“Elva?” he gasped.
I smirked. “Indeed. It is I.” Drawing my sword, I quickly pressed its tip against his chest. He was unarmed in the haven of his own quarters, making it easy to gain this advantage, and I relished the shock this action incited. Yes. He would pay. He would pay at last. All the years of preparation for this moment would finally reap their sweet reward.
“Get on your knees,” I commanded. I wanted him to humble himself before me. I wanted him to plead for mercy and forgiveness. I wanted to bear witness to his fear, eye to eye.
Complying like an obedient child, he knelt, keeping his non-believing eyes wide upon me. “How can this be?” he uttered. “All these years I … I believed—”
“You believed me to be dead,” I finished for him. “But I am not. Your wicked plan failed, and I have returned for my revenge.”
His brow knitted in disconcertment. “I know not what you’re speaking of, my daughter. And I know not why you threaten me in this manner.”
“Don’t play innocent with me, dragonslayer. I know you and that wife of yours conspired with that wizard and that blastie to do away with me.”
“No,” he whispered. “No. Oh, Elva, I cannot believe it is really you. That you still live.”
Yes, he had trusted that blastie to do what he’d been told, but now he realized that Blugort had betrayed him. He had betrayed him and I still lived. I still lived and now he would die.
I pressed my blade forth harder, my voice dropping into a snarl. “Tell me one truth before you die, dragonslayer. What kind of being was my real mother?”
He clenched shut his eyes, and when they reopened, he spoke blankly. “You are the child of a troll, Elva.”
It was not the answer I was hoping for. “You are certain she was a troll?”
He nodded.
“Did you kill her because she was a troll?”
“I did not kill her, Elva. She died giving birth to you. She was weak. Perhaps she was weak because I pushed her too hard trying to escape from Skur before Ragg could find us. Perhaps, in a way, I did kill her. I don’t know. But when I first saw you, I couldn’t help but love you. I loved you as if you were my own daughter. And so did Alyn.”
Fiery tears crept into my eyes. My Telling rumbled. I shoved my sword harder against his chest, ripping through the fabric of his shirt, pinking the skin below it. He winced.
The dark flame danced brighter.
“If that is true, then why did she give me to that blastie?” I shouted. “Why did you order him to kill me?”
He appeared bewildered. “She did not give you away.” He shook his head. “I did not order you killed. I know not what you are speaking of.”
“Do not lie to me. I was there! I remember!”
“Wae, child. It was Ragg who took you.”
“It was not a dragon. It was Mama. I remember.”
The dragonslayer kept his eyes on mine and continued shaking his head. “She is innocent, Elva. It was Ragg, with his trickery, who deceived you. He must have made you believe he was your mama, the same way …” he struggled with his voice, “the same way he made her believe …” His eyes and fists clenched and he trembled.
His breaths quickened and he opened his eyes, shimmering with unshed tears. “The dragon was a shape-changer, Elva. He could appear as anyone or anything he desired. I saw him as a wizard, as a crow, and even as my own self. He wanted the crystal. The magic your father gave to me.” His tears began to spill and I felt myself falter. Only once before had I ever seen him cry.
“Your father died rather than surrender that crystal to Ragg,” he continued. “And I was bound by my duty and honor to do no less. But, because of the crystal he could not harm me, so he tried to coerce me by abducting you, and when I demanded your release, he told me he would return you. But when the blastie came,” his voice cracked again, “all he presented me was a heart … and two tiny pointed ears wrapped inside your nightdress.”
His gaze fell to the floor between us as he fought with his tears.
Yes, the blastie had gone down into the troll hole with my nightdress, and when he’d come back up, the nightdress was red with blood. Had he killed a troll to make Papa believe I was dead? Oh, but had it really been Papa who had wanted me dead? Or had it been the dragon? That dragon who was my mama but not really my mama but really the dragon? That wizard man who was not a man? He had had no color. The last time I’d seen Mama, she had no color. Could it be true? Oh, this man was trying to confuse me. To set my mind in circles!
“No,” I whispered. “No. You would tell me anything to save your own life, you sniveling coward.”
