On the other hand, Gaelin felt cold and sick when he thought about allowing Ilwyn to die through his inactivity.
While he’d seen little enough of his sisters in the years he had been training with the Knights Guardian, he couldn’t bear to decide whether Ilwyn lived or died. Seriene’s words haunted him day and night. It was a matter of pride, of duty, and of doing the right thing. The Mhor should be prepared to lay down his life for any of his subjects, let alone his family. Deciding that his own life was of greater value than someone else’s represented the first step down a long, dark road of expediency and excuses.
At night, he paced the battlements restlessly until the gray light of dawn seeped into the sky from the east. By day, he found it harder and harder to pay attention to his duties.
Countless times he glanced at the sky to see where the moon stood.
A week after Madislav’s pyre, Gaelin stood on the battlements in the hours before sunrise. It was a cold, clammy morning; thick mists wreathed the cool, still waters of the lake before the castle, but from the heights of the ancient battlements the stars were clear overhead. He paused by one turret, leaning on the parapet and staring moodily out over the dark countryside. His reverie was disturbed by the light footfalls of someone approaching. Gaelin could make out a dark, slender figure advancing toward him along the walkway; frowning, he drew back into the shadows of a ruined cupola and set his hand to his sword.
A moment later, Erin appeared, gliding forward to stand where he had been just a moment ago. She looked out over the darkened landscape, engaged in her own silent reflections.
Gaelin started to speak out, but decided not to startle her, and remained silent and unmoving in the darkness, watching her. Dew glistened in her long hair, now a gray sheen of shadow in the night, and her alabaster features seemed almost to glow with an inner radiance in the starlight.
Her elven features were unmistakable, now that he studied her – the slender build, the easy grace of her movements, and the faerie quality of her face and long white hands.
“Spying on me, Gaelin?” she asked, speaking into the night.
For a moment, he felt embarrassed. Flushing, he stepped out into the open. “I might ask the same of you,” he said quietly.
“I’m surprised you noticed me. I thought I was well-concealed.”
She laughed softly. “You forget my heritage,” she said, gesturing at the subtle points of her ears.
“On the contrary, it’s obvious in the starlight,” he replied.
“I could believe you to be a princess of the Sidhelien. The dew shines in your hair like diamonds.” He stepped closer, leaning against the cold stone embrasure to enjoy the view while facing her. Before he knew what he was saying, he added, “I’ve never seen your equal.”
Erin smiled and glanced at him. “Not even Seriene?”
“She’s beautiful, too. But there’s a hardness in her heart that I don’t see in you.”
“You should fall in love with her, Gaelin. It’s the best thing you could do right now, for yourself and for your kingdom.
She already loves you.”
“Why do you say that?”
Erin shrugged, glancing down at her hands as she twisted a fine gold chain that was draped around her neck. “You’re the Mhor. That defines you. And you’re too good a ruler to do anything except what’s best for Mhoried. You know that you’ll have to marry Seriene. It’s an alliance you have to make.” She smiled. “And she’s beautiful, too. It works out well, wouldn’t you say?”
Gaelin thought for a time, looking out over the white blanket of fog. “Not as well as I might like,” he said.
“Don’t lie to me, Gaelin.” Erin started to turn away, straightening up and pulling her cloak tighter around her shoulders. “I know what happened between you and Seriene.”
He felt as if he’d been struck. “You do?”
“I’m not stupid. The way you’ve been acting, the way she looks at you… it’s not hard to figure it out.” Erin laughed bitterly. “I wish the two of you well.”
“I don’t think I love her, Erin.”
“What’s that matter? She’s a beautiful woman from a family as noble as your own. And you must have feelings for her, if…”
Gaelin looked away, watching the mists rising from the lake. The cold and damp had chilled him to the bone, but the dark ache in the center of his chest held him transfixed, unwilling to leave and unable to face Erin. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have let things happen the way they did.”
