Shadows of Destiny

by Rachel Lee

Banegeld lifted.

  Tess’s arms spread wide.

  Banegeld falling.

  Tess never flinching.

  She uttered only the smallest cry as the sword drove into her breast. For a moment he thought the Weaver’s magick would cast the blade aside, tear it from Ardred’s hands, or allow it to pass right through the fabric of reality without harming her.

  But no.

  She could have, he realized. The Weaver could have cast his brother into eternity with the merest whisper of her mind. Instead, she tried to suck in breath, gurgling, her chest heaving, her arms falling limp at her sides.

  And then Ardred withdrew the sword.

  Tess’s blood poured out, blue flame licking its way down Ardred’s blade, spilling at his feet, creeping toward him, engulfing him. His first cries split the air as she slumped to the ground.

  His body did not burn as had the others her blood had judged, for it was not given to even the Weaver’s blood to slay a Firstborn. But it could still judge, and Archer watched as Ardred fell to his knees, crying out with the agony of a thousand souls. It was as if every man, woman and child who had fallen in this dark winter now clawed at his soul with teeth as sharp as knives.

  Banegeld fell to the ground.

  “Kill me!” he cried to Archer. “Kill me, brother! I beg you!”

  It would be so easy, Archer thought. Banedread would slice through his brother’s body as a hot knife into butter and still forever the evil that had grown there. It would wreak vengeance for Theriel.

  It would wreak vengeance for the frozen dead stacked outside the walls of Derda.

  It would wreak vengeance for Tess, who now lay pale and still between them.

  It was his moment.

  Archer drew his sword, but now it did not sing.

  It wept, as he wept.

  “Do it!” Ardred said, his face contorted in an agony that went beyond the physical pain of the blue flame that now crawled onto his face. “Spare me this, Annuvil. Slay me!”

  Archer lifted his sword, and then from the corner of his eye he saw movement. The white wolf approached, its golden eyes fixed on him. Mesmerized, Archer watched as it drew nearer, now standing over Ardred.

  To slay his brother, he would have to slay the wolf.

  As if in a dream, he watched the world blacken and die around him, shriveling not into glass but into an ash that would leave nothing in its wake but debris floating in the night sky.

  He had raged once. And vengeance he had wrought. But it had not cleansed the world. Nor would it now.

  The wolf looked at him, impassive, unblinking, eyes fixing first on his sword and then on his arm.

  Archer extended his arm and lay Banedread across it, drawing it slowly back, the razor-sharp edge cutting deep through skin and sinew. He did not need the wolf to tell him what to do next.

  He stood over his brother, letting his blood flow. Everywhere it touched, the blue fire first burst anew and then flicked out. Ardred twitched and screamed with each drop, his cries growing weaker until the last of the flames had been extinguished.

  Archer felt the dark ash recede, replaced by a warmer darkness that seemed to well up within him. He saw that he was face-to-face with the wolf, and realized he had fallen to his knees. The world seemed to sway before him, and his head felt too heavy.

  As he let it droop, he saw that he was kneeling beside Tess. He tried to slip his arms around her, to lift her to him for one last kiss, but he could not find the strength. Instead, he bent to kiss her.

  Her lips were softer than he had ever felt.

  And cool.

  He went to her.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Sara wept as they approached the gates of Arderon. Tom had spoken to her for two days as the army had marched, and she could not recall a single word he had spoken. She moved numbly, an emptiness in her heart, a leadenness in her limbs.

  She had felt it the moment it happened.

  As she looked to her side, Cilla’s eyes mirrored hers. They were walking into an abyss that would never release them. An abyss that had opened in the moment their sister was torn from their souls.

  Even Maluzza’s daughter felt it. More than once had she fallen into Sara’s arms, tears flowing down her cheeks, seeking a comfort Sara could not offer.

  Not even the warming sun had softened her grief. The trees no longer seemed to fight a dark cold. At the tips of their branches, flickers of bright green had begun to sparkle. With each step, it became apparent that winter had yielded to spring, and yet Sara could not greet that springtime with joy.

