Spellbreakers (3 page)

“If I had a solution, I’d have spoken up a long time
ago, believe me. I have no more wish to see Escarra enslaved, or you wedded to
Black Admund, than you have. And your father has been most insistent that I
devote all my time and resources to the issue.”

“My father, my father,” said Leal, snapping out of the
chair and pacing furiously up and down the room. She barely abstained from
spitting on the dusty carpet that covered Dee’s floor.

The Master of Enchantments sighed with a dejected air.

“Guillem is as unhappy as you are, Leal. Do not blame
your father for all this. He has no more choice in the matter than you have.”

Leal shot him a withering look and went to stand by
the window, arms crossed, fuming. She remained stubbornly silent, refusing to
concede the truth of Dee’s words.

“He always loved you more than any of his daughters,
Leal, you know that very well. You always had your way in everything, even when
it was not quite wise. Tell me, when did you last have a lesson in etiquette,
dance, heraldry and deportment? When was the last time you embroidered as much
as a napkin? You were not groomed to be a royal bride, and for that you must be
grateful. You had more freedom than any royal child could ever expect. Of
course there is a reverse to this medal. Of course it is much harder to accept
this for you than it would have been for Sperança or Allegra. But they would
have hated Admund just the same. Nobody said that doing your duty for the
kingdom would be ... entertaining. I say again, do not blame your father. He is
as keen as you are to find a way to win the Challenge and free you. But there
appears
to be no realistic way
.”

There was a silence.

Leal gazed at nothing out of window. She felt her life
slipping through her fingers. She was condemned to this wedding then. With some
luck it would be over soon.
One way or the other.
Then
she thought of Dee’s last words.

There
appears to be
no
realistic way
.
It was a curious formulation. She had known Dee for all her life. Even in a rush,
half drunk, and hanging upside down from a tree, he could certainly have picked
out words like a woman picks choice flowers in a garden.

“Not even any fantastical, magical way?” she asked
finally, barely whispering. She did not leave the window, and she merely turned
her face down and back, to peer at Dee from behind her shoulder.

The old man gave another deep sigh, but he sat up a
bit straighter.

“I wish there was, Leal,” he said, “but you know how
things stand there better than most,” said Dee. “There is no more magic left in
Escarra’s old bones. I can barely feel the pulse of the elements these days.
All I can contrive are tricks and illusions. Masters of old magicked the arrows
of their champions to ensure a victorious shot, but I could no more do that
than bring Kjetil Alversen Haukka-Silma’a back into the world.”

“Kjetil who?” asked Leal, suddenly turning from the
window and stalking back to the old man’s table.

The magician gave her a surreptitious look from under
his silvery eyebrows.

“What are you saying, Dee? Who is this Kjetil
Whatshisname-a’a?”

Dee coughed and sniffed a few times, obviously
considering what to say, and how. He sat back in his high chair, and steepled
his fingers in front of him.

“Do not get too excited, Leal. This is ancient history
by now.
Kjetil Alversen Haukka-Silma’a was an
elvren warrior...”

“Elvren?
Like
... an elf?”

“Ah,” said Dee raising his right index finger in an
admonitory fashion. “You be careful there, princess. Elves—the singular is elf—are
small, slender, winged creatures, powerful in green magic, said to be found
solely in wild, undisturbed forests. They seldom have any contact with humans.
Elvers are altogether more substantial, flightless creatures, found almost
exclusively in the northern kingdoms. They do not fear humans at all, being
quite comparable in size and physical prowess, and considerably more adroit in
the use of an earthy but quite valuable form of green magic. The two races are
loosely related, it is true, but either breed would resent the confusion. You
might want to keep that in mind, if ever you meet any.”

He gave her another of those considering under-brow
glances, and Leal was sure that he was hatching something in his dear old head.
Something too crazy to bring to a council meeting, or even to
the king’s private ear.
Guillem was fond of his brother, but he had no
faith at all in the old lore that was daily bread and wine for Dee. She sat
forward, reaching across the table in a conspiring way.

“I will take particular care of it. Tell me about this
... elvren warrior.”

“Well, his battle name, Haukka-Silma’a, meaning
Hawk-eye, or Hawkeneye, gives away the gist of it, doesn’t it? He was, and I do
use the past tense with some hesitation, a famous warrior of his clan, possibly
even a chieftain of sorts, and vastly celebrated for his proficiency in the use
of the long bow. It is said that he possessed a weapon of great antiquity and
uncommon power. Some say it was made of dragon horn, although dragons do not
carry horns to my knowledge, so that part might well be mere legen—”

“All right, all right,” snapped Leal, waving her hands
dismissively. “Never mind the bow. What happened to him? What did you say about
the past tense? Is he alive? Where? How? You said this was ancient history!”

Dee raised both his hands, palms out, defensively.

“I did say not to get excited, didn’t I? According to
legend, and really, it may be all there is to it, Kjetil Alversen Hawkeneye
disappeared from the northern world over one hundred years ago.”

Leal sat back in her chair with a sigh. “Oh, well, not
much help from that one, then.”

Dee drummed his fingers on the table-top a few times,
looking thoughtful and keen.

“Well, maybe not.
And yet.
Elvers are very long lived. Some say immortal, but that of course is so much
stuff. However, one hundred years do not mean as much to them as they would to
us. But what is more to the point, there appears to have been a rumor at the
time, a rumor consistent enough to be passed down in songs and eventually
recorded, that our good elver might have not quite disappeared, but ... Faded.”

“Faded? Like an old stain?”

“No.
Faded.
Like...” he
trailed off. He was obviously at a loss for a way to explain his meaning. “You
know how there is a notion that if you can find a fern seed on midsummer night it
will give you the power of invisibility?” he asked.

