any hint of where his heart might be. He did glance up at the abbey wall, though, his face stern and set, and Midalis followed that gaze to the reciprocal look of Abbot Agronguerre.
The abbey doors had opened again, and monks were fast exiting, many carrying bandages, some with soul stones in hand. Their line bent to the right, Midalis noted with distress, toward the wounded warriors of Vanguard, and not at all to the left, where lay the wounded Alpinadorans.
The day was not yet won.
Chapter 4
Winter had found the mountain passes west of Honce-theBear, with snow falling deep about the elven valley of Andur'Blough Inninness, strong winds piling it up into towering drifts. That hardly proved a hindrance to Belli'mar Juraviel, though, the nimble elf skipping across the white blanket, leaving barely a trace of his passing. For the Touel'alfar of Corona did not battle the moods of nature, as did the humans. Rather, they adapted their ways to fit the seasons outside their protected valley, and they reveled in each season in turn: a dance of rebirth each spring, of excitement and play in the lazy summer heat, of harvest and preparation in the autumn, and of respite in the winter. To the Touel'alfar, the harshest winter blizzard was a time of snow sculpting and snow-throwing games, or a time to huddle by the fire.
Prepared, always prepared.
This blizzard had been just that type, with stinging, blowing snow; and though it had abated greatly, the snow was still falling when Juraviel left the cloudy cover of the sheltered elven valley.
But, despite the storm, he had to get out, to be alone with his frustrations. Again Lady Dasslerond had refused his request to parent the young child of Elbryan and Jilseponie, the babe the lady had taken from Pony on the field outside Palmaris, when Markwart had overwhelmed the woman and left her near death. In the ensuing months, Lady Dasslerond had kept Juraviel very busy, had sent him running errand after errand; and while he had suspected that she was purposefully keeping him away from the babe, he could not be certain.
Until that very morning, when he had asked her directly, and she had refused him directly.
So Juraviel had run out of the valley, up onto the slopes, to be alone with his thoughts and his anger, to let the quiet snow calm his frustration.
He skittered up one drift, using the piled snow as a ladder to get him to the tip of a rocky overhang, and there, in the wind, he sat for a long, long while, remembering Elbryan and Pony, remembering Tuntun, his dear dven friend who had given her life in the assault on Mount Aida and the demon dactyl.
Gradually, like the storm, his angry energy flowed out, and he was sitting quite comfortably when he saw another form rise out of the low clouds of Andur'Blough Inninness. He looked on curiously for a few moments, thinking that another of the Touel'alfar had decided to come out to enjoy the storm or to see if it had completely abated yet or perhaps to check on Juraviel's well-being. But when the new-come elf turned his way, stared at him from under the cowl of the low-pulled hood, Belli'mar Juraviel recognized those eyes and that face and was surprised-indeed, stunned-to discover that Lady Dasslerond herself had come out to find him.
He started to move down to her, but she motioned for him to stay and scampered up the snowbank at least as easily as he had, taking a seat on the stone beside him.
'You were correct in your guess,' she informed him. 'Tien-Bryselle returned this morning with information concerning Tempest and Hawkwing.'
Juraviel breathed a sigh of sincere relief. Tempest and Hawkwing had been the weapons of Elbryan. The elven sword Tempest had been forged for the ranger's uncle Mather and won by Elbryan in honest duel with the dead man's spirit; and Hawkwing had been crafted by Juraviel's own father specifically for Elbryan the Nightbird. Both weapons had been lost when Elbryan had been captured by Father Abbot Markwart. Juraviel, convinced that they were in St. Precious in Palmaris, had tried to find them.
But then had come the confrontation between Elbryan and Markwart in Chasewind Manor, a battle that the elf could not ignore, and Juraviel had run out of time. Thus had Dasslerond sent another to find the weapons, following a report that they had gone with Elbryan back to Dundalis, his final resting place.
'Bradwarden confirmed their location,' she explained, 'and took TienBryselle to them.'
'He is a fine friend,' Juraviel remarked.
Lady Dasslerond nodded. 'A fine friend who came through the trials of the demon dactyl, and who came through the responsibilities of calling himself elf-friend.'
Juraviel narrowed his eyes, easily catching the not-so-flattering reference to both Elbryan and Jilseponie. Lady Dasslerond had not been pleased to kam that Elbryan had taught Jilseponie the elven sword dance, bi'nelle iasada, nor had she been happy with many of Jilseponie's choices during the final days of conflict with Father Abbot Markwart.
'But we are glad to know that the weapons are safe,' she quickly idded-for his benefit, Juraviel knew, 'guarded by the spirits of two; lingers. Perhaps they will belong to yel'delen one day.'; Yel'delen, Juraviel echoed in his mind, so poignantly reminded that Lady Dasslerond had not even yet named the baby; for in the elvish tongue, yel'delen meant simply 'the child.'
'Jilseponie did not fight the return of the weapons,' Juraviel dared to remark.
'She is in Palmaris still, and likely knew nothing of their return to the north,' she answered, 'nor that we went to find them.'
Juraviel looked at her curiously, hardly agreeing with her first claim. If Tempest and Hawkwing left Palmaris with Elbryan's caisson, then they did so on the instructions of Jilseponie. 'But she would not have fought the interment of the elven weapons even if she had known,' Juraviel insisted, 'nor would she argue if we decided to take them back.'
Dasslerond shrugged, apparently not prepared to argue the point.
'You underestimate her,' Juraviel went on boldly, 'as you have from the very first.'
'I judged her by her own actions,' the lady of Caer'alfar replied firmly. She shook her head and chuckled. 'You cloud your memories with friendship, yet you know that your friend will be cold in the ground centuries before your time has passed.'
'Am I not to befriend those of like heart? '
'The humans have their place,' Dasslerond said somewhat coldly. 'To elevate them beyond that is a dangerous mistake, Belli'mar Juraviel. You know that well.'
Juraviel looked away, feeling the tears beginning to rim his golden eyes. 'And is that why?' he asked, and then he blinked away the tears completely, replacing them with resolve, and looked at her squarely. 'Is that why you deny me the child? '
Dasslerond didn't blink, nor did she shrink back an inch. 'This child is different,' she said. 'He will carry the weapons of Nightbird and Mather, the Touel'alfar weapons of a true ranger.'
'And a glorious day it will be,' Juraviel put in.
'Indeed,' she agreed, 'even more so than you understand. The child will become the purest of rangers, trained from birth to our ways. He will hold no allegiance to the humans, will be human in appearance only.'
Juraviel considered the words and her determined tone very carefully for a long moment. 'But is not the true power of the ranger the joining of the best that is human and elven? ' he asked, thinking that his beloved Lady Dasslerond might be missing a very important point here.
'So it has been,' she replied, 'but always I have understood that it is the joining of the elven way with the human physical form and the impatience that is human. This child will have physical strength beyond that of even its father, a strength fostered by the trials we shall place upon him and the health that is Andur'Blough Inninness. And we will foster, as well, the understanding of mortality, the short life which he can expect, and thus, the sense of immediacy and impatience so crucial for warriors of action.'' Juraviel looked at her, not quite understanding her reasoning behind this talk-words he almost regarded as nonsense. Understanding the source, though, the lady of Caer'alfar, the leader of his people, Juraviel looked past the words to the hopes and the fears. She had taken the child and had flatly refused to return him to his mother, even now that the darkness of Markwart and Bestesbulzibar