  It had been purchased with death.

  The fortress of Arderon now seemed an empty shell of itself. Men and women wandered aimlessly along its walls, as if in a daze. As they passed through the gates, there were neither rains of arrows nor cheers of liberation. If anyone spoke, Sara could not hear it.

  They came to the center of the city, where a black throne was now overgrown with thorn bushes.

  But not just thorn bushes. Each branch bore a white rose.

  Sara reached out and picked one, determined to place it on the grave of the woman who had given herself to end this winter.

  If only she could find the grave.

  She turned to a woman in the square, mouthing words, asking where the Weaver lay. The woman spoke back, but no sound came from her lips. Sara wept again, and the woman took her hand and pointed to the palace.

  Sara nodded, emptiness denying the smile she would otherwise have offered. Tom guided her, his hand gentle but firm on her arm, and they passed through a door that had once given in to the darkest heart of the world. Now it was set as a dining hall, three rows of tables laden with food that, much as Sara’s stomach desired it, her heart had no desire for.

  Then her heart stopped in her breast and her jaw dropped. Standing at the head of the hall were three people, two of whom she recognized. Her legs weakened beneath her and Tom had to steady her.

  Archer and Tess. But a refined Archer and Tess. No longer the heavily burdened victims of fate and prophesy, but alive and beautiful. Never had she seen Archer look so tall or proud or so happy. It was as if all the years, miles and sorrows had been lifted from him.

  And Tess…Tess was radiant. She smiled and her smile deepened when she saw Sara and Tom. “Dear friends,” she called to them, and Sara hurried forward with Tom in her wake.

  “You’re alive,” Sara said, her words breaking on a sob. “Oh, dear Elanor, you’re both alive! The link severed and I thought…I thought…” She couldn’t finish the words as she fell into Tess’s embrace and through her tears looked into Archer’s smiling, noble face.

  “It is over,” Tess murmured. “The Weaver is no more. We are free. We are all free. We are no longer the tools of the gods, and it was that fate which joined our minds. The need is gone.”

  Sara stepped back, dashing away her tears of joy with one hand. “We are no longer Ilduin?”

  “We will always be sisters, Sara. We will always be Ilduin. But our gifts have been changed. I think you will find you can still heal, though not quite as powerfully.” Tess stepped to one side and indicated a seated man. The man’s skin seemed to have been stretched over what had once been perfect features. Thin tufts of almost-white hair lay scattered about a scalp that was pink and raw. He looked weak and pained, but even he had begun to smile.

  “The Firstborn are gone as well,” Tess said. “This is Ardred. Like us he is now mortal, and sadly I could not completely heal him. He is blinded.”

  “Ardred!” The name escaped Sara’s lips on a gasp.

  “Yes,” Tess said. “Whatever good or evil will be of our own doing.”

  Slowly a group had been gathering around them, a group that included Cilla and Ratha, Tuzza and Alezzi, Jenah, the emperor and his daughter.

  The change seemed to be affecting them all. They looked around and blinked like dreamers awakening until their gazes again settled on Tess and Archer.

  “It is over,” Arche
r said. “Over. And the gods have granted me my dearest wishes, for I am no longer Firstborn, but merely a mortal man, as is my brother.”

  As he spoke, he laid a hand on Ardred’s shoulder and his brother smiled again.

  “And Tess,” Archer said, “has granted me her hand in marriage. From now on all will be different. The shadows no longer hang over the world. It will be up to all of us to build anew, the best kind of world we can.”

  Many heads nodded in agreement. Then Ratha said, “My lord?”

  Archer shook his head. “I am no longer anyone’s lord. Nor am I Annuvil. I am Archer Blackcloak until the end of my days.”

  Ratha smiled. “To me you will always be my lord.”

  “And to me,” the emperor said. “For all who have fallen in this battle, I have a request to make.”

  Archer cocked his head to one side.

  “I ask you, Archer Blackcloak, to become my adviser, for I think you have seen more than anyone, and perhaps understand better what we must avoid.” The emperor then chuckled. “Of course, this will make you a lord all over again!”

