The Faerion

by Jim Greenfield

  "Blackthorne!" said Wynne, guessing where they were at last. "No wonder my spells did not work."

  "Quite so, Lady Wynne. And I am delighted that you have brought the Faerion to me."

  "She doesn't have it!" shouted Culver.

  "Oh, yes she does, Culver of Paglo." He glanced at Wynne but her face showed nothing. "Do you know I've even purchased some of your poetry? I enjoy it immensely. I sit here in the garden in the evening, reading it aloud. I don't know why Tuors don't honor you more."

  Culver blushed. He muttered his answer and Blackthorne had to strain to hear it.

  "Elise is all the honor I need."

  Elise kissed him.

  "This is an honor for me," said Blackthorne, turning to Elise. "A weaver has come to my home. So, we have a poet, a weaver, a sorceress and a warrior. Be welcome Tomen, son of Tangol. My home is yours during your stay."

  "And how long will that be?" asked Tomen. "We are your prisoners."

  "That is a question only Wynne can answer. I need some information and the sole source is the Faerion. I do not wish the book for myself, only to read a selection of it. Then you may return it to the Daerlan and King Oalaria. I sure he would be tickled to get it back. Navir could never get it for him. But Navir found many distractions on his journeys. Come, I have a meal prepared for you."

  They followed mutely and found a banquet laid out before them. They sat down but no one touched the food except Culver who had eaten several mouthfuls before he noticed the others watching him.

  "What's wrong?"

  "We don't know," said Tomen. "We were waiting to see what happens to you."

  "Me? Why?" He swallowed as it dawned on him. "Poison?"

  "We don't know yet." Tomen smiled.

  "Quit teasing him," said Wynne. "If it was poison something would have happened by now."

  "That's not reassuring," said Culver.

  "You should have stopped him," said Elise. "What if it had been poisoned?"

  "He ate so fast, there wasn't time to stop him," said Tomen. "Does he really eat like that all the time?"

  "Like what?" asked Culver. "I have seen you wolf down food and belch afterward without blinking."

  "I do not need to be lectured by a poet."

  "Enough," said Wynne. "We should eat to keep our strength up. I don't intend to spend much time here."

  "I will keep my eyes open for a chance to escape," said Tomen. "I have useful skills." He looked at Culver for a moment then back to Wynne. "Blackthorne probably won't spend much time watching me. I'm afraid he's more interested in you."

  "Unfortunately, you are right."

  The rest of them tasted their food and began to eat. The food was delicious and they ate their fill. Blackthorne left them alone until they had finished and then led them to their sleeping quarters. He refused to answer any questions, imploring them to rest from their journey first. In the morning everything would be clearer. He locked them in their rooms.

  The next morning breakfast was laid out but Blackthorne was not there. Unseen servants saw to their needs while their host was away. They only saw Blackthorne for a few minutes and he ignored their questions. Wynne and Tomen discovered that they were indeed prisoners. Magic kept them pinned behind the gate and the wall unscalable, turning slick when Tomen touched it. Blackthorne would not let them escape. Two days might have passed before they saw him again. Wynne worried about the loss of time sense. They had no idea how long they were there. They spent their time sitting in the garden and speaking of happier times.

  Culver and Elise sat in a corner of the garden surrounded by flowering vines. The aroma of the flowers relaxed them. They held hands speaking of nothing. They passed half the morning in silence.

  "I must ask you," said Culver. "Are you glad you came?"

  "I am always glad to be with you."

  "That's not what I meant."

  "I know. I feel we are in real danger here, but how can we escape? We are powerless against Blackthorne. I don't know what Wynne is capable of doing."

  "I imagine we will find out soon enough."

  "Culver, you must promise me something."

  "Anything."

  "If I die, bury me where there are flowers. A place you will want to return to over the years." She felt a black shadow fly over her as she spoke although the bright sun warmed her.

  "Elise! How can you talk so? We will escape. I promise you." Elise laid her head on his shoulder pulling him to her. He held her tightly.

  One morning, Blackthorne found Wynne alone in the garden.

