Perhaps Maran would have said more. Perhaps Jethyra would have responded. Perhaps the long-dormant sibling animosity between the two would have exploded into something more. Just then, however, they both turned at the sound of a shuffling step entering the room. Maran squinted briefly in a sudden flare of white light, then his normally impassive face cracked to reveal a festering grief and pain within him. In the doorway, holding a glowing ball of light in one hand, was his father. The aged king was stooped slightly as he shuffled into the room, looking about anxiously. He spotted his daughter and stopped in surprise.
“Jethyra,” he said. “Why are you here, my daughter?”
“Paying a remembrance to your son, father,” she replied after composing herself. “I am finished here, however. Let us dine together tonight, as we used to.”
“Perhaps another night, my dear,” Vareille replied. “For now, leave me be. I wish to be alone with my son.”
Jethyra hesitated, glancing back toward where Maran stood.
“Father, I…”
“Leave me, daughter,” the king said sternly. “Now.”
Maran’s sister knew better than to argue. She spared one final glance in Maran’s general direction, then stalked from the room furiously.
Maran composed his features, then allowed his invisibility to begin fading away.
“Father,” he whispered.
“My son,” the king said. “You must not be seen, even by me. There are things beyond even my control that must be observed.”
Maran nodded, knowing his father couldn’t see the gesture. A mere thought centered his sai and ensured he would stay invisible. He tried to say something in reply to his father, but no words would come out. Instead, he took two quick steps forward, then abruptly slowed in hesitation and halted a step away from his father. He knelt on one knee and bowed his head deeply.
“I’m sorry, father,” Maran said, his voice barely steady. “I’m sorry.”
Maran’s father took two faltering steps forward, then reached out to steady himself and his hand fell on Maran’s shoulder.
“El’Maran,” Vareille whispered. He clutched Maran to him and hugged him fiercely, tears running down his wrinkled face. The aged king’s hand trembled as it briefly came in contact with Maran’s severed ear, then moved quickly on to grasp behind his son’s head. Maran’s control broke entirely, and he joined in his father’s tears. The normally impassive thief wept silently into his father’s robe, staining the rich material with discolored streaks of grief and remorse. Two long, wet trails appeared as if from nowhere on the robe as the aged monarch apparently held nothing at all to his chest.
“I’m sorry, father,” he repeated.
“And I, too, am sorry, my son.”
Again, they both cried and clung to each other with desperate emotion. The release so long denied to both of them had finally come, and the years apart made no difference to the freshness of the wounds they both felt. It wasn’t years ago that Maran had betrayed his family, it was yesterday. It was yesterday that the king had banished his son and ordered his ear removed. And it was yesterday that neither had been able to speak to the other, and neither had been able to understand or say what he wanted.
“I’m sorry.”
Chapter 16
One cannot understand light without understanding darkness.
- El’Maran El’Eleisha,
testimony given during trial (983 AM)
- 1 -
Much to Birch’s relief, they were given a room in the palace in which to spend the night. Large fans spun lazily overhead with blades made to resemble giant bird feathers. The walls were sculpted of the same living stone, as was a beautifully intricate table set in the middle of the room. The central table was carved – or more likely “Woven” – to resemble a tree and literally grew out of the floor itself. The uppermost branches were flattened and fused together to create the table’s smooth surface.
A frieze of wild animals cavorted around the room near the ceiling, and narrow windows overlooked a courtyard garden bursting with color and life. Despite the rapidly approaching winter season, Birch had not felt cold since he’d set foot in the capital city, and he was beginning to wonder if elven magic kept the winter chill at bay.
Whatever the amenities and beauty of their room, however, for Birch the greatest comfort was knowing he didn’t have to crawl back through the tunnels again. He’d resigned himself to a night away from Moreen, and he was therefore pleasantly surprised when she appeared in the company of Nuse and Perklet and half a dozen elves. The three humans had shed their disguises and looked as human as Birch and Hoil.
Birch immediately folded her in a gentle embrace and breathed in her presence.
“Hoil told them where we were, um, staying, and they came to escort us to you here,” Nuse said. Then, when their elven escort was gone, he added, “Maran passed on word for us to be at an inn run by his friends after we shed our ears, so to speak, so it all looked perfectly legitimate. That elf friend of yours sure is something.”
“Why thank you, Nuse of the Blue Facet,” Maran said. They glanced around, but the elf was still invisible. Then he seemed to materialize out of the nearest wall, and he smiled mirthlessly at the reactions of Nuse, Perklet, and Moreen, who hadn’t yet experienced his abilities. “You’re something of a marvel yourself, I’m told.”
Nuse recovered his composure and bowed half-mockingly. Maran turned to Birch. There was something of a haunted look in the elf’s normally expressionless eyes.
“Did you have a productive evening with the prince?” he asked.
“We did, and the prince is remarkably fluent in the human tongue,” Birch said. “I didn’t see a hint of his understanding while we were in the throne room, but it made conversation much easier without Hoil having to translate every word.”
