Reclaimer

by J. C. Staudt

  “I suppose that would be agreeable.”

  “Good. While we’re on the subject, there is another apprentice I should very much like to take on.”

  At this, the fear and jealousy and exhaustion Alynor had been feeling all night boiled over. “No,” she said. “I will not allow it. He is to be kept as far away from magic as possible until he’s old enough to make his own choices on the matter.”

  “He knows nothing of magic? How have you managed to keep it from him all this time?”

  “With increasing difficulty, as he grows. He’s already had the misfortune to witness Sir Jalleth’s transformation. He’s asked me questions I don’t know how to answer. He’s only a child, Darion. You mustn’t think of it.”

  “Not think to teach my own son? What joy remains to a father, if not to pass on his life’s passions to his children?”

  “Magic is no passion. It’s a tool to be used in the right time and place, and not elsewhere.”

  “You are sounding more like Olyvard King all the time.”

  Alynor ground her teeth. “Because I wish to protect our son, as you have failed to do, from the dangers of power and greed and overindulgence?”

  Darion’s face darkened. “Alynor… you startle me. How many children get the opportunity to begin casting at such a young age? Most people in the realms go from cradle to grave never learning to read a single letter. Imagine what a force Draithon could become with a proper head start. He could grow up to be greater than I. Greater than Rylar Prince.”

  “And what if he’s not prepared to start so early? What if he uses that force for ill?”

  “Do not think me some careless tyrant with little concern for our son’s ambitions. I will not let him stray.”

  “Your inexperience is clear,” said Alynor. “A child is not a pack animal to be steered.”

  “It is true, I’ve never had children. But I have brothers. I know a child will go his own way despite a parent’s best efforts.”

  “Then why disagree? Why not wait until he’s older? There are many years yet. Give him the chance to arrive at the decision on his own.”

  “How will he ever arrive there if we hide magic like the key to some forbidden door?”

  “How about concentrating on what really matters? Your son barely knows you. Be his father first. Learn who he is, and show him who you are. After that, we’ll see about introducing him. Slowly.”

  She saw Darion’s resistance, the unease plain on his face in the dark room. “Will you tell him, then?”

  “Tell him what?”

  “That Sir Jalleth is not his father. That I am.”

  Alynor opened her mouth, closed it again. “I am… not certain what that will do to him. Clearly we must tell him. But in good time, and only after he is familiar with you.”

  “I see. Whatever you think is best for the boy.”

  “Draithon,” she said. “Your son’s name is Draithon.”

  Darion nodded. “For now, we’d best get some sleep. Tomorrow is sure to be an interesting day.”

  When they climbed into their large canopy bed, it was from opposite sides, and with plenty of space left between them. Alynor settled in, appreciative once again of the sort of bed she hadn’t slept in in years, but dreading Darion might have something in mind besides sleep. Whether or not he did, he was snoring within moments; she didn’t doubt the combination of drink and battle fatigue had struck him a knockout blow.

  Alynor lay awake for some time, brooding over their disagreement. Her resentment toward him was not something she could merely set aside as if it were a chunk of gristle on a dinner plate. The memory of him leaving was embedded in her every thought. Draithon would become their new battleground if they let him, and the last thing Alynor wanted was to see her son held ransom. Yet for Darion to think he could simply walk back into their lives as if nothing had happened was preposterous.

  Alynor would not begrudge her husband the chance to make up for his absence, but neither would she hold out hope of his changing. Her feelings for him had changed, though. Somewhere inside her a light had gone out; the wonder and elation she’d felt while discovering him during their journey to Maergath was now but a shadow. She fell asleep wondering why she’d so often longed for his return, only to realize now that she had never forgiven him, and likely never would.

  Chapter 30

  The knock on the chamber door was loud enough to shake the mountains. Darion folded his pillow over his ears and groaned. It took him a moment to remember that for the first time in years, he was in bed with his wife. He felt Alynor slip out from under the covers, heard her bare feet padding across the stone floor, groaned again when the lock squealed and the door creaked open. There was a conversation, distant and muffled. Alynor closed the door and came over to shake him by the shoulder.

