by Brian Fuller
Dason turned his gaze toward her with effort. “Chalaine, you know . . . you know I would have you even if you, well, even if you. . .”
“Come closer, Dason. Look at my face. Closer!”
Dason reluctantly complied. Maewen knew what would come next and rose as the Chalaine breathed on her Protector’s face. Dason collapsed in a heap over the rock, landing with an uncomfortable thud. The Chalaine immediately stood and cast aside her cloak and veil. Maewen sneaked forward as the Queen turned toward the canyon. She wore the same dress she had worn to greet Mikkik at Echo Hold. While not close to its original splendor, the Chalaine had obviously cleaned and repaired it recently. The white fabric caught the moonlight, as did her eyes, but her skin was twisted and burned. Her hair, once a brilliant blonde, fell dull, tangled, and thin around her shoulders.
Maewen approached slowly, and as she feared, the Chalaine walked purposefully to the precipice of the deep divide. The young woman turned her face to the sky, a tear reflecting the moonlight as it ran down the black whorls and warps of the skin on her face. The Chalaine cried silently for some time before steeling herself. Maewen waited just behind the rock where Dason lay unconscious, arguing within herself about what she should do and whether or not it would work to deflect the Chalaine from her purpose. But as the Chalaine turned her gaze from the heavens to the canyon floor below, Maewen thought of Gen and spoke.
“I can give you a reason to live.”
The Chalaine startled and fell backward before turning to peer into the darkness. “Who is there?” the Chalaine asked. “Just let me be!”
Maewen emerged from behind the rock and into moonlight, face sympathetic but stern. “You must come with me now, Chalaine. I have something to show you.”
“Just go, Maewen,” the Chalaine cried. “Let me be done with it. My time is over.”
Maewen walked forward casually, trying not to alarm the fallen Queen. “Listen to me, Chalaine. After seeing what I have to show you, if you still want to take your life, then I will let you. Such a practice is common among the elves, although they do it to pass on from one joy to another rather than to escape the world out of despair. But I insist that you come with me. It is not far.”
“What could you show me that could possibly make any difference? Will you do what my mother did and tell me to gaze upon the brave soldiers wounded to protect me because they believe in me? I doubt there is one man in this camp who would throw his life away for me now. If that is all you have, Maewen, then be gone.”
Maewen stooped down and forced the Chalaine to look her in the eye. “I will show you a soldier, but one who has already thrown his life away for you. Come with me.”
Maewen extended her hand, and after a moment the Chalaine, face questioning, grasped it and stood. The Chalaine’s hand felt scarred and rough, and when the half-elf took it, ash-colored skin flaked off and fell to the ground. Maewen sorrowed at this evidence of the Chalaine’s plight, wondering what it meant. She walked on the side of the trail closest to the cliff, forcing the Chalaine away from it, and held to her hand under the pretense of helping her along even though the ample moonlight along the naked edge of the cliff outlined the trail clearly, even to human vision.
“I must ask you to try to be quiet when we approach and not to speak. He is weary from the battle today, and we need to let him rest. There are other . . . complications . . . as well. This may be hard for you, but if it will help you seek life, then I am willing.”
Maewen guided her off the main path, stepping softly among the old trees, careful to lead the Chalaine over the cushion of pine needles and avoid the twigs and branches that would announce their approach. The camp lay in a small hollow just over a low protrusion of white granite, well hidden from the trail and prying eyes. As they crested, Maewen stopped the Chalaine and pointed downward. Gen lay to their left, reclined against the lee side of the rock. The moonlight exposed the profile of his face, the shallow arrow cut running across his cheek. Maewen turned and watched the Chalaine’s countenance. It was apathetic with a tinge of disappointment.
“This is the woodsman you travel with. Amos,” the Chalaine whispered flatly, turning to go. “What does he have to do with me?”
“Look more closely, Chalaine,” Maewen prompted, pulling her back around. “He has a beard and longer hair, but you know this man. Step closer if you can do it quietly. He is quite spent and should not wake if you are careful.”
