Chapter8.

Evil Walks.

-n blind darkness, the first of Daenara's senses to return was her sense of smell. The poignant scent of leather hung heavy in the air. When her vision cleared and the shadow dispersed, she found herself sitting a chair. Luseph stood over her as though he had only just placed her there. She recognised she was in a study. It was a comfortable room yet for all its furnishings still felt hollow and stark. To the left of a writing table was a secretive-looking door; to the right was a small series of stone steps leading up into his bedchambers.

"This establishment," Luseph said, going over to an impressive bookcase, "is dedicated to the collection and preservation of all necromantic knowledge." He ran his hand affectionately across the leather spines. "It's important that you understand why I'm doing this." He turned his eyes, which gleamed like ice, toward her. "I have spent my nights and days in darkness, because I believe I can make things right."

He spoke pa.s.sionately, but his face was inanimate, set cold with a single purpose and determination. Thought, suffering, and perseverance had all been at work upon his features so that the gaunt face could scarcely be recognised as her own husband.

"Where is Deacon?" she asked, rising unsteadily.

"He is safe and well," said Luseph, simply and unaffected.

"For how long will he be?"

The sting of accusation in her voice, along with knowledge of what was to come, caused Luseph to turn his back, resting his hand on the bookcase, his dark brows knitted. "Do not lose faith in me, Daenara," he said and showed evident signs of suffering. Seeing him thus distressed Daenara restrained the words of scorn that burned on her lips. Her face suddenly waned.

"How can I not?" she asked. "I don't know who you are anymore."

"Yes, you do," he answered quickly, his voice low and tense. "I am the same."

"No, you are not!" she said in almost a cry. "I never saw a person so changed in all my life!"

There was a heavy weight in the air before he answered. "I am only doing what I must."

"Will you let me go to him?" she asked without any hope of him granting her request. He did not answer. His neck was stiffened-set stubbornly against the misery of his position. At length he turned round, with a look almost mournful. He went to her, and as he drew very near, she held her place with faltering courage. He raised his hand to touch her, but with such heavy constraint on himself that his hand trembled, and catching himself up, he clenched his fist and placed it to his lips. He held her gaze with unspoken words, searching the depths of her being with the cold, blue flame in his gleaming eyes. She turned from him with sudden aversion, looking downward.

His iron will still holding its required position, the purpose which dominated his mind still unbroken, he could not soften to her, but nor could he inflict violence. "Would you like to sit by the fire?" he asked, tentatively.

"If you wish it," she said, as if against her will.

For a moment or two Luseph held back before following after her. His heart was beating fast. There was a great deal of sorrow in his pleasure of having her with him. Presently, he seated himself opposite. He did not look at her but stared into the flame. He had become slighter, more spectral. An indefinable alteration had come over him and his entire manner. Something in him, inhuman and immovable, disturbed her.

"He shudders when I touch him," Luseph said at last.

"Because he fears you," she answered, her voice like a whip in the soundless room. "Because you would use him in your game against Travon, who has done nothing but-"

"Travon is a fool," Luseph muttered between clenched teeth and rose sharply to his feet. "He limits man of his potential and condemns him to a life of subordination. His dictatorial arrogance will have us all prostrated before a single master." Luseph had considerable command over his countenance, but the control cost him, the strain evident in his features. He shook his head with incredulous bitterness. "At what a tremendous height above the rest of us does Travon place himself. In time he will bring suffering upon the land."

After a moment he regained composure and looked long and hard at Daenara. She sat rigid in her chair, panting, with eyes set on him as though she would destroy him.

"Do you honestly believe," said Luseph, dispa.s.sionately, "that those men would deliver Deacon from evil, when Travon would have every last Riven annihilated? He hates them. Fears them."

Daenara blinked, uncertain. An attempt had been made on her life. She could not, however, believe that Aeoden or eomus had any part in it. "Travon would kill you and Deacon with his own hands if he were less of a coward. Life has little meaning to him beyond his own gain."

"And what of you?" Daenara asked. "What is your fascination with death?"

"Life is where my fascination lies; to understand life you must also understand the mysteries of death."

"You are not so very different from him," she said. "You show to perfection how easily idealism can twist into cruelty that you would use your own son-"

"I would not hurt him!" Luseph broke in pa.s.sionately.

"I do not believe you!"

"I would not. Not more than is necessary to achieve what must be achieved." Then, suddenly careworn, his expression waned. "Come." He beckoned in a wearied way. "Be not far from me. Come nearer to me."

When Daenara made no move, he crouched down before her and clasped affectionately the inert hands that rested in her lap. His features had softened, but always was this underlying ma.s.s of cold, unliving darkness beneath the surface.

