Wandering Lark (70 page)

“A trophy, if you wish,” Fion said. “You see, your young friend came to me because he wanted to be rid of the demon...and so I killed the beast and set him free of its mark...”

“How?” Turlough insisted. “How could you do it without harming him...”

“I am First Born, and have knowledge that goes back to the beginning of time,” Fion said. “But you should know that, Turlough. You and I...we have met before, or do you not remember?”

Turlough said nothing, though Alaric was certain he saw the High Mage’s hand twitch.

“Now, if you will excuse me,” Fion said, “I really must leave. Do you wish to keep the demon’s corpse?”

Turlough leaned over then drew back with a sneer. “It stinks,” he said. “Take it out of here and burn it!”

“Have a care,”
Vagner said in Alaric’s head as the guards rushed forward to obey. The Elderkin all headed for the door. Fion waited until they were gone, then turned to Alaric and winked before he and Sedar followed the others. The doors closed behind them.

“Well?” Alaric said, looking at Turlough. “You have your demon.”

“So it would seem,” Turlough said. “But there is still the matter of Fenelon’s...”

He froze when he realized that every pair of eyes in the room had settled on him in disbelief.

“Oh...very well. Council, how say you?”

“Free them,” came the voices of many.

Alaric was pleased to note than no one said anything otherwise.

“Then it is the Will of this Council that you all be free,” Turlough snarled. He looked at Alaric and frowned.

“And I will be watching you, Master Braidwine.”

“I don’t doubt that for a moment,” Alaric said.

He walked past Turlough to head for the dais and set his friends free.

Wendon took a deep
breath and let it out slowly. Once his gag and bonds were removed, he had stood back on the dais and watched the wild abandon with which everyone else hugged and rapidly blethered their words of gratitude to Alaric. Even Thera was in the midst of the fray, looking happy and relieved. She had kissed Wendon quickly before going to Etienne, then Shona, and then Fenelon and Alaric.

And suddenly, Wendon felt very out of place, like he had no right to be a part of the joyous reunion.

Like he had never even been there.

With a tumultuous sigh, he drifted away, wanting only to be anywhere but here. He wandered the halls of Dun Gealach where others passed him and ignored him. At length he found his way into one of the small gardens that filled spaces between the maze formed by the union of the keeps and walls.

Finding an empty bench, he had seated himself there and taken to pondering the dirt edged around the flagstones so carefully laid to form a path.

He felt just as worn and walked on as those stones at the moment.

“They didn’t even notice me leaving,” he muttered to himself. Like the stones, he was nothing more than a path to keep feet from getting soiled.

He took another deep breath, wondering if he should go back to his quarters or stay here for a while longer, when the tread of many feet on the flagstones caught his attention. Frowning, he glanced up to see just who dared to intrude on his private sorrow.

“Wendon, if you keep wearing that look, your face will freeze that way and then everyone
will
mistake you for a warthog...ow! Easy love!”

Wendon opened his mouth then shut it. A few feet away, Fenelon stood rubbing his shoulder, meeting Etienne’s fierce gaze. Behind them, Wendon could see the others; Thera, Alaric, Shona and Magister Gareth.

“So what are you doing out here?” Fenelon went on, casting a sidelong glance and clearly mindful of Etienne’s proximity. “We’ve been looking all over Dun Gealach for you.”

“For me?” Wendon tried to stop frowning. “Why would you be looking for me?”

Thera slipped timidly past the lead pair and sat down beside Wendon. She reached out and took his hand, drawing it to her heart. “We’re all going back to Eldon Keep to get away from this rabble and let the madness die down,” she said.

“Exactly,” Fenelon said. “We want to celebrate our freedom and Alaric’s safe return—and hear all about where Alaric has been. And we can’t exactly celebrate without one of our heroes.”

Wendon almost asked, “What hero?” but instead he stammered, “Me?”

“Of course, you,” Thera said and smiled. “You are a hero now, you know. Everyone was marveling at how you bravely stood against the Lord Magister to assist Fenelon.”

“They are?” Wendon looked from one face to the other, still uncertain.

“Besides,” Fenelon said when Etienne pushed him a bit and arched her eyebrows in warning. “You and I need to have a bit of a chat.”

“About what?” Wendon asked suspiciously.

“Why about the spells you’ve mastered, my friend,” Fenelon said. “I can’t very well stand before the Council at the next gathering and tell them why you should be honored with the title of Magister Stanewold if I don’t know what other spells you’ve mastered.”

“M...Magister Stanewold?” Wendon blinked, unable to believe his ears.

“Which reminds me,” Fenelon went on. “Impressive how you found the same power chinks in that wall and drew them so swiftly.”

“Really?” Wendon stared at Fenelon, seeking any sign that all this was a jest. But though Fenelon’s eyes crinkled in amusement, Wendon saw it as good humor and not mockery.

“Of course,” Fenelon said. “I love the idea of you tearing down a magic-resistant wall in one fell swoop—especially since it took that old fart Turlough and his cronies nearly a year to build it.”

Fenelon winked. Wendon turned and looked at Thera again.