“Why apologize? You don’t owe me your faithfulness.”
Erin tried to maintain her sarcasm, but her voice broke. “I have no claim on you.”
“Erin” he said softly. “I may have been Seriene’s lover, but I can’t stop thinking about you.”
Her head dropped as she hugged herself against the cold stone, her hair spilling down around her face. Her voice a whisper, she said, “Gaelin, don’t. Please. It’s not in my heart to stop you.” She straightened and turned away.
“Wait, Erin. Please don’t go yet.” He reached out and caught her arm gently. Erin let him turn her back to face him, looking past him, refusing to meet his eyes. He searched for something to say, but nothing came to mind as he held her, looking into her face. Her self-assurance was gone, stripped away, and she was trembling like a vulnerable child. “You told me that I could have your counsel when I needed it. I don’t know what to do. I know what I should do – my duty – and I know what I think is right – my heart, my conscience – but they’re not the same.”
Erin glanced up, and a flicker of a smile showed itself on her face. “You’re becoming familiar with that dilemma, aren’t you?”
“I’m twice caught in it,” he answered. “Do I do my duty to Mhoried, marrying Seriene and refusing to allow Bannier to threaten me with Ilwyn’s life? Or do I do what’s in my heart, making sure that Ilwyn is safe?” He stepped closer, looking into her eyes. “And falling in love with you?”
“Gaelin, please. Don’t say that.” She moved away, circling the ruined parapets, looking down at the wet stone of the turret.
Her hair fell around her face.
“It’s in my heart, Erin.”
She drew back another step and sighed, glancing up to meet his eyes. “Listen to your heart, Gaelin,” she whispered.
“Somehow it will work out.” She slipped past him and disappeared into the shadows, like a wisp of silver moonlight.
*****
Bannier caught up to the Ghoeran army at dawn, riding a coal-black gelding he’d appropriated from Shieldhaven’s stables.
The army was camped in a high valley, surrounded by dark peaks and fells, and in the gray distance Bannier could make out the distinctive gap of Marnevale, a day’s march ahead. Cantering past endless rings of earthworks and palisades, manned by vigilant sentries, he continued without challenge into the camp itself. It was a cool, foggy morning, and the acrid smoke of cooking fires stung his nose as the camp around him began to stir.
Near the center of the camp, he spied the wolf standard of Noered Tuorel. Bannier smiled grimly; this should be an entertaining encounter. After he had slipped out of Shieldhaven with Ilwyn, Tuorel’s men had literally razed his tower, pulling it down stone by stone. He’d found armed guards standing watch over the ruins – the baron’s men must have set off the traps and wards with which he guarded his tower.
Fortunately, his shadow portal couldn’t be damaged by petty vandalism, but many other possessions of value to him had not fared so well.
He cantered up to a large red pavilion surrounded by guards, and dismounted. A footman took the reins from his hand and led the horse away, while he briefly indulged in a stretch. “Tell Baron Tuorel that I have returned,” he said. The officer glared at him but turned to perform his duties. A few moments later, he emerged from the tent.
“The baron will see you now,” he said.
Bannier noted the man’s abrupt manner and made a point of remembering his face, i
n the event the captain crossed his path again. “Very well.” The officer led him into the command tent, ducking beneath the outer flap.
“Well, well,” Tuorel said. “You’ve some nerve to show up on my doorstep, Bannier.”
Four of the elite Iron Guards stood by the door, their swords bared; the nearest were already within striking range, but they made no move to attack. Across the tent from him stood Tuorel, dressed in his striking wolf-emblazoned armor.
Bannier noticed a pair of small holes in the tent’s far wall.
With his preternatural senses, he detected a pair of sharpshooters training their crossbows on him from their concealed positions. More importantly, a slight woman in the robes of a Khinasi mage stood beside Tuorel. Although the spell would be invisible to the untrained eyes of normal men, Bannier noticed a subtle shield of some kind surrounding her.