"At the end you will see that this was all necessary," he said, officiously.

"The end never justifies the means," she said, hating him for his cold blood. Then, low and trembling, "I despise you." Yet even as she spoke her heart was breaking. Not a muscle in his body moved, not one whisper of breath showed that he was living, only he stared with an intensity that was menacing. She was shuddering slightly and looked back at him with dark eyes.

"Take care," he said, with a coolness that from any other man might have been anger. He left Daenara to sit dazed and alone, disappearing behind the secretive door. The instant it was shut behind him, Daenara was on her feet and at the door to the study, which she was surprised to find not fastened, and slipped out. Luseph evidently cared little that she wandered the building and had taken no pains to fasten the lock.

Without a thought of where she was going Daenara went purely by feeling. Torches lining the walls were barely sufficient to bring luminance to the terrible place, and she had not yet come across any living person. Black forms-shapeless and mute-glided past every now and then: ghostly shapes that drifted without purpose. Each time one pa.s.sed, Daenara closed her eyes. She was loath to consider what other night-wonders inhabited this abominable place. Most of the doors were locked, and from behind some she could hear the inhuman wails and mournful bellows of tormented creatures. They drew the deepest pity from Daenara and made her all the more desperate to find Deacon.

She came across a majestic archway with strange and frightful carvings. Beyond the archway was an enclosed garden. Odd things grew here that filled the air with the pungent, earthy scent of resin and plant life. Several people clad in black and purple robes gathered herbs, performing the task devotedly. She left quickly again, unnoticed. Walking down a hallway Daenara observed two men slumped on a stone bench. At first she thought them dead, for their bloated bodies were limp and partially decayed, their clothes tattered and torn. She was horrified to discover they were not.

She checked a scream that leapt to her throat, as the bodies rose to their feet in a dozy, ungainly manner. To see corpses endowed with life made Daenara's abhorrence of the place become all the greater. They slowly started toward her. Their brains seemed stupefied, like men walking in their sleep. The ankle of one of them rolled gruesomely under itself in a dreadful limp, as though the bone itself was broken, but there showed no signs of pain in the lackl.u.s.tre eyes, which stared forward apparently without sight. Deep droning moans issued from their gaping mouths without articulation or any sign of comprehension.

As they advanced down the hall in their gruesome fashion, Daenara stood aside, pressing against the wall. As they pa.s.sed, the odour of decay and damp earth was oppressive. She quickly moved on round the corner. There, leaning next to some door, was Preston. He was talking casually to a young woman when he looked up and saw Daenara. Pushing himself off the wall, he dismissed the girl and addressed the newcomer with a touch of patronization.

"Are you lost?" he asked. "Perhaps I can help you find your way back."

That he had been the only one to notice her gave Daenara the impression that the youth knew something. She confronted him and demanded what they had done with her child. Preston remained pa.s.sive and smug. She pushed past him, frantically grasped the door handle, and shook it impatiently.

"Open it," she demanded.

Unhurriedly, Preston unlocked the door for her. He barely stood aside as she pushed through and tumbled into a dark room. Her heart sank to find it empty. Preston stepped into the room behind her.

"It is perhaps wise," he said, "that you do not bring my master's anger down upon yourself. Allow me to return you to him."

The arrogance of the youth's composure infuriated Daenara. "What have you done with him?" she demanded. The outburst of pa.s.sionate feeling struck Preston with an intense force, and he was hurled against the wall out in the hallway. Slumping down, he was a moment stunned. He soon recovered, and with his hands splayed across the wall for support, slowly drew himself up. Daenara was doubtful now, startled by her own outburst. Preston advanced with a tense walk and clenched fist. She stumbled back from him. He caught her arm roughly. He had meant to strike her, but in the same instant compelled himself to regain control over his temper.

"Do not anger me," he said, jerking her toward him. In no gentle fashion he escorted her back to Luseph's study, and shoving her over the threshold, closed the door, leaving her alone.

Luseph was still shut up in the strange room. She could hear hideous and convoluted speech and Luseph conversing in some black tongue to whatever made such tortured intonations. She started when the door suddenly opened and Luseph emerged. He looked strange and abstracted, as though dwelling in the nether regions between life and death.

He sat wearily at his writing table, in silence, eyes drawn under dark brows. Presently, he raised an open palm to indicate the door behind her. Daenara turned and saw it open. Preston entered and held the door open briefly for another. Daenara's heart leaped when she saw the little treasure she cherished so dearly wander into the room. She uttered a sob, and in an instant was on her knees, smothering him with kisses and frantic caresses, in between searching his body to see if he was still intact.

