by Ellyn, Court
“Will this light—please Massster?” it rasped. “It pleases—us.”
Thin threads of light gathered into the thing’s eyes, and Kelyn felt a draining, as if his blood were pouring from a wound.
A sphere of humming yellow light pelted the creature in the face and whirled about its head. Tossing Kelyn aside, the creature swatted at the light like a bear warding off stinging bees.
Kelyn crawled for his sword, trying to catch his breath.
A cry echoed along the corridor: “Rágazeth!” Zellel approached warily, staff poised and bright with rippling light. The creature dropped into a crouch and hissed a warning. The old avedra kept coming. “Leave the boy be, Demon, and go back to the Abyss where you belong!”
“No—no—no,” it replied, grinning. “Avedra—we ssseek. Young—or old.” It lunged for Zellel, but a bolt of light ripped from the crystal orb and hurled the creature the length of the corridor. Skin, hair, and teeth danced with the white fire and the fleshly disguise disintegrated with a sudden burst of fine particles. The creature shrieked in pain and fury and hovered, an amorphous black cloud, against the ceiling. A voiceless roar sapped the mettle from Kelyn’s bones. He sank against the wall, wanting nothing more than to curl up and weep like a babe.
The cloud descended in a rush, charging the avedra with a vengeance. Abruptly, it stopped and made a snuffling sound. “Death—we smell.” Rasping with laughter, it sped away down the corridor and vanished through the wall. Zellel bellowed a protest and raced after it. Kelyn forced himself to follow.
A shrill scream rose from the duke’s chamber. Halayn. Or was it Rhoslyn? Kelyn would never forgive himself if his brother’s betrothed came to harm. He outpaced the old man and threw open the doors. Rhoslyn held her hands to her mouth in terror, a book lay on its face at her feet. The black cloud hovered possessively over Harac; the duke struggled with all the strength left him. Zellel ran to the bedside, but the cloud leapt up from the bed, taking with it a bright light. The duke’s body stopped struggling, and his empty eyes stared after his soul. With its new prisoner, the shadow sped up through the ceiling, leaving an echo of its laughter behind.
Zellel dropped his staff. He collapsed to his knees and groaned.
Rhoslyn reached for him, gave him a wild shake. “What was it, Zellel? Call it back. Bring my father back to me.” Her voice rose, becoming hysterical, “Zellel, it took him. Find him and bring him back! Please!”
The avedra stiffly regained his feet, and said in a lifeless monotone, “I can’t. Only the Mother-Father can rescue him now. I am sorry. Your Grace.”
He drifted from the room, past Kelyn who stood by, useless with a sword, and Lady Halayn, who ran into the suite. “Oh, no,” she muttered behind her fingers and went to close her brother’s eyes.
Rhoslyn keened through her teeth, face and hands flat to the floor. Kelyn set aside the falcon blade and plucked her up. Her arms about his neck were tight enough to choke him as she wailed and wailed. It was the sound he had felt in his heart when he saw his own father dead on the icy hillside, but he’d been too afraid to give it release. He let Rhoslyn cry for them both and rocked her in silence.
~~~~
On one of the duke’s fine palfreys, Kieryn arrived at the roadside camp north of Avidan Wood. Autumn had turned the great andyr trees to rich burgundy; in the dimming twilight, the leaves looked as dark as blood. Kieryn searched for the Dragon Eyes among the branches, but saw none and his heart sank. All for the better. Sharing Laniel’s company might detain him longer than he could afford. With a well-focused thought, he built a small fire among the ashes and coals left by other travelers, then saw to his horse. From his satchel he fished out the fruit and smoked fowl he’d bought that morning in Helwende and enjoyed a skin of thin red wine while the stars emerged. The night promised to be cold. He wrapped up in his robe and a cloak and convinced the fire to burn a little higher, a little warmer, then lay back against his saddle, fearing the state of grief he would find his mother in. What words of comfort could he offer her? He was too exhausted with grief himself to think on these things for long.
He slept for what felt like only moments when Saffron pelted him with her tiny hands. She shook his shoulder, tugged his hair, and her light, brighter than usual, struck his eyes. “Kieryn, you must come with me, hurry!” Even when she returned to Windhaven with Kelyn, she hadn’t been this upset. She was afraid; indeed, she was near panic.
