Wandering Lark

by Laura J Underwood

  Horns, how he wished Fenelon was here.

  “May I ask the king how old he is?” Alaric ventured.

  King Culann smiled generously this time, wrinkling the skin around his eyes. “I have seen over two hundred summers, and for the last fifty of those, I have been king. My lovely wife has seen twenty-five years less than I. We wed when I turned one hundred, even though I was told she was too young to be a bride yet. My son has just turned fifty...”

  “Fifty?” Alaric looked at the child now leaning into his mother.

  “This amazes you?” King Culann asked.

  “Yes. In my land, mageborn live long lives, but if what you say is true then I am younger than your son.”

  King Culann laughed. “Do not be alarmed. There are many places in the world where those born to magic age much faster than we. And some who are still but children though they have seen ten times our age.”

  “Yet...those who are mageborn in Garrowye seem to age faster,” Alaric said. “I saw one of them...she looked ancient, but I was told she was only a few years older than me. I assumed it was because she had not learned to tap into the essence of the world...”

  “In that, you are correct, Magister Alaric,” King Culann said. “The Temples have seen to it that the Aelfyn of Garrowye no longer understand their connection to the world. So those who are most attuned to it are trained to refrain from being a part of it...and yes, this ages them considerably. Even your companion...” He gestured towards the door through which Talena was dragged but moments before. “...Is unaware of her true heritage. Hopefully, we will be able to convince her that it is all right to tap into the world.”

  “Talena is mageborn?” Alaric frowned. “But I thought she just had mage blood in her.”

  “She is half Tannish,” King Culann said. “That is what she had denied. Alas, I feel too that it has colored her loyalties for many years. Do you know what she wants to do? She seeks vengeance against the Temples of the Triad. She wants to make them pay for the death of her father and mother.”

  “How do you know?”

  King Culann held up the dagger. “The memory is in here now. The crystal tear absorbs the anger and resentment of those who hold it, for it was created in pain.”

  “In pain?”

  “Yes. You see, this was one of the White Dragon’s tears. She wept to see the destruction her sister brought upon the land, and this fell to the earth, and it was cleansed. But then, some say it was found and taken by a greedy peasant who carried it for years before the Temple of the Triad rose to power. Like as not, the Temple came by it when they were on one of their searches for those they call heretics, and I am willing to venture that the poor fool who took it was accused, condemned and burned for being little more than a thief.”

  King Culann shook his head.

  “Tell me about this White Dragon,” Alaric said.

  “All will be explained.” The king turned towards his palace. “Ah, Sedar comes,” he said.

  Alaric peered into the shadows under the dragon archway. A tall, willowy figure stepped into view. Male? Female? He could not be sure. The creature wore robes of white that hid gender and shape. What he could see was a face, oval and pale as milk. The iridescence of the creature’s skin reminded him of tiny scales or a coating of diamond dust.

  But that was about all he had time to see. For as the creature called Sedar stepped into the light, it focused an almost reptilian blue gaze on Alaric. Those eyes widened, and the serene androgynous features changed rapidly to a mask of unbridled fury.

  “Ancient kin, you dare return here!” the creature hissed, and in less than two bounds, it descended the stairs. The robes flared back to reveal sinewy arms and legs...and claws. The hands seemed to be growing talons like daggers. A long tail suddenly appeared from under the robes as well, and the end of it was a gleaming hook of steel. The air became filled with the bitterness of cinnamon and cloves, burning into Alaric’s tongue.

  Demon! Sedar is a demon!

  Alaric felt Ronan stir inside him as rage and fear swelled. But Alaric just wanted to get out of the reach of those advancing claws, so he backed away. Sedar screamed and lunged just as the king stepped aside. Stretching forth his hand, Alaric shouted, “Gath siud buail!” and sent a mage bolt flying at the creature. To his surprise, the white demon dodged the bolt as sinuously as a snake and continued to advance on him.

