THE CHOOSING

by PhyllisAnn Welsh

  How could this woman make him feel so foolish over not knowing a simple name? And why should he care, a part of him demanded again. Caring was but one of those human emotions he had determined to purge from himself before he could truly be the prince his people needed.

  “That’s no excuse,” she assured him. “If you are to be a leader to your people, you should know their names! Especially if you expect them to fetch and carry for you, and in other ways be forced to live like pack animals.”

  He tossed the plate aside, causing a sudden burning pull to his shoulder.

  “You know nothing about it, Teela.” By all that was holy, he hurt. “Do not presume to tell me what my duty is to my people.”

  She stood and moved to retrieve the discarded plate. “Stop moving around like that or you’ll have those stitches bleeding. And you agreed to call me by my name, not that disgusting one.”

  “I agreed to call you that only if you won the wager.”

  She put her foot on the rock where she had been sitting, leaned on her knee and grinned a menacing leer at him. Her hair threatened to slide forward to curtain her face from his sight, but she caught it in time.

  “I won the wager, elf-man. You lost.”

  The angle at which he was lying gave him an interesting view of her creamy thigh. Apparently, she did not realize that her tattered gown combined with the glowing firelight provided a display that was not conducive to his breathing. L’Garn suddenly felt as if there was no air at all in his lungs.

  “That is open to debate,” he managed to get out, around his parched tongue and non-functioning lungs.

  “Hardly.” He almost whimpered when she removed her foot from the rock and towered over him, hands on her hips. “You’re flat on your back, and I’m the one standing with the sword.”

  He let his eyes wander up the length of her body, lingering for a moment on her breasts, then continuing up to meet her intense gaze.

  “Point taken...Feenix.”

  The smile of victory she gave him was worth his admission of defeat. What he would not give to have her turn that smile on him in a friendlier situation.

  He expected her to crow over his loss, but instead she left his side and poked at the glowing embers for a moment. His eyes drooped and he realized he would not be able to stay awake much longer.

  “Tell me, before I fall asleep again, where is this secret place? How long have I been gone, and what do you plan to do with me, if you have no plans to kill me?”

  He could hear his voice grow softer with each word, but he fought the languor that was threatening to transport him back to sleep.

  “I think you need to rest for now, L’Garn.” She returned to his side and handed him a warm cup. “I’ll answer your questions in the morning. For now, drink this and just get some sleep. We’ll talk later.”

  He wanted to order her to answer him, but fatigue was fast reducing his will power to nothing. He gulped a few mouthfuls of the warm beverage, then drifted off into a dark, warm place of lassitude; he smiled softly, realizing she had called him by his name.

  ~*~

  Feenix watched his long black eyelashes brush his pale cheeks, as L’Garn surrendered to his exhaustion. The best thing for him right now—besides a strong Healing Spell—was sleep and the Kestrel would see to that. He needed to regain his strength if his body was going to continue to successfully fight off the impending fever. She wished she had a blanket to cover him, but obviously Eagnad didn’t feel his secret place needed such luxuries as blankets or bandages.

  She made sure the fire was nothing more than a pile of glowing embers, enough to ward off the night chill but not enough to signal their position—she hoped. The massive canopy of leaves and branches should keep the glow from prying eyes. If they had any luck.

  “Probably be captured again as soon as I fall asleep,” she complained to herself as she drained a cup of the Kestrel tea. “Mac Lir, keep your blasted Night Elf scum away from me long enough to catch a nap. That’s all I ask.”

  She had little hope of the god answering her prayer, but it was the best she could do.

  Feenix moved her sleeping branches over by L’Garn and the fire. It was the area of the ravine that seemed to be the most protected by boulders and trees. It was also the most easily defendable.

  Lying down with L’Garn’s dagger under her head and a naked sword at her side, she settled in for some rest. Even if she dozed off, she was confident that her warrior training would allow her to awaken instantly if anyone—or any thing—approached the camp.

