CHAPTER TWENTY

CART traffic was sparse along the little track that meandered along the northern edge of La Maronne, but just as Féolan had concluded that he would have to carry Gabrielle all the way to the Skyway Outpost, a herd of sheep made their way down the path, followed by a weather-beaten shepherd pulling a hand cart piled with clothing, blankets and supplies.

There was no need to impress the man with Gabrielle’s lineage. He took one look at Gabrielle (“so fair, wan and wounded,” Féolan would joke, later), scratched at his ample beard as if deep in thought and began unpacking his wagon. Most items were tied into a blanket and slung over his back. Féolan and Derkh tucked what they could into their packs. With a grand gesture, their new friend motioned Gabrielle to the empty, and rather rickety-looking, hand cart.

“Will it do, Gabrielle?” asked Féolan, worried. “I think it’s only a few more miles, but that thing will be bumpy beyond belief, and there isn’t room to lie down.”

“They’re all bumpy beyond belief,” said Gabrielle. “Big or small. I wonder, though, if we might be able to rig up a little backrest. It would help if I had something to lean against.”

A pack filled with cloaks and blankets was tucked behind her, and she was soon being hauled down the road, legs dangling behind, surrounded by milling sheep.

It was the slowest part of the journey for Féolan. He could see Gabrielle tire from the effort of bracing herself against the pitch of the little cart, see her face tighten in pain with every rattle. He would rather have carried her, but after three hours of rocky downhill track he couldn’t manage much more.

Abruptly the wagon stopped, and with a yell the shepherd bolted off the track after a group of straying sheep. Féolan crouched in front of Gabrielle’s knees and looked up into her face. “How are you doing?” he asked.

“Let’s just say it’s not seskeesh travel,” said Gabrielle. “I’ll be bloody glad to get off this thing. But I’ll last.”

Their friend was stumping back, brandishing his hat behind four reluctant sheep. Waving off Derkh’s offer to take a turn, he hoisted up the handles of the cart and offered them a wide, gap-toothed smile. “Stupid beasts,” he said. And then, “Goin’ to the soldiers’ camp?” They were the first—and only—words he spoke to them.

Squinting into the late-afternoon sun, they rattled down the road.

THE SENTRY WHO intercepted them swept his eyes over the trio, noting the green and yellow mottles of Derkh’s fading bruises and Gabrielle’s exhausted slump, and raised a hand to forestall Féolan’s explanations.

“You’d be the Elf-fellow, Féolan, and this the king’s daughter of Verdeau,” he surmised, in the clipped tones of Marronaise Krylaise. “And you,” he continued, pointing a thick finger at Derkh, “would be the lad they were looking for.” He nodded with satisfaction at the three stunned faces. “Only thing I don’t get is, who’s this one?” he asked, gesturing at the shepherd.

“Mutton delivery, ten head, to the Chief Provisioner,” the man replied, and then looked indignant at the ensuing laughter.

“That’s the biggest herd of ten I ever saw,” remarked the sentry.

Féolan stepped in. “This man very kindly provided transport to the Lady Gabrielle, and we owe him a great debt of gratitude.” The shepherd, who had previously waved away their offer of payment as imperiously as he had waved Derkh away from the cart, puffed with pleasure.

“How did you know about us?” Féolan asked, as the sentry escorted them to the camp.

“A friend of yours was here, looking for you,” the man replied. “Says you was late returning and asked us to watch. He’s up the mountain right now, searching, but he’ll be back, I warrant.”

Living conditions in the outpost were rough, but a vast improvement to sleeping on rock and cooking over a fire. Though the outpost men were still housed in tents, a row of wooden cabins was being built to provide year-round shelter. In just minutes, mattresses were moved into the most finished of these, a set of real sheets proudly produced by the on-site Commander, and Gabrielle was soon comfortably tucked in. She was asleep almost instantly and did not rouse until morning.

“WAKE UP, SLEEPYHEAD. You’ve missed dinner and are very close to missing breakfast. That’s no way to build up your strength.” Gabrielle’s eyes fluttered open. She knew this voice, knew she would turn her head to find warm brown eyes, golden hair, a fair Elvish face.