Tears were still rolling down his cheeks. “The dragon killed Alyn and the baby and I thought it had killed you, too. And all these years I have lived with the sorrow of that one, wretched day. Because of that cursed stone.”
His tears began to subside and he choked them back as he continued in a hoarse whisper. “All these years I have lived with the shame of failure. I failed to save you and I failed to save your father and I failed to save Alyn from the wrath of the dragon. I don’t know how he managed to deceive you into believing I wanted you dead. I only know he deceived me into believing you were. Now, I discover that my daughter is not dead at all. She has returned at last. But only to kill me.”
We stared long into one another’s eyes. The dark, fiery rage swirled inside, blurring the rumbling of the Telling. My head began to spin.
Papa knelt erect and proud before me. “Kill me if you must, Elva. But know in your heart that you have killed an innocent man. Know in your heart that if you kill me, Ragg will have succeeded in destroying us all.”
I was trembling all over. In his misty eyes I caught a glimmer of truth, much as I didn’t want to see it. I had waited for so long for this moment of triumph and now he was trying to take it away from me with his words and his tears. I would not let him. He had taken away my dream of killing the dragon. He had taken away the life I should have lived. I would not let him take this from me, too. I had come to kill him. I would not fail in that.
Papa remained silent before me. The dark fire raged. I clenched my arms, preparing to drive my blade forth, but it stubbornly fought against me. I pushed harder and it fought harder and I heard it begging me not to make it kill this man.
The dark fire engulfed me and my mind was swept into a roaring deluge. Fighting to tear its way through the black web enshrouding it, my heart was screaming while Papa’s spirit entreated not to let the dragon win and Gwin’s soft voice pleaded let it go amid visions of Mama’s face, Mama’s smiling face among the flowers and Papa’s laughter when I tugged at his beard and the lurid smirk of the dragon-wizard-man-who-was-not-a-man, and Blugort’s haunting echo, he wants ye dead … he wants ye dead … he wants ye dead … entwining with Rudne’s get used to it Elva, you belong to me, and above all the wailing clamor was the voice of Skile, whispering, Listen to your true heart. Don’t set yourself aflame.
The din was unbearable and I couldn’t ignore it as I kept my eyes glued to the tip of my stubborn sword, stained with Papa’s blood inside the wet, red hole upon his shirt. I could not shut off the flaming thunder within.
Wailing in anguish, I flung my sword aside and covered my ears, falling to my knees.
Suddenly the room grew deathly quiet; the only sound left being a trace of Skile’s whisper … Listen …
The dark flame ebbed, retreating before the streak of light that shot through me. The light that sprang up from that place just above my belly.
I had wanted him dead for such a long, angry time, but I could not kill him. The terrible truth was that I had been wrong. All these years, I had been wrong.
The festering boil that had grown around the hole punched into my heart by Ragg’s lies and deception burst at last, punctured by the light of truth, and I could feel the putrescent rage oozing out in slow, soupy ribbons. And it hurt. Oh, how it hurt.
Papa exhaled in deep relief, but I could not look upon h
im. If he had not hated me before, he must surely hate me now, after what I had just tried to do. He scrambled to his feet and grabbed up my cast off sword, standing wordlessly above me for many long moments. Then his solemn voice broke the silence. “If I had known you still lived, I would have found you.”
The fire flickered and I shuddered. Oh, I had not been wrong! He had failed to kill me as a child—now he would surely finish the task, and with my own father’s sword!
He knelt beside me then, laying the sword at my feet. “But I did not know,” he said. “Forgive me. I did not know.”
I knew then my Telling had not lied to me. He was an innocent man. He was innocent and I had almost killed him to satisfy the ravenous fire that had burned for years inside me.
“I have hated you all these years,” I murmured. “Now I feel nothing. Nothing at all.” I dared to look up into his face, staring into those warm, brown eyes, reading the torment within them. Could I ever learn to love him again? Would the rage of the past allow it?
It was then that a rapid, urgent knock came upon the door. I snatched up my sword and scuttled to the side of the room. Papa arose and went to the door.