Kieryn sat up, reaching for the elven blade in his belt, while searching for red eyes and big axes. The palfrey pranced and sidestepped, trying to loose his tether and flee. “Where are they?” he asked. Veil Sight revealed nothing.
“Not ogres! Worse,” Saffron cried. “Much worse. Forget weapons, my love. Can’t fight it. Into the Wood, quickly.”
Unable to understand the danger, Kieryn untethered the horse, hoping it could fend for itself, grabbed his bow from the saddle sheath, and ran after the trailing light that Saffron left in the darkness. Once, he peered back and saw a cloud, so dark that it seemed to swallow Thyrra’s silver light. It descended over the campfire and the flames went out. No, the cloud absorbed the flames, devoured them until they were no more. Not even a spark remained among the embers.
“Goddess above, what is that?” Kieryn muttered, but Saffron had flown ahead.
He expected the trees to provide enough cover, but Saffron kept racing south, weaving in and out of fat trunks with the speed and agility of a hummingbird. Saplings scratched at Kieryn’s face, and roots tripped up his feet. Saffron paused when he fell behind, then darted on. If she meant to take him all the way to Linndun at this pace, she would be sadly mistaken. Kieryn didn’t want to lose an eye. His breath came in short pained gasps, and he was getting angry that she didn’t stop long enough to explain what he was running from. He fell into the knotted trunk of an old andyr, pressing the stitch in his side, and was about to curse Saffron to the Abyss when a hand grabbed his shoulder. He cried out and spun with a balled fist. A second hand caught his wrist, and he recognized Laniel’s face lit by the steady glow of his lifelight. Kieryn sank back into the tree, grateful.
“What has you in such a panic, aurien?”
Saffron darted back through the branches. “Rágazeth!” she shrieked.
In the dark, Kieryn felt Laniel’s stance grow rigid. “Here? After you? Why you? Did you summon it?”
Kieryn had no answers. He could translate only the last half of the word, and the threat made no sense to him.
“This isn’t Kieryn’s doing,” Saffron replied. “But all the same, it comes. We mustn’t let it catch up to him. Take him to Linndun, Laniel, you must.” She started off into the trees again, this time straight up.
“Where are you going?” Kieryn called.
“I have work to do,” she said, voice sharp as needles in the darkness. She sped out of sight.
Laniel whisked Kieryn deeper into the trees. Shortly along their path, he paused and called out orders to his troop. Half accompanied them, glimpsed on occasion but never heard. The rest melted away north to keep watch. Kieryn was hard pressed to keep up with Laniel’s long stride, and at one point Laniel glanced back and quipped, “Maybe it’s a good thing my friend lost his horse.”
“Listen, elf,” Kieryn snapped, “I don’t know what the hell is going on, so I’m in no mood to banter with you. I’m hardly Zellel.”
“No?” Laniel snickered and picked up the pace.
Near dawn, the trees parted to reveal Linndun’s red and gold sandstone wall. Kieryn couldn’t feel his legs; he had lost his cloak somewhere in the trees, and his beautiful robe was torn in three places.
“My sister might mend that for you, if you ask real nice,” Laniel said with a wink.
Kieryn leveled a scowl to cut flesh. “Don’t talk to me, elf. Just get me to Aerdria. Maybe she’ll explain why I had to run all night through this damn forest.”
~~~~
The Lady often started her day by breaking fast with the members of her Moo
n Guard. While they dined on dry-bread and honey-baked apples, they talked about tidbits of news that floated in from the city. This morning was no different. Replete, Lothiar sat back in his chair at the table’s foot and listened to Cheriam and Maliel tell the Lady about the reports from the Wood’s southern sector. Apparently the guardians under Iryan Wingfleet had discovered a tribe of ogres attempting to dig a den within the Wood’s perimeters. The dranithion had bravely ventured into the tunnels and slain every ogre they found, including a dozen younglings.
“It will be centuries before the bastards try that again,” said Cheriam, her grin smug and overconfident.
“What bothers me,” the Lady said, “is that the naenion tried at all. Are we not fierce enough on our borders?”
“I think this will put every dranithi on alert,” said Maliel, pushing aside his plate.
