Wandering Lark (69 page)

“What?” Alaric stopped dressing to stare at the Dvergar figure whose face did not really hide the dragon from his eyes.

“Why, not even that silly peacock Turlough Greenfyn will know.”

“How can you be so sure?” Alaric asked.

Fion laughed. “I do like you, bard. You forget who I am and treat me as an equal. Of course, I can be sure of what I say. I am, after all, She Who Sits at the Center of All Things...”

Alaric sat down on the edge of the bed.

“Now hurry up and dress. Culann knows that you will not be breaking fast with him this morning as you have to leave and save your friends...”

“How?”

“There is a gate stone down in the courtyard. While Je’Rhel’s essence is no longer in you, his knowledge is now yours to use as you see fit. There is nothing to stop you from walking through the world now, Demon-Bound. The walls that kept you a prisoner of Je’Rhel are gone. You broke them with that final blow. You are free. The Youngerkin within you is free as well. He
chooses
to stay and serve you, just as you chose to be his master. Now do you understand?”

“I think so...” Alaric said.

“If not, you can always ask me,”
Vagner said with a chuckle.

Fion slipped out of the chair. “Good. Oh, one more thing. I would give these into your keeping as well. The Temple of the Triad should not have them, and you will need them.”

With that, the Dvergar opened meaty hands to reveal one held the silvered glass Talena had carried. The other contained the crystal dagger that Alaric had tried to use on the White One...

“The glass will allow you to speak to me whenever you wish,” Fion said. “As for the dagger...please give it to the Twice-Blooded Once-Born when the time is right.”

“What of Talena?”

“She is going to stay with us a while,” Fion said. “She is going to learn our ways, now that she remembers how to use that which is in her. One day, she may even go back and teach others in Garrowye what they have forgotten. Now, you had best be on your way, Demon-Bound. I think the trial is starting about now. And if that fool Turlough tries to give you any trouble, just send for me.”

With that, Fion’s presence brightened into a beacon of light so brilliant, Alaric was forced to shade his eyes. Then all at once, the light winked out, and when he lowered his hands, Fion and Sedar were gone.

Alaric quickly finished dressing.

Are there really this many mageborn in Keltora?
Etienne wondered. Or had Turlough summoned every mageborn from the length and breadth of Ard-Taebh to come here? She sat beside Fenlon on the dais where they had all been brought to make certain they could be seen. The council chamber was packed shoulder to shoulder with mageborn. It was a wonder that they could keep the center of the room clear enough for Turlough.

“They have defied the laws as laid down by this council,” the High Mage said as he walked the circle and eyed those who were in their chairs. “They assisted one who was bound to a demon to escape justice. They have purposely tried to thwart all attempts on my part to find this demon-lover and bring him to trial. For that, this council can only have but one verdict, and that is to sunder their power.”

Etienne frowned. So far, he had said nothing about execution.

“And once they are sundered,” Turlough said. “It is only fitting that their leader be executed for heinous crimes against this Council...”

A murmur rose throughout the room. Etienne wanted to scream in protest. How could they even consider killing Fenelon.

“We all know that Fenelon Greenfyn has long been a nuisance to those who have tried to coexist in Dun Gealach. That he has endangered many of us with his wild spell casting. But now, he adds the crime of thwarting justice and letting a demon-lover go free. Who know what evil that young bard and his terrible beast will exact upon innocent citizens of our fair lands...”

“Banish him from Dun Gealach,” someone said.

Turlough turned towards the sound. Etienne saw Bran Alden standing head and shoulders over the crowd.

“Banish him?” Turlough said. “You know perfectly well that banishment would just give Fenelon Greenfyn the opportunity to seek other means to restore his power. It has been done, they say.”

“So what are you suggesting?” another asked.

“Fenelon Greenfyn must never be allowed to trouble us again,” Turlough said. “He must be executed.”

The noise that filled the chamber was a mix of outrage and encouragement. It was hard to say who shouted louder.

“Council, what say you?” Turlough said.

“May we not discuss this further?” one of the seated members asked.

“No,” Turlough said. “We have talked all morning and most of the day about this matter. As High Mage, I am ordering you to make your decision now.”

Turlough turned for the dais stairs.

“Lorymer,” he shouted as he mounted them. “Call for the vote...”

Lorymer did not exactly look pleased. He took a deep breath as Turlough ascended the dais, and started to open his mouth...

...When the doors of the chamber opened suddenly. A gale wind dashed into the room and slapped at Turlough’s robes. Shouting, the High Mage stumbled and barely managed to catch himself on the edge of his throne. He turned towards the audience with a look of outrage.

“Who did that?” he shouted. “Who dares to invoke magic here in the council chamber and strike at me...?”

“I dare!” a familiar voice shouted from the direction of the doors.

Etienne knew that voice. As she watched, the path to the now open door cleared away. Her breath caught in her throat.

Alaric Braidwine had just walked into the middle of the chamber as though he felt no reason to fear reprisal.

“Turlough Greenfyn,” Alaric said in a manner that was so unlike him, Etienne wondered if it really was him at all, “You are about to make the biggest mistake of your life if you think I am going to just stand aside and allow you to execute Fenelon Greenfyn.”

