Why he thought of Arillia now he did not know, except that her shadow came to him whenever he wandered this green bower. Perhaps he would never be free of Arillia, for she lived in his memory, touching him with guilt each time he thought of her.
Elcon abandoned the garden, for it ceased to comfort him.
****
Craelin entered the meeting chamber, and Elcon glanced up. “Anders, leave us.” His servant obeyed, the door clicking shut behind him.
Craelin slid into his customary place beside Elcon and across from Emmerich and Weilton. “I bring ill news. A messenger from Whellein arrived last night to inform us that Daeramor now allies itself with Freaer’s forces against you.”
“Not Lammert, too.” Elcon put his face in his hands. He saw again in memory a laughing youth, his eyes alight with merriment and mischief as he called down to Elcon from one of Torindan’s twin guardhouse turrets. Although Lammert had always been the older, whenever he’d visited his zeal in exploring Torindan had bridged the gap in their ages. Would Lammert now use his knowledge of Torindan to usurp his Lof Shraen and friend?
“I am sorry.”
Craelin’s voice penetrated Elcon’s misery. He drew a shuddering breath but lifted his head. “More ravens stand against us than for us now. And yet, we must save the alliance of Faeraven, if we can. Any news of the reinforcing armies?”
Craelin did not meet Elcon’s eyes. “They have at best a three-day journey before they reach Torindan.”
Weilton’s hiss raised Elcon’s hackles. What had Craelin said about Freaer’s armies? We may have two days before they arrive, perhaps three. If Lof Yuel smiled on Torindan, reinforcements and Freaer’s armies would arrive together. Elcon pushed away the fear that deliverance from the forces arrayed against them might come too late. “Let’s lay out our defenses quickly. We need to set a battle strategy.”
During the discussion that followed, Emmerich contributed nothing, but watched them with an odd light in his dark eyes. A frisson of uneasiness shook Elcon. Just where did the Elder youth’s loyalties rest?
****
A dark line of bodies formed on the horizon, moving with endless precision out of the canyons of Doreinn Ravein toward Torindan. The sound of marching added percussion to the air. The shaking of the ground reached Elcon even through the thick stone of the battlements above the guardhouse where he stood between Craelin and Emmerich. They’d only had two days to prepare and must yet finish reinforcing the outer wall, but their efforts would have to serve. He turned toward Craelin, no longer wanting to look upon the approaching hordes.
“We’d better launch the catapults.”
“Stand and hold.” Emmerich spoke in so quiet a voice that Elcon did not at first register his words. He gaped at Emmerich. “What say you?”
Emmerich’s eyes held his. “Do not rush to battle. Wait.”
Elcon curled his hands into fists. Everything in him shouted that he should ignore Emmerich’s advice. He had to make the right choice. He must not fail again. Craelin’s face reflected Elcon’s own conflicting emotions. Had he made a mistake in putting his trust in Emmerich? What if Emmerich was not Shraen Brael after all? Elcon would lose everything, including his life. He would be remembered as the Lof Shraen who by folly caused Faeraven and Elderland to fall. His name would become a curse.
Elcon forsook the battlements and sought the inner garden but found little solace among the roses and early flowers. He paced; his mind in a fever of indecision. Should he listen to Emmerich or seek his own counsel? The burden of decision was too great, and he collapsed on the edge of the pool. Wind caught the spray from the fountain, sending droplets to anoint his face. Above the pool, the bronze figure of Talan, gleaming with subdued luster, rode a wild wingabeast. A melody strayed into his mind, bringing with it the words of an ancient ballad, “Talan’s Wild Wingabeast Ride.”
High in the sky of Daeramor Raven,
High in the sky over mountains fair
The wild wingabeasts pass at twilight.
Echoes of their wingbeats fill the air.
Deep in the heart of the Maegrad Paesad,
Deep in the heart of the ancient lair,
Talan of Kunrat lies in waiting—
Waiting for a wingabeast to snare.
