Ravenshade

by C S Marks

  Carmyn sighed. “Oh, my…wouldn’t that have been something?”

  “I can tell you much of what I saw in the northern realm, for I was there as emissary to Eádros,” said Galador. “I enjoyed the hospitality of the Tuathar on several occasions.”

  Naturally, everyone was interested, even Rogond, despite the fact that he had heard these tales before. There was not a sound to be heard as Galador described the wonders he had seen in Tallasiar, the great western capital city.

  “Dûn Arian was obviously designed in like fashion, yet the city of Tallasiar was larger and grander. Dûn Arian would have fit many times into Tallasiar. Yet they were much alike in design and in character. Tallasiar was one of the greatest centers of learning ever seen. The efforts of hundreds of generations of men, together with scholars of all enlightened peoples, went into her vast storehouses. It is said that only a small portion was saved in the end.”

  “First Eádros, then Tuathas,” said Fima with a sigh. “And let us not forget the Great Library of Tal-elathas. The Elves barely escaped with their lives, and the library was razed to the ground, so I heard.”

  “Very few of them escaped with their lives,” said Galador.

  “Wrothgar is no friend of enlightenment,” said Rogond. “He would have the Lamp of Knowledge extinguished, for with knowledge comes enlightenment. He cannot cover the world in Darkness while that Lamp burns.”

  “Yet not all knowledge brings enlightenment,” Fima replied. “Alas that Lord Kotos the Asarla did not realize it.”

  “Lore-master Fima, the fall of Lord Kotos into Darkness is one of the greatest and most troubling of mysteries,” said Carmyn. “What do you know of it? There has never been an explanation given that I could understand.”

  Fima settled himself into his woolen blanket, for it was a chilly night and the fire was dying down. He looked around the circle of friends to see whether there was any interest in hearing the tale, and the solemn expressions he beheld convinced him. “Would you have me tell of one of the most profound tragedies ever to befall the Powers of Light?” he asked. “For Kotos the Powerful was perhaps the greatest of all the Light-Bearers, save perhaps for Lord Shandor, his friend. If you would hear of it, I will tell what I know.”

  In answer, Gaelen brought an armload of dry cactus-wood and dropped it on the dying fire, which flared up in a dramatic display of sparks and flaming embers. Everyone leaned in closer as Fima stood, throwing off his blanket and assuming his position as story-teller.

  “Kotos was once a powerful force in the fight against Evil. It was said that he could turn even the most benighted souls back to the Light if given the chance. He could heal afflictions of the mind, which were among the most difficult, but even more important was his power to influence the spirit. He was then named “Persuader.” Yet he fell beneath the spell of Lord Wrothgar, thinking that he could escape the fate of all those who tried to learn the true nature of Evil.

  “He wanted to know all things—his curiosity was greatest among all the Asari. He had decided that the way to defeat his Enemy was to know him, and so he descended into Wrothgar’s very lair that he might learn what he needed to know. But Wrothgar caught him, and tempted him, promising that anything Kotos wished to learn would be revealed.

  “The choice Kotos made was his undoing, for he was proud and thought he could prevail. It is said that the knowledge of the inner workings of Darkness actually drove him mad, but we will never know.”

  “Why not?” asked Carmyn. “Some believe that he still walks abroad in Alterra, and others claim that he is dead and gone. Do you know what became of him?”

  “No one really knows the truth,” said Fima. “But I do not believe Kotos is gone. The opinion of the remaining Èolar in Mountain-home is that his spirit still dwells in the Fell-ruin. It is also thought that he has been forever deprived of physical form, but can travel only if his spirit finds a willing host to convey him.”

  “Who would ever convey such a spirit willingly?” asked Nelwyn. “Perhaps he can overtake a person whether they are willing or not. What a terrifying thought!”

  “Ah, but even Lord Wrothgar could not force Kotos into Darkness,” said Fima, ”he had to be persuaded. It is ironic that his great talent, the ability to perceive and see into the souls of others, should fail him in the end.”

