Wandering Lark (61 page)

If there were more things in this world than mageborn eyes could see, that was a scary thought.

“Come now, let us refresh ourselves, and hurry to my wife’s domain,” Culann said. “If you are lucky, your Talena will be there still. You might even be allowed to speak to her before she is taken back to the tower...”

Culann turned and clapped his hands, and servants seemed to materialize out of everywhere. Alaric was ushered towards the curtains in Culann’s wake. They passed under an arch and entered another chamber. The bath turned out to be a large pool of water steaming and scented. Fresh clothes were brought out, and Culann showed no sign of being the least bit embarrassed as he began undressing.

Alaric took his time undressing and getting into the water. Seated on a bench that ran around the inner rim of the pool, he realized his chest was itching terribly. He rubbed the spot over his breastbone in absent thought as servants brought sponges, crawled into the water and offered to scrub his back. He assured them he could manage for himself and tried not to stare as men who looked even younger than the king cleaned every inch of the royal body while Culann leaned back and closed his eyes. Alaric concentrated on cleaning himself, because something Fenelon said about Ronan whispered in the back of his mind.

And staring, even in admiration, is just plain rude,
he scolded himself.

“Why is that?” Culann asked.

Alaric looked up, stopping in the middle of raising his sponge. “I beg your pardon?”

“Why is staring in admiration considered rude?” Culann asked.

Alaric’s face heated. “You...can hear my thoughts?” he asked.

Culann smiled. “Only the more obvious ones. Deeper thoughts require probing your mind, which I perceive is always hidden under a cloud. So why is it rude to stare in admiration?”

“Well...it just is,” Alaric said. “My mother always said so, at least.”

Culann laughed. “And we do as our mothers bid no matter how old we become,” the king said. He nodded. “My mother, thankfully, does not live at the palace anymore.”

“Really?” Alaric said, glad to have the conversation go elsewhere.

“She has her own place in the mountains to our east,” King Culann said. “I was pleased that she went there to live after my father passed away. She was always trying to tell me what to do even after I became king.”

“How did your father die?” Alaric asked. “I mean, if you and your people are immortal...”

Culann’s face shifted into a soft frown. “My father was murdered by one of the Shadow Lords,” he said. “He was out hunting, and he made camp, and as he slept in his tent, a Shadow Lord crept in and cut his throat.”

“But I thought the Shadow Lords were all trapped in places around the world.”

“Not all, alas,” Culann said. “A few of them roam free, hiding in the old caves and the darkest parts of the forest, waiting for the time when the Dark Mother will rise again. Which is why the Balance is in so much peril right now.”

Alaric felt Ronan stir just a hint. He tried to concentrate on the bard’s spirit, but the movement stopped, leaving Alaric feeling a little cold.

So there were still Shadow Lords loose in the world.

Fenelon would have been interested in that information.

“You will turn into a prune if you stay in the water much longer,” King Culann suddenly said.

Alaric looked up. The king had already risen from his bath and was being wrapped in warm towels and dried. Alaric pulled himself around, looking for a towel. Two servants stood at the edge, holding one for him.

He sighed and drew out of the water, and before he could reach for the towel, they had it wrapped around him.

Frowning, he resigned himself to being dried and dressed, just eager to get the humiliation over with. Because his mind was working on the bits of information that King Culann shared as they bathed.

There were still Shadow Lords in the world.

Had Tane Doran been one of them?

The blue lights were growing more
frequent now. Gareth watched them with wary eyes. He did not like the way they flitted in and out almost teasingly. As though they hoped he would follow them into the depths of the Stone Forest.

He wondered too if Fenelon was feeling the same sensations Gareth had become aware of as soon as they followed the path into the trees. Probably not since Fenelon was mentally cataloging the trees themselves.

“That’s an oak,” Fenelon said. “And that’s a hemlock. And over there, that looks like a willow. I know a dozen mageborn who would pay high prices to have these trees in their gardens.”

“Stone trees in a garden?” Hobbler said.

“Sure.” Fenelon said. “Think of it. Lovely shade all year round. Never a need to rake the foliage or worry when there is a drought. And they don’t even need trimming.”

Gareth sighed. “When are you going to grow up, Fenelon,” he said.

“Hey, just because I have not lost my fascination with the world and its multitude of curiosities...oh, look! An apple tree!”

Gareth rolled his eyes. Fenelon dashed off the path to examine the tree more closely. As he did, the blue wisps of light gathered in force. Gareth tensed. That didn’t look promising.

“Fenelon, maybe you better not do that...”

Fenelon waved off the suggestion and continued into the trees. His lantern bobbled in and out of view. The deeper he went, the harder it became to see his light. Gareth snarled, “Fenelon!” but there was no answer. It was as though his son had given in to the will of those gathering lights.

“Where’s he going?” Hobbler asked. “Why is he stepping off the path?”

“Because he’s a Greenfyn,” Gareth growled and stepped off the path to follow. “Come on, or we’ll lose him for certain.”

“We could just as easily become lost ourselves,” Hobbler complained.

“Then stay here and wait for us,” Gareth said.

“Alone?” Hobbler said, glancing around at the bluish light forms that now seemed to gather among the branches of the trees.

“Your choice,” Gareth called back.

