The Thief at Deceus: The Heart of Elroi, #1

By Kerry Truelove

Trapped by a mob in the town of Deceus, Senra, one of the elite zora of Honar, seeks sanctuary in the local stables.  She is not alone;  her companion is a brown thief called Farr.  Together they escape the town and then part ways, leaving Senra to report to her company about the gathering unrest in Honar that threatens the zora themselves.

Gradually the zora of Honar are drawn into endless war in defence of their country and their right to exist.  Together with the armies of Honar they fight on, while their queen flees from Honar to seek sanctuary in the land of another traditional enemy.  Life contracts to one battle after another, yet time and again the thief named Farr appears, riding into the chaos of war laughing and with no apparent care for her own safety.  A redoubtable fighter, nonetheless once the crisis is past she slips away into the darkness without explanation.  To Senra's frustration, no attempt to recruit Farr's considerable talents into the zora of Honar succeeds.

As the zora are drawn deeper into the turmoil of a nation invaded on two fronts, Senra finds herself at war not only with their enemies but with herself.  Her own past conspires to work against her, drawing her back into the hell from which she had escaped as a child.  Once again she finds that Farr is there, and the strange, unexpected knowledge and understanding shown by her thief companion begins to intrigue her as much as it intrigues their captor.  Farr understanding of the hidden powerwithin Senra is far beyond that of their captor and Senra herself.

As their friendship deepens, Senra begins to wonder how much of the thief is real, and how much is a façade;  and if it is a façade, what does it hide?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kerry Truelove
• Release date: Jan 9, 2023
• ISBN: 9780648989240

Kerry Truelove

Daughter of a career diplomat, Kerry grew up in Australia and postings in New Zealand, Africa, Europe and Asia, a mobile childhood that probably stimulated the imagination and certainly ended up with an eclectic education.  She graduated from the then Canberra College of Advanced Education, with a Bachelor of Applied Science (Biology), a degree which focused mainly upon ecological conservation.  She entered the Australian Public Service as a base-grade clerk in 1980 and spent over twenty years in the service.  This was followed by a brief foray as a natural resource consultant and a slightly longer time as a fitness personal trainer, before retiring from paid employment. She lives in Canberra with four cats and an collection of (largely unfinished) projects, varying from further writings to drawings, woodworks and her garden.  It has been a lifetime of writing, sketching and generally trying to create things, with mixed success but (usually) a lot of enjoyment.

Book preview

The Thief at Deceus:  Book 1 of The Heart of Elroi

Copyright © Kerry Truelove 2022

All rights reserved.

Cover art copyright © Adam Lockier 2022

Instagram: @adamlockierdesign

PUBLISHED BY KERRY Truelove

Hard copies of this book are available as print-on-demand (ISBN 978-0-6489892-1-9) from:

Digital Print Australia,

135 Gillies Street,

Adelaide  South Australia  5000,

Australia

http://www.digitalprintaustrali.com.au

Acknowledgements and apologies

Isuspect very few of us, if any, can claim that what they think, write, draw, play or otherwise create or do is totally original.  We are each of us the result of our experiences, our family backgrounds, our tastes in friends, fields of study, music, literature, art, entertainment, sport and so forth.  Certainly The Heart of Elroi is a mixture of all of these, and to acknowledge all influences would be beyond my capacity;  but an effort must be made.

I can see a number of  influences at work in The Heart of Elroi.  One clear one is the anthology series Sword and Sorceress;  so many of the authors contained in those anthologies have contributed to my tale, yet I couldn’t hope to name them all.  The books of Mercedes Lackey certainly have had an influence, although truth to tell I have not read many of them (too busy writing!).  The same holds for the wonderful Andre Norton, whose writings I devoured as a child and whose influence on my imagination cannot be understated.  There will be other authors, I’m sure, and not all of them will have written of a world in which women are warriors but there will have been something there that sparked in the recesses of my imagination.  Quite likely there are films and television shows in there, as well, but I cannot for the life of me put a name to any which have had an identifiable influence on my writing.  At any rate, to name all the things that have influenced the writing of The Heart of Elroi would be impossible, if nothing else because they have gone into the mix that is my memory without necessarily being properly attributed to first sources.

So where did The Heart of Elroi come from?  It’s a good question and I can honestly say I don’t have a good answer.   Is it an original work?  I would like to think so, inasmuch as anything is an original work.  If it isn’t, I can only offer my deepest, most profound apologies to anyone who sees in The Heart of Elroi their own writing - be in book, magazine, film or TV script or any other form of writing.  Nothing is intentional, I just wanted to write the story and if I have inadvertently plagiarized in the process I sincerely hope the person on whom I have inflicted that insult can forgive me.

Inevitably, The Heart of Elroi started out as a completely different tale.  It has evolved over the many years I have been writing it, a process that involved scribbling away on any handy piece of paper while waiting for aircraft, friends, meetings and any other reason that could have me with paper before me and a pen in my hand.  Finally the time came to convert those scribblings to typescript - well, that had been my intention!  But when I started typing into the computer what had become, over the years, the better part of a ream of scribbling...  The story took itself off in its own direction and I stumbled along behind, the main story still clear in my mind yet now going somewhere else, somewhere I confess I found far more interesting than my original thoughts.  I doubt half of what I had initially written down through those many years now is contained in The Heart of Elroi, but I don’t regret it.  I would like to think this is an improvement on the original ramblings of my undisciplined mind.  It certainly is much larger than I had originally expected.

I.  Flight from Deceus

The hunting party on her heels had doubled in the past half hour.  Their hoarse shouts now reverberated among the narrow streets, bouncing in vicious echoes against the walls only to be swallowed in the tumult of another outcry.  Senra knew she should leave the town immediately - cut her losses and bolt into the rolling hills around Deceus - but she couldn’t do that without being certain of Tafria.  Perhaps her swordsister had not been killed, but captured to be subjected to the unholy will of the local Zardprest as she herself had been so long ago.  She could scarcely abandon Tafria to that.  It would be better to be dead.

