by M. C. Elam
“Wait, son. I don’t want you to leave.” Ian gripped the edge of the table and winced at the pain in his twisted fingers. He forced his knees to straighten, and with shaky steps, teetered after him. “Hawk, wait. I must know what you found in the caves.”
Hawk searched his pack and held the black pearl out in front of him. “A pearl, Father, I found a black pearl to add to the Ascalla collection. Here, is your trophy. Take it.”
“No. I don’t mean the pearl, Hawk. Tell me about the magic.” Pain like a hundred burning suns gripped his chest. His rheumy old eyes turned back in the sockets and exposed yellowish-white orbs without pupil or iris. A string of thick drool fell from the corner of his mouth and ran down his chin. Garbled syllables rattled from his slack-lipped mouth He toppled like a felled tree.
“Father!” Hawk dropped the pack.
***
Ian Hawkins, High Warrior of Ascalla, knew he was dying. Holy men sat in constant attendance. Healers came and went, conferring in the corridor outside his bedchamber. They bled him once a day to release bad humors and forced wine laced with bitter tasting powders down his throat. The drugs kept him dazed. No one listened to him, to what he wanted. He battled the lethargic haze and in a lucid moment found a bearded figure bending over him ready to coax another draught into his mouth. Through clenched teeth, he shook his head. Undaunted the healer took hold of his nose and cut off his wind. How dare they? Anger drove away the last of the foggy stupor. He grabbed the cup and heaved it at the nearest wall. His Majesty, he informed them, would sleep when his body burned on a funeral bier and the smoke and flames bore his spirit skyward. Appalled, the healers scattered. Peace at last save for that infernal droning. Blasted holy men chanting their confounded prayers for his eternal soul, they had him dead already. He’d show them. Three days after the eruption in his chest, Ian Hawkins pushed up on one elbow and planted his face inches from the nearest bowed head.
“You moaning wonder, get me Wryth.”
“Milord, please. You must lie back.”
“Sons-of-whores. Get out you black-robed wasters—out of my face. And send a chambermaid. Damned room stinks of piss.”
“Milord?”
“Go, you pigheaded bastard.” Winded, he sank against the pillows.
When next he opened them, he wasn’t sure if minutes had passed or hours, but Wryth leaned over him.
“I am here, milord.”
“Say my name, Wryth. I long to hear my name.”
“Of course, Ian.”
“Not that one. Call me by the name you first knew.”
“What can I do, Talon?”
“Get Hawk.”
“He’s outside. They told him the sight of him might kill you.”
“Imbecilic notion. Body’s killing me.”
Ian’s breath caught in his throat, and he coughed. Wryth raised his head and offered a bit of wine.
“Not that stuff, man. They’ve laced it with sleeping powders.” He coughed again trying to bring up the infernal liquid that threatened to strangle him. “Just water—then help me sit up.”
Wryth complied, pulled his body forward, and started to push pillows behind his back.
“No, not here—damned bed’s piss soaked.” He nodded toward a large armchair by the window. “Over there Wryth. The chair—get me into it, and open the damned window before we both vomit at the smell.”
“I…”
“Just do it. My spirit won’t haunt you if I keel over dead.”
Wryth laughed. “Aye, Talon.”
“Much better. Damned holy men, too damned somber for my taste. Good to hear a real laugh. We understand each other.”
“Aye. We do.” Wryth pulled the chair close and helped Ian swing his legs over the edge of the bed. “Can you grab hold around my neck?”
“Aye.”
“Hold on now. Here we go.” He lifted Ian off the edge of the bed and into the chair. Grunting and tugging, he managed to move it close to the window and opened it a few inches.
“All the way man. I’ve smelled my own death long enough. Did they call a girl to change the bed?”
“Aye, and I sent them to fetch a fresh mattress.”
“Good man, damned fine man. Now snatch that bed robe before they see my bare arse hanging out and swoon at the sight.”
“You sound more yourself than I expected.”
“Course I’m myself. Who else did you think?”
