WayFarer (26 page)

When the sounds came no more, Shraen Brael lowered his arms, the light from him retreating until he became once again the Elder youth, Emmerich, standing in the fitful illumination of the torches of the guardians.

“Lof Shraen!” Shouting above the startled exclamations of the defenders of Torindan, Craelin pulled Elcon to his feet. “We cannot tell all that has happened, but it seems the darkness confused our enemies and after turning their swords upon one another they have fled.”

Elcon cast about for words to say to Emmerich but found none.

Emmerich smiled. “You begin to understand grace, I see.”

Elcon’s smile wavered. “Thank you. I don’t understand what happened, but I know you saved us this day.”

The torchlight shifted and made of Emmerich’s eyes dark pools. “Salvation came from Lof Yuel, son of Talan.”

Elcon stood for a time, watching as the stars winked on in the sky, one by one. At last the moon, covered in haze, shone forth with pale light. Tears that blurred his vision made the stars run together.

“Come away, then.” Emmerich had gone but now returned to his side as Craelin and most of the others moved toward the stairs. Elcon drew a shuddering breath as the tension eased from him. The battle had been won. He let Emmerich guide him away from the parapet.

24

Decision

Before Elcon could turn aside, Arillia, walking with her maid beneath the budding strongwoods, saw him. He almost did not credit her as more than a memory at first, for she came to him thus in this garden at times, lingering beneath these very strongwoods. But this Arillia looked older, more care worn, and the bounce had left her step.

“Hello, Elcon.” Her voice brushed against him, soothing as ever, but her upper lip quivered. He inclined his head to her, and she and her maid bowed. He fell into step, walking beside her past the place where he’d touched his lips to hers and promised to court her. Did she think of it, too? “You have come for the festivities.” He stated the obvious in an attempt to drive unwelcome memories from his mind.

“I’ve come from Chaeradon with my parents.” She dimpled, so lovely that he caught his breath. Her skin glistened with health, golden hair cascaded to her waist, and eyes of calm gray regarded him with a hint of sorrow he knew a longing to soothe. Elcon chided himself for his reaction, for only the spring before he’d held Aewen in his arms before she went from him to her death. He could not let himself forget Aewen, and yet he found an odd comfort in the fact that Arillia accompanied her parents rather than a husband.

They spoke of the greening, of course, when the maidens of Torindan decked themselves in Early flowers, and thoughts of courtship filled young hearts. He wished he could ask if Arillia had suitors, for surely she must. He did not know why such a thing should interest him except that Arillia had been a part of his life for so long he’d grown accustomed to thinking of her. In the past, he might have teased her without mercy until he gained her secrets, but now he held his tongue. The constraint between them had not existed before. He had placed it there. He must remember he had abandoned his place in her life, and nothing could ever change that.

He nodded to Arillia and murmured a farewell. But the image of her eyes, overshadowed with sorrow, stayed with him all that day. At night, as he lay abed waiting for sleep, he let his thoughts, for a few wild heartbeats, linger on the memory of Arillia in his arms.

When he slept, he dreamed of Aewen, standing inside the gatehouse of Cobbleford and watching him out of enormous blue eyes, her babe in her arms. He tried to reach her, but the portcullis fell between them. He called to her to wait, but she turned away as the wooden doors thudded to shut her from him.

Elcon woke in a sweat, for the dream had seemed so real.
Find our child.
The words sighed through the chambers of his mind. He wept then for Aewen and for their lost daughter. Anders tapped at the door, peered in at him, and then stepped into the inner chamber. “Are you well?”

Brushing his tears aside, Elcon sat up. He heaved a breath. “Sometimes I dream.”

A look of sympathy dawned on Anders’ face. “Your dreams serve you ill.”

“They bring Aewen back but take her from me again.”

He shuddered. Aewen stood watching him, babe in arms, at least in memory.

“Well then, are you ready to rise?” Anders brisk voice drew him back.

Elcon let go of the dream image and pushed confusion from his mind. “I am ready.” He spoke with hesitancy, for these days only an effort of will forced him from his bed to don the robes of Lof Shraen.

