Aydrian, too busy concocting an answer to fully appreciate the weight of her statement, stammered over the first words of his planned response, his eyes then going wide as he regarded Lady Dasslerond, as he evaluated her posture and her catlike grin, and he knew beyond doubt that she was not joking. He recognized only then that he was pushing the stern lady of Caer’alfar a bit too far this time.
As he had been since Brynn Dharielle’s departure.
Dasslerond’s face suddenly darkened, as if a cloud passed over her, and her eyes turned icy in intensity, her smile becoming an open scowl. “Get in the hole, impetuous young fool, else you will be turned out of my land, with no way to return,” she said coldly. “And think not that I am bluffing, for I have grown weary of you.”
Aydrian stared at her blankly, stunned by her sudden hardness and by the finality of her tone and her command.
“If you persist, and are lucky, you will be allowed to view the sunset beyond the valley,” the lady went on, the devastating control and obvious anger that simmered beneath her cool façade making the young man’s legs go weak.
“I know not how to do this,” Aydrian complained. “I have said as much many times.”
“That is why you keep trying to do it,” said Lady Dasslerond. “If we practice only at those skills in which we excel, then we are doomed to mediocrity. The fact that you so admit your weakness only strengthens my resolve that you will go into the hole, will go to Oracle, this day and every day.”
“Nor do I enjoy it,” the stubborn young man added.
“Whenever did you come to believe that you were supposed to enjoy any of this?” the elf calmly asked. “You are here with a purpose beyond your pleasure. Never forget that.”
Aydrian started to respond, but Dasslerond stopped him with an upraised hand.
“I have given you two choices,” she said, “clearly stated and with no room to bargain. Choose your path. There is nothing more to be said.”
He started to speak again, but before he could even begin, Lady Dasslerond simply turned and walked away.
“I am without the strings of a puppet!” Aydrian yelled after her, fighting back tears then and an overwhelming sense of desperation and loneliness that he didn’t begin to understand. The departure of Brynn Dharielle, the only other human in Andur’Blough Inninness and by far the closest thing to a friend Aydrian Wyndon had ever known, had wounded him profoundly, had left him more alone than he had ever been with little hope of that void being filled.
But as much as he wanted to scream at Dasslerond and defy her, Aydrian was more afraid of what might lie beyond the sheltered valley of Andur’Blough Inninness. This was his home, the only one he had ever known. The stories he had been told of the wider world had not been pleasant ones; they had been nightmarish tales of war and strife and a devastating plague.
He took a few deep, sharp breaths, muttered a couple of curses quietly, and squeezed down the hole, coming into a small earthen cave. A root formed a seat on one side, a single candle burned on the floor before it, and a mirror was placed across the way. Aydrian paused and took in the scent of the candle, for it was full of fragrance, of lilac and myriad other scents of the woodland valley. Immediately his nerves began to cool, his muscles relax, and he suspected, though hardly cared, that there was a bit of elven trickery about the candle, a bit of aroma magic, to calm the wild Aydrian.
With a shrug, the young man sat down on the exposed root and faced the mirror. He stared at it for a long while, then blew out the candle.
At first he saw nothing, but as his eyes adjusted to the dimness, the shape of the rectangular mirror came into view. He tried to look past it, perhaps to sort out the patterns of roots on the opposite wall, perhaps to count them—anything to pass the long hour or so Dasslerond would surely keep him here. He had attempted Oracle several unsuccessful times already. Though it was a gift the Touel’alfar often reserved for older ranger trainees, Lady Dasslerond had insisted that Aydrian keep trying. He was ready, according to her; but to Aydrian’s thinking, she was pushing him too far and too hard—and to do something that he cared nothing at all about.
So, as he had done the previous times, the young man looked beyond the mirror and started to take up a count of the crisscrossing roots.
Started, but hardly finished, for—so subtly that he hardly noticed the shift—Aydrian’s eyes were soon staring back at that mirror. Not at the outline this time, but at the interior, the reflective surface, which seemed no more than a black pool in the darkness.
