| |
THE WIND CONTINUED to blow from the north into their faces. The constant breeze seared through clothes and armour, taking away all heat; fingers that guided the reins felt like brittle icicles. The sky was overcast, threatening dagger rain, for even chill as it was, the air was not snowy. Besides, it was too early for that. To save themselves from an uncomfortable downpour, the company stopped and prepared to make camp.
“Are we never to get there!” seethed Mordrak, looking at the elusive borders of the forest.
“Better to get there later and healthy than collapse of the chill—which, I might add, you sound heartily full of,” said Astocath with a tone hinting toward an impatience for Mordrak’s perpetual ill-humour. Jorlon grimaced and exchanged looks with Tulan.
“But what if this weather’s engineered to delay us?” insisted Mordrak, now with a moderated tone.
Astocath looked at him mutely for a while. “Surely this is seasonal weather? No matter.” He turned to his apprentice who was unfurling a tent. “Never mind, Jorlon, we move on and never mind our corpses.”
“Very well,” Jorlon returned patiently and said quietly to Tulan, “My fingers aren’t up to the job, anyway.”
“Nice to know your sort suffers much the same as the rest of us,” Tulan remarked unhappily.
“That is until we know the spells!” Jorlon grinned with bared teeth. “The day will come when I’ll not suffer days such as this, just like Astocath who is pretending otherwise... as would Ifhrd...” He trailed off and looked towards Mordrak with a heavy heart. ‘Should I be quite so friendly with his squire?’ he asked himself. He shook his head in a way that he supposed Tulan would interpret as concern for Mordrak’s increasing chill.
***
BEFORE LONG THEY WERE riding quickly toward the forest, hoping to beat the worst of the rain. Even in the overcast gloom they could see clearly the verges of the Great Forest before them, yet it seemed to be no nearer than it had appeared to be the previous night. However, some while later they did at last arrive at her borders with the horses sweating, the riders chilled to the bone yet grateful there had been no rain fall.
“So what’s this then?” said Mordrak to Astocath nonchalantly. “The centre of the world?”
“Something like that.”
Mordrak peered at Astocath with a look of surprise on his face, “Adriselle is here?”
“I have no reason to doubt she is.”
“It will be good to see her again.”
Astocath frowned. “I’m sure you hope so.” He swallowed and bit his lip, glad Mordrak did not pursue the idle comment. He hoped good timing would present itself for Mordrak to discover the circumstances between himself and Adriselle. As it was, this was the hour he had been most dreading. The knight could not hold on to her, his sister, and she had not mentioned herself as already betrothed. Yet Astocath could not offer any hope of a dynasty in return for her hand. Why, he could barely offer Mordrak a dowry, let alone an estate worthy of her station. The one favour in his hand was that she carried his son. Astocath certainly planned to care for him, even if no one else would, but deep in his heart was a desire for Adriselle to be happy being with him rather than desire a life forged for her by her society. It could well be what she wanted too, and as for her time here, perhaps she had become used to an alternative lifestyle as he hoped she would. Dwelling with the elves over this short time would be good for Adriselle and open her eyes to the ills of her own society. However, he would be unwise to believe that her desires were what counted. It was what Mordrak wanted for her that would be the expectation. Such was the patriarchal system of Escavia.
He led the group on through the trees, guiding their horses on foot, following barely discernible paths that reminded him of tower diversions such as Sylvendene’s. Finally, an elf stepped out from behind a tree and raised a hand for them to stop.
“Astocath,” he said, “Gone without a by-your-leave and back again as if you were never away! What’s your game?” The wiry elf looked serious, his eyes displeased by the gathering around the mage.
“It is not by design that I act as if I own the place. And I mean no ill-manners; rather, I am in need of King Errimiayo’s help.”
“Yet you did not even attend to his audience on your last visit. Your whole manner is extraordinary!”
Astocath blushed and coughed in embarrassment.
Mordrak glanced at the mage, unsurprised that Astocath had exceeded himself in his self-appointed task to right the wrongs of the entire world. Here was a living wizard who did not live up to the expectations fire-side legends conjured. Tales were of potent sorcerers able to hither and thither with all due respect and awe paid to them. They never necessitated explanations to anyone.
