Free The Lady of Han-Gilen by Judith Tarr Page B

yes. The rest I—I lost. Back yonder. Have you heard
of the woman called the Exile?”
    The men within hearing tensed. Cuthan leaned forward. The
Asanian’s look was almost a look of triumph.
    Her fist clenched at her belt where her sword had hung. “She
camps a day’s journey south, maybe more. She has men with her. They caught me
and killed my mare and took all I had.”
    The Asanian’s full lip curled. “They let you go.”
    She bared her teeth at him. “No. Not the likes of me. Red
mane, witch-power. She knows that as well as you. But not well enough.”
    “No one escapes from that demon incarnate.”
    “One does if she happens to turn her mind elsewhere. She is
not, yet, omniscient.”
    “Southern lies.”
    “Plain truth.” Elian faced Cuthan. “Take me to the king and
let him judge.”
    The Asanian leaped to his feet. “The Exile is Gileni. Red
Gileni, witch and sorceress. What better weapon against my lord than one of her
kin? Young and innocent to look at, but shaped for murder, as she murdered the
god’s bride.”
    “She is traitor and outcast, abhorred by all her kin.” Elian
flung back her tangled hair. “Your king will know. Take me to him.”
    Cuthan shifted. Shamelessly she followed his thoughts. He
was commander here, but he was young, and a better judge of land than of men.
An obvious spy, a grown man prowling where he ought not to be, that was easy
enough to judge. But this lordly youth, pretty as a girl, found fainting by the
waterside: was he truly what he seemed to be, or was he indeed a servant of the
enemy?
    “The king,” said Elian. “He can judge.”
    “He can,” Cuthan said slowly. “Maybe he’d better. But first
we’ll see to those scratches. They look nasty.”
    “They should. The witch’s familiar gave them to me.” Elian
held out her hands. “Take me now. The sooner I see the king, the better.”
    “Not with your face like that,” said Cuthan, stubborn. “Even
if I could allow it, the king would have my hide.”
    She sighed and submitted. He himself cleaned her cheek and
salved it with numbroot, clicking his tongue the while, mourning her poor
marred beauty.
    His hands were light and skilled. Elian found herself
smiling at him, crookedly, numbed as she was.
    “Bind him,” snapped the Asanian, who had never taken his
eyes from them. “Or should I? You’re half in love with him already.”
    Cuthan seemed unoffended. “No need of that. I’m taking him
where he wants to go.”
    “And if he knifes you in the back?”
    “I’ll chance it.”
    Beneath Cuthan’s lightness lay steel. The Asanian subsided
with the swiftness of wisdom.
    oOo
    Elian was honored with trust. She had a senel to herself,
no cord to bind her and no leadrein to bind her mount, and Cuthan’s
guardianship was light to invisibility. He rode beside her or ahead of her,
sometimes silent, more often singing. His voice was very pleasant to hear.
    In one of his silences she asked him, “Is it common for a
captain of scouts to proclaim his presence to the whole realm?”
    “If the realm is his king’s own,” answered Cuthan, “yes.”
    Elian’s breath shortened. She had kept herself from
thinking. That she was almost there. In front of Mirain. Telling him why she
had come.
    I told you that I would.
    I keep my promises.
    I want to fight for you.
    Or most shameful, and closest to the truth: There was a man,
I was as much as commanded to marry him, I could have done it in all gladness,
and for the sheer terror of it I ran away.
    As far as she could, as far into her childhood as she might.
Running to Mirain as she had then, to be held and rocked and maybe chided a
little, maybe more than a little, but always granted his indulgence.
    Truth. It burned. I promised. My first promise. I would
marry you, or I would marry no one at all.
    And no one could
so easily, so appallingly easily, have become someone , a face carved in ivory, lamplight in golden eyes.
    She fixed her stare on Cuthan, for