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through the gate of the inner wall. Then she and
Helananthe turned and came towards Rufryd and his companions, with Derione
following them.
Branq'elin's dark skin was drained, her eyes bruised, but she still looked
very striking. Her face with its strong cheekbones was neat and powerful, her
slanted eyes as green as her cloak. Rufryd had never looked at her so closely
before, nor realised how attractive she was. Her rich brown hair hung forward
over her shoulder, strands of it escaping from the loose plait. She pressed
her gloved hands to Halcyon's neck as she spoke.
'My brother and I have decided that I must go back to Thanmandrathor - and
thence, albeit against his wishes, to Vexor,' she said. She had a natural
dignity, yet her manner was down-to-earth. Rufryd was lost for words. 'But I
thought your brother didn't want you to go without him, my lady.' 'He doesn't.
But neither does he want me nursing him, when I have so much to do. I know he
is in good hands here and I
must make this journey.' Rufryd leaned down towards her, curious. 'Why?'
Perhaps the question was over-familiar, but she held his gaze and answered
simply, 'If the Bhahdradomen break out of Vexor, my country will be the first
to suffer. Since the Queen is sending her people into danger, I cannot do
otherwise than go with you on Thanmandrathor's behalf.' 'Here is your horse,
Lady Branq'elin,'
Helananthe said, gentle and sombre. A stable-hand offered her the reins of the
golden mare. 'Now go, my dear friends, before I have second thoughts about
this journey. Nuth and Nepheter keep you. Your bravery shall not go unsung,
nor unrewarded.'
Subdued, the second party moved off at last, out through the gates, into the
streets of Parione where rain dampened the dust of summer, and a fork of jade
lightning caressed the horizon.
*
*
*
Page 109
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Five days out of Parione, Tanthe was beginning to feel she had spent her whole
life in the Serpentine
Mountains. Their steep green sides were so familiar, the deep valleys strewn
with huge grey boulders, the streams and the valleys folding away endlessly in
silvery-blue mists. The Serpentines were imbued with both ecstasy and
nightmare. She loved them passionately . . . and wondered for the twentieth
time how she had brought herself to leave Saphaeyender again.
She felt calmer now they were on the move. She was glad of Eldareth's amiable
company, for the other two were habitually quiet. Elrill was self-contained
and saw no need to talk for the sake of it. He was a magnificent sight on his
white horse Nefri, his hair a fall of ice against his silvery-blue cloak, his
long pale Aelyr sword a twin to the one she carried.
Jthery was quiet too, but more through inexperience than aloofness. He was
like a shadow of Elrill on his slender dapple-grey gelding. Heron. With his
grey and amethyst garments and sunset hair, he was ethereal enough to be taken
for an Aelyr, Tanthe thought. She could well believe he had risen from the
mists of Mithrain's lakes to take the shape of a sprite who might well seduce
an unsuspecting young woman into the water . . . Except that he'd caught a
summer cold, and his coughing and sneezing rather spoiled the effect.
Eldareth and Tanthe wore plain travelling gear of black, rust and green, with
changes of clothes in their saddlebags, towels, basic first aid kits and
provisions to last three or four days. It felt familiar, like being on her
first journey to rescue Ysomir. Sometimes she could almost feel Lynden and
Rufryd riding alongside her, and it gave her a jolt to know that Rufryd was
hundreds of miles away by now. That she might never see him again.
She bit her lip. She would have done anything to hug him, to say goodbye
properly with kisses and tears ... but he'd hurt her too badly this time. She
couldn't have softened towards him even if she'd wanted to. The strange thing
was that she'd risen above it, genuinely no longer cared what he thought of
her. That was why she'd been able to say, 'No hard feelings', and mean it.
It had been different with Saphaeyender. He had always been so kind to her,
endlessly patient with her hero-worship, her impertinence and her wayward
behaviour. Unlike Rufryd, he'd never judged her.
No, she'd judged herself.
The morning they had parted, she'd tried to explain to him that it was the
fact she adored him that meant she had to leave. 'I don't want you to be
different, because of me,' she'd said. 'I want you to be the
Saphaeyender you would have been, if we'd never met. I don't know how to
explain. It's as if someone gave me the most sublime painting in the world,
and I added my own daubs to it... I'm not making any sense, am I?'
'No, I understand you,' he'd said tiredly. 'It's just that you're talking
nonsense. It's not your fault I can't write. You haven't changed me; you're
not that powerful, my love, but neither are you some kind of pollutant in a
pure spring of water! Gods, if I have changed, it's because I needed to. Just
a shame, isn't it, that I am old enough to be your father; that I want to get
married and you want something else entirely?'
'You only think you want to marry because you're depressed. she retorted.
'Well, that could be true, as well,' he sighed.
'And I'm not helping you. I just remind you of the battle and Lynden all the
time. You will be better without me, Saph. And this quest isn't yours.'
It hadn't been a quarrel. They'd both spoken gently, embraced and wept. And he
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