Ravenshade Read online

  “My apologies for disturbing your solitude,” said Gaelen, blushing and turning her face from his. “I would share your pain, if you will allow it.”

  El-morah shook his head. “I’m glad of your company, and I would hear what you have to say.”

  “I had not noticed the grey in your hair before,” said Gaelen, who was not known for her subtle approach. “It was dark when I saw you in the Chupa. Do you think it was the desert crossing that has marked you, or was it…something else?”

  “I do not know,” he replied. “But you’re right. My hair had barely a hint of grey when I last remembered. Now it appears as though I have aged a great deal. What do you think it means? I have endured physical hardship before, as great as that given by any desert crossing. I have seen war and profound deprivation…I don’t believe the silver in my hair is rooted in discomfort.”

  “Do you see the streak of silver that has come to me?” asked Gaelen, lifting her hair to show him. “That came from a trial of spirit, not of the body—from a presence so evil that its mere touch has marked me. I wonder whether you have also been marked. If so, then you cannot trust your memories. The evil that can mark you thus can also deceive your thoughts.”

  She drew a deep breath. “You’ve been searching outward for your loved ones because, in your heart, you know that they are still there to hear you. Tell me I am wrong.”

  El-morah turned his eyes away. “You are not wrong. There are things that don’t seem right, all the more so with time passing. I remember…I remember the oasis burning, and the men sent to find me. I can see their faces. I can hear Mohani screaming, and…the cries of my children. Yet how is it that I am still here? I would have died trying to save them…I would never have abandoned them. Yet, I’m here, and they do not answer to my call. How did I come to be here? The memory of their undoing is so terribly clear that I can hardly bear to recall it, yet I can remember little of the crossing and, in truth, I have no idea where I am. The stars tell me that I have gone south, but I do not know how far. Neither my head nor my heart knows where to turn.”

  Gaelen knelt down upon the sandy soil. She pointed to a small stone. “Here is the Chupa oasis. And here…over here is the Sandstone settlement. Are you with me?” She looked up at El-morah, who nodded slowly in the moonlight. “Now, here…here is where we are now!” She placed another stone a considerable distance from the first two. “Is it any wonder they cannot hear you?”

  El-morah took in a sharp breath. “That’s not possible,” he said. “Such a journey could never be made by one man alone. Why, in the name of heaven, should I have made it?”

  Gaelen knew she had an ally in El-morah, but she struggled with the desire to reveal her fears to him. Yet he saved my life once…and he is in turmoil. I can take some of his confusion away. He is a man who can keep secrets—I just know it. Besides, if I don’t tell someone, and soon, I’ll go mad. She decided to trust her instincts, as they had rarely failed her.

  “El-morah, what I say to you now must be kept to yourself. Will you agree?”

  He rocked back on his heels, as though surprised for a moment. Then his eyes filled with resolve. “I will.”

  “Then hear me. Orrion is evil. No one else will believe it, but I know it. He is evil, and now that he has gone, you are beginning to realize that your memories are not beyond questioning.”

  El-morah went still and silent for a moment, and Gaelen wondered whether he would now suggest that she had lost her own mind. Finally, he spoke to her.

  “Orrion? But…he saved my life, Gaelen. He saved my life and restored my awareness. How can he be evil? If he is evil, then why has he not taken control of the City? Why did he leave it? It is my experience that evil folk desire things…power, influence, wealth…what did Orrion gain here? He came, after saving my life, he healed those who were not sane, and he nearly killed himself while trying to save Aryiah’s life. He warned us of some great threat to the north, and then he left us without once having asked for anything. How can he be evil?”

  “I don’t know…but I have come to know him as a deceiver and a beguiler. You made this journey because somehow it suited his purpose. He has manipulated us all! Think on it for a moment…would he be able to heal those who are not sane without influencing their minds? I saw what he did to you. He’s been one big contradiction after another ever since he arrived.”

  She saw the doubt in El-morah’s eyes, and sighed. “I don’t know how I know it, since you’re bound to ask. Just…little things here and there. Little things that add up. And I know one thing that doesn’t add up, and that’s your presence here.”