Doubling back through the narrow streets, she finally found the wide square that faced the temple.  Scarcely an hour ago she and Tafria had been wandering along the now-abandoned stalls, browsing with no real intent to buy, barely tempted by any of the offerings.  Now all that remained were the half empty stalls and an untidy huddle near the water trough.  She darted over to it, nerves screaming, and rolled Tafria onto her back;  at least death had eased away the look of incredulous dismay with which her swordsister had registered her panic-stricken retreat.

Forgive me, sister, she closed the glazed eyes, feeling sick and disoriented, her own eyes beginning to swim with shame.  It was one thing to lose a friend, even a swordsister, in battle;  another thing entirely to abandon them just because a Zardprest - not even her personal fiend - had appeared.  This was not the way of the zora.

The villagers would not let her grieve for long and she started running again.  In the darkening, dappled air between the blacksmith and the cooper she crouched back, motionless, schooling her breath to quietness.  This way she disappeared from view, yet could still see the street.  Mercifully, she could not still see Tafria's body;  that would have been unbearable.

The hunting party ran past.  Despite their swelling numbers they were beginning to calm down, the ending day and late afternoon patterns of behavior beginning to reassert themselves.  But the party still intended to kill her, if they laid hands upon her.  Her disappearance would not fool them for long - perhaps long enough to escape the town, if she left Tafria behind.  The thought of abandoning Tafria again made her eyes swim.

First time I’ve seen a body cry because she hasn’t been caught, chuckled a dry voice.

Senra whirled into a waiting crouch, eyes widening as she unsheathed her sword in a single, practised move.  She couldn’t see very well through the tears, but there might be someone lounging comfortably in the doorway, their hands free.

That isn’t it.

Always thought zora weren’t meant to cry, the stranger went on, ignoring her words.  Senra bristled.

Why not?  We’re human, after all, and the other chuckled again, straightening up.  For a moment Senra thought the other abnormally tall, but that illusion was quickly dispelled as s/he stepped into the light.  The person revealed was only slightly above average height, after all;  only the wrapped pole strapped to her back gave the illusion of height.

Tell that to that mob.  There's a good loft in the smithy, we can hide there until things quieten down.

Why are you hiding?

In case someone sees me, of course, there was heady note of laughter in the stranger's voice, I’ve altogether too much property on me.  Other people’s property.  Come on, zora, even with that jumped-up lunatic of a Zardprest they aren’t the brightest row of lights in town.  Mobs rarely are.  Give them another hour and they’ll have calmed down and gone away, home to dinners and wives and pots of beer.  This rushing around the town will be just too uncomfortable for them, she addressed the door against which she had been leaning, the nice thing about lofts, working the door until it snapped open suddenly, is they often have horses underneath.  See?

Despite her distress at Tafria’s loss, Senra found herself smiling slightly at the breezy voice.  Whatever else she might be, this stranger was not afraid.  There was something infectious about her cheerful disregard for danger or other extraneous matters.

She also knew the layout of the smithy, proceeding directly to the loft before settling comfortably down to wait.  The torches of the hunting party were beginning to make a firefly dance through the gaps in the timbers, but the raucous yelling was beginning to subside.  Darkness was closing, reminding them all that they had other things to do;  the Zardprest would not be able to hold them for very much longer.

What’s your name, zora, and why come to this little Kalenjin outpost?

This is all Kalenjin, now, Senra settled in the hay, quietly pleased with the dry smell.  There was something indescribably soothing about the dustiness, the pervading odour of horses and dry feed, and the undertone of leather oil;  something to suggest here, at least, was a safe place.  There were few enough around, it seemed.

Some places more than others.  It doesn’t affect me so much, but you zora are a bit out in the snow.  Especially in this area.  That pudding-head of a Zardprest is a particularly virulent zora-hater.

We don’t automatically know when someone doesn't like us, retorted Senra tartly - although of course that wasn’t entirely true.  She usually knew when there was danger, if not dislike.  She had known the instant the throbbing started up in a tight band just above her eyes.  Tafria hadn’t known;  now Tafria was dead, dead in shock because her swordsister broke the oath and had just run.  The thought of Tafria made her sigh bitterly.  Even if she escaped from Deceus, she would never escape the horror of her own monumental failing.

What’s wrong? sounding indolent, as well as cheerful;  a bit the way a well-fed cat stretched out before a fire might sound, had it human voice.

That’s my swordsister out there.

Some form of special fighting companion?

She thought of explaining the meaning of swordsister, how you swore an oath of personal loyalty to one another because in any climate, particularly this prickly Kalenjin-bred one, it was best to rely on only a few.  If you couldn’t rely on your swordsister, who else?  Swordsisters stood with you when everyone else ran.

But she didn’t bother explain.  It could not concern this stranger.

Something like that.  My name is Senra.  Hers was Tafria.

Dead man’s names are no use to the living, the thief unstrapped the pole from her back and grinned slightly, as if she could see Senra's expression.  She could not, of course; it was much too dark in the loft for that, didn’t I see you running from the local robed pestilence?  The Zardprest? - seems an odd way to behave.

I had a bad experience with a Zardprest, said Senra stiffly.  Her cheerful companion was overstepping the mark.

Doubt anyone has ever had a good experience with the vermin - have I offended you?  It wasn’t my intention.  Zora is a better trade than mine - besides, I’d rather not have to tangle with you, in the gloom Senra could hear, rather than see, the other settle back against the straw.  A moment later she was unsurprised to hear the other's breathing slowing down into sleep.

Tafria forgive me I saw him but I didn’t see him I saw Zardprest Arun, dammed Arun, and even you don’t know what that bastard did to me.  I couldn’t face that again.  I can’t face him again!