Aerdria glanced down the table. “Lothiar, you will ask your brother about the incident?”
Lothiar had no intention of trifling with such matters, nor of engaging his fool brother in lengthy conversation of any kind, but he said, “The next time he visits the city, Lady.”
“Lyrienn,” she went on. “I think we’re ready for the morning wine.”
Her companion stood and swept up Aerdria’s plate as well as her own and hurried away. A few moments later she ran back with news rather than wine. She whispered it for Aerdria alone. The Lady gasped, “Kieryn? Where?”
Lothiar’s heart leapt into his throat. Lyrienn didn’t elaborate, however, but led the Lady quickly from the breakfast parlor. With a clinking of silver and crystal, the Moon Guard fell in behind her. Bringing up the rear, Lothiar permitted himself a tiny smile. Someone must’ve heard the avedra boy was dead. Maybe the body had even been brought to Linndun. The thrill of victory shook Lothiar head to foot. He slowed, letting the others hurry down the stairs, so he had time to compose himself. It wouldn’t do for anyone to glimpse the smallest hint of pleasure on his face. He must even seem outraged. Yes.
It was too early for the court to assemble, but inside the Moon Hall, voices echoed with excitement. Aerdria’s. Another replying. Familiar. Laniel. Fitting if the avedra’s “friend” brought word of his death.
And then another voice. The cadence was not Elaran. No, impossible.
Entering the Moon Hall, Lothiar swallowed an outcry at sight of the avedra boy standing before the dais, dusty, torn, but unharmed. How could a rágazeth fail? Lothiar had chosen the Soul Snatcher because not one legend or historical account told of its ever having failed. But listen, Laniel reported that it had found the boy and may still be on its way.
“All I saw,” the boy said, “was a strange cloud that drank up my campfire.”
“Are you sure it was after Kieryn in particular?” Aerdria asked.
“Saffron seemed to think so,” said Laniel.
The Lady wrung her hands. “How is such an evil on the loose? It’s been centuries since …”
“Since Blackhand,” Laniel concluded.
Did Lothiar imagine it, or did Laniel glance his direction, then away?
Before they could find answers, a golden light entered the Hall. Saffron flew with great effort, up and down, side to side. Kieryn held out his hands to provide her a resting place. Lothiar, for one, had never seen an immortal fairy so exhausted. Saffron panted, “The Demon can’t enter Avidanyth of its own free will, Lady. I’ve wrapped wards all about the Wood. Kieryn is safe here.” Her lavender eyes fell as heavy as felled trees upon Lothiar. Yes, if Zellel suspected Lothiar of sending the assassin in the first place, he would’ve warned the fairy guardians to be on alert. But if the fairy knew who summoned the Demon, why didn’t she say something?
When Saffron’s glance lifted, Lothiar slipped silently from the Hall. Ah, curse the avedra and his guardian both! The one place Lothiar wanted to cleanse of the boy’s presence was the one place he was safe. Quite a feat for a fairy so small. But her shield had one flaw. Lothiar could still summon the Demon inside the wards.
~~~~
Lyrienn brought Kieryn a plate in the breakfast parlor.
“I can’t stay,” he said for the second time, smearing sweet cream onto a slice of dry-bread. After his exhausting flight through the Wood, the Lady’s invitation to eat something proved too tempting to pass up.
“You weren’t on your way here?” Aerdria asked from her chair at the head of the table.
“Ilswythe,” he replied. The bread seemed to stick in his throat. “My … my father was killed. I’m going home to my mother.”
Aerdria’s eyes closed for a moment in sorrow. “So you left Zellel behind.”
“I couldn’t wait for him and his mule.”
“A good thing Saffron was with you.”
Standing among the wine goblets, Saffron said, “I will cloak my Kieryn in wards as well if I must, and that will be less tiring by far. He will be safe from this evil.”
“When I have the chance,” he said, “I’ll read up on this creature, but for now I’ll take your word for it and steer clear.”
“Avoiding it will be difficult if it’s after you,” said the Lady, her fingers making a steeple beneath her chin. “And it isn’t a creature in the true sense of the word. The rágazeth wasn’t created. It always was. Chaos to the Mother’s order. For that reason such a being can’t be defeated with swords. If it finds you again, run.”
