The Faerion (11 page)

"Have a care," said Tomen. "It would be a strange being to live in these parts and dangerous too to be safe from the Trolls. My knowledge of this area is limited. There is not a good feeling here and I don't linger."

"Lead on," said Elise. "We shall be alert." Tomen nodded, as if her response was the only one he expected.

The sunlit clearings closed around them with long grasses radiating heat. It felt better to be in the shade and they moved quickly to the closeness of the trees. Tomen's eyes glanced everywhere, looking for signs of Trolls and whoever lived in this part of the forest. An age-old tale nibbled at the back of his mind, but he could not chase away the shadows that shielded his memory. The ground swelled upward and they felt their legs ache.

"Not much farther," said Tomen. "It will be downhill the last mile or so. Resist the urge to move quickly down to the house or whatever it is. We must not blunder into anything."

"You shall lead us," said Wynne.

They did move quickly; it felt wonderful to relax their muscles if only a little and they did stay behind Tomen.

Tomen stopped before the huge gate. Black and cleverly wrought with dragons and serpents. It was open, inviting, but the Border Guard did not trust its offer. The gate seemed unlatched and opened by a breeze. Tomen could squeeze through without touching the iron. He stared into the beautiful garden beyond the gate, shaking his head.

"What's wrong?" asked Elise. "Why have you stopped? The gate's open."

"You said we need shelter," said Culver. "The trolls won't have given up yet."

"I'm not sure," said Tomen. "I don't like this gate. Dragons inviting me in; doesn't seem natural."

"It feels safe," said Wynne. "There are no spells about it. But the sounds of the trolls are gone. Their pursuit has ended." She reached out, touching the gate. "It appears to be iron. I say we go in."

"I still have misgivings," said Tomen.

"I say enter," said Elise.

"Agree," said Wynne. Culver nodded.

"I will lead the way," said Tomen, sighing.

They entered what appeared to be a garden courtyard. Bright flowers filled the courtyard; some intertwined on the lattice over the cobblestone path. Rows of yellow roses on one side, red roses on the other, lined the path. The path seemed to wind endlessly through the flowers. The scene caused their hearts to lighten, losing their apprehensions. Suddenly, where there was silence now came songs of birds and freshness to the air that energized them. The flowers grew taller than the Tuors and some taller than Wynne. The sensation of warm springtime eased their tensions and soon they laughed and skipped among the stone paths.

They did not notice the closing of the gate.

Elise smelled the flowers, sneaking a glance at Culver. He saw her expression, turning away, embarrassed should the others have seen it. Elise was so much more relaxed around other people than Culver, especially when expressing her emotions.

"The gate is closed," said Tomen, drawing his sword. "Who closed it?"

"Where is it?" asked Culver. "I can't see it anymore. We haven't walked that far."

They all looked around them, seeing only the garden. Flowers rose up all around them. Wynne muttered a spell but could not command her powers. Did she forget how? She tried another spell; her eyes darting to find some evidence of her spell. Culver watched Wynne fight the panic welling inside her. She looked around wildly, her hands shaking.

"I closed the gate. You are my guests," The silky voice purred over their ears. A man clad in a black cloak wearing a pointed black hat stood on the steps above them. They had not noticed the steps or the house; so powerful was the image of the garden. The house was of stone built long and low and resisted the stains of time, perhaps by the owner's sorcery. He started to descend the stairs. His beard was black, streaked with two thick strands of white, but blacker still were his eyes with pinpricks of red in the center. They seemed to suck all light from around him. His expression was unreadable. Tomen immediately drew his sword and rushed the man. He held his hand out palm facing Tomen and the Tuor stopped as if he hit a wall and went sprawling. Elise and Culver rushed to his side. Tomen regained his balance quickly but Culver held him back.

"Blackthorne!" said Wynne, guessing where they were at last. "No wonder my spells did not work."

"Quite so, Lady Wynne. And I am delighted that you have brought the Faerion to me."

"She doesn't have it!" shouted Culver.

"Oh, yes she does, Culver of Paglo." He glanced at Wynne but her face showed nothing. "Do you know I've even purchased some of your poetry? I enjoy it immensely. I sit here in the garden in the evening, reading it aloud. I don't know why Tuors don't honor you more."