But why should Tafria forgive her for running away, abandoning, betraying the hope and the love they had shared, betraying the faith of their oath?  Why should Tafria ever forgive that?  Your swordsister stood by you when everyone else ran away - she didn’t bolt in mindless panic at the slightest sign of magic.  For thirteen years they had been swordsisters, nearly half her life; and she still had broken and ran, because she couldn’t face the Zardprest.  Not even the tormenter of her dreams but just a local Zardprest, puffed up by regional fears and inertia - a nothing in the world, yet still she had run!  Forgiveness wasn’t possible.  How could Tafria forgive that!  Senra was not afraid to face the rest of the zora, but the loss of Tafria burned like a slow-searing brand, stealing across her soul.  Let the zora ostracise her; she deserved it.

After a while, she stood, intending to see whether the coast was clear.  Her companion was awake in an instant, a knife gleaming dully in the gloom.  After a moment there was a dry chuckle and a sense of someone relaxing slightly.

Safe to move, is it?

I was just going to check, she slipped silently down the ladder, but the precaution was unnecessary.  The street was abandoned and night fully upon them; to all extents and purposes the town had gone to bed.  By the look of the stars they were well into the night, a good time to be travelling;  when had all that time passed?  She glanced over her shoulder, surprised to see the other calmly inspecting the horses.  Most were left; a few were haltered, and two were swiftly saddled, are they yours?

No.  Good horseflesh, though, Hedcar will be pleased.

Hedcar?

The man who sells the things I steal, she strapped the pole onto her back and mounted, in almost a single, oddly fluid movement, come on, the sooner we’re away the better.

I can’t steal a horse!

Why not?  They stole the life of your friend.

So we take all their good animals? the very idea offended her.  When the thief asked, laughing, why they shouldn’t steal the good animals she frowned, it’ll just annoy them further.

Ah, but if we get away from here they won’t have the means of catching us, with inflexible, still laughing logic.  Senra stiffened uncomfortably, suit yourself, zora Senra.  I can sell the saddle as well as the horse.

Feeling far short of honourable, Senra mounted the second horse.  It danced uneasily under her until she took it in hand, and they moved out into the empty street.  The horses hooves seemed to be making a noise like thunder, yet there was no sudden appearance of the watch to challenge them and nothing stirred.  Certainly the thief seemed to expect no trouble, riding in the comfortable lounge of the long-experienced horsewoman, looking for all the world as if she had every right to be on that particular horse.

Tafria’s body had been left for the night scavengers.  She was still largely intact, only a little ravaged by the small creatures that scurried away as the riders approached.  Senra, drawing rein, felt more ashamed than ever.

I can’t just leave her here.

Will it do her any good to be taken with you? the thief did not seem to be mocking, merely asking.  Senra shook her head bitterly.

I can’t just leave her to be carrion like this, she dismounted.  Unexpectedly, the thief also slipped down and helped her manhandle Tafria's stiff body onto one of the horses.  The animal was understandably uneasy, dancing away from them both, its eyes rolling at the smell of blood.  It was swiftly taken in hand – there were those in her Group who said Senra was capable of tying anything onto anything, and once she was finished the body would not move, if we can just bury her properly somewhere away from here.

Carrion must eat-

Not Tafria, again, the thief wasn’t being difficult.  Senra looked at her, puzzled by the light yet serious tone, does it bother you?

No.  I’m not liable to execution on sight – not yet, anyway, she remounted, smiling slightly, anyway, it’s probably for the best.  Confuse the trackers.  They were searching for a single unmounted zora, and three mounted horses ride out.

Do you often get chased? Senra remounted, firmly taking the halter of the pack horse.  The thief grinned again, amused by her possession.

Not for long.  They usually find better things to do.  I suppose in the last two years your life style has changed;  Kalenjin, she spat contemptuously, a hysterical breed.  Help no-one.

By the time the sun came up they were some distance from the town, beginning to climb up the boulder-strewn slopes to the pass that led to Travine.  They were not, Senra realised in dismay, the only people on the road.  There was small knot of riders following them, and she could recognise the brass glint of a Zardprest at the fore.  Her stomach shifted uneasily.

We’re being followed.

The thief reined in her horse to look over Senra’s head.  After a moment she gave one of her dry chuckles.

Indeed we are.  But not for long, she dismounted cheerfully, unstrapping the pole from her back and peeling back the wrappings.  It proved to be an oiled length of wood, with a thonged grip in the centre and grooves cut into either end;  a longbow.

That’s an antiquated tool, and the thief chuckled drily, slipping the string into place with apparent ease, despite having to bend the bow so far.

Hit that bully-boy with your bow, then, challenged the thief, eyes twinkling.  Senra looked down the slope, judging the distance.  She was good with her crossbow, but it would take an exceptionally lucky shot to hit any one of the coming riders.  She said as much, watch.

The bow creaked as the thief knocked and drew in a single, easy movement.  She seemed to look contemplatively down the shaft for a moment before loosing the arrow, hand dropping to snatch another shaft from the few stabbed into the ground beside her.  The precaution was unnecessary.  Well down the slope the Zardprest reeled in his saddle and fell to the dust with an odd, final bonelessness.

Now the crossbow, commented the thief, beginning to laugh softly as she unstrung the bow and started wrapping it again, has power and can get through most things, but it’s heavy and its range isn’t that great.  I can get three shafts into the air in the time it would take you to get one.

You think a crossbow is a mistake? it had been a tremendous shot.  Senra could barely believe it possible.

A mistake?  No - not if you want power, and it’s fine against other crossbows.  But I’m never likely to be standing in a firing line, and I don’t want to have to get too close to my enemy, so it’s useless for me.  That’s given them something to think about, hasn’t it? and indeed the riders had stopped, pulling back uncertainly from the fallen Zardprest, anyone following a Zardprest is pure sheep and deserves to be fleeced.  Better off without them.  Coming, zora Senra?  I’ve a way to go before I can sell these to Hedcar, and I’d not dally longer than necessary.