The Chalaine squinted and took two tentative steps forward. At that moment, a wind approached, rushing down the mountain from the east. As it blew through the clearing, Gen stirred and turned his face toward them in sleep. The bending trees let in a momentary shaft of moonlight that ran along the blade he embraced across his breast, handle by his head.
And that was enough. Maewen watched as the Chalaine’s eyes widened and her hand slowly rose to her mouth. Maewen took her arm and led her away quickly, half carrying her as she stumbled about in a daze, shaking. Once back to the trail, Maewen helped her to sit, watching as tears ran down her face. Her emotion was difficult to read, her eyes alternating between surprise and fear. It took some time before the young woman could speak.
“It’s impossible! I watched him die. I felt his cold skin and laid his sword in his lifeless arms! It cannot be him. How can you know this isn’t some trick of the enemy?”
Maewen removed her own cloak and lifted her leather shirt, showing Chalaine the spiral scar across the top of her chest, a scar the Chalaine had seen burned into every one of her Protectors.
“I had Ethris do it when we were forced to leave him behind in Elde Luri Mora. I felt his death. I felt his return to life. And I rejoiced when he joined our besieged camp. It is he. He has been with the army for days. Our escaping the beetles was his work. All the little miracles the men are talking about today were his doing. The strategy I presented to the council for our most recent battle came from him. And when the precipice collapsed this afternoon, it was no act of God or nature, it was Gen’s. It completely exhausted him to do it.”
“But he must hate me!” the Chalaine exclaimed. “How can he bear to look at me? What must he think of the nothing I am? Of his dying for a failed wretch?”
“What?” Maewen had not expected this. “How can you ask such a question? Why do think he came to this camp? For me? For your mother? For the armies of men? He came to watch over you! He blames you for nothing at Echo Hold. He feels you yet have a role to play, but I doubt he even cares for that. I know little of what the race of men thinks is love, but I have seen what I think it is. Gen has done and is determined to do anything in his power to see you safe. He is a god among men who has forsaken his own glory for the right to serve you.”
“But. . .”
“But what?” Maewen interrupted, irritation rising. “I have never seen a man give as much for any woman as he has given for you. And with what reward? Does he have your tender embrace? Your sweet words? Does he get power, fame, or regard? Will it be his hand instead of Dason’s that you take? No! He walks ignored and unknown, and he cares for nothing but to restore your happiness. How can you doubt his regard for you? What further proof do you need of his love, and what further proof could he possibly give?”
“There is a way I can know,” the Chalaine said, now calm. “Lead me to him again.”
“I cannot. He instructed me never to tell anyone who he was, especially you. I cannot chance his waking. I have already gone against his wishes.”
“Why would he not want me to know?” the Chalaine asked, sounding hurt.
“He feared discovery, which you know would be disastrous to him and what is left of this army. If Mikkik knew he lived, he would pull every creature and man at his command between Rhugoth and the ruins of Lal’Manar and send them south to hunt him, forcing Gen to flee from you to keep you safe. He also felt that you knowing would prevent you from fully seeking happiness in other matters.”
“Marrying Dason.”
“Yes. He knows you lov
e Dason and doesn’t want to complicate your relationship with him.” The Chalaine turned away to hide her emotion, and Maewen waited until she composed herself, wondering what she was feeling.
“I have been truly cursed for that lie,” the Chalaine finally said, and before Maewen could ask what she meant, the Chalaine continued. “You must take me to him. I swear I will not wake him. But I must know something, something I cannot afford to doubt.”
Maewen considered the risk for several long moments before nodding her assent and leading the Chalaine back to where Gen slept.
“I must touch him, but only lightly,” the Chalaine reassured. “It will only take a moment. If he is as exhausted as you say, he won’t wake.” Maewen feared ruin. Gen would never trust her again if he woke and discovered the Chalaine there.