  Everyone laughed, but only Tess noted that Archer hadn’t yet answered one way or the other.

  But then he spoke. “If I am to advise you, emperor, then I have two suggestions.”

  “Aye?”

  “Amnesty for Ardred’s armies, for they were not in control of themselves.”

  “They seem harmless enough right now. Agreed.”

  At that a cheer went up from around the hall, and Ras Lutte, who had been sure he would die this day, stepped forward.

  “I am Overmark Ras Lutte of Ardred’s armies. I accept the amnesty. I have already ordered my men to lay down their arms.” Then he bowed deeply.

  The emperor’s brow creased. “Ras Lutte? I remember you. When you were younger and less wise you made a mistake with the wife of one of my commanders.”

  Lutte stiffened. “Aye. And I was put out of the army.”

  The emperor waved a hand. “Youthful indiscretion. You are pardoned, Lutte. None shall lay a hand on you.”

  Lutte’s eyes widened. “Truly you are merciful!”

  Maluzza smiled. “I am learning. High time.” Then he turned again to Archer. “Your second suggestion?”

  “Tens of thousands died as a result of the severe winter. There are nothing but abandoned farms between here and the northern mountains, farms that will need to be tilled and planted and harvested if we are to have a crop in this autumn. I suggest you offer these lands to the men who fought on both sides. For it is my hope we will never again need so large an army.”

  The emperor nodded thoughtfully. “I like it.” He turned to his scribe. “Write it down and organize a group to parcel out the land to all who want it.”

  Then he looked at Archer. “Anything else?”

  Archer smiled. “Only time to enjoy my bride and our new lives.”

  “And your brother?” Maluzza asked.

  “I shall care for him for the rest of our days together,” Archer said firmly. “He, too, was but a tool in the designs of the gods, and the evil has been driven from him. I wish only that I could offer him a better life.”

  At that Ardred rose and reached out blindly for Archer. “Brother,” he said. “Forgive me.”

  Archer embraced him. “My brother. Always.”

  “Always,” Ardred echoed through his tears.

  And it was done.

  Epilogue

  Autumn had come to Whitewater again. Preparations for the Harvest Festival were well under way. Tom and Sara had virtually taken over management of the inn from her father, Bandylegs Deepwell, who declared himself ready to step aside in favor of the younger generation and spend his days brewing his famous ale and talking in the public rooms with his friends.

  This year the farmers had reaped the best harvest in anyone’s memory, a harvest that would become woven into the tales that were shared in the public rooms through the cold winter months.

  But along with those tales there were other new tales, tales brought home by Sara and Tom of strange lands and beauties beyond description. Tales of adventure and triumph. It would have been a lie to say that everyone in town was not waiting for the festival in hopes of hearing the two give a retelling of their travels.

  Sara was growing large with child, and she smiled a great deal. Jem Downey had accepted that his son would not follow him as gatekeeper, and had chosen a likely lad from another family. Not that the gates often needed to be closed these days, for there was so much abundance even the animals had no desire to venture into town to hunt for chickens or scraps.

  But on the day of the harvest festival, early in the morning, Sara began to grow jumpy.

  Tom kept questioning her about it, for he feared for her health. It was too soon for the birthing, but something might be wrong.

  She merely shook her head and smiled, assuring him that everything was well with their child—a son she had told him months back. Apparently her Ilduin powers extended to that knowledge as well as healings.

  “No,” she said finally when his concerns began to overwhelm her. “I just have a feeling that something very special will happen today.”

  “What?”

  “I know not. It is just a feeling.”

  With that he had to be content as he strung lanterns and helped make mounds of bread and huge pots of stew. They would eat tonight as they had not been able to eat at all last winter. The land again blessed them with its bounty.

  The festival was in full swing, children running everywhere underfoot, the men telling their tall tales to various audiences, the women gossiping in happy groups, when a small mounted party passed through the gate.

