Part 2 (1/2)

Aeoden rubbed his brow frustratedly. ”Are you certain?” Without waiting for a response, he said, addressing no one in particular, ”We have been deceived; we are going the wrong way.” He impatiently took the reins of his horse.

He had come to trust Daenara's visions. She had warned him of dangers and guided him and the men safely through unknown and treacherous terrain. They had been deceived; the tracks had been false. Necromancers have many deceiving powers, such as illusion, and can make things appear as they are not, even to a trained eye.

”Let us proceed now. We have lost too much time.” Aeoden said.

”In which direction are we to go?” asked one of the men.

”The only mountains to have snow this time of year are in the realm of Illesmore,” said eomus, a.s.sisting Daenara to mount.

Aeoden nodded. ”We go north,” he said, settling himself in the saddle. In an attempt to make up for lost time, they had not taken a break in many hours and rode into the night over dark fields with only the stars to light their path. They eventually set up camp in a dark wood. An unfortunate boar on a spit had become dinner for the evening. As she partook of something to eat, Daenara found her attention again drawn to Goran and Thedred, even though the two now sat apart and seemed to speak little.

Goran had lost interest in her entirely, while Thedred had his eyes always upon her-always with the same dreadful look of remorse-eyes always slightly averted as though he could not bear her gaze. His face was heavy with some burden. His haunted glances made her deeply uncomfortable. He, at times, gave her the feeling he wanted to get her alone with him, where she would not have the safety of the other men. His strange att.i.tude pressed against her already weary soul and made Daenara feel as though she would wilt with the pain of it. Her arms ached to hold Deacon, to feel his warm little body against her own. She feared that he was afraid and alone.

Not far from Daenara, another's heart was aching for hers and had a great desire to soothe her. He stood with his shoulder against a tall tree, never far from her. He settled kind, pale eyes on her with grave interest. He could see that she grew paler and fainter with each pa.s.sing day, but the absence of bloom on her cheek did not diminish her beauty in eomus's eyes. Her loveliness was of the earth, warm and natural. The soft glow of the fire touched her face, bringing warmth back into it.

Presently, a hand gently rested on Daenara's shoulder. It was the whitest as well as the lightest ever to have been laid on her. She looked up into the face of eomus. He smiled down on her with the look of promised alleviation, and she felt herself soften at his touch.

”This will all soon be at an end,” he said, and the calm intensity of his voice held her with a sense of a.s.surance. ”You will again, very soon, behold him and take him into your arms. This is all just a terrible dream from which you are soon to wake.” A deep frown creased his otherwise smooth brow. ”I pledge my life on it.” The moment he removed himself from her side, it was as though a light had been extinguished, leaving her in darkness.

Later, when the men were settling into their tents, Daenara noticed eomus vanished deeper into the woods as quietly as the breeze pa.s.sing. She had in fact noticed that every evening, wherever they might be, eomus would silently steal away to be on his own for a time. She followed him this evening, treading softly through the moonlit trees. The soft sound of rus.h.i.+ng water came to her ear and led her to where water flowed down from rocks and collected in a pool of s.h.i.+mmering water. eomus stood at its edge. The moonlight outlined his slim well-proportioned figure.

She could hear him speaking softly in a language that was of the earth, the trees, and the wind. The words flowed from his graceful lips reverently as though in prayer, though his face was not down-bent but raised to the night sky. His luminous features were smooth without any sign of care. The meaning of his words eluded her but were nevertheless healing. Without making her presence known, she listened long to him. Her face rested upon her hand as she leaned against a tree. The lilting, melodious words filled her with a deep sense of calm.

”Does it bring you comfort?” he asked quietly. The unexpected address brought her back with a slight start. She believed that the trees must whisper to him, for she fancied she had made no sound. Yet still he knew she was there.

”Yes,” she said in a half-whisper, feeling somewhat ashamed. It was after all his personal moment. Perhaps he wished to keep it for himself, but his expression when he turned toward her was of pure tenderness.

”It is an invocation requesting strength and guidance,” he said.

