Wandering Lark (52 page)

She saw them again. The young man in green. The bard that had the essence of a heretic on him. The strange beast that she recognized by essence as the heretic she first saw at the walking stone that day. He wore a hideous new form. To one side, Talena was being dragged away, taken into a white palace...

Blood suddenly dripped into the scrying bowl, and Desura felt her strength waning fast. She had pushed too far...too far for her strength to hold. Her stomach heaved and she felt her head spinning as more blood dripped into the bowl. Weakly, she reached up and brushed at her chin. More blood. It was running from her nose, her ears...

She collapsed on the floor, unable to hold on any longer. Around her, voices whispered. Hands touched her, wiped her face. Others lifted her gently and carried her away from the scrying stone. Someone mentioned the High Lord Patriarch’s name, but Desura was beyond caring. She was too weak to care anymore.

All she could feel as they carried her to her chamber was the faint thunder of her heart still pounding in her ears.

Talena...my cousin...help me!
I’m dying!

When they dragged Talena into the tower
, she wanted to scream. What a fool she had been to trust Lark—Alaric—whatever his name was. She had hoped...oh she had so hoped that he was the answer to her desire for revenge, but he was no better than that boy-king who looked into Talena’s mind and stole her secrets.

What were they going to do with her? She was still weak from the magical blow that left her chest aching and her head spinning. They had taken her sword, her horse, the crystal dagger Desura had given her. All was lost.

I should have turned him in the day I saw him. I should have taken him to the Lord High Patriarch and claimed the reward and been done with it. No, I had to believe that he was the one who would help me! I had to believe that he was going to help me!

They half dragged, half carried her up the stairs into a tower and pushed her through a door into a circular chamber. There was a chair, and they hauled her over to it and seated her there. She half expected them to manacle her into place, but they merely turned their backs on her and walked out of the chamber, closing the door. She heard the bolt thrown and saw that one of them remained at the door, his eyes on her.

For a moment, she just sat there with her arms crossed, not knowing what to do next. A prisoner. She was a prisoner.

What made me come here? Why did I listen to Desura and let him go free? Why did I not stand up for my rights as a mercenary, claim the bounty and become one of the Temple’s elite...

“Because it is not really in you to do such terrible things...”

Talena turned abruptly. That voice. It was the one in the old ruins, the voice that spoke to them when the trees drove them to the ruins.

“Who are you?” Talena asked.

“I think the question, my child, is who are you?”
the voice replied.

“Why am I here?”

“That question is one you should already know the answer to.”

“But I don’t!” Talena said.

The air around her stirred slightly. She smelled the odors of cinnamon and spices and sweet honey lingering. But look around as she did, she saw no one in the chamber. Just the guard at the door who kept eyes on her.

Slowly, Talena got up out of the chair and walked around the edges of her prison.

“Where are you?” she asked.

“I am everywhere,”
the voice replied.
“I am here with you.
I am in you.
I am all that you see around you.”

“Is that a riddle?” Talena asked.

Laughter answered.
“The only riddle is that within yourself, child of two lands,”
the voice said gently.
“Now, if you will excuse me, I believe I am needed elsewhere.
I will come back later when all are asleep and we will talk.
I think you will need to talk to me.”

With that, the odors faded and went away. Talena walked back to the chair and sat down, studying the smooth walls and high windows of her prison while wishing she could stop her hands from shaking.

They led Alaric into a chamber
where a warm bed and a bath were waiting for him. Servants stood by, waiting for him to command them. He had been told by King Culann that he had only to ask for whatever he desired.

A bath,
he thought. He had wanted a bath, but he had not said so aloud. Yet there it was, steaming warm before a fire. Drying cloths sat in a neat pile to one side.

Vagner was still looking somewhat subdued. Fion had insisted that Alaric might want to rest and clean up before dinner. Then the Dvergar had taken his demon and left them there.

“Uh, some privacy, if you don’t mind,” Alaric said to the servants, and they all bowed and left without hesitation. He sighed and started stripping out of his clothes, which he noted were rather grimy from the road. Perhaps he should have asked that they be washed. But then he glanced over at the bed and saw that a fresh blue doublet and matching tartan trews and a clean linen shirt had been carefully laid out for him. They even looked to be in his size.

Alaric smiled and finished stripping down. He crawled into the tub, noticing that Vagner had crept over into the darkest corner he could find.

“What’s wrong?” Alaric asked.

“It’s too white,” Vagner replied, glancing warily around him.

“Is it hurting you?” Alaric asked.

Vagner shook his head. He looked quite pitiful for a demon who just a short while before had been savagely defending Alaric from the one called Sedar.

“What do you make of that white demon?” Alaric suddenly asked, reaching for the sponge and the soap placed within his reach.

“If it had laid a hand on you, I would have made a mess of its lovely hide,” Vagner said. “But it was like no demon I have ever encountered, if that is what you mean.”

Alaric frowned. What was it Captain Halathor called Vagner? Youngerkin.