It had been three months since Shraen Brael had saved Torindan, sending darkness to confuse the invading armies. The four remaining loyal shraens had arrived in time to discourage the survivors of the rout from regrouping and attacking Torindan again. But Elcon took no joy in the fact that many of the Kindren opposing him had died, slain by their fellows. Blood stained his own hands, for he had given no thought to any but his own desires. His choices had driven a wedge between the Kindren that made them easy prey for one such as Freaer.

Torindan enjoyed a time of peace now, but it would not last forever. Freaer had returned to Pilaer, where he would bide his time and gather strength for another assault. That he would come again, Elcon had no doubt. Sometimes he felt Freaer’s soul touch searching to find and cripple him. He knew the hatred Freaer bore him, more so now, since he’d tasted defeat at Elcon’s hands.

Anders helped him into the blue and gold ceremonial garb he would wear throughout the feast day. To break his fast, Elcon took a little bread and cheese, washing them down with spiced cider. The tall windows in his outer chamber showed across the bailey to the inner garden. Already, despite the rising mists of morning, a couple flirted on the pathway. In the past, Elcon might have called out encouragement or even joined in friendly competition for a winsome maid, but not today. That part of his life had died forever with Aewen. In truth, he could not remember ever being as light of heart as the two engaged in banter outside his window.

The ceremonies progressed, and Elcon did his part. He attended the twilight wedding which joined all those who decided on this day to marry. Afterwards, he danced with each bride at the reception in the great hall, never betraying by the flicker of an eyelid that he longed to escape such duties. Relinquishing the last bride back to her new husband and stepping away, he looked up to meet Arillia’s gaze. The contact caused a jolt to go through him, almost as if she touched him. As he made his way to her side, he chided himself for such fancies. He could not ignore her now she knew he’d seen her. Or perhaps she would prefer he do so. He had no way of knowing and would not take the chance of hurting her further. Standing beside her maid Arillia looked a little forlorn, although her beauty could not be faulted. She wore an overdress of embroidered batiste, kilted at one side to show the fine linen of her underskirt. Her hair fell to her waist, with flowers woven into the golden curls with such skill as to look artless.

“Will you dance?” To save them from conversation he gave the invitation at once.

Arillia started a little, and he realized he’d spoken over loud. He warned himself to calm as she recovered herself and moved to stand opposite him in the line of dancers. As the music began, they drew near with heads toward one another for several heartbeats. They broke apart and he circled her, and then caught her by the waist as they walked together facing outward. And so it went, on and on. As they drew close once more, Elcon berated himself for suggesting they dance. He tried not to let Arillia’s eyes snare him, but he could not deny the warmth that ran through him. It would be unnatural for him to feel nothing when gazing at a beautiful maiden in his arms, but he could not help the guilt that flooded him. It seemed disloyal to Aewen and their dead child for him to enjoy such a thing.

When the music ended, he stepped away from Arillia and inclined his head in thanks, grateful to escape. But she touched his arm and looked up at him in appeal. “Will you walk with me in the garden?”

He could not bring himself to refuse her, and so, against his better judgment and with Weilton and her maid trailing behind, Elcon passed through scented shadow beneath strongwood trees to emerge into moonlight at the garden’s heart beside Arillia. They strolled toward the fountain, awash in silver and sparkling as it cascaded into the dark pool to spread ripples of light across the silken surface.

As she faced him, Arillia’s beauty made him catch his breath. “Elcon, I did not speak this earlier, although I should have. My heart breaks for the sorrow that lies upon your brow.” Tears shone in her eyes. “If I could, I would bring Aewen back to you.”

Elcon put a hand out to still those she twisted before her. “Peace, now. Your sorrow brings me no comfort, Arillia.” He brushed the tears from her cheek. A longing to enfold her in his arms to soothe her and find a comfort of his own gripped him. He released her and turned back toward the fountain. “We’ve never spoken of it, but I did you a great wrong in marrying Aewen, Arillia. You’ve no reason to wish for my peace.”

Her quiet weeping swept over him. “I cannot help myself, Elcon.”

“You should hate me.”