Astocath looked at the elf from the other side of his horse. “Talinth, old as you are, surely you can greet me with respect. I, halfling as may be, have surely shown my greatest esteem for King Errimiayo on every occasion. Please, my company is ignorant of your ways, and we would not wish to feel unwelcome. You unsettle us all.”
Talinth pulled a face. “Very well, great one amongst the pagans of the lands, come this way. And feel free to bring your followers with you.”
Astocath whispered to Mordrak, “Talinth has a way with words, as I’m sure you’ll see. And he has a way with human folk too.”
“I see,” Mordrak replied slowly.
“You’ll like him.”
“I doubt it.”
“Come now. You’ve barely met.”
Mordrak took to a fit of coughing.
“You’re at the best place to go down with such an ailment,” continued Astocath. “These elves have herbs with properties the like of which you’ve never had cause to dream of.”
Talinth led them on with nothing to say for himself. His manner did not induce any of them to speak to one another, and certainly not to the elf. This sylvan land stood unmarred by the unwelcome weather, the rain that poured through the foliage. Mordrak thought of the Judezzek he had seen in the presence of King Tell and the lack of authority he had commanded; and yet, if that Judezzek were here, he would be hailed before King Tell was granted any notice worthy of note. Quite a reversal between their two societies. Any faithful Judezzek would in no wise be greeted as begrudgingly as Astocath had been. It must have been quite humiliating for the old leg.
After a long while, they came to a community of elves who dwelled in the immediate shadow of the fortress of their King, Errimiayo. The magnificence of the castle drew the breath of all but Astocath, who was counting the four or six weeks he had been away since leaving Adriselle here.
“It is as if we stand upon the verge of a dream,” said Tulan, completely overcome. “How a knight would fight for such a place!”
Talinth sniffed. “How we would fight for the life we share in our kingdom.”
Tulan flushed and thought better of saying more.
“There is a drinking house over there where you may wish to refresh yourselves and rest for the time being. I’ll be back later.” With a point of his hand to the wooden structure, the elf strode off to the castle.
Meekly, Astocath led them to the logwood building and quickly an elf came out to see to their horses. Mordrak was startled by the youth, who looked amused by his offer of coin and reached for the reins rather than the money.
“No money? Is it true? Elves use no coin?” he asked Astocath.
“Not in everyday life. No elf knows poverty in this world, nor in the age to come.”
“That’s what you’re hoping for, isn’t it? That these people come to feel threatened by the very enemy shadowing Tell.” Mordrak’s firmness of speech belied the fact that he felt filthy, worm-eaten, and peasant-like before the throne of a great king.
Astocath pulled a face and said, “Not quite.” He stepped into the house of drink. It was as good an alehouse as was to be found in any city, observed Mordrak, warming to the place and feeling his chill ease a little with the freshness of the surroundings. A great fire burned merrily in the centre of the taproom. He was very glad of this refreshment for his jaded senses. There were a few elves drinking at one table, but it was very quiet and under patronised.
“Won’t be long now.” Astocath smiled at him. “Your sister will be by your side before you know it.”
Mordrak thought of Adriselle. “I should have had you bring her home to me.”
“I am not an errand boy, regardless of the impression you may have of me, given our reception here, young sir.”
Preferring not to respond, Mordrak sipped the brew Astocath had specially requested for the sake of his chill. This herbal drink was superb, but given that it did not taste as disgusting as medicines should, Mordrak was inclined to doubt its efficacy.
“But I thought elves had a true respect for magic? Understood us better than that?” the apprentice said to Astocath. To Mordrak, judging by the look on his face, Jorlon had been sorely disappointed by the poor greeting for his master.
Astocath replied quietly, “In their hearts, they respect all sorts.”
“Not goblins?”
“Well, yes. Even those sorts. But of course ... not false gods.”
“Is there not a race they hate?” asked Jorlon, taken by surprise.
“Dark elves, renegades who are sworn enemies of light elves and man, and all associated with them.”
It was clear by the look on Jorlon’s face, which was usually noble and confident, that he had grave reservations for their presence here. Here was a land barely touched by the cruelty of the world. It was too remote, too surreal, too distant from the harsh reality of the outside world that he was coming to know.
