Wandering Lark (The Demon-Bound Duology)

by Laura J Underwood

  “I think so...” Alaric said.

  “If not, you can always ask me,” Vagner said with a chuckle.

  Fion slipped out of the chair. “Good. Oh, one more thing. I would give these into your keeping as well. The Temple of the Triad should not have them, and you will need them.”

  With that, the Dvergar opened meaty hands to reveal one held the silvered glass Talena had carried. The other contained the crystal dagger that Alaric had tried to use on the White One...

  “The glass will allow you to speak to me whenever you wish,” Fion said. “As for the dagger...please give it to the Twice-Blooded Once-Born when the time is right.”

  “What of Talena?”

  “She is going to stay with us a while,” Fion said. “She is going to learn our ways, now that she remembers how to use that which is in her. One day, she may even go back and teach others in Garrowye what they have forgotten. Now, you had best be on your way, Demon-Bound. I think the trial is starting about now. And if that fool Turlough tries to give you any trouble, just send for me.”

  With that, Fion’s presence brightened into a beacon of light so brilliant, Alaric was forced to shade his eyes. Then all at once, the light winked out, and when he lowered his hands, Fion and Sedar were gone.

  Alaric quickly finished dressing.

  SIXTY-EIGHT

  Are there really this many mageborn in Keltora? Etienne wondered. Or had Turlough summoned every mageborn from the length and breadth of Ard-Taebh to come here? She sat beside Fenlon on the dais where they had all been brought to make certain they could be seen. The council chamber was packed shoulder to shoulder with mageborn. It was a wonder that they could keep the center of the room clear enough for Turlough.

  “They have defied the laws as laid down by this council,” the High Mage said as he walked the circle and eyed those who were in their chairs. “They assisted one who was bound to a demon to escape justice. They have purposely tried to thwart all attempts on my part to find this demon-lover and bring him to trial. For that, this council can only have but one verdict, and that is to sunder their power.”

  Etienne frowned. So far, he had said nothing about execution.

  “And once they are sundered,” Turlough said. “It is only fitting that their leader be executed for heinous crimes against this Council...”

  A murmur rose throughout the room. Etienne wanted to scream in protest. How could they even consider killing Fenelon.

  “We all know that Fenelon Greenfyn has long been a nuisance to those who have tried to coexist in Dun Gealach. That he has endangered many of us with his wild spell casting. But now, he adds the crime of thwarting justice and letting a demon-lover go free. Who know what evil that young bard and his terrible beast will exact upon innocent citizens of our fair lands...”

  “Banish him from Dun Gealach,” someone said.

  Turlough turned towards the sound. Etienne saw Bran Alden standing head and shoulders over the crowd.

  “Banish him?” Turlough said. “You know perfectly well that banishment would just give Fenelon Greenfyn the opportunity to seek other means to restore his power. It has been done, they say.”

  “So what are you suggesting?” another asked.

  “Fenelon Greenfyn must never be allowed to trouble us again,” Turlough said. “He must be executed.”

  The noise that filled the chamber was a mix of outrage and encouragement. It was hard to say who shouted louder.

  “Council, what say you?” Turlough said.

  “May we not discuss this further?” one of the seated members asked.

  “No,” Turlough said. “We have talked all morning and most of the day about this matter. As High Mage, I am ordering you to make your decision now.”

  Turlough turned for the dais stairs.

  “Lorymer,” he shouted as he mounted them. “Call for the vote...”

  Lorymer did not exactly look pleased. He took a deep breath as Turlough ascended the dais, and started to open his mouth...

  ...When the doors of the chamber opened suddenly. A gale wind dashed into the room and slapped at Turlough’s robes. Shouting, the High Mage stumbled and barely managed to catch himself on the edge of his throne. He turned towards the audience with a look of outrage.

  “Who did that?” he shouted. “Who dares to invoke magic here in the council chamber and strike at me...?”

  “I dare!” a familiar voice shouted from the direction of the doors.

  Etienne knew that voice. As she watched, the path to the now open door cleared away. Her breath caught in her throat.

