Sometimes good scenes are cut for reasons of length, or because they do not advance the main plot.  This scene was removed from The Betrayal for such reasons. 

This scene takes place as Eliani and the Alpinon delegation are journeying to Glenhallow. 

This bonus scene from The Betrayal appears exclusively at Book View Cafe. The Betrayal, from Del Rey Books, is available in print, ebook, and Kindle formats.  Learn more at http://aelven.com.

Copyright © 2009 by Pati Nagle. All rights reserved. No part of this text may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission of the author. Exceptions are made for downloading this file to a computer for personal use.

"Skyruach"

Eliani glanced at the westering sun, then at her father who rode sedately at the head of Alpinon’s little column.  They were nearing the end of their journey, and even Felisan seemed a bit weary.  Eliani’s legs were chafed from days of riding, but her soul chafed even more at their slow progress. 

She was impatient, thought the party could travel at a faster pace without discomfort, and wished Felisan would be a little less complacent.  The kobalen army gathering on the western wastes seemed not to concern him much. 

Her own concern had lessened to a bearable state on the previous day, when a large party of the Southfæld Guard had passed the party on their way north, bearing tidings from Glenhallow.  Once Eliani knew that Jharan was aware of the danger at Midrange her feelings of self-reproach had subsided, though they had not vanished. 

Turisan must surely be disappointed, perhaps even angry.  And she deserved his anger.  She did not look forward to facing him, and wished it to be over.  If only her father would set a slightly faster pace, they might arrive at Glenhallow tomorrow, instead of the day after. 

She brought her horse next to his.  “Let us ride on past that next ridge before halting, Father.  It may be dusk when we make camp, but tomorrow’s journey will be shorter.” 

Felisan frowned at the long ridge before them, a mountainous finger that reached toward the plain, its pine-covered heights dark blue in the late sunlight, paling to gold at the rocky tumble in which it ended.  The Silverwash curved eastward around its tip, with the road running through a narrow flat between rocks and river. 

“No, it would be better to make camp here.  There is a pleasant grove a little way up the hillside.” 

“It is not much farther to the ridge.”

“It is too far for me.” 

Eliani glanced at her father, surprised at the extreme weariness of his tone.  His face wore a heavy sadness that she had rarely seen.  He roused himself to a wan smile. 

“Skyruach lies beyond that ridge.  I had rather not camp in sight of it.” 

Eliani drew a small, sharp breath, then nodded her understanding.  Of course they should not camp upon a battleground.  Whether there were shades there or no, it would not be a restful place. 

Resigning herself to arriving at Glenhallow two days hence, she trotted her horse ahead of the party, off the road toward the grove her father had pointed out.   The horse seemed as weary as she with slow travel, and tossed its head to show it would enjoy a gallop.  Eliani gave it the reins and let it run.  Hearing hoofbeats behind her, she glanced over her shoulder and saw Luruthin following. 

She grinned back at him, narrowing her eyes.  A race, then.  Facing forward, she leaned over her mount’s withers, urging it to lengthen its stride. 

Up the wide slope they pounded, over grass fading to dryness with the coming cold.  The evening air was sharp in Eliani’s nostrils, and bit at her cheeks. 

Luruthin’s mount drew up to hers, its head bobbing at her right side.  She urged her horse to greater speed.  The grove loomed before them, a thicket of oaks and other greenleaf trees.  Eliani did not slow her mount, but guided it toward the space between two broad oaks.  Room enough there for two horses abreast, no more.   

The dark beneath the trees seemed like a wall, and her heart jumped as they swept into it, neck and neck.  She leaned back, gathering up her reins to slow her reckless pace.  Both horses faltered to a walk, and she heard Luruthin’s breathless laughter. 

“I can hear your father scolding already!” 

“If you feared his rebuke, you should not have challenged me.” 

“I never said I feared him.” 

Eliani grinned at him.  The run had brought high color to his cheeks, and his eyes, dark green in the shade of the trees, were lit with pleasure. 