  “It did not fail him,” said Rogond. “I believe that Kotos knew he was playing with deadly fire, but his pride and all-consuming curiosity would not allow him to choose wisely. He walked down that path right into the snare, and he did it with both eyes open.”

  Fima then told of the consequences of Kotos’ terrible choice—how he became the Beguiler and finally the Deceiver—and of the bringing of the deepest sorrows in Alterra at his hands. By the time the tale had finished, all in the Company hated and feared Kotos.

  “If I could express one regret in all of this, it would be that such a bright Light turned to such hateful purpose, squandering the talents and gifts given, turning them and perverting them into evil deeds. I have tried to feel pity for Kotos, but I cannot,” said Fima. “We can lay blame for the greatest betrayal in the history of our world at his feet. Thank the stars he is now relatively powerless, skulking in the Fell-ruin, if that was indeed his fate.”

  If it was, is the question, thought Gaelen, and she wasn’t the only one.

  Gaelen took the watch for much of the night, sitting like a solitary cat upon the stones, unmoving and silent. When dawn broke, she took the parchments on which she had recorded all her concerns regarding Orrion, that list of strange events and disturbing coincidences, and began to add to them. But now she looked at the list with different eyes, documenting all similarities between Orrion’s behavior and the tale she had just heard of Lord Kotos. By the time she had finished, it was an extensive list. Could it be that Kotos had actually walked among them in the person of Orrion? Was Orrion a willing host? What Elf would ever suffer such an evil presence? Perhaps Orrion isn’t really an Elf at all.

  And what is the connection with Gorgon, if any? she wondered. There was still so much that remained unclear.

  As soon as she could, Gaelen intended to ask more questions of Fima, for she was now on a quest of her own. She would not stop until the pieces of the puzzle that was Orrion fell into place, regardless of how ugly the finished image turned out to be. Had she known it, there were others in the Company whose thoughts had turned in the same direction. Fima, Rogond, Galador, and Azori each had their reasons for wondering now about the increasingly suspicious death of Aryiah, the presence of Orrion, and the tale of Lord Kotos. Yet the puzzle would not be completed for any of them as yet.

  The two brothers were just about on their last legs when they finally approached the oasis. Neither they nor their beasts had taken any water since the night before last, because they had expected to find water in the wells to the north, but found only a thick, pasty sludge that was well on its way to becoming hardened clay. In desperation they had made their way here, praying that the oasis had not also dried up, and were rewarded with the sight of spice-trees and sweet water. Thank the Lord of Light they had found it!

  They did not realize that watchful eyes were upon them as they filled their vessels, rinsed their tired feet, and drank their fill. They wondered who had left the remains of the cook-fire smoldering nearby—there was no other sign of occupants in the oasis other than a huge, black raven perched upon the dead stump of one of the spice-trees. The raven gave one harsh and ominous croak before flying off. The brothers touched their foreheads in supplication, as this was a bad omen. Yet the water was good and had not been poisoned. Why, then, did they feel such foreboding?

  They had revived the cook-fire and settled down beside it as darkness fell, turning their beasts loose to wander and pick at the scattered blond grass, when they realized they were not alone. A tall, golden figure with odd, leaf-shaped ears and beautiful golden hair strode up to them in the firelight, looking like a vision from an ancient legend. The two bro
thers sat frozen as the tall figure bowed and spoke to them in a voice as deep as the ocean and as soft as velvet. He told them not to fear—that they were in no danger. He was only a traveler like themselves, and his name was Orrion, the Golden-haired.

  They looked deep into the eyes of the stranger, lulled into a peaceful and compliant state of mind, asking that he join them by the fire. Orrion did so, sharing what little food remained, though there was none in the oasis to replenish it. At last he turned to them and smiled. The last sight they beheld was of the raven as it circled over Orrion’s head, cawing and croaking what might have been a parody of laughter. Then there was a flash that might have been a blade, followed by fading sight and endless dark.