  “Get up,” she said. “Get your clothes on.”

  “Gods,” he said, his voice like gravel. “What is it?”

  “The Dathiri Pathfinders have entered the keep. They are speaking with Lord Goldane now. We have been summoned to the high hall.”

  “What do they want?”

  “Us. Remember? They want us. And the scroll.”

  Darion pushed himself up. His head pounded. The room spun. “Oh, gods,” he groaned again. “Where is it?”

  “Where is what?”

  “The knitted panel.”

  “I haven’t touched it.”

  “I handed it to you yesterday. Didn’t I?”

  “No. You didn’t.”

  “Ah, that’s right. I do have it. It’s here somewhere.” Darion sat up and threw his legs over the bedside, gasping when his feet touched the cold stone floor. He rubbed his eyes and ran his fingers through his hair. “It’s around here. I had it with me yesterday.”

  “Did you not keep your eye on it every second? You know how important that panel is, with the scroll gone.”

  Darion massaged his temples, hoping to ease the pounding. “Yes, yes, I know. I know. Important. It was here, in my… where is it? Where is it? Ah.” He dropped to his knees and reached beneath the bed to retrieve the roll of blue-green yarn where it protruded from his pack. “Here. Here it is. I’ve got it.”

  “We should hide it,” Alynor said.

  “No. I saw your old hiding place. In the hut, above the ceiling beams. Clever. But there will be no more hiding. No more running.”

  “How was it when you arrived? The hut.”

  “Ransacked. I feared the worst had happened.”

  “It would have,” Alynor said. “Only the spell Sir Jalleth was teaching me saved us.”

  “What spell?”

  “A sensing spell. I heard—no, felt—a man watching us as we practiced because of that spell. It is consumed by mouth, and all around becomes vivid and brilliant, colors and sounds and smells. You can feel the earth moving beneath you.”

  “Ah, yes. That is a spell I do not require at the moment. Everything is moving and sounding rather enough already.”

  She smirked. “Get dressed. It’s time to see what the Dathiri have in mind.”

  Darion donned his clothes, strapped on his cloak and sword belt, and left the bedchamber with the knitted panel in hand and Alynor by his side. “Shall we wake Sir Jalleth, or let him sleep?” he asked when they passed the old knight’s door.

  “I expect the change will be upon him soon,” Alynor said. “I’m sure he’ll find us.”

  When they arrived in the high hall, four gray-cloaked Dathiri Pathfinders stood facing Lord Goldane’s chair. They turned to cast sneering looks at Darion and Alynor as they entered.

  “Thank you for coming, Darion,” said Lord Goldane. “Alynor. Good morrow, my lady. I am sorry to have roused you both, but it would appear these scoundrels are intent upon their work, even after a tragedy like the one we suffered last night. I have already told them that as King’s Men of Dathrond, they are welcome guests in my city and my home. A foreign king’s decree, however, bears no authority in this kingdom. I ser
ve Feldyrn King of Tetheril, and until the decree is borne with his seal that I am to turn over the friends and visitors whose safety I have promised, there shall be no such exchange. Yet they insist it is not mine to deny you the occasion to atone for your treasons. Now, here you are. Answer them.”

  Darion held up the panel. “Speak the truth, Guardians of Dathrond. It is not me you want, but this. Not my wife, but the scroll she has kept hidden.”

  “Surely you jest,” said the forwardmost soldier. “That’s no scroll.”

  “It’s a replacement. The scroll has been destroyed.”

  “We are charged with returning both you and the scroll to Maergath. In the absence of one, the other will suffice.”

  “You’ve traveled long leagues and many months, no doubt covering the same ground again and again in your search,” Darion said. “You Pathfinders are a dedicated breed, and I’ve no doubt Giya Elara was the most dedicated of you all.”

  “Was?” said the soldier.

  “The last time I saw Commander Elara and the others in your number,” said Alynor, “they were stranded at the top of a lookout tower in Westenreach while villagers infected with burrowing mites surrounded them.”

