Free The Betrayal by Pati Nagle Page B

cold.
    “This is script.”
    He turned the ear over to confirm his impression, then held it toward Eliani. She took it back and squinted at the ring.
    “ ‘Preserve.’” She looked up at him, her face gone pale. “Do you know of any reason an ælven would mark a kobalen thus?”
    Turisan shook his head. She had reached the same conclusion, then. If no ælven had made it, only one other race had the skill.
    “Alben.”
    A chill coursed through Turisan at the whispered word. He glanced up, opening to the khi of the wood. Reaching through the vast web of firespear, he extended his awareness past the chaos of the nearby slaughter from which all the woodland creatures had fled, past the edge of the grove, into the pines well beyond. Something dark lingered yet, but it was distant and he could not place it. More kobalen, perhaps. No doubt they already were fleeing westward.
    Luruthin hurried to Eliani, bow still in hand. “There is nothing else. They have food and water but no plunder.”
    Gharinan joined them. “And no others are marked.”
    Turisan looked at the handful of dark bodies. “They are too few for a raid. This was a scout.”
    Eliani took a small leather pouch from her belt and emptied it of a spare bowstring, then put the ear into it. “They have never come this close to Highstone before. They must have crossed at Midrange and come up through the South Wood.” She turned to face Turisan. “I fear I must cut short our excursion. My father should know of this at once.”
    “Of course.”
    “And we had best offer atonement.”
    Eliani grimaced with the words, and Turisan sympathized. It was part of the paradox of living in the flesh-bound world that the ælven creed sometimes was difficult to keep.
    Slaying kobalen was part of a guardian's duty, but because doing harm was against the creed, they must ask forgiveness from the ældar who watched over the creatures, no matter how much harm the kobalenthemselves had wrought. Their ældar must be honored, even as the hunter thanked the ældar of his prey, the farmer the ældar who watched over his crops.
    Luruthin and Gharinan began to gather fallen wood and pile the kobalen bodies atop it in a clear space. Eliani joined them, and Turisan returned to where the surviving kobalen lay.
    It breathed shallowly, close to death. Turisan leaned over it. “Why does your friend wear a ring in his ear?”
    The kobalen gazed at him, eyes already seeming dull. At first he thought it had not understood, but then it drew a deep breath and spat at him.
    Turisan dodged. Furious, he drew his belt knife and made one swift slash across the creature's throat. It gurgled, eyes wide with alarm, then was still.
    Turisan stood and wiped his knife blade, regretting his angry impulse. It was possible he might have coaxed more information from the kobalen, but he had little patience with the creatures. No use bemoaning his action, for it was dead now. He picked it up and carried it to the pyre.
    The others had gathered the rest of the kobalen. The four of them stood around the pyre, and Eliani spread her hands toward it.
    “Ældar guardian of these creatures, we pray you pardon the destruction of their lives and the waste of their flesh. We honor their spirit and commit their bodies to flame.”
    Turisan added his silent atonement. He spread his hands, as did the others, and closed his eyes in concentration. Narrowing the focus of his khi into his palms, he sent it forth into the dry wood beneath the kobalen and placed a spark there, willing it to set the wood alight, pouring his energy into the creation of fire. He could feel the others doing the same, and soon the pyre was aflame.
    Opening his eyes, he stepped back, away from the stink of burning kobalen flesh. Eliani turned from the fire, pausing as she met Turisan's gaze. She had shown no fear during the encounter, only the skill and quick response of a seasoned guardian. She had been magnificent, in fact, and he wished to compliment