  Gorgon smiled to himself as he went about his next task. He was leaving the oasis that very night, and now he would have fresh meat to sustain him. He gave a low, malicious chuckle as he stripped most of the good flesh from the bones of the two ill-fated brothers. The next travelers to approach the oasis would find that some food had been left behind for them after all, but Gorgon did not expect it would be to their liking. The raven helped itself to the leavings before flying out with the Elfhunter into the starlit desert night.

  Just when Azori had assured everyone that they would not encounter anyone of consequence, he found himself in the very unpleasant position of having to take back his words. The Company had gone east as well as north from the last oasis, thinking they had left all threat of Fómor behind. But as they approached the River Dessa, they observed what appeared to be a very large encampment stretching up and down the banks, with other camps visible in the distance in both directions. The horses smelled the river, and they could hear other horses calling from the encampment.

  Although Eros and Réalta knew better than to respond, Toran did not, and he gave out one loud whinny before Gaelen could stop him. She cuffed him sharply on the neck and scolded him, but it was too late—they had been heard, and therefore had most likely also been seen. There was little doubt of it when a party of armed riders launched toward them.

  Nelwyn turned to Azori for guidance. “All right, what do we do now? Are they Corsairs?”

  “Of course they’re Corsairs,” said Estle, her face pale. “But why are there so many along the Dessa, so far from the sea? A few scattered encampments makes sense, but why such a vast number?”

  “Indeed,” said Galador. “This looks like an army preparing for a campaign. See the flags and the rows of spears?”

  Hallagond was watching the approaching riders, who bore flags of blue, red, and black, emblazoned with a red rose over two crossed, curved swords. “Whose device is that? I have never seen such a flag, Azori…Azori?”

  But Azori did not answer. He had, in fact, gone quite pale. “You had better tell us what you know in the next half-minute!” said Hallagond. “Do we draw our weapons, or try to run? Tell us what we should do!”

  “Do not try to run,” said Azori. “If I am any judge, they already have us surrounded. Their scouts have probably been watching us for a while now.” He slammed his right fist into the palm of his left hand. “A curse upon my head for not expecting this! Now we’re in for it. Just try not to threaten them, and maybe we can talk our way out.”

  “Talk our way out of what?” asked Gaelen, who preferred to meet a threat with a bigger threat. She had drawn her bow and now urged Toran forward, cantering toward the approaching Corsairs. She halted, loosed her bow, and sent an arrow into the sand at the feet of the foremost rider. Then she re-drew as they halted, having realized that she could have any of them, or their mounts, in the blink of an eye.

  Nelwyn needed no urging either, and she rode up beside her cousin.

  “Come no closer, I warn you!” said Gaelen in a voice that left little doubt as to her sincerity. “Until we know your intentions, you may not approach! Send one rider, and one rider only, that we may parley. This rider will not be harmed. Do otherwise, and see how I deal with those who would approach under threat of arms.”

  The Corsairs appeared to converse among themselves for a moment, and then one rode forward, leaving the remainder standing where they were. He rode past Gaelen and Nelwyn, who kept their bows ready, each nodding to the other as he passed. Nelwyn turned and escorted him, leaving Gaelen to hold the others at bay.

  The emissary was a tall, brown-eyed man with dark hair and a very nasty scar across one brown, leathery cheek. He smiled, showing stained but otherwise perfect teeth as he drew near the Company, every one of whom had drawn some sort of weapon.

  “Hail, wayfarers,” he said. “Do not be dismayed, for we mean you no harm. However, you are hopelessly outnumbered and you stand no chance of escaping. Why not come down to the river and refresh yourselves? We will feed you, hear your tale, and then decide your fate. We make ready for war in this place, and have little need to harm or waylay strangers at present. Your only other choice is death.” He looked around at the members of the Company. “Who leads you?”

  Nelwyn looked over at Azori, who took the hint. “I do,” he said. “My name is…Ali. I am a friend of Fómor and temporary leader of this Company. We are on our way to the north on urgent business, and we carry nothing of value.”

  The emissary laughed. “Of course you don’t!” he said. “Strange that no one ever does. Well, don’t worry—you will carry even less of it when we have finished with you, O friend of Fómor. Will you now come quietly? You cannot flee, as you do not have enough water to return to the last oasis, and must therefore avail yourselves of the river. Come with us and be welcomed.”

