The Garden of Stones - By Mark T. Barnes Page 0,46
really leaving then, despite what we know?” Shar came to stand beside him. The wind tugged at the fine strands of her dawn-hued quills. He smiled at her near-infinite patience with him. Shar-fer-rayn, the last of her troupe. A princess without a people.
“Maybe because of it. Is the Wanderer ready to fly?”
“You’re the scholar—you tell me.” She shrugged. It was clear she disapproved of his decision. “Weren’t you having trouble with one of the Tempest Wheels?”
“Fixed it. I think.”
“Then we’re ready, except for supplies.” Shar turned to face him. “You’re better than this, Indris. You said yourself Shrīan needs to be gentler. What happens when Ariskander goes home?”
“I can’t alter that, Shar.”
“Why don’t you govern?” There was nothing humorous in her tone. “You’ve been a governor of places we’ve defended in the Conflicted Cities.”
Indris silently thanked Ekko for the interruption as he roused from sleep to stretch. The Tau-se yawned and blinked lazily. Poked at the bandages wrapped about his torso and head. Indris and Shar smiled as he tentatively sniffed his clawed fingers. Ekko’s nose wrinkled in disapproval at the medicinal smell, then he curled up and closed his eyes.
“Word will have spread he’s here.” Indris rubbed his eyes with fatigue. “If I were Corajidin, I’d not want Ekko getting to the emergency session of the Teshri to tell more people what he saw. Evidence from a witness such as Ekko will be quite compelling.”
“You suspect an attempt on Ekko’s life.”
“It’s what I’d do, if I wanted to keep something like this from spreading further.”
Indris and Shar returned to Ekko’s side, then settled into a companionable silence. She leaned back in her chair, long legs crossed at the ankle. Her skin shone with inner radiance, though dim as a flickering candle. Lost in reverie she tapped a dark nail against the hilt of a blue-tinted serill blade. Despite her blank expression, he knew she was aware of every sound and movement around her. Her long, upswept ears twitched from time to time. Her eyes would open to bright-yellow crescents, then close again as whatever had alarmed her passed.
Almost an hour passed before Shar’s head cocked to the side. Indris did not need to ask. The war-chanter listened intently for a few moments before she nodded to Indris. The two of them rose from their chairs to take positions in the wind-rippled shadows of Ekko’s bower. Neither made a sound as Shar held up her fingers to indicate six people. He shrugged. It was a small matter.
Indris looked across at Ekko. The Tau-se lay still, his eyes opened to barely more than slits. Ekko extended the powerful claws of one hand, then let them slide into the velvet softness of his fur.
Moments passed with little sound save the gentle sigh of the wind across the latticed arbor. Ilhen jangled in the trees like wind chimes, diadems of starlight captured in crystal.
Movement in the shadows. The scuff of boots on the sandy path.
Two shadows turned into the arbor.
Shar shot forward. She struck one shape a vicious blow across the temple with the flat of her sword. She spun. Dipped. Surged upward. Hammered the other shape with the heel of one hand. Its head snapped back. Her elbow followed to the exposed throat. It went down, gasping.
Indris was a blink behind. He dashed out, light-footed. Stood within the curve of a hastily drawn sword. He reached out. Placed his palm against the man’s face. Whispered the First Ban of Slumber. The warrior’s knees gave out as sleep took him, felled by a word.
Indris leaped. Formulae flickered across his mind. He saw the Disentropic Stain halo his hands. A dark corona. His hands an eclipse. The Low Shout formed in his mouth—
“Wait!” a familiar voice shouted in panic. Too late to stop, Indris loosed his Low Shout.
His voice boomed. Shorter, sharper than thunder. He turned it downward. The sand at his feet exploded outward. He felt the wave of force roll across his shins. His target whimpered in abject terror. The ammonia smell of urine grew strong. Indris stepped back fastidiously from the spreading pool.
Nehrun stood there, pale-faced. His hand rested on the hilt of his sheathed sword. Rosha was beside him, sword drawn. Indris’s cousins looked with horror at the state of their personal guards. Three of them were unconscious; the fourth stood on unsteady legs.
“What are you doing?” Fear made Nehrun bold, shame made him angry. “I should have you executed!”