of pine, loam, and summer herbs. She knelt to caress the leaves and the stems of young shrubs.

The whisper of a mighty black oak brought her back to her feet. Approaching the ancient tree, Eolyn spread her palms upon its coarse bark and pressed her body against the solid pillar of its trunk. Directing her senses toward the river of life within, she wove tendrils of her spirit around its constant current, drawn from the depths of the earth and delivered in invisible clouds to the sky, pulling the trunk and branches taut between two worlds.

“It’s me, dear friend,” she murmured, content inside the quiet embrace.  “I’ve come home at last.”

Borten and Delric set up camp in a small glade while Eolyn went exploring with Sirena and Mariel.

Among Eolyn’s students, Sirena was the most gifted when it came to the language of plants. At the
Aekelahr,
she spent hours in the herbarium listening to the brittle whispers of the collection, removing specimens whose magic had faded and replacing them with fresh herbs. In the forest, Sirena detected voices so quiet they were beyond even Eolyn’s ear. She discovered hidden mushrooms and tiny plants, always returning from the forest with new medicines in hand.

Mariel, for her part, spoke easily with animals and had an uncanny gift for the language of stones. Borten’s guards sometimes joked that rabbits fell willingly into Mariel’s snares, so enamored were they of her voice. Eolyn sensed the stirring of forest creatures as Mariel moved among the trees, like an awakening at dawn. The maga suspected wolves would be drawn to Mariel at their campsite at dusk. Perhaps Lynx would also appear before morning.

In the evening, before twilight faded from the sky, Eolyn left her students to their own and practiced swordplay with Sir Borten. She felt hopelessly awkward with Kel’Barú, but Borten was proving a patient teacher, and Eolyn had resolved to learn what she could out of respect for Akmael’s wishes. The knight put Eolyn through repetitive exercises, demanding she practice the same sequence of steps over and over again.

“You must master these drills, so that each move flows effortlessly into the next,” he said. “Every guard you learn must become as instinctive to you as shape shifting.”

Eolyn lowered the sword and wiped the sweat off her brow. “It took me seven years to learn how to shape shift. More than that for shape shifting to become an instinct.”

“Just so.” Borten nodded and bade Eolyn to begin again.

Night fell, cloaking the South Woods in shadows and bringing a welcome end to their session.

Sir Borten always enforced a strict separation between his guards and the women of Eolyn’s coven. As a result, he and Delric sat at their own fire that evening, several paces away from the fire shared by Eolyn, Mariel, and Sirena.

Flames coughed, crackled, and sent showers of sparks toward the sky. Mariel and Sirena sat close together, sharing a melody of whispers and giggles about some youth they had seen during their last visit to Moehn.

Watching them, Eolyn wondered whether her tutor, Doyenne Ghemena, had felt these same emotions as her ward approach womanhood: this mix of sweet joy and deep nostalgia that melted into sadness if she let it linger too long.

Quietly, Eolyn stood and stepped away from the fire, preferring to wander a little more through the trees.

There was no darkness more comforting than night in the South Woods, no shade of ebony more absolute. Eolyn wrapped herself in a soft, worn cloak, content to be accompanied by the sounds of the forest. The sky was clear, and she looked forward to a peaceful sleep under the starry heavens.

Next spring, Sirena and Mariel would become women in magic in this very place. Like Eolyn had done, they would fast in the South Woods and petition for a staff. Dragon would appear to them in the form of an animal spirit, prophesizing the challenges and blessings the girls would face.

According to the traditions of the Old Orders, Mariel and Sirena would also be ready for the High Ceremony of Bel-Aethne, the consecration of
aen-lasati
, the awakening of passion and desire. This posed a dilemma for Eolyn, one she had not yet solved. The Old Orders had vanished, and with them the numbers that conferred anonymity upon women undergoing initiation. Masks would be meaningless with only two girls, and in any case, what mage could she entrust with such a sacred event?

Corey of East Selen came to mind: his shrewd silver-green eyes and the scent of his magic, sharp as winter snow.

Eolyn stifled a laugh. No doubt Mage Corey would undertake the project with great enthusiasm, but as well as Eolyn knew him, she did not trust him.

The maga paused at the edge of another circle of light and realized she had arrived at Borten and Delric’s fire.

The knight stood at once. His gaze shot past Eolyn’s shoulder into the gloom of the forest.

“Maga Eolyn,” he said. “Is something amiss?”

“No.” She looked from Borten to Delric, caught in the middle of tearing a bite off a piece of dried meat. “Nothing is wrong at all, Sir Borten. It’s just…Well, the girls are caught up in their own conversation, and I thought I might sit at your fire, yours and Delric’s, if you would have me.”

Delric shrugged and continued gnawing on his meal.

Sir Borten studied Eolyn with a puzzled frown.

The awkward silence left her nonplussed. She stepped away. “I’m sorry, Sir Borten. I did not mean to disturb your evening. If you’ll excuse me—”

“No.” He jumped as if from a trance. “Please, Maga Eolyn, join us. Forgive my rudeness. I simply wasn’t expecting…”

His words drifted into silence.

A smile rose from the depths of Eolyn’s spirit and spread warm across her lips. “You weren’t expecting me to appear unless there was a problem.”

Borten laughed, a deep short bark. He gestured toward a log by the fire and took a seat next to her. Eolyn could not help but notice his musk, heavy after the long day, impregnated with traces of loam and freshly crushed leaves.

