The severed heads raining down . . . The Volarian’s defiant glare as he was led to the block . . . “They should,” Reva told her. “Will you be coming to Varinshold? There are rooms aplenty here if you wish to stay. And I’m sure Lady Veliss would like the company.”
Alornis smiled but shook her head. “Alucius and Master Benril. I have to find them.” She hesitated then came into the room, eyes widening in appreciation at the paintings on the upper walls, the swordsmen in their various poses. “This was done by a skilled hand.”
“At the cost of my great-grandfather’s coin, no doubt. He seems to have been a little too free with it, according to Veliss’s records. Perhaps why he lost so many wars to the Asraelins. I find governing a fief to be mostly a matter of coin.”
Alornis’s brow creased as she looked at Reva, shaking her head in faint wonder. “So changed in such a short time.”
Reva found her scrutiny hard to bear and turned away, hefting the sword. “You,” she told it, “are just too heavy.”
“What happened to your old one?” Alornis asked. “That was a thing of beauty.”
Standing over Arken’s body, her arm moving in a ceaseless, deadly arc, the rage spilling from her lips in a meaningless torrent . . . “I broke it.” She raised her gaze to the few remaining blades on the higher racks, picking out an Asraelin sword somehow missed by the servants sent to ransack the place for arms. “You can help me find another.”
She cupped her hands to create a stirrup and Alornis placed a foot in it, reaching up as Reva hoisted her, snatching the sword from the rack before slipping from her grip and falling. Reva caught her, holding her tight as she laughed, drawing back to meet her gaze.
“My brother says Lady Veliss was once a spy in King Janus’s service,” Alornis told her.
“I know. She has been many things.”
“Well, I think she’s lovely.” She stood on tiptoe to press a kiss to Reva’s forehead. “I’m happy for you.”
She turned, retrieved her case of sketches and left. Reva closed her eyes, feeling the warmth of the kiss fade from her skin. Her gaze was always far too keen. Foolish to imagine she wouldn’t know.
She hefted the sword, drawing the blade free of the scabbard, finding it old but not rusted, the edge notched but not so bad it couldn’t be sharpened keen. “So,” she said, putting the scabbard aside and assuming a fighting stance. “Let’s see if you’re a better fit. We have much work to do.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Lyrna
The horse was a gift from the Eorhil, fourteen hands at the shoulder and white from nose to tail save for a tuft of black hair between her ears. Lyrna had found the Eorhil woman they called Wisdom waiting with the horse when she emerged from her tent that morning. She proffered the reins with a surprisingly well-executed formal bow.
“She has a name?” Lyrna asked her.
“It translates as ‘An Unseen Arrow as She Runs through Snow and Wind,’ Highness,” Wisdom replied in her perfect Realm Tongue. “My people are not known for their brevity.”
“Arrow it is,” Lyrna said, scratching the mare’s nose and drawing forth a faint snort.
“She misses her rider,” Wisdom said. “He fell before the city. I feel you may be able to mend her heart.”
“My thanks.” Lyrna returned her bow. “Will you ride with me today? I greatly wish to know more of your people.”
There was a somewhat sardonic lilt to the woman’s voice as she replied, “Have you not already read every book in your library concerning the Eorhil, Highness?”
“I am increasingly aware that the sagacity of books is limited in comparison to experience.”
“As you wish.” Wisdom turned and vaulted onto the back of her own horse, looking down at Lyrna in expectation. “My people ride now.”
Iltis and Benten were obliged to scramble onto their own horses as Lyrna mounted up and trotted off with Wisdom. They rode to the eastern edge of the camp where the Eorhil host was already in motion, the various war bands galloping off seemingly at random. No neatly ordered ranks and columns here, although every rider seemed to move with a purpose and she noticed how the host took on a definite if loose formation as they crested the eastern hills and entered the lowlying fields beyond.
“Good country for horses,” Lyrna commented to Wisdom an hour or so shy of midday. The ride had been hard but not exhausting, her journey through the Lonak Dominion having left her well adapted to long hours in the saddle. Plus she found her new mount something of a delight, faster than poor old Sable and less fractious than Surefoot.
“Still too many hills for my people’s liking,” Wisdom replied, taking a long pull from her waterskin. “And not an elk to be had since we came here. Some of the young ones are chafing at it, for true adulthood only comes when you take your first elk.”
Lyrna looked at the riders around them, noting how their eyes strayed constantly to her face but displayed none of the awe shown by the Realm folk. If anything she detected a discomfort in finding themselves in such proximity.