Wandering Lark (The Demon-Bound Duology)

by Laura J Underwood

  The Chronology of the Tales of Ard-Taebh

  Novels

  Dragon’s Tongue (Meisha Merlin, 2006)

  Wandering Lark (Yard Dog Press, 2010)

  The Black Hunter (electronic edition from Embiid, 2002 / print edition included in Chronicles of the Last War-Yard Dog Press, 2004)

  Willowherb (novella in Chronicles of the Last War-Yard Dog Press, 2004)

  Ard Magister (Yard Dog Press, 2002)

  Short Fiction and Novellas

  Bogie Woods And Other Tales Of Conor Manahan (chapbook collection of short stories from Yard Dog Press, 2001)

  Shadow Hart (novella in Keltora, Land Of Myth, an electronic collection of short fiction from Embiid Publishing, 2001)

  Wyrd (novella in Chronicles of the Last War-Yard Dog Press, 2004)

  Shadow Lord (chapbook novella-Yard Dog Press, 2003)

  Gather My Bones (electronic novella-Jintsu E-Books, 2003)

  The Dancing Stones of Nevermhor (novella in Tangled Webs and Other Imaginary Weaving from Dark Regions Press, 2002)

  Wandering Lark

  Book 2 of “The Demon-Bound” Duology

  Laura J. Underwood

  Copyright Page

  This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to real people is purely coincidental.

  ISBN 978-0-9824704-6-6

  First Edition Copyright © 2010 by Laura J. Underwood

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review. Any members of educational institutions wishing to photocopy part or all of the work for classroom use, or publishers who would like to obtain permission to include the work in an anthology should send their inquiries to Yard Dog Press at the address below.

  Yard Dog Press

  710 W. Redbud Lane

  Alma, AR 72921-7247

  http://www.yarddogpress.com

  Edited by Selina Rosen

  Copy Editor Leonard R. Bishop

  Technical Editor Lynn Stranathan

  Cover art by Laura J. Underwood

  First Edition September 15, 2010

  Printed in the United States of America

  0 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  Dedication

  This Book is Dedicated to the Fans who

  Made It Happen.

  Thank you for hanging in there.

  INTRODUCTION

  For those who enjoy tales of mages and demons, bards and oracles, runes and curses and intrigue on all levels, WANDERING LARK will prove a satisfying read. Layer upon layer, complication within complication, Laura J. Underwood has created an intricately structured world in which her characters face multiple challenges.

  To understand how she’s done this, it helps to have heard her play the harp and to cross blades with her. I’ve been privileged to have both experiences. She plays difficult music with the skill that comes only from long hours of study and practice. And, if it’s possible to say this, her skill with a blade is even greater than her skill with the harp. In the midst of a chaotic fencing event, she never loses her cool—and it’s clear that skewering fools is one of her greatest delights.

  All that requires the ability to hold complicated patterns in mind, and bring them to a harmonious end (the final chord on the strings, the opponent stretched on the floor, disarmed). So the complex plots, the complex characters, come as no surprise to those of us lucky enough to have heard the singer or fenced with the swordswoman. Now it’s your turn to dance to that harp and follow the music and the magic into the world of Wandering Lark.

  Elizabeth Moon, Author of Speed of Dark

  ONE

  Why in the name of Cernunnos did Fenelon send me here?

  Alaric knew this place, and his last encounter with it was not his most pleasant memory. This was Marda’s old stone hut. Now it was as quiet as a tomb, except for the raven that had taken to roosting in the rafters, and the chuckle of stoats in the walls. Marda’s personal things had been long since removed or buried with her. Only the furnishings remained, and those had developed a patina of dust. There was no evidence that anyone had lived here in the time since her death, yet in some ways, Alaric could not shake the sense of her lingering presence. When he tried to home in on that essence, it faded. The only sign that anyone had been here at all was the cairn of stones now decorating one corner of the yard.

  Marda’s grave...

  Vagner stood close to the door, glancing out at the forlorn view of high hedges and stone walls. In the distance, mist rolled over the boggy land of Mallow, though it was only visible to mageborn or demon eyes. Night had already fallen in this part of the world.

  “Are you hungry?” the demon asked. “I’m famished.” He sounded almost hopeful. “If you like, I’ll fetch us some coneys...”

  “Since when did what I desire stop you from feeding yourself?” Alaric said, and realized his own words rang with exhaustion and anger.

  “I cannot go if you do not allow it,” the demon said softly.

  Alaric frowned. “If that’s so, why can’t you take me back?” he asked vehemently, slashing the air with one hand and relishing the moment when Vagner actually cringed. “Tane is dead, and I am your only master now...”

  “No, I still have two masters,” Vagner said.

  “What? Are you telling me Tane is able to control you from inside your stomach now?”

  The demon shook his head and grinned. “No. Tane is mere indigestion at the moment. But the other... When I bonded with you, I felt the other in you bonding to me as well. Who do you think helped me overcome my bond to Tane so that I could kill him without hurting myself? It certainly wasn’t you...”

  Alaric opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came.