She looked around at the grove, breathing deeply.  The slope was gentle, and a small rill chuckled down a pebbly bed toward the Silverwash.  Though ælven custom was to leave no mark of their presence, there were signs that this place was often used as a camping-ground.  The trees were old and tall, the ground beneath them clear of underbrush.  An open space in the grove’s center was nearly level, with stones near to hand for a fire circle.  The last sunlight spilled in through treetops to lie in dappled golden pools on soft grass.

She dismounted and let her horse drink from the rill while she strode into the woods, looking for firewood.  Luruthin came with her. 

They walked in companionable silence, and came upon a fallen tree, gray with age.  Eliani pushed at a dry branch and was able to break it off.  She tossed it aside and gathered two others from the ground. 

Luruthin bent to help her.  “I have never seen Skyruach.”

“Nor I.”

“Shall we ride up the ridge to look at it before nightfall?  I am curious, and I doubt Felisan will wish to tarry there tomorrow.” 

“True.  Yes, I would like to see it.” 

They carried their firewood down to the grove and piled it at the edge of the clearing.  Their horses, now grazing beside the stream, made token protest as they were caught, mounted, and urged uphill through the woods. 

Greenleaf gave way to evergreen as they climbed onto the feet of the ridge.  By the time they reached its crest the sun was near setting.  Leaving their horses to pluck at the meager grass among the pines, Eliani and Luruthin climbed a small outcrop of rock to gain a view above the trees.  As she reached the top, Eliani caught her breath. 

A wide, sloping valley spread out between the ridge on which they stood and the next to the south.  In the golden light of the setting sun a forest of conces glinted on the plain, pale and stark, casting long, pointed shadows down the slope.  Like a woodland, they were scattered at first, then grew denser around the feet of a tall, wide hulk of black rock that rose from the sloping plain.  Skyruach. 

“So many.” 

Eliani nodded, gazing sadly at the conces placed in memory of the hundreds of ælven who had perished in the fighting here.  A silvery glint ran down through the field, curving around Skyruach’s root before running on to join the Silverwash. 

That stream had once served a mining village farther up the valley, Silverdale, abandoned ever since the war.  Eliani had often wondered why Southfæld had forsaken its rich veins, which had not been depleted.  Now she understood.  No one would wish to live at the threshold of such a bitter place, or pass those many conces on the way to trade with Glenhallow. 

So close.  She knew the last battle of the Midrange War had threatened Glenhallow, but knowing and seeing were different things.  If such a great struggle had occurred within a day’s ride of Highstone . . .

She shook away the shadows, not wishing to let the past frighten her.  Midrange had happened centuries ago, and no enemy had disturbed Southfæld’s peace since then.  Until now.

Thinking of the kobalen she had seen beyond the pass, she frowned.  This could happen again. 

Luruthin shaded his eyes, peering at the Skyruach.  “There is something carved into the rock.  I cannot read it from here.” 

Eliani followed his gaze and was able to distinguish a tall pillar, conce-shaped but at least two rods high, that looked as if it had been carved in relief from the side of the rock tower.  It bore a great deal of text, but the words were too small to be read at their present distance. 

“A monument of some kind.”

Shivering, she turned away from the sight of the battle ground and searched the road for a sign of their party.  She saw none there, but a thin curl of smoke drifted up from the woodlands below. 

“They have reached the grove.” 

She scrambled down the rock to where the horses waited.  Luruthin followed, and they rode in silence back down the ridge as the sun dipped below the mountains. 

Just before the woodlands swallowed them, Eliani looked west to the peaks.  The mountains were higher here than at Midrange, and already heavy with snow.  The knowledge that kobalen seldom ranged this far south was a comfort. 

By the time they reached the grove, dusk had fallen and the smell of roasting fowl had joined that of wood smoke.  A brace of fat woodhens sizzled on a spit.  Heléri had emerged from her chariot, and was sitting by the fire, wrapped in her dark blue cloak. 

Turning her horse loose to graze, Eliani went to Heléri and crouched beside her.  “Good even, Eldermother.” 