We’ll have to bury Tafria soon.

A little more distance, I think, between them and us before we do, and with that Senra evidently had to be satisfied, for the thief urged her horse into motion.  The zora remounted and followed, still firmly controlling the horse that carried Tafria's body although that animal was rolling its eyes more and more.  Soon it might be a matter of having to bury Tafria or lose the horse entirely.

Barely an hour later the thief drew rein, looked around her and gave a single, satisfied nod.  This would do. The zora, too, nodded quietly to herself - this pleasant dale, with its small copse of trees and plentiful load of stones, would do.

What's your name? Senra finally ventured.  Tafria was buried - partly under sod, but mostly under a cairn of solidly packed rock - and a soft prayer said over her.  The hunting party had turned back, either discouraged by the death of its leader or wisely preferring not to deal with death delivered from such a long range, and now zora and thief made far better pace.  They were beginning the descent into the Travine valley, riding openly as travellers might, despite the zora garb still firmly wrapped around Senra's frame.

The thief gave another of her dry chuckles - amused, laughing with rather than against the other.

I’m called Linfarr, Senra jerked the reins, an offended look on her face.  If the thief didn’t want anyone to know her name, there were nicer ways of saying it, I am.  Truly.  Linfarr.

How’d you get a name like that? but the thief shrugged simply, linfarr means the spawn of corruption, what kind of a parent would call a person that? it was inconceivable.  Even if the thief had been an unwanted child, why call her that?

Well, that’s what I'm called.  I sometimes let people call me Farr;  since you're my companion in crime, and Senra frowned slightly, although it was true enough, the horses were stolen, I’ll let you call me Farr.

Why’d you become a thief, then- Farr, it was going to be difficult to call someone that, knowing the name was a foreshortening of linfarr.  The other's brown face creased with mocking humour, her mobile mouth curling with laughter.

Oh, it’s a lot more fun that any other profession.  Besides, it’s about the only thing I’m really suited to do, Farr patted her horse’s neck, riding easily.  She was, Senra realised, probably a better rider than even Tafria, and Tafria had been the best of the Group, couldn’t tolerate a home life - all squalling brats and dirty washing and - and being in the one place.  Why a zora?

I belong.  You probably could have been a zora, Farr, this time the name came a little easier.  The thief shot her a sparkling look, twin devils in her eyes.

I doubt it!  I don’t take to discipline, for one thing.  Besides, I like stealing.

Demonstrating your contempt for the human race? and the thief laughed with delight, nodding, why so contemptuous?

Look at that Zardprest and ask yourself- No, you can’t, can you?  Why do you fear them so much? she was unsurprised as Senra’s silence, they’re just jumped-up men with delusions of godhood or power, or both.  Not much at all.  Die most satisfactorily on the end of an arrow, don’t they?  Oh - well people are contemptible.  They lock their minds away in safe little lives, scream at any abnormality, think only of themselves and their possessions - and they follow gits like that Zardprest.

Are you any different?

Yes.  I don’t have any possessions, Farr was obviously having a great deal of fun, the two devils in her eyes dancing mischievously.  Senra, almost deceived, suddenly thought of the clean ruthlessness with which the thief had despatched the Zardprest and realised those dancing eyes were also on constant lookout.  She began to wonder how deeply the humour actually went - was it really an armour, rather than the core of a being?  Yet the other was a good companion.

Yes you do - those of other people, entering into the game.  Farr’s dry chuckle came again, and despite herself Senra found a slight smile on her lips.

Well, the thief reined in, easing slightly in the saddle.  They had come to the point where the road bifurcated, one trail going into Travine, the other heading left towards the mountains.  Travine looked comfortingly normal, but so had Deceus when Tafria and Senra had first entered it.  It seemed the zora, once considered an honourable breed, were little more than linfarr now, I’m not going into Travine, zora Senra.  I'll sell this load to Hedcar and raid another town.

How do you get into locked houses? she was curiously loath to lose the thief's company.

That, zora Senra, is a secret, Farr was laughing again, where will you go?

Back to my Group, to face the music about Tafria and submit to punishment.  She held up the halter rope hesitantly.

Oh, keep it.  Hedcar can only sell so many horses, looking faintly irritated, the thief wheeled her horse onto the mountain road.  Senra watched her out of sight, somehow certain the other would not stay on the road, before urging her own mount towards Travine.  She did not go through the town but eased off the road and made her way around, in the dusk and through the baxalnut groves.  By the time night truly fell she was on the other side, heading quietly along the secret paths that led to the Vale and her Group.

As she rode, Senra reflected on her thief companion.  Ten or fifteen years ago, if Farr had come to the Vale, she probably would have made a fine zora.  She was certainly competent with the bow, and her nerve was steel.  She was fit, too, if the lithe way she rode and moved was any indication.  It was too late now, of course;  you trained before fifteen or you didn't train at all.  As for the discipline Farr feared, that was so much nonsense.  Zora discipline came more from the individual than from any established hierarchy.  They had their Group Leaders, but only broad bounds of behaviour were defined through those august people (although they certainly would not approve of a zora who abandoned her swordsister).

It was Farr’s humour that baffled - not her name, although it was still inconceivable that anyone would call their child linfarr, nor her thievery, for there were plenty of thieves about.  No, it was the humour.  Where had she come by such an overtly happy-go-lucky nature?  Having got it, how could it survive in the all too real and all too vicious world?  If it was a front it was one of the best Senra had ever seen, and she had seen quite a few.  Tafria had been a more cheerful soul than Senra, but beside Farr even Tafria would have seemed dour.  On the other hand, Tafria had a far more relaxed attitude towards Zardprests.  The thief had observed, apropos of nothing, that Zardprests were only mortal and she tried not to leave one alive where she went.  She had spoken cheerfully, but Senra was certain she had meant every word.  It was an anomaly in that cheerful, relaxed attitude that would let almost anything live – except, apparently, Zardprests.