  "Good morning, Wynne. Enjoying your stay?"

  "When can we leave?"

  "Perhaps when I see what I want to see."

  "I refuse to allow you to touch it."

  Blackthorne sat back and watched birds fly overhead.

  "What do you know of your parents?"

  "Nothing. I was orphaned."

  "Nothing? Did you know your mother was a Wierlun? Her name was Aeli."

  "A Wierlun? How do you know about my mother? I never heard of such a thing."

  "She turned into a hawk at will. What shape do you take?"

  "None. I am not a Wierlun. What makes you say something like that?"

  "Ah, but I can see you have the power. Have you not tried it?"

  "I cannot change shape."

  "Wynne. I am a sorcerer. I can sense these things. Besides, I know your story from someone who knew it firsthand."

  "Who?"

  "Perhaps later. You did know of your abilities?"

  "No, I knew nothing about it. I can change shape?"

  "If memory serves me, the Wierluns usually took the form of birds. Owls or hawks, I think. Birds of prey. An interesting shape for protectors of the land. Very aggressive. Are you aggressive?"

  Her mind dwelt on her ignoble escape from Treteste. She clenched her fists remembering the soldiers. She might have flown away.

  "Strange that your father would not tell you."

  "I do not know my father."

  Blackthorne sat silently, rubbing his nose. Her ignorance surprised him. Why did he bring up the subject? He gained nothing from it, or did he?

  "Then you do not know who killed her? On orders from his father, King Oalaria, Aelan shot your mother out of the sky with an arrow."

  "Daerlans! Why?" The Tuors joined them. Sensing her distress, they moved between Blackthorne and Wynne.

  "Ask your friend, Navir. Is he not a son of Oalaria and Aelan's brother?"

  Wynne looked at the faces around her, seeking the help none could give.

  "Aeli. You said her name was Aeli?"

  "Yes. I would like to listen in when you return the Faerion to Oalaria. That is if you decide to give it to your mother's murderer. I wonder if his opinion will change after meeting you. I doubt he knew of your existence. Should be interesting."

  "You crow!" shouted Elise. "You just want to enjoy her suffering! How could you?" Blackthorne patted her hand.

  "Don't condemn me, my dear Elise. I am what I am. Look to Wynne and help her in her need."

  Blackthorne left them alone. Tomen reached for a stone to throw at the sorcerer but he couldn't pick it up. He looked up to see Blackthorne waving a finger at him.

  One morning a strange man dressed in a red cape appeared at the gate. Blackthorne merely watched as the gate opened and the man glided into the garden.

  "Lord Blackthorne." The man's orange face, ruddy as soil perched upon a long neck. His hands displayed a lighter shade of the same color.

  "Paulenis. What brings you here?" Blackthorne moved his hands in spell preparation, but Paulenis had no hostile intent. His eyes darted around the enclosure, marking everyone present. Blackthorne waited for his answer.

  "I have come from Lady Galamog. She sends greetings. She wants you to know that the throne beside her is still empty."

  "As it shall ever be," said Blackthorne.

  "Ah, yes. Also she sends warnings. Berimar has been sent out on her bidding. War is coming north.
Prepare yourself."

  "Berimar? Berimar has left Mordyn? I thought he found it to his liking."

  "He did and he does, Lord Blackthorne," said Paulenis. "But Lady Galamog wishes him to travel and present her wishes to you, personally. I am but a messenger, unequipped for the demands of diplomacy."

  "I see. Do not worry. I shall find wine enough to soothe you after such a close call with diplomacy. It is too coarse a calling for someone with your refinement."

  "Thank you, Lord Blackthorne. Your kindness overwhelms me."

  "Laile will show you to your room."

  Blackthorne watched the orange man slink down the hallway.

  "Who is Berimar?" asked Culver.

  "A sorcerer, powerful and deadly. He is the iron fist of Natale Galamog, who is a creature so vile, so evil that she should not be allowed to dwell in Anavar. However, she controls Mordyn and its fierce warriors."