“You don’t suppose it’s one of the Elderkin, do you?” Alaric asked. “The first demons Halathor mentioned? The ones who existed before the Dark Mother’s corruption?”

“Why not ask
him
,” Vagner said sourly and pointed to his own chest. “
He
should know. In fact, I think he knows much more than he had told either of us...gah!”

Vagner winced, and Alaric felt the sting that had lashed out from inside him, using the demon’s true name.

“Ronan?” Alaric said. “Stop that!”

“Or what?”
Ronan retorted, and Alaric could feel the bard’s spirit rising strongly from deep inside him.
“Youngerkin always have to be taught their place...”

“What’s gotten into you?” Alaric said. “First you make me come here, then you threaten to desert me, then you hide, and now you’re picking on Vagner...not to mention that you tried to make me kill...”

Alaric stopped. The vision clearly flooded his mind. He had his hands about Talena’s throat, but Ronan was making it happen.

“You tried to make me kill Talena? Why?”

Ronan laughed.
“I told you we did not need her,”
the bard said.
“Now you see what she has done.
She tried to kill the king with the dragon’s tear.
She would have undone everything...
You should have let me finish her off...”

“Stop it!” Alaric struck the water with his hands. “You’re twisting things, trying to keep me from remembering. You
have
built another wall in my head. And if you have, I swear on the Horns of Cernunnos, I will tear you out myself.”

Ronan laughed again and retreated.

“Why is he doing this?” Alaric asked and looked at Vagner.

The demon shrugged. “He wants...” Vagner stopped and shook his head. “I should know what he wants because he told me, but...I don’t know.”

“Wonderful!” Alaric scrubbed himself with the sponge, snarling under his breath.

As soon as I can, I’m getting rid of you Ronan!
Alaric thought angrily.
Before I even try to get rid of Vagner’s mark and set him free, I swear, I will make you go away!

If Ronan heard that, he said nothing.

The Lord Patriarch Rothanan entered
Desura’s chambers, his face set in a grave scowl. Watchers were short lived creatures. They wore themselves down. This was not unusual. But Watcher Desura was still young compared to some. She was stronger than others. So why had he been summoned to give her last rites?

She was lying on her cushions, blood crusted on her hand and her face.

He turned a sour look at the attendants. “Why did you not at least clean her up?” he demanded sharply.

“There was no time. She is fading fast.”

He took a deep breath and walked over, kneeling at her side. Her eyes were closed, and for a brief moment, he wondered if he was too late. But when he touched her wrist to feel for a pulse, her eyes fluttered open and she peered at him from watery eyes going cold.

“I have failed,” she said softly.

“In what way, child?” he asked.

“I thought to use her to bring down our enemies and earn my freedom.”

“Her?”

“My cousin...Talena...I would have used her to bring down the greatest prize a Bounty Hunter could present to you. But...I have underestimated the power of the heretic with which she travels.”

“What heretic?”

“The bard,” she said. “The one they called Lark the Wanderer. I told you he was not a heretic...I lied.”

“Why?” Rothanan seized her shoulders and shook her hard. She cried out in pain, and he let her fall, glaring at the blood on his hands. He wanted to strike her, but the blow would likely kill her before he could learn what she meant. He frowned down on her as though she were a piece of offal in his path. “I gave you life,” he snarled. “I gave you a purpose, a way to redeem yourself for being what you are. Why would you risk your immortal soul this way?”

“Because...my soul
is
immortal,” Desura replied. A tear leaked from the corner of her eye. “But my power is spent. Ymir’s heart is beating more powerfully that before. I can hear it... And I know now that all the Temple stands for is a lie. You took me from my family. You stole the lives of those I gave you. But I will not give you what you have most desired...”

“And what is that?” He leaned down.

“The Dragon lives,” she said wearily. “The Dragon is alive, and her avatar has come. The Balance will be whole again, and the Temples will fall. And I will not tell you where the Dragon can be found.”

“What? Do you know where the Dragon is?”

Desura moved her lips. He leaned down closer still. He put his head so close he could hear her heart slowing down...

And then she put a hand on his face, and he felt cold fire burning his nerves. His very breath seemed to be ripped from his lungs. He seized his own throat, gasping for air as she whispered a single word...

“Loisg!”

Before Rothanan could draw away, white fire lit his hair and his robes. He screamed, as did the attendants for in front of their eyes, the Lord Patriarch became a torch.

He crashed to the floor beside her, and just before the roaring pain took his life, he heard her voice in his head.

“That is for my cousin who swore to one day to take your life,” she said. “Just as you took the life of her mother and her father, so shall the flames take you.”

The blackness overwhelmed him.

Desura tried to rise from her pallet,
but pain held her down. She could hear the fading screams of the attendants as they fled the chamber and left her alone. The acrid odor of burnt flesh filled her nose. She gagged, fighting to draw air into her lungs, but every breath stank with death, and the fetid odor appalled her.