Senra would be glad to reach the safety of the Vale and feel at home again among the other zora.  It had been a mistake to have left the Vale with Tafria for no better reason than they were bored, and wanted to attend the district fair.  Oh, Tafria’s luck had held and they had won handsomely - but then they had lost even more because of the infernal Zardprest and Senra's weakness.

She was still mulling on it when she met the guards at the pass.  They looked surprised to see one zora return when two had set out five days ago, exchanged worried looks, but made no comment and she offered no explanation.  They would all find out soon enough, anyway.  Instead she rode in silence down into the Vale.  It looked like home, but it no longer felt like home because Tafria was gone and that made everything wrong.  It had been a long time since she was a stranger in the Vale, but she felt that way now.

Lost something? jibed someone cheerfully, as she dismounted stiffly.  She was unsurprised to find the speaker was Panae, flanked by her swordsister Gorive.  Panae had a sometime brutal sense of humour.

Yes.  Tafria, freeing the girth and swinging the saddle down, then pushing past the suddenly quiet Panae.  After a moment's hesitation, Panae followed her into the stable.

Are you serious?

Tafria’s dead.  How serious do you want me to be? she began to rub the horse down, enduring its exploratory nipping, acutely miserable.  Tafria should have been in the next stall, happily chattering about their winnings.  Perhaps it had been a mistake to come back, after all.

What happened? Gorive, quieter, her voice less like steel on steel.  Every instinct in Senra told her to prevaricate, but her temper flared suddenly.

I ran! the body-brush landed with a thud against the stall door.  Gorive looked astonished, more at the temper than the words, and Senra just as suddenly quieted, I turned and ran.

Could you have helped her?

Probably, she finished rubbing down the horse and stolidly stepped past her two companions to start oiling the saddle.  It was a good saddle, much newer and better made than her old one, but it needed oiling.  So did her nerves.

Kalenjin? hazarded Panae.

Zardprest, she knew she was being unfair on them and with an effort made her voice less curt, a Zardprest and a mob.  We were starting back from the fair at Deceus when the mob surrounded us, pulling the horses down.  I landed on my feet and Tafria didn’t.

That wasn’t the whole story, of course.  She had been forewarned of the danger by the tight thud in her skull, and had been carrying her sword across her saddle, ostensibly an act of sheer, idle habit.  Tafria had accused her of looking for trouble;  but Tafria was dead, now - dead because with a hamstrung leg she couldn’t run as fast as Senra, and the Zardprest had come.  He had not killed her outright, but she had died none the less, in disbelief because the one person who should have stood by her had taken panicy flight.  It was very hard to comprehend.

You said you ran? queried Panae, puzzled.

I didn’t stay to help her, she put the saddle on a rack and picked up her pack, feeling worse than ever.  Now she had to go into the quarters she and Tafria had shared with four others for nearly ten years.  The room always shrieked Tafria! at her, as if the dead zora’s personality had somehow seeped into the very timber.

Must be more to it than that, murmured Gorive, watching Senra go, she wouldn’t just run.

Nor would she tell us the whole story.  I wonder where she got the horse - and the saddle.  They’re beauties.

Tafria’s dead.

And I can’t bring her back, reminded Panae simply, letting her fingers glide over the saddle.  Gorive watched her and wondered whether she would feel so calm if it had been Gorive, not Tafria, it really is a beautiful bit of work.

Poor Senra.

She’s the one that ran.

And she’s the one who has to live with it.  Get your greedy eyes off that and come for a drink, I feel depressed.

Panae joined her, smiling unworriedly.  So far no death had touched on her life, apart from that of an unloved and unloving pair of parents.  She had never even missed them.

IT WAS DARK WHEN SENRA finished speaking and sat staring hollowly at her boots.  She could not even look at the four Group Leaders in a ring before her, but felt the hot flood of her own shame and bit back tears.  They could do no good.  It did not really help that the Group Leaders were also silent, absorbing the tale, faces non-committal.

I thought you had a danger sense? hazarded Group Leader Haqua, once the silence had gone beyond disbelief into discomfort.  She sounded puzzled, not condemning;  but Haqua wasn’t Senra’s Group Leader, she hadn’t lost a member of her Group.

I have, still not daring to look at them.  They were, ater all, zora who were not sullied by panic-borne cowardice.

Was it working? she nodded miserably.  It had been working, all right, did you tell Tafria?

Yes.  She didn’t always listen to me - anyway, zora are in danger everywhere now.

But you were ready for trouble? again she nodded, thinking of how she had ridden into Deceus, her sword across her pommel.  Her eyes remained downcast.  Her boots were scuffed, the supple leather worn at the toes and outside at the instep; too much kicking, too much riding, too much running for her life.

What do you expect us to do? asked her own Group Leader suddenly.  She looked at Faline in confusion, punish you?

I don’t know.  I broke my oath and Tafria’s dead as a result.

Possibly.  But if you think we’ll punish you for it, you’re very much mistaken.  In the first place, we might have lost two zora instead of one - or even more if we went into Deceus unwarned.  In the second, it would make no sense to punish you.  You’re already doing that far better than any of us can, she noted the desperation in Senra’s shaken gaze, but it was true enough.  Senra had no choice but to endure her own torment.

No-one makes you take the oath, Senra, observed one Group Leader, soft-voiced Camren, so no-one can punish you for failing to keep it.  If the other zora decided to take it out on you, that’s their affair - rough justice, perhaps, but their affair.  But there’s nothing we shall do about it.  I’m more concerned with the anti-zora hysteria than Tafria’s loss, and past Senra Faline gave her a frown;  she mightn’t be concerned at the loss of Tafria, the same could not be said of Faline.