“Good even, child.”  Heléri leaned forward to peer at a kettle she had hung over the fire from a small tripod, then glanced up as Luruthin joined them.  “We expected you to return laden with firewood.” 

“We rode up to the ridge.”

“Ah.” 

Heléri looked from her to Luruthin, who had sat down and was stretching his hands to the fire.  Eliani watched them for a long, silent, moment, then the kettle began to spit and Heléri leaned forward to retrieve it.

“Aha!  The truants are returned.” 

Eliani glanced up to see her father and Curunan approaching.  Curunan carried a camp chair which he set beside Heléri’s for Felisan.  Luruthin moved aside to make room. 

“I killed the hens.”  Curunan glanced at Felisan, then amended.  “Well, I snared them, and killed one.  Hanusan killed the other, showing me how to wring its neck without causing it pain.” 

Eliani smiled.  “Well done.”

Curunan flopped onto the ground beside Eliani, tucking lanky legs beneath him.  “Felisan is going to tell us about Skyruach.”  He turned an anxious face toward the governor.  “You did promise.” 

“After supper.”

Felisan settled himself and accepted a cup of tea from Heléri.  His brow wore a slight frown. 

Feeling suddenly restless, Eliani stood.  “I must tend my horse.” 

Luruthin rose as well.  “I, too.”

Eliani felt Heléri’s gaze follow as they walked away together.  She did not look back. 

Perhaps her eldermother was remembering a time when she and Luruthin had been very close.  She was certain Luruthin remembered.  She glanced at him, caught him watching her.

Memories lay thick this evening.  Eliani brushed them away and strode to her horse, unsaddled it, then retrieved a grooming brush from one of her packs and found the horse a patch of sweet grass to nibble while she tended it. 

The simple task was soothing.  She rubbed at the matted hair on the animal’s back where the saddle had lain, brushed long strokes down its neck and sides.  Luruthin brought his own horse up to share the grass. 

“Curunan has been wheedling at Felisan,”

Elinai gave a derisive snort of laughter.  “After raising me, Felisan should be immune to wheedling.” 

“The young have a special charm.” 

She glanced at him, decided there was no hidden meaning in his remark.  She dropped her brush on the satchel, picked up a comb and took it to the tangles in her horse’s mane. 

“Have you ever wished for a child, Eliani?” 

A prickle of tension climbed her spine.  She combed a few more strokes before answering. 

“Anyone would welcome a child.” 

“Some long for it more than others.” 

She glanced at him, wondering if he spoke for himself.  He stood beside his horse, brush in hand, watching her. 

“You are fortunate in Clerestone.  You have more than your share of children.”

“Yes.  We are greatly blessed.”  Luruthin’s soft smile widened.  “Though at times the blessing seems a burden.” 

“If they become too burdensome, send one or two to Highstone for a few seasons.  Ferashi will find work for them in the kitchens.” 

“And teach them her recipes?  You tempt me.” 

“I make no promise about that.  She guards her recipes like the treasures they are.” 

Luruthin laughed, and Eliani smiled as she worked the last tangle from her mount’s mane and combed through the smooth tresses.  Perhaps she should braid it for their entry into Glenhallow.  She might, but she would have to do it the morning before they reached the city, or the horse would pull her work all to pieces before they arrived. 

She put away her brush and comb and slung her packs over her shoulder, leaving the horse to graze through the night.  As she turned toward the camp Luruthin’s hand on her arm stopped her. 

“Eliani—” 

She looked at him, biting back a sharp rebuke.  Luruthin was, among a confusion of other things, her friend and cousin, and thus entitled to take some liberties.  That he was also a former lover made for occasional awkwardness, but he did not deserve her abuse.  She waited in silence. 

He searched her face.  “You seem troubled lately.  Can I be of any help?” 

She let out the breath she had been holding.  “Thank you, but no.” 

His eyes were filled with concern.  “Well, I am here for you.  Always.” 

Eliani answered with a slight smile.  She was tempted to embrace him, if only for the comfort it would give her, but she did not wish to raise his hopes. 