Something moved within that darkness. Aydrian noticed it, though he realized that he could not have seen anything, for it was too dim in the cave.
Still, something lurked there, he knew. Something quiet and dark.
Aydrian’s focus tightened, eyes narrowing, as he forgot all about defying Lady Dasslerond. He didn’t understand any of what was happening here, though he sensed that something was.
Now all of the reflective surface seemed less dark, seemed cloudy, and at the left-hand side, Aydrian clearly noted the silhouette of a cloaked figure, though it was just a silhouette.
Aydrian, it said in his mind.
The young man nearly toppled, but he somehow managed to hold his seat and his concentration.
The silhouette telepathically imparted a single thought: father.
“Nightbird,” Aydrian whispered, hardly even able to draw breath, and he sensed then that the figure was displeased with him, which frightened him.
He got a sensation in his head, pushing him along a line of thinking that showed him the folly of his continuing to defy Lady Dasslerond. That notion built and went on and on, revealing to him a life of misery, a life without skill. Aydrian, as stubborn as ever, tried to deny it; but the images coming to him now—real images, though dim and shadowy—within the surface of the mirror could not be misinterpreted. Several times, Aydrian tried to protest; several times he started a sentence only to have the words and the foolish notion die away in the damp and stale and smoky air of the small earthen cave.
For there it was, being played out undeniably before him, the life he was now choosing with his every grumble and every argument.
Hours passed, though Aydrian was unaware of time, when finally the voice in his head told him: Trust Lady Dasslerond, for she will bring to you great power.
Only then did Aydrian realize that other images were dancing around inside the cloudy reflections of the mirror. He saw great cities, so unlike anything he had ever seen in the quiet and subtle tree houses of Caer’alfar. He saw open-air markets and a huge building—one of the abbeys, he realized, though he knew not how he knew that. Throngs of people—human beings, like him!—moved about in the images, some seeming to walk to the very edge of the glassy barrier to stare at him.
The young man was drawn to those images, was leaning forward, though he didn’t realize it. He felt a pang of emptiness more profound than anything he had ever known before, and that lonely feeling was only enhanced by the spirit figure subtly telling him of the potential he might one day realize.
Lady Dasslerond will take you on the path to great power, Aydrian heard clearly in his mind. He started to suspect then that this might be a trick of the Touel’alfar to win his obedience to the lady. But then the spirit surprised him, continuing, And then I will show you how best to use that power.
Aydrian sat bolt upright at the surprising promise, and the shock broke his concentration, the images in the mirror fast fading to nothingness. He could no longer see the spirit silhouette, could no longer see the clouds in the mirror, could no longer, he then realized, even see the edges of the mirror, for the cave had grown pitch-black.
Some time after, Aydrian crawled out of the earthen cave to find that he was alone in the forest. He didn’t even look to see if any of the elves might be hiding in the boughs of the leafy trees all around him, for he sensed they were not there—and, in truth, he didn’t care if they were. He found a clear spot not far from the Oracle cave where he
could see a significant portion of the starry nighttime sky.
Then he sat down and stared up, let his spirit climb high into the starlit canopy as he pondered the telepathic communication—what did it mean? A chance, perhaps?
Somehow he felt as if there might indeed be a path to immortality.
“You should not be surprised,” To’el said to Lady Dasslerond when they were back in Caer’alfar, long before Aydrian had emerged from the hole. She spoke tentatively, fully aware that Dasslerond was not used to being talked to in such a manner. “He has grown more obstinate and unruly since Brynn Dharielle left us. I expected that he would refuse you again and force you to put him out.”
“Yet he stayed in the cave at Oracle,” Lady Dasslerond reminded. To’el shrugged as if that was of little consequence against the overwhelming wave of negativity that Aydrian had become. “Perhaps you view our young ranger in the wrong light,” Dasslerond explained. “You are reacting to him according to the standards that we place upon our other students.”
“Is he not to become a ranger?” To’el asked, her voice halting, for Lady Dasslerond’s expression, one of cold calculation, was impressive indeed.
