Page 26 of The Ivory King

“My grandmother claimed to be,” he replied, offering his open palm to Atriel, who pushed her muzzle into his hand. His eyes closed as he stroked Atriel’s soft nose.

“Ah, then that explains your way with beasts. I have friends who would enjoy meeting you, for they are of the same family as you descend from,” I said, resting my hand on my horse’s neck to find that she was fully relaxed.

Beiro opened his eyes. “The wood elves are generally not found in the company of nobles.”

“That is true, but I seek to change that and many other backward ideals. Master Vahorn, we are on a mission thatrequires great haste. If you cannot help us, we will take our leave and return to the inne to seek out another guide.”

“What do you offer in pay for my services?” he asked, pulling a shrunken carrot from one of the pouches on his belt. Atriel lifted it genteelly from his palm. His gaze stayed on me but his ears twitched, much like the horses when V’alor or Pasil moved. Perhaps he was more beast than elf then, like Beirich, who could shift into an elk.

I looked at V’alor, who, much to his chagrin, tugged a small bag of gold coins from his belt and passed it to me.

“My lord, I am not sure we should settle on the first man we interview,” V’alor whispered as I closed my hand over the money pouch.

“I fail to see that we have a choice. Time is of the essence in reaching Celinthe and Lady Raewyn. Unless you know of another guide with knowledge of the bandit camps and possessing a skill with beasts?” V’alor shook his head. “Then we shall hire this man if he will have us and move out.” I took two steps. Beiro held out a dirty hand. I placed the bag in his palm. “Inside you shall find fifty gold coins. When we return to Celear with Lady Frostleaf and her handmaiden, then I shall see you are given another fifty gold coins, plus a chance to apply for apprenticeship in the druidic school that my friends run.”

Beiro weighed the sack and inclined his head. “A hundred gold and a chance to study druidcraft. You are indeed a noble in a pickle barrel, for those of us in the farmlands would have to work for ten seasons to see such wealth. And schooling? Pah, none out here are learned.”

“Then this is an opportunity for you,” I said and got an odd look from Beiro before he stuffed the gold into the same pouch the sad carrot had come from. “Good, then that is settled. We need to leave as soon as you can ready yourself.”

“It will take me little time to be ready. I only need to saddle Hasulett, and we can set forth,” our newly hired guide said before giving my horse one final pat.

“We are willing to wait for you to tell your family that you are leaving,” I said as Pasil, still atop his yellow mare, sat quietly as he wanted to do, watching and listening like a harrier sitting in a tree waiting for a hare to burst forth from the hedgerow.

“My family will not care,” he said over his shoulder. I threw V’alor a look, but my love found a dove to study instead of meeting my gaze.

We waited for the slim man, who seemed to be possessed with some sort of beast touch, to outfit his gray gelding. When he was on its back, he rode out the door, not looking back, into a tempest that made Atriel sigh wearily. I felt her pain. I, too, had no wish to go back into the deluge but life sometimes left us with no choice but to ride forth, head down, and brave the storm.

I tapped my heels into her sides and we reentered the downpour.

THE VILHALL WAS LAPPING AT THE ARCHED BRIDGEthat led from Bickel’s Burrow to the edges of the Glotte woodlands. Our horses were edgy, their hooves slipping when they would strike the wet stonework. The flooding was going to be disastrous if this storm did not blow away in a northeasterly way as most of the typhoons did, weakening as it rolled into the Witherhorn and moving either into the Stormhold Sea or slog over the Gray Stone Peninsula where a small band of humans had built a lighthouse to help guide ships that entered or left the Stormhold around the cape into the warmer, gentler waters of the Silvura.

“We shall veer left after we cross, skirting the woods as much as possible,” Beiro shouted back to us. Pasil rode ahead of me but after Beiro, V’alor at my rear, and Tezen now huddled on Pasil’s shoulder looking quite like a drowned butterfly. To her credit, she did not complain. Much. Small trees were smashed into the side of the bridge, causing the water to divert in whatever way it wished. There was no holding back water. “Once we are near to the woods, we shall have to be vigilant. The beasts and bandits that reside in the forest do not mind a little rain.”