It’s the Zardprests hopping on the Kalenjin bandwagon.  They’ve never needed much of an excuse for reviling us, now they have it in spades and they’re taking it, she spoke flatly.

No doubt.  Unfortunately, that has greatly reduced the number of safe villages we can visit.  As I see it, there’s a broad band of country from Deceus to the sea where we daren’t move in anything but force - and if we are out in force, of course, it’s insurrection, Camren spoke with quiet incision.  She had a voice that could cut as well as Vora's best blade, but she never used it to knife into the zora around her - other people, on occasion, but not the zora, we need to be able to identify safe areas.  The Vale will not sustain us all year round.

There’s another thing that bothers me, Senra, Faline looked tired, her eyes heavy from long nights of discussion and planning, nights of little sleep.  She was a good, conscientious Group Leader who had more than earned the trust of her Group, and that’s this fear of Zardprests you have.  There are a lot of them-

Numbers are going up, from Group Leader Rivelien.

Or they’re becoming more obvious, reminded Camren quietly.

At any rate, unphased by the other Group Leaders, Faline continued, if you’re going to panic every time you see one, we could have a serious problem.  Why did you panic? she was not surprised to see Senra go into deep scrutiny of her boots, plainly wishing to avoid the question, it’s a legitimate question, Senra.

I know, the zora continued to hesitate, but suddenly shrugged and looked her Group Leader in the face, before I came to the Vale I spent two and a half years... helping one of them.  It was not my idea.  The danger sense is only one part of my senses and he used the other part to - to heighten his own powers, her voice was flat, under intense pressure.  Faline frowned slightly.

Couldn’t you have stopped him?

No, flatter still.  The soft-voiced Group Leader nodded suddenly.

I think I know what you mean - he used your abilities as a focus to his own demands.  Obviously his demands were unpleasant, and you have no wish to go through that again.  I doubt you want to tell us in any detail what he did do to you, and I’m sure we can all understand that.  Well, despite what the Kalenjin would have us believe, we all know a zora is just a human being, so that is fair enough, she regarded the other Group Leaders quizzically for a moment before turning away, I doubt Senra will always have trouble facing a Zardprest.  Certainly not when she is part of a somewhat larger group than two against many.

It doesn’t alter the fact, thought Senra with a sudden flash of despairing anger, that even as a zora I am a failure.

Don’t fret about it, recommended Faline when the others had gone, it happens to the best of us, but as Senra pointed out, it persisted in happening to her, not the others.  Faline half-smiled commiseratingly, one way or another, we all have horror stretches.  Tell me about this thief of yours - where was she from?

Don’t know - I learned very little about her, all told, she thought over what Farr had said, some sense of incredulity stealing over her.  They had been together nearly twenty-four hours, and she knew virtually nothing about the thief.  The same, much as she hated to admit it, could not be said of the reverse - Farr has been a good listener, and Senra had needed to talk.

Pity.  She might have been from a friendly part of this benighted land, Faline was definitely feeling the weight of the world.  Under other circumstances Senra might have smiled, I begin to fear we will have to do something drastic in order to survive - and frankly I don’t know that anything drastic would do the trick.  More likely aggravate them.

Things had been getting worse since the Kalenjin prince had married the Honari ruler.  Despite all the confident predictions of Morraie's strong will having sway over her consort, she apparently had capitulated on all points.  They might as well be trying to survive in Kalenj itself.

I wonder if anything could aggravate them further.

Faline shuddered at the thought.  She was young for a Group Leader, but she had seen altogether too much of life to entertain any illusions.  Besides, her Group in particular seemed to suffer from the Kalenjin influence.  It was not that they were poorly trained, but they were either unlucky or, more likely, the Kalenjin influence was concentrated in the strip usually served by her Group.  A zora was trained to fight effectively three or four opponents, but it was asking a lot to have them fight twenty or thirty.

Well, we need to see if our area is the worst affected by Kalenjin influences.  I suppose it is logical - it is the closest area.  Now, what do you think would happen if you were in company with say, five other zora and came face to face with a Zardprest? Faline turned at the door, face serious.  After a moment Senra ducked her head and admitted she didn’t know, but probably she would just run again, there’s no shame in running.

The Group Leader went out, reflecting that Senra was the last person she would have suspected of such a defect.  Senra had always been so self-contained, even with Tafria;  hard to rattle, clear of vision, a redoubtable fighter with any weapon, a strategic thinker.  Altogether an above-average zora.  She rarely exerted herself, it was true, but that was probably as counterpoint to Tafria;  she certainly was a dedicated zora, proud of her profession and skills.  Tafria had always been the active one, getting into strife, finding new ways of needing Senra to pull her out of a mix-up;  and Senra had always been the quiet one who did, despite predictions, get Tafria out of mischief.

However, the time of Tafria was over and now the Group Leader had to face up to the fact that the one she had been considering as a good second in command had a potentially disastrous flaw.  No-one in their right minds faced down a Zardprest, even an apprentice;  they had altogether too many tricks, arcane or physical, and the hysterical surety of their own semi-godhood to use every trick.  But it did no good to be too frightened of them to do anything.  She felt sorry for Senra, but the flaw was there.

Senra waited in the hall for a while, trying to think of what she could do now.  She had to do something, since she was the one to do her own punishing - and that the most savage sentence of them all, albeit fully deserved.  How much easier it would have been to be ostracised and do a few days hard labour, or to be cast out of the zora altogether.  At the end of it she might have felt whole again.  Nothing could repay Tafria for what she had done, but she might have felt whole again.  But what could she do that was a true punishment for herself, yet would benefit the zora?

I DON’T KNOW, REFLECTED Faline to Haqua and Camren, the former trying to decide which card to use, the latter leaning back in her chair, that I like the idea of training the students being a form of self-punishment.