“I wouldn’t mind backing him at a Dividha table, with expression control like that,” Hoil said.
“So you spoke with the king?” Nuse asked. “And?”
Quickly, they filled in Nuse and the others on what had happened in the palace. They did not, however, reveal that Rill was Maran’s son. Birch and Hoil had already spoken privately and decided that knowledge was too dangerous to be revealed, even to their companions, unless absolutely necessary.
“After the audience, we received a tour of the palace and then had dinner with the young prince,” Birch said. “I’m not convinced one way or the other about whether there is demonic involvement in your brother’s death, but my instincts tell me no.”
“What did he say about it?” Maran asked. “I’ve done some questioning myself, and I’d like to know what Rill knows, or at least what he told you.”
“Your brother was found with something called a deikel knife lodged in the back of his neck,” Birch said, his voice low, but emotionless. “It was done execution-style and deliberately left so the knife would be found, or so they’ve surmised. The guards outside his room were found dead but without a mark on their bodies. From what they’ve discovered, it seems the Do were responsible.”
“Those are the so-called dark elves, right?” Nuse asked. “The whole shadow thing you told us about, Maran?”
“Yes.”
“But aren’t your friends, and you yourself, Do?” Perklet asked softly in confusion.
“Much as not all paladins are members of the Green Facet, so not all elves of a sect hold the same beliefs,” Maran replied softly, his face dark. “The Do with whom I associate would never take part in such a plot. Ours is a community devoted to upholding and protecting the elven throne, for all that our support would be rejected if it was ever discovered,” he said. Then added almost too softly to be heard, “Or so I thought.”
“So these were renegades?” Hoil asked.
“You would be more accurate to consider us the renegades,” Maran corrected him. “Meaning my associates. A typical Do elf resents the rest of elven society as much as he yearns to be a part of it, which makes him hate it all the m
ore. We are a more enlightened group who realize the necessity of balance and harmony between the light and dark. Despite the blindness of our society, our presence serves a greater good that…”
Maran abruptly stopped speaking and snapped his jaw shut. He looked furious with himself for some reason and stared through the wall at something only he could see.
“Ahem,” Birch said. “Anyway, while we can only speculate on the motives of the murders, there’s so far nothing that supports our fears of demonic involvement.”
Hoil nodded in support of his brother’s assessment.
“Maran, you said you had more information,” Hoil said. When the elf didn’t immediately reply, Hoil glanced over and saw Maran was still staring fiercely at nothing.
“Maran!”
The one-eared elf’s head whipped around at the sound of his name, and he stared stone-like at Hoil.
“You said you had more information,” Hoil repeated. “Will you tell us now?”
Maran stared at him in silence a moment longer before nodding.
“Forgive me,” he said softly. “As you no doubt realized, I left to meet with my father while you were busy with dinner. It wasn’t so much my conversation with my father that was telling, but rather with someone else after that…”
- 2 -
Maran looked up from the long tear stains on his father’s robe and gently pulled away from the aged elf.
“I am sorry, my son,” the king said.
“No, father, I…”
“Shhh,” his father silenced him. “I am sorry for not being able to tell you the truth. All these years you have been gone, and I felt I would never have the chance to apologize and try to make you see why I did what I did. You may hate me after this, but I hope you will understand and forgive me.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I cannot tell you myself, for it would violate certain oaths,” the king said sadly. “Oaths which would mean my life to break, king that I am. Someone else must say what I cannot.” He paused. “We may never have the chance to speak again, my son, but please know that I have always loved and been proud of you. Always.”
He turned away. Maran watched in silence as his father stopped in the doorway. His father’s finger flared with a brilliant light, which he held close to his robes where Maran’s tears had stained the fabric. The wet streaks disappeared quickly, and his father straightened slowly as the light disappeared.
“There is no one here who will speak with you,” the king said, then walked away, leaving a ghostly “my son” floating in the air behind him.
Maran stared after his father in confusion. A moment later, he understood.
“Greetings, to’vala,” a velvety voice said nearby.
“Master,” Maran replied reverently, inclining his head in respect.
“Your master no more, Do’n’El’Maran,” the voice replied. “Now I am no one.”
“But…”
“The king sometimes talks, but no one listens. He often keeps only his own counsel, for no one advises him.”
Maran nodded in understanding.
“I do not exist. Except perhaps now to you.” And with that, Maran was suddenly able to see his old teacher and master. “For you alone, I am Do’Sedel.”
Sedel was almost twice Maran’s age, but carried himself as a much more vibrant and healthy man. Maran had no doubt his body was just as trim and superbly fit as when they had sparred decades before. He was dressed in a black tunic and trousers designed to be comfortably loose, but absolutely silent. His face was hidden behind a black balaclava, leaving only a pair of slanted, radiant green eyes peering sternly forth. It was the same clothing he’d always worn when Maran studied under him, and despite their master-to’vala relationship, Maran had never seen the other elf’s face. Just his eyes.