  Alaric Braidwine had just walked into the middle of the chamber as though he felt no reason to fear reprisal.

  “Turlough Greenfyn,” Alaric said in a manner that was so unlike him, Etienne wondered if it really was him at all, “You are about to make the biggest mistake of your life if you think I am going to just stand aside and allow you to execute Fenelon Greenfyn.”

  Turlough merely stood gaping before he shouted, “It’s he! It’s Alaric Braidwine! Take him!”

  Alaric had been glad for the demon essence in him. He felt bold and strong as he crossed the floor to stand before the dais. Now as Turlough gave orders for his capture, he glared at the High Mage. Several mageborn guards surged forward, but Alaric put up his hands and whispered a spell to harden the air around him. Fed with demon essence, it was strong enough that when the battle mages hit it, they fell back in awe.

  “Are you sure that was the right thing to do?” Vagner asked.

  It’s the only thing I could think of on short notice, Alaric thought back.

  “I come in peace!” Alaric said. “But I came back on behalf of my friends, to defend them from this accusation. You say that I am bound to a demon. I say that you have no proof.”

  “You brought a demon into Dun Gealach the day you arrived!” Turlough said.

  “I did not know it was there,” Alaric retorted.

  “And then you bound yourself to a demon rather than accept your fate and die.”

  “And had I accepted death, where do you think the world would be now?” Alaric asked. “The Dark Mother would have been reborn, and the world would have died in shadows.”

  “Dark Mother? That is a myth!” Turlough said. “You wear a demon’s mark on your hand. I’ve seen it!”

  Smiling, Alaric held up both his hands. Turlough hesitated then snarled. “Scry him! All of you! Scry him! He must have hidden the mark...”

  He felt the flicker of mage sense as though a thousand fingers touched his skin. Carefully, he reached into his jerkin and touched the silver glass near his heart. If ever I had need of your counsel, Fionasidhe, he thought. The glass grew warm and the odor of spices filled his nose.

  “There is no demon in him,” Bran Alden said.

  Several others said the same.

  “What sort of treachery is this?” Turlough shouted.

  But his protest went unanswered. A babble of voices rose to a pitch.

  Turlough marched to the edge of the dais and shouted, “I will have order!”

  Alaric held his place, though he sensed Vagner wanting to flee. He met Turlough’s angry glare with one of his own.

  “And I say that if you want to assure the survival of this world, you will listen to me,” Alaric said in a loud, commanding voice.

  The rabble died as though a great wind had ceased to blow.

  “What you have to say does not matter here, demon-lover!” Turlough said.

  “Perhaps then, you will be more inclined to listen to me?”

  Alaric felt a delicious shiver. He turned and scanned the crowd to his back. Turlough frowned.

  “Who speaks now?” Turlough asked. “Come forward...”

  The crowd parted enough to reveal a short figure dressed in white. A Dvergar to the eyes of those who filled the chamber, accompanied by a tall, white-haired woman of great beauty. But Alaric could see through the guise. The woman was Sedar in yet another feminine form, and the Dvergar. Alar
ic smiled for the dragon inside the miniature form and bowed.

  “I am Lord Fion,” the Dvergar said. With a wave of one meaty hand, he filled the air with a shower of crystal flowers that fell with a tinkle of glass, even though none of them shattered or even hit the floor. In fact, like snowflakes on warm ground, they would fade, leaving a lingering scent of spices. “I have come to stand as witness for the one you are so eager to call demon lover.”

  “Stand witness?” Turlough said.

  “Is it not permitted?” Fion asked with an arch of his bushy brows.

  “Yes, it is permitted, in accordance with council laws,” Lorymer said.

  Turlough cast a sharp glare at his assistant. Lorymer fell silent.

  “Now, as my young friend said, Lord Magister, you are about to make a grave error in judgment. And such an error could bring folly to the Balance of All Things...”

  “And by what right do you dare to come here and chide me?” Turlough demanded.

