The Demon's Blade (31 page)

“I apologize for Ceres. She takes her duties very seriously, and one of them is my protection. She does not understand that if you truly meant any harm, there is nothing she could do about it. She is a skilled warrior, and though she does not look it, a capable mage. However, your gifts are something rarely seen even among our people, as were your mother’s.” The lorekeeper sighed deeply as he finished speaking.

It was now Darien’s turn to be confused. The sudden mention of his mother had broken his concentration, and for a moment, his emotion showed through the grim façade. “How do you know my mother?” he finally managed to ask.

“I knew her very well. She grew up here, and in fact, I raised her as my own daughter.” He replied in a voice laced with sadness. “Centuries ago, when Varias rose to power, he began seeking out all the elven sanctuaries. Some we managed to evacuate before he could strike, but some were destroyed before our sentinels could reach them, and others refused to listen to us, not believing the danger. One by one, Varias destroyed all the remaining sanctuaries, searching for starstones. We sent scouts to the ruins, to bring back survivors, but few were found. On one of those expeditions, they found a baby girl who had somehow survived the destruction. She was brought back here, where I took her in. I named her Mirianna and raised her as my own.” The half-elf nodded as the lorekeeper spoke, his face suddenly curious and eager. For a few minutes at least, he was no longer Darien the Executioner, but Darien the half-elf child who had so long been lost.

“She possessed incredible magical talents, the strongest I had ever seen. I remember thinking that this must be some echo of the power our ancestors once possessed. She lived here for many centuries, but in the end, she grew restless. She was an explorer, fascinated by the other races, especially the world of men. She wanted to see the world for herself, so, against my strong objections, she left Kadanar.” The lorekeeper stopped a moment, halting and wiping a tear from his eye. “I heard nothing of her until about twenty years ago, when the faerie queen summoned me and told me that Mirianna had a son, half human, and that both she and the child were in danger. I dispatched the sentinels, but they were too late. We found the village where she was executed, and we heard what happened after. We searched for you, but we couldn’t find you. The faeries eventually found out what happened, that you had been brought into the Order of the Shade.” The lorekeeper turned away, leaning on one of the bookshelves, and burying his head in his hands. For a moment, Darien thought to say something to comfort him, or even to extend a hand, but he was still too shocked to move from the spot where he stood. “It was almost too much to bear, hearing that my Mirianna was dead, and that her son had been taken by our enemies, to be twisted into a servant of evil. I was so distraught, I had resolved to go myself, to rescue you, or die in the attempt, but I was warned against it by the faerie queen. Lucca warned me that the hand of destiny was at work, and I should not interfere. I protested bitterly against such a vague warning, and resolved to continue, until she told me plainly that I would fail, and that my attempt would cost both of us our lives. It is uncommon for the faeries to speak with such certainty, so I relented.” Galen turned and faced the half-elf once again. “Even so, I doubt that decision to this day. Seeing what has become of you… hurts my heart in ways I cannot express. I would not have placed this doom upon you. Were it in my power to take your place, I would do so without hesitation, but alas, what has happened cannot now be undone. I can only offer you whatever aid you would ask of me. If it is within my power, it will be done.”

To say that Darien was shocked would be to gravely understate the matter. That old wound, the memory of his mother’s death, opened again, and he could not close it this time. He turned away, and for the first time since the fateful encounter in the fog on Lake Kalena, he shed tears out of something other than pain. But in a few moments it was gone, blown away as if by a gust of wind, and he was himself again. Part of him wished the lorekeeper had simply stayed silent. This revelation ultimately made very little difference, and had only served to drag forth the old pains he still felt so acutely. However, that he might have been rescued, but for the intervention of the faerie queen, had not escaped his attention, and his distrust grew even further.

“It is the faerie queen who has brought us all here. All that has happened, has happened according to her plans, whatever they are. I did not trust her when I came to this place, and what you have told me only raises further suspicion.” Darien finally turned to Galen. “I will not be made a pawn in her game. I have already been made into a weapon by one master. I will not be made to serve another.”