“Only to the extent that he is being trained by the Touel’alfar,” said Dasslerond. “Not in the respect that a ranger then returns to his people to serve them as silent protector.”
“He is to remain here?” asked To’el, not thrilled with the idea. “For how long?”
“Until he is ready,” said Dasslerond. “Aydrian was not brought into Caer’alfar out of any debt we felt to his father, nor because the world was in need of another ranger. He was brought for one reason alone; and while you see his stubbornness as a detriment to the training, I view his independent arrogance as a necessary quality.”
To’el started to ask what that one reason was, though she realized that it had to involve the stain, the rot, that the demon dactyl had inflicted upon Andur’Blough Inninness. Dasslerond’s expression told her not to walk down that avenue, so she changed the subject somewhat. “Yet you were ready to put him out of Caer’alfar,” she said. “When he defied you at the tree, you were ready to put him out of Andur’Blough Inninness altogether, perhaps even to have him killed. I recognized the sincerity in your threat, Lady.”
“We walk a narrow plank with that one,” Lady Dasslerond admitted. “I see his incredible strength growing daily. It is an inner willpower that he will need, and yet I understand that if we cannot control that power and bend it to our needs, then he becomes worse than a waste of our time. He becomes a danger.”
“He is just a human,” To’el started to say.
Dasslerond narrowed her golden eyes. “He has the fighting prowess of his father, at least,” she said. “And he is strong in the gemstones, as was his mother, perhaps beyond her and beyond our understanding. But more important, he has strength of mind too great to be controlled or diverted. He knows of us, and yet, unlike all of the others, he will not see the world our way; and I doubt he will ever come to view the Touel’alfar as his true family.”
“Yet we continue to share with him our secrets,” said To’el.
“I hope Oracle will give him peace of mind,” Dasslerond explained. “If the ghost of his father finds him and guides him, then perhaps our young Aydrian will become more agreeable.”
To’el was more than satisfied with that explanation, for, in truth, it was more than she ever would have expected. She nodded and bowed gracefully, then left the lady to her thoughts—thoughts obviously centered on young Aydrian.
Indeed, Lady Dasslerond was recalling her last encounter with the young human, was measuring his obstinance against the fact that her scouts were reporting that he was still down in the earthen cave, was still either engaged in Oracle or was at least trying. Lady Dasslerond was not overfond of the young ranger—she didn’t particularly care for any humans, and found Aydrian even less likable than any of the others she had dealt with. But that was because young Aydrian was less malleable, Dasslerond knew, and she would have to use his independence and pride against him. For, indeed, Aydrian was there, had been there from the very beginning, for the singular purpose of eradicating the stain of the demon dactyl.
Lady Dasslerond still did not understand exactly what such a task might require—would Aydrian have to travel to the dark underworld to do battle with Bestesbulzibar?—but she did suspect that this ranger’s sacrifice would have to be no less than that of his father.
Lady Dasslerond had no illusions that young Aydrian would give his life for her or for Caer’alfar. No, she’d have to continue to walk the narrow plank, as she’d put it to To’el. She’d have to balance control over the young man with allowing him to grow stronger in many areas.
And she’d have to bury her own anger, and repeatedly, as her tolerance for the unruly human continued to wane.
Chapter 8
Scheming for the Good of the World
SHE LOOKED AT THE BOUQUETS, HUNDREDS AND HUNDREDS OF ROSES AND CARNATIONS, with a mixture of awe, gratification, respect, and regret. Never had Jilseponie seen so many flowers all together in one place! Never had she experienced such a sweet aroma as this—truly overwhelming. Though for King Danube to do something this dramatic was not too difficult a feat—a snap of his fingers and a call to his many servants—never since her days with Elbryan had anyone gone so out of his way in an effort to please her.