Amid this deep quiet Daenara felt an unspeakable anguish arise within her heart. Until now she had borne the despair with unfaltering courage. Tears gathered in her eyes. ”I cannot let my son die.” Her voice was scarcely a whisper.

”It will not be a grief you will have to bear,” he soothed. He extended a slender hand toward her. ”Come to me.”

The moment her hand was laid in his, she was drawn gently into his embrace. Not the finest silks nor satins could compare to the feel of his touch. Caressing her lovely hair, words were spoken from his lips in a melodious tongue. Daenara looked into the pale eyes with their unfathomable depths and felt a hushed sense of peace. eomus lowered his face and let his words fall on her lips, kissing her deeply as if he meant to take upon himself all of her sorrow. In the moonlight they stood serenely radiant, with their heads bent together.

Chapter6.

Luseph.

-ar in the northern lands of Gonriel, a bitter everlasting winter had gripped the lands. It was a wild and formidable terrain, with harsh winds and jagged mountains, covered in frost and snow, peeking up through thick fog. Rising from this cl.u.s.ter of mountains was an isolated mountain, on whose summit was a dark spire-like temple. Within that terrible structure things half-living, half-dead, and entirely unholy, walked its halls.

Luseph's study was a large, comfortable room, where rows of books, thickly bound in leather, lined an impressive case. Thick rugs were splayed across the stone floors, along with richly carved furniture that carried with them a forlorn smell of things ancient and forgotten. Luseph stood by a fire that burned steadily in a gaping fireplace, with his hands clasped behind his back. He was dressed in fine black robes, with a high stiff collar that fit tightly and neatly against his white throat. A man with cunning eyes came to stand at his side.

”You did not bring his mother,” Luseph said, in a tone that did not seek to disguise his displeasure.

”It turned out to be an impossible task. And my first priority was the boy, as you instructed,” he reminded Luseph with a shade of patronization, which quickly died as the latter turned on him. For a moment the man was uncertain, but Luseph's attention was soon drawn to the small boy curled fast asleep in a leather chair.

For a long time he looked at Deacon. No expression of tenderness showed on his features, yet still he looked, as one might look on a precious item. Presently, Deacon awoke from this unnatural slumber and seemed afraid. Luseph stepped forward. He knew Deacon looked on him without recognition; his face was hardly his own. The sleepless nights and strange dealings with the dead, had all sufficed to dissolve any likeness to his former self.

”Do you know who I am?” asked Luseph and beckoned the trembling and bewildered child get down and come to him, but Deacon shrank away. Luseph did not endeavour to comfort him but knelt down, placing a hand on each armrest either side of him, as though to box in the fretful little fox. ”Do you know me?” he repeated. His eyes shone like moonlit ice.

Deacon recoiled against the backrest as though he could sink into it and escape.

”I'll tell you now. You are my son, and you are going to a.s.sist in making the world a grand place.” Rising to his feet, Luseph lifted Deacon from his seat and set him down. ”Let me look at you,” he said, taking a seat and drawing Deacon to stand before him. Gently, he pushed back the dark hair from the sullen face, and the blue eyes, timid and wet, lifted to examine the examiner.

”Do you still not know me?” Luseph asked in a softer tone, and taking the little hand in his own, placed it to his cheek, all the while looking intently into Deacon's face to detect any sign of recognition. There was none. And Deacon again began to grow fretful. Luseph rose sharply, letting Deacon's hand drop as though he had lost all interest in his existence. He moved to the window, where he stood, silent, with his back towards them.

”Shall I have him placed somewhere for the time being?” asked the man.

”No. He stays with me,” Luseph said, in a way that left no room for discussion. With a slight incline of his head the man left father and child alone. Deacon retreated to the leather chair. A prepared tray of food had been set on a side table. At his heavy writing table Luseph sat silent in his deep seriousness. Fixed intently on nothing, his grey eyes looked frozen, directed at his son. The only sign that his mind was working was the slow rubbing of his fingers. From under bent brows he could see that Deacon trembled.

Though he appeared indifferent and was cold, very cold, Luseph was not bad-tempered toward the child, and the child was not ill-natured. However, under the circ.u.mstances, Deacon kept Luesph in a constant state of disquiet, refusing to eat and fretting for his mother. In his worked-up state he often used a form of speech that was mostly incomprehensible to Luseph, which frequently resulted in one cursing and the other crying.