The Chalaine approached him carefully. Maewen examined Gen’s face, on guard for any sign he might wake, but from the rise and fall of his chest, she knew he still slept deeply. The Chalaine crouched at his side and stretched forth a trembling, scarred hand to touch his exposed arm lightly. Immediately, the wound on Gen’s face healed, but Maewen saw something else—the skin on the Chalaine’s hand turning pale and smooth.
Maewen again pulled her away and led her back toward the trail. The Chalaine wept for joy, hand over her heart as if it had just beat for the first time. Gradually, the skin on her face healed, her back and shoulders straightened, her eyes brightened, and her hair regained its color and thickness. Maewen was stunned at the Chalaine’s restored majesty and beauty, and for a moment the Queen shone so brightly that she cast a perceptible light around her. Sinking to her knees, the Chalaine looked heavenward with gratitude, face humble and happy. The light around her gradually faded, though Maewen could still sense a brilliancy around her even after the transfiguration ended.
“Thank you, Maewen,” the Chalaine said, standing to embrace her. Maewen returned it awkwardly, though with satisfaction at seeing life in the Chalaine’s eyes. “I will not betray you. I will act as if I never knew him. But you must introduce him to me. I cannot live and ignore him.”
“I do not think that would be wise,” Maewen counseled. “He is perceptive.”
“Do not worry,” the Chalaine reassured her. “I have a good reason to wear the veil now, and I’ve had to act like I didn’t love him before. You cannot deny me this, so do not try. Be assured, however, that I will not tell him what you have done. I owe you a great debt.”
“Let us away from here,” Maewen ordered, ignoring the Chalaine’s request. “He can still sense you, and if he wakes he will know you are near, and I will have no lie to tell that will satisfy.”
“Yes,” the Chalaine agreed. “Let’s go. We shouldn’t leave Dason draped over a rock all night.”
The next day, word gradually spread of the Chalaine’s transformation, and for those who longed for a sign that the fortunes of their poor party had truly changed, the Chalaine was its revelation. Ethris and Lord Kildan stood amazed and pleased, all smiles, when they saw her the next morning. Just as strongly as darkness had exuded from her before, light and joy did so now.
“What happened, dear child?” Ethris asked, embracing her.
“Eldaloth revealed hope to me again. I know now that all is not lost, that another opportunity awaits me, awaits us all, to make things right.”
And though they pressed her to be more forthcoming, she simply told them that she could not explain it. Everywhere she went that day, a beaming Dason behind her, bows and pleas for healing and blessing replaced the guarded whispering of the days before. With delight she shared her returned talent with the war-weary and wounded men, leaving in her wake soldiers with gratitude on their faces and hearts that would push forward when feet threatened to fail.
Lord Kildan let them take their rest and start late. Maewen took the lead at the head of the column, marking a path for them to follow.
“What happened last night?” a happy but puzzled Gen asked after seeing the Chalaine for himself.
“She and Dason left camp,” Maewen said. “I followed them out onto the ridge. She cast the spell to make him sleep. I can only surmise that what she did was plead with God. She was alone for an hour, and then she changed. I can hardly describe it, but it was wonderful. I was a bit nervous, however, as she was not seventy-five yards from where you slept.”
Gen smiled. “It was good to see her like her old self, like she was before her miserable wedding,” he said. “Pity I could not have watched last night instead of you. I wish I could question her about it.”
“Everyone who can has asked her. She merely says that God gave her hope again, though most suspect a great deal is missing from her explanation. Whatever happened to her, the morale of the soldiers is the highest it has been since before Echo Hold. We need to use that to our advantage to cover some miles. I still reckon it will be three days before we get off the canyon ridge.”
“I agree. Push hard. If we can make it to Rhugoth, we can see what we have left with which to mount a defense. The Chalaine and Dason can wed to unite Tolnor and Rhugoth, though it won’t do much good if we can’t convince everyone that the being they think is Eldaloth is Mikkik. ”
“I doubt the Chalaine is in much humor to marry. She just lost her first husband, and her mother rides in the company of Athan on her way to Echo Hold and some unknown fate.”