She had decisions to make that precluded her taking comfort in Luruthin’s arms, or anyone else’s.  She laid her hand over his, feeling the bright warmth of his khi for a sharp moment, then moved toward the camp, leaving him to finish tending his mount. 

Felisan had not moved from his seat by the fire, but Heléri and Curunan had pulled the roasted hens off the spit and were portioning out the meat.  Eliani rummaged for her camp plate, a pretty thing of hammered bronze graven with stags, then stood behind the waiting guardians.  One of them offered her his place. 

“Go before me, my lady.” 

“No, I will wait my turn.  And if you ‘my lady’ me once more, Firthan, we will settle it with fists or staves.” 

Felisan looked up.  “He is only following my instruction, Eliani.  Jharan will think it strange if our guardians do not show you some respect, little though you may desire it.” 

She snorted.  “Little though I may deserve it, you mean.  Jharan will have to resign himself to the fact that we mountain folk are strange.” 

“Oh, he learned that long ago.”  Felisan gave a gusty sigh.  “I had hoped to repair the shattered dignity of my house before we reached Glenhallow, but I see it is not to be.  Blood tells true, and you have inherited all my—ai!” 

Eliani had stepped behind her father’s chair, sweeping his hair into her fist.  She gave it another slight tug.

“All your worst tendencies.  I know.” 

He chuckled.  “I yield!  I am at your mercy.” 

Eliani let go his hair, only to throw her arms around his neck, hugging him from behind.  Her camp plate bounced off toward the fire, twirled once on its edge, and fell over, face down in the dust. 

Felisan’s arms came up to grip hers.  Eliani leaned her head against her father’s, collecting the comfort of a physical embrace that she had denied herself a short while earlier.  His khi was heavy with sadness—old sadness—memories of Skyruach, no doubt.   

She let him go, only to come around and kneel before him, reaching up to clasp his hands and gaze up at him as she had often done as a child.  He seemed no older than he ever had, but faint lines creased his brow.  She wanted to soothe them away. 

“Let me bring you some food, Father.” 

She started to rise but his hands tightened on hers.  Startled, she met his gaze, saw the small shake of his head. 

“I am not hungry.” 

He said it quietly, and so seriously Eliani was surprised.  She searched his face. 

“You are fasting?” 

He nodded, closing his eyes briefly.  Eliani drew herself up. 

“Then I will fast, too.” 

Felisan smiled, sad and amused.  “You have no cause.” 

“Yes, I have.” 

Eliani let go her father’s hands and turned to lean against his knees, gazing at the fire.  She thought of her failure to speak to Turisan from Midrange, of his offer to handfast.  She had much cause for fasting and contemplation. 

She felt Felisan’s hand on her shoulder and reached up to clasp it.  They sat together thus while the others gathered around the fire with their food. 

Curunan, a bowl heaped with meat in his hands, settled nearby.  He fished Eliani’s plate out of the dirt and offered it to her. 

“Are you not going to eat?” 

“Not just now.” 

He shrugged.  “More for me, then.” 

Eliani watched him devour his supper, smiling at memories of her own youthful appetites.  She gazed around the fire circle, observing each of the others, their moods, their conversation.  Most seemed tired but happy enough.  They, like she, looked forward to arriving in Glenhallow. 

What would their mood be tomorrow, she wondered, after they had passed that forest of conces? 

She looked at Luruthin, who was sitting at the far side of the circle, listening to the talk of the guardians nearby as he picked at a piece of the roasted woodhen.  He seemed not to have much appetite, himself.  Unusual for Luruthin. 

Heléri came to her chair beside Felisan’s, glanced at Eliani and her father, and set her plate down while she took away the kettle to fill it from the stream.  Returning, she hung it over the fire and took her seat, nibbling a small slice of the hen’s meat and a few dried fruits from the party’s stores. 

Curunan had emptied his plate, gone to fill it again, and emptied it once more by the time the kettle boiled and Heléri leaned forward to brew more tea.  Dark had fallen full in the meantime.  Eliani thought of her cloak, but decided she did not need it yet.  The fire was warm enough, and she preferred to stay with her father. 