“Danaïs. You seem determined always to see me at my worst.” In the short time of their friendship, Danaïs had seen Gabrielle heartbroken, exhausted and filthy beyond belief.

He laughed, the sound a merry soft cascade. “You were much worse than this just days ago, or so I am told.”

“True, I’m afraid.” She stretched experimentally. “I am hungry, though. Do you think...?”

“I do not think. I am certain. Féolan and Derkh are vying even now to see who can haul back the largest, most sumptuous breakfast for you. You will have to settle for filling rather than sumptuous, though. It’s soldier fare here, plain and simple.”

Féolan and Derkh shouldered in, bearing great trays of food, and as they ate Danaïs took the opportunity to fill them in on his part of the story. “When you did not return in almost two weeks, I decided to look for you. And it seemed smarter by then to start at the end of your journey, so I rode straight here.”

“You could search these mountains for three months and never find anyone,” remarked Féolan.

“Yes, but I did not have three months, so it is well you found yourselves,” retorted Danaïs. “The First Ambassador may have forgotten, but his Council has not, that the next joint defense talks with the Humans take place in less than a week.” Féolan’s expression was comically transparent. “You had forgotten, I see. Perhaps you have forgotten also that it is to be held quite close to here, in Gaudette. So I was charged, in the unfortunate event that you were not found, to take your place as Ambassador and Translator for the Elvish Defense Council.” He chewed for a bit, considering.

“It’s rather a pity you showed up, now I think about it. I was looking forward to rubbing shoulders with the Great.”

Under the laughter, Danaïs’s gentle gaze took in the way Féolan’s eyes kept returning to Gabrielle, checking, he knew, for signs of fever, fatigue, pain.

“Derkh,” he said. “Let’s you and me clear away this mighty mess and leave these two in peace a while. We can go to my tent or find a rock in the sun, and you can satisfy my curiosity there.”

TELLING DANAÏS WHAT had happened to them all, from beginning to end, was probably the longest Derkh had ever talked in his life.

He had been worried that Danaïs would, in his light-hearted way, make a joke of his tale. But his fears were unfounded. To his relief, the Elf allowed Derkh to tell the story in his own way, waiting patiently when he groped to find a Krylaise word or lapsed into Greffaire, interrupting only to clarify when he didn’t understand. It was another thing Derkh was learning from his new friends: that qualities he had been raised to see as contradictory could co-exist. A person could be both serious and silly, or like the seskeesh, powerful and gentle. First he told the facts, unembellished with his own opinions or feelings, the way he had been taught to report on military action. And then, encouraged somehow by Danaïs’s silent attentiveness, he surprised himself by telling more.

“Maybe the real reason I left was because I couldn’t believe that anyone here could really be my friend. It didn’t seem to matter what they did; I couldn’t believe in it. And then Gabrielle nearly died trying to save me, and Féolan never said one word of blame. I don’t know what I would have done if she had died. But she lived, and I know now that all the shame and regret I have for what happened will not give her any satisfaction, only more pain. I think, if I want to repay this debt, the only way is to try to give back to her what she has given me all along. To be her friend.” Derkh swallowed, struggling against his own embarrassment, and finally lifted his dark eyes to meet Danaïs’s.

The Elf contemplated him in silence, and Derkh kept his head up and allowed the scrutiny. At last Danaïs smiled and shook his head gently, and Derkh’s own grin of relief was wide enough to hurt his bruised cheeks. He felt light, like he’d laid down a heavy pack that had bent him to the ground.

“I foretold, if you remember, a growth spurt for you,” said Danaïs. Derkh didn’t follow at first. “At Gabrielle’s dinner,” prompted Danaïs. “When you were piling your plate to the sky.”

“Oh, I remember now,” said Derkh. The night he almost changed his mind, that was. The night he almost believed.

“I was right, was I not? You have grown tall indeed. Tall in here.” He reached over and laid a hand over Derkh’s heart. It was a touch Derkh might have flinched away from not long ago. Now he accepted it, seeing in his mind’s eye the way the seskeesh had cradled Gabrielle’s face in its great hand, the dignity and tenderness of the gesture.

“I would be proud, Derkh, if you would consider yourself my friend also,” said Danaïs. “As I am yours.”