by Barb Hendee
He paced quickly through the trees, watching Magiere from a distance as his fear rose.
He wanted no more of this. He wanted only to be alone a while longer with Lily. But he kept seeing Magiere in his own remembered delusion and the dark shapes of others waiting upon her to enter the trees.
Lily yipped as a brown hare raced out from under a bed of mammoth coleus.
Chap did not follow her.
Welstiel headed south as dusk turned to night. He led their remaining horse packed with their gear while Chane's new familiar loped ahead of them.
He noted how gaunt Chane appeared. They would need to melt snow later, perhaps use the last crumbles of tea taken from the Mondyalitko, and replenish their bodies' fluids. For the most part Chane looked tolerable, all things considered. Even in his used cloak and scuffed boots, there was still some trace of a young nobleman, tall and arrogant. No one who saw him could doubt his heritage-at least the one that Chane once had in his living days.
Welstiel feared that he could not claim so much at present. He fastened his tattered cloak more tightly, and tried to smooth his filthy hair.
He had not dreamed these past days. Why would his patron show him the castle, its inhabitant, and the very room of the orb, only to fall silent? He clung to one hope.
The Mondyalitko had been clear in their directions. It was possible that Welsteil's patron felt no further assistance was needed. Yes, that must be the case.
Barren rocks and patches of snow and ice vanished as his thoughts drifted into the future.
He wore a white silk shirt and charcoal wool tunic. He was clean and well possessed, living alone on a manor estate in isolation, perhaps somewhere on the northern peninsula of Belaski, still within reach of its capital of Bela or the shipyards of Gueshk. The manor's entire first floor was given over to a library and study, with one whole room for the practice of his arcane artific-ing. He could create ever more useful objects and never need to touch a mortal again. For somewhere in the cellars below, safely tucked into hiding, was the orb-his orb.
The horse tossed its head, jerking the reins in Welstiel's hand, as the animal's hoof slipped on a patch of snow-crusted stones. It righted itself, and Welstiel looked up the barren mountainside at his companion.
Chane never wavered from his desire to seek out the sages. Why-to study histories and fill his head with mountains of broken pieces culled from the past? Ridiculous.
Welstiel shook his head. Only the present was useful. Let broken days of the Forgotten History remain forgotten, once he acquired what he needed.A solitary existence with no distractions.
But still…
"Have you ever tried your hand at artificing?" heasked, his own voice startling in the night's silence.
Chane lifted his eyes from his trudging steps. Conjury-by ritual, spell, or artificing-always stirred Chane's interest.
"Small things," he answered."Only temporary or passive items for my rituals. Nothinglike… your ring or feeding cup. I once created a small orb to blind interlopers. I conjured the essence of Light-a manifestation of elemental Fire-and trapped it within a prepared globe of frosted glass. When tripped, its light erupted, and it was spent."
Welstiel hesitated. "You developed notable skill for one who had no instructor. I wonder how you would fare with a more studied guide to teach you."
Chane stopped walking, forcing Welstiel to pause.
"Have you fed without telling me?" Chane asked.
"No, why?"
"You are different tonight… more aware."
Welstiel ignored this bit of nonsense. A series of loud barks sounded from ahead.
Chane dropped to the ground and folded his long legs.
Welstiel struggled to be silent and wait as his companion closed his eyes.
Chane would reach out to connect-spirit to spirit, thought to thought-with the wild dog he had enslaved. He would learn through the dumb beast's senses what it had found.Far more efficient than racing after the animal and wasting remaining energies before knowing if it was worth the expenditure.
Welstiel stood tense, fighting for patience.
The castle could be just ahead. The end of his repugnant existence might be that close.
Chapter Sixteen
Night wore on as Magiere traveled beside Leesil and kept Wynn close. She cautiously allowed her dhampir nature torise just enough to widen her vision. It accomplished little with the moon hidden from sight.
Leesil said no more about his mother. Wynn was near physical exhaustion, so her bursts of babbling were few. All the Anmaglahk, especially Sgaile, were withdrawn and driven by their purpose. Only in one place in the world did people accept Magiere for who, rather than what, she was-Miiska. But home was far away.
