Wandering Lark

by Laura J Underwood

  “You said that this morning,” Vagner retorted in his thoughts. “I’m starving. Soon enough is not soon enough now...”

  “He has to let you go,” Ronan said.

  “And why can’t you? After all, you often seem to exert more control over me than he does...”

  Vagner stopped in that thought. Why had that come to him?

  “Nonsense,” Ronan said. “It’s Alaric’s body. He is in charge.”

  “No he isn’t,” Vagner said. “Not always. Like last night.”

  Images flashed before Vagner’s inner eyes. Something about Ronan and the woman.

  “Careful, demon!” Ronan hissed. He sang Vagner’s True Name and veiled the images so that they flitted away, forgotten. “There are things you must not remember.”

  Vagner shook his head. Alaric’s rubbed the demon’s neck in absent thought.

  “Poor Vagner,” Alaric suddenly said inside the demon’s head. “I didn’t let you feed, did I?”

  “No, you did not,” Vagner thought back.

  “We’ll remedy that soon enough,” Alaric said.

  “See,” Ronan said in that secret corner again. “He is in charge, and he remembers. So stop worrying, demon. Your freedom will be at hand very soon...and soon, I will have a task for you as well...”

  “A task?” Vagner thought.

  “Remember not,” Ronan whispered.

  And Vagner forgot.

  “We need to stop,” Lark called forward.

  Talena had ridden a little ahead since the road had narrowed down through the trees to little more than a path. They were moving back into forested territory, and she felt the need to lead the way in case they met something wild or they were attacked. Of course, she did so mostly because Kessa seemed less jumpy if the little mare was ahead of the big yellow horse instead of behind.

  “Stop?” she called back. “Why?”

  “The horses,” Lark said. “We should let them rest and feed a while.”

  Talena shrugged. “I think I see a wider clearing ahead. We’ll stop there, all right?”

  “Fine,” Lark said.

  Talena rode on. The roadway did widen, and she quickly saw why. It was one of the old stopping places. A camp clearing next to a stream with a stone trough for watering horses and a bit of a shelter crudely maintained. No one else was there, for which she was grateful. They would soon be reaching the more isolated sections of the eastern lands. Travel in those parts was less frequent these days because of the war.

  Lark dismounted as soon as he rode into the clearing. To her surprise, he pulled his pack from the saddle then threw the reins over the saddle horn, petted the yellow horse, and said, “Go on...behave.”

  The yellow horse bolted into the forest and disappeared from sight. Talena blinked.

  “Did I just imagine that,” she said. “Or did you just let your horse run away?”

  “He’s going to feed,” the bard said with a smile. “He’ll be back when he’s fed.”

  “Right,” she said and dismounted. “You do realize that if he doesn’t come back, you’re walking because Kessa will not carry two. In fact, you have not only lost your horse, but you have lost your tack as well...”

  “He’ll be back,” Lark said and settled down on a stone flat enough to act as a bench.

  His self-assurance of that remark surprised Talena. She shook her head and rolled her eyes, and started to wonder about his wits. Were all heretics mad?

  “You seem pretty sure of that,” she said as she tied Kessa to the nearest available point of anchorage and checked the depths of the water trough. It was floating autumn leaves at the bottom. She’d have to fetch fresh from the stream.

  “I know my horse.”

  “After only two days?” Talena took the old wooden pail down to the bank of the stream and filled it as she looked back over her shoulder at the bard. And froze. Was it a trick of the light filtering through the leaves, or did he have a glamour about him, like foxfire. She blinked and the light disappeared. Frowning, she finished filling the bucket.

  “It’s the breed, actually,” Lark said and pulled out his water skin to take a slug. “Highland Haflingers.”

  “Never heard of them,” she said. She returned with the pail filled, settling it so Kessa would drink. Then she walked over to where Lark sat.

  “That’s because they’re quite rare in this part of the world,” Lark said and smiled at her. “They’re very intelligent animals, but they like to feed alone. That’s why he didn’t eat any of the hay. There were other horses watching...”