  The Pathfinders exchanged looks. “You claim to have seen this, yet you escaped the village unscathed?”

  “I did. Along with my son and Sir Jalleth Highbridge, who will vouch that this is the truth. Magic aided me, and if your king had his way, that magic would no longer exist.”

  “That’s what this is about,” said Darion, brandishing the panel. “Now hear me, and if you are truly dedicated men, dedicate yourselves to this: return to your king, and tell him Darion Ulther has come back to the realms. Tell him that until he renounces his intentions to destroy the mage-song, he will never again have my allegiance or my servitude.”

  The soldier scoffed, glancing at his cohorts with amusement. “You openly confess to treason?”

  “I confess to one thing. I would never hand a horse’s reins to a blind man, nor a sword to a madman. Neither will I give this spell to a man blinded by his own madness. So long as I live, he will never have it. I am finished running from Olyvard King and his servants. You may leave Trebelow this morning and live to deliver my message, or you may remain here and meet your deaths at noontide.”

  “We’ve our wounded to think about,” said the soldier. “Three of my men died defending this town last night. Three more lie within the throes of grievous injury. We cannot leave until they are well enough to ride.”

  “Then join them in their sickbeds,” said Darion. “You’ve run me out. Chased down my wife and son like dogs. I bear you neither sympathy nor patience. Hire a cart to carry out your wounded if you must, but begone by noontide. So long as you are, you shall have no trouble from me.”

  “Where will they get help?” Alynor said. “The closest town is days away.”

  Darion began to reply, but stopped when she touched his arm.

  “Stay,” she said. “But swear that you will honor what my husband has said. Swear you have no quarrel with us, and that you have accepted his offer of sanctuary. From this moment, you will leave us alone, and we shall do the same.”

  The soldier lifted his chin and flared his nostrils like some proud stallion at the bit. “Were it not for the well-being of my men and the absence of Commander Elara, you would not have it so easy, Warcaster. You are fortunate, for now, but are no less a traitor to the crown. If you know what is good for you, you will not hide behind the skirts of the local lord when next we come calling. And we will come calling.” He turned and led his men from the hall.

  “You are grown bold in your latter years,” Lord Goldane said when they were gone.

  “More foolish than bold,” said Darion.

  “One often requires an equal helping of both.”

  “I’m sure my wife would agree I possess both in plenty. And as ever, Lord Goldane, you’ve proven yourself bolder than any man in your position need be. How I can ever repay you for everything you’ve—”

  “Say nothing of it, Darion. In truth, I am the one who owes you a great deal. Trebelow would’ve fallen yesternight, had it not been for you.”

  Darion shook his head. “Trebelow would never have fallen into such peril in the first place, had it not been for me.”

  “Surely you cannot believe yourself responsible for the burrowing mite infestation.”

  Darion and Alynor shared a look. “More harm will come to Trebelow if we stay. We’ll be gone before nightfall.”

  “I hate to lose you at a time like this.”

  “It’s my intention to see times like this brought to a rapid end.”

  Lord Goldane’s mouth formed a sad little wrinkle. “Then I pray for your success, and I wish you well.” He rose from his chair and came over to give Darion a clap on the back and Alynor a kiss on the hand.

  After saying their goodbyes, they ascended to their bedchamber to wake Sir Jalleth, fetch their belongings, and retrieve Draithon from the nursery. When they came to the old knight’s door, there were pained sounds coming from within. Darion rapped loudly. When no one answered, he tried the handle. Locked.

  “He’s changing back,” said Alynor. “He must be.”

  “In his sleep?”

  “It happens. His mind is burdened with so much strain during the transformation. He thinks it is a dream sometimes.”

  Darion took a step back and cast a quick spell. When he touched the door handle, there was a squeaking sound, followed by a click. He pushed the door open and rushed inside.

  Sir Jalleth lay in his bed, drenched in sweat and writhing like one in the midst of fever. There were tiny feathers sprouting from his cheeks where his whiskers should be, and his nose had taken on a hard yellow cast. Darion had to look away. He unfurled the knitted panel to begin the ritual.