Surely they had found Rudne. They had found him and had come for me.
“One of the new warriors has been murdered, sir. Come quickly,” the excited voice spoke outside the door.
My heart gave an anxious twinge as Papa dashed back into the room. He grabbed his sword belt and jerkin.
“Please wait here for me, Elva,” he said, hurriedly buttoning his jerkin. “We need to talk further, but I’m afraid I’m obligated to my duty.” He rushed out the door, leaving me alone.
I did wish to speak with him. I needed to speak with him. There were so many things to be said. But Papa had his duty. He was an important man and his duty called. Who was I, but a ghost come back from the dead? What made me think he would shirk his duty for me? Duty had always come first with Papa. Always. His wretched duty had even caused the dragon to take me! Curse his duty. Curse his allegiance to it!
I wouldn’t wait. I couldn’t. I had been seen entering the turret with Rudne and coming back out alone. I had been seen with blood upon my hands. It was only a matter of time before my whereabouts was known, for the page knew I had come here. I would not wait for my dutiful papa to come back and take me to the gallows.
I rushed across the room, searching the bedchambers until I found the one belonging to my sister. Tearing off my jerkin and shirt, I untied the linen band about my breasts and slipped into a green dress. It was a bit large, but that was good, for it hung loosely enough to conceal my sword and belt beneath it. I pulled my hair free from the string that tied it back and donned a white cap upon my head before hastily rubbing what remained of the hairs from my chin and upper lip. Grabbing a green woolen cloak, I flung it across my shoulders and raced for the door of Papa’s quarters.
Cautiously, I stepped out into the alcove, peering around the corner into the hallway, illumined in golden torchlight. It was empty, but I knew better than to run. Walking as swiftly as I dared through the labyrinth of passages, my heart thumped in my chest.
The killing of a warrior was a high crime. One that was met with swift justice.
It was nearly impossible to keep my footsteps slow, to keep from breaking into a run, and I wiped the moisture from my brow, peering down the final passageway. The hardest part was yet to come, for the stable seemed an eternity away. My footsteps upon the cobblestones were a mere patter that roared like thundering echoes in my ears.
The passageway’s entrance to the courtyard breezeway loomed ever closer and my breaths came faster with every step. I should have thought before I killed Rudne, but it had happened so fast. Now I was running for my life. Yet I dared not run. I dared not call attention to myself.
I approached the breezeway and peered out at the palace courtyard. It was abuzz with activity—warriors rushing about, shouting to one another, searching for the small one. The small warrior with the fancy sword.
Would my disguise, now as a girl, conceal me well enough to reach the stable? To reach Storm?
I stepped out of the passageway, moving slowly down the breezeway, my face glued to the stones beneath my feet, watching the smooth, gray stones pass beneath my footsteps, concentrating only on the movement of my feet as they moved me ever closer to the stable, step, by step, by step.
“You there. Halt!” the voice boomed behind me. I froze in my tracks. Half a dozen warriors with drawn swords encircled me.
“State your business,” the booming-voiced warrior demanded, stepping forward, lifting my chin upwards with the tip of his blade.
Quivering, I gazed up into his eyes. Beside him stood Dewal, who eyed me curiously. Surely he would recognize me. He would recognize me and it would be all over.
“Fools, leave that girl be,” Papa’s voice shouted as he rode up on a white stallion. “That is not the warrior we seek. Quickly now. Get on with your search before he gets away.”
The men scattered and for several moments Papa just stared down at me. Then he dismounted and drew his sword. Its silvery shimmer bespoke a warning.
His voice was low and his sword was aimed true. “Did you kill that man? It was you they identified. A small boy, named Fane.”
Did I dare tell him the truth? But would it do any good to lie? In answer, I nodded.
“Why, Elva?” he lamented. “Why? He was a fellow warrior. How can I possibly let a crime of this magnitude go unpunished?”
He was convinced of my guilt. Ready to punish me. A dark ember glowed, trying to come back to life.
“He was going to rape me, Papa.”