Culver blushed. He muttered his answer and Blackthorne had to strain to hear it.

"Elise is all the honor I need."

Elise kissed him.

"This is an honor for me," said Blackthorne, turning to Elise. "A weaver has come to my home. So, we have a poet, a weaver, a sorceress and a warrior. Be welcome Tomen, son of Tangol. My home is yours during your stay."

"And how long will that be?" asked Tomen. "We are your prisoners."

"That is a question only Wynne can answer. I need some information and the sole source is the Faerion. I do not wish the book for myself, only to read a selection of it. Then you may return it to the Daerlan and King Oalaria. I sure he would be tickled to get it back. Navir could never get it for him. But Navir found many distractions on his journeys. Come, I have a meal prepared for you."

They followed mutely and found a banquet laid out before them. They sat down but no one touched the food except Culver who had eaten several mouthfuls before he noticed the others watching him.

"What's wrong?"

"We don't know," said Tomen. "We were waiting to see what happens to you."

"Me? Why?" He swallowed as it dawned on him. "Poison?"

"We don't know yet." Tomen smiled.

"Quit teasing him," said Wynne. "If it was poison something would have happened by now."

"That's not reassuring," said Culver.

"You should have stopped him," said Elise. "What if it had been poisoned?"

"He ate so fast, there wasn't time to stop him," said Tomen. "Does he really eat like that all the time?"

"Like what?" asked Culver. "I have seen you wolf down food and belch afterward without blinking."

"I do not need to be lectured by a poet."

"Enough," said Wynne. "We should eat to keep our strength up. I don't intend to spend much time here."

"I will keep my eyes open for a chance to escape," said Tomen. "I have useful skills." He looked at Culver for a moment then back to Wynne. "Blackthorne probably won't spend much time watching me. I'm afraid he's more interested in you."

"Unfortunately, you are right."

The rest of them tasted their food and began to eat. The food was delicious and they ate their fill. Blackthorne left them alone until they had finished and then led them to their sleeping quarters. He refused to answer any questions, imploring them to rest from their journey first. In the morning everything would be clearer. He locked them in their rooms.

The next morning breakfast was laid out but Blackthorne was not there. Unseen servants saw to their needs while their host was away. They only saw Blackthorne for a few minutes and he ignored their questions. Wynne and Tomen discovered that they were indeed prisoners. Magic kept them pinned behind the gate and the wall unscalable, turning slick when Tomen touched it. Blackthorne would not let them escape. Two days might have passed before they saw him again. Wynne worried about the loss of time sense. They had no idea how long they were there. They spent their time sitting in the garden and speaking of happier times.

Culver and Elise sat in a corner of the garden surrounded by flowering vines. The aroma of the flowers relaxed them. They held hands speaking of nothing. They passed half the morning in silence.

"I must ask you," said Culver. "Are you glad you came?"

"I am always glad to be with you."

"That's not what I meant."

"I know. I feel we are in real danger here, but how can we escape? We are powerless against Blackthorne. I don't know what Wynne is capable of doing."

"I imagine we will find out soon enough."

"Culver, you must promise me something."

"Anything."

"If I die, bury me where there are flowers. A place you will want to return to over the years." She felt a black shadow fly over her as she spoke although the bright sun warmed her.

"Elise! How can you talk so? We will escape. I promise you." Elise laid her head on his shoulder pulling him to her. He held her tightly.

One morning, Blackthorne found Wynne alone in the garden.

"Good morning, Wynne. Enjoying your stay?"

"When can we leave?"

"Perhaps when I see what I want to see."

"I refuse to allow you to touch it."

Blackthorne sat back and watched birds fly overhead.

"What do you know of your parents?"

"Nothing. I was orphaned."

"Nothing? Did you know your mother was a Wierlun? Her name was Aeli."

"A Wierlun? How do you know about my mother? I never heard of such a thing."

"She turned into a hawk at will. What shape do you take?"

"None. I am not a Wierlun. What makes you say something like that?"

"Ah, but I can see you have the power. Have you not tried it?"

"I cannot change shape."

"Wynne. I am a sorcerer. I can sense these things. Besides, I know your story from someone who knew it firsthand."