  “He saved my life,” said El-morah, but Gaelen saw doubt flickering in his dark eyes.

  “Because he needed you. You loved your wife and children above all else. Would you really still be alive had someone murdered them? Would you not have died defending them? You know the answer to that. I’m just saying…your awareness and your memories may be false, my friend. You must trust your heart.”

  El-morah just sat in silence, considering what she had said.

  “Do not confound yourself with too many questions,” said Gaelen. “Your heart speaks to you…what does it say?”

  El-morah sighed. “I am conflicted at this moment. If you are right, then I will thank you. If you are wrong, and you have filled me with false hope, then I will curse you. But either way, I must now be sure. I will be returning home as soon as my strength is fully regained.”

  “Well, you cannot go alone,” said Gaelen with finality. “We would not allow you to risk your life, now that you have been restored to us.”

  El-morah lifted an eyebrow at her. “I was not aware that my decisions were yours to make,” he said.

  “Someone must prevent you from undertaking a foolish course of action,” said Gaelen, her ears reddening in the dark.

  “Don’t worry…I am among the least foolish men you will ever meet,” said El-morah. “And you have cheered me, my small but insistent friend. It’s good to know that a man has so many fierce hearts looking out for his welfare. I will not undertake the journey without considerable planning.”

  “And I suppose a man who is not foolish rushes into a corridor outside a burning tower without even a cloth over his face,” said Gaelen. “I heard you coughing for weeks! You may not be foolish, but you are heroic. Sometimes, heroes do not think clearly.”

  “From what I’ve heard, you could stand to take some of that admonition upon yourself,” said El-morah with a smile.

  Gaelen ignored him. “We must be sure to keep this to ourselves for the time being,” she said in a quiet voice, “at least until Orrion has been gone for a while. We must allow memory of him to fade before we reveal our thoughts. Be certain of one thing—he may be gone, but he is not yet finished with Dûn Arian. The evil that brought down Aryiah will revisit the City, if I am any judge. And he has not finished with our Company. You and I must keep our vigilance.”

  El-morah nodded in the moonlight. “You believe Orrion brought down Aryiah? You should know that you are not the only one that believes her tower was set aflame with intent. When we examined the ruins, I saw doubt in Azori’s eyes.”

  At that moment, Toran looked westward and gave a soft whinny. The approaching thunder could now be heard; it was time to return to the City. “We must leave, or risk being caught in the storm,” said Gaelen. “Can you ride?”

  “I ride well, thank you,” said El-morah. “I’m grateful for the sharing of your horse, but more so for the sharing of your concerns.”

  Gaelen vaulted onto Toran as he stood beside one of the stones, and El-morah followed her example. They made their way back toward the City as the moonlight disappeared, to be replaced by flashes of lightning. By the time they reached the gates, they were soaked with rain driven by fierce winds. El-morah was indeed an excellent rider; he vaulted off as Toran entered the courtyard, then waved farewell as Gaelen rode through the driving rain back to the horse-yards.

  When
she got there, Khandor was waiting for her. “The stress of the storm has disquieted Siva, and the foal she carries is coming into the world early—tonight! This is an ill happening. It would not be the first time I had seen a foal arrive before its time because the mare was stressed.”

  “Yet a simple storm would not distress her so,” said Gaelen. “In the Greatwood I learned that it is the foal, and not the mare, that decides when the time is right. It would seem that this foal has made his decision. We do not know when he was conceived, and though the signs would tell otherwise, we do not know for certain that he is not ready. Let us proceed as though there is no difficulty, and perhaps there will be none.”

  Gaelen found Siva already lying in the straw, looking in confusion at her belly as though she did not understand what was happening.

  “Is this her first?” asked Khandor, for if so, it was important to know.

  “Alas, I do not know her history, but she is at least ten years old. I cannot believe that such a fine mare has never been bred before.” She knelt beside Siva and took stock of her condition.

  The birth proceeded without incident, though the foal was indeed early and he was smaller than normal. Both Gaelen and Khandor were dismayed when they beheld him. He did not stand quickly, and his ears were soft, indicating that he might be too young and too weak to survive. His coat was wavy and very, very silky.