All this kissing threw him off balance, and he would have fallen, had not the loving arms that held him gathered him up into a fierce embrace. Deacon could only sob and answer his mother's caresses by clinging to her, hiding his face. Any efforts to speak were stifled with sobs, too broken and incoherent even for his mother to understand.

Daenara sank to the floor with him in her lap, his arms wrapped tight about her neck. There she held him, and there he remained. Her mouth buried in his hair, she spoke hushed words to him, so quiet no other ears could hear, to which he would nod silently in response. He cried so hard that she felt his body convulse with each sharp little inhalation long after he had quieted and stilled. He settled close against his mother's bosom. There he clung with a sense of protection and security. Too young to understand the nature of this frightful occurrence he showed only relief now that he was in her arms. His only fear was of her going away.

He became heavy and dozy, and Daenara found herself lulled into peacefulness, comforted by the small weight she nursed in her arms. This feeling of safety was but transient, and a fear came to her heart. Preston stood over them. Daenara looked up at him with a gaze of stupefied terror. Unable to move, she cleaved to Deacon. As if for the first time the knowledge of his misfortune had become apparent, she uttered a little cry and, beginning to tremble, stammered a few frightened words. Preston paid no heed and reached down and lifted Deacon.

With a broken, sobbing sound, she said, "No, please." Reaching for Deacon, trying to cling to him, her very senses seemed parting from her with terror. As if suddenly awaking from a fearful sleep, Deacon roused. He began to cry and became highly excited. The spectacle of his mother's anguish made him struggle fearfully, sobbing as if his little heart would break.

Luseph appeared calm and unaffected by the cries and entreaties, giving no indication of the emotions that convulsed him inwardly. He arrested all her attempts and, with an uncompromising hand, sat her down into a seat. The moment he removed his hand, she leapt to her feet, but the door was shut and Deacon gone. Turning round, she looked to Luseph with an expression of agonized entreaty that was more painful for him to see than the most bitter of tears. Luseph's expression remained unmoved, but his heart was like ice into which a searing rod has been thrust. His resolve, however, did not fail him. He looked at Daenara with an expression that made her go very white. As he started purposefully for the door she cried after him and clutched at his arm, though something in his manner told her there was nothing in his nature she could appeal to. He paused, then, shaking her off, slipped out the door with a painful grimace. Though his intentions did not falter for an instant, he was very sorry for the pain he was about to inflict on his son.

Daenara went for the door but was suddenly seized by the wrists and held with dry, dead fingers. One of the abominable undead men had her in his grasp. In her confusion she hadn't noticed how it came to be there. In fright she slowly sank down, so low that if the creature had suddenly released her, she would have fallen to the floor. The horror of its face had her transfixed with some sick fascination, so that she could not remove her gaze from its eyes that were so devoid of life yet so fixed with purpose.

Chapter9.

Reunited.

-aenara saw all too clearly the absence of any warmth or life to make an appeal to in the creature. Kneeling before its gruesome body, her wrists held in the deathly grasp, her thoughts ran wildly, searching for means to facilitate an escape. She was frantic at what cruelties and violations, practised by dark mages, might be inflicted upon Deacon at that moment. She could feel they were doing something to him. She sought to clear her mind and consciously draw on that hidden source of strength which had sometimes come in her greatest need, but she was prevailed upon by an overwhelming sense of some violent situation approaching.

She glimpsed flickering images-the surface rippled so that she could not see clearly. Then, in the form of a terrible vision, she saw that Aeoden and his men had made successful ingress. They were fighting and being destroyed by the same cruel force that would destroy Deacon. She felt that it was happening this moment. She went cold, trembling as though suffering from fever. She could feel the magnified commingling of hate, fear, and agony.

The tumult of her mind was painfully great, but amidst all this she grasped one image and saw it lie clearly before her: Luseph writhing in a state of wretchedness, his flesh burning. She could almost feel his pain as her own. She knew he was dying. Then suddenly she could no longer feel or sense him, not a shadow or glimpse, as if he had been torn out of being into infinite silence-dark vast.i.tudes where she could not reach him. She was cut adrift, blinded by chaos.

Her face was bent between her raised arms, eyes squeezed shut against the hideous images, but they stayed vivid in her mind's eye, a seemingly endless sequence of frightful images of bloodshed. Then something amid the turmoil brought Daenara's cowering mind back to the room. Looking over her shoulder, she saw that the door to the study was being pushed open. For some reason that opening door fascinated her, and she forgot the confusion in her head. She gave a gasp that ended in a sob.

eomus, in one fluid movement, entered, and with a precise swing of the blade, lopped the monster's hands clean off at the wrists. Its body stumbled back, but its horrible fingers stayed persistently clasped round her wrists. eomus turned quickly to her. For the moment he looked not how he used to. His face was pale and drawn, his eyes wide and dilated, so that only a thin rim of ice-blue was left. He cut the dead, clinging hands from her, then confronted the decayed being. It had recovered balance and came at him, with no sign of rage, but with a single focus and unstoppable purpose to kill him. eomus took off its head, then applied the finishing stroke and cut it down at the legs.