The food lost all flavor, and his belly any desire for it. “Why would it come after me?”
“I don’t know. While you’re gone, we’ll try to find out.”
“Shit. How can I go? I’ve lost my horse.”
Aerdria smiled and rose. “I’ll give you one of mine.” She led him through a maze of corridors and gardens to a sunny greensward on the east side of the island. The finest horses Kieryn had ever seen grazed on lush grass. Grooms tended the sward and cleaned the tiers of a great fountain where the horses drank. At the far end, trainers whispered softly to a colt, preparing it for the feel of a saddle. The breed was more slender than the warhorses and drays Kieryn was used to, with more delicate heads, and every one of them was as black as the night sky between the stars.
“I can’t ride one of these,” he protested. “Beyond the Wood, I’ll be breaking the law. I’ll end up in the king’s prison. Only the Black Falcon is permitted—”
“I know,” Aerdria said, silencing him. “If your king gives you trouble, send him my way, won’t you? Besides, you haven’t much choice.” She spoke to one of the grooms, who hurried away to the stables. They were more luxurious than many a lordling’s hall. Shortly the groom returned, leading a magnificent filly by a silken rope. “Ah, it seems Sarvana has volunteered.”
“Black Song,” Kieryn translated, awe hushing his voice. Sarvana stood five or six hands taller than the duke’s palfrey, and her black coat shimmered in the light of the young sun. The groom had outfitted her in a saddle and bridle of black leather ornamented with silver filigree and silver tassels. She regarded Kieryn no less curiously than he regarded her, and she nodded her head in greeting.
“She’ll outpace any horse you’ve ever sat,” Aerdria boasted. “And being Elaran bred, she’s tireless as well. Speak softly to her, and she’ll carry you anywhere.”
“I don’t know what to say …,” Kieryn muttered, taking the reins.
“Go quickly, nephew. Don’t pause for a moment.”
~~~~
Lothiar glared at the black cloud roiling over his rug. “The avedra still lives!” The barracks were quiet, the Dardrion below with the Lady, but Lothiar restrained his rage to a hoarse whisper. The new gash on his palm stung, and he was not pleased that he had to summon this Evil again.
The rágazeth displayed neither remorse nor shame. Its voice rattled and sighed, “This—we know. Fay magic nets us. We cannot—follow. Or thisss—great light—would be ours.”
“I don’t want excuses, Demon. Kieryn is still somewhere in the city. Track him down and take him.”
“Many—great lights—her
e. We hunger, Massster.”
All Elaran lifelights were brighter and more expansive than those of humans, and Lothiar felt he had made a mistake placing his confidence in the blood bond he used to command the Demon. He retreated a step. “The avedra is your target! My kind are not to be—”
A hasty knock on his chamber door strangled the rest of the command. The door opened.
“Captain? The Lady requires—” Cheriam stood on the threshold, her violet eyes frozen on the seething cloud. She looked at Lothiar, and two and two made four. She took a slow step back.
Lothiar reached for his sword. Easy enough to lay the blame at her feet. He lunged. Cheriam turned the blade with a swipe of her steel wrist guard. Her other hand darted up between them, and she shouted, “Vil’och eleth, yri tha nachuvah!” The Spell of Arrest paralyzed Lothiar where he stood. His sword raised, his expression one of cool calculation, he couldn’t budge even an eyelid. Breathing was the only faculty left him. He was helpless to utter the counterspell. Undone, he told himself, and thought of Amanthia shaking her head sadly, ashamed of him.
He glimpsed that shame reflected on Cheriam’s face. She glanced fearfully at the rágazeth hovering against the ceiling, watching its master’s authority unravel. Its laughter fell on Lothiar’s ears, a dry rasp of scorn. Then the cloud was gone, fleeing unhindered into the palace.
Cheriam ran, calling for the Lady.
~~~~
47
Kieryn learned what it was to fly. The miles blurred past, and Sarvana’s hooves struck the roadway with the fleetness and delicacy of a butterfly’s wings. It was all Kieryn could do to match the rhythm of the horse’s wild pace, and he was soon exhausted. Yes, Laniel was right. He would have to get out of the library more often.