  Alaric backed into Vagner who rose to his full height with a scream of his own. The demon wrapped one wing protectively around Alaric. Claws, teeth and lashing tail seemed to be everywhere around him now. Guards fled, leaving as much room as the huge courtyard would allow.

  “Sedar, what is the matter?” King Culann called.

  Sedar clearly did not answer to the king of Taneslaw. In fact, the creature was beyond reason. The white demon lashed at Alaric and screamed, “You dare come back in this guise, traitor! I will eat your essence!”

  Alaric covered his ears against the unearthly shriek of its voice. Each time Sedar lashed out with claw and tail, Vagner would counter with the same. The creatures circled one another like seasoned fighters. Vagner pulled Alaric close under one arm and roared at the other demon.

  Sedar slashed again, and this time Vagner countered with his tail. Snarling, Sedar rushed as though planning to bowl the both of them over. Vagner merely tightened his grasp around Alaric and sprang into the air. Screaming, Sedar leaped after them, snagging Vagner’s ankle in a powerful grasp and yanking him back down to the ground. It was like being part of a whip. Vagner hit the ground hard and lost his grip on Alaric who rolled off to one side and landed roughly on his back, cracking the back of his head against the white marble ground. Pain shot through him and he gritted his teeth. He looked up just as Sedar started to pounce.

  “Sedar, hold!” A voice filled the air. Many voices filled the one, and all were strangely familiar. The white demon suddenly broke off its attack, backing down and crouching in submission. Everyone else went to one knee. Even Vagner who had risen unsteadily dropped into a frightened crouch, sidling close to Alaric for protection.

  Alaric sat up and looked towards the top of the stairs. Though his head was spinning from the harsh landing, he was still able to focus.

  What he saw was an abundance of white, but it was more the dazzle of light playing across white than of size. The speaker began to descend the stairs.

  It was a Dvergar, a long-bearded, white-haired, white-skinned Dvergar all dressed in brightness and leaning on a crystal staff. But for his mutated size, he—yes, it looked to be male in Alaric’s opinion—seemed to move with the utmost of grace. No one spoke as the Dvergar descended to the level of the courtyard and stopped at Sedar’s side. The demon’s monstrous shape seemed to diminish into that of a sylph-like woman of great height. She kept her head bowed.

  “Shame on you, Sedar,” the Dvergar said.

  The demon dropped lower, but the Dvergar merely put a fond hand on her head and kissed her now flowing hair.

  “Master Fion,” King Culann said, carefully coming forward and kneeling at the Dvergar’s side. “We were not expecting you...”

  “Indeed,” Fion said and smiled warmly. “It would appear that it was a good thing I did choose to come and see this Magister of the Far Land for myself. Otherwise, Sedar would have eaten him and destroyed the Balance of All Things in doing so.”

  Thank the gods for small favors, Alaric thought, and then winced when Master Fion turned those crystal-colored eyes on him.

  Somewhere deep inside, Alaric thought he heard Ronan secretly chuckle.

  FIFTY-ONE

  Desura had been monitoring the mirror Talena carried when she felt Talena disappear from scrying range. How could that be? Frantic, she pushed at the scrying stone, eager to find the mirror and its bearer. But no matter how hard she tried, the mirror would not reveal its whereabouts.

  She could not fail now, not when all her plans to earn her freedom from the Temple were at stake. She deepened her concentration on
the water in the stone bowl. The thunder of her own heart pounded in her ears as she reached farther than she had ever tried to reach before.

  There was white all around her vision. White filled the water of the scrying stone like the sun. The brilliance blinded her eyes, yet she peered at it, refusing to turn away, refusing to stop. The mirror! Where is the mirror? Where is Talena? Her cousin had to be there.

  And then the whiteness broke, and she saw a face of a winsome youth. He was close to the mirror, so close she thought he could see her through it. Indeed, he arched one eyebrow before passing the mirror on to another who slipped it under some sort of cover. But that was all the vision she needed to know that Talena no longer held the mirror.

  But who was that youth, dressed in green and crowned in white gold who had peered at her with rich blue eyes.

