WayFarer (25 page)

Elcon pushed away his disappointment, but it returned to crush him. The longer they remained in this valley, the heavier he felt. Sorrow rode him until he thought he would die of it. A terrible sense of something important lost crept over him, and his heart pounded as his throat went dry.

They gathered on a flat-topped boulder jutting into the river from a small islet. Darkening waters swirled on either side. Elcon heaved a breath. “It’s no use. Emmerich is not here. We’ll never find him.”

Silence met his pronouncement, and Elcon looked into the faces of his companions. All mirrored his own sorrow and hopelessness. A surge of anger tore through him, and he clung to its vibrancy. He fell to his knees. “
Lof Yuel
!” His bellow echoed through the hills that closed in the valley. He bowed his head and wept.

A ray of sunlight lit him, and he raised his head. He stood, squinting across the channel, barely able to credit his own eyes.

Emmerich walked along the bank, a water bag dangling from his hand. He looked across to Elcon. “You’ve come.

Wait for me.” With his eyes fixed on Emmerich, Elcon gave a whistle. Hooves stepped toward him, and he mounted Raeld. He launched above the river, his wingabeast surging into the air, but Elcon brought him down almost at once onto the shore near Emmerich. As he dismounted his boots crunched pebbles. Emmerich waited with his arms folded, an unreadable expression on his face.

Elcon forced air into his lungs. “I’ve found you.”

“You have.” Emmerich’s lips twitched. “Or perhaps it’s the other way around.”

Elcon fell to his knees. “Why look with such kindness on one who rejected you? I’ve been a fool.” Had he accepted Emmerich from the beginning Aewen and many others might even now live. Sorrow clouded his mind. He had come all this way, and he could not ask for forgiveness.

“Elcon, lift your head.”

He looked up in mute obedience. Even in the dying light, he saw himself reflected in Emmerich’s eyes.

“What troubles you?” Emmerich’s voice was soft.

Elcon waited for his throat to ease. “My own guilt.”

Emmerich gave him a steady look. “You speak of guilt easily but the idea of mercy comes with more difficulty.”

Hope sparked within Elcon. “Tell me of mercy.”

“It requires more of you than perhaps you will accept.”

“Tell me nevertheless.”

Emmerich gave him a measuring look. “As you wish, Elcon, son of Timraen, Shraen
of Rivenn and Lof Shraen of Faeraven. Forsake your own worth. Mercy cannot be earned by might, nor can it be won by guile. It must be received in the same way a child takes a crust of bread from a parent’s hand.” This, then, is the noblest challenge—to accept forgiveness by another’s merits and not your own.”

The hope within Elcon swelled into flame. “I crave mercy more than food or water.”

“I have already forgiven you for banishing me.” Emmerich offered a hand to him, but Elcon held back.

“How can you offer forgiveness before I’ve asked it?”

Emmerich frowned. “My forgiveness does not depend upon you.”

Elcon fell silent. He had much to ponder.

Emmerich waved to Weilton and Eathnor, who waited beside their wingabeasts on the river bank. “Come if you’re hungry. I have food for the willing.”

23

Siege

Craelin stepped out of one of the guard rooms in the gatehouse. “Lof Shraen! It’s well you’ve returned. Freaer will soon attack.”

Craelin looked from Elcon to Emmerich, who rode with Eathnor on Roaem. Elcon dismounted and handed Raeld’s reins to Guaron, who approached from the direction of the stables. “We must have a little time. We saw nothing on our approach. How come you to know of this? How near are his armies?”

“A messenger sent from Shraen Enric of Graelinn warns that armies set forth again from Weithein Faen. The emissary did not spare himself and his horse in reaching us. The armies will not come at such a pace. We may have two days before they arrive, perhaps three.”

Elcon inclined his head. “Where do we stand?”

Craelin’s face took on a rugged look. “We are as ready as depleted supplies make us.”

Elcon slanted a glance to him. “Come to my chambers in a little while.”

“As you wish.”

Elcon turned to Emmerich, who had dismounted and now joined him. “I pray I have not brought you back to Torindan too late.”

Emmerich shook his head. “We may yet save Torindan—and Elderland—but much depends on you.”

Elcon caught his breath. “I don’t understand.”