He heard feet thumping rapidly across the ground, and as he stopped to get his bearings and another bead on Fenelon’s lantern light, he felt a small body smack into him from behind.

“Hey!” Gareth shouted, momentarily distracted.

“Sorry,” Hobbler said. “Which way?”

Which way, indeed? Gareth swung back around, searching the stone trees to no avail. Fenelon’s lantern had disappeared.

“Horns!” Gareth snarled. He stretched mage senses, seeking his son’s essence among the trees. To his surprise and dismay, there were many essences here, shifting and moving like milkweed. He glanced overhead and saw that more and more of the blue lights were gathering. “Horns,” he muttered again and scanned the forest in anger.

“Fenelon!” he shouted. His voice echoed around him, and then his cry was taken up by voices not his own.

“Fenelon, Fenelon, Fenelon...”

“Oh, no,” Hobbler said.

“Oh, no what?” Gareth asked, glowering at the Dvergar.

“You’ve awakened them...”

“Them who?”

“The Hidden Folk,” Hobbler said, his voice trembling with terror. “We’re doomed!”

Gareth snarled an oath under his breath and once more scanned the trees. The blue light brought out details that even lanterns and foxfire did not show. He could see cloverleaves, moss and flowers under his feet. A butterfly on the trunk of a tree, frozen in time. All of it made of stone, as though some great carver had the skill to breath life into them. No wonder Fenelon had leapt into the woods. These wonders must have called to him.

But I’ve got to find him.
Gareth seriously considered climbing a snarled old oak of stone when he noticed that blue lights gathered over another part of the Stone Forest. Of course, if they were overhead here, they would naturally be where Fenelon was.

“Come on, Hobbler,” Gareth said, grabbing the Dvergar by the scruff and dragging him along. “Fenelon is this way.”

Hobbler had little choice but to give in with a whimper of terror. But he went all the same, sticking close to Gareth. And as they ran on, the lights overhead followed them, leaping from tree to tree. Now Gareth could see that the lights had shape and form. Human...or human-like. They were ethereal and beautiful, and at the same time, terrifying, for he could see their faces now. But he hurried on, heedless of their presence, determined to do one thing.

Their mad dash among the narrowing space between the trunks brought them closer to the place where he suspected Fenelon stood. For the blue lights towards which Gareth and Hobbler ran had yet to move off. And just when Gareth thought he had reached a space between the trees through which he could not fit, he stumbled into a clearing. Here, stood a circle of menhirs and capstones, gathered into a henge. And in the middle of it stood his son.

Fenelon held out one hand. Facing him was a creature of blue light, female in appearance, Gareth grimly noticed. She smiled, but there was something almost sinister in that smile. And she reached out to take his son’s hand in return.

“Fenelon, don’t!” Gareth shouted and threw himself into the circle.

The female turned, hissing as she backed away. Her gaze searched the trees for assistance. And just as she reached the edge of the henge, several more of the blue-light figures sprang forward. To Gareth surprise, they were wielding swords.

They’re only light,
he told himself. But to his dismay, their blades still cut. He dodged as one of them ripped through his cloak, barely missing his flesh.

“Father!” he heard Fenelon shout.

In his eagerness to avoid the blade, Gareth had fallen. He hit the ground just as Fenelon bolted into the path of the next sword. The creature wielding it shifted its attack. Before Gareth could think to call out a warning, the pommel swung around and hit Fenelon in the side of the head. Fenelon fell, dropping like a stone. With a cry, Gareth lunged over to his son’s side, gathering Fenelon in his arms and trying to shield him from the blue creature’s raised blade.

“We mean you no harm!” Gareth shouted. “We mean you no harm!”

The blue creature stopped and looked towards the edge of the circle. Others were gathering now, closing the way out with their ethereal forms.

“They’re not attacking,” Hobbler said. “Wonder why?”

Gareth did not care why. He touched Fenelon’s throat. His son’s pulse was barely discernable under his fingers.

“No, Fenelon, not now...it’s not your time to go,” Gareth whispered.

The blue folk merely watched him and did nothing as he clung to Fenelon and wondered just what to do now.

Fenelon had expected the blow
to hurt as he had rushed to stop them from stealing Gareth’s life. To his surprise, it didn’t hurt at all. Though it knocked him down, there was no pain.

How strange,
he thought as he crawled to his feet again.

And froze.

His body was still on the ground. Gareth was gathering Fenelon close.

“But...how...”

“You are Fenelon?” a woman’s voice said in a singsong manner.

Fenelon turned. The creature whose ethereal presence had been holding his attention before now stood before him as solid as a real woman. In fact, the Stone Forest now looked alive. He glanced up and saw sunshine and blue sky.

“Am I dead?” Fenelon asked.

She laughed and glanced at the rows of her companions. They all looked whole and very real. Fenelon could see that they were shorter than average, thin people with luminous blue eyes, black hair and eldritch features. Their clothing was loose and flowing and comfortable looking at a glance. And very thin. He was able to make out more of this winsome lass now standing before him than could make any man comfortable.

“Uh...where am I?” he asked, for as he looked around, Gareth and Hobbler were gone. And he was standing on soft grass on a hillside overlooking a massive forest of green trees.