  Heretic. He had to be a heretic.

  But the crown...

  A prince? Or was it...the king.

  Desura deepened her concentration, determined to bring the vision back into the bowl. She forced her awareness into the water, drawing power from her weakening core, traveling through it over land and under ground until she was there again, slipping in through a fountain in the courtyard of a great palace where all was white.

  She saw them again. The young man in green. The bard that had the essence of a heretic on him. The strange beast that she recognized by essence as the heretic she first saw at the walking stone that day. He wore a hideous new form. To one side, Talena was being dragged away, taken into a white palace...

  Blood suddenly dripped into the scrying bowl, and Desura felt her strength waning fast. She had pushed too far...too far for her strength to hold. Her stomach heaved and she felt her head spinning as more blood dripped into the bowl. Weakly, she reached up and brushed at her chin. More blood. It was running from her nose, her ears...

  She collapsed on the floor, unable to hold on any longer. Around her, voices whispered. Hands touched her, wiped her face. Others lifted her gently and carried her away from the scrying stone. Someone mentioned the High Lord Patriarch’s name, but Desura was beyond caring. She was too weak to care anymore.

  All she could feel as they carried her to her chamber was the faint thunder of her heart still pounding in her ears.

  Talena...my cousin...help me! I’m dying!

  When they dragged Talena into the tower, she wanted to scream. What a fool she had been to trust Lark—Alaric—whatever his name was. She had hoped...oh she had so hoped that he was the answer to her desire for revenge, but he was no better than that boy-king who looked into Talena’s mind and stole her secrets.

  What were they going to do with her? She was still weak from the magical blow that left her chest aching and her head spinning. They had taken her sword, her horse, the crystal dagger Desura had given her. All was lost.

  I should have turned him in the day I saw him. I should have taken him to the Lord High Patriarch and claimed the reward and been done with it. No, I had to believe that he was the one who would help me! I had to believe that he was going to help me!

  They half dragged, half carried her up the stairs into a tower and pushed her through a door into a circular chamber. There was a chair, and they hauled her over to it and seated her there. She half expected them to manacle her into place, but they merely turned their backs on her and walked out of the chamber, closing the door. She heard the bolt thrown and saw that one of them remained at the door, his eyes on her.

  For a moment, she just sat there with her arms crossed, not knowing what to do next. A prisoner. She was a prisoner.

  What made me come here? Why did I listen to Desura and let him go free? Why did I not stand up for my rights as a mercenary, claim the bounty and become one of the Temple’s elite...

  “Because it is not really in you to do such terrible things...”

  Talena turned abruptly. That voice. It was the one in the old ruins, the voice that spoke to them when the trees drove them to the ruins.

  “Who are you?” Talena asked.

  “I think the question, my child, is who are you?” the voice replied.

  “Why am I here?”

  “That question is one you should already know the answer to.”

  “But I don’t!” Talena said.

  The air around her stirred slightly. She smelled the odors of cinnamon and spices and sweet honey lingering. But look around as she did, she saw no one in the chamber. Just the guard at the door who kept eyes on her.

  Slowly, Talena got up out of the chair and walked around the edges of her prison.

  “Where are you?” she asked.

  “I am everywhere,” the voice replied. “I am here with you. I am in you. I am all that you see around you.”

  “Is that a riddle?” Talena asked.

  Laughter answered. “The only riddle is that within yourself, child of two lands,” the voice said gently. “Now, if you will excuse me, I believe I am needed elsewhere. I will come back later when all are asleep and we will talk. I think you will need to talk to me.”

  With that, the odors faded and went away. Talena walked back to the chair and sat down, studying the smooth walls and high windows of her prison while wishing she could stop her hands from shaking.

  They led Alaric into a chamber where a warm bed and a bath were waiting for him. Servants stood by, waiting for him to command them. He had been told by King Culann that he had only to ask for whatever he desired.

  A bath, he thought. He had wanted a bath, but he had not said so aloud. Yet there it was, steaming warm before a fire. Drying cloths sat in a neat pile to one side.