Then comes a thudding hoofbeat sounding,
Then comes a flutter of flittering wing,
Down flies a wingabeast seeking shelter,
Hidden there, Talan waits to spring.
Out cries the beast as Talan takes hold,
Out cries the beast that, frothing and bold,
Drags its ropes and leaps to the air,
Climbing toward the heavens dark and cold.
Up climbs the wingabeast into the sky,
Up climbs the wingabeast and dives and rolls,
Twisting in flight to lose its rider but
Nothing could make Talan break his hold.
High in the sky of Daeramor Raven,
High in the sky over mountains fair,
Talan of Kunrat rides the wild wingabeast,
Taming it with bravery most rare.
The bronze figure of Talan leaped into focus. Struck by a sudden revelation, Elcon stood. How could he, a son of the same Talan who had tamed the first wild wingabeast, let fear rule him? And yet he had. He’d driven Shraen Brael away, sent Aewen on a journey that led to her death, and had almost rejected the very salvation he’d desired—all out of fear. Whether it meant victory or defeat, he would not let fear rule him, not this time. He turned away from the fountain and toward the gatehouse.
****
Craelin stared at Elcon with disbelief written on his face.
“Hold.” Elcon repeated, lifting his voice to be heard above the din made by marching warriors as they stormed toward Torindan’s guardhouse.
Craelin opened his mouth as if to protest but closed it again. He looked down upon the advancing armies. “This is madness. They will be upon us soon. Will we give them Torindan?”
“We will stand and hold.” Elcon kept his voice without inflection.
Craelin looked to Emmerich, between them on the battlements, and then back at Elcon. “As you say, Lof Shraen.”
Emmerich’s lips twitched into a smile. Elcon descended the stair to find Weilton and Eathnor, the two he’d chosen to fight beside him, on their way up. He would fight as long as he could and would only seek escape through the hidden passageways if Torindan fell. If left to himself, he would choose the honor of a death in battle, but he must consider Faeraven. If he escaped to rally again, perhaps all would not be lost.
He put uneasy thoughts of defeat from him. He should not let their whisper stir him to fear and intrude on his judgment. He would look to the needs of his people this day and give way to the voice of a higher Shraen.
The march of the soldiers grew deafening. Elcon returned to the battlements above the guardhouse. Craelin bent an urgent look upon him. “What say you now?”
Elcon fought panic. “Well, then?” His voice was a plea.
“Stand and hold.” Emmerich spoke in a firm voice.
Fear seized Elcon by the throat. His new resolve melted like snow in his mouth. He put out his arm in a blind motion and felt fingers close over his wrist.
Emmerich leaned close, his breath touching Elcon’s ear. “Courage.” He spoke but the one word, but it recalled Elcon from the edge of hysteria.
He pulled upright and answered Craelin’s shocked countenance. “Hold.” Although he uttered only the one word, that word cost him greatly.
Craelin lifted his head and flared his nostrils, but he repeated Elcon’s command to Weilton, waiting nearby. The first of the foot soldiers reached the outer wall and threw grappling hooks as archers rained a volley of arrows upward to protect their climb. Craelin’s face reddened, and following the direction of his stare, Elcon paused, much struck. Standing a little apart, Emmerich raised his arms as if in supplication. His eyes were closed, and his face shone with peace. Elcon stepped t
oward him but halted, afraid to draw near such radiance.
Darkness fell, so complete not even the moon or stars alleviated it, and in this darkness, Shraen Brael shone in a gathering light. Elcon went to his knees. Outside the walls the cacophony of battle lifted in unholy counterpart, and the smell of death gagged Elcon.
When the sounds came no more, Shraen Brael lowered his arms, the light from him retreating until he became once again the Elder youth, Emmerich, standing in the fitful illumination of the torches of the guardians.
“Lof Shraen!” Shouting above the startled exclamations of the defenders of Torindan, Craelin pulled Elcon to his feet. “We cannot tell all that has happened, but it seems the darkness confused our enemies and after turning their swords upon one another they have fled.”