  Talena burst out laughing before she could stop herself. “You’re having me on,” she said. “This is one of those bard tales, right.”

  He smiled. “I suppose. But he will be back.”

  “Two silver farthings say you’re wrong,” Talena said. She reached into her belt pouch and drew out two silvers, laying them on the stone at his side.

  He looked up at her and grinned. “All right, you’re on,” he said, and digging into his pack, he drew two matching coins.

  Talena could see them as he laid them down. They were Garrowye mint, but they were quite old. “Don’t see many of those,” she said as she claimed a seat on the other side of the coins.

  “A bard sees many things in his travels.”

  “Including horses that return after they run away?” she asked.

  “Including horses that return,” he said.

  Ronan was growing restless again. Alaric could feel the bard’s spirit shifting warily inside him.

  Will you settle down, Alaric thought. Vagner will be back...

  “It’s not Vagner that disturbs me,” Ronan said. “It’s her. Why does she have to come so close to us?”

  Alaric took a deep breath. What’s wrong with her coming near us, apart from the fact that she feels like magic? I’m used to feeling strange magic, having a demon for a horse and you in my body has made me all the more aware of it.

  “We should never have allowed her to come along,” Ronan said. “She will be trouble, mark my words. Even now, she sees that the coins are old. Sooner or later, she will have to be left behind.”

  Fine accusation, coming from the one who has caused me more trouble than I ever wanted to know in my life. Even friendship with Fenelon never brought me this much grief.

  “Look,” Ronan said. “We do not need her.”

  That is for me to decide—or have you forgotten your promise not to interfere?

  “I promised not to interfere so long as it did not put us in danger,” Ronan said. “But the moment you invited her along...she will bring us danger and ruin and will interfere in our mission. As long as she is here, we cannot go to an Elder, and if we cannot go to an Elder, we cannot save your friends.”

  Oh, sing another song, Ronan, Alaric thought sharply. I am growing tired of your ranting and raging. I would not be here at all if you had not done what you did to me, and don’t think for a minute that I have forgotten.

  “I can make you forget,” Ronan said softly, and his tone hinted of a threat.

  What?

  “I...” Ronan hesitate as though realizing what he had just said. “I said, I can make you forget me. I could go away.”

  Go where? Alaric asked.

  “Into the darkest recesses of your mind,” Ronan replied. “Where you would never notice me at all. Is that what you want? For me to go away?”

  Alaric tried not to frown. Admittedly, he thought that was the whole reason for coming here, to rid himself of Ronan as well as the demon.

  Would I forget how to speak your tongue? Alaric asked.

  “Probably,” Ronan said.

  Then I’d best keep you around a little longer, I imagine.

  “That’s more like it,” Ronan said, and there was laughter in his words. You could keep me around for an eternity.”

  Alaric started to say that he would not live so long, but he heard the thump of hooves and sensed that Vagner was near. The demon had turned back into his ho
rse form with his tack intact, and came strolling out of the woods with a bit of a bulge wobbling his belly.

  “Well, I’ll be a toad,” Talena said.

  “I can teach you a spell so you can make her one,” Ronan whispered to Alaric.

  Alaric merely smiled at Talena. “I believe these are mine,” he said as he scooped up the four silver farthings.

  Talena just stared.

  THIRTY-FOUR

  Wendon had never seen anything quite like it in his life. The small village was built up inside the center of the willow where its fronds branched out. Platforms jutted from the main structure, comfortable little cottages above the ground. The willow must have been a hundred feet across at the trunk alone.

  “She once told me that giant trees are quite common in Ross-Mhor,” Shona said in a whisper.

  Once Etienne had found him some clothes in the market, they had taken a room in a small inn. Etienne was exhausted enough to fall asleep on one of the floor pallets while he and Shona sat and marveled at their view.

  “But this...is something beyond what we know as large trees,” Wendon said. “Do you suppose it is magic that makes them grow so large?”

  “We’ll have to ask Etienne when she wakes up,” Shona said with a shrug. “Why do you ask?”

  “Because I sense a lot of magic in this tree,” he said.