Leal burst to laugh. “That is a nursery tale. Ferns
don’t even
make
seeds.”

“Well, no, not the common ferns. And yet it is a very
well-known fact to the initiated that a particular rare fern called the
imperial fern, or by some, the dragon-fern, does indeed, around midsummer,
produce fruit and seed, and that this seed, taken fresh, with the due rituals,
will allow a human being of pure spirit to ascend to a higher state of
consciousness, or even, in fact, existence.”

Leal laughed again. “I know of several very common
mushrooms that would do the same, and they are available year round, if you
have the good sense to dry them.”

Dee gave her a deeply disapproving look. “I will
pretend not to have heard that, my princess. No, what I am talking about here
is not a brief culpable debauched self-indulgent exhilaration. This is High
Magic in one of its most ancient forms. The ritual for passing to the other
side is rooted in the oldest traditions of Men, Elves, and Elvers, and a dozen
other races. But only a few have preserved the ability to perform it
successfully. Only persons that are highly in tune with the natural elements
and have no evil about them can succeed. It appears that few Men have the
requisite qualities these days. But it used to be more commonly done of old,
and it is said to be still a feasible ... way out, for some races.”

“Way out?”

“Out of the strife and hassle of the world.
It is said that the Faded live a wholly spiritual,
disincarnated life. They are more ... energy than flesh. Like light and fire.
But with a soul.”

“And ... this Kjetil Alversen Hawkeneye has
Faded
, you say?”

“So they say. There is very little certainty. But one
thing is sure: Elvers are not immortal, but the Faded are. Their existence is
ingrained in the very fiber of the living earth. They exist in the light of all
celestial orbs and in the very breath of the trees and in the heat of the fire.
They cannot be killed by age or wounds or disease, no more than spring or moonlight
can be killed. They are immortal, and according to some, all-knowing. If Kjetil
Alversen Hawkeneye chose to
Fade
from the world, he is
still very much alive.”

Leal sucked her teeth for a while, thoughtful.

“Supposing that he is indeed Faded and alive...”

Dee nodded, waiting for more.

“...can these energy-soul-thingies still pull a
bow-string, you figure?”

Chapter Two

“But that is just an old tale,” said Daria, frowning,
although there was also a quivering of laughter in her voice. Her expression
was flickering between confusion and disbelieving derision.

“I know, I know. But do we have anything better?
Anything?
Look, I would clutch at a tale much thinner and
older than this. Dee is not one to go chasing rainbows and fluffy unicorns. You
know him as well as I do. If he says there is something to it, there
must
be. He says that a person of pure spirit can, under due circumstances, speak to
these Faded fellows.
If so, we can at least
ask
if
he’s there, no?”

“And what good will
that do
?
Even supposing he was ever good enough to beat Hristo Straightaim, if this
Kjetil Alversen is pure spirit now, he can hardly take part in the Challenge,
no? I never heard of a ghost shooting arrows in haunted castles, let alone in
broad daylight, in front of a cheering crowd and under the surveillance of
official referees.”

“Yes, I know. But Dee thinks that these
Faded
people might still be capable of, uhm, what did he
say? Of
interacting with the
physical phase
, if they are willing.
He was not very inclined to explain all the hocus pocus, but he hinted that
Faded people can somehow ... I don’t know, not really
possess
a body.
But wear it, sort of. So, this
Faded
archer might be
able to help us if he is, how shall I put it, sufficiently motivated.”

Daria was very pointedly silent.

“Yes, I know,” said Leal finally. “Sounds like there’s
a lot of ifs in there, doesn’t it? But it’s the best I have so far.”

“Well, I suppose it is,” conceded Daria. “Unless...”

She paused, biting her lower lip.

“Unless what?”

“Unless you run away.
With me.
I would take care
of you. We could go anywhere. Think of it. You don’t
have
to be a
princess, do you? You could be anything. We could be anything. We are good with
horses and hawks. We can make a living somewhere far from Escarra and its
bloody Challenge.”

Leal took a deep sigh and shook her head. “I was
born
a princess. I didn’t ask for it, and right now I don’t much like it, but there
it is. I cannot change it just because. Royalty is not a buffet table, you
know? I can’t pick, say, excellent education, worshipful respect, twenty years
of sure meals and warm clothes, horses, hounds, and hawks, and leave all the
unwanted duties on the table. I have a responsibility to the kingdom. Besides,
I’d just leave Amata in the same position where I am now. And she’s helpless.
At least,
I
can try to find this elver. I have Dee, and I have you. I
can do this.”

Daria looked at her with a mixture of exasperation,
amusement, and a very little bit of approval. She sighed. “Yes, well, I didn’t
think you would run. You are a game one, I’ll give you that. Mind, Amata is
nothing but a silly goose. Still, I suppose she doesn’t deserve to marry Black
Admund. Whew, royal weddings, politics, magical wars, elves and fairies, ye
gods. It sounds like a very, very bad ballad. This will be such a nuisance,
Leal. Come
on,
let’s play while we still can, at
least. Tomorrow, we go finding you this hero. He’d better be good.”

Leal stood hesitant for a moment, still lost in
thoughts. She had never been so scared in her life, and it was hard to put that
aside and just enjoy the evening. Daria walked behind her and gently rubbed her
shoulders, neck and spine, until Leal felt a bit of the tension melting away,
and she took a deep sigh, bending her head forward to invite more rubbing up
her neck.

“Have you ever considered marrying, Daria?” she asked.

“Never, not for an instant.
They will have to tie me into a sack and sling me
from a pole before I enter a temple to give my life away to a
man
.
Ew
. I’d rather wed my horse.”