  “Wait,” Alynor said, removing something from around her neck. “You won’t be able to cast so close to him. Move away, and cast it on this.”

  Darion did so.

  When he’d sent the spell into the ivory pendant, Alynor came over and took it from him. She brought it close to Sir Jalleth. The feathers and beak faded from the old knight’s face. His moans of pain subsided. Alynor touched his shoulder, shaking him gently until his eyes opened.

  “Put this on,” she said.

  Sir Jalleth looked around, at once startled and confused. Recognition flooded in, and he lifted his head so Alynor could slip the leather thong round his neck. “Oh, thank the gods. It was only a dream.”

  “You were changing,” Alynor said.

  “That’s certainly cause for a bad dream,” said Darion.

  Sir Jalleth lifted the ivory charm at the end of the pendant, rubbing its smooth surface between his fingers. “Where did you find this?”

  “Commander Elara and her Pathfinders found it when they were tracking you through the Wildwood. She gave it to me in exchange for the scroll.”

  “I missed that, somehow, from my vantage point in the skies,” Sir Jalleth said. “I would thank her, for this alone brings structure to my life.”

  “It holds a spell better than any mundane object I’ve ever seen,” said Darion.

  “Oh, this object is far from mundane,” Sir Jalleth said. “I purchased it a few days before Draithon was born, from a merchant who was not aware of its true value.”

  “I remember,” Alynor said. “You gave it to me as a birthing gift.”

  “Indeed I did. The ivory is wrought of a griffon’s claw. A material of truly noble origin. It has held the ritual time and again with strength and potency. I dare say, it might hold any spell one aspires to imbue it with.”

  “It’s yours now,” said Alynor. “For as long as we can, Darion and I will make sure you don’t change back.”

  The old knight smiled as he lifted himself out of bed. He wore a simple nightgown, one provided by Lord Goldane. “Are we leaving today?”

  “To the land of your birth,” Darion said.

  “How wonde
rful. I never thought I’d have occasion to go back.”

  “We nearly did a few times,” said Alynor. “It was only for want of survival that we stayed close to the settlements.”

  “We have Jeebo to hunt for us now,” Darion said. “That alone will make our time in the wilds far easier. Alynor and I must gather our things and fetch Draithon from the nursery. Meet us downstairs after you’ve said your farewells to Lord Goldane.”

  “I shall.”

  Half an hour later, the four of them left the keep on horseback, Draithon riding in the saddle with Alynor. The cleanup from last night’s attack was already in full swing. According to the town guard, there were still a few wild animals loose in the city; of greater concern was repairing the damage and disposing of the bodies while stifling further contamination. Lord Goldane employed a few novice mages as part of his household, and Sir Jalleth had shown them the spell he’d found for neutralizing the parasites. “Magic does not easily mend or cure,” he’d told them, “but it is more than capable of destruction. Creatures great and small are subject to its wrath.”

  They arrived at the Hunter’s Hill to find Kestrel, Jeebo, Triolyn and Axli leading their freshly loaded horses from the stables. Hyrana gave a squawk from Jeebo’s shoulder when he mounted.

  Darion was surprised to see them awake and ready. “Are you all coming with us?”

  “I started this,” said Kestrel. “The lute was mine. I brought it close enough to alert the dragon to its presence; to put Alynor in further danger than she already was. I admit, I know only a few spells. But I will do what I can to make right the devastations of that accursed instrument. So yes, I am coming—after I stop off at market to procure a few creature comforts for our time in the wilds. Nothing worse than having plenty of coin and nothing to spend it on.”

  “Where he goes, I go,” said Axli, tossing Alynor a sharp look.

  “You know I would travel with you to the end of everything,” Jeebo said.

  Darion looked at Triolyn. “And you, archer?”

  Triolyn shrugged. “I had a mind not to. Truth be told, I don’t much care for any of you. Thanks to the deep, I’m drowning in coin and have no need to earn more of it for the time being. Moreover, I have always wanted to slay a dragon.”