  Shona nodded. “Yes, I feel something too. In Keltora, willows are said to walk when they tire of one place. One almost wonders if this willow is alive.”

  Wendon frowned. He would hate to think what a tree this large walking across the moors would look like. But there was definitely a strong essence of life, stronger than any he had encountered in ordinary trees. “Trees are alive,” he said. “They grow, they die...”

  “Yes, but this is different,” she said.

  Wendon nodded. The furnishings of the room were simple and scarce. Other than the pallets, some cushions and a low long table, there was nothing. On the table sat trays of fruits, nuts and cheeses. But Wendon had barely nibbled any of his share.

  “You should eat,” Shona said and picked up an apple.

  “I know.” He sighed and glanced longingly at the window again.

  “Thera will be fine,” Shona said.

  “I wish I could be certain of that,” Wendon said.

  Shona nodded. “I understand. I feel much the same about Alaric being so far away, and not knowing where he is or what is happening to him doesn’t help. At least, you know where Thera is and who holds her hostage.”

  “So you really like Alaric, do you?” Wendon ventured.

  “Very much,” Shona said. “In the beginning, I thought he wasn’t even noticing me. I think he had eyes for Etienne then.”

  “And that doesn’t bother you?” Wendon asked.

  “No,” Shona said and sighed, and then she smiled. “I think I was able to persuade him that I was a better match for him. Of course, it helped that Etienne was angry with him for a time.”

  “For what?”

  Shona giggled. “He looked down inside her gown when she was tending him,” she said. “Etienne was so furious because she had thought he was more of an innocent than that.”

  “And he wasn’t?” Wendon said and looked startled to think that there was an aspect to Alaric he had never considered. “Are you sure it wasn’t Fenelon’s influence?”

  “Why do you dislike Fenelon?” Shona asked.

  “Apart from the fact that he’s arrogant and rude and considers himself above everyone else.”

  “Actually, I think you are describing the High Mage,” Shona said and smiled. “Etienne says that Fenelon is more like an overgrown child. He’s very curious about magic and its applications. And he’s an adventurer at heart. But arrogant and rude...no. Even I would not call him that. I think he just gets so involved in his love of life and magic and forgets that not all of us have such lofty intentions.”

  “I suppose she would know him better than anyone else,” Wendon said and sighed. “But he was always cruel to me.”

  “Wendon, he only wanted to convince you that you didn’t have to be such a stuffy old bear all the time.”

  “Right, and that’s why he used me like he did?”

  “Don’t you want to be a master mage?” Shona asked.

  “More than anything...well, almost more than anything.” Wendon pursed his lips in thought. Before now, magic had been about the only thing that mattered.

  “Why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Why do you want to be a master mage?”

  Wendon shrugged. “So people will respect me,” he said.

  “Respect is something that has to be earned,” Shona said. “As I recall my own father saying, you can earn it one of two ways. By bullying everyone into being afraid not to respect you or by showing everyone you care enough to make sacrifices for them or for the greater cause. Frankly, I think the latter method has more appeal because it will certainly mean you have more friends.”

  Wendon’s leaned on the window sill and looked out at the world again. He had never had many friends. In fact, the more he thought about it, he had never had any real friends. The people he grew up with at home had made fun of him until his mage sign manifested. Then they would avoid him. At Dun Gealach, he had tried to fit in, but there were always mageborn who were smarter or faster or more popular than he. When Alaric came, he seemed the least judgmental of all the people Wendon had met over the years of struggling to learn magic. But even he had drifted over to Fenelon’s side, became Fenelon’s apprentice. So no wonder he had been startled to find that Thera really cared for him as she did.

  “You do have friends, Wendon,” Shona said.

  “Name one,” he mumbled.

  “Besides Thera? Well, Alaric, myself, Etienne, and even Fenelon. And all you have to do is let us see the real you, the unpretentious you.”

  Wendon glanced at her. The angle of the light was causing her hair to shimmer like spun gold in the sun. She looked almost fey to him now.

  “You think of me as a friend?” he asked.

