love, Of the earth's sweet soil beneath him, of the vaulting sky
above, Sang of healing, sang of growing, sang of joy and hope and
dreams, And the Singer Of The Shadows felt the death of all her
schemes.
It was then she tried to flee him, but his song and magic spell Struck her down and held her pinioned and she faltered, and she fell.
Then the Singer Of the Shadows saw her Shadows shatter
there, Saw her lies unmade before her, saw her darkness turned to
day
And how empty and how petty was the spirit then laid bare- Like her Shadows then she shattered, and in silence passed
away.
WINDRIDER UNCHAINED
Windrider, fettered, imprisoned, and pinioned Wing-clipped by magic, his power full drained, Valdemar's Heir is defeated and captive, With his Companion by Darklord enchained.
Darklord of shadows his fetters is weaving Binds him in darkness as deep as despair, Mocks at his anger and laughs at his weeping, “Where is your strength now, oh Valdemar's Heir?”
Darklord has left them by shadows encumbered, Darshay and Windrider trapped in his gloom, Deep in 'his prisons, past hope, past believing, Heir and Companion, will this be your tomb?
Out of the shadows another draws nearer, Out of the twilight steals one furtive light. Shadows dance pain, while the Light sings despairing, Drawn here by Darshay and Windrider's plight.
Power new-won have the Singer and Dancer, Power to shatter their curses at last-Power that also could free the sad captives; Power to break the bonds holding them fast.
Heart speaks to heart in the depths of the darkness Grief calls to grief, and they falter, afraid- Why should they sacrifice all for these strangers? Then new-won compassion sends them on to aid.
Dancer in Shadows, she weeps as she dances, Dancing, unmaking the shadow-born bands. Sunsinger now through tears gives up his power- Sings back the magic to Windrider's hands.
Spent now, the twain unseen fall into shadow Gifted to strangers all that they had gained. Darklord returns, and by fear is confounded- Flees the avenger, Windrider unchained!
DEMONSBANE
Along a road in Hardorn, the place called Stony Tor A fearful band of farmers flees Karsite Border war. A frightened band of farmers, their children, and their wives, Seeks refuge from a tyrant, who wants more than their lives.
Now up rides Herald Vanyel. “Why then such haste?” says
he.
“Now who is it pursuing, whose anger do you flee? For you are all of Hardorn, why seek you Valdemar? Is Festil no protection? Bide all his men too far?”
“Oh, Vanyel, Herald Vanyel, we flee now for our lives, Lord Nedran would enslave us, our children and our wives- He'd give our souls to demons, our bodies to his men. King Festil has not heeded, or our peril does not ken.”
Now up speaks Herald Vanyel. “The Border is not far- But you are all of Hardorn, and not of Valdemar. You are not Randale's people-can call not on his throne- But damned if I will see you left helpless on your own!”
So forth goes Herald Vanyel, and onward does he ride.
On Stony Tor he waits then, Yfandes at his side.
With Nedran's men approaching, he calls out from on
high, “You shall not pass, Lord Nedran! I shall not let you by!”
Now Herald Vanyel only stands blocking Nedran's way “Now who are you, fool nothing, that you dare to tell me
nay?”
Now up speaks Herald Vanyel in a voice like brittle glass; “The Herald-Mage called Vanyel-and I say you shall not
pass!”
Now there stands great Lord Nedran, and behind him forty
men,
Beside him is his wizard-but he pales, and speaks again- “So you are Herald Vanyel-but this place is not your land. So heed me, Herald Vanyel; turn aside and hold your hand.”
“Let be; I'll give you silver, and I shall give you gold, And I shall give you jewels fair that sparkle bright and bold, And I shall give you pearls, all the treasures of the sea, If you will step aside here, and leave these fools to me.”
“What need have I of silver more than sweet Yfandes here? And all the gold I cherish is sunlight bright and clear. The only jewel I treasure's a bright and shining star, And I will protect the helpless even outside Valdemar.”