Galen nodded solemnly, though perhaps in his state he would have agreed to anything the half-elf had said. “I cannot in good conscience force you to do anything against your own will, nor would I if I could, but the queen of the faeries is not to be trifled with.” Galen clasped his hands behind his back and paced back and forth for a moment, choosing his next words carefully. “She can be dangerous if provoked. She sees what is in your heart and mind. She may use that against you. I believe that she means well, and that the faeries are trustworthy allies. They seek to preserve life, nature, and all that is in it. They have been our allies since before the fall of the elven kingdom, and they have ever been our eyes and ears beyond this valley. But they can also be dispassionate, cold, and even cruel in their manipulations. You are wise to be wary of her.”

“Dusk approaches,” Darien said, seeing the light in the colored glass window begin to dim.

“So it does. Then let us be off.”

Chapter 27: The Faerie Queen and the Ancient Prophecy

The walk from the Ivory Hall to Lake Saria took only a few minutes. The lake was fed by a stream that ran from the high point of the valley not far from where they had entered. The water was calm, still, and reflective as the surface of a mirror. Only the reflection of the green forest canopy could be seen in the water, nothing below the surface was visible. Jerris and Rana had already arrived, and now stood with Ceres beside the waters.

They stood waiting for several minutes, before the sun finally sank behind the western mountains, and the valley was left in a deep green shadow beneath the trees. Just as their eyes were adjusting to the twilight, a ball of bright white light rose out of the water, then burst in a thousand ribbons of brilliance in all directions. The Executioner was momentarily blinded by the display, and when his vision recovered, a single fairy hovered over the water where the white light had been. Far larger than any of the other faeries that the travelers had encountered, this faerie was a giant, towering over them, twice the height of any of those standing before her. Her wings were bright white, and their bright glow reflected off the water and filled the area around the lake with a cool silvery light. Her gown was white, longer than the other faeries, and it glittered with innumerable tiny points of silver that shimmered and sparkled in the light of her wings. Her long pearl colored hair hung in braids down her back, sparkling just as strikingly as her gown. She hovered almost effortlessly over the lake, moving very slowly across the water toward the waiting travelers.

Darien immediately felt an immense magical aura, far greater than his own, and nearly the equal of his old Master. He readied himself, stood motionless, and waited for her to approach. The faerie queen hovered over to them, and touched ever so lightly on the bank of the lake just in front of the travelers and their hosts. “I am Lucca, Queen of the Faeries, Sage of Waters, and Keeper of Prophecies. I welcome you, Darien the Executioner, holder of the black blade. I welcome you, Jerris Tolmirran, heir and future king. I welcome you, Rana Geruda, friend of faeries. Welcome to my home, Lake Saria. We have much to discuss.” Her voice was impossibly deep, yet somehow still feminine. It boomed out as though it had echoed from deep within the earth, yet with an inexplicably musical quality. It was beautiful, powerful, wondrous, and terrifying all at once.

“I thank you for aiding us in our escape from our enemies.” Darien spoke sternly, his own voice sounding hoarse and gruff after the faerie’s magnificent tone. “You’ve gone to great pains to bring us here. What is it that you want?”

The faerie queen wrapped her wings about her like a cloak, and walked straight up to Darien, looking him squarely in the eye. He returned her gaze, stern and fierce. Immediately he felt the power of magic upon him, something similar to his shadow sight, but not exactly the same. The magical aura almost overwhelmed him immediately, but he gathered his own magical energies, and pushed back against it. She was too strong, he knew, but still he opposed her. For what seemed an eternity, they stood staring, unblinking, into each other’s eyes, their wills and magical energies locked in a fierce, invisible struggle. Finally, with his will wavering, he reached back and placed his hand upon the Demon Sword. He would not have his mind invaded by this creature, no matter her intent. Surely this threat would be enough to convince her to abandon the struggle. His focus was still trained upon the bright gleaming silvery eyes of the faerie queen, and he was only dimly aware of the chaos about him. His companions shouted warnings that he did not hear, and Ceres had to be restrained by the lorekeeper. An instant later, Lucca turned away, ending the standoff, and relaxing the power she had brought to bear. The Executioner finally lowered his hand from the blade, and the moment was over.