  Shona nodded. She picked up an apple and put it into his hand. “Now, you want some advice from a friend. Eat before you starve yourself weak.”

  Wendon took the apple and smiled faintly. “I dunno,” he said and patted his stomach with his free hand. “I suspect it wouldn’t hurt me to starve a little. Maybe then no one would call me Warthog.”

  “That’s not why he calls you that,” she said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You charge around huffing and puffing all the time, rather like a wild boar defending its territory,” Shona said.

  “I do?” Wendon weighed the apple in his hand.

  Shona nodded. “But I suspect you don’t have to be like that at all,” she added.

  “I suspect you’re right,” he said and took a bite of the apple. The sweet juice filled his mouth. He chewed it, amazed at the flavor and texture.

  “Good, aren’t they,” Shona said.

  Wendon nodded and took another bite.

  Even warthogs, he told himself, have to eat.

  Thera was still sitting in the chair when Brother Colum arrived. Oh, good, she thought. She had feared it would be Sister Onora whose temperament reminded Thera of a wasp. The brother swept in, frowning so that his aged face seemed to fold with wrinkles. A deception, or so Thera hoped. Even this elderly brother of her temple had his bad days. He offered a cold glance to all those who stood around her, then stepped forward to stand over her like a true patriarch.

  “May I have a chair?” It was not so much a question as a command. The mageborn guards traded glances of uncertainty then one of them rushed over to fetch a chair and brought it to the brother. Brother Colum seated himself so that he was on eye level with her, and waved a hand at the guards to indicate their presence was no longer necessary. Again they hesitated.

  “We are under orders from the Lord Magister not to...” one of them began.

  Brothe
r Colum’s glower was steely and cold. He shifted in the chair to turn that look on the guards.

  “It is not like I have the power to whisk her out of here with a snap of my fingers,” he said. “But as an elder patriarch of the Temple of Diancecht, I am not bound to your rules. You will leave me to speak with this sister in private, or I will leave and go straight to the king and force your lord magister to turn her over to us.”

  The guards balked. Then their leader gestured for all of them to leave the room.

  “We will be just outside the door,” he said, and he bowed to show that he did have some respect for Brother Colum’s position before he followed his men.

  Brother Colum sat stiffly, waiting for the door to close. Only then did he relax his fierce bull terrier posture into the loll of an old bear. A smile tugged one corner of his mouth into a curve.

  “Well, Sister Thera,” he said. “What have you gotten yourself into this time?”

  Thera sighed, relaxing. “I helped Magister Etienne and her apprentice and a mageborn student named Wendon to escape this set of chambers. For that matter, I have assisted in the deception of putting another in Magister Greenfyn’s place so that he could escape the tower and rescue a friend.”

  “I see. And was this sacrifice of your self-esteem and your safety worthy of this assistance?”

  “I believe their cause is just,” Thera said. “As I understand it, they are seeking to keep the Lord Magister from executing a young man named Alaric Braidwine who has recently had the misfortune of being forced to ally himself with a demon in order to save his own life. The young man apparently had a part in stopping a bloodmage whose sole purpose was to raise the Dark Mother.”

  Brother Colum stiffened. “The Dark Mother? Blessed Brother, I had always hoped those legends were not true.”

  “Legends?” Thera said and waited in the hope that he would continue this tale.

  “The Dark Mother is one of the Great Dragons, and she has ever plagued this world since the beginning of time. When I was a young healer, I tended a very old man who said that he was a survivor of the Great Cataclysm. At the time, I did not believe him. That was so long ago, and I assumed that it was delirium that made him speak so. But he said that he was born in the last decades of the reign of the Shadow Lords, and that he was given long life by an Old One that he might survive and help bring back the age of light. He said that the Dark Mother had been slain by a Champion of Light, and that when the Circle of Time turned, the Balance of All Things would be challenged once more, and unless a champion was born in this age, there would be none who could stop the sons of the Dark Mother from bringing her back to life. And that if she returned to her physical form, she would bring back the Darkening. And the Shadow Lords would rise to rule again.”