Gen raised his eyebrows in surprise. “An odd observation from you, though I think you are wrong. The Chalaine certainly needs no time to mourn Chertanne, and I would think wedding Dason would serve as comfort for her losses.”
“In that case,” Maewen said, “leave her in his care and turn your abilities toward greater things. I again tell you that it is you who needs to lead this people! No one has greater power, and because of Khairn’s Training Stones, no one has more wisdom. Why do you continue this vigil of the Chalaine? Others can do it.”
“Because,” Gen replied with some heat, “Mikkik still wants her! Mirelle’s little ruse will not last for long. Athan’s Eldephaere may not know the difference, but others of his agents will. If Mikkik wants the Chalaine, then she is in danger, the kind that mere swordfighters cannot protect her from. The restoration of her beauty points to a part she may yet play.”
“See reason, Gen. . .”
“No more, Maewen. My mind is fixed. Lead them out. I am going back to my vigil, whether you think it necessary or not!”
For the next three days, they marched hard. The miles meant nothing to the Chalaine, who spent every moment scheming ways she could chance an encounter with Gen. But he was too clever in his avoidance, and Maewen was unwilling to offer any assistance in the matter, fearing discovery. The Chalaine knew the brand on Gen’s chest let him know of her approach, so not even stealth could avail her. Every time she walked in his direction, no matter how she tried to appear as if she were headed somewhere else, he would turn and walk off at an odd angle.
But now that she knew who he was, she saw him everywhere. She wondered at how she hadn’t noticed, even in her despair, his continual, watchful presence. He was skilled at masking his intentions and his movements, but she saw only his face in the crowd now, and it required discipline not to search for it at every opportunity.
Every day she longed to speak with him, remembering the comfort their conversations gave her as she traveled in the wagon and as they hiked alone toward Elde Luri Mora. She just needed a chance at his ear and some contrivance to give her an excuse to talk with him more frequently, something she hadn’t quite worked out yet. She kept hoping that Maewen would invite him to the morning councils she took with Lord Kildan, General Harband, and Ethris, but the half-elf appeared firm in her resolve to be unhelpful. By the end of the third day, the Chalaine felt very cross and was quite short with everyone, including Dason, who had been jubilant and painfully affectionate since her transformation.
On the morning of the fourth day, however, Maewen unwittingly provided just the opportunity the Chalaine had waited for. The comp
any had descended steadily for two days, and Maewen announced the evening before that they should find the plain the next day and from there the Black River that would lead them to Rhugoth. As was her custom, the half-elf left before first light to scout ahead. At daybreak the Chalaine, Ethris, and Lord Kildan met as they always did, but for the first time since they started their journey, Maewen was late. Out of the corner of her eye, the Chalaine noticed Gen sitting casually against an oak tree eating bread not thirty feet from her. Maewen’s tardiness provided the opening she needed.
Turning to Lord Kildan, she announced, “I will speak with the man she travels with—Amos, was it?—and see if he knows anything about her whereabouts.”
With Gerand in tow, she strode quickly toward Gen. As she started walking in his direction, he pulled the brim of his hat down to hide his face. As it became apparent that she approached him specifically, he rose to go as naturally as he could.
The Chalaine’s heart pounded as she approached. “Excuse me, Amos?” she called to him, subduing the excitement in her voice and trying to sound as if she were addressing a stranger. He turned to go. “Sir! Amos!” she called more loudly. He stopped, and she almost laughed at his obvious discomfort as he slowly turned to face her. When he did, he kept his face and eyes down, executing a bow and leaning on a quarterstaff.
“Yes, Holiness?” he asked. The Chalaine completely underestimated the effect that hearing his voice again would have on her. It was deep, calm, and wonderfully familiar. Wherever that voice spoke was her peace, her home. “Milady?” he said as she paused, and the fear that he thought she recognized him gave her the ability to tame her emotions and continue.
“I am sorry,” she said, “but I didn’t understand what you had said, as you were talking at the ground. You are Amos, the one who travels with Maewen, correct?”