Emmerich’s eyes glinted. “The fate of many rests on your decisions, son of Timraen.”

“Then may I be wiser in the future.”

Elcon would have liked to ask more questions, but Emmerich turned to help Guaron gather the wingabeasts. His words followed Elcon into the inner garden, where he paused to drink in the solitude. Weilton stood upon the path, waiting for Elcon to return to his chambers. He would go, but first he needed to reflect. Instinct told him that Emmerich had, in a few words, given him the key to unlock victory. Elcon wandered beneath the stunted strongwood trees, their branches dark and twisting, the leaves, edged with gold in the sunlight, curling into a green tunnel. The pattering of water in the fountain carried to him here, where he had once held Arillia and made a faithless promise to her. He remembered with regret the bruised look in her eyes when she’d faced him across the table after Aewen’s coronation. She’d handled herself with better grace than he’d deserved. Of all the things she could have done and said that day, she’d kept silence.

Why he thought of Arillia now he did not know, except that her shadow came to him whenever he wandered this green bower. Perhaps he would never be free of Arillia, for she lived in his memory, touching him with guilt each time he thought of her.

Elcon abandoned the garden, for it ceased to comfort him.

****

Craelin entered the meeting chamber, and Elcon glanced up. “Anders, leave us.” His servant obeyed, the door clicking shut behind him.

Craelin slid into his customary place beside Elcon and across from Emmerich and Weilton. “I bring ill news. A messenger from Whellein arrived last night to inform us that Daeramor now allies itself with Freaer’s forces against you.”

“Not Lammert, too.” Elcon put his face in his hands. He saw again in memory a laughing youth, his eyes alight with merriment and mischief as he called down to Elcon from one of Torindan’s twin guardhouse turrets. Although Lammert had always been the older, whenever he’d visited his zeal in exploring Torindan had bridged the gap in their ages. Would Lammert now use his knowledge of Torindan to usurp his Lof Shraen and friend?

“I am sorry.”

Craelin’s voice penetrated Elcon’s misery. He drew a shuddering breath but lifted his head. “More ravens stand against us than for us now. And yet, we must save the alliance of Faeraven, if we can. Any news of the reinforcing armies?”

Craelin did not meet Elcon’s eyes. “They have at best a three-day journey before they reach Torindan.”

Weilton’s hiss raised Elcon’s hackles. What had Craelin said about Freaer’s armies?
We may have two days before they arrive, perhaps three.
If Lof Yuel smiled on Torindan, reinforcements and Freaer’s armies would arrive together. Elcon pushed away the fear that deliverance from the forces arrayed against them might come too late. “Let’s lay out our defenses quickly. We need to set a battle strategy.”

During the discussion that followed, Emmerich contributed nothing, but watched them with an odd light in his dark eyes. A frisson of uneasiness shook Elcon. Just where did the Elder youth’s loyalties rest?

****

A dark line of bodies formed on the horizon, moving with endless precision out of the canyons of Doreinn Ravein toward Torindan. The sound of marching added percussion to the air. The shaking of the ground reached Elcon even through the thick stone of the battlements above the guardhouse where he stood between Craelin and Emmerich. They’d only had two days to prepare and must yet finish reinforcing the outer wall, but their efforts would have to serve. He turned toward Craelin, no longer wanting to look upon the approaching hordes.

“We’d better launch the catapults.”

“Stand and hold.” Emmerich spoke in so quiet a voice that Elcon did not at first register his words. He gaped at Emmerich. “
What
say you?”

Emmerich’s eyes held his. “Do not rush to battle. Wait.”

Elcon curled his hands into fists. Everything in him shouted that he should ignore Emmerich’s advice. He had to make the right choice. He must not fail again. Craelin’s face reflected Elcon’s own conflicting emotions. Had he made a mistake in putting his trust in Emmerich? What if Emmerich was not Shraen Brael after all? Elcon would lose everything, including his life. He would be remembered as the Lof Shraen who by folly caused Faeraven and Elderland to fall. His name would become a curse.

