“Auspicious,” Laren said, “seems an inadequate description. The groundmites—you arrived just in time.”
“We heard them, knew they were on the hunt. Our paths, you see, run near this place.”
Laren was too dazed “to see,” but she nodded. “I thank you. You saved my life.”
“It is well,” Graelalea said. “And now we may proceed to your king.”
“What?”
“Our meeting is auspicious for we travel to speak with your king. Our paths have crossed, therefore we shall travel together.”
Laren closed her mouth when she realized it was hanging open. Elgin’s expression registered awe tinged with wariness.
Eletians were like that—enchanting, unearthly, the embodiment of magic. It was difficult to know the Eletian mind, for they’d been absent from the world for so long, their ways were alien. And they were dangerous. Laren had no doubt about it. She had only to look at the pile of dead groundmites behind her.
“My horse,” she said, “is tired. He needs rest and care.”
Graelalea made a graceful gesture indicating Laren should look at her horse. When she did, she saw the other two Eletians caressing Bluebird’s muscles and applying salve to cuts.
Graelalea herself set aside her longbow and stepped up to Bluebird. She spoke softly to him in Eletian and ran her hand down his nose, over his eyes, behind his ears. His eyelids drooped and his breathing softened. He lowered his head so that it rested in her hands. Killdeer appeared to watch and listen with interest, her ears pricked up and her gaze alert.
“He is well enough to continue,” Graelalea said in the common tongue. “We shall travel lightly.” Then, observing Killdeer’s interest, she turned to the mare and petted her. Killdeer curved her neck and loosed a deep sigh at the attention.
Laren and Elgin exchanged wide-eyed looks.
“She is an old soul,” Graelalea said of Killdeer, “but with a young heart. She will be your good companion for years more.”
An amazing transformation rippled across Elgin’s face. The hard lines softened and Laren thought her old chief was going to weep. But he did not. Almost more astonishingly, he bowed to the Eletian.
“Thank you,” he said. “I have never heard finer words.”
There was a hint of a smile on Graelalea’s face. They all stood there as the snow fell down around them in dizzying swirls and the forest darkened.
“I’ll ... I’ll take care of the corpses in the morning,” Elgin said, as if needing to break the silence. “Whatever the scavengers leave, anyway.”
Graelalea nodded and turned to Laren. “Captain? Are you ready?”
“I ... I guess so.”
“If you mount and ride, we will travel more swiftly.”
While they were on foot? But Laren did not question the Eletian. She put her foot in the stirrup and mounted Bluebird, grimacing at sore muscles making themselves felt.
“Sip some of this,” Graelalea said, and she passed Laren a flask.
Laren took a cautious sip, and then another. She’d tasted its like before when the Eletians last visited Sacor City. It was cool on the tongue, but heartening, and as the liquid passed down her throat it warmed her body. She thought of summer meadows and the golden sunrise on dew-laden grasses. It removed her from winter and loosened aching muscles and joints, restored strength and energy.
A small amount slaked her thirst and she took one more sip before giving the flask back.
“It’s wonderful,” she said.
“A summer cordial of Eletia,” Graelalea replied.
They bade Elgin farewell and simply walked into the woods. Graelalea led, with Bluebird following, and the other two Eletians ranging alongside or behind. Laren wondered if she were being led into some trap, as Karigan had once been trapped—caught up in spells and a web of dreams. But she did not think so. What reason had they? Just to be sure, she used her special ability and perceived from them no guile, only the truth. Truth and peace. Satisfied, she gave in to trust.
As night deepened, Graelalea produced a moonstone. Its light was not glaring to the eye, but produced a soft radiance that captured each snowflake that fell around them, flashing like silver glitter. Even with the light, however, Laren could not discern the path Graelalea followed, though the Eletian strode ahead without hesitation, entirely certain of her way.
It was almost a passage through a dream with no sense of time or place. Her whole world existed within the glow cast by the moonstone—the snow, her horse beneath her, the gray boles of trees they passed by, and Graelalea leading them. Laren felt buoyant, as light and insubstantial as the snowflakes that landed on her hair and eyelashes.
The Eletians glided through the forest so unhindered that Laren thought this must be one of the ancient paths they used long ago to travel into the land now known as Sacoridia. Graelalea’s brother, the prince, had spoken of them. He said the land recalled them.
Did the trees bend out of their way and the terrain mold itself to make their footing smooth? Laren almost laughed at the notion, but it was uncanny how she did not have to duck beneath branches and Bluebird did not stumble over uneven ground. There was not a single snag to circumvent their progress or a fallen log to step over.
A time passed and they stepped out of the woods. The illumination of the moonstone spread around them revealing a snow-covered field. Laren, disoriented by the change, took a few moments to recognize where they were.
Graelalea suddenly extinguished the moonstone, and when Laren’s eyes adjusted to the absence of its glow, she picked out the flickering of lights in the distance. The gates of Sacor City were not far.