  "It sounded like she wishes you beside her," said Wynne.

  "That is so, that is so," murmured Blackthorne, lost in thought.

  Blackthorne left them alone for the remainder of the day. They sat in the garden, attempting to enjoy the hospitality. It proved to be a comfortable house and the garden's beauty was unsurpassed. The reality of their situation kept them on edge.

  "Will we ever leave?" asked Elise.

  "If I give him a look at the Faerion," said Wynne.

  "Will he honor that?" asked Elise.

  "I think he will," said Wynne. "He has told me what he wants to see and I cannot detect a reason not to show him, yet something holds me back." A strange look came over her face; pain, surprise, joy. She held out her hand. It changed. The skin puckered, exposing feathers, small yet growing longer. Their redness increased with their size. Then her hand turned normal. She tried the other hand, then her face, and her eyes changing to gold. She jumped into the air with a shout. Her body shimmered and there was a golden red hawk. Her wings flapped and she was airborne. She soared high toward the sun and glided over the garden. Blackthorne joined them.

  "She's done it then. She is truly her mother's child."

  "Who is her father?" asked Elise.

  "Since he is living, I shall not presume to answer for him. She must seek her own answers from him." They watched her fly high above them but even as a hawk Blackthorne's magic kept her over the compound.

  "Very pretty," said Blackthorne.

  Wynne came to Blackthorne that evening and they spent the hours until dawn reading from the Faerion. A very confident Wynne greeted the Tuors the next morning.

  "We will be leaving tomorrow. Blackthorne expects Berimar to arrive this afternoon and thinks we should greet him if for no other reason than to know Berimar and avoid him at all costs."

  "Sounds dangerous just to meet him," said Tomen. "Even if it is safe here, Berimar will know us for future encounters. We will no longer escape his notice."

  "This is all over my head," said Culver. "I don't want to get mixed up with sorcerers."

  "You wanted to come along," said Elise. "You are doing fine. Relax. Wynne and Blackthorne will protect us."

  "Actually, there will be quite a lot of danger for you," said Blackthorne, appearing out of a shadow. "Paulenis is still here and he wields some magic. Berimar is a jewel. His power is great and he is a shadow of Lady Natale Galamog, the Dark Queen."

  "Why should we risk meeting Berimar?" asked Wynne.

  "To sow seeds of doubt. My power is strongest here and no one can pierce the shadows I drape over this portion of the land, not even Galamog. Berimar will not be able to know your worth and he will wonder about you. He might even worry about you. And if we allow him a glimpse of the Faerion, he will go sleepless thinking about you."

  Culver found himself sleepless, lying next to Elise's warm back, her own breathing rising and falling gently. Culver found no comfort in it. He rolled away, rising to his feet. He walked down the hallway that never seemed to end. He marveled at the house, small on the outside and nearly a palace inside. There were many rooms. He passed Tomen's and Wynne's and then the southerner Paulenis' room. Culver did not know where Blackthorne slept. The floor was cool stone polished to smooth ebony that did not show scratches. Culver tried to mark the floor one day, but Blackthorne discreetly cleared his throat; stopping the little Tuor from more mischief.

  The outer doors were open and at home Culver favored an evening walk through the flowers and gardens of Paglo. Since Wynne allowed Blackthorne to see the Faerion they were no longer locked in at night. He felt that Blackthorne's beautiful garden would be just the thing for his insomnia. The cool air felt wonderful and he felt himself gliding around the garden, happy and nearly singing. He walked around for several minutes, and then found a wrought iron bench to sit on. His thoughts drifted away.

  Suddenly, he felt chilled. The air had turned cold. He looked around, sensing a presence, but he could see no one. He thought he heard something near the gate and cautiously made the way there. He knew he heard voices, sinister whispers in some unknown language. He strained his eyes to see into the darkness, but there was no movement. He was patient.

  All Culver saw at first was the huge black shadow with the blood red eyes.

  "Are you the door servant? A gnome of some kind, I suppose," rasped the voice. "Tell Blackthorne I have come."