“You are every bit what I expected, Darien the Executioner, formidable and grave, fierce and unyielding,” Lucca finally spoke and nodded her head deferentially. “You do not trust me. I did not expect you would. You do not trust easily, a wise policy. I do not entirely trust you either. Trust is not given, but must be earned. Don’t you agree?” Darien nodded warily and Lucca continued. “You ask what it is that I want from you. You suspect I aim to use you, and the terrible power you carry, to further my own ends. This is true, is it not?” Darien nodded once again, and Lucca again began speaking. “Well, you are not entirely wrong, yet you are not entirely right either. You see only the darkness, because it is all that you know, but that will change in time.” She smiled, a bright jovial smile, disarming even to the stoic Executioner. “I would not be so foolish as to insult you by asking for what you will not give. Indeed, I do not intend to ask anything of you. I have no task to assign, nor any quest to put you upon. That is not my purpose. My purpose is only to tell you all that the currents of fate have shown for you, so that you may make wise choices, for the fate of many will depend upon those choices, whether you wish it or not. It is my hope that you will hear my words and embrace your destiny instead of hiding from it. However, I hold you under no obligation to me for the aid you have received, nor for any other reason. If it is your will to leave this place, then I will not stop you. Is this acceptable to you?”

“I suppose. As you said. Trust is earned, not given. We shall see.”

Lucca turned to Rana next, and spoke again. “Rana, you have suffered much, and for that I am sorry. Hold me to blame if you will, for what you witnessed as a child. Maya knew nothing, and acted under my direction.”

“So, you expect me to forgive her, because she was following your orders?” Rana said. “Should I forgive him too, because he was following orders?” Rana pointed at Darien. “Shall we hold only kings and queens to account for their crimes?”

“I cannot answer such a question. How to divide responsibility between master and servant over the wrongs you suffered is not for me to say. You may lay the blame at my feet, or at Maya’s if you wish. You judge harshly, and it is your right to do so if you wish, but there is something you must understand.” Lucca’s face seemed to darken as her bright smile lowered into a blank stare, as if she looked right through the golden haired woman. “I looked into your future, and saw a terrible darkness. I saw many paths, but in each one, your quest for vengeance consumed you, until you became as much a monster as those you hate. Still, no darkness is absolute. I saw in the shadows of your future, a single ray of light. There was one, single, twist of fate that would free you from that destiny. Had you left the city when Maya first appeared to you, you would have set your righteous wrath upon the Demon King himself, and you would have died before you ever saw his face.” Rana’s face became deathly pale at that moment, and she seemed deeply fearful. Her eyes flew open wide, and Darien recognized what was happening. The faerie queen was invading her mind just as she had attempted to invade his. Without a second thought, he lowered his gaze directly at her, engaging his own shadow sight. The faerie queen couldn’t hold the woman and defend herself against him simultaneously, no matter how powerful she was. At once, Lucca released the girl, turned to Darien again with a jovial yet knowing smile, blinked, and then, with hardly a pause, started speaking again. “Instead, your fate became entwined with Darien’s, as so many others are, and will yet be. Whether you forgive him, or Maya, is for you and you alone to decide. You are under no obligation to do so. You may go where you wish, and do as you choose. Your life is yours now.” Rana breathed deeply, gasping. Her hand was at her chest and her head was down. Whatever the faerie queen had done had left the young woman utterly stunned. Darien realized he had not intervened quickly enough, and cursed his slow wit.

Finally, Lucca turned towards Jerris and spoke. “Jerris, it is you who have most wanted to see this place, and to hear my words. You have the book, and the talisman?”

“I do.,” Jerris replied, and showed them to the faerie queen.