Elcon cast about for words to say to Emmerich but found none.
Emmerich smiled. “You begin to understand grace, I see.”
Elcon’s smile wavered. “Thank you. I don’t understand what happened, but I know you saved us this day.”
The torchlight shifted and made of Emmerich’s eyes dark pools. “Salvation came from Lof Yuel, son of Talan.”
Elcon stood for a time, watching as the stars winked on in the sky, one by one. At last the moon, covered in haze, shone forth with pale light. Tears that blurred his vision made the stars run together.
“Come away, then.” Emmerich had gone but now returned to his side as Craelin and most of the others moved toward the stairs. Elcon drew a shuddering breath as the tension eased from him. The battle had been won. He let Emmerich guide him away from the parapet.
24
Decision
Before Elcon could turn aside, Arillia, walking with her maid beneath the budding strongwoods, saw him. He almost did not credit her as more than a memory at first, for she came to him thus in this garden at times, lingering beneath these very strongwoods. But this Arillia looked older, more care worn, and the bounce had left her step.
“Hello, Elcon.” Her voice brushed against him, soothing as ever, but her upper lip quivered. He inclined his head to her, and she and her maid bowed. He fell into step, walking beside her past the place where he’d touched his lips to hers and promised to court her. Did she think of it, too? “You have come for the festivities.” He stated the obvious in an attempt to drive unwelcome memories from his mind.
“I’ve come from Chaeradon with my parents.” She dimpled, so lovely that he caught his breath. Her skin glistened with health, golden hair cascaded to her waist, and eyes of calm gray regarded him with a hint of sorrow he knew a longing to soothe. Elcon chided himself for his reaction, for only the spring before he’d held Aewen in his arms before she went from him to her death. He could not let himself forget Aewen, and yet he found an odd comfort in the fact that Arillia accompanied her parents rather than a husband.
They spoke of the greening, of course, when the maidens of Torindan decked themselves in Early flowers, and thoughts of courtship filled young hearts. He wished he could ask if Arillia had suitors, for surely she must. He did not know why such a thing should interest him except that Arillia had been a part of his life for so long he’d grown accustomed to thinking of her. In the past, he might have teased her without mercy until he gained her secrets, but now he held his tongue. The constraint between them had not existed before. He had placed it there. He must remember he had abandoned his place in her life, and nothing could ever change that.
He nodded to Arillia and murmured a farewell. But the image of her eyes, overshadowed with sorrow, stayed with him all that day. At night, as he lay abed waiting for sleep, he let his thoughts, for a few wild heartbeats, linger on the memory of Arillia in his arms.
When he slept, he dreamed of Aewen, standing inside the gatehouse of Cobbleford and watching him out of enormous blue eyes, her babe in her arms. He tried to reach her, but the portcullis fell between them. He called to her to wait, but she turned away as the wooden doors thudded to shut her from him.
Elcon woke in a sweat, for the dream had seemed so real. Find our child. The words sighed through the chambers of his mind. He wept then for Aewen and for their lost daughter. Anders tapped at the door, peered in at him, and then stepped into the inner chamber. “Are you well?”
Brushing his tears aside, Elcon sat up. He heaved a breath. “Sometimes I dream.”
A look of sympathy dawned on Anders’ face. “Your dreams serve you ill.”
“They bring Aewen back but take her from me again.”
He shuddered. Aewen stood watching him, babe in arms, at least in memory.
“Well then, are you ready to rise?” Anders brisk voice drew him back.
Elcon let go of the dream image and pushed confusion from his mind. “I am ready.” He spoke with hesitancy, for these days only an effort of will forced him from his bed to don the robes of Lof Shraen.
It had been three months since Shraen Brael had saved Torindan, sending darkness to confuse the invading armies. The four remaining loyal shraens had arrived in time to discourage the survivors of the rout from regrouping and attacking Torindan again. But Elcon took no joy in the fact that many of the Kindren opposing him had died, slain by their fellows. Blood stained his own hands, for he had given no thought to any but his own desires. His choices had driven a wedge between the Kindren that made them easy prey for one such as Freaer.
