The Wanderer by Cherry; Wilder, Katya Reimann

Ensign Maddoc. Gael was leading her horse, Ebony, down a narrow lane under the palace wall when the capricious animal went backward, tugging on his bridle. She saw that a man stood in the path. He was middle-aged, dark skinned, rather tubbily built, with a bright cummerbund under his grey silk robe and a turban of the same yellow silk. He hailed her softly by name and bowed low.
    “Elim,” he said, “house servant of the Lady of Pfolben. I have been entrusted to seek a token from you, Ensign Maddoc, that I may replace it with a true-handed gift and a message.”
    He brought from his sleeve a little ivory coffer. Gael was experienced enough now to know it must have jewels inside, but she could not think what the man might mean either by a token or by a true-handed gift, a message. Elim saw her confusion, and he smiled.
    “You have been almost three years long in your lord’s service,” he told her. “In that time, one sister has whispered words that reached another’s ear, O child of the Holywell.”
    Gael’s hand went unwillingly to her throat, where for almost four years now she had worn Pearl of Andine’s lily pendant. Reluctantly, she brought it out of her clothes and held it in her hand, admiring—for perhaps the last time—the pendant’s beauty, the tiny pearl’s subtle spark. She did not know if this little bauble had ever given her the protection Lady Pearl had sworn of it, but it had served for these years as a hidden token to her bright destiny—she hoped. Now she found herself loath to hand it over, and that not even directly to Lady Annhad’s hand.
    Elim smiled again, and she wondered if he found enjoyment in the confusion that must be playing across her features. Schooling her expression more firmly, she handed the little metal flower over. “This was a great gift from a gracious lady,”
Gael Maddoc said, her tongue thick in her throat. “Please tell your own lady that I hold her sister in the highest regard, and ask only that she keep this token safe.”
    Elim gave a half-bow, acknowledging her, and handed her in his turn the ivory box. When Gael flipped back the lid, wondering, she found a silver-colored ring with a pale green stone. In its depths there was a spark of darker green that winked at her like a single eye. She thought at once of the sword Ishkar.
    “My thanks to the Lady,” she brought out awkwardly. “This is a fine gift, Master Elim. What have I done to deserve it?”
    “Do you need to ask that?” purred the messenger.
    “This ring comes from the Burnt Lands,” said Gael boldly, “and so do you.”
    “The ring comes from the Swordmaker of Aghiras,” said Elim. “It has many useful properties. Will you put it on?”
    She could feel the magic of the ring already, but she would not let him see that she was afraid. In any case she trusted her lord’s mother. She slipped the ring on to the middle finger of her right hand and it fitted perfectly.
    “Here is the message,” said Elim. “Knowing who you are, your sacred heritage, the Lady of Pfolben begs you to stay by the Lord Blayn and protect him, giving this ring as her pledge to you. In the spring he will be invited to hunt in the Burnt Lands by the Dhey of Aghiras and you will go with him, as a member of the special escort.”
    “I will do my duty,” said Gael, not knowing how else to answer him.
    She heard some echo of her own voice replying and saw the messenger’s smile. She drew off the ring and said:
    “Give me the message again, in exactly the same words!”
    Elim bowed and rolled off the words in a foreign tongue that she guessed was the language of Aghiras. Yet before she had understood every word and been able to reply in the same language.
    “As I said,” continued Elim in the common speech, “the ring has many useful properties. You have found out one of them.”
    “Does it work for all tongues?” asked Gael Maddoc.
    “No,” said Elim, “only for the language of the Swordmaker. And you must be