What? Haqua looked over to where the trainees were struggling with the mysteries of bowmanship, and grinned cheerfully, oh, Senra.  She’s a good teacher.  If she lacks the water to stand in battle, she can still teach ‘em - I wouldn’t worry about it.

Would you put her in the field again? asked Camren idly.  Haqua shook her head shortly;  no, she would not.

Senra was not scheduled as training instructor, but she helped Cadrea.  The lesson was in bowmanship, never the easiest and for these slight children it was a fragment short of torture to have to struggle the heavy ratchets around while the string snailed unwillingly back.  Each time the trigger clicked into place you could hear the trainees gasp with relief.  Then, of course, they had to slot the heavy bolt into place, and hold the whole massive thing steady long enough to aim.  It was no wonder so many bolts were lost in the early sessions, they asked a lot of trainees.

It was hard not to wonder whether she had been so small when she had started.  So much time and bitter experience had passed since then.  Had she really had those little stick-like limbs, the big eyes and earnest expression?  There was no compromise in zora training.  You received a crossbow when you started, and that bow would be yours until you died or, as rarely happened, it broke.  Sometimes a trainee’s bow would be as tall and as heavy as herself, but still she must learn how to use it.  By the time she was adult she would know every nuance of the wood;  probably she would have filed and installed her own cogs in the ratchet, prepared thirty or forty strings, made herself an armoury of bolts.  Someone had once commented that a zora’s crossbow consisted of the original stock, with everything else built and replaced by the zora herself.  It was an accurate description.  Unconsciously she touched her own bow, feeling the familiar nicks, the score down the butt where a Kalenjin bolt had nearly taken out her eye two years ago, the two nicks where her supporting hand rested.  She could pick it out of a tangle of similar bows without even thinking about it.

That reminded her of another bow, another bowman, an extraordinary shot downhill to lay one demon to rest.

Why did we stop using longbows, Cadrea? idly, watching the trainees struggle with a frustrated eye.

The other shrugged.  She was only slightly older than Senra, after all;  how would she know?  The change had taken place long before either of them had joined the zora.

Probably it's a better weapon - more accurate or something.  Ask Grenien, if you’ve an hour or more to waste, and even some of the sweating trainees had the energy to smile.  Grenien was the oldest zora, losing her sight and her hearing but not her ability to talk.  If you could get her onto her enormous store of anecdotes, you had entertainment for the next five days;  but you would never silence her, why?

I saw someone with a longbow shoot twice as far as we can.  Incredible shot, Cadrea looked suitably surprised, turning to face her companion fully.  Senra shrugged, feeling slightly foolish, well, I wouldn’t have had a prayer of hitting the target with my bow-  Here, are you trying to shoot your foot?

The trainee jerked the bow back up.  She was the smallest of them, a scrawny farmer's child, and her muscles had a long way to go before she could be considered safe with a bow.  But she had the grit to do well, even here at the butts where everything was against her.  Forever bottom of the class because she was so young, still she tried, rising from every fall more determined than ever to prove herself.  Chirra would make a fine zora, given time and training.  She had to.  Her family had disappeared, part of the vast, unnumbered loss to Kalenjin invasion; there was nothing for the child outside the zora.

As a matter of curiosity, when they had finished instructing the now-exhausted children, Cadrea, her swordsister Velen and Senra started up a little of their own practice.  They were much further from the butts, of course, working gradually backwards as they explored just how accurate they were.  Cadrea and Senra were two of the best shots in the Group - indeed, Cadrea was second best of all zora from all Groups - but to Senra the limit of their accuracy seemed almost pathetic.  She made the mistake of saying as much as they trooped to the butts to collect their bolts.

What do you expect? flared Cadrea, apparently taking it as an insult to her bowmanship, it’s a perfectly adequate range for our purposes.  You’ve changed, Senra.  We’re all sorry about Tafria, but you’ve become downright peculiar.  Expect us all to be demi-gods or something.

I didn’t mean that, there was the familiar spasm of loss twisting in her gut.  It was going to take a very long time indeed to get used to the loss of her swordsister.

What’s the problem? up came Grenien, having been summoned by a couple of mischievous trainees.  She had been engaged in a monologue with a tired Faline, and although the Group Leader trailed after her it was with the relief of knowing the monologue had finally been broken.

Just thinking about Tafria, said Cadrea flatly, feeling ashamed.  Grenien started chattering about the dead zora, completely innocent of the hurt she was causing.  Halfway through the monologue Senra found the pain intolerable and stumbled away, for the moment quite blind.  She was unaware of the thoughtful way Faline watched her.

Poor Senra, Grenien suddenly stopped talking, pale eyes blinking after the departing zora.  Cadrea shrugged rather coldly.

She’s the one who ran like a dog.  It’s her fault.

Faults extend a lot further back that you think, Faline switched her gaze to the trainer, frowning slightly at the quiet resentment in the other's voice.  There were deep feelings about Tafria’s death, to be sure, but she had thought Cadrea not involved, do you think she just ran because at that moment she had a little fright?  There has to be a cause for fear.

Everyone’s afraid of Zardprests, retorted the trainer sharply, we don’t all cut and run.

It’s not for me to explain, but Senra has cause, the Group Leader gently took Grenien's arm and steered her back towards the garden.  The old woman was beginning to look very tired indeed - tired and a little confused, not understanding the tensions that had developed.  Quite likely she hadn’t understood that Senra had not stood by Tafria in Deceus.

Was I being vicious? wondered Cadrea, glancing at Velen.  The other shrugged, I guess Faline has a point, though.  We don’t have the full story.  I’ll learn to shut up some day, at which Velen roared with laughter.  Cadrea tried not to laugh, failed, and achieved the feat of looking thoroughly offended while laughing.

