Wandering Lark (68 page)

Je’Rhel screamed, and his form shifted. He became Ronan Tey, battered, beaten and missing one hand, lying there looking helpless and sad. “Lark, please.”

Alaric shouted and lunged to strike once more. Je’Rhel changed forms again. Now he was Marda, old and frail on her deathbed. But Alaric had demon eyes as well as mage eyes, and he could see the creature smiling wickedly behind the pitiful mask.

“That won’t work!” Alaric shouted and finished his strike.

The hideous sound of bone crunching reached his ears. Marda’s voice shrieked, “Alaric, stop!” He closed his ears to the sound and struck again, letting all the anger that was in him out with every blow. Je’Rhel lost Marda’s shape as the Elderkin fell.

For a moment, Alaric stood there, glowering at the creature whose blood flowed dark crimson from the various wounds.

“Why do you hesitate?” Je’Rhel asked.

Alaric blinked. Why indeed? All the cause of his suffering for the last few months was lying on the ground.
You would have killed me and taken my flesh. You who lied to me, who deceived me and all that were around me as well! I hate you, monster, I hate you for everything you have done to me!

So why did he not finish it now? Was it because a small part of him still loved what Ronan Tey had been? His mentor? His teacher? His friend?

My betrayer?

Je’Rhel smiled. “I knew you could not do it, Lark,” he said and started to rise. “Your heart is too soft to be a true Demon-Bound. You do not have the will to finish this...”

“Oh, yes I do!” Alaric hissed through gritted teeth. “If I have learned one thing from you, monster, it is that I do have the will...”

The quarterstaff shifted in his hands and became a sword of light. He shouted and struck the final blow with every ounce of demon strength he could muster. The Elderkin looked briefly surprised as light plunged like steel into his chest and found his heart. Warm blood sprayed everywhere. Then almost effortlessly, Jo’Rhel wilted and fluttered into the dark of the Void.

Alaric felt the sword fall from his hands, but it disappeared before it even hit the ground. Cold crept into his left hand...the ring. He looked at it just as the silver became like liquid and ran down his finger, and it too disappeared before it touched the light.

“We don’t need that any more,”
Vagner said.

He took a deep breath and felt the demon essence that was Vagner sliding away. Once the strength of the demon withdrew, exhaustion overwhelmed Alaric and took all awareness away.

But not before he heard Vagner whisper,
“We are both free now, Alaric Braidwine...”

Darkness filtered through the windows
, but Talena had called light and it came. Perhaps she should not have summoned it, for any who saw her now would be witness to the tears in her eyes as she walked over to the door. The guard there stepped back as though knowing what was about to happen.

She reached out with her hand and touched the door and willed it to open.

And it did.

Slowly, she stepped out into the hall.

The Queen was there, holding out her arms, smiling.

“Welcome home,” she said. “Your mother would be so pleased to see you now...”

Talena hesitated. Affection was not a part of her usual behavior. Still, she looked at the small woman who so trustingly stood before her, and knew there was nothing else she could do but fall into those arms.

I am home,
she thought.

And it felt right to be there.

A bird twittered nervously outside
the tower window. Etienne sat in the window and stared at the thin rime of morning light that had managed to cut through the Keltoran clouds. That was a rare sight. Sunrise. She had seen so few of them in this place.

Perhaps this was the last time she would see the sun rise, and so it had done so as a special treat to her. The Council trial was today. Turlough was certain he would get his way. And if he did, she and Fenelon and Gareth and all the others would be sundered of their power. And then...who knew? If the Council could be swayed to take their power, it might just as easily be swayed to steal their lives...

She glanced about the room. The others were lying on pallets. Fenelon and his father were sitting together... Like her, they had not slept most of the night.

“Surely he would not be so stupid,” Fenelon said.

“He’s mad,” Gareth replied. “Of course, he will do whatever he can to convince them that this is for the better of the world.”

Etienne sighed. Shona was napping. Wendon and Thala were wrapped in one another’s arms in the corner. She had been allowed to come from the Temple of Diancecht to be with him.

Well, at least the Temple would take her out before the worst happened. And Turlough at least promised that Shona and Wendon would be spared death since clearly they were but pawns of their masters. And she supposed if she was so petty, she could have pleaded innocence and sworn that it was Fenelon’s charm that swayed her to do all this. But she knew better.
I did what I did because I believed it to be right.

Alas, she just wished the price had not been so high.

Then again, she could probably go back to being a healer in her own land.

Assuming they let her leave? Could she truly trust anything Turlough promised to be true?

Fenelon seemed to know she was being troubled by her thoughts. He came over and sat down beside her and looked out the window.

“My, my,” he said. “Sunshine. Never thought I would see that in Keltora.”

She smiled. He took her hands.

“Hey...we’ll be all right,” he said.

“Of course, we will,” she agreed. “I just hope Alaric is...”

Fenelon sighed. “You know, I do wish those Hidden Folk had not been so eager to keep us out of Garrowye. Just think of the wonders that must be there. I envy Alaric, getting to go someplace new...someplace that no mageborn has been since the beginning of time...”

She smiled. That was the Fenelon she knew, and just hearing him say such things brought tears to her eyes.