  She ran through her mind all the possibilities for escape once she was sure L’Garn would survive. Perhaps Eagnad could show her a way through the mountains. There had to be a pass or some secret route.

  Her cheeks popped as she gave in to the urge of a huge yawn.

  Of course, it was out of the question to stay with him. What would he want with her besides a slave? And she would never degrade herself by being his concubine. There was no point of even thinking about it.

  Determined to put the half-elf prince out of her mind, she turned on her side and let sleep overtake her. The image of L’Garn, hurt and vulnerable, gave way as she remembered the hungry look in his eyes and the feel of his lips. She snuggled into sleep with a tiny smile.

  “Feenix, wake up and pay attention!”

  She pulled the dagger from beneath her and sat up, listening intently and scanning the ravine for an intruder. While she didn’t have the spectacular night vision of the silvan, her eyesight was good for a human.

  The fire had burned down to just a few glowing embers. L’Garn slept peacefully on his pallet. The stars shone their cold eyes down from the heavens, and the double moons of Tylana rode the sky. The only sounds were night bugs singing in the early summer darkness, and a distant howl of a hunting animal. Danger did not threaten their little camp.

  But something had jolted Feenix awake.

  “Rendolin? Is that you?” Her whispered words silenced the nearby bugs. “Why in Mac Lir’s blue ocean do you always have to talk to me when I’m trying to sleep?”

  “Aye, ‘tis me. I have not been able to contact you for some time due to a slight injury.”

  Even from this distance, Feenix could detect weariness and pain emanating from the Sea Elf. Was that part of Rendolin’s spell: that they could feel each other’s pain and emotion as well as hear thoughts? By the god’s beard, she hoped not.

  “I was beginning to wonder if you were going to leave me here to rot, elf! I have some information for you.”

  “Hold your report for a bit, captain. I have information for you, and it is vital that I convey it to you before this link is severed.”

  “Well, if that isn’t just like you, elf! Tell me to reconnoiter and then when I have the knowledge you ask for, tell me you don’t want it!”

  “Woman, will you please shut your mouth and let me speak?”

  A shaft of annoyance sliced through her brain, but she recognized that Rendolin must be very weak, since the link felt tenuous and faint.

  “Very well. What is your news?”

  “Mac Lir has spoken to me about a great many things. He has commanded me to negotiate a peace with the Night Elves.”

  “What?” Rendolin had to be insane.

  “Captain, do not yell. Merely listen without speaking until I have finished my message to you.”

  She stood and paced the small area between the ravine walls. “Fine. Get on with it.”

  “The Night Elves are being manipulated by Tuawtha, the demon god. He has been influencing them for years, although they are not aware of it. Mac Lir has commanded me that we must warn them of the danger and form an allegiance, together with the Wood Elves, to overthrow Tuawtha here on Tylana. If we can not do this, the silvan races will be destroyed, just as they have been on Korrene’s world.”

  Great. Leave it to Mac Lir to decide they could do the impossible.

  “So, what do you want me to do about it? I’m still stuck somewher
e inside Cragimore, although I think I might have found a way out.”

  “You are to use your influence on the prince to arrange for a meeting with me.”

  “What influence?” She almost laughed out loud. “He’d sooner run a sword through me than agree to meet you to talk. Besides,” she added, “he’s not doing very well. We had a bit of a...disagreement...and he’s lost a lot of blood.”

  “It appears you have been your usual charming self, captain. How badly hurt is he?”

  “He’s bad, Rendolin.” She was surprised at how worried she was over L’Garn. Hadn’t she wanted to kill him? There was no time for maudlin thoughts, and she pushed her remorse aside. “His right shoulder has been sliced to the bone. I think his tendons have been damaged. I doubt if he will ever have full use of his arm again.”

  “When did this happen? Has the fever set in?”

