Reclaimer

by J. C. Staudt

  “Back where it belongs,” said the singer. “As a matter of fact, we were enjoying the fruits of our conquest when we ran into Sir Darion. I’ve got a new instrument now. Decidedly less magical, but it’ll do.”

  Next Alynor knew, her eyes were brimming with tears. “I can’t be too late. I can’t be.”

  “Too late for what?”

  “You put it back? At the bottom of Tenleague Deep?”

  “That’s right. We found Noralin’s crypt. The curse will torment us no longer.”

  “What curse?” Darion asked.

  “May we speak of this later?” asked Sir Jalleth. “Alynor and Draithon are hungry. In truth, so am I.”

  “Yes. Yes, of course,” said Darion. “Come right this way. Please.”

  Alynor shuddered when Darion put his arm around her. She could not say why, except that to be touched in such a familiar manner by a man who was now half a stranger made her uncomfortable.

  The gates opened a crack to let the group slip through. Alynor found herself on a cobbled street beneath some of the tallest free-standing stone structures she had ever seen. Some rivaled the towers of her father’s keep, though even the shorter ones were impressive. Townsfolk appeared in third- and fourth-floor windows to shake the dust from their rugs or empty their morning chamber pots into the alleyways between buildings. Channels in the cobblestones ran toward outlets near the river, but Alynor was too busy looking uphill to watch her step.

  “A marvel, this place,” said Kestrel. “One of the finest towns in the realms if you ask me.”

  “And you didn’t want to come here,” Axli said.

  “It wasn’t that I didn’t want to come. It was that Trebelow is rich in merchants and carpenters and stonemasons, but poor in spellcasters. Anyway, Rothlan worked out in the end, didn’t he?”

  “Depending on how you look at it.”

  “Rothlan,” said Alynor. “Is that your caster?”

  “He is,” Kestrel confirmed. “Or rather, was.”

  “Oh. I’m… sorry.”

  “Don’t be. He was in league with a gang of bandits who tried to lock us in Noralin’s crypt and take the spoils for themselves. Very devious and underhanded, all of it.”

  “Then why did you say he worked out in the end?” asked Darion.

  “Because after we turned the tables on Rothlan and his gang and forged a daring escape, we were left with four shares of the treasure and only three of us.” Kestrel gave a prim little smile.

  “Where are this mage and his associates now?”

  “Enjoying themselves, no doubt,” Kestrel said with a grin.

  “Somewhere in Tenleague Deep?”

  “That’s right.”

  “And while I’m pleased to hear you won’t be bilking commoners out of their hard-earned coin with that infernal lute of yours anymore,” said Darion, “I must ask about the curse that made you give it up. It must have been very powerful indeed to convince you such drastic measures were necessary.”

  “Ah, yes,” said Kestrel. “The curse. When the lute came into my possession several years ago, I experienced a great change in fortune. By the time we met, I was well-traveled, well-liked, and drowning in more silver than I could carry. Which is why I did not carry it.”

  “You put it somewhere.”

  “Precisely. To be more specific… I hid it somewhere. Then one day, the lute began to change. With it, my fortunes changed as well.”

  “What do you mean it changed?”

  “The signs were subtle at first. The bright rose-colored wood on the neck began to darken. The frets warped; the strings pinched and stretched and snapped so often I had to change them before each performance. It was as if the instrument was intentionally harming itself. I knew of its magical properties, but not their extent. I went to see a sage in the Tetheri hinterlands. Lynessa the Doomsayer, they call her.”

  “With a name like that, you might expect everything you own is cursed.”

  “That’s what I thought, too. As it turns out, the Lute of Noralin didn’t belong to Noralin. It is Noralin. Part of her, anyway.”

  “Go on.”

  “It’s like what Sir Jalleth did when he melded with that bird. He became one with the animal in body, mind, and soul. Two beings sharing one form, thanks to the mage-song. This, of course, is very risky.”

  “It was the only option I had,” said Sir Jalleth.

  “I know. Yet Lynessa claims there is a darker and more powerful way to use the same magic. Rather than share a single living form, as you do with Ristocule, it is possible to inhabit a non-living object, using it as a vessel for one’s own mind and soul.”

