The Shield of Weeping Ghosts - James P. Davis [17]
"We have little reason to suspect Bastun of any involvement with the Nar," Thaena said.
"I disagree, ethran," Syrolf said. "We should-"
"But," Thaena continued, quieting the warrior, "he has chosen his exile, for whatever reason, and cannot be viewed as loyal to Rashemen because of it. It is not in my nature to trust such a man or to respect his choice, but I will also not place blame on him every time I stub my toe. Our mission was to bring him to the Shield for examination by the hathran and then to see him away to the west, never to return.
"That still is our mission, but we must also work to eliminate any threat to Rashemen by discovering why the Nar are here and what they have done. If my sisters are threatened we are dutybound to assist them. We will have no summary executions unless the charges are backed by solid evidence. But we will also not be lax in our observation of the exile."
Thaena let her words sink in. Neither warrior responded.
"Am I understood?"
Bastun could only assume they agreed quietly, for the conversation ended. He opened his eyes and looked once again into the fog outside. He had to keep watching, for the faces of Ulsera and Keffrass were there when he closed his eyes. There had been fog on the day of Ulsera's funeral. It had been the last time he'd seen his parents. On the day of Keffrass's funeral he had been alone.
With ghosts and shadows residing in his mind, it took a few moments to realize that something was moving outside. He blinked and sat up, watching two faint figures stumble and push through the snow.
Guards outside the gatehouse called a warning and hailed the approaching figures. Several of the fang jumped to their feet and grabbed weapons as they rushed outside. Unwatched for the moment, Bastun got up and followed after them.
The wind whipped at his braided hair and robes as he neared the huddled figures who had fallen to their knees before the Rashemi warriors. Wrapped in a blanket, Bastun could make out a woman and a man, but as the woman raised her face into the torchlight he paused, stepping back and staring.
The woman's mask was elaborately decorated, as most wychlaren masks were, but in the details were the markings of a very different magic: forbidden symbols and runes that only graced the masks of the wychlaren's bitter rivals-the durthans.
The fang helped the woman to her feet. Seeing her mask they treated her with all the respect due to a hathran. Her companion, a pale-skinned man with sharp features, hung close by, warily watching their would-be rescuers. Bastun gritted his teeth. Loosening his fingers, he prepared to defend himself, the Weave tingling across his knuckles.
As the visitors were being led toward shelter Thaena came from the gatehouse, followed by Duras and Syrolf. Seeing the stern glare of the ethran, they halted. Bastun breathed a sigh of relief as Thaena approached, her forearms crossed defensively. She had seen as quickly as he.
"Hold her!" she commanded. The warriors complied, though hesitantly. "Keep her still. She is not one of us."
The durthan stood tall, confident as Thaena studied her.
"Lady Ethran, I-" the woman began.
"Your formality is not required, durthan," Thaena said, ignoring the shocked glances of the berserkers. "We both know that my status among the wychlaren means nothing to you."
"Yes, I suppose you are right," the durthan answered calmly, then added, "I am called Anilya."
"Your name is unimportant," said Thaena, "and your presence here is unsurprising."
"Despite our differences we have much to discuss," Anilya said.
"I doubt that," Thaena replied, motioning to Anilya's captors and the other gathered warriors. "Bring her inside. Disarm her companion. Kill him if he tries anything."
The pale-skinned man bristled and bared his teeth, his eyeteeth small and sharp. Anilya shot him a look.
"Be still, Ohriman!"