  “By right of First Born,” Fion said. The Dvergar’s eyes had a merry crinkle around the edges. For a moment, Alaric sensed that a contest of wills was taking place. Turlough trembled, and all the while Fion calmly smiled. At last the High Mage withdrew and staggered a step before he drew himself upright and glowered at the Dvergar.

  “Oh, very well. What is your proof?”

  “How many among you are sensitive to demons?” Fion asked. “Let all who possess this skill come forth...”

  Several mageborn arose from their chairs. A few stepped out of the crowd. Turlough came off the dais... They formed a circle around Alaric. He took a deep breath and whispered a spell to let down his wall of protection so they could all come closer to him.

  “Now, find the demon...if you can,” Fion said in a mocking manner.

  As Alaric stood there, several mageborn touched him. Turlough pushed through their numbers and seized Alaric’s hand, pushed a hand through his hair, put a hand to his chest. The High Mage finally stopped and stepped back, disbelief marking his gaze.

  “There is no demon here,” he said. “But...I saw the mark on him. I felt the beast with him...I...”

  “That is because the demon is no more,” Fion said. He clapped his hands. Sedar stepped aside, and a litter carried by several men came through the crowd. Alaric raised an eyebrow, for every one of them was Elderkin. Yet not one of the mageborn acted as though they knew such ancient demons were in their midst. They were busy looking at the litter as it was placed on the floor.

  Fion clapped his hands again, and one of the Elderkin reached down and jerked back the canvas covering the litter. Gasps filled the chamber. A body laid out on the litter that was clearly not human. It was tall, and somewhat chiropteran in shape.

  “Here is the demon, Lord Magister,” Fion said. “Dead. Sundered. Gone.”

  Alaric felt Vagner flinch just a little. He kept quiet otherwise.

  “A trophy, if you wish,” Fion said. “You see, your young friend came to me because he wanted to be rid of the demon...and so I killed the beast and set him free of its mark...”

  “How?” Turlough insisted. “How could you do it without harming him...”

  “I am First Born, and have knowledge that goes back to the beginning of time,” Fion said. “But you should know that, Turlough. You and I...we have met before, or do you not remember?”

  Turlough said nothing, though Alaric was certain he saw the High Mage’s hand twitch.

  “Now, if you will excuse me,” Fion said, “I really must leave. Do you wish to keep the demon’s corpse?”

  Turlough leaned over then drew back with a sneer. “It stinks,” he said. “Take it out of here and burn it!”

  “Have a care,” Vagner said in Alaric’s head as the guards rushed forward to obey. The Elderkin all headed for the door. Fion waited until they were gone, then turned to Alaric and winked before he and Sedar followed the others. The doors closed behind them.

  “Well?” Alaric said, looking at Turlough. “You have your demon.”

  “So it would seem,” Turlough said. “But there is still the matter of Fenelon’s...”

  He froze when he realized that every pair of eyes in the room had settled on him in disbelief.

  “Oh...very well. Council, how say you?”

  “Free them,” came the voices of many.

  Alaric was pleased to note than no one said anything otherwise.

  “Then it is the Will of this Council that you all be free,” Turlough snarled. He looked at Alaric and frowned.

  “And I will be watching you, Master Braidwine.”

  “I don’t doubt that for a moment,” Alaric said.

  He walked past Turlough to head for the dais and set his friends free.

  Wendon took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Once his gag and bonds were removed, he had stood back on the dais and watched the wild abandon with which everyone else hugged and rapidly blethered their words of gratitude to Alaric. Even Thera was in the midst of the fray, looking happy and relieved. She had kissed Wendon quickly before going to Etienne, then Shona, and then Fenelon and Alaric.

  And suddenly, Wendon felt very out of place, like he had no right to be a part of the joyous reunion.

  Like he had never even been there.

  With a tumultuous sigh, he drifted away, wanting only to be anywhere but here. He wandered the halls of Dun Gealach where others passed him and ignored him. At length he found his way into one of the small gardens that filled spaces between the maze formed by the union of the keeps and walls.

  Finding an empty bench, he had seated himself there and taken to pondering the dirt edged around the flagstones so carefully laid to form a path.

  He felt just as worn and walked on as those stones at the moment.