“They said you couldn’t speak,” said Wryth.
“Blood sucking whore sons fouled the wine with sleeping potion. Finally flung the piss at them.” He laughed and started to cough again. “Feels like drowning in your own juice, Wryth. I’d sooner take an arrow.” Another fit of coughing struck harder and lasted longer.
“Maybe I should get you back into bed.”
“Hells bells, Wryth. Get Hawk. I want to see my son.”
“I’m here.” Hawk stood in the open doorway. He held a new feather mattress by one end while two young chambermaids struggled with the other. Neither Wryth nor Ian had heard the latch move, but Hawk had been there long enough to judge the gravity of his father’s condition.
“Come here, or must I screw my fool head round to get a look at you.”
Hawk relinquished the mattress to the girls. They scurried across to the bed, recoiled at the smell and then set about rolling up the old mattress, linens and all. They dragged the mess to the door and thrust it into the passage. Flustered to be in the same room with the king and Hawk, they flew around putting order to the mess and making the bed.
Ian Hawkins watched amused and, when they finished, called them to him. They came, heads bowed, not daring to look him in the eye.
“Am I such an ogre you fear the sight of me? Wryth, give them a coin or two—gold ones if you have them.”
Wryth pressed a gold coin into each of their hands, and they disappeared into the corridor.
“Come here, Hawk. Sit beside me.”
“You’ll get better, Father.” He knelt on one knee and took his father’s hand. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
Ian touched his bowed head. “Arrogant puppy.”
Hawk raised his head and saw merriment in the tired old eyes that claimed his.
“You caused nothing, Ian Hawkins the… What generation is he Wryth? What’s in that fool book?”
“The fifth, milord.”
“Damnation man, speak as my friend.”
“Aye, yes, I’m sorry.”
“My father called me Talon. Remember that?” He tipped his head to look at Wryth.
“It was the first name I knew you by.”
“Leave us, old friend, but stay close. I want to talk to my son.”
Ian waited until the door closed.
“Let us talk as men, my son. Let us talk without blame or remorse.”
“I want that too, Father.”
Ian relaxed against the back of the chair. “Tell me about the caves, the magic.”
Hawk settled cross-legged on the floor next to his father and leaned against the chair the same way he used to as a boy. In those days, while Ian worked at his papers, he told stories of battles and jousts and forest hunts that set the little boy dreaming. In those days, his father was a giant bull of a man. Tall, thick-necked with hair the color of jet, he was amazingly charismatic. He had exuded confidence, and the people of Ascalla adored him.
“Don’t you remember the caves?”
“I didn’t go, Hawk. I was too afraid. That gaping hole and the sea water rushing to seal it. By the gods, I meant to go.” The look on his face beseeched Hawk to understand. “Some men need the sky, and when I looked into that rock hole, I lost my nerve. Griffin went alone. He promised not to tell anyone. I hid near the entrance and waited for him. When he came out, he told me stories, wild stories full of magic. I thought he lied.”
“You didn’t go? But the rock of colored light. How did you come by it?”
“Griffin.”
“And your pearl?”
/> “I brought home no pearl.”
“But Selene told me you entered the caves twice, once when you were a boy and again when you followed her and Wryth across the mountains.”
Ian shook his head. “Selene thought we took to the caves, but Griffin led me into the forest instead.”
“Why?”
Ian shrugged. “If you ask, he won’t have an answer.”
“Why hide that from Selene, Father?”
“We didn’t speak about the forest or what happened there to anyone.”
“Something happened.”
“Aye, but it goes back so much further than Selene or Shadall and the caves.” A long sigh escaped him.
“Maybe I better call Wryth, now. You need rest.”
“I’ve an eternity for that and only now for you.”
“Please, Father.”
Ian ignored him. “From as far back as I remember your grandfather disapproved of everything I did. Nothing was ever good enough. He found my prowess lacking in every manly art, but one unforgivable deed closed his heart to me. He’d sent me to oversee a hunt with Amberton Merrill.