Forsaking his chair Deacon uttered a teary and miserable appeal to see his mother. Luseph pinched the bridge of his nose. Since Deacon had awakened he had proved a tiresome creature. ”Cease whining!” Luseph said with an impatience amounting nearly to anger. His outburst subdued, but did not cease, Deacon's misery; the brave little chest heaved a dignifying sigh. Coming to crouch down at his level, Luseph stretched out a hand, dragged the boy roughly between his knees, and embraced him sternly.

”Hush, now,” Luseph said with curbed ferocity and rose with Deacon gathered up into his arms. The father that remained in him had a strong desire to comfort the child. For many minutes he held Deacon till he felt the fearful, rigid body finally succ.u.mb to exhaustion and slip into a heavy sleep.

In Luseph's bedchamber was a st.u.r.dy dark wood bed, its red silken covers embroidered intricately with gold thread. A tray of half-melted candles emitted the feeblest light. Luseph slept in a chair, while Deacon was tucked into the large empty bed. The door was securely fastened, so there was no fear of him breaking bounds, but Luseph's repose did not long last before he sat up wearied. His fist pressed to his lips, he watched, silently, the child who slept in his bed.

Luseph was regretful of the life Deacon should have had and remembered with bitter clarity his own miserable childhood. He thought of his family that spat at the mere mention of magic and any thought of him studying it. It was for this very reason Luseph had moved to the Imperial city; to further his education in the ways of magic, and the moment he did so, he had lost his family.

His own brother had beaten him. He thought of his sister and how the only affection he could expect from her was a hard slap. His father would do everything but foam at the mouth should even the slightest mention of magic be uttered under his roof.

His mother alone understood him, but even she failed him-she perhaps most of all, for even with her understanding, she still turned her back on him. She was not willing to risk the sacrifice of her husband and other children for his sake. And so it was through bitter tears that she impressed on him that should he walk out that door, he should not bother to return.

He left without turning back, a boy of not quite sixteen. He had no family, but he had a home, the university, and so it was for many years until Travon had destroyed all he had worked for.

Luseph recalled a conversation he had with his Necromaster and the futile frustration he felt. In the dim musky room Luseph had stood before the old mage with the full face of youth and determined eyes; under his robes was a strong young body, and sheathed at his waist was a long sword. The contrast between the young mage and the frail older mage-with his bony hands and sallow skin-was considerable.

Luseph bore his gaze with a rigid dignity but inwardly shrivelled under the disapproving stare. The withered eyes sneered at his bronzed skin as though it were a brand of inferiority. The old man did not believe one could achieve his full potential while dividing his time between magic and weapons.

”Arch mage Travon is a powerful man who has many loyal to him. It would not be a fight we would win,” he had finally said to Luseph, who came to him in distress in regard to banning necromancy.

”Ah, I see,” said Luseph, hostile. ”It is not respect you show, but fear.”

The Necromaster had responded cruelly, which ferocity Luseph bore with unflinching courage. After this he left the university and tried to live a normal life, which he achieved with Daenara for several happy years, until the Necromaster sent him a letter informing him of their location, and what they intended-Travon's downfall.

Having grown uncomfortable in his chair, Luseph moved to stand by the narrow window. Beyond his reflection was a stretch of night. His thoughts went to Daenara. He knew how desperate she would be and desired that she should be here with him. Her touch he longed for, yet he knew it would be difficult to make her understand. There was much pain and suffering for both of them yet.

In his study the following day, Luseph stood before the fireplace, lost in thought. He forgot for the moment the silent little presence that occupied the room with him. Presently, a young man entered the study. Preston was his apprentice. He was a youth of not more than sixteen years of age, though with his untainted self-a.s.surance and arrogant disposition he appeared much older. Luseph treated the youth often harshly, though, at times, with the kind of pride that a father might have for a son, and Preston was eager to please Luseph.

”You require of me?” asked Preston, taking little notice of Deacon.

Luseph said, ”Take the child. He's in your care.”