  Ronan?

  “Aye?” Ronan said, his spirit whispering around Alaric like a breeze.

  You... control Vagner now?

  “It couldn’t be helped,” Ronan said. “Essence to essence as you and I now are, I feel whatever you feel. I’m part of you now, Lark, and the demon is part of you, and so the demon is part of me as well. Now, let him go feed. You and I must talk.”

  Alaric closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He waved at Vagner in a weary fashion.

  “Go eat,” he said.

  “Thank you,” the demon said, and shifting forms into that of a raptor, he flew from the hut and vanished into the mist.

  “Happy hunting,” Alaric muttered as he wandered away from the open door and sat on the old stool before the empty hearth.

  “Light the fire,” Ronan said.

  “Isn’t that dangerous?” Alaric asked. “I mean, sooner or later, Turlough and the others will figure out where Fenelon sent me.”

  “We have plenty of time,” Ronan said. “Etienne covered Fenelon’s gate, and I am willing to bet at this moment, some poor mageborn is learning whether or not he can swim.”

  “Etienne would never do anything so foolish,” Alaric insisted. He leaned over far enough to select a few chunks of peat from the pile on the corner of the hearth and tossed them into the empty grate. Then, he whispered “Loisg” and watched as the flames took hold, filling the room with warmth and the pungent, woodsy smell.

  “Desperation can make even the most pious curse,” Ronan said, his voice hinted amusement. And Alaric could imagine the expression that accompanied it as well. He’s seen that smile often enough when Ronan was alive. A serious smile. A beguiling smile. One filled with intrigue. And guaranteed to make Alaric di
strust him all the more now.

  “So what now?” Alaric asked.

  “That’s going to depend on you,” Ronan said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, first off, as much as I enjoy the company of your demon friend, it is important for you to break the bond and rid yourself of his mark,” Ronan said, and Alaric glanced at his own palm. The white scar was still prominent, displaying the rune that bonded him to the demon as its master. Alaric sighed and made a fist of his hand.

  “And how am I supposed to do that?” Alaric asked.

  “You know that I am not Ard-Taebhean by birth,” Ronan said.

  Alaric made a face. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he was sure he did know that, but at what time in his life he had learned it, he could not say. Perhaps, it was one of those memories once concealed behind the wall that no longer locked him away from parts of his own mind.

  “I was born in Garrowye, which is far across the Ranges to the north east.”

  “Garrowye?” Alaric said.

  “Aye,” Ronan said. “I know that it is a land shrouded in myth, according to folk in Ard-Taebh. That you think of it as a place where no humans live.”

  Alaric shrugged. “I know little more than a few songs that tell about people known as the Hidden Ones.”

  “No, Hidden Folk are found in the forests of old Haxony and parts of the Ranges. In truth, Garrowye is a land of unusual heritage. Its people are said to have descended from the Aelfyn.”

  “Aelfyn?” Alaric wrinkled his nose and tried to remember where he had heard that word.

  “Yes, and the Aelfyn are distant cousins of both the Hidden Folk who were known as Aelfar in the ancient days. The White Ones were Aelfar too. As were the Old Ones.”

  “Wait a minute, are you telling me that the Old Ones lived in Garrowye?” Alaric asked.

  “Yes, in a way. They still do.”

  “And why should I care about any of this?” Alaric looked into the flames.

  “Because, you need the help of an Aelfyn to break the bond with Vagner without hurting the demon or yourself—or me. And in order to do that, we must go to Garrowye.”

  “Fine,” Alaric said. He picked up a stick and poked the peat, watching sparks ascend into the chimney. “There’s just one little problem.”

  “Which is?”

  “If I am remembering correctly, it could take half a year or more to reach the borders of the Ranges overland.”

  “True,” Ronan said.

  “And even if I could get to the coast of Mallow, which I am not so eager to do since from here it means passing through the Mallowan swamps and perhaps meeting the Demon of Mallow, it would still take several months at sea to get there.”

  “Also true,” Ronan said.

  “And I rather doubt Vagner knows how to get there through his demon gate, which would be dangerous for me since I doubt I could hold my breath so long.”

  “Oh, I agree with that,” Ronan said.

  “And I cannot cast a gate spell myself or I would not be here now, so even if I knew the way, I could not get there.” Alaric shook his head. “And finally, if I took the overland or the sea route and managed to rid myself of Vagner’s company, by the time I was able to get back and defend my innocence before the Council of Mageborn, it’s very likely Fenelon, Etienne and Shona will have been sundered and executed for their part in this mess.”

  Alaric sighed and dropped the stick. The weighty thought of his friends and their dilemma was not one to make him feel cheerful. He leaned his elbows on his knees and his chin on the fist his hands formed, and glared into the fire.

  “Ah, well,” Ronan said. “There is that. Which means time is of the essence. The sooner we get to Garrowye, the sooner we can get back and...”

  “You’re not listening,” Alaric said, standing up and kicking at the stool in anger. “I cannot execute a gate spell, and I will not stand aside and let my friends die while I take a sea voyage to some distant land just to rid myself of a demon bond.”