  “I wounded him a little over a day ago. Neither one of us has had a fever, although L’Garn was a little warm earlier this evening when I checked. I’m surprised over that, since I was sure he would be raging out of his head by now, but it might have something to do with a pool of mineral water we’ve been drinking from.”

  “So, you did not come away from the disagreement totally unscathed? Good for this prince.”

  She heard him give a mental chuckle, but before she could comment, he continued, “How badly hurt are you?”

  “Thanks for your concern, priest, but I’m fine. It was only a slice from a dagger, and after a soak in the pool, it seems to be healing nicely. Just a little sore.”

  There was a small space of silence, as Feenix pictured Rendolin pondering the situation. She was sure someone was there monitoring him during this mind link. Probably his mate, Korrene, she thought.

  “Feenix, in order for Mac Lir’s plan to work, your prince needs to be Healed.”

  “He’s not my prince, elf, and unless you have some way of conjuring up a Healing Spell, it isn’t going to happen. This prince is in a bad way. I can’t move him. And even if I could, I don’t know where in Cragimore to go to find a priest. And even if I found a priest, I’d be dead on sight because I’m the one who used their prince for sword practice! They frown on slaves doing that around here.”

  She could feel his frustration with her, but for some reason couldn’t seem to shut her mouth up.

  “Rendolin, you have to help me here. I didn’t want to run my sword through him, but he made me so mad, I couldn’t seem to stop myself! He didn’t believe me when I told him who I was. He thought I was some useless female who was lying to him. If he hadn’t charged into me, I would have only nicked him.”

  “Feenix,” Rendolin spoke into her mind. “Peace. The damage is done. Now let us see if we can repair it. Mac Lir will help.”

  “What do you mean, Mac Lir will help? All he’s done so far is get me into more and more trouble! That god is useless!”

  “I would suggest you not speak of our god in that tone, woman. If you expect him to heal your prince, softer words will go much further. I will need you to help me, Feenix.”

  “Help you?” She didn’t tamper with magic if she could help it. “What do you mean, help you? What do you want me to do?”

  “You must be the conduit for the magic. I will cast a Healing Spell through you to L’Garn.”

  “Wait a minute, elf,” she blustered. “I don’t want to have anything to do with any magic spells. You can just Heal him by yourself. I don’t have any magic abilities, and well you know it!”

  “Peace, captain. You do not need to have magic. All you need to do is place your hands where I tell you and allow the magic to flow from me through you, into the prince. I am not there, and so can not Heal him directly, nor do I have access to his mind as I do with you. I need you to be my eyes and hands.”

  Mac Lir’s toenails! She didn’t want magic flowing through her and causing all sorts of strange things to happen in her life. It was bad enough she had to shape change into a dolphin once a month. There was no telling what might happen if she allowed this High Priest to use his magic on her.

  “There has to be another way, Rendolin. If I let you use me to cast this spell, how do I know I’ll be normal when it’s all over? I don’t like fooling around with magic. Nothing good ever comes of it.”

  “There is nothing to fear, Feenix. You will be the riverbed and the magic will be the water. You will simply be the course through which I will direct the magic. A bridge, if you will, between the source of the spell and the recipient. It will not touch you, merely pass through you.”

  “I don’t like it, elf. You can never predict what will happen with magic.” She would be damned if she’d allow the priest to use her for his experiments.

  “If you do not allow this, captain, Prince L’Garn could very well die. If he manages to survive, by your own words, he will not have the use of his arm. Worse, Mac Lir’s plan will not succeed and the silvan races will be destroyed forever from Tylana. I need you to help me, Feenix. Without you, the prince will die.”

  Feenix walked to L’Garn’s side. She peered down at his sleeping form and watched his chest rise and fall with his breathing. She remembered the kisses they had shared, and realized that, as angry as he made her, she did not want anything to happen to this half-elf. In fact, as she looked deep inside herself, she realized that she would be missing a part of herself if he died.