  “He is too small,” said Khandor. “I doubt he will thrive, but we will make every effort. Let’s try to get him to stand and nurse.”

  Gaelen lifted the foal and gently placed him on his feet. Siva licked and nuzzled him, but her efforts were half-hearted, as though she knew that he was not strong. He showed no interest in suckling, but stood shivering in Gaelen’s arms, pulling his head away when Gaelen tried to guide him.

  “Let’s dry him off and get him warm, then we will see if he will take some milk,” said Khandor. “Perhaps he is simply too cold now.” Gaelen wrapped the foal in a warm woolen blanket as Siva circled the stall, lay down upon her side, and saw to the business of passing the afterbirth.

  The next several hours were difficult for everyone. Khandor drew Siva’s milk from her, and Gaelen finally managed to tempt the foal into taking some of it, but he was still too weak to stand by himself. At last Khandor left for his chambers, for he was weary and in need of sleep, but Gaelen remained, lying beside Siva in the straw with the foal in her arms, singing a quiet lullaby.

  Gaelen enlisted Nelwyn’s aid in fostering Siva’s foal, for she was a good hand. Still, there were several anxious days. It was nearly a week before the foal could stand on his own for any length of time, and he had needed to be fed by hand, for he did not show enough enthusiasm otherwise. Gaelen and Nelwyn took turns watching him and feeding him. Siva had been worried at first, but they reassured her and she trusted them.

  “So, do you have a sense of whose foal this is?” asked Nelwyn.

  “Not yet, though I sense he is strong-hearted,” said Gaelen. “He is colored like Finan, but that does not mean much. Bay is a common color—even Eros could produce it, and so could Réalta. I won’t know for certain until he tells me.”

  “Look, Gaelen…he is on his feet. Look! He is finally feeding on his own!” whispered Nelwyn in a voice charged with excitement. The foal was, indeed, on his feet, and appeared to have only just discovered his mother’s milk. He was now suckling with gusto, his little black tail wagging with enthusiasm. He appeared normal in every respect. Siva jostled and chortled at him, as if to say “It’s about time.”

  When Siva nudged him again, he lifted a hind leg and swatted at her. There was no need to be impatient with him, thank you! Nelwyn smiled. “I believe,” she said, looking over at Gaelen, “that he has just told you who his sire is.”

  By the time the next full moon had risen, the foal was healthy and vigorous. Though he was small, Gaelen knew that he would soon grow into himself. Every day she could see improvement. She was glad to see this wonderful new life frisking and playing, snorting and trotting about. Sometimes, when he stopped in just a certain way, and lifted his head in just the right manner, he was the very image of his sire. Finan would have been proud of his son, despite his difficult beginnings. The little one had already overcome more adversity than most.

  True to her word, Gaelen had gone to the Grave of the Faithful to tell Finan all about his fine offspring. “He is very much as I imagine you were when you were little, though he will turn grey, like his mother. He is very gentle and loving, but he has a strong and determined heart. He will grow into a wonderful horse, just like his sire.” She had promised herself that she would not weep, and she did not, though the next words were difficult. “Thank you for leaving behind a part of yourself.” At this, she turned and made her way back to the City where her friends awaited her.

  Nelwyn had gone to the harbor to watch the moon over the water, the third full moon since the departure of Orrion. As she settled herself upon a stony ledge overlooking the deep, quiet waters, she began to drift out of the realm of awareness. An evil seed had taken root in the light of that moon, exactly as Kotos had planned, but Nelwyn did not know it. Now her innocence would serve as fertile soil in which it could grow, as the most terrible dream she had ever beheld began to unfold.

  She gasped, falling to the ground, unaware of anything around her except the moon—the terrible, bright, unrelenting moon. She dreamed of Wrothgar, and the Stone of Léir, and Gorgon Elfhunter. He had been placed in command of his own dark army, and the trees of the Greatwood were burning…

  Galador and Gaelen had sensed Nelwyn’s distress, for this vision had terrified her more utterly than anything in her life. When they found her, she was lying on the shores of the harbor, bathed in moonlight, staring up at the night sky. Galador would have rushed to her side, but Gaelen stayed him.