Heléri poured cups of tea for them both, and Felisan murmured a word of thanks.  Eliani smiled back at Heléri, then sipped the fragrant tea, which tasted faintly of evergreens, of flowers and, somehow, of snow. 

Curunan took the rest of the hot water away to wash with, collecting Eliani’s plate along the way.  Being young, he was still learning the values and demands of service in such tasks as attending on the governor, and his duties on this journey included cleaning everyone’s plates. 

“Curunan is doing well.”  Heléri poured tea into a cup someone had passed.  “This is his first journey, is it not?” 

Felisan nodded.  “He has been no farther than Clerestone before.” 

“Yet he bears his extra duties well.  I have not heard him complain since the first night.” 

“There is a simple reason.”  Eliani glanced behind her toward the wagon, where Curunan had his arms plunged into a basin of soapy water, then grinned at Heléri.  “On the road, the privilege of washing one’s hands in hot water makes kitchen chores a desirable duty.” 

“Ah.”  Heléri smiled.  “It has been a long time since I last traveled.” 

Eliani turned to look at Felisan.  “You are the only one of us who has been here before, Father.” 

He nodded, silent and pensive.  Eliani looked back at the fire, not wishing to intrude on his thoughts. 

Curunan returned with more wood, added it to the fire, then sat on the ground at Felisan’s other side, looking up at him in silent expectation.  The soft voices of the guardians gradually fell away, while the new wood on the fire popped and crackled. 

Felisan seemed lost in thought, but at last he stirred, and drank what was left in his cup.  Heléri filled it for him again.  He smiled his thanks, holding the steaming cup in both hands, and gaze a while into the fire. 

“Tomorrow we will pass Skyruach.” 

His voice was strong enough to carry across the circle, but to Eliani it sounded unlike him.  Usually merry, tonight it was grave.  She shifted so that she could look up at him. 

“Curunan has asked me to tell you of the battle there.”

He paused, a slight frown creasing his brow.  The others waited in silence. 

“I had been governor in Alpinon for ten years when the war began.  At first it was thought to be a kobalen raid against Nordale, a village that lay north of here, near Midrange.  We heard news of an attack there, which the townsfolk repelled with the help of a patrol of Southfæld Guardians.  I doubled our own patrols, and thought no more of it until word came that Nordale had been overrun.” 

Felisan shifted in his chair.  “Kobalen had come through Midrange Pass in force, some three hundred strong.  Nothing like it had ever been seen before.  They burned the village and slew any who resisted them, then started down the road toward Glenhallow.  A company of the Southfæld Guard stopped them and pushed them back to Midrange, only to discover more kobalen coming through the pass.  It was then that they sent for our help. 

“At that time Jharan was serving in Southfæld’s Guard, and he was captain of that company.  He sent a rider south to warn Glenhallow, and chose to risk his own life rather than another’s riding north to Highstone.  He rode far out into the plain to avoid the kobalen at Midrange.  For all he knew there could have been another force of kobalen ahead of him, making for Highstone.  As it happened, there was not.” 

Eliani found herself picturing Jharan—who in her imagination exactly resembled Turisan—arriving at Highstone, frightened and exhausted, to beg for Alpinon’s help.  To solicit his friend Felisan’s help, she realized, on behalf of Southfæld and without their governor’s knowledge.  Jharan had risked his position, his rank in Southfæld’s Guard, in so doing. 

“I gathered as many of our guard as I felt I could spare from our own defenses, and led them to Midrange myself.”  Felisan glanced at Heléri, smiling slightly.  “Heléri sent me forth with her blessing, and agreed to stand governor until my return.  Together with Jharan’s company, we pushed the kobalen back from the river, up onto the plateau where High Holding now stands.” 

Felisan’s frown deepened.  “We could push them no farther.  They outnumbered us, and every day more of them came through the pass.  Reinforcements arrived from Southfæld, but were only enough to hold our position.  We watched those black lines pour down from Midrange, and could do nothing to stop them. 