  When had L’Garn become such an important part of her life? When had his well-being become paramount to her?

  She knelt beside his pallet and lightly touched his lips. When had the taste of him become as important to her as the rising sun? When had she fallen in love with him?

  No! By Mac Lir’s blue bells, she was not in love with him. She could not be. Love was something she refused to devote any time to. Love was dangerous and unpredictable—just like magic. It would never touch her if she had any say in the matter.

  She dropped her head into her hands. Tears threatened to leak between her closed eyelids, but she pushed them back. She couldn’t be in love with this elf-man! She couldn’t afford to love anyone.

  Love only made you weak. It slowed down your reflexes and turned your mind to things other than survival.

  Love wasn’t for her.

  She looked at him again. The double moonlight filtered through the leaves, tracing a quilted pattern across his sleeping form. Deep within her soul, a stirring of tenderness began to bloom. Already the dangers of love were making themselves known. She should turn her back on him and let him die.

  Walk away now, a voice inside cautioned to her. But it was too late. Without even trying, this half-elf held her captive in a way he never could as her slave master. She was his for life, but he would never know, she vowed. He would never have that much control over her. No one would.

  A prince would certainly never love the likes of her. Born and raised from the dregs of the Port Marcus gutters, what would he want with her other than as his slave? He had said she would be his concubine. Perhaps she could steal some joy for herself in his bed, but she had more pride than that.

  If nothing else, her rise from the sewers and docks of Port Marcus had taught her that if she once allowed herself to fall back, to take a step towards the direction from whence she had come, she would be lost in a meteoric slide back into the gutter. She could not allow that to happen, no matter how she ached to be in his arms.

  However, she could not allow him to die, either. As much as her common sense told her it was in her best interests to leave him and make good her escape—leave him to live or die as he would—she knew she could not.

  She would help Rendolin, even at the risk of using magic.

  “Very well, priest,” she said to Rendolin. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Bare his wound so that you can tell me what it looks like.”

  She removed the bandage and the spider webs without comment. She worked quickly, but her hands were sure and gentle. When the wound was bared, she described it to the High Prie
st, and explained what she had done to bind it.

  “It is well, Feenix. You have done well. Now place both of your hands upon the prince; your right hand on his forehead and the other on the wound.”

  She moved to allow free access to L’Garn. “Now what?”

  “Open your mind to me,” Rendolin spoke, and the scent of rosemary filled her mind and nose. “In the holy name of Mac Lir, I use my priesthood powers...”

  Rendolin’s voice filled her mind and soul. Power gathered around her and filled every pore and blood vessel; it coursed through her body as the blood in her veins. For a moment, panic threatened, but she felt a fragment of Rendolin’s awareness brush her fear aside, and peace and tranquility surged through her.

  L’Garn opened his ice blue eyes and found her. She felt as if she was falling into their icy depths, and at the same time gathering the magical power and pumping it into his body. She could feel the energy course through her body and flow through her hands, as if she were a pitcher pouring life into his empty vessel.

  They were joined, the three of them. Rendolin, Feenix and L’Garn. Magic linked them as surely as the links in a chain, forged from the depths of Tylana by the master smith, Mac Lir. The surge of power went on for eternities…and then ended abruptly.

  One moment Feenix was filled with power, drawing strength from the priest and casting it into L’Garn, and the next moment she was as empty and dry as a horse trough in a drought. She felt Rendolin break the link in her mind, and she collapsed like a limp rag.

  But before she did, she watched the ugly wound she had inflicted on the prince heal over and saw fresh, new flesh replace the raw and angry gash. She smiled into his eyes, content to have mended what she had broken.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  L’Garn’s arm felt hot, but not uncomfortably so. He had woken to find Feenix hovering above him, her hands on his head and shoulder. It seemed to him that something strange had passed between them...and someone else, as well...but he was not quite clear on that point. A surge of energy had filled him for a moment, and then she had collapsed at his side.