“High Warrior before Robert?”
“Aye. His father. He came to negotiate an alliance. The hunt seemed a simple enough task that in my father’s words, I might manage without a keeper. We trailed a large stag, a fourteen pointer, and when we came close enough, the first shot went to Amberton. His arrow went wide. My luck the outriders trailed it and sent a scout to fetch us. I did everything to startle that stag, guided my horse into dry leaves. Dropped my bow and fumbled the arrow. Damned beast stood there while all looked at me. Most of all, Amberton—I read clumsy oaf all over his face. So I gave in. I drew my arrow and brought my aim dead center over the stag’s heart. I held the point until my head swam. I heard the arrow sing. Heard it strike bone and crash into its chest. I saw the stag crumble and watched blood trickle from the wound.”
“You made the kill?”
“Those blasted eyes. If I hadn’t looked into those blasted eyes I might have or just imagined that I had. Have you looked upon eyes like those, Hawk? Have you? Eyes full of passion and a joy for life. Eyes like those know the earth, the soul.” His voice broke. “I wasn’t the hunter anymore. My spirit entered the stag. I became the prey and looked upon my body holding the bow. Then I snapped back across the distance and my own knees crumbled. I fell and dropped the bow. The stag ran. Worse, I sobbed like a harebrained lunatic right in front of Amberton Merrill.”
“Father.” Hawk stroked his arm. “You don’t have to tell me.”
“They all thought it was because I lost the shot, but they were dead wrong. I’d nearly killed that stag to win a contest over Merrill.”
“Sport’s a poor reason to kill. You taught me that. I’ve always admired you for it.”
“Your grandfather didn’t. Amberton Merrill went back to Glynmora without agreeing to an alliance, and my father destroyed the arboretum I’d built outside these very walls. Hacked the plants to bits, had the trees downed and turned them to kindling. One by one, he killed every wild creatures I sheltered.”
“You can’t shoulder blame for that?”
“My father loathed the sight of me after that. May the gods forgive me. I hated him. With the Glynmora alliance lost, he arranged a betrothal agreement with Andors. I was bent on escaping anything he demanded of me. That betrothal meant another forced compliance.”
He took a ragged breath and began another bout of coughing. “Wine, son. It eases my throat.”
Hawk handed him the goblet and helped steady his hand while he sipped. Rest now, father, please.”
Ian shook his head and went on. “It was shortly after that hunt that Wryth and Selene escaped across the mountains from Lawrenzia. The people of Baline offered them sanctuary. When my father learned about Selene’s betrothal to King Peter, he intended to send them back. The idea terrified Selene. She and Wryth escaped and fled across the Outlands. When I followed them to Shadall, I planned to stay.”
“Leave Ascalla?”
“Aye. And I would’ve but for that time in the forest with Griffin. I must’ve been a dismal companion. I felt wretched about questing in the caves.”
“Selene said the caves changed you.”
Ian smiled. “Not the caves—it was the stag.”
Hawk looked surprised.
“We’d been catching fish barehanded for our supper when I saw it across the stream. Griffin was only a few feet away. I swear to you I called out, but he didn’t hear. The stag came to the water’s edge. I met those wondrous eyes. They fell on my soul, pulled me inside, and I looked through them again just as I had the day of the hunt. I saw Ascalla, her fields, her streams, the beauty of the sunrise over Falmora. The essence of Ascalla throbbed in my chest, pure and clear like the pulsing rhythm of that wild hart drinking at the stream. I saw a boy beside his mother and knew him as my son, but the woman had rich dark hair, not the color of wheat like Selene’s. I don’t know how long I held onto that image, but when it withered, I saw my father weep for loss of me. I felt his regret for the fowl blows cast by his own hand and knew his shame. The stag raised its head, turned, and disappeared into the forest.”
“Griffin never saw it?”
“Griffin.” A coughing spell cut him short, and he pointed to the wine goblet on the table. He waved away Hawk’s attempt to hold it for him. “Griffin claimed magic brought the stag to me. Magic or not, I knew I had to go home. Make things right with my father.”