He smells like the forests of Moehn.

Borten picked up a branch and stoked the fire. “The girls are happy with their day in the woods?”

“Oh, yes! How could they not be? This place is paradise for all of us.”

Delric grunted and took a swig from his wine. He wiped his sleeve across a dripping beard and proffered the skin to Eolyn. She accepted with gratitude.

Borten cleared his throat and said, “If I may be so bold, Maga Eolyn. It is very important, what you are doing here.”

The awkward declaration confused her. “You mean sharing wine with you and Delric? Well, I’d be happy to sit at your fire more often, it’s just that I always thought—”

“No.” He frowned and shook his head. “I mean, yes. You are always welcome at our fire, Maga Eolyn, but that is not what I am talking about. It’s important, the home you’ve given to these girls. The life you are teaching them to live.”

Eolyn blinked, taken aback. She glanced toward the other fire, where Mariel’s and Sirena’s giggles illuminated the night.

Back at the
Aekelahr
, Tasha, Catarina, and Ghemena would be tucked into bed by now. Renate and Adiana were no doubt enjoying the last of that barrel of wine.

Each of their beautiful and gifted students had come from backgrounds of poverty, violence, and neglect. Their families had seen the
Aekelahr
not as the birthplace of a new era of magic, but as a way to rid themselves of unwanted daughters. Even Renate and Adiana, grown women with extraordinary talents, had joined Eolyn’s coven because there was nowhere else for them to go.

A knot took hold in Eolyn’s stomach, a need to share with Borten this dream nestled deep in her heart. A dream that had cost her the man she loved.

“None of my students have place in this world as it was given to them. I believe the Gods brought us together, Renate, Adiana, and all of the girls, so that we might build a new world of our own.” She returned her gaze to Borten, wary of what she might find, relieved to discover understanding and respect.

Delric guffawed and stood abruptly. He stretched his arms, searching the shadows with narrowed eyes. “Guess I’ll be taking the first watch, then.”

The man spat before tramping into the bush, where he cursed over some errant root that tripped him along the way.

“Have I offended him somehow?” Eolyn asked, watching him go.

“No, not in the least, Maga Eolyn.”

“He hasn’t directed a word to me since we left the school.”

“Delric prefers to listen rather than speak. None of my men have keener ears. That is why I had him accompany us.”

“I see.” She set down Delric’s wineskin and folded her hands in her lap. “I was thinking, Sir Borten. Seeing as you are teaching me how to handle the sword, perhaps I could return the favor and teach you some magic.”

A smile touched Borten’s lips. “I am grateful for your generous offer, Maga Eolyn. But I think I’m too old to become a mage.”

“I was too much of a girl once to learn magic. And Kedehen too much of a prince. It is up to the Gods to decide who is too much of one thing or another to receive their gifts. I, for one, believe Dragon intends for you to learn magic. Otherwise, why would the Gods have compelled the King to appoint you to my
Aekelahr
, here in Moehn?”

Borten’s expression became doubtful. “The Gods intend for men to repay their debts.”

“Debts? What debts?”

Borten did not reply, but directed his gaze toward the flickering flames.

“Your debt to the King? For the accident at Eostar in which his father perished?”

Still Borten did not speak, and Eolyn sensed she had ventured into forbidden territory.

“Well, no matter,” she said brightly. “Let’s just say, then, that learning magic will be part of repaying your debts. Do you have a cup, Sir Borten? Any small vessel will do, with some water.”

He produced a wooden mug from his pack. Eolyn withdrew some fresh mint from her belt, set it in the water, and returned the cup to him.

“I’m going to show you the first trick Doyenne Ghemena taught me. We will make a cup of tea.”

There was a spirit in her voice that she had not felt in a long time, as if she were young again and without cares under the golden green canopy of this great forest.

“You must hold the cup with both hands and stand, pressing your feet firmly against the earth, as if…” Eolyn searched for a metaphor he might understand. “As if you are about to go into battle, with all your senses open to the space around you, and all your spirit focused on the task at hand.”

Borten rose. For the first time Eolyn noticed just how broad his shoulders were. She stepped behind him and placed her hands on his back, fingers spreading over his linen tunic.

Borten’s muscles tensed.

“Close your eyes,” she said, “and breathe.”

She felt the expansion of his lungs beneath her palms.

“What do you feel at your feet, Sir Borten?”

“The ground.”

“Yes, the earth. And inside the earth? What do you feel there?”

“The foundation of my strength.”

Not what one of her girls might have said, but the words rang true.

“Now take another breath and tell me,” Eolyn continued, “what do you feel in the air?”

Again, that wonderful expansion beneath the strong muscles of his back. For a moment, Eolyn was reminded of Akmael.

“The air is an anchor to life, to this world and to the people I…to the people I love.”

Eolyn closed her eyes, moved by how well he understood the exercise, how readily he was molding magic to his spirit. “Now, the water in your cup, Sir Borten. Tell me about it.”

“It is calm. A small reservoir of great power.”

Eolyn’s hands moved to his shoulders. She pressed her ear to his back and listened to the deep, steady rhythm of his core. “And your heart, Sir Borten? What do you feel in your heart?”

“A flame.” His voice was subdued. With it, all the sounds of the night faded. “An unending fire.”