  “Soul shifting,” said Darion. “That is what they call it.”

  “Yes, yes. So long as the object has been treated with the proper enchantments beforehand, a mage may transfer himself into anything. A gemstone, say, or a piece of jewelry, or even an iron spike.”

  “Or a lute,” said Darion.

  “Precisely.”

  “Mages have been using tricks like this to circumvent the limitations of mortal life for thousands of years,” said Sir Jalleth. “Just as a body grows old, a soul which is transferred from body to body begins to age and weaken. But there is something that can be done about that.”

  “More magical nonsense, I’ve no doubt,” said Triolyn.

  “Thank you for that contribution,” said Kestrel. “One can always count on you to make a logical assessment.”

  Sir Jalleth gave Triolyn a wry look. “Magical nonsense, yes. A living being ages. A physical object does too, though perhaps not as quickly. Also, there’s the benefit of not having to share. To occupy another living being is a trial, as I’ve learned. We war with ourselves often enough. Imagine having not one consciousness, but two. A physical object is also easier to hide. It requires no food or drink, no sunlight, and little space. Only a safe, protected place in which to spend the centuries.”

  “Like a tomb.”

  “Like a tomb,” Sir Jalleth agreed. “Yet whether living or dead, no physical body can hold a soul forever.”

  Kestrel snapped his fingers. “That, my friends, is how I knew. The lute’s sudden deterioration signaled the end of its useful life as a periapt.”

  “Periapt.” Alynor said it aloud without realizing it.

  “That’s right,” said Kestrel. “Why does that strike you, my lady?”

  Sir Jalleth spoke up. “While we were separated, it seems Alynor and Draithon encountered a creature of some capability who was in search of your instrument.”

  Kestrel was astonished. “My instrument? You mean the Lute of Noralin?”

  “The very same.”

  “What sort of creature was this?”

  “Based upon Alynor’s description of how it spoke to her, I believe it was one of the ancients.”

  “Who’s the ancients?” Axli wanted to know.

  “Powerful beings from a time long past, kept alive through magical means.”

  “This particular ancient inhabits the body of a dragon,” Alynor said. “She claims she wants the lute for the soul inside it.”

  “What does she plan to do with it?” Kestrel asked.

  “Magical nonsense,” said Sir Jalleth, looking at Triolyn. “Many of the ancients have moved between bodies for thousands of years, achieving long life by devouring the souls of others. The more powerful the soul, the greater the benefit.”

  “So this dragon wishes to eat the soul trapped in a wooden lute so it can add a few years to its life?”

  “There’s more to it than that,” said Alynor. “They’re sisters.”

  Kestrel laughed. “The lute and the dragon?”

  “Strange as it may sound, yes. For one to devour the other’s soul without a second thought speaks to a familial relationship which is… competitive, to say the least. I gather Noralin was hiding from her sister until those grave robbers disturbed her slumber.”

  “Sisters with a centuries-old feud,” Kestrel said. “My, that would m
ake quite a song, don’t you think? I’ll begin writing it at once.”

  “You’ve done enough damage already, singer,” said Darion. He turned to Alynor. “What is it that worries you so?”

  “The dragon has sent me to retrieve the lute. Shandashkaleth, she called herself. She threatened to consume me body and soul if I failed.”

  “Shandashkaleth,” said Darion. “I know this name. She was one of the great elder dragons.”

  “Yes,” said Sir Jalleth. “She has not been seen for hundreds of years, and was presumed dead.”

  “I think she is dead,” said Alynor, “or close to it.”

  “Hence her desire for the lute. A soul-shifted mage inhabiting the body of an elder dragon would require a great deal of nourishment, I imagine.”

  “She is weak,” Alynor said. “She’s been feasting on the souls of goblins and other lesser creatures for years now.”

  “A weak ancient is still more powerful than you could know,” said Sir Jalleth.

  “Let us continue this discussion later,” said Darion. “Lord Goldane’s keep is just ahead.”

  “Might I pop in for a visit?” Kestrel asked.

  “Lord Goldane is not entertaining guests at the moment,” said Darion.

  “You’re a guest.”