  Vagner was still looking somewhat subdued. Fion had insisted that Alaric might want to rest and clean up before dinner. Then the Dvergar had taken his demon and left them there.

  “Uh, some privacy, if you don’t mind,” Alaric said to the servants, and they all bowed and left without hesitation. He sighed and started stripping out of his clothes, which he noted were rather grimy from the road. Perhaps he should have asked that they be washed. But then he glanced over at the bed and saw that a fresh blue doublet and matching tartan trews and a clean linen shirt had been carefully laid out for him. They even looked to be in his size.

  Alaric smiled and finished stripping down. He crawled into the tub, noticing that Vagner had crept over into the darkest corner he could find.

  “What’s wrong?” Alaric asked.

  “It’s too white,” Vagner replied, glancing warily around him.

  “Is it hurting you?” Alaric asked.

  Vagner shook his head. He looked quite pitiful for a demon who just a short while before had been savagely defending Alaric from the one called Sedar.

  “What do you make of that white demon?” Alaric suddenly asked, reaching for the sponge and the soap placed within his reach.

  “If it had laid a hand on you, I would have made a mess of its lovely hide,” Vagner said. “But it was like no demon I have ever encountered, if that is what you mean.”

  Alaric frowned. What was it Captain Halathor called Vagner? Youngerkin.

  “You don’t suppose it’s one of the Elderkin, do you?” Alaric asked. “The first demons Halathor mentioned? The ones who existed before the Dark Mother’s corruption?”

  “Why not ask him,” Vagner said sourly and pointed to his own chest. “He should know. In fact, I think he knows much more than he had told either of us...gah!”

  Vagner winced, and Alaric felt the sting that had lashed out from inside him, using the demon’s true name.

  “Ronan?” Alaric said. “Stop that!”

  “Or what?” Ronan retorted, and Alaric could feel the bard’s spirit rising strongly from deep inside him. “Youngerkin always have to be taught their place...”

  “What’s gotten into you?” Alaric said. “First you make me come here, then you threaten to desert me, then you hide, and now you’re picking on Vagner...not to mention that you tried to make me kill...”

  Alaric stopped. The vision cle
arly flooded his mind. He had his hands about Talena’s throat, but Ronan was making it happen.

  “You tried to make me kill Talena? Why?”

  Ronan laughed. “I told you we did not need her,” the bard said. “Now you see what she has done. She tried to kill the king with the dragon’s tear. She would have undone everything... You should have let me finish her off...”

  “Stop it!” Alaric struck the water with his hands. “You’re twisting things, trying to keep me from remembering. You have built another wall in my head. And if you have, I swear on the Horns of Cernunnos, I will tear you out myself.”

  Ronan laughed again and retreated.

  “Why is he doing this?” Alaric asked and looked at Vagner.

  The demon shrugged. “He wants...” Vagner stopped and shook his head. “I should know what he wants because he told me, but...I don’t know.”

  “Wonderful!” Alaric scrubbed himself with the sponge, snarling under his breath.

  As soon as I can, I’m getting rid of you Ronan! Alaric thought angrily. Before I even try to get rid of Vagner’s mark and set him free, I swear, I will make you go away!

  If Ronan heard that, he said nothing.

  The Lord Patriarch Rothanan entered Desura’s chambers, his face set in a grave scowl. Watchers were short lived creatures. They wore themselves down. This was not unusual. But Watcher Desura was still young compared to some. She was stronger than others. So why had he been summoned to give her last rites?

  She was lying on her cushions, blood crusted on her hand and her face.

  He turned a sour look at the attendants. “Why did you not at least clean her up?” he demanded sharply.

  “There was no time. She is fading fast.”

  He took a deep breath and walked over, kneeling at her side. Her eyes were closed, and for a brief moment, he wondered if he was too late. But when he touched her wrist to feel for a pulse, her eyes fluttered open and she peered at him from watery eyes going cold.