She tried to shut out the vision she'd had in Nein a's clearing, the marks her hands left on the tree, and whatever lay ahead in Crijheaiche. She tried to focus on Leesil.
Leesil was the imaginative one, not she. After facing Nein'a's coldhearted-ness, all Magiere wished was to make him feel wanted-and to let him know he would at least have her for the rest of his days. He reminded her that there was a place for them in this world, where others waited to stand up with them on the day they swore their oath. Annoying as Leesil was at times, he was right.
His words painted a picture in her mind of celebration with Karlin, Caleb, little Rose, and perhaps Aunt Bieja. Magiere imagined Leesil with his hair tied back and wearing a clean white shirt-one he hadn't mended and patched beyond its time.
Yes, she wanted this too.
The surrounding forest began to look familiar, and Magiere caught the soft glow of lanterns among the trees. They passed an enormous oak swollen into a dwelling.
"We're close," she said.
"Oh, for a bath and clean clothes," Wynn grumbled.
Freth traveled just ahead of Leesil, but she slowed and dropped to the rear near En’nish.
Magiere found this odd. Then she saw someone running toward them between the domicile trees, flashing in and out of pools of lantern light or the seeping glow from under a curtained doorway.
Leanalham's yellow shirt stood out in the dark. She smiled and ran straight for Sgaile with her light brown ponytail swishing. Sgaile pulled her against his chest, and Leanalham's eyes wandered about the group until they found Wynn.
"I am so glad you are found," she said with the relief of a lifelong friend. "Urhkarasiferin said you were lost in the forest, but I knew Sgailsheilleache would find you."
Wynn smiled briefly over her exhaustion.
Magiere waited for Leanalham's rush of questions. But when the girl tried to go to Wynn, Sgaile's arm tightened. He held her back, turning slightly away. Magiere knew it wasn't Wynn who he kept the girl from-it was herself.
Sgaile spoke harshly in Elvish to Leanalham, and the girl's mouth dropped open with a flash of hurt in her eyes.
"Bartva'na!" Sgaile half-shouted, cutting off her rising protest.
Magiere understood the word from the little Elvish that she'd heard Wynn translate. Sgaile commanded the girl to stop and obey. Leanalham stared at him with open resentment.
"He ordered her back to their quarters," Wynn said quietly. "She is not to speak with us."
"What?" Leesil asked. "Why?"
It wasn't right for Sgaile to deny the girl so harshly. He didn't want his little cousin anywhere near the unnatural thing discovered among them. But for all the man's fear, he couldn't possibly believe Magiere would harm Leanalham. She'd given her word to watch over the girl whenever possible.
Sgaile's distress ran more deeply than Magiere had guessed.
She glanced carefully about at the other Anmaglahk. Most remained expression less, except for En’nish’s venomous glare and Freth's smoldering silence. But Brot'an now peered about the trees with a strange uncertainty.
Magiere wanted no more confrontations with Sgaile, and hopefully Leanalham would do as he asked.
Leanalham backed away, her features fading in the deeper black be
neath a tree in the darkness.
"Shiuvalh!" Sgaile snapped.
That word Magiere didn't know, but his tone made her tense. A shadow appeared behind Leanalham, followed by another to the right. Magiere whirled around to find more closing on the left and from behind.
"Leesil…" she hissed in warning.
He turned, watching dark figures move in the night.
Osha stepped closer to Wynn. Sgaile pulled a stiletto, as did Freth. Brot'an turned about more slowly, the puzzlement in his steady gaze becoming cold displeasure. The first shadow stepped into plain sight.
Urhkar stood calm and passive. Another anmaglahk came in behind him, and another from beyond Sgaile, and then another. All but the elder anmaglahk held shortbows drawn with arrows notched, their gleaming heads resting over bow handles of silver-white metal.
Magiere found herself ringed in on all sides with Leesil and Wynn by at least twenty Anmaglahk. No wonder Sgaile pushed them all so hard, knowing what waited upon their arrival.
"You split-tongue son of…" Leesil started, his gaze on Sgaile.
