Lady of Poison by Bruce R. Cordell Read Free Book Online Page A

were mostly unskilled in that area. These strangers had many stories to tell and offered the chance for conversations many and long.
    More importantly, the strangers were concerned with the troubles of the wood, just like her. They seemed specifically concerned about the troubles caused by these rot-touched volodnis, as was she. She feared that where blight moved so fearlessly, only one possible agency could be responsible… but she had to be sure before she reported back to the Circle. That was a conversation she did not relish. She had stayed away far too long—and the longer she stayed away, the more difficult it had become each day to set her feet back toward her fellows. After all, she had been pursuing her mission, however delayed it had become.
    “The trees are yours to guard?” asked Gunggari, who walked beside her on the road to Two Stars.
    “Not quite,” responded Elowen. “Nentyar hunters, such as myself, are. few. We don’t patrol specific areas. Rather, we are free to wander widely, trusting our own judgment,
    but yes, we confront all who seek to harm the forest.”
    Gunggari fell quiet, apparently satisfied.
    The southlander was a puzzle to Elowen, but an interesting puzzle. She’d never seen anybody like him. A human, to be sure, but one with customs unlike she’d ever come upon before then. He intrigued her. She hoped they would accompany her back to the Mucklestones. Her friend Briartan would love to meet someone from so far abroad.
    “What about you?” Elowen asked the tattooed soldier. “What is the significance of all those marks on your body? They seem too exquisite to be mere decoration.”
    Gunggari considered a moment, then said, “In Osse, in the land where my mother bore me, these tattoos speak of my strength, skill, and dedication to alcheringa.”
    Elowen looked at Gunggari, waiting for him to continue.
    “Alcheringa is the philosophy of my people. I walk that path. These marks on my body are totems, each telling of an ancestral hero of my people. I call on them for aid when I am in need. That is alcheringa”.
    “Who’s this one?” Elowen impudently pointed at a vaguely human tattoo on Gunggari’s chest. “He’s got a warclub like yours.”
    “Tumbarum. He is the spirit of music. He plays the dizheri. Like so.”
    Gunggari hefted his hollow war club, upon which were painted elaborate designs in bright colors, and began to blow through one end. A sound, as of thunder, or a rushing river, reverberated through the air. Startled, a nearby flock of birds gave flight. The sound was unlike anything she had ever heard. Gunggari continued to blow. The thought occurred to her that it was music of a sort the elves had never mastered, something she could scarcely credit. His warclub was a musical instrument. Truly a marvel.
    After a time, Gunggari finished. Elowen said, “You
    are a master musician, Gunggari. Among my people, you would be accorded much honor for that alone.”
    The Oslander stowed his instrument and nodded, taking her at her word, without humility or arrogance. Gunggari was simply a man who knew his worth.
    He said, “You have made my friend Marrec very happy, appearing when you did, saving the child. He has long sought that child; you have made a friend of him and me.” So saying, Gunggari clapped her on the shoulder.
    Such familiarity between herself and strangers was uncommon, and normally she would resent such contact, but she was surprised to find that, coming from the strange man from the south with his strange customs, she didn’t mind.
    Ś&
    A pony named Henri was procured for Ash in the village of Culdorn that evening. The group had covered just fifteen miles, but they did reach the great trade road, the Golden Way. They put up that night in the Culdorn Inn. Ash was completely taken with Henri; she was far more interested in the little horse than with her companions. The girl tried to sleep with the pony in the stable instead of the room they arranged for her