“Sorry I got you into all this,” Fenelon said. And he kissed her softly.

She would have let the kiss go on as long as possible, but the door clattered a bit. It opened, and a host of mageborn guards began to filter in. Servants came as well, carrying trays of food. Others dragged tubs and buckets of water and curtains for privacy and fresh clothes.

“You are to be fed, bathed and dressed within the hour,” one of the guards said. “The High Mage has ordered that each of you be manacled and gagged, and then we shall take you down to the Council Chamber.”

With that, the guards and the servants left. Etienne looked at the food, the tubs...the clothes.

“Oh, dear,” she said.

“What?” Fenelon asked.

“I’ve never much liked that robe. Blue and white make me look like a wraith.”

Fenelon smiled.

The chattering of a jackdaw roused
Alaric from the depths of slumber. He stretched and opened his eyes to find that he was lying in a vaguely familiar bed.

How long had he slept? His body felt sated from a good slumber. But his mind kept trying to reorient itself to the last thing he remembered. Then again, maybe it was too early to try to remember anything.

With a sigh, he sat up in the luxurious bed...

I’m back at the White Palace,
he thought. A warm wind rustled the gossamer drapes that covered the large open archway leading out to the balcony. To one side, a chair contained new clothes that looked like those he had worn before he came to Garrowye.

How odd,
he thought. Had he dreamed everything that had passed?

There was a bath ready and waiting, and steaming cups of some brew. All fresh as though someone had known the precise hour he would awaken. He sighed and threw back the covers, looking down at his body...

Yes, it was his body. That much he felt certain of. And he was going to take great pleasure in plunging it into that tub and ridding himself of the...

He frowned. There were no aches. No pain. But how?

With a shrug, he slipped off the bed and hurried across the floor. The tub water was just right, and he sank into it, letting the warmth soak into him. Then he picked up the scrubbing cloths and started to wash himself, still curious as to why there was not a single mark or scar or...

His gaze fell on his left hand. Where was the silver ring? He had only a vague recollection of it slithering off his hand like quicksilver before disappearing. He looked at the other hand, frowning. Where was the demon’s mark? What? How? He turned his hand over, unable to believe his eyes. The mark was gone! The mark that had bound him to Vagner was no longer there.

“Vagner?” he whispered.

Something trembled inside him, a faint vibration filled with the essence of demon. For a moment, his heart quickened in fear. Perhaps the fight had been a dream. Effervescence filled his tongue with the flavor of cloves.

“Yes?”
a voice whispered softly in his head.

“Where are you?” Alaric asked.

“In body? I am no more,” Vanger said and chuckled. “But in essence, I am now one with you.”

“One with me? But...”

“My sacrifice to keep you alive, remember?” Vagner said. “You told the White One that you would rather be master of a good demon than slave to an evil one. So now...you have a slave, though I must insist that you understand that while I am bound to you for an eternity now, this does not mean you can just abuse me in any old fashion. For one thing, you have to sing to me every night.”

“Wait...you’re inside me? As Ronan...I mean, Je’Rhel was? But...doesn’t that mean...you’re dead?”

“Only in the flesh. But you know, flesh is not always all it’s cracked up to be. This is far more pleasant, and I promise you will hardly know I am here...unless of course, you need me. And I suspect, if the White One has her way, you will need me...”

“But...why?” Alaric asked.

“Why what, young bard?” a familiar voice said.

Alaric turned in the tub, startled to find that he was not alone. Master Fion sat in a chair, and beside him stood the enigmatic Sedar in the guise of a lovely woman all wrapped in glittering white.

“Why did Vagner have to die?” Alaric asked. “You never said anything about him dying.”

“Vagner is not dead,” Fion said. “You know that. Death to some is not the same as it is to others. To a Youngerkin, death is to cease to be at all. Vagner still exists...”

“But...Vagner is inside me...the way Ronan, I mean, Je’Rhel was!”

“Indeed,” Fion said, “and the Balance of that union will make you a most formidable foe when the Darkening comes. For you will be the key that unleashes the true power within the Twice-Blooded Once-Born. You will be the Avatar of the Dragon of Light. The Master of Knowledge.”

“But that could be ages from now!” Alaric said. “Meanwhile, I am still marked as a demon’s master.” He glanced at his hand. No, the mark was gone.

“As you chose to be...and wisely, I might add,” Fion said.

“But you don’t understand!” Alaric said. He grabbed the toweling blanket and crawled out of the tub, splattering water everywhere. Sedar was suddenly at his side, reaching to assist him. He snarled and pushed her delicate hands away, and she looked so hurt, as though a lover had scorned her. Frowning, Alaric stumbled on the edge of the toweling blanket, then righted himself and reached for his clothes.”

“What do I not understand, Demon-Bound?” Fion asked.

“My friends are still in danger because of me. And I cannot go back and save them from sundering so long as there is a demon in me.”

Fion’s smile grew infuriating. “It is you who does not understand,” the White One said. “Because you are the Demon-Bound, only other demons and the elder races can see that in you now. Mortals, be they mageborn or not, will never have the eyes to see. Only the Twice-Blooded Once-Born will know you when the time is right. To the rest of the world, you will still be Alaric Braidwine, mageborn bard.”