Senra was still withdrawn into silent misery, avoiding contact with the others, when a small knot of riders returned in laughing good spirits.  They had been hunting in the hills and had caught a deer apiece, although one had been released to tend its faun.  The entire Vale was regaled with the tale, bellowed out at the top of lusty lungs while the zora gathered around them.  After a while Senra drifted closer, not sure she wanted to be included.  She still felt diseased, although no-one turned away from her and Cadrea companionably made room beside her - to Velen’s unspoken amusement.

Well, my fine hunters, commented Haqua tranquilly, when the tale was done, you haven’t finished yet.  Now get those dressed and hanging- there was a cheerful howl of protest, but their Group Leader shook her head, you went and caught them, you take care of them.  Wasn’t it you, Youlang, who was complaining about never getting a chance to finish something?

I take it back! but Youlang was only joking, her expressive brown eyes sparkling with delight.  Her quieter, darker swordsister lightly clapped her shoulder and hefted one deer onto a slight shoulder, staggering a little with the weight, damn it, Nevis, I’ll do that-

Off they went with the cheerful bickering of swordsisters.  Senra turned away to her own hut, not hearing a murmured apology from Cadrea.  She was still sitting on the step when all sunlight had left the Vale and darkness was fully upon them - a dark, still, moonless night that seemed to close around her like the grip of death.

Stop fretting it, recommended Faline, stopping at the edge of the light.  Her grave eyes studied Senra thoughtfully, registering for the first time, despite the poor light, the other was losing weight.  There was a slight line appearing by the corners of her mouth, drawing them down into a perpetual expression of withdrawn sadness.  The clear blue eyes rarely looked directly at a body, now, as if all too aware of her inadequacy, and sometimes Faline feared the other was withdrawing from them all, you’re a good zora and I’m happy to have you in my group.  But if you keep worrying about Tafria you’ll compromise that.

Do you have a magic solution? even Hanna and Jasel had settled down for the night, leaving Senra to moon on the doorstep and wish she was somewhere, someone else.

No.  Just keep training the children, they need a break from Cadrea and it’s about time you did a good stint of that.  Yes, keeping your mind off Tafria, inside the hut Jasel snuffed the light, plunging them into darkness.  Senra could barely see Faline, and was herself practically invisible against the bulk of the hut, you’ll be all right.

Tafria won’t-

Tafria is gone - and she had much too much good sense to blame you.  All the recriminations in the world won’t bring her back.  I credited you with more sense, there was a low murmur, Senra claiming she had failed the dead zora.  For a moment Faline felt a quickening of impatience, no, you failed yourself.  Stop kicking yourself.  The more you do that, kick yourself, the more people will remember why you do it and resent it - there is a point where grief becomes an indulgence, Senra, and you’re skating very close to that now.  Now go to bed - the children need early morning riding practice, she watched the darkness stir and was about to move on when Senra stopped, what is it?

Can a longbow out-shoot a crossbow?  Is the crossbow more powerful?

I’ve never shot a longbow so can’t say.  Ask Harana, she’s shot both - but ask her in the morning, the darkness that was Senra turned into the hut.  Frowning, Faline moved on to her own hut.  As a Group Leader she had no swordsister and had had none for over seven years, but once she had had Wesen to protect her back.  It had not been easy to lose Wesen; the memory could still cause her immense pain and she knew how Senra felt.  Somehow half her soul had been ripped out of her, and still the monstrous body lumbered on through life.  The only solution was to work, fill the void with usefulness, and sooner or later learn how to endure the gulf - it never really went away.

Shut up, Youlang! Nevis' voice slipped around the Vale, softly carrying.  Someone else laughed a little.

WELL, I PERSONALLY prefer the crossbow.  It’s much less tiring, particularly with the ratchets, Harana sat crosslegged on a log, watching the trainees unsaddling their mounts.  At that age they were allowed to ride ponies rather than horses, one of the few concessions to their size, but it is a good deal heavier.  Mind you, I admit it’s a lovely feeling to pull a longbow once or twice;  but after a couple of hours you’re exhausted, your left arm feels like lead, your fingers are pitted and your aim goes all over the place.

And it’s less powerful?

That, of course, is the point, she grinned as Senra sharply reminded one trainee that there was only one way to unsaddle a horse comfortably and properly.  The chastised child looked horrified, when the Kalenjin officers started wearing full armour we had to have something that’d get through it.  A longbow shaft might get through;  a crossbow bolt will.  It’s a compromise, you sacrifice the speed of a longbow for the penetrating power of the crossbow.  Why the interest?

Why not train with both?

Good question – it’s bothered me for a while, but I guess there aren’t that many of us left who used a longbow.  There are good and bad points on both sides.  I’d like to see a squad of longbows maintained among us, just for that little bit of flexibility - but, she added as Senra looked interested, I’m not offering to be one of them.  I’m a lot better with the crossbow.  Let’s talk about it when you finish here - if, she stood smoothly, watching the trainees, you ever do.  They have a long way to go.

They’ll get there.

When the children had finally been handed over to Poula for their more formal education, Senra stood a moment, recalling Farr’s shot and the way the Zardprest had fallen.  Perhaps she was exaggerating the distance, but it still seemed a phenonemal shot.  With that in mind she sought out Harana, finding the other zora rubbing down a longbow, face thoughtful.

I kept it.  The string isn’t in good condition, but we should be a shot or two out of it, she passed to Senra a handful of shafts and led the way back to the butts, long legs covering the ground with deceptive speed.  Following her, Senra wondered why she had never noticed how long the other’s legs were.  She herself was not without a good length of leg, but Harana’s seemed enormous.  She was still musing on that when they arrived at the range.  There were two or three other zora there, doing a little desultory practice, but they all stood back when Harana strung the bow, see, this one is mine - I made it to my height.  Spent a year getting it right.  Actually wondered at one stage whether I was shrinking.  Now, knock the arrow so and fire it like... so, she drew the string back to her jaw, aimed and fired.  The