For the moment, Bannier ignored Tuorel’s assassins and his hired mage. “My lord baron,” he said, bowing. “While our relations have not been cordial lately, I believe we still share a common cause.”
Tuorel regarded him suspiciously. “And what do you want me to do for you this time?”
“Nothing you wouldn’t do for yourself, baron. You march on Caer Winoene, the seat of Gaelin’s government in exile. I wish to see the renegade Mhor’s power destroyed as well, and I offer you my services toward this end.”
Tuorel frowned. “As you can see, Bannier, I have already retained the services of another wizard. I didn’t believe we shared any more common purposes.”
“I can assure your victory, my lord.”
“Just as you assured my conquest of Mhoried?”
Bannier shrugged. “I delivered Shieldhaven into your hands, as I promised. You haven’t even bothered to attempt the test of the Oak. I can’t understand why you’re surprised that the Mhoriens choose to dispute your righteous rule.”
“You know the Red Oak would never have acknowledged me, not with the blooded heir to the Mhor alive and at liberty.
I would have made a fool of myself if I’d tried! Now Gaelin has rallied the northlands against me. I would hardly say that you fulfilled your part of our pact.”
“Nor did you fulfill your part of the bargain, by allowing Gaelin to escape when we had him in our clutches!”
Tuorel’s eyes narrowed. “It would seem neither of us wishes to deal with the other any longer. Bannier, your presence here is no longer required.” He dropped one hand, signaling.
Instantly, two crossbows thrummed, while the Iron Guards nearest Bannier turned and raised their swords to cut him down. The Khinasi standing beside Tuorel raised her hands and started chanting. Bannier merely smiled.
The bolts struck Bannier clean in the chest but passed completely through his body without resistance, leaving the wizard untouched. The Iron Guards who struck at him were not so lucky. Their blades tore great rents in Bannier’s clothing but passed through his flesh as if he were insubstantial. Even as the swords slashed through his body, a double flash of virulent green energy blinded the Ghoerans standing nearby, and the guards screamed as their swords were blasted from their hands, the energy leaping up their sword-arms and shattering their very bones with a stink of burning flesh. Both men were thrown backward into the guards behind them, spinning like nerveless dolls.
Ignoring these distractions, Bannier concentrated on the mage. Speaking one quick word, his body shimmered and disappeared even as a bright blue flash of lightning snapped forward from her fingertips. It snaked through the doorway to strike some unfortunate guards standing just outside. Bannier appeared again an arm’s reach from the sorceress, and he lunged forward, invoking one of the most damaging spells he knew. Even as she tried to twist away, a seething sphere of burning acid struck her right shoulder, instantly eating into her body. Bannier stepped back and let her go; shrieking in pain, she stumbled out of the tent. Her cries diminished within a matter of seconds.
Bannier turned to confront Tuorel, but found a gleaming sword point at his throat. The baron was standing before him, his weapon at the ready. “Most impressive, Bannier. You are truly a master of your art. But this sword is Calruile, one of the heirlooms of my family, and enchanted to boot. I suspect its bite might sting more than the swords of my guards.”
Bannier held still, and raised his hands in a placating fashion.
“In this, you are correct, my lord baron. However, before you do something rash, I must in turn inform you that the spell that felled your guards is still in effect. If you touch me with that blade, you will be slain as well.”
Tuorel smiled. “An impasse, then.”
“Indeed. Baron, I am willing to overlook this incident, and our previous difficulties, in order to see Gaelin Mhoried destroyed.”
“What kind of deal do you want this time?”
“None at all. It suits my purposes to bring Gaelin down, and I realize that it is a matter of some importance to you as well.”
Tuorel drew his sword back a handsbreadth. “Why on earth should I trust you?”
Bannier snapped, “You’ve tried to kill me, Tuorel, and you wrecked my home as well. However, I will offer you a token of my good faith. Tomorrow afternoon, you will meet Gaelin’s army in Marnevale, where he will try to make you pay for your passage into the highlands.”