“Turon was governor in Southfæld then.  He had sent riders to Eastfæld as soon as he heard of Nordale’s fall, and sent more with the news of kobalen coming through Midrange.  Every day we hoped for support from the eastern realm.  Jharan and I celebrated the Spirit Feast atop the Scythe, keeping watch on our enemies on the plateau.  Twenty days later, the kobalen began to advance. 

“We sent riders north and south, then fell back down the river.  We were by then some four hundred strong.  Not enough to hold the kobalen, who numbered at least two thousand, but we begrudged them every rod of ground, and yielded it with blood.” 

He stared into the fire a little while, seeming lost in memory.  Those around the circle kept silent. 

“Our greatest fear was that the kobalen would turn north and attack Highstone.  They did not, though.  They pursued us south, apparently set on reaching Glenhallow.” 

Felisan paused to sip his tea.  “There were a number of small settlements along the Silverwash then.  They were all swiftly abandoned, their citizens fled to Glenhallow.  We used the houses and lodges for defense, until we were pushed back again.” 

Eliani thought of the conces they had ridden past on the road from Midrange.  Most roads had them, commemoration of accidents or kobalen raids, reminders of the hazards of travel.  She now wondered how many of those scattered along the road between Midrange and Glenhallow marked where guardians had fallen resisting the kobalen incursion.  She remembered seeing clusters of them in a few places. 

“Ten days before Midsummer a courier reached us from Glenhallow.  Turon had gathered all the Guard in Southfæld, and was bringing them to support us.  We were to take a stand at Skyruach and hold the enemy there.” 

Felisan looked up, glancing around the circle for the first time since he had begun to talk.  Eliani looked too, saw the faces of the guardians grave and attentive, saw Curunan looking wide-eyed like a startled deer.  No doubt he had heard few such tales. 

“Skyruach is a tall thrust of blackrock, flat-topped, impossible to storm.  You will see it tomorrow.  It is near enough to the road for a party atop the rock, if they are well-armed and large enough, to control passage on the road.  The Silverwash runs swift and deep here, as you have seen.  To reach Glenhallow one must pass below Skyruach, or cross the river several leagues above it. 

“The night we received Turon’s message we lit campfires and left a token force before the enemy, then slipped away to take up our position on Skyruach.  Silverdale’s folk met us at the foot of their valley.  Half of them had already fled; those who remained and were fit to take arms joined us, the rest departed at once for Glenhallow.  We ascended the rock with our weapons, every arrow we could find, and three days’ worth of food and water.” 

Felisan fell silent.  Curunan stirred and looked as if he was about to ask some question, but Eliani caught his attention with a warning frown.  Felisan drew a deep breath before continuing. 

“We knew we could only hold the kobalen back from the road for a short time.  We counted on Turon to support us, to block the enemy on the ground with a mass of warriors.  The next day was one of the longest in my memory. 

“We waited atop that black rock in the heat of midsummer, waited for the enemy to appear.  Noon passed, and they did not come.  The sun drew near the mountains, and they did not come.  Finally at dusk a single rider appeared on the road from the south, galloping toward us. 

“We watched him eagerly, dreading and hoping for the news he brought, but we never heard it.  He was slain by a kobalen dart before he reached us.  The enemy had arrived, and at day’s end they made their camp on the plain below Silverdale, fouling it with their filth.” 

Felisan shifted in his chair, peered into his cup, and set it down.  Eliani saw a slight tremor in his hand as he let go the cup. 

“It was much to our advantage that the kobalen see poorly at night, and are prone to sleeping through the dark.  We left them alone for a time, until the moon had set.  Then we began to pick off their sentries.  It probably did little good, but it heartened us, and we hoped it would cause them dismay.  We knew that the real fighting would begin with the dawn. 

“At first light they formed a column and started down the road.  We waited until they were within a few rods, then loosed our arrows.  The first volley took down some fifty, and halted them for a time, but they came on. 