And so she was flattered, and so the mere volume of flowers inspired awe; but there was, too, some sense of regret in her. This had been her best summer with Danube by far. Their conversations had been light and friendly, full of honest discussion of the state of the kingdom and what each of them might do to improve the lot of the common folk. The King was witty and charming, full of mirth and smiles, and while Jilseponie appreciated that type of companionship, she understood herself to be the source of those smiles.
Thus, the discomfort. And now this, to awaken to find her room, and half the upstairs of Chasewind Manor, full of bouquets. It was the most overt act of love Danube had shown her since his arrival, one that asked her in a less-than-subtle manner to elevate their friendship to a higher and more emotional level, a level that Jilseponie was not sure she could yet handle.
A level that the widow of Nightbird believed she would never desire again.
Danube was waiting for her when she went downstairs, sitting in the common room and shifting a bit nervously, Jilseponie saw. He had taken a chance, obviously so, at great risk to his pride.
She didn’t know how she should respond. The realization surprised her somewhat, but the last thing she wanted to do was hurt King Danube. He had been so patient with her through all these years of living in the shadow of Nightbird, and, except for the flowers, had been careful not to apply too much pressure to Jilseponie. So what was she to do now?
She walked right up to stand before him, and as he rose she moved even closer and kissed him on the cheek—drawing more than a few wide-eyed stares, even gasps, from the King’s bodyguard, who were standing about the perimeter of the room.
Danube, so obviously caught off his guard, stammered and fought hard to maintain some semblance of composure.
“They are truly beautiful,” Jilseponie said sincerely. “It is not often that a man of your power and station would go to such trouble, and at such personal risk.”
The last part of her statement rocked Danube back on his heels, and he looked at her curiously. “Personal risk?” he echoed, and he shook his head and chuckled. “Ever do you speak bluntly, Baroness. Perhaps that is the quality I most admire in you.”
Jilseponie, too, smiled widely. “I have seen too much,” she explained, “to be bothered by the foibles of the human condition. Take my words as a great compliment and as a sincere thank-you.”
“For I have managed to brighten your morning?” Danube asked, and her widening smile was all the answer he needed.
“It is a glorious morning, with a cool breeze blowing across the golden warmth of the sun,”
the King went on. “Will you ride with me?”
It was an invitation Jilseponie wouldn’t think of refusing, and soon after, she and King Danube were galloping across the fields behind Chasewind Manor, feeling the wind in their hair and the sun on their faces. To Danube’s credit, he did not press the questions he had obviously opened with the bouquets, and Jilseponie appreciated the space and the time that she might properly think through that somewhat surprising advance.
They rode for most of the morning, shared a wonderful lunch on the back balcony of the mansion, then King Danube asked if Jilseponie would join him on a sail out of the harbor and into the Gulf of Corona, a short trip to watch the amusing dolphins Duke Bretherford had informed him had come in earlier in the week.
In truth, Jilseponie found that she would have liked nothing more than to join Danube on that exciting adventure, for she had heard some of his soldiers talking of the great dolphins, gracefully leaping twenty feet out of the water.
“I fear I must refuse this day,” she had to say, “for I have agreed to a previous and important engagement and have little time to spare.”
It seemed to her as if Danube wanted to ask her about that engagement, perhaps even that a bit of jealousy came into his gray eyes. But to his credit, he did not press the issue. “Enough time for another ride, then?” he asked instead. “A short run through the back fields?”
Smiling, Jilseponie nodded. Soon enough, the pair were out again, trotting easily along the beautiful grounds behind Chasewind Manor, the scents of the summertime fields thick about them, the chatter of the many birds adding natural song to the dance of the horses.
“The sailing will be fine this day,” King Danube remarked offhandedly. “Are you certain you cannot join me?”
Jilseponie wanted to accept that invitation—she truly did!—and her expression conveyed that clearly to King Danube. “I cannot,” she explained, “for I have promised to spend the afternoon with Abbot Braumin, who is making preparations for the dedication of the Chapel of Avelyn.”
DemonWars Saga Volume 2: Mortalis - Ascendance - Transcendence - Immortalis (The DemonWars Saga) Page 75
