King of Sword and Sky
Page 96
He saw numerous warriors and half a dozen chatok shift in their places and knew they were among the first few who would walk for the door after the first strike of the gong.
"Before you decide, my brothers, consider this. We are few. The enemy is many. Loris v'En Mahr will soon be traveling to Elvia to meet with the Elf king, Galad Hawksheart. It is my hope the ancient alliance between our peoples can be renewed and Loris can convince the Elves to join us in this fight; but no matter what comes of his mission, the Eld will strike, and the Fey must be ready to stand against them.
"And before you decide, consider this also." Rain's hands went to the circlet of silver sword blades twined by golden vines and Amarynth leaves perched on his brow, the non-ceremonial sign of his kingship. "I ask nothing of you that I do not first ask of myself." Lifting the crown from his head, he placed it gently on the gilded tairen's chair, then stepped down into the training field beside his brother Fey.
Jaren v'En Harad approached the warriors' gong and struck the first blow.
Of those who had gathered on the field, only six thousand remained when Gaelen struck the final blow to the gong. A fourth of those were Ellysetta's lu'tans and the other rasa whose souls she had restored. Not the overwhelming numbers Rain had hoped for, but more than he'd truly believed would stay.
Half the chatok had departed as well. In a quiet ceremony of disapproval, each had waited for his time to ring the warriors' gong, then made a point of exiting in proud silence rather than striking a blow.
When it was over, Jaren nodded at the gathered Fey. "This is a good beginning. I had not expected so many to stay."
"Nor I, but it's still not nearly enough," Rain said. "And I've cost you half your most skilled chatok."
"You but winnowed out those who have made their pride a funeral shroud." Jaren met Rain's eyes. "Our world has changed, Feyreisen. I have watched great Fey cities die, seen our forests fade back into desert, and listened to my shei'tani weep for the children her womb will not bear. It seems to me when the ways of the past lead only to death, then change is the only hope for life."
"What if that change leads only to more death?" Rain asked.
Jaren smiled sadly. "Great change always does. That's why it's so hard to embrace. But we are not a people born to hide from danger." He put a hand on Rain's arm. "Lead with courage, my king. Make them remember what it is to be Fey."
The chatok's smile became a bold slash of white teeth, and his face lit with a fierce, proud light. In an instant, Jaren was transformed from a man weighted with weary sadness to a proud, deadly warrior of the Fey, fearless and fierce. "'We are the steel no enemy can shatter. We are the magic no Dark power can defeat. We are the rock upon which evil breaks like waves.' Keep reminding our brothers of that—make them believe it—and the Eld could outnumber us two hundred to one and still not defeat us."
Ellysetta's stomach curled in nervous knots as she approached the Hall of Truth and Healing, the serenely beautiful building on Dharsa's central mount where the shei'dalins gathered to work their magic and perfect their craft.
The air of the hall was filled with the soothing sounds of splashing fountains, and lush blossoms, hanging plants, and potted greenery turned each room into a paradise of peace and beauty. Scores of shei'dalins—their devastating beauty unveiled, their unbound hair spilling down slender backs— laughed and smiled from every corner, chaise, and chair.
Tiny, dark Jisera v'En Arran, Eimar's mate, crossed the room, hands outstretched, to greet her warmly. "Feyreisa, welcome to the Hall of Truth and Healing. Venarra is expecting you."
She led Ellysetta through a series of connected rooms, and as they walked, Jisera whispered on a quiet weave of Spirit, «I can feel your unease, little sister.»
Ellysetta gave her a startled look, but didn't try to deny the truth.
The shei'dalins earnest expression was filled with compassion and understanding. «I know Venarra can seem cold, but that is only because she feels things so strongly she must discipline her emotions like a warrior. When you get to know her better, you will see her heart is fierce but full of love.»
They had reached a small sitting room filled with cushioned chairs. Jisera escorted Ellysetta inside, gave her an encouraging smile, and departed. Ellie fought the urge to cling as she watched Jisera's departing figure.
A sound behind made her turn.
Venarra stood in an arched doorway. She was clad in red silk from neck to toe, which set off her dark eyes, dark hair, and pale skin to perfection. Ellysetta was glad for the silvery drape Rain had spun from her lu'tans' steel, and the five blades of her quintet hanging at her hips over the violet velvet gown she wore beneath. The steel gave her a measure of confidence, just as Bel's dagger had back in Celieria when she'd faced Queen Annoura and the nobles of the Celierian court.
After several moments of silence, Venarra said, "Walk with me." She led the way through a second, spiral-columned archway to a small, private garden. Abundant flowers and blossoming trees filled the air with perfume. Birds and butterflies flitted from branch and bloom. Faerilas burbled from wall fountains shaped like tairens' heads.
"As the Shei'dalin, it is my duty to see that you are properly trained in the shei'dalin arts. I had thought—given the words that passed between us yesterday—that you might prefer to have someone other than me instruct you, but Marissya tells me your power overwhelms even her." She glanced at Ellysetta. "Marissya is our most gifted shei'dalin, but I am stronger at seeing past the strength of a weaver's threads to the actual pattern of a weave. She believes I am the one best suited to train you and teach you the discipline you need to hold your power in check."