“And yet I do not.” She gave a weak smile and dried her eyes, her gaze going past him to the fountain. “I was furious at first. Perhaps if we had not been expected to marry from our early days, I might have borne the shame better.”

Elcon considered her words. He’d not realized before just how completely he had shamed her, but he understood it now. “I’m sorry.”

Her eyelids quivered as fresh tears made a shining path down her face. He did not touch her this time to stop them. Her eyes opened, and she blinked. “Can we not leave this in the past, Elcon? I forgave you long ago and only wish to forget what I suffered.”

“I did not mean to make you cry, Arillia. You should laugh instead with an admirer.”

Her attempt to smile faltered. “I want no such admirer.”

He arched a brow at the vehemence with which she spoke and angled his position to stand before her again. “What’s this nonsense?”

She frowned her annoyance.

He smiled as time slipped backward to bring them together as they had once been. “I mean what I say, Elcon. I want none to speak pretty words to lure me.”

“I fear you may soon stamp your feet. My words irritate you, but at least they have stopped your tears.”

This time her smile succeeded. As they wandered the garden, Elcon took care to keep it upon her face. They returned to the great hall where warmth and light and life reached out to them. The music was lively but the frenzied gaiety of courtship jarred Elcon’s inner disquiet. He needed to escape to a place of solitude where he could regain his composure.

When Gaerlic of Daeramor danced with Arillia, Elcon edged toward the central archway but halted in unease. The way Gaerlic looked at Arillia disturbed him. The time neared for Arillia to marry, she even lingered overlong on its cusp. He knew this, but he did not somehow favor her marrying anyone, and certainly not Gaerlic. He squared his shoulders, as she moved through the dance with slender grace. Gaerlic’s possessive hand at her waist and the way he watched her face galled Elcon, although he didn’t try to understand why he should feel Arillia belonged to
him
when he planned never again to marry. More than a little disturbed, he strode from the room without grace.

****

Shadows advanced and retreated before the lanthorn Weilton lifted as Elcon entered the allerstaed. Each footstep echoed, awakening for Elcon echoes from the past. Shae knelt beside him in prayer. Kai bowed at his feet and pledged fealty. Aewen stood with him once more, taking him as her husband and protector.

On an impulse, Elcon spread his arms and spun in a circle, tilting his head to gaze into the shadows cloaking the ceiling.
Here I am, Lof Yuel. Take me in death, that I might forget the lives I’ve destroyed.
He lost his balance and slammed against hard stone.

Weilton rushed to him. “Are you well?”

Elcon pulled air into his lungs. “I seem to be.”

A figure moved out of the shadows behind the altar, and Weilton went still, ready to spring, but then he relaxed again.

Emmerich stepped down from the dais. Moonlight from the high windows painted rectangles across the strongwood floor, marking his progress toward them. “You’ve come at last.” He grasped Elcon by the arm and pulled him to his feet.

“Have you been waiting for me?” Elcon asked the question although he already knew the answer.

Emmerich touched his shoulder. “Death does not bring forgetfulness, Elcon.”

Elcon swallowed and sought his voice. “Then there is no hope of peace.”

“You cannot hope to receive in death what you deny yourself in life.”

Elcon frowned. “You speak of grace.”

“I do, and of the absolution it gives.”

Absolution. The word resounded within Elcon. Emmerich started back toward the dais, and he fell into step beside him. “Tell me more.”

“Absolution comes from outside your own worth but not outside your own will.”

Elcon considered this. “Since absolution requires another’s forgiveness it cannot come from my own worth. But how does it rise from my will?”

“You choose to accept or reject forgiveness. If another forgives you but you cling to guilt, you deny your own absolution and condemn yourself anew.”

They reached the prayer altar before the dais and Elcon knelt. “But many of those from which I would seek forgiveness lie dead.”

“Lof Yuel offers you forgiveness. You have only to accept it.”

A sob caught in his throat, and Elcon bowed his head. “If I thought I could be free of guilt —”

Emmerich knelt beside Elcon as his shoulders shook with sobs and tears washed his eyes. “Make your peace with Lof Yuel, Elcon, and also forgive yourself. Only then can you be free.”