“Perhaps if I had fur, I, too, would not mind the deluge,” I mumbled to myself. Every inch of me was soaked through, aside from my back and chest. The beeswax coating on my cape was serving my upper half well.

“Nobles are soft,” Beiro called back as his gelding stepped carefully off the bridge, water swirling about the gray horse’s fetlocks. “Do not let fear plague your steeds when they come off the bridge. Many fear stepping into water for good reason. Bring your mounts closer to Hasulett, for he is used to walking through bogs and his calm will soothe your skittish mounts.”

I rode up on Beiro’s left, with V’alor behind and Pasil on his right. His horse nickered at us but plodded along, placing one foot and then the other into the bulging river. Atriel pranced a bit to the left and flung her head a few times as she tried to high step the murky water. Amazingly, it was not my spirited mare that took the greatest issue with their hooves sinking out of sight. It was V’alor’s war horse, Sirdal. I’d never seen the massive roan come apart as he did when he saw that small stream of rushing water.

He reared, slamming V’alor’s leg into the stone curbing. The horse, eyes wide and white with fright, nearly tipped over the side of the bridge. We all yelled for V’alor to let go, and so he did, toppling over the side as Sirdal, now free from his rider, spun and fled back across the bridge, where he stood under a tree as we leaped from our mounts.

“Where is he?!” I shouted into the wind and rain, jogging along the riverbank, my eyes locked on the water roiling downstream. Could an elf of his size wearing plate armor swim? Panic seized me and squeezed hard. “V’alor!!”

“There! He is there!” Pasil yelled, slipping around me to step out onto a boulder. I stood behind him, just catching a glimpse of copper as it rolled down the river. V’alor’s dark head could just be seen as he battled to keep his head above the churning flow.

I heard Beiro behind me shouting something to Tezen, who was unable to do much in this wind and rain. I spied a length of thin rope on Beiro’s belt, tugged it free, and tied one end to oneof my arrows. Then I sprinted along the riverbank, feet going out from under me time and again, rain dousing me, until I found a tree still standing along the other shore. Knowing that the rope would slow the arrow, I rushed to cut a length free and tied it to the white willow shaft, nocked the arrow and pulled with all my strength on the bow. There was no time to aim with precision as there would be in a shooting contest, but I was rather proficient at shooting from horseback, thanks to archery tutors, so I aimed and let the arrow loose. It hit lower than I would have liked due to the added weight of the rope, but it stuck hard and true into the oak.

“Grab hold of the rope!” I heard Beiro yelling. Pasil appeared at my side, and we pulled the rope taut over the raging river. V’alor floated closer, his hands flailing about over his head, a smear of red coating his brow. V’alor pawed at the rope, getting one wet hand on it, then trying to pull himself up. The willow shaft snapped under his weight. Beiro appeared behind us. He took hold of the short end that remained and with the three of us grunting and heaving, boots thick with mud, we managed to slowly get V’alor close enough to the shore that Pasil could grab his forearm. Beiro and I took the other arm. My love battled to get a knee to solid land, and then another. All three of us gave V’alor a strong tug. He flopped to the ground, face landing into the slippery red mud, and lay there far too still for my liking.

“V’alor, by Ihdos, speak to me!” I cried, gently rolling him onto his back. He coughed up some murky water and then cussed at his horse. I cupped his face as he called his steed every foul name and some new ones. Gladdened into giddiness to see him still alive, I bent down to press my mouth to his. His lips were chilled. His hand came up to cradle my cheek as blood streamed downward into his eye. Just as quickly as he touched me, he withdrew his hand.

“You’re injured,” I said, kneeling beside him as Beiro dropped down next to us.

“Head wounds tend to weep strongly,” Beiro said, placing a small clump of green moss to the cut along V’alor’s hairline. “Medicinal hara moss. It will aid in slowing the bleed. Just hold it to the wound.”

“My thanks.” V’alor did as told, slowly sitting up to glower at the river. “My helm is on its way to the Silvura.”

“We shall find you another when we reach Tolso,” I said, my hands now resting on my lap. He spoke not of the kiss, which saddened me, but it was expected.

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