Magiere grabbed Leesil's wrist and squeezed hard in warning as she glanced back at Wynn. A wrinkle of the sage's brow hinted at something more beneath her fright-a tinge of anger in the once-timid sage. Magiere saw no course of action that wouldn't end in all of their deaths.
Freth and Sgaile faced inward toward Magiere. Sgaile kept his blade low, but Freth did not.
"What are you doing?" Leesil demanded.
Brot'an gave Urhkar a slow shake of his head, but the other elder returned no reply.
"All of you pull back and allow us through," Brot'an called out.
Not one anmaglahk retreated, and Freth came straight at Magiere and Leesil.
"You will come with us."
Magiere heard Leesil's foot slipback, and the grinding of sod as he anchored it and shifted his weight. Six Anmaglahk stepped in with bows raised. Two were aimed straight at Wynn.
"No!" Magiere whispered."Too many for a fight."
And then Brot'an sidled into the path of the bows aimed at Wynn.
"She is correct," he said plainly. "We must wait to find another way to resolve this."
Leesil turned his head side to side, his eyes moving even quicker as he studied the spread of all those surrounding them. None of the elves lowered their weapons.
"Go!" Freth ordered.
Uncertainly, Leesil moved up beside Magiere, and they followed Brot'an. They were swept away into the heart of Crijheaiche. Magiere grew more uncertain as they entered a wide clearing encircled by domicile trees.
Near to each tree's curtained doorway, she saw more of the Anmaglahk. At the clearing's center rose a massive oak that dwarfed any tree she'd seen since entering these lands.
"They're taking us to Most Aged Father," Leesil whispered.
Wynn stayed close to Magiere as they faced Most Aged Father's dwelling. She looked about for any sign of Chap, but he was nowhere in sight. Neither was the pack or Lily. Sgaile pulled the doorway's curtain aside.
"Down the stairs!" Freth ordered.
Wynn looked up anxiously at Brot'an. He nodded once and stepped through the entrance after Sgaile. Leesil went next, then Magiere, and Wynn followed with Freth close behind her.
Inside, candle lanterns lit the wide barren chamber. A stairway of living wood along the left wall led down into the earth. Wynn reached the bottom, stepping off the last stair of embedded stone, and found herself in an earth-walled chamber. At its center was a root the size of a small domicile tree.
Glass lanterns hung from stone-packed earth walls and cast hazy yellow light upon massive roots arching through the ceiling overhead. Wynn was not certain why they were here, but this underground chamber disturbed her. No elf that she knew would choose to live this way.
"Move!" Freth ordered and shoved Magiere from behind.
Magiere stumbled forward awkwardly, pulling her hand back from catching herself on the center root. She wobbled, and Wynn grabbed her arm, feeling the uncontrolled shudders running through Magiere.
Leesil whirled about, and Freth raised her blade.
"You wouldn't even try," he said. "Your sickly master still needs me."
"Enough," Brot'an warned, but his eyes were turned toward Freth.
"And Chap wouldn't let you," Leesil whispered at Freth.
Wynn's attention was pulled in too many directions. Magiere quaked in a way Wynn had never seen before. She did not usually frighten this easily-and her fear led to fury, not weakness.
A flash of gray on the stairs caught Wynn's attention.
Chap descended, his jaws already open.
Sgaile tried to reach over the stairs and grab the dog. Leesil slammed his shoulder into Sgaile's back, shoving him aside as Chap lunged off the stairs with a rabid snarl.
Freth barely caught sight of the dog before Chap's jaws snapped shut on her wrist. She dropped the stiletto with a startled inhale and jerked her arm free as the blade hit the chamber floor. Chap's snarls rang off the stone-packed walls as he drove Freth backward.
Leesil snatched the fallen stiletto before Sgaile could dive for it. All Wynn could do wastry to keep Magiere on her feet.
Freth scrambled over the bottom stair, braced herself against the wall, and kicked out. Her foot struck Chap's chest, tossing him away. Chap twisted back at her so fast that Freth gained no ground. He lunged at her, jaws opened wide.
Brot'an slipped between them, and Chap's teeth closed fast on his forearm. Chap thrashed his head and dragged Brot'an to one knee.
"Chap, stop it!" Wynn cried out.