  “An interesting definition of welcome,” said Galador. “Unless you do not actually intend to rob us of what few possessions we carry.”

  “Who said anything about robbing you?” asked the emissary with an innocent expression that was about as genuine as the good wishes of a serpent. “You will be fed and entertained, and made welcome among our folk. Yet we will exact payment for services rendered, as is our right. Now I ask again…will you be our guests, or will you force us to strip all possessions from your poor, dead selves here and now? Choose quickly, as my friends are growing impatient. If you agree, you have only to follow us.”

  He turned then and galloped back to rejoin his group. Estle was the first to speak. “Curse Gaelen for her thoughtlessness. Now she has forced a confrontation.”

  Azori shook his head. “No, do not curse her, not this time. She did exactly the right thing for once. She has shown them that we will not go down easily, and Corsairs are not known for their willingness to lay down their lives without benefit. They respect her already, and she has forced them to at least talk to us first.”

  “Still, she needs to learn to consult with us before taking action that puts us all in jeopardy,” said Estle under her breath. “I choose to curse her anyway. She got lucky this time. Besides, it was her failure to control her stupid horse that got us into this in the first place.”

  “What, then, should we do? I suppose we must follow them,” said Rogond.

  “It seems we have no alternative,” said Fima, with an uncomfortable shrug of his shoulders.

  “We must survive to carry the message to Tal-sithian. That is all that matters,” said Nelwyn. “Perhaps if the Corsairs learn of our errand, they will realize that it is in the best interests of all free folk to allow us to go on our way. The Corsairs surely are no friends of Wrothgar.”

  “Don’t be so sure,” said Galador, who could remember a time when Fómor had set itself against the peaceful people of Dûn Bennas. “The Corsairs are the friends of none save themselves, but they will ally with anyone of power if promised great reward. I do not believe they could resist temptation by the Shadowmancer.”

  “And so they must not learn of our errand, or of Dûn Arian,” said Fima. “We must think of another reason for our journey, and quickly! And we must all agree to it.”

  “Well, you’re the story-teller…think of something!” said Azori, who knew that the Corsairs were clever enough to see through
all but the most convincing deception.

  By the time the Company had gained the shores of the Dessa, Fima had indeed come up with a story, but the Company would not hear it until they were all brought before the Fómorian Commander.

  They were taken into the encampment, enduring the curious stares and derisive laughter of the inhabitants. The Fómorians were noisy folk. They seemed to do everything with gusto, laughing and speaking in loud voices, swaggering about and gesturing with both hands to illustrate every point. The Elves, who almost never spoke with such animation or called attention to themselves in such a brazen manner, were put off at once. Every hair on Gaelen’s neck was standing straight up as they were escorted into a huge, blue silken tent. Blue dyes are rare, and one who could afford such extravagance was undoubtedly a person of great prominence and wealth. There were red roses growing in clay pots set all about, spreading their delightful fragrance. Everywhere there was evidence of the opulence and excesses of the flesh beloved in Fómorian culture. It looked and smelled like a brothel.

  “Please sit down and allow us to refresh you,” said their escorts, grinning and pointing at the scattered cushions lining both sides of a long table set in the center of the cavernous tent. “The Queen will soon be joining you.”

  Azori and Hallagond looked at one another. “Did he say “Queen?” whispered Rogond, and Gaelen suppressed a snort, receiving an elbow in the ribs from Estle. They had been relieved of their weapons, with the very unreliable promise that they would be returned later. Everyone else in the command tent carried several blades, and therefore it seemed wise to behave as compliant and willing guests for the moment. After all had been seated, food and drink were set before them.

  “I hope it would be considered impolite to refuse,” said Fima. “After all, we must try not to offend them, is that not so, Azori, I mean…Ali?”

  Azori winced at the use of his real name. “Yes, Fima, though I would like to see at least one other person eat the food and drink the wine before I partake of it myself.”