“Now I shall give you beauty, slaves of women and of men, And I shall give you power as you'll never see again, And I shall give you mansions and I shall give you land, If you will turn aside here, turn aside and hold your hand.”
“Now beauty held in bondage is beauty that is lost.
And land and mansions blood-bought come at too high a
cost.
And power I have already-all power is a jade- So turn you back, Lord Nedran if of me you are afraid!”
Lord Nedran backs his stallion, the wizard he comes nigh. “Prepare yourself, bold Vanyel, for you shall surely die!” The wizard calls his demons, the demons he commands, And Vanyel, Herald Vanyel, only raises empty hands.
The wizard calls his demons, the sky above turns black. The demons strike at Vanyel, he stands and holds them back. The demons strike at Vanyel, they strike and hurt him sore, But Vanyel stands defiant, to raise his hands once more.
The sky itself descending upon bare Stony Tor Now hides the awful battle. The watchers see no more. The wizard shouts in triumph-too soon he vents his mirth. For Vanyel calls the lightning, and smites him to the earth!
The clouds of black have lifted; upon the barren ground Stands Vanyel hurt, but victor, the demons tied and bound. He looks down on Lord Nedran; his eyes grow cold and
bleak- “Now shall I give you, Nedran, the power that you seek-”
Now Vanyel frees the demons, and Nedran screams with
fear, He sets them on the Karsites, who had first brought them
here.
He sets them on the Karsites, and on the Karsite land. They look down on Lord Nedran. They do not stay their
hand.
Now Vanyel calls the farmers. “Go tell you near and far, How thus are served the tyrants who would take Valdemar. I am the bane of demons, who flees them I defend. Thus Heralds serve a foeman-thus Heralds save a friend!”
THE SHADOW-LOVER
Shadow-Lover, never seen by day, Only deep in dreams do you appear. Wisdom tells me I should turn away, Love of mist and shadows, all unclear- Nothing can I hold of you but thought Shadow-Lover, mist and twilight wrought.
Shadow-Lover, comfort me in pain. Love, although I never see your face, All who'd have me fear you speak in vain- Never would I shrink from your embrace Shadow-Lover, gentle is your hand Never could another understand.
Shadow-Lover, soothe me when I mourn Mourn for all who left me here alone, When my grief is too much to be borne, When my burdens crushing-great have grown, Shadow-Lover, I cannot forget- Help me bear the burdens I have yet.
Shadow-Lover, you alone can know How I long to reach a point of peace How I fade with weariness and woe How I long for you to bring release. Shadow-Lover, court me in my dreams Bring the peace that suffering redeems.
Shadow-Lover, from the Shadows made, Lead me into Shadows once again. Where you lead I cannot be afraid, For with you I shall come home again- In your arms I shall not fear the night. Shadow-Lover, lead me into light.
MAGIC'S PRICE
Every year Companions Choose, as they have done before, The Chosen come with shining hopes to learn the Herald's lore.
And every year the Heralds sigh, and give the same advice-
“All those who would hold Magic's Power must then pay Magic's Price.”
Oh there was danger in the North-that's all that Vanyel knew.
An enemy of power dark sought Heralds out-then slew. But only those with Magic's Gift were slain by silent rage- Till Vanyel of them all was left the only Herald-Mage.
Yes, from the North the danger came, beyond the Border
far- The Forest did not stay Dark Death, nor di
d the mountains
bar. And Vanyel cried-”We die, my liege, and know not why
nor where! So send me North my King, that I may find the answers
there!”
Then North went Vanyel-not alone, though 'twas of little
aid
A Bard was like to be to him; and Stefen was afraid-He feared that he would fail the quest, a burden prove to
be- Dared not let Vanyel go alone to face dark sorcery.
So out beyond the Border there, beyond the forest tall, Into the mountains deep they went that stood an icy wall- To find the wall had cracked and found there was a passage
new, A path clean cut that winding ran a level course and true.
This path was wrought by magecraft; Vanyel knew that when
he saw The mountains hewn by power alone, a power he felt with
awe- But to what purpose? Something moved beyond them on the trail;
They watched and hid-and what they found there turned them cold and pale.