Elcon forsook the battlements and sought the inner garden but found little solace among the roses and early flowers. He paced; his mind in a fever of indecision. Should he listen to Emmerich or seek his own counsel? The burden of decision was too great, and he collapsed on the edge of the pool. Wind caught the spray from the fountain, sending droplets to anoint his face. Above the pool, the bronze figure of Talan, gleaming with subdued luster, rode a wild wingabeast. A melody strayed into his mind, bringing with it the words of an ancient ballad, “Talan’s Wild Wingabeast Ride.”

High in the sky of Daeramor Raven,

High in the sky over mountains fair

The wild wingabeasts pass at twilight.

Echoes of their wingbeats fill the air.

Deep in the heart of the
Maegrad Paesad,

Deep in the heart of the ancient lair,

Talan of Kunrat lies in waiting—

Waiting for a wingabeast to snare.

Then comes a thudding hoofbeat sounding,

Then comes a flutter of flittering wing,

Down flies a wingabeast seeking shelter,

Hidden there, Talan waits to spring.

Out cries the beast as Talan takes hold,

Out cries the beast that, frothing and bold,

Drags its ropes and leaps to the air,

Climbing toward the heavens dark and cold.

Up climbs the wingabeast into the sky,

Up climbs the wingabeast and dives and rolls,

Twisting in flight to lose its rider but

Nothing could make Talan break his hold.

High in the sky of Daeramor Raven,

High in the sky over mountains fair,

Talan of Kunrat rides the wild wingabeast,

Taming it with bravery most rare.

The bronze figure of Talan leaped into focus. Struck by a sudden revelation, Elcon stood. How could he, a son of the same Talan who had tamed the first wild wingabeast, let fear rule him? And yet he had. He’d driven Shraen Brael away, sent Aewen on a journey that led to her death, and had almost rejected the very salvation he’d desired—all out of fear. Whether it meant victory or defeat, he would not let fear rule him, not
this
time. He turned away from the fountain and toward the gatehouse.

****

Craelin stared at Elcon with disbelief written on his face.

“Hold.” Elcon repeated, lifting his voice to be heard above the din made by marching warriors as they stormed toward Torindan’s guardhouse.

Craelin opened his mouth as if to protest but closed it again. He looked down upon the advancing armies. “This is madness. They will be upon us soon. Will we
give
them Torindan?”

“We will stand and hold.” Elcon kept his voice without inflection.

Craelin looked to Emmerich, between them on the battlements, and then back at Elcon. “As you say, Lof Shraen.”

Emmerich’s lips twitched into a smile. Elcon descended the stair to find Weilton and Eathnor, the two he’d chosen to fight beside him, on their way up. He would fight as long as he could and would only seek escape through the hidden passageways if Torindan fell. If left to himself, he would choose the honor of a death in battle, but he must consider Faeraven. If he escaped to rally again, perhaps all would not be lost.

He put uneasy thoughts of defeat from him. He should not let their whisper stir him to fear and intrude on his judgment. He would look to the needs of his people this day and give way to the voice of a higher Shraen.

The march of the soldiers grew deafening. Elcon returned to the battlements above the guardhouse. Craelin bent an urgent look upon him. “What say you now?”

Elcon fought panic. “Well, then?” His voice was a plea.

“Stand and hold.” Emmerich spoke in a firm voice.

Fear seized Elcon by the throat. His new resolve melted like snow in his mouth. He put out his arm in a blind motion and felt fingers close over his wrist.

Emmerich leaned close, his breath touching Elcon’s ear. “Courage.” He spoke but the one word, but it recalled Elcon from the edge of hysteria.

He pulled upright and answered Craelin’s shocked countenance. “Hold.” Although he uttered only the one word, that word cost him greatly.

Craelin lifted his head and flared his nostrils, but he repeated Elcon’s command to Weilton, waiting nearby. The first of the foot soldiers reached the outer wall and threw grappling hooks as archers rained a volley of arrows upward to protect their climb. Craelin’s face reddened, and following the direction of his stare, Elcon paused, much struck. Standing a little apart, Emmerich raised his arms as if in supplication. His eyes were closed, and his face shone with peace. Elcon stepped toward him but halted, afraid to draw near such radiance.

Darkness fell, so complete not even the moon or stars alleviated it, and in this darkness, Shraen Brael shone in a gathering light. Elcon went to his knees. Outside the walls the cacophony of battle lifted in unholy counterpart, and the smell of death gagged Elcon.