  “They didn’t even notice me leaving,” he muttered to himself. Like the stones, he was nothing more than a path to keep feet from getting soiled.

  He took another deep breath, wondering if he should go back to his quarters or stay here for a while longer, when the tread of many feet on the flagstones caught his attention. Frowning, he glanced up to see just who dared to intrude on his private sorrow.

  “Wendon, if you keep wearing that look, your face will freeze that way and then everyone will mistake you for a warthog...ow! Easy love!”

  Wendon opened his mouth then shut it. A few feet away, Fenelon stood rubbing his shoulder, meeting Etienne’s fierce gaze. Behind them, Wendon could see the others; Thera, Alaric, Shona and Magister Gareth.

  “So what are you doing out here?” Fenelon went on, casting a sidelong glance and clearly mindful of Etienne’s proximity. “We’ve been looking all over Dun Gealach for you.”

  “For me?” Wendon tried to stop frowning. “Why would you be looking for me?”

  Thera slipped timidly past the lead pair and sat down beside Wendon. She reached out and took his hand, drawing it to her heart. “We’re all going back to Eldon Keep to get away from this rabble and let the madness die down,” she said.

  “Exactly,” Fenelon said. “We want to celebrate our freedom and Alaric’s safe return—and hear all about where Alaric has been. And we can’t exactly celebrate without one of our heroes.”

  Wendon almost asked, “What hero?” but instead he stammered, “Me?”

  “Of course, you,” Thera said and smiled. “You are a hero now, you know. Everyone was marveling at how you bravely stood against the Lord Magister to assist Fenelon.”

  “They are?” Wendon looked from one face to the other, still uncertain.

  “Besides,” Fenelon said when Etienne pushed him a bit and arched her eyebrows in warning. “You and I need to have a bit of a chat.”

  “About what?” Wendon asked suspiciously.

  “Why about the spells you’ve mastered, my friend,” Fenelon said. “I can’t very well stand before the Council at the next gathering and tell them why you should be honored with the title of Magister Stanewold if I don’t know what other spells you’ve mastered.”

>   “M...Magister Stanewold?” Wendon blinked, unable to believe his ears.

  “Which reminds me,” Fenelon went on. “Impressive how you found the same power chinks in that wall and drew them so swiftly.”

  “Really?” Wendon stared at Fenelon, seeking any sign that all this was a jest. But though Fenelon’s eyes crinkled in amusement, Wendon saw it as good humor and not mockery.

  “Of course,” Fenelon said. “I love the idea of you tearing down a magic-resistant wall in one fell swoop—especially since it took that old fart Turlough and his cronies nearly a year to build it.”

  Fenelon winked. Wendon turned and looked at Thera again.

  “Will you come to my ceremony?” he asked.

  “Of course,” she said. “Why would I not be there?” She leaned closer. “And afterwards, we can have a celebration of our own.”

  Wendon’s face flushed, but he managed a smile.

  “Ah, they’re such a cute couple...ow!” Fenelon’s yelp echoed. “Love, I think we need to talk about those talons of yours.”

  “Really” Etienne said as she locked an arm around his and started to drag him away. “I think we need to talk about your manners.”

  “Oh, I like it when you get strict, love,” Fenelon said. “Come on, everyone. My lady love grows inpatient to...ouch!”

  Her response was inaudible.

  “I so love any woman who can make my son jump,” Magister Gareth said. “Come on, you two. Let’s get this celebration over with so I can return to the Ranges. It’s so much more peaceful there.”

  He put an arm around Alaric and Shona and guided them after the quarreling pair. Thera rose from the bench and tugged Wendon to his feel, smiling sweetly as she urged him to take the same path.

  Magister Stanewold. Wendon puffed his chest with newfound pride. That had such a nice ring to it.

  “Master Braidwine?”

  Alaric stopped when he heard his name echo across the outer courtyard of Dun Gealach. The others paused as well, and Alaric turned to see who had called for him.

  Lorymer was bolting across the yard, waving something in the air. Alaric made out a packet of palimpsest folded and beribboned.