“Oh, my child,” he moaned. “That is not a crime that warrants death.” Papa’s sword wavered, and his jeweled armbands sparkled in the moonlight. “I do not know you anymore, Elva. I do not know where you have been or what beastly horror dwells within you, driving you to such murderous ways. You have killed a fellow warrior, and you tried to kill me. These crimes are not without penalty.”
I took a pensive step forward, trying to keep the tears from my eyes. “But I could not kill you,” I said quietly. “Because you did not deserve to die. But Rudne did. Papa, there is a man I love in Lorane and Rudne left him with no hands, simply because I love him. He left him with no hands! No hands at all. He was cruel and dishonorable and had no business being a warrior for King Tilla. And he was going to rape me, yet again, and then go back to take away Gwin’s feet as well. I couldn’t let him do that. I couldn’t. He had to be stopped. I fought him, and he drew his sword on me. I only defended myself. I only defended my honor and my life and the life of the man I love. And if I must hang for that, then take me away, Papa. Do what you must do. But I will hang with my head held high, for even in death, I refuse to allow Rudne to bring me any more shame and dishonor.”
I stood tall, staring up into his eyes. His gaze was cold and unreadable.
“Come with me,” he commanded, motioning me forward with his sword. I had no choice but to obey as he escorted me across the courtyard, leading his horse behind him. He was a man of honor, committed to his duty and his warriors and his king, and I could not hate him for that. If only Rudne had had even a small portion of Papa’s honor, he would still be alive and I would not now be facing the hangman’s noose.
We approached the gate that led to the outer courtyard. Papa hailed the guards to open it. He led me through the tall, wooden gate, the eyes of the guards upon us. The outer courtyard was quiet now, as silent as the dead, the only sound being the slow, deliberate footfalls of Papa, the horse, and me as the gallows loomed closer. My breath stuck in my throat. My feet were as if laden with lead weights. Inside, my heart lured me to call upon my power. To use it against my papa. To turn his sword against himself as I had done with Rudne. It would be so easy. I did not have to die.
Or did I?
My thoughts turned to Gwin. I would never gaze into those slate-blue eyes again. I would never know the warmth of his dimpled smi
le or the sweet magic of his songs again. I would never know if his seed had taken root. Would his heart truly break and die if I was forever gone?
The whispering night breeze tried to comfort me as the planks of the gallows’ steps groaned in despair and the lingering wails of the horde of souls imprisoned within those planks endlessly lamented, howling through the dark. The wails of my own soul would join them soon, crying throughout eternity with the chorus of the wretched dead. Crying for forgiveness and release.
Papa’s sword prodded me on. I was growing numb. The pale moonlight etched the outline of the gallows against the black sky. The ropes swayed in the mournful breeze. The nooses called out, urging me to come. Urging me to let them embrace me.
Truly the dragon had had a name. It had had a name and it still lived inside me for I had nurtured it and kept it breathing in my heart as it had grown strong and fat off my anger, smothering hope, driving me away from all that was good and pure in my life. Driving me away from Skile, away from Gwin, away from the magical beauty of the world around me. Blinding me with its false fiery promises. Burning my soul, to leave me as colorless as Ragg. Papa had not succeeded in killing him so many years ago, but tonight, he would finish the job. Tonight, the dragon would swing with me and together we would pass from this world forever.
I would feed that dragon no more. I would offer it no more shelter. It would be my master no longer. I would not listen as it roared inside, trying to compel me to action. Trying to rouse my power. To incite me to protect it. No. Tonight, the dragon would die. I would take it with me into the arms of death and it would breathe its fire no more.
Truly, the dragon had demanded death. I had just never thought it would be my own. But I would not cry. I would face death like a warrior and I would die in peace, for tonight, Papa and I would join up to put an end to Ragg and his inextinguishable desire for destruction.
We passed by the well in the center of the court and beneath the cold moonlight, the gallows appeared as a ravenous wraith needing to feed. A wraith whose form grew more menacing with every painful step my will forced my legs to take.
The Legacy of Skur: Volume One Page 38