  Culver's ears reddened at being mistaken for a gnome, even if it was a shadow talking to him. He looked closer, but saw no features.

  "Who shall I say is calling?"

  "Ah, a polite gnome. Tell your master that Berimar is here, and my patience is thin. If you can remember all that, gnome. I am waiting!!" A storm crackled overhead, lighting flashes displaying the tall black figure reaching out a gnarled orange hand. Culver shook where he stood, unsure of what to do. His legs would not obey him.

  Chapter 8

  The daylight failed as Apal's troupe reached the ancient walls of Nantitet. The majestic walls of white stone surrounded the royal city, a formidable defense and serene security for the people of Nantitet. No army had ever conquered the city during the thousand years the wall guarded it. The guard turrets rose like jagged teeth over the white walls resembling polished seashells in the sun. Another wall rose high inside the city surrounding the inner castle known to the people of Nantitet as the 'palace.' Apal made them halt behind gorse trees out of sight of the guards lining the walls. Estes knew the guard rotation but saw a dozen more guards than expected. Guards stood at each corner of the wall while patrols reached each checkpoint every quarter hour. They watched the movement of the stern faced guards. They heard no voices. The usual banter of the watch was silent.

  "What's going on?" asked Estes, jittery with the idea of sneaking into his own city under Treteste's nose. He did not recognize the mood of the guards.

  "Martial law," said Apal. "There are still supporters of Yeates in strong numbers in Nantitet. Treteste is merely preparing for violence. There wouldn't be anything of a large scale - an assassin or two, but he is taking no chances. The dissidents are not well organized yet. They can be, and I plan to see it done. I want to reach the Boars head Tavern. I have some friends there."

  "That's a filthy place, full of cutthroats and.."

  "Yes it is. Remember Rapert; the wrong words from you will cost us our lives. And I will kill you before I allow you to endanger Melana or me. Is that understood?"

  "When I am king, you will have a lot to answer for." His face flushed and he spoke between his teeth.

  Apal grimaced, striking Estes alongside the head. Estes stumbled.

  "You are a fool, Rapert. Navir was right. I can imagine his joy at being free of your company. I wonder now if he merely fled your presence, not the trolls. I had hoped you would be the leader Calendia needs. I thought perhaps Navir just didn't care for our race, he had reasons not to, but now it is clear it was you alone that disgusted him."

  "How can you talk to me that way?"

  "You just don't get it, do you? You will have to earn your throne. You will have to
prove yourself to my friends and me. The throne is not something that is owed to you. You must be worthy of the throne. Your father wasn't worthy, Treteste is not worthy and right now, you are not worthy." He looked into Estes' eyes. Estes turned away.

  Apal walked back to the others.

  "Come, we shall enter the city now."

  They walked to the gate and the guards admitted them without question, their vocation obvious to the guards. The approach to the gate stretched long and straight, giving the guards ample time to observe all who came to the gate. Apal's troupe was well known in Calendia, but seldom heard. It proved to be an interesting benefit of fame. Still, one guard watched them until they rounded a corner two blocks away.

  Nantitet looked different to Estes. The smells stronger, pungent and the world had a texture he hadn't noticed before. He wasn't sure that he liked it, but it was new to him and he felt keen on learning about it. He realized that he did not know as much as he should of the people he intended to rule. Apal's attitude surprised him, and he hoped it was not a common one although he knew that was a futile wish. He stepped in a puddle of water to get out of the way of a carriage and the water soaked his feet. He saw Apal watching him.

  "Make way for the nobility. We are honored by their presence." Apal spoke in a mocking tone. Estes set his jaw and continued on.

  Far more people filled the streets than Estes imagined. He seldom had the opportunity to walk the streets without an armed escort. He pulled back from the people walking past and tried not to make eye contact. Each person on the street with business to conduct, scraping for the coin to buy meals and provide a roof. They seemed lively, happy in their activity if not their lot in life.

  Estes stopped at a baker's stand. The aroma was too compelling to pass by. A notion came into his head and he spoke to the baker.