  “I’m a fugitive and an outlaw. We make for better talk round the supper table. Besides, I threatened to knock down Trebelow’s gates if I wasn’t allowed an audience with him.”

  “Perhaps I should do the same.”

  “Threats don’t work when everyone knows you’re incapable of carrying them out. Wait here. Once I’ve seen to Alynor and Draithon, we’ll meet again at the Hunter’s Hill and decide what to do.”

  “Don’t I have a say in all this?” Alynor asked. “I’m the one the ancient dragon sent to retrieve her precious periapt.”

  “Of course you do,” said Darion, as though the idea were novel. “Absolutely.”

  When they came to the wide stone steps to Lord Goldane’s keep, the group split. Darion took Alynor, Draithon, and Sir Jalleth with him. Jeebo had stayed there the night before and was welcome to return, but Kestrel convinced him otherwise.

  “Jeebo, old friend,” said the singer. “You must come with us to the tavern. We’ve so much catching up to do.”

  Jeebo looked to Darion, perhaps for guidance.

  “It is up to you,” said Darion. “You may go wherever you wish.”

  The falconer gave Triolyn a distasteful glance, then softened. “I’ll go to the Hunter’s Hill for now.”

  “As you say. We’ll see the rest of you this evening.”

  “I’ll be sure to get a couple of ales head start on you, Lord Ulther,” Kestrel said with a wink.

  Darion gave him a ready smile. “Don’t worry, singer. I’ll have no trouble catching up.”

  At the keep gates, Darion explained his new companions to the guards. They allowed him entry without objection. After crossing the yard to ascend a steep staircase running up the side of the keep, they entered a drafty hallway where half a dozen Goldane banners fluttered in the breeze from as many open windows. A series of turns took them into the grand dining hall, where a black-bearded man in pale yellow robes and a thick curled mustache sat at the end of a long table. He stood when they entered the room, as did the handful of others seated around him.

  “Welcome back, Sir Ulther,” said the Lord of Trebelow, pushing out his chair and coming to meet them. “And who might these be?”

  “Unexpected guests,” said Darion.

  Lord Goldane was stunned when he saw Sir Jalleth. “Highbridge? By the gods. So it is true. And after all these years.”

  Sir Jalleth bent to one knee. “My lord.”

  Lord Goldane lifted the old knight and embraced him. “We’ll have none of that, old friend. And to think, all this time I thought you were dead.”

  “I am, if anyone asks,” said Sir Jalleth.

  Lord Goldane laughed, cuffing him about the shoulders and pulling back for a look. “I confess I did not believe it when Darion told me what became of you.”

  “I have fallen on a long, hard road,” said Sir Jalleth.

  “Times are dark for all of us. I commend you for your endurance through such trials. And for your apprentice, Sir Ulther, whose standing in the realm hangs by a thread. This must be the wife and child he has not ceased to speak of since yesternight.”

  “Alynor,” said Darion, “this is Lord Serin Goldane. He has been a close friend of mine for many a year.”

  “I believe we met once or twice when I was a girl,” said Alynor, offering the best curtsy she could manage without fainting.

  “I remember you, young lady. It has been too long since I’ve had a visit with your father. He is well, I trust.”

  Alynor hesitated.

  “I was at the Greenkeep recently,” Darion said. “Lord Mirrowell is indeed well.”

  “I rejoice to hear it. Now come, my lady. You look famished. You must eat with us. We’ve only just sat down to break our fast. This is my wife, Hanna; my sons Sernan and Strallan; my daughter Gyvaine; and my distinguished guests, Lord and Lady Pendus of Westenreach.”

  “Pleased to meet you all,” Alynor said.

  “And who is this young fellow here?”

  “This is my son, Draithon,” Alynor said.

  “Our son,” said Darion.

  “You’re not my Poppy,” said Draithon. He pointed to Sir Jalleth. “He’s my Poppy.”

  Alynor pursed her lips, but did not reply. She could feel Darion staring at her, yet she could not meet his eyes.