Here Aeoden shouldered his way through the door with tremendous energy. In his arms was Deacon. Daenara received Deacon into her arms with profound, unthinkable gladness. She clutched him with fierce determination that nothing would again separate them. She looked over at eomus and Aeoden. Through the merits of their blood they had delivered Deacon from the hands that would do him harm. Aeoden did not stay; he dashed out into the hallway where he faced the trouble that had followed him.

Daenara quickly set Deacon on the floor, and, crouching down, sought any injury to him. There was a considerable amount of blood on his cheek and clothes. She was relieved to discover that it was not his own. She noticed, however, that the palm of his left hand was bleeding from a clean, straight cut.

eomus had already set to work on preparing a portal spell, through which he meant for them to escape. Meanwhile Daenara bundled up the little one's injured hand with a torn piece of her dress. His eyes, fixed on her, were unemotional, unresponsive. His face was ashen and expressionless like one greatly overwhelmed. Her fingers trembled so violently that she had a great deal of difficulty tying the knot. The full impact of the shock she had suffered was now upon her. Soon she felt strong hands on her, aiding her to stand. She lifted Deacon into her arms.

"You must come quickly," said eomus, trying to lead her, but she laid a detaining hand on his arm.

"We cannot return to the Imperial," she said, hastily. "Travon-"

"Word has been sent of his treachery," said eomus. "He and Goran shall be held accountable. All is well! Trust me! Come quickly!" Taking Daenara by the arm he hurried her forward, leading her to the oval void that was like a split or opening in the atmosphere itself. Holding her son tight in her arms Daenara stepped toward the swirling ma.s.s. The air bristled round her with a charged energy, and turbulent winds blew her hair wildly about. Through the glare she could not see through to the other side, but eomus a.s.sured her it would take her promptly to the safety of her brother's home.

She drew a shuddering breath. Within the next few steps she would be out of this terrible place. Standing on the threshold, Daenara stole a lingering gaze at eomus with uncertain eyes. His face told her he would not be accompanying her. She feared it would be the last time she would see him.

"Look to the north-there you shall see me coming to you," eomus said. Then: "Daenara," catching her arm as she turned. "It was Luseph who spared your son's life, at the cost of his own."

Daenara faltered. The knowledge of it struck her with emotions that she could not yet identify. She nodded wordlessly, then stepped through the portal. Instantly she was engulfed by wind and light, pa.s.sing through atmospheric layers, temperatures and pressures. The air she breathed was very thin and took away her consciousness.

Daenara awoke to comfortable silence. Gentle rays of afternoon sunlight shone through the gla.s.s doors of her room. Thaemon was stationed next to her bedside, deep concern along with relief in his countenance. By degrees recollection forced itself through Daenara's mind. Sitting up, immediately alert, she asked where Deacon was. Half-rising from his chair Thaemon eased her back down, telling her to rest, and a.s.suring her Deacon was safe with Clara. Daenara reluctantly lay back, finding her strength was depleted.

Soon Clara appeared at the doorway, leading Deacon. His injured hand had been bandaged properly, and a bruise showed on his forehead, but he was otherwise unharmed. Daenara sat up with outreached arms for him to come to her, and he quickly availed himself of the privilege. Having Deacon in her embrace, her body as well as her heart was warm, but it was not to last.

"Has eomus returned?" she asked Thaemon, expecting disappointment.

His look of concern deepened. "They have not yet come back."

After this time Deacon became withdrawn. He showed little interest in any but his mother, and would not suffer her to leave him even for an instant. Thaemon had tried to explain to his children that Deacon had lost his father and impress upon them that they must not provoke or hara.s.s him with many words, but let him be quiet.

Bearing a tray of tea and toast, Berrel slipped into a dimly-lit room. All was quiet, the stillness not one of content rather of mournful reflections. Daenara stood by the window holding Deacon, both covered by a large blanket as though winter had come. She pressed her lips against his temple in a motionless kiss. His face marked with care and trouble, he looked not so much her baby as her companion in misfortune-two reclusive creatures belonging to nothing but each other.