  Jem Downey, who had just been about to abandon his post for the night, looked up and his eyes widened. “My word!” he said in amazement.

  A gold coin flipped through the air and landed in his hand, while a familiar voice spoke from beneath a dark hood. “Buy something nice for your wife, Jem Downey.”

  Jem nodded and stepped back to watch. Never had he thought to see so much splendor at a Harvest Festival. Or ever, for that matter.

  The first two passed him by, the familiar man in the black cloak, only this cloak wasn’t worn but was made of the finest black wool. Beside him rode the lady, garbed all in white, a smile dancing in her blue eyes.

  Behind them came two of the dark folk from the south, Anari he thought they were called. Two of their men had always traveled as part of this party, but this night it was a man and a woman. Beautiful people, he thought. Wisdom seemed to sit on their shoulders.

  Behind them came two more lords, to judge by their dress. From Bozandar, perhaps. And in the rear a shrunken, scarred man who nevertheless smiled as if he were enjoying himself greatly.

  When they had passed, Jem stood staring after them. The world had indeed changed, he realized, when such a party could ride together. His son’s stories had apparently not been exaggerated. Then with a shrug, he looked up the road, saw that no one else approached, and swung the gates closed. Tonight with everyone having such a good time and probably drinking a little too much of Bandylegs Deepwell’s famous ale, he did not want a fox to slip in and get into someone’s coop.

  The party reached the inn and the ostler came running up to take their mounts. Around them a pool of silence grew as people forgot their chatter and stared in wonder.

  Then Sara emerged from the inn’s front door and cried out with joy.

  “Tess! Archer! Tom, come at once!”

  Tom scrambled out the door, his hands full of mugs, and then a big grin split his face. He was still obliged to wear the leather mask, but it concealed nothing of his joy in this moment. Behind it, it seemed, his pale eyes shone with delight.

  Alezzi and Tuzza were there along with Ardred. They threw their hoods back and joined in the happy exchanges of embraces, which even included Ardred.

  Soon places were made for them in the public room, and when Tess removed her cloak she revealed her
own swollen stomach. Soon she and Sara were whispering happily about their hopes for their children.

  But before long, as the ale and food flowed freely, Tom asked how things were in the south.

  Cilla smiled, holding Ratha’s hand. “Anahar is beautiful, more beautiful than ever. And Ratha has taken his position as priest. Our priests have always been women, but when Ratha and I returned to Anahar, the clan mothers quickly recognized that our former soldiers had need of the quiet wisdom of one of their own, to help them through the memories of the war.”

  “I listen more than I talk,” Ratha said, waving a hand. “There is little I know that those men do not know for themselves, somewhere in their hearts.”

  “Tch,” Cilla said. “He is wise, and people seek his wisdom, that is all.”

  “And what of you?” Sara asked Tuzza and Alezzi.

  “We spend a lot less time on the march,” Tuzza said. “Bozandar maintains a small army in case there should ever be a problem, but Alezzi and I are getting fat and happy. We have wives now, and we husband the family estates we have so long ignored in our service to the army.”

  Alezzi chuckled. “It is fair to say we are enjoying our retirement.”

  “And you two?” Sara asked of Archer and Tess. “How are you?”

  Tess smiled at Archer, the expression conveying more than words ever could. He returned the smile, his eyes full of peace and love. “We are happy,” he said. “Do we need any more?”

  “You will not return to your old world?” Tom asked.

  Tess shook her head. “That doorway has been closed, and I do not regret its closing. The life to which I would return…is no life I wish to revisit. I pray daily that I have seen the end of war. And in this world, perhaps, I have.”

  Sara turned to Ardred, who had been sitting quietly amidst the group, listening, and laid her hand on his. “You look as if you are healing.”

  “Tess works at it.” He bowed his head a moment, then raised his face, showing a hint of the beauty that had once been his. “I am learning,” he said, “to live with my regrets, and to live with what I have become. I have learned that a brother’s love and mercy knows no limits. I have learned that the most important thing in the world is the arrival of a new life. I have found that I love working with the farm animals, especially the horses.”