Sedel was obviously not his real name, either. In the elven tongue it meant “false,” but Maran was honored he was given anything by which to call his former master, an elf he esteemed above all others except the Do’Valoren and Maran’s own father. Sedel was powerful; it took great skill with Shadowweaving to make one’s self invisible even to other Do eyes when under a Shadow Light.
“We have limited time, to’vala,” Sedel said in clipped tones. “You must listen before you can understand, and you must understand before you will be permitted to act. If you act without knowledge, you will lose what protection holds your life intact, and your son may suffer your foolishness as well.”
Maran stared at him intently. The other elf studied him for a moment, then nodded, pleased with what he saw.
“Good. Now then, here is what your father could not tell you himself. You are bound by the oaths from your mastery, and the penalties for violating those oaths remain firm.”
Maran nodded in understanding. If he revealed any knowledge of what he was told here tonight without authorization, his life would be immediately forfeit, no matter where he might try to hide in the world. They would find him and slay him. Of course, Maran knew his life should have already been forfeit several times over, and while he was unaware what sort of charm had protected him this long, he knew there were some things for which no protection would be granted.
Sedel studied his former apprentice with satisfaction.
“For centuries, the elven kings of your lineage have carried not only the blood of the El, but of the Do as well,” he said. Maran’s eyes widened, but he remained silent. “Not coincidentally, your family has always possessed strong abilities in both Light and Shadowweaving. Your dual-talent is not unique to your bloodline. You know full well that the gift of Weaving is largely genetic, but even in strong family lines it frequently misses children or skips a generation entirely. Such a case was your father and his brother. Neither of them had the ability to Weave the Shadow, but each possessed a strong ability in Lightweaving. Your great grandfather had no talent with the Light whatsoever, but he was a decidedly strong Shadowweaver.”
Maran absorbed this knowledge reluctantly. How was it possible that his family had hidden this secret for so long? What did it mean that he had been cast out for the sin of living up to his family legacy?
“Our order, the Do’Fidel, was founded by a member of the El’Eleisha family who was cast out for Shadowweaving. He was unable to turn his back on his family and the rest of elven society, and he gathered like-minded Do about him to serve in secret. When your family ascended the throne, they set the first watchers to train in secret any scions of the royal family who showed talent with Weaving the Shadow.
“That is what your father could not tell you, and why he has felt your absence so keenly,” Sedel said. “He wanted nothing more than to renounce his vows and publicly support you by revealing your family’s secret, but he realized he could not do so and retain the stability of the nation. He had to pretend ignorance and support those who discovered your secret training to preserve the nation. You would have eventually been told the truth about your family’s heritage and its ties to our order, but you were discovered before that time had come. The decision was made to withhold the information in the immediate aftermath of your exile until we were sure you had come to terms with your situation, a fact for which your father still feels a tremendous amount of guilt. It is why he still cannot acknowledge your presence. He holds to the oaths that have bound your family for generations, even here in the privacy of the crypt. Your father loves you and is proud of you.”
Maran remained silently wrapped in his own thoughts as Sedel continued.
“Your brother and sister are similar to your father, for neither can Weave the Shadow. Your brother was nearly as strong as you with the Light, but your sister can barely Weave well enough to light a room, much less craft anything useful,” Sedel said derisively. “You, however, possess strength in both areas, as you know,” he paused and stared intently at Maran, “as does your son.”
“My son Weaves the Shadow?” Maran asked harshly. He felt an intense surge of revulsion coupled intimately with a fie
rce pride in his son. “You have someone training him?”
“No, not someone,” Sedel replied. “No one trains him.”
Maran stared.
“Just as I taught the father, I now teach the son, and he is perhaps the only elf I have met with natural talents superior to your own. He is now my to’vala, and I grow more proud of him with every passing day, especially with the passing of your brother. He shows intense promise not only with his Weaving, but also as a statesman and a true leader of our people.”
“Our people,” Maran murmured.
“The elven nation will do well in his hands, despite his youth.”
Maran looked at him sharply.
“You know something about my brother’s death,” he said in sudden epiphany. “And my father. And my son.”
Maran thought he detected a brief flash of surprise in Sedel’s eyes, which made him think carefully. His former master was adept at staying at least one step ahead of Maran at all times and never revealing an instant of his own thoughts and feelings. For Maran to have shocked him into even such a small admission of his inner thoughts meant that whatever Maran had perceived was very important indeed.
“Tell me,” Maran said, and now his voice was dangerous.
Sedel’s impassivity was firmly in place as he looked coolly at his former pupil. He was confident of his own abilities, but he knew Maran was one of the most dangerous elves alive, and Sedel had made him that way. Should Maran decide to attack him, Sedel would likely not survive the encounter, and the nation could collapse from Maran’s impulsive actions and lack of understanding.
“Very well,” Sedel acceded. “You are not to meet with the Do’Valoren this evening. No one is permitted such an audience, even you.”
The Devil's Deuce (The Barrier War) Page 21