"How are we this evening?" Berrel asked, setting down the tray. Her sympathy was energetic, when they wished to be still. "Perhaps later you might like to sit downstairs for a while?" she said, taking the blanket from round their shoulders in her robust way and laying it folded on the foot of the bed.

"Perhaps," replied Daenara, half-heartedly brushing Deacon's hair down, as though to make him look more respectable.

Berrel was about to pour the tea, when the door slowly creaked open, and peering in were two inquisitive little faces, looking slightly guilty. Daenara beckoned them in, but they stepped inside nervously. They looked to Deacon with bright questioning eyes, not understanding his unapproachableness.

"Won't you come down and say h.e.l.lo to your cousins?" asked Berrel, looking at Deacon. "Aren't you glad to see them?" He was unresponsive, his strangeness causing the children to be silent. "There, see how they fret for you?" said Berrel. She meant this as encouragement, but it rather sounded as reproach. She sighed with deep resignation. "Your mother's arms will grow tired, holding you."

Daenara felt Deacon grow tense, and his arms tightened, as though the words had been a threat to cheat him of her. "Perhaps we shall come down afterward," she said, her tone dismissive.

"Right, then," said Berrel, and taking herself out, ushered the children along with her. Once alone Daenara placed her little one in the arm chair by the fire. For a moment she gazed down on him with troubled eyes, trying to read his darkened thoughts. Words were seldom pa.s.sed between them anymore, and though he would not be without her, Deacon had become much less affectionate, coiled tightly within himself.

"Will you not eat something?" she urged. He only shook his head and did not lift his face. "Shall I read to you?"

He did not answer. She watched him with increasing pain. He seemed so strange and distant she could scarcely refrain from crying. In the glow of the fire he sat quiet, staring absently. His face was solemn and grave beyond his years. He had been accustomed to evil at too young an age. Daenara felt convinced that he was greatly changed.

"Deacon," she said softly. "Come sit with me." She held out a hand to him, her voice gentle and persuasive. Obediently he slid from his chair, and she lifted him up onto her lap. She pressed her lips to him and felt something inside her die, feeling that a piece of him was lost to her, never to be restored. She kissed him softly over the eyes, cheeks, and his entire face. The full realization of how very near she had come to losing him was upon her. Deacon glanced up at her wistfully. She smiled bleakly, kissing fondly the little fingers that reached up to touch her lips. She had nothing to say to him, no comforting words. Though his face was serious and enigmatic he was still only a baby.

The fire burned very low. For the past hour he had lain absolutely still, his face turned against her breast, peaceful and trustful. She sat calm and awake, looking down on him heavily. Her back began to grow stiff, yet she did not wish to move and felt strangely rested. At last she lifted him in her arms and drew herself out of the chair. Placing him in bed, she watched a moment to see if he would stir. When certain he was in a sound sleep, she fetched a light shawl and ventured outside.

The moon was obscured by a thin veil of clouds. Daenara made her way down past the stables and the inn. She crossed the large stone bridge and went into the fields. The trees were dark in the distance. She drew her shawl closer around her shoulders, looking upward, searching the pretty sky. Stars glittered high above her in the heavens. Yet she felt immensely alone, ever her thoughts on eomus. She knew he would come, if he lived.

A low breeze rippled through her skirt, lonely, silent, and desolate. Then, as she looked toward a great bright star to the north, a sweet breeze blew and brought with it a new hope. A great expectation rose within Daenara, delicately, like a flower blooming in spring after a frosty winter. The scent lingered in the night air, and there, coming over a gentle rise with a steady, even stride, was eomus. His countenance was serene, free from all care and trouble, and shone with benevolence and grace such as to dim the stars.

Vibrant with suppressed excitement, Daenara waited breathlessly. How slowly he came to her. Only a few more steps and she would be in his arms. Daenara flung herself about his neck, and with irrepressible joy was lifted to his chest and kissed with the sweetest, tenderest of kisses. eomus had borne many winters, and had a great capacity to love. While Daenara was many, many years younger than he, she was capable of inspiring deep devotion, for her soul was aged greater than her body, and she was true and kind.

"My heart is not fleeting and changing as the wind, but ever enduring," said eomus. Their heads bent intimately toward one another, Daenara listened to his soothing accents with a pervading sense of undying love.

Chapter10.

Elven Realm.

Many years had been filled with happiness for Daenara after her joyful reunion with eomus. He had taken her and Deacon to live with him in Loriendale, a most glorious place with a hushed sense of peace. The moment Daenara entered into the beautiful woods she had been immersed in a sense of well-being, induced by the beauty and rareness of a place so natural it possessed a kind of reverence. The stillness all so calm and soothing a repose, an intensity of rest and quietude.