  “No, it is you who is not listening,” Ronan said, and his voice took on a honeyed tone that sent shivers through Alaric. He crossed his arms over his chest for his nerves started to tingle as though Ronan’s presence was growing stronger within him. “There is a way to get there quickly. But it does mean you will have to let go of yourself and trust me.”

  “Trust you?” Alaric said sharply. “You are the cause of all my troubles. You saddle me with a legacy that I have no desire to keep. You cause me to come to the attention of Tane Doran. I am kidnapped and tortured for something I never asked for, and you have the balls to ask me to trust you?”

  “Alaric, sit down,” Ronan said, and his voice had a different quality that was so compelling, Alaric could not resist or disobey. His own limbs betrayed him, and he sank to the floor.

  “What did you just do?” Alaric asked.

  “I lied to you,” Ronan said. “Under ordinary circumstances, a mageborn spirit cannot control the host unless the host is willing. But I made you willing all those years ago. When I placed the wall in your memory with a bit of my essence, I bound it there with certain ancient spells that the world has not seen the like of since before the Great Cataclysm. I have many powers I have never revealed to the world.”

  “Fenelon said you were selfish with your magic.” Alaric said.

  “Fenelon has no right to the things I know and can do,” Ronan said fiercely, and Alaric shivered. “The powers I possessed in life were ancient powers that he would merely misuse.”

  “Oh, and what you’ve done to me is not misuse of your powers? Forcing me to be your vessel? Turning me into a fugitive?”

  “I have done what I must for the sake of the world,” Ronan protested.

  “And what about the sake of me?” Alaric asked.

  “Enough of this arguing,” Ronan said. “Stand up, Alaric”

  “No,” Alaric said, determined to retain some of his will.

  But he might as well have said so to a mountain. He felt the ring on his left hand go so cold, it burned and a numbness travel over his nerves. His limbs once more betrayed him. He stood and started for the door, and he had no power to stop himself from stepping outside.

  “I can control you, Alaric,” Ronan said. “I can possess you and force you to do whatever I desire, even though it would hurt both of us for me to do so.”

  Alaric struggled in himself, struggled to fight the saturation of Ronan’s presence. His nerves began to throb with a dull ache as he fought relentlessly — and futilely — to regain control. The ring became a firebrand of ice, and he thought his whole hand was going to be destroyed.

  “But I know that you would never fully consent to my control,” Ronan said softly, using Alaric’s mouth to speak. “And I would never do anything to hurt you, Lark. I think of you as a brother... a son... a worthy heir to my powers.”

  “No!” Alaric cried. The warmth let go, and he fell to his knees, suddenly breathing as though he had been swimming against a current and had just reached a quiet pool of water.

  Ronan sighed within him. “But I do not want to force you into anything against your will,” Ronan said. “I know you hate me, and I never intended for that to happen. So I will offer you this instead. Let me take over long enough to open a gate to Garrowye. As one born there, I know the way. Once we are there, you will have control, and I will not interfere unless I think your actions will get us both killed. Then, we can find an Aelfyn Elder to break the demon bond, and once that is done, we will come back and rescue the others from Turlough. Agreed?”

  Alaric closed his eyes. Part of him longed to tell Ronan to go to the deepest pits of Annwn and rot there for an eternity. But to do so would not solve the present problem.

  “All right,” Alaric said. “But I want to make one change in that bargain.”

  “Which is?” Ronan said with a hint of mockery.

  “Once we do find the Elder and I am free of the demon, and once the others are free, I want yo
u out of me as well.”

  There was silence. Alaric waited. For a moment, he thought Ronan was about to refuse, but then he felt the bard stir.

  “If that is what you truly wish, then I promise that once we find an elder, you will never be bothered with my presence again.”

  “You swear?” Alaric asked.

  “I swear,” Ronan said.

  “On Marda’s grave?”

  Ronan chuckled. Alaric sensed that hint of Marda’s essence stirring in the mist outside, but even as he tried to focus on it, the presence vanished again.

  “If it pleases you, I will swear on Marda’s grave,” Ronan said.

  Slowly, Alaric nodded. “All right,” he said.

  He opened his eyes as a great raptor filled with the essence of a demon came swooping out of the indigo sky. Vagner had half a dozen live coneys trapped in powerful claws.

  “Dinner is served,” the demon called and offered one of the wriggling coneys to Alaric.

  He took it with a sigh. It struggled in his grasp as the demon shifted back into its own form and wolfed down the rest of the creatures in its grasp.

  “Vagner,” he said. “I rather prefer my dinner less lively.”

  “Oh?” the demon said and turned into a rather lovely, unclad woman who blinked from demon eyes. “In that that case, sir...”

  She took the coney back, and with a quick motion, wrung its neck. “Shall I clean it and prepare it for you.”

  “Put some clothes on first,” Alaric said and shook his head.

  “Everyone’s a critic,” the demon said. But at least, Vagner’s form shifted so the beautiful young creature was turned into a matronly figure in a dress.