“We felled them as fast as we could, tens and tens of them, until they had to pause to drag their dead off the road before trying again to pass us.  We held them back all that day.  When the sun set, they stopped.  They tried to remove their dead, but we slew any that came near that ghastly heap.”

Felisan closed his eyes for a moment.  He leaned back in his chair, seeming to shrink with weariness. 

“We took stock of our arms, and found we had used over half of our arrows.  We waited until the kobalen slept, then we slew their sentries again, and a party crept down to the plain to recover arrows from the heap of kobalen dead.  I did not join in that horrible task.  Jharan convinced me that I should not risk myself.  But he went.” 

Curunan sat up  “Jharan went?  But he was governor-elect!” 

Felisan glanced at him.  “No, he was not.  There were seven others between him and Turon.  He was a captain of the Guard, no more.  He was daring, then.  He had no reason not to be.” 

Felisan’s mouth curved in a hint of a smile.  It vanished as he resumed his tale. 

“Those who went down brought back many arrows, also many of the kobalen’s throwing sticks and quivers upon quivers full of darts.  We were unpracticed in their use, but we soon learned how to sling kobalen darts with deadly accuracy. 

“At dawn the struggle resumed.  The kobalen tried again to march past us, their dead blocked their way and we slew those that tried to remove them.  Then another mob of kobalen came at us, at Skyruach.  They tried to climb the rock, which is difficult to scale even in the best conditions.  We divided ourselves, and some defended the rock while the rest continued to hold the road. 

“By midday there was a heap of kobalen dead around the foot of the rock as well as that on the road.  We were beginning to lose heart, then Turon arrived on the road with the Southfæld Guard.” 

Felisan’s face cleared somewhat, his eyes growing bright.  “We cheered!  How we cheered them, even as we loosed our last arrows and slung darts at the kobalen below us.  The Guard drove into the kobalen on the road, pushed past the barricade of dead, and forced them back from Skyruach, off the field and back to the ridge. 

“We were exhausted, but we could not rest.  Turon sent word that we were to continue guarding the road.  We came down from the rock to collect arrows again.  Silverdale Creek had been fouled by the kobalen, nor did we care to draw water from the Silverwash, for they had pushed some of their dead into it from the road.  We rationed what water we had left, and returned atop the rock to rest. 

“We watched the Southfæld Guard hold back the kobalen all day.  They kept coming, black waves of them from the north.  Toward evening Turon began to give ground.  Jharan led half our number to join him while I stayed atop Skyruach with fewer than two hundreds.” 

Felisan closed his eyes.  Eliani felt an urge to comfort him, but did not move.  When he spoke again his voice was low and unsteady. 

“I feared for Jharan.  As I watched him go I thought I might not see him again.  His party joined Turon’s, but they could not hold back the kobalen.  They retreated, slowly but steadily, until they were nearly even with Skyruach.  The kobalen swarmed over the plain again, up toward Silverdale and then around Skyruach, trying to attack Turon from behind.  We concentrated our arrows on them, and stopped them from reaching Turon, but it was clear by then that the kobalen were too many for us.” 

“Turon arrayed his guardians between Skyruach and the river.  He sent Jharan up with a message for us to hold off the kobalen up on the plain, to keep them back from the rock, especially to our left.” 

Felisan paused, leaning forward to stare into the fire, which was starting to burn low.  Curunan reached for another log to put on the coals. 

“I have often wondered if Turon chose Jharan to carry that message on purpose, to spare him.  Jharan thinks not, but I have wondered.” 

Felisan exchanged a long glance with Heléri, who said nothing.  He looked back at the fire, new yellow flames leaping bright into the starry night. 

“In any event, he was spared by it, for just after he reached the top of Skyruach the kobalen broke through Turon’s line.  We watched the Southfæld Guard vanish under a wave of black, even as we shot down the kobalen as fast as we were able.  It was then that Jharan and I said our farewells, and pledged to meet again in spirit.  We fully expected to die by nightfall.” 

Eliani had never seen her father look so aggrieved.  He sensed her gaze and looked at her, eyes deep with pain.  He reached out a hand to stroke her hair. 