Torindan enjoyed a time of peace now, but it would not last forever. Freaer had returned to Pilaer, where he would bide his time and gather strength for another assault. That he would come again, Elcon had no doubt. Sometimes he felt Freaer’s soul touch searching to find and cripple him. He knew the hatred Freaer bore him, more so now, since he’d tasted defeat at Elcon’s hands.
Anders helped him into the blue and gold ceremonial garb he would wear throughout the feast day. To break his fast, Elcon took a little bread and cheese, washing them down with spiced cider. The tall windows in his outer chamber showed across the bailey to the inner garden. Already, despite the rising mists of morning, a couple flirted on the pathway. In the past, Elcon might have called out encouragement or even joined in friendly competition for a winsome maid, but not today. That part of his life had died forever with Aewen. In truth, he could not remember ever being as light of heart as the two engaged in banter outside his window.
The ceremonies progressed, and Elcon did his part. He attended the twilight wedding which joined all those who decided on this day to marry. Afterwards, he danced with each bride at the reception in the great hall, never betraying by the flicker of an eyelid that he longed to escape such duties. Relinquishing the last bride back to her new husband and stepping away, he looked up to meet Arillia’s gaze. The contact caused a jolt to go through him, almost as if she touched him. As he made his way to her side, he chided himself for such fancies. He could not ignore her now she knew he’d seen her. Or perhaps she would prefer he do so. He had no way of knowing and would not take the chance of hurting her further. Standing beside her maid Arillia looked a little forlorn, although her beauty could not be faulted. She wore an overdress of embroidered batiste, kilted at one side to show the fine linen of her underskirt. Her hair fell to her waist, with flowers woven into the golden curls with such skill as to look artless.
“Will you dance?” To save them from conversation he gave the invitation at once.
Arillia started a little, and he realized he’d spoken over loud. He warned himself to calm as she recovered herself and moved to stand opposite him in the line of dancers. As the music began, they drew near with heads toward one another for several heartbeats. They broke apart and he circled her, and then caught her by the waist as they walked together facing outward. And so it went, on and on. As they drew close once more, Elcon berated himself for suggesting they dance. He tried not to let Arillia’s eyes snare him, but he could not deny the warmth that ran through him. It would be unnatural for him to feel nothing when gazing at a beautiful maiden in his arms, but he could not help the guilt that flooded him. It
seemed disloyal to Aewen and their dead child for him to enjoy such a thing.
When the music ended, he stepped away from Arillia and inclined his head in thanks, grateful to escape. But she touched his arm and looked up at him in appeal. “Will you walk with me in the garden?”
He could not bring himself to refuse her, and so, against his better judgment and with Weilton and her maid trailing behind, Elcon passed through scented shadow beneath strongwood trees to emerge into moonlight at the garden’s heart beside Arillia. They strolled toward the fountain, awash in silver and sparkling as it cascaded into the dark pool to spread ripples of light across the silken surface.
As she faced him, Arillia’s beauty made him catch his breath. “Elcon, I did not speak this earlier, although I should have. My heart breaks for the sorrow that lies upon your brow.” Tears shone in her eyes. “If I could, I would bring Aewen back to you.”
Elcon put a hand out to still those she twisted before her. “Peace, now. Your sorrow brings me no comfort, Arillia.” He brushed the tears from her cheek. A longing to enfold her in his arms to soothe her and find a comfort of his own gripped him. He released her and turned back toward the fountain. “We’ve never spoken of it, but I did you a great wrong in marrying Aewen, Arillia. You’ve no reason to wish for my peace.”
Her quiet weeping swept over him. “I cannot help myself, Elcon.”
“You should hate me.”
“And yet I do not.” She gave a weak smile and dried her eyes, her gaze going past him to the fountain. “I was furious at first. Perhaps if we had not been expected to marry from our early days, I might have borne the shame better.”
WayFarer Page 20