“And that’s why you left Selene, to obey your father?”
“I had to mend the rift with my father and honor my betrothal, not for him but because of the future the stag brought to me. By the gods, I tried to make peace with him, and I know he tried as well. The rift that separated us was too wide, and we managed only to tolerate each other for the good of Ascalla.” He searched the boy’s expression for a sign of understanding.
“You went ahead with the betrothal because of the vision.”
“Aye, I saw you and your mother. If you believe nothing else, you must believe that I loved her. When I close my eyes at night, I see her face.” Caught by a violent coughing spell that tore through his chest, he slumped sideways in the chair.
Hawk put one arm around his father’s chest and pushed him slightly forward. He cupped the fingers of his free hand and rapped soundly from one side of his back to the other until the phlegm dislodged, and the coughing stopped.
Ian leaned back in the chair. “Better now.”
“Rest, Father.”
“Do you believe in magic, Hawk?”
“You mean like the stag?”
“Aye, the stag and more. Do you believe?”
“I saw magic in the caves. Creatures that appeared and disappeared. Warriors captured in stone. I spoke with a spider, terrible in its fury, yet tender with the care of its children. It taught me honor and trust. Other creatures, hideous things, one took Terill’s form and lied. How it lied. Oh, and a crystal cavern full of light, the floor gleamed with color. There must have been thousands and thousands of them, like the one, the one…”
“The one on my writing table. The one Griffin gave me. Such beauty in that dark place?”
“Beautiful? Oh, yes. But dark horrors, too, the ogre cave.”
“Ogres? Not real.”
“As real as I am. A horrible warrior race. Remember the pig girl in the city? The one Evangeline tried to help?”
“I remember. Unfortunate child.”
“Aye, unfortunate to be sired by an ogre. They live on violence, wagering on life and death battles. They’ve a code, Father. You could say a code of honor. Though it is most certainly a dismal one. If you understand their way and win the day, you walk with your life. So many things I could tell you about them.”
“You fought and bested ogres?”
“Aye. Terill and I. We met Skylla there. I wish you could know her. So brave, so beautiful but not human, Father, not human at all. A dragon in her true form, she s
wore kinship to me and Terill.”
“A pact with a dragon,” Ian laughed.
“I know the story sounds fantastic, but I swear it is all true.”
“I believe you.”
“Because of the stag?”
Ian nodded. “Because of the stag. I know you believe honor binds you to Evangeline.”
Hawk lowered his head. He didn’t want to antagonize his father. They’d journeyed so far today. He didn’t want to argue.
“Look at me.”
“Can’t we leave it for now? Let it go until you are better.”
“I may never be better. Don’t waste our time by evading me. I know you love Evangeline. I know you feel honor bound to keep the promises you made.”
“Father, stop. I love you with all my heart. You are my sovereign lord and my father. Your blood flows through me. All my life I wanted to look at you and see pride shining in your eyes. I want it now. But Evangeline is my wife. If it takes the rest of my life to find her, I will never stop searching. She holds my soul in her hands. Without her, I am nothing.”
“May I finish?”
Hawk knew that tone. Did he want to let him finish? How could he listen to more reasons why he must honor a betrothal agreement that dashed his future with Evangeline? If Wryth didn’t record the marriage, even if Evangeline destroyed their marriage documents, none of that mattered to him. She must’ve had cause. Pressure from his father. Fear of reprisal. Denials about legality. Wryth called it treason against Ascalla. He had to make his father understand. Give Evangeline up? Never. Not the longest day he lived. If she turned away, he’d win her again. He’d find her and flee Ascalla if he had to. Now it was coming. Words his father insisted he hear. Why couldn’t he let it go? Merrill and Glynmora, the whole damned affair.
“Father, I love you.”
“And I you, boy.”
“Then why did you insist on my betrothal? If Merrill wants an ally to stand against Lawrenzia, he’ll agree without it.”