Turlough merely stood gaping before he shouted, “It’s he! It’s Alaric Braidwine! Take him!”

Alaric had been glad for the demon
essence in him. He felt bold and strong as he crossed the floor to stand before the dais. Now as Turlough gave orders for his capture, he glared at the High Mage. Several mageborn guards surged forward, but Alaric put up his hands and whispered a spell to harden the air around him. Fed with demon essence, it was strong enough that when the battle mages hit it, they fell back in awe.

“Are you sure that was the right thing to do?”
Vagner asked.

It’s the only thing I could think of on short notice,
Alaric thought back.

“I come in peace!” Alaric said. “But I came back on behalf of my friends, to defend them from this accusation. You say that I am bound to a demon. I say that you have no proof.”

“You brought a demon into Dun Gealach the day you arrived!” Turlough said.

“I did not know it was there,” Alaric retorted.

“And then you bound yourself to a demon rather than accept your fate and die.”

“And had I accepted death, where do you think the world would be now?” Alaric asked. “The Dark Mother would have been reborn, and the world would have died in shadows.”

“Dark Mother? That is a myth!” Turlough said. “You wear a demon’s mark on your hand. I’ve seen it!”

Smiling, Alaric held up both his hands. Turlough hesitated then snarled. “Scry him! All of you! Scry him! He must have hidden the mark...”

He felt the flicker of mage sense as though a thousand fingers touched his skin. Carefully, he reached into his jerkin and touched the silver glass near his heart.
If ever I had need of your counsel, Fionasidhe,
he thought. The glass grew warm and the odor of spices filled his nose.

“There is no demon in him,” Bran Alden said.

Several others said the same.

“What sort of treachery is this?” Turlough shouted.

But his protest went unanswered. A babble of voices rose to a pitch.

Turlough marched to the edge of the dais and shouted, “I will have order!”

Alaric held his place, though he sensed Vagner wanting to flee. He met Turlough’s angry glare with one of his own.

“And I say that if you want to assure the survival of this world, you will listen to me,” Alaric said in a loud, commanding voice.

The rabble died as though a great wind had ceased to blow.

“What you have to say does not matter here, demon-lover!” Turlough said.

“Perhaps then, you will be more inclined to listen to me?”

Alaric felt a delicious shiver. He turned and scanned the crowd to his back. Turlough frowned.

“Who speaks now?” Turlough asked. “Come forward...”

The crowd parted enough to reveal a short figure dressed in white. A Dvergar to the eyes of those who filled the chamber, accompanied by a tall, white-haired woman of great beauty. But Alaric could see through the guise. The woman was Sedar in yet another feminine form, and the Dvergar. Alaric smiled for the dragon inside the miniature form and bowed.

“I am Lord Fion,” the Dvergar said. With a wave of one meaty hand, he filled the air with a shower of crystal flowers that fell with a tinkle of glass, even though none of them shattered or even hit the floor. In fact, like snowflakes on warm ground, they would fade, leaving a lingering scent of spices. “I have come to stand as witness for the one you are so eager to call demon lover.”

“Stand witness?” Turlough said.

“Is it not permitted?” Fion asked with an arch of his bushy brows.

“Yes, it is permitted, in accordance with council laws,” Lorymer said.

Turlough cast a sharp glare at his assistant. Lorymer fell silent.

“Now, as my young friend said, Lord Magister, you are about to make a grave error in judgment. And such an error could bring folly to the Balance of All Things...”

“And by what right do you dare to come here and chide me?” Turlough demanded.

“By right of First Born,” Fion said. The Dvergar’s eyes had a merry crinkle around the edges.  For a moment, Alaric sensed that a contest of wills was taking place. Turlough trembled, and all the while Fion calmly smiled. At last the High Mage withdrew and staggered a step before he drew himself upright and glowered at the Dvergar.

“Oh, very well. What is your proof?”

“How many among you are sensitive to demons?” Fion asked. “Let all who possess this skill come forth...”

Several mageborn arose from their chairs. A few stepped out of the crowd. Turlough came off the dais... They formed a circle around Alaric. He took a deep breath and whispered a spell to let down his wall of protection so they could all come closer to him.

“Now, find the demon...if you can,” Fion said in a mocking manner.

As Alaric stood there, several mageborn touched him. Turlough pushed through their numbers and seized Alaric’s hand, pushed a hand through his hair, put a hand to his chest. The High Mage finally stopped and stepped back, disbelief marking his gaze.

“There is no demon here,” he said. “But...I saw the mark on him. I felt the beast with him...I...”

“That is because the demon is no more,” Fion said. He clapped his hands. Sedar stepped aside, and a litter carried by several men came through the crowd. Alaric raised an eyebrow, for every one of them was Elderkin. Yet not one of the mageborn acted as though they knew such ancient demons were in their midst. They were busy looking at the litter as it was placed on the floor.

Fion clapped his hands again, and one of the Elderkin reached down and jerked back the canvas covering the litter. Gasps filled the chamber. A body laid out on the litter that was clearly not human. It was tall, and somewhat chiropteran in shape.

“Here is the demon, Lord Magister,” Fion said. “Dead. Sundered. Gone.”

Alaric felt Vagner flinch just a little. He kept quiet otherwise.