"Before you decide, my brothers, consider this. We are few. The enemy is many. Loris v'En Mahr will soon be traveling to Elvia to meet with the Elf king, Galad Hawksheart. It is my hope the ancient alliance between our peoples can be renewed and Loris can convince the Elves to join us in this fight; but no matter what comes of his mission, the Eld will strike, and the Fey must be ready to stand against them.
"And before you decide, consider this also." Rain's hands went to the circlet of silver sword blades twined by golden vines and Amarynth leaves perched on his brow, the non-ceremonial sign of his kingship. "I ask nothing of you that I do not first ask of myself." Lifting the crown from his head, he placed it gently on the gilded tairen's chair, then stepped down into the training field beside his brother Fey.
Jaren v'En Harad approached the warriors' gong and struck the first blow.
Of those who had gathered on the field, only six thousand remained when Gaelen struck the final blow to the gong. A fourth of those were Ellysetta's lu'tans and the other rasa whose souls she had restored. Not the overwhelming numbers Rain had hoped for, but more than he'd truly believed would stay.
Half the chatok had departed as well. In a quiet ceremony of disapproval, each had waited for his time to ring the warriors' gong, then made a point of exiting in proud silence rather than striking a blow.
When it was over, Jaren nodded at the gathered Fey. "This is a good beginning. I had not expected so many to stay."
"Nor I, but it's still not nearly enough," Rain said. "And I've cost you half your most skilled chatok."
"You but winnowed out those who have made their pride a funeral shroud." Jaren met Rain's eyes. "Our world has changed, Feyreisen. I have watched great Fey cities die, seen our forests fade back into desert, and listened to my shei'tani weep for the children her womb will not bear. It seems to me when the ways of the past lead only to death, then change is the only hope for life."
"What if that change leads only to more death?" Rain asked.
Jaren smiled sadly. "Great change always does. That's why it's so hard to embrace. But we are not a people born to hide from danger." He put a hand on Rain's arm. "Lead with courage, my king. Make them remember what it is to be Fey."
The chatok's smile became a bold slash of white teeth, and his face lit with a fierce, proud light. In an instant, Jaren was transformed from a man weighted with weary sadness to a proud, deadly warrior of the Fey, fearless and fierce. "'We are the steel no enemy can shatter. We are the magic no Dark power can defeat. We are the rock upon which evil breaks like waves.' Keep reminding our brothers of that—make them believe it—and the Eld could outnumber us two hundred to one and still not defeat us."
Ellysetta's stomach curled in nervous knots as she approached the Hall of Truth and Healing, the serenely beautiful building on Dharsa's central mount where the shei'dalins gathered to work their magic and perfect their craft.
The air of the hall was filled with the soothing sounds of splashing fountains, and lush blossoms, hanging plants, and potted greenery turned each room into a paradise of peace and beauty. Scores of shei'dalins—their devastating beauty unveiled, their unbound hair spilling down slender backs— laughed and smiled from every corner, chaise, and chair.
Tiny, dark Jisera v'En Arran, Eimar's mate, crossed the room, hands outstretched, to greet her warmly. "Feyreisa, welcome to the Hall of Truth and Healing. Venarra is expecting you."
She led Ellysetta through a series of connected rooms, and as they walked, Jisera whispered on a quiet weave of Spirit, «I can feel your unease, little sister.»
Ellysetta gave her a startled look, but didn't try to deny the truth.
The shei'dalins earnest expression was filled with compassion and understanding. «I know Venarra can seem cold, but that is only because she feels things so strongly she must discipline her emotions like a warrior. When you get to know her better, you will see her heart is fierce but full of love.»
They had reached a small sitting room filled with cushioned chairs. Jisera escorted Ellysetta inside, gave her an encouraging smile, and departed. Ellie fought the urge to cling as she watched Jisera's departing figure.
A sound behind made her turn.
Venarra stood in an arched doorway. She was clad in red silk from neck to toe, which set off her dark eyes, dark hair, and pale skin to perfection. Ellysetta was glad for the silvery drape Rain had spun from her lu'tans' steel, and the five blades of her quintet hanging at her hips over the violet velvet gown she wore beneath. The steel gave her a measure of confidence, just as Bel's dagger had back in Celieria when she'd faced Queen Annoura and the nobles of the Celierian court.
After several moments of silence, Venarra said, "Walk with me." She led the way through a second, spiral-columned archway to a small, private garden. Abundant flowers and blossoming trees filled the air with perfume. Birds and butterflies flitted from branch and bloom. Faerilas burbled from wall fountains shaped like tairens' heads.
"As the Shei'dalin, it is my duty to see that you are properly trained in the shei'dalin arts. I had thought—given the words that passed between us yesterday—that you might prefer to have someone other than me instruct you, but Marissya tells me your power overwhelms even her." She glanced at Ellysetta. "Marissya is our most gifted shei'dalin, but I am stronger at seeing past the strength of a weaver's threads to the actual pattern of a weave. She believes I am the one best suited to train you and teach you the discipline you need to hold your power in check."