An army moved in single file, by magic cloaked and hid- An army moved on Valdemar that marched as they were
bid-
A darker force than weaponry controlled the men and place, For Vanyel looked-and Vanyel knew an ancient evil's face.
Then Vanyel turned to Stefen, and he told the Bard to ride To warn the folk of Valdemar-”They call me 'Magic's Pride.'
It's time I earned the name-now go! I'll hold this army back Until the arms of Valdemar can counter their attack.”
So Stefen rode, and so it is no living tongue can tell How Vanyel fought, nor what he wrought, nor how the Herald fell.
The Army came-but not in time to save the Herald-Mage, Although the pass was scorched and cracked by magic power's rage.
They fought the Dark Ones back although they came on
wave by wave. No trace they found of Vanyel, nor of his Companion
brave-They only found the focus-stone, the gift of Stefen's hand- Now blackened, burned, and shattered by the power that
saved their land.
They only found the foemen who into the woods had fled And each one by unseen, uncanny powers now lay dead. As if the Forest had somehow bestirred itself that day- Had Vanyel with his dying breath commanded trees to slay?
And still the forest of the North guards Valdemar from harm-
For Vanyel's dying curse is stronger far than mortal arm.
And every year the Chosen come, despite the old advice-
“All those who would be Magic's Pride must then pay Magic's Price.”
Brightly Burning (2000)
version t2.0 formatting, spell checked and compared to original. Finished October 14, 2003
To all the unsung heroes who stood by on the evening of December 31, 1999 to ensure that we crossed into the year 2000 with our safety, security, and peace intact.
ONE
LAVAN Chitward hated his mother's parties at the best of times, and this one was no exception. When the Guildmaster of the Cloth Merchants' Guild beckoned to him, he unconsciously hunched his shoulders, assuming he was about to receive yet another homily on hard work, his third for this particular party.
"Here you go, lad," the Guildmaster said, shoving a parcel at him.
Lan gaped at the squarish package in the Guildmaster's hands as the babble of partygoers rattled on around him. Words stuck in Lavan's throat, uncomfortable and sharp-edged. Oh, gods. Now what am I supposed to say? He was already nervous enough before this guest of his parents singled him out; this only made him more self-conscious. Lavan flushed, forehead sweating, and could only stare at the so-called "present" that middle-aged, red-faced Guildmaster Howell was holding out to him, and tried to think of a response. Any response. Well, maybe not any response; if he said what he really thought, his father would skin him.
"Uh—this is—you really shouldn't have gone to so much trouble, Guildmaster," he managed, his stomach churning, as the older man thrust the package at him with hands from which traces of dye would never disappear as long as he lived. The skin was faintly blue, but the nail bed was indigo, giving Lan the unsettling impression he was taking a package from a corpse. The Guildmaster shoved the packet into Lavan's reluctant fingers and let it go, forcing Lan to take it or let it fall. And much as he would have liked to let it fall, he knew that he would never hear the end of it if he did. He fumbled for it and tried not to show how little he wanted it.
His hands closed around it convulsively, and the cloth package fell open, revealing a set of cloth-merchant's tools. There was a lens for examining fabric closely, a rule to determine thread count, a small pair of scissors, other things—exactly what he'd dreaded seeing.
"It was no trouble, no trouble at all!" the Guildmaster said heartily, the corners of his eyes wrinkling as he smiled. "I've outfitted six of my own youngsters for the cloth trade, after all, and I can't think how many others I'm not even related to!" He clapped Lavan heartily on the back, and Lan tried not to wince. "I'll be seeing you in and around the Guildhouse before too long, I'll warrant! Just like your big brother!"
"Ah—" Lavan mumbled something and ducked his head, his hair dampening with nervous perspiration; as he'd hoped, the Guildmaster took his reluctance for shyness, and clapped him on the back again, though a bit gentler this time.