  “Careful! She is not walking in this world. Do not startle her…we must tread lightly!” Galador, who was familiar with Nelwyn’s rare and profound foresight, knew that visions must not be interrupted and, though it was difficult, he sat beside his beloved, but did not disturb her. Gaelen sat upon Nelwyn’s other side, her senses alerted, ready to respond to any threat that might come.

  Nelwyn was obviously in very deep distress; she began to moan and her breath hitched in her chest. She raised her arm and flung it across her eyes, as though trying to fend off an enemy against which she had no defense. Her cries grew louder, and at last she screamed and wailed, sitting bolt upright, her eyes nearly starting from her head, white-faced and unable to breathe for a moment. Galador was alarmed.

  “Nelwyn…Nelwyn!” he cried, “Breathe, beloved! Come back to me. You are safe…all is well! Come back!”

  He surrounded her with the gentle power of his embrace, as all strength drained from her and she began to weep. Gaelen dropped her eyes and released a long sigh of relief, for one must breathe in order to weep.

  Then Gaelen’s gaze was drawn to movement in the waters of the harbor, and her eyes grew wide. “Galador! Look at the water!”

  There, in the moonlight, an amazing sight—thousands upon thousands of fish circling slowly, their dark masses occasionally broken by a flash of blue-white belly. Even Gaelen, a Wood-elf whose home was nowhere near any ocean harbor, knew that this occurrence could not be explained. The fish seemed dazed, as though even they could not explain what had drawn them there. There were the great and the tiny, the swift and the streamlined, the odd and the beautiful, all represented in that enormous, circling mass. They did not keep each to their own, but mingled indiscriminately, the predator gliding beside its prey. Gaelen had never seen anything like it. Something had happened here—something only Nelwyn could reveal.

  Galador lifted Nelwyn and carried her back to the safety of the City walls. By the time Gaelen had told anyone of the mysterious gathering of the fishes, and folk had gone down to see this incredible sight for themselves, the great mass had dispersed and all was as before.

  Nelwyn would not speak of her vision to
anyone at first, insisting that only those she knew that she could trust be allowed to hear of it. At last, the Company gathered in her chamber, together with Lord Salastor and Maji, and they listened with horrified fascination to her tale. She told of everything she had seen; her voice sometimes strong and charged with outrage, sometimes plaintive and full of dread. She spared no detail.

  “I remember a dying scout, brought before Lady Ordath, whispering dreadful words about Wrothgar. He was advancing on Mountain-home…and another large force had moved up from the Darkmere. He warned Ordath that she must summon aid from the Woodland, and from the Lake-realm, for the strength of Mountain-home would not stand against such a mighty army. Ordath did call for aid, and I remember seeing Magra with her. She told him to have the body of Lord Shandor moved to a safe place. It must not fall into the hands of Wrothgar, or…or the consequences would be disastrous.” Nelwyn shuddered. “I felt Lady Ordath’s fear, and it was terrible.”

  “No doubt,” said Galador gently. “But Shandor’s body is only an empty shell.”

  “But…his soul is bound in the Stone of Léir. And I saw Lady Arialde—she keeps the Stone—she called to Shandor, and he showed her the future. I remember it…it was as though I stood there with her. The mists within the stone turned dark, like smoke from a battlefield, and we saw the downfall of Mountain-home. Wrothgar led his Dark Armies there from the Fell-ruin and from the Darkmere, and the Elves were vanquished in a storm of fire. Shandor told Arialde to send aid…as many warriors as could be gathered, that very night! Then the Stone went dark, and Arialde went forth—there was no time to waste! But after she had gone, the Stone flickered into life again.

  “I heard Shandor’s voice, crying out—‘Sister? Sister…there is…something more! I cannot see clearly, but there is something more. Arialde! Arialde! You must move the Stone from here at once! It is too late…too late! Oh, sister, what have I done?’” Nelwyn’s voice quavered as she recalled Shandor’s plaintive cry.