  Chapter 26

  Darion sat across from his wife at Lord Goldane’s long table, perplexed and without appetite. Sir Jalleth sat beside him and immediately began picking fruits, tarts, cheese pies, and strips of fried meat from the breakfast trays and dropping them onto his plate. Alynor selected a few tidbits for Draithon’s plate before starting on her own. She ate with the ravenous hunger of one without manner or scruple; not like a lady raised in a lord’s high hall, but a beggar raised in the mud. Lord and Lady Pendus sat upright and shifted their eyes, chewing slowly with closed mouths, giving polite smiles to Lord Goldane and his family while the three weary travelers stuffed themselves.

  Darion stared at Alynor while she ate. Not once did she look up at him. I’ve left the frigid northern wastes of Korengad for an even colder homecoming, he could not help thinking.

  Draithon kept his eyes on his plate, shoveling food into his mouth as if he hadn’t seen a bite in weeks. Darion studied him for some resemblance in looks or manner. He saw hints of himself in the boy’s brown eyes and tawny hair, and held little doubt this was his child. Yet the boy was a mystery to him.

  Darion had often pictured his child as a babe in arms. To see a boy who could walk and speak and feed himself was a surprise. His first-born had gone from an idea to a person in an instant. Yet he knew nothing of who his son was; what he liked or didn’t like. They were strangers, and for the first time Darion truly grasped how long he’d been away.

  Draithon’s eyes flashed up. Darion looked away. His hands went clammy, and he felt a sweat rise under his arms. The boy returned to his food, leaving Darion to consider that in his son’s mind, he was no less a stranger than anyone the boy might encounter in the wide world.

  When she was done, Alynor dabbed at the corners of her mouth with a napkin, then scrubbed Draithon’s face until he whined. Lord Goldane, ever the gracious host, sat with his hands folded on his lap and waited for everyone to finish. “You’ll have no trouble seeing your wife and son to your rooms, I trust.”

  “Thank you,” said Darion.

  “Sir Jalleth, it is so wonderful to see you again. You’ll find your chambers next to Sir Darion’s. I offer my regrets, as I must sally forth this morning to address a few concerns in town. Should you require anything at all, Master Quilian is only a summons away. I know you planned on leaving today, Darion. Given the change in circumstances, do not hesitate to stay as long
as you like.”

  “Your generosity is worth more than I can express,” said Darion. “Do not think us unappreciative of the great personal risk at which you’ve granted us sanctuary.”

  Lord Goldane dismissed Darion’s thanks with a shake of his bearded head. “The King of Dathrond may send his lackeys to root you out, but his rule holds no sway here in the land of the Wild King. We have our own ways, and do not answer to the dogs of the desert.”

  “If only Lord Einrich of the Briarkeep felt as you do. I was nearly arrested by his son.”

  “Who, Brock? That ingrate thinks so highly of Olyvard King he would sooner be a jester in Maergath’s court than serve his father faithfully. Do not waste your worry over him, nor any other lord in these lands. You are here in Trebelow now, and for that you are safe.”

  “As you say, my lord.”

  “Now, I must be off. I’m certain you and your family have much to discuss. I hope to return shortly before dusk. Do join us for supper.” Lord Goldane bid his guests farewell and dismissed himself from the hall.

  On the way to their rooms, Alynor led Draithon by the hand and followed close behind Master Quilian, leaving Darion and Sir Jalleth to trail.

  “She misses you. She does,” Sir Jalleth insisted.

  “Then why do I feel like an outcast in my own family?”

  “It was a shock for her to find you here. I could scarce believe my own eyes when I saw you from on high, and Ristocule’s are the sharpest eyes I’ve ever looked through.”

  Darion gave a mirthless chuckle. “So it’s shock. That’s what you call the cold greeting, and the fact that she’s all but ignored me since she arrived.”

  “It isn’t just that. She has longed for your return. Yet she bears ill feelings toward you as well, and for that you mustn’t blame her.”

  “I never would. I suppose I’d hoped she would be so overjoyed to see me it would make her forget all that.”

  “That is too great a hope, I’m afraid.”

  “I see that now. Women are perplexing creatures.”

  Sir Jalleth shot Darion a look. “It isn’t because she’s a woman. It’s because she loves you. She once thought you loved her too.”

  “I—I do. I’ve thought about her all the time while I’ve been away.”