Brot'an did not strike back. He crouched there, rigid and waiting as Chap settled to rumbling stillness.
"No more!" Brot'an said sharply.
Leesil held off Sgaile with the stiletto, but his eyes shifted toward Freth. "There's little I wouldn't pay to kill you. Don't ever touch me or mine again."
"Chap… you let him go… now!" Wynn commanded.
Chap unclamped Brot'an's arm with clear reluctance, rumbling as he backed toward Magiere. His gaze remained fixed on the tall elf rising to his feet. Dark stains spread through the gray-green felt of Brot'an's torn sleeve.
He spotted the blade in Leesil grip, and held out his hand. "Please."
"Give it to him," Magiere whispered and straightened herself.
Leesil flipped the stiletto, catching its blade, and slapped the hilt into Brot'an's palm.
"Frethfare…" Brot'an warned, tossing the stiletto to her, "keep your distance-and your conduct."
"And you too," Wynn said to Chap, though relieved to see him. "Where have you been?"
Chap ceased rumbling and the leaf-wing rose in Wynn's mind. Watching.
"This way," Sgaile said as he circled the chamber.
Wynn did not understand until she spotted the opening in the center root. Sgaile stepped through, and Wynn followed ahead of Magiere.
In the shining candlelight, Wynn at first saw only teal and saffron pillows on the floor, but her mouth went dry as she took in the rest of the small chamber.
Curled in a cradle of wood growing from the far wall and floor was the oldest elf she had ever seen. Only vague hints remained in his withered form to mark his race.
An emaciated face surrounded sunken eyes that had lost most of their amber color. Those old eyes never blinked, and patches of scalp showed through thinned hair. He shuddered with either fear or rage when he saw Magiere.
"Why are we here?" Leesil demanded.
"To be judged," Freth snapped from the doorway.
Brot'an's broad frame stood in her way. Sgaile stepped close to the frail form in the living bower and proffered a deep, respectful nod. The old one did not even glance at him.
"Judged?" Wynn said.
Most Aged Father's thin, reedy voice filled the root chamber as he spoke in Belaskian.
"No undead will poison this forest. Destroy it at once."
Sgaile did not answer or look up.
"You'll be bleedin
g before anyone touches her," Leesil warned.
"She is not undead," Wynn blurted out.
"Truth," Brot'an added, and moved closer to the old one. "And this is not the way judgment is rendered… especially when guardianship and safe passage have already been given. Do you now break your word as well as that of Sgailsheilleache?"
"You are Anmaglahk," said Most Aged Father, and finally turned his attention on Brot'an. "You are sworn to protect the people.Would you leave an un-dead in their midst? I do not know how this one could even enter our land."
"Her heart beats," Brot'an returned. "I know little of the humans' walking dead… but enough to know she is not one of them."
Most Aged Father's eyes narrowed upon Brot'an.
Freth pushed through into Wynn's sight. "Do you question Most Aged Father? Do you deny what we saw in the traitor's clearing?"
"The forest accepts her," Brot'an answered. "And the majay-hido not hunt her."
"Until she showed herself for what she is," Frethfare argued.
"She is not undead," Wynn repeated straight at Most Aged Father. "She hates them as you do. She is only half of what they are, and it makes her their natural adversary."
Brot'an glanced at Wynn, as did the other elves, each with their own mix of suspicion and doubt. Magiere grabbed Wynn's hand with a sharp shake of her head.
Most Aged Father's voice screeched in Wynn's ears. "Half undead is more than enough!"
"Truly?" Brot'an asked. "Is a half-blood a human or an elf, let alonean'Croan? And what would that make a three-quarter-blood?"
Sgaile lifted his head at the reference to Leanalham, and Brot'an let the question hang. And it left Wynn wondering if the girl's status among her people was not yet determined. She watched all four elves present, waiting for someone to speak up.
They were not presenting arguments to sway Most Aged Father, for at least Freth and Brot'an spoke from some equal authority here. It was their people's customs and cultural rule versus Anmaglahk authority that was being called into question, as well as anyone's status of mixed heritage. In the end, Magiere's welfare alone might not be all that was at stake, though she would likely be the first weighed in the outcome.