"Who?"

"Perhaps later. You did know of your abilities?"

"No, I knew nothing about it. I can change shape?"

"If memory serves me, the Wierluns usually took the form of birds. Owls or hawks, I think. Birds of prey. An interesting shape for protectors of the land. Very aggressive. Are you aggressive?"

Her mind dwelt on her ignoble escape from Treteste. She clenched her fists remembering the soldiers. She might have flown away.

"Strange that your father would not tell you."

"I do not know my father."

Blackthorne sat silently, rubbing his nose. Her ignorance surprised him. Why did he bring up the subject? He gained nothing from it, or did he?

"Then you do not know who killed her? On orders from his father, King Oalaria, Aelan shot your mother out of the sky with an arrow."

"Daerlans! Why?" The Tuors joined them. Sensing her distress, they moved between Blackthorne and Wynne.

"Ask your friend, Navir. Is he not a son of Oalaria and Aelan's brother?"

Wynne looked at the faces around her, seeking the help none could give.

"Aeli. You said her name was Aeli?"

"Yes. I would like to listen in when you return the Faerion to Oalaria. That is if you decide to give it to your mother's murderer. I wonder if his opinion will change after meeting you. I doubt he knew of your existence. Should be interesting."

"You crow!" shouted Elise. "You just want to enjoy her suffering! How could you?" Blackthorne patted her hand.

"Don't condemn me, my dear Elise. I am what I am. Look to Wynne and help her in her need."

Blackthorne left them alone. Tomen reached for a stone to throw at the sorcerer but he couldn't pick it up. He looked up to see Blackthorne waving a finger at him.

One morning a strange man dressed in a red cape appeared at the gate. Blackthorne merely watched as the gate opened and the man glided into the garden.

"Lord Blackthorne." The man's orange face, ruddy as soil perched upon a long neck. His hands displayed a lighter shade of the same color.

"Paulenis. What brings you here?" Blackthorne moved his hands in spell preparation, but Paulenis had no hostile intent. His eyes darted around the enclosure, marking everyone present. Blackthorne waited for his answer.

"I have come from Lady Galamog. She sends greetings. She wants you to know that the throne beside her is still empty."

"As it shall ever be," said Blackthorne.

"Ah, yes. Also she sends warnings. Berimar has been sent out on her bidding. War is coming north. Prepare yourself."

"Berimar? Berimar has left Mordyn? I thought he found it to his liking."

"He did and he does, Lord Blackthorne," said Paulenis. "But Lady Galamog wishes him to travel and present her wishes to you, personally. I am but a messenger, unequipped for the demands of diplomacy."

"I see. Do not worry. I shall find wine enough to soothe you after such a close call with diplomacy. It is too coarse a calling for someone with your refinement."

"Thank you, Lord Blackthorne. Your kindness overwhelms me."

"Laile will show you to your room."

Blackthorne watched the orange man slink down the hallway.

"Who is Berimar?" asked Culver.

"A sorcerer, powerful and deadly. He is the iron fist of Natale Galamog, who is a creature so vile, so evil that she should not be allowed to dwell in Anavar. However, she controls Mordyn and its fierce warriors."

"It sounded like she wishes you beside her," said Wynne.

"That is so, that is so," murmured Blackthorne, lost in thought.

Blackthorne left them alone for the remainder of the day. They sat in the garden, attempting to enjoy the hospitality. It proved to be a comfortable house and the garden's beauty was unsurpassed. The reality of their situation kept them on edge.

"Will we ever leave?" asked Elise.

"If I give him a look at the Faerion," said Wynne.

"Will he honor that?" asked Elise.

"I think he will," said Wynne. "He has told me what he wants to see and I cannot detect a reason not to show him, yet something holds me back." A strange look came over her face; pain, surprise, joy. She held out her hand. It changed. The skin puckered, exposing feathers, small yet growing longer. Their redness increased with their size. Then her hand turned normal. She tried the other hand, then her face, and her eyes changing to gold. She jumped into the air with a shout. Her body shimmered and there was a golden red hawk. Her wings flapped and she was airborne. She soared high toward the sun and glided over the garden. Blackthorne joined them.