“Will you come to my ceremony?” he asked.

“Of course,” she said. “Why would I not be there?” She leaned closer. “And afterwards, we can have a celebration of our own.”

Wendon’s face flushed, but he managed a smile.

“Ah, they’re such a cute couple...ow!” Fenelon’s yelp echoed. “Love, I think we need to talk about those talons of yours.”

“Really” Etienne said as she locked an arm around his and started to drag him away. “I think we need to talk about
your
manners.”

“Oh, I like it when you get strict, love,” Fenelon said. “Come on, everyone. My lady love grows inpatient to...ouch!”

Her response was inaudible.

“I so love any woman who can make my son jump,” Magister Gareth said. “Come on, you two. Let’s get this celebration over with so I can return to the Ranges. It’s so much more peaceful there.”

He put an arm around Alaric and Shona and guided them after the quarreling pair. Thera rose from the bench and tugged Wendon to his feel, smiling sweetly as she urged him to take the same path.

Magister Stanewold.
Wendon puffed his chest with newfound pride. That had such a nice ring to it.

“Master Braidwine?”

Alaric stopped when he heard his name echo across the outer courtyard of Dun Gealach. The others paused as well, and Alaric turned to see who had called for him.

Lorymer was bolting across the yard, waving something in the air. Alaric made out a packet of palimpsest folded and beribboned.

“What now,” Fenelon murmured.

Alaric shrugged and waited for Lorymer to catch up. The High Mage’s assistant was a little out of breath as he stopped in front of Alaric.

“This came for you just this morning,” Lorymer said. “Before...”

He suddenly looked embarrassed as he glanced almost furtively at Fenelon and the others. Without another word, he held forth the packet. As soon as Alaric accepted the packet, Lorymer turned and walked back to the inner gate.

“What was that all about?” Fenelon asked.

Alaric looked and the packet. His name was scripted across the surface. The handwriting looked very familiar.

“Oh, no,” he muttered before he could stop himself.

“What?” Fenelon asked. “Who’s it from?”

“My mother,” Alaric said.

He tore open the ribbons as wild thoughts flashed through his head. His mother was writing. Was his father ill? Had something happened to them while he was gone?

The ribbons fluttered to the ground as he unfolded the palimpsest and scanned the words therein. A different script greeted his gaze, the solid blocky writing that was his father’s sturdy hand.

“What does it say?” Fenelon asked.

Alaric frowned and read it aloud.

“My Dear Lark,

Your mother is insisting I write and demand to know what the blazes is going on, and when I told her that we should wait to hear from you first, she insisted that we should start this letter now in case we didn’t hear from you at all.”

“Are your parents always so succinct?” Fenelon asked.

Alaric rolled his eyes and read on.

“The strangest thing happened just a short while ago. A man showed up here looking like a peacock in blue and white, demanding to know if we knew where you were. Since we assumed you were at Dun Gealach learning magecraft, we had no clue what to tell the blighter except that we had not seen you since you visited with your friend Finnyloin or whatever his name was.”

Shona giggled and even Etienne stifled a laugh.

“Anyway, the bloke struck your mother as rude and overbearing and pompous and several other things which your mother said that I shall not repeat here as I was not aware she knew such words, and anyway, she is looking over my shoulder as I write and trying to tell me what to say.”

“I do pity your father,” Fenelon said. “Woman like that would make any man forgetful.”

The temptation to hit Fenelon was overwhelmed by the knowledge that Alaric might tear the letter before he finished reading it. Besides, the handwriting changed back to his mother’s more elegant script.

“As your father meant to say, we were rather worried because that man seemed to be accusing you of matters that I am sure you had no involvement in whatsoever, but I would appreciate it if you would write or come visit and let us know that all is well. Elsewise, I shall be forced to load your father into a wagon and make haste to Keltora to look for you.”

Please let us know at once.

Your Loving Mother.

“Ah, family,” Fenelon said.

Alaric rolled his eyes. He would have to write her as soon as he reached Eldon Keep. Otherwise she really would plop Father in a wagon and run the horses to the bone to get here.

“Oh, no,” Fenelon shouted, waving
the bottle of wine. “You are not getting away that easy, Alaric.”

Alaric smiled and took a slug from the bottle he was holding. Good old Keltoran heather ale. He had missed the flavor. Best of all, if he got drunk, he would remember it. He was looking forward to a normal hangover.

Around him, the chamber at Eldon Keep was quiet, except for the crackle of the fire. Etienne and the others had long since professed their exhaustion and gone to bed. Alaric had told them as much as he dared, including his fight with Je’Rhel. But Fion had said that others could not see the demon in him, and he figured it should stay a secret.

Besides, he was happy to be back, to see Shona was alive. They watched one another from across the chamber, but always there was Fenelon demanding the tale, preventing Alaric from doing more than looking at her. And to Alaric’s surprise, Wendon and a young healer woman were part of the audience with which he shared his adventures that afternoon and evening.  Wendon and the healer seemed rather smitten with one another. But at last, the others professed being tired, and even Shona slipped away, though Alaric was certain she watched him briefly from the doorway before she left.