Tuorel nodded. “My scouts have reported this, Bannier.”
“In order to secure your cooperation, I offer to destroy the Mhorien army for you. You will not lose a single man.”
Tuorel lowered his sword. “It will take me three days to fight through the pass, with heavy losses. Can you really do this?”
“I can. As a gesture of my good faith. All I ask is that you continue to press the attack – an action that you are even now undertaking.”
Tuorel shook his head. “I don’t see how this would profit you at all, Bannier. Are you so vindictive that you want to see Gaelin dead just for the sake of spite?”
Bannier lowered his hands and smoothed his robes. “You might say that,” he replied. “But, consider this: When Gaelin dies, Ilwyn becomes the last of Mhoried’s blood, which means that the bloodline can be extinguished – or usurped – by killing one girl who is already in my power. I would have preferred to take them both alive, but I am beginning to doubt we will get the opportunity.”
“Ah. Now I see.” Tuorel grinned, appreciating the wiza rd’s ruthlessness. “I thought you would be subtler than that, Bannier. ”
Bannier smiled in return; the lie he’d just told the baron was the right thing to say. Tuorel needed some motive for Bannier’ s actions, but now that he thought he was dealing with simple lust for power and gain, he would treat Bannier accordingly.
“Gaelin’s death helps both of us, my lord baron,” he continued.
“And I see that you are in need of a mage again.”
Tuorel glanced out the opening of the tent. The half-eaten shape of a nightmare huddled on the ground before the tent.
“All right, Bannier, we have a deal. If you destroy Mhoried’s army tomorrow, as you say, then I will agree to cooperate with you in finishing Gaelin Mhoried once and for all. If you fail to deliver on your promise…” Tuorel left the threat unspoken.
“I understand, my lord baron,” Bannier replied. “Now, with your permission, there is much I must do to prepare my spell. May I withdraw?”
Tuorel watched him a moment longer. “Of course. I shall be interested to see what you have in mind.”
*****
Gaelin finally enjoyed a restful sleep. He woke starving, and ate a huge breakfast of sausages, eggs, and biscuits in his own chamber. He knew he had been neglecting his duties lately – brooding sullenly for hours was no excuse for not paying attention to the important matters he was confronted with each day. He resolved to do better in the time he had left.
He had just finished dressing when Seriene appeared at his door. “Gaelin? May I come in?”
“Of course,” he said, settling his doublet over his chest.
&nb
sp; He glanced over his shoulder at her. The princess wore a narrow- waisted dress of red brocade and soft wool. She gave him a warm smile and slipped past the door, closing it behind her. He turned to face her.
“How do I look?” he asked.
“When you win this war, we’ll have to find you a southern tailor,” she laughed. “I suppose it’s fine for Mhoried.”
Gaelin glanced down at his clothes, and said, “I prefer to think of them as practical and unassuming.” She advanced and circled him, pretending to admire his choice of tunic. “I doubt that you came here to critique my wardrobe,” he added. “What’s on your mind?”
Seriene moved closer, twining her arms around his torso and delicately brushing her lips against his neck. “Well, you are, Gaelin. You’ve been avoiding me for more than a week now. I didn’t expect you to take up celibacy after our tryst.”
He winced and tried to disengage himself from her embrace.
Despite his feelings for Erin, Seriene’s presence was intoxicating.
His heart was racing as he found his arms starting to return her embrace, and with a deep breath he carefully stepped away. “Seriene, they’re expecting me in the hall any moment now.”
She gave him an unmistakable look. “No one would notice if you were a little late, Gaelin.”
“Seriene, I… I shouldn’t do this. You saw through me the other night, even before I’d seen through myself. You’re beautiful, but I’m not certain you are the only one in my heart.”
The Falcon and The Wolf Page 23