“I see. Then there can be no doubt. You are the heir who has been prophesied, yet more is written. Hand me the book.” Jerris held out the dusty old leather bound book, and Lucca took it. She leafed through the old book, finding the pages on which the prophecy was written. She studied it carefully for a long time, and spoke again. “These are the last words of my mother, Lady Saria, the first Queen of Faeries. It was the very last prophecy she ever foretold. She gave her own life in exchange for such powerful knowledge. In it, she foretold the destruction of the elves, the thousand-year reign of the demons, and their eventual defeat. All that came to pass a very long time ago, but there is more. She also foretold a time when the shadows of the ancient demons would once again rise to trouble this world. That is what concerns us, for I believe that time is upon us now.” Jerris gulped loudly, and began his customary fidgeting. “Before I read this, I will warn you. Fate is treacherous. Often the words of prophecy are riddles whose meaning is not known until they are fulfilled. More than this, a prophecy represents not one future, but many, for there are many ways its words can come true. Whether it comes true, and whether it brings joy or sadness, victory or defeat, good or evil, is often determined by the choices we make.”

“What’s the point of prophecy if not to tell us what’s going to happen?” Darien shook his head skeptically. “If the outcome depends on our choices, then it isn’t much of a prophecy.”

“Yet, if our choices held no meaning, and the future was unalterable, what would be the purpose of knowing it?” Lucca smiled confidently at the shade, as if challenging him to come up with an answer, but he could not, so he only grumbled and turned away. “It is a clever puzzle, isn’t it? We prophecy the future so that we may prepare for it, and avoid peril if we can, yet if our preparations can save us from doom, if destruction can be avoided, how can we be so sure of the prophecy in the first place?” The clever shade ran the riddle round his head but had no response. It seemed almost ridiculous to even contemplate. He shook his head in the direction of the brilliant white faerie, quickly giving up the pursuit of an answer, and deciding that all of it was probably nonsense anyway. She recognized his frustration, smiled politely, and continued. “I have no more answer than you do. Some things are beyond what any of us can know. Now, are you prepared to hear the prophecy?” Each of the three nodded, and Lucca began speaking in a voice even deeper and more powerful.

The Children of the light shall scatter to the winds.

Their kings shall be slain, their banners shall be thrown down and their cities shall crumble.

The formless ones shall reign over the world for an age.

A thousand cycles of the seasons shall pass under the shadow of their evil

Until a child of the wind rises against them.

Of humble birth, he shall rise from the dirt.

With his hand he shall master the evil that burns the hand of the cursed child of light.

By his hand, the formless ones shall be cast into the abyss, and the world shall have peace.

Far shall the winds blow the children of the light.

Long shall they roam the far corners of Terralien.

Vagabond, wanderer, and orphan they shall be.

Yet they shall be called, when evil rises again.

A child of wind shall seek the light that was lost.

The pretender king covets the power of the formless.

He shall take their name and form, and call forth their ancient servants.

Yet, in the shadow of evil, hope shall arise.

Four shall be called, outcasts, wanderers, and strangers.

Their fates shall be bound to this prophecy, and to each other.

Impure shall be their blood, yet by their blood their race shall be restored.

From the east shall rise the Executioner.

A thief, he shall steal the power of the enemy, and bend it to serve the light.

A shadow of death shall lie upon him, yet in his shadow shall the others follow.

He shall rally the fallen and the forgotten, and raise an army of righteous vengeance.

The hand of vengeance he shall be, and all his enemies shall fear his name.

From the north shall rise the King.

The child of the wanderer shall be orphaned by his own hand.

With enemies at his back, the orphaned child shall carry the great Star.

Weak of body, yet pure of heart, he shall be a light to all free peoples. Against his spirit, none can prevail.

King he shall be to them, and all of the children of the light shall bow to him.

From the south shall rise the Crusader.

Blessed by the water, she shall be carried from death upon the waves.

And Far shall the water carry her, to face her nightmare.

Sister to darkness, she shall master the unbending light.

The shield of gold veils the light of her blood.

The voice of truth she shall be, and the children of wind shall rally to her.

From the west, shall come the fallen star.

Without name or family, the sleeping child shall waken in the snow.

She will flee her home, pursued by the white wolf, but his fangs cannot prevail against the stranger.

She shall be filled with the light of life, and death itself shall flee before her.

The light of hope she shall be, that by her power fate might be undone.