“The day was ending, the sun drawing near the mountains.  A long day, near midsummer.  We were weary beyond words, but determined to defend the road to the last.  A column of kobalen were forming to march past us, on to Glenhallow.  We doubted we could stop them but we loosed our arrows and darts upon them anyway, and they hesitated.  They turned to sling darts back at us. 

“It was then that a miracle occurred.  It seemed miraculous to us, at least.  The kobalen stopped fighting us.  They wavered and broke.  We knew it could not be because of our efforts, and it was not.  We looked north, and saw Eastfæld’s banners in the light of the dying sun.” 

He straightened in his chair and let out a long sigh.  “The kobalen dispersed before Eastfæld like mist on the wind.  In mere moments, the black swarm—the mob that we had expected to swallow us as they had swallowed Turon and the flower of Southfæld—vanished, scattered, and ran.  We watched Eastfælders hunt them up into the mountains and trap them against the river.  It was over.” 

He fell silent.  Eliani held still.  It seemed that the others were holding their breath, waiting for more. 

There was more, Eliani knew.  There was the story of Eastfæld’s first skirmish, at Midrange, where they stopped the flow of kobalen southward and drove them back up into the pass before marching to Skyruach’s rescue, but Felisan said nothing of this.  He had not been there himself, and it seemed he had told all he cared to tell. 

Eliani glanced at Curunan, who looked numb.  She raised her cup but found it empty, and set it on the ground beside her father’s.

Luruthin’s voice broke the silence.  “Eliani and I saw Skyruach from the ridge this evening.  We saw the conces on the field.” 

Felisan nodded.  Eliani stirred, shifting her legs, which had grown stiff with sitting so long. 

“There is a tall pillar carved from the rock.”

Her father glanced at her.  “Yes.  It is to commemorate Turon’s force of the Southfæld Guard.  Their names are all carven into it.  Hundreds of names.  There was not room to place conces for them all where they fell.” 

Curunan looked up at him.  “Turon’s name is first?”

“Yes.  Turon, his brother Raethan, their cousins Virshan, Thilani, Delesan, Rhivhari, Torithan, and Maronin.  When we learned that they all had been in Turon’s force and had fallen, we knew that Jharan would become governor of Southfæld.” 

Felisan stirred, sat up, then stretched his legs toward the fire.  “But that is a tale for another day.  It is late, and we should rest.  I would like to start early tomorrow.” 

As if his words had broken an enchantment, the guardians all stood up and began to prepare the camp for night.  They murmured softly, agreeing upon shifts of watch duty, then retired to their tents. 

Felisan gazed sidelong at Curunan.  “You, youngling, should go and take your rest.” 

Curunan looked hurt.  “But what about—” 

“Will you play a game of tenstone with me before we retire?”  Luruthin stepped up beside the youth. 

Curunan looked at him, wavered, then yielded to temptation.  “I will beat you this time!” 

“You may try.” 

Luruthin ushered him away to their tent, receiving a grateful smile from Felisan.  Eliani went to her own tent, but only to fetch her cloak.  She stopped at her kindred’s tent to ask Luruthin for her father’s cloak.  He looked up from a scatter of green and white stones he and Curunan were sorting, and got up to find the cloak, handing it to her with a glance full of meaning. 

He had been a guardian, was still nominally one, and had slain his share of kobalen.  His gaze told Eliani he was deeply moved by Felisan’s recital.  So was she, but this was not the time to discuss it.  She smiled her thanks and left. 

Returning to the fire, Eliani draped her father’s cloak around his shoulders.  Her own cloak cushioned and warmed her as she settled herself at his feet again.  

Heléri had made more tea, a different blend this time, tasting of honey and mild spices.  She shared it with Eliani and Felisan.  Eliani thanked her, grateful to have her rumbling stomach soothed. 

She felt her father’s hand stroke her hair and turned to look at him.  He was smiling softly at her.  Smiling, as if telling them of Skyruach had eased the burden of his memories.

She leaned her head back to look up at the stars, and the three of them silently waited for dawn.