The Guildmaster moved on then, to socialize with the adults, sparing Lavan the task of trying to thank him for a gift the young man didn't in the least want. A quick glance around the crowd in the drawing room showed him that no one was paying any attention to him at the moment, so he hastily rolled up the bundle of tools and shoved it under the cushions on a settle. With any luck, it wouldn't be found until morning, and the servants would assume it belonged to Lan's older brother. He rubbed his damp palms against the legs of his trews and straightened, looking about him. What would Lavan do with a bundle of cloth-merchant's tools, anyway? He didn't know what half of them were used for!
Nothing, that's what. And I don't want to either. I don't want to do anything with cloth but wear it.
In fact, he intended to escape from this gathering as soon as he dared. All of the first-floor rooms of this town house were packed with his parents' guests, all of them important, none of them younger than thirty. It was too hot, too claustrophobic, too loud; the cacophony of voices made his ears ring. The house seemed half its size and it wasn't all that big in the first place, compared with the house Lan thought of as "home," back in Alderscroft. This party wasn't intended to entertain anybody under the age of twenty, anyway, even though the stated reason for it was for the members of the Needleworkers' and Cloth Merchants' Guilds to welcome the whole family to Haven. Lan's mother Nelda and his father Archer were already well known to the members of their Guilds. In spite of living in a village a hundred leagues from Haven, their successes had brought them to the attention of nearly everyone in both Guilds in the capital long before this move. This gathering was supposed to be an opportunity for their children to mix and mingle with the real powers in their parents' Guilds, and hopefully to attract the attention of a potential master to 'prentice to. Samael, Lan's older brother, was already apprenticed to one of their father's colleagues; the other children were of an age to be sent to masters themselves, or so Nelda and Archer kept telling them. No child would be apprenticed to his own parents, of course; a parent couldn't be expected to be objective about teaching him (or her). While an oldest son and heir might eventually join his parents in the parents' business, it wouldn't be until he had achieved Mastery or even Journeyman status on his own.
The bare idea of working with his father, even as an equal partner, depressed Lan beyond telling. And this party was just as depressing. He could hardly wait to get out of there. Every passing moment made him feel as if he was smothering.
Sam, Macy, and Feoden could and would more than make up for Lavan's absence. They wanted to be here, hovering around the edges of conversations, respectfully adding their own observations when one or another of the adults spoke to them. He
only needed to look as if he was circulating long enough for the party to get well underway and the ale to loosen tongues and fog memories—then he could escape.
So to speak. He couldn't get out of the house, but at least he could go somewhere he wouldn't be interrogated by people he didn't know and didn't want to know.
He pretended to busy himself arranging and rearranging the platters of food on the tall buffet near the windows, watching the reflections in the window. His hair clung unpleasantly to his forehead—it really was horribly warm in the room, but it didn't seem to bother anyone else. The many, tiny diamond-shaped panes broke up the reflection into an odd little portrait gallery of the notables of the merchant community of Haven. Lavan didn't know most of their names, and couldn't care less who they were; his attention was on their reactions, their expressions. He was waiting for the time when things were relaxed, and people weren't paying any real attention to anything but having a good time.
As the party continued and mulled wine and ale flowed freely, faces grew flushed and less guarded, voices became a trifle louder, and conversations more animated. At that point, Lavan figured it was safe for him to leave.
Just to be certain no one would stop him, he picked up an almost-empty platter of pastry-wrapped sausages and took it with him, heading in the direction of the kitchen. If anyone who knew him saw him, they'd assume he was being helpful.
The kitchen was overly full with all the extra servers that his parents had hired for the occasion. They barely had room to move about, edging past each other with loaded platters held high overhead, and he simply slipped a long arm just inside the door, left the platter on a bit of empty counter space, and made a quick exit up the servants' stair just off the hall that led to the kitchen. This was quite a "modern" house, unlike their home in the country, one that wasted space on hallways rather than having rooms that led into one another. There was one between the kitchen, the pantries, the closets, and the rest of the first-floor rooms. The hallway delineated the boundaries of "masters' territory" and "servants' territory" and for some reason that fact brought a tiny smile of satisfaction to his mother's face every time she looked at the hall.
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