Mordrak entertained the notion that magi, above all others, really had no place anywhere in the world, and as a half-breed elf, Astocath had little in common with anyone. He had no roots and no one with whom to share his life.
Mordrak ordered a drink at the bar and now, confident and unmoved by everyone’s willingness to attempt familiarity, he approached the company at their table and smiled warmly. Astocath took this opportunity to introduce them all to Talinth, who had returned, and his smile seemed ever to broaden the more pleasantly as he greeted each individual.
“It has been a long and arduous journey, Talinth, since my last departure. I wish I could honestly say it has been tedious.”
Talinth looked at Astocath and spoke of Errimiayo’s invitation; he had welcomed them to reside within the castle for the while.
***
“JORLON?” SAID ASTOCATH once they were alone within his chamber. “I am greatly troubled and have been afraid to speak my mind with you. Even now, I am still loathe to share my fears.”
“Yes? These elves?” Not wishing to sound too eager, Jorlon frowned so that his fringe seemed to drop beneath his brown eyes.
“These elves?” Astocath almost laughed. “These, my tormentors?” He grinned. “Even Talinth? These, my guardians! No, certainly Talinth is not my fear; but our Circle, the Medeas—or one in the Circle who is perhaps as powerful as the one we are seeking.”
Jorlon grimaced. “It is not that I wish to doubt your competence, but have you much idea at whom we are aiming? Are you saying the Circle is on the brink of civil war?”
“I appreciate your question as well-founded, Jorlon. Yes, I have much idea where our enemy hides. He is in Faerie. Many of our magi seem to have fled there, too, but not one of them shall be welcome for long—and our enemy will be aware of that fact. Perhaps he is attempting to prepare a way for us all to live in Escavia as we wish. If our arch-magi are behind such a plan ... then yes, if we are not careful there could be a rift—a civil war, as you suggest. But I do not know nor have heard rumour that the arch-magi have sanctioned these curses. I simply wonder if they could, and if so, if they have already.”
“You’d certainly be made aware of it?” Jorlon was appalled. “This is impossible! Both you and Mordrak are at times thinking the most bizarre of mysteries.”
“Unless it is believed that what we—you and I—we might be being used as a sort of fog over our Circle’s actions.”
“You think we are a ruse as Mordrak suggested?” Jorlon frowned. “It could be, I suppose. But who killed that wizard who worked for King Tell? Why would the Circle want to be at odds with Tell?”
“Because Tell is being shown what happens when wizards are no longer accountable and are just renegades.”
Jorlon frowned. “So maybe the Circle is pretending to help Tell with this renegade to show him that his edict to outlaw wizards brings him more trouble than it’s worth? We want our freedom, and we offer him peace in return for the status quo?”
Astocath nodded and added, “I thought at first that the Unseelie Court was behind it all—and yes, this could still be so. In fact, I am certain I am throwing straw into the wind. But it would not surprise me if it were so. I am certain many races do not relish a united front of mankind upon one continent, but somehow I fear the Circle may be behind all this gloom.”
“But for the goblins near us to create havoc, wouldn't they be influenced by the Unseelie?”
Astocath nodded. “True.”
“And would the Seelie not also be wary of a united, er, continent?”
“Hmm. We shall have to ask the elves. Mind you, as we are aware, Mordrak sharing the same suspicions with Tulan, we must tread carefully. And if their suspicions become a reality, we will have to be handled rather carefully, eh?”
“By our own people?” Jorlon looked worried and sat down upon Astocath’s bed.
“Our advantage in going to Faerie is that there are similarities to this palace. When one wants to find a particular place, one concentrates on it and is eventually led there by intuition—the more sensitive a person is to the lead, the better.”
“So we can relatively easily seek the individuals, say Medeanites, there?” reasoned Jorlon. “But what if someone doesn’t wish to be found?”
Astocath nodded an affirmative again, and continued, “Then the quest becomes that much harder. Now, do you remember something I said Mordrak is aware of?”
Jorlon thought back. “Oh yes, of what you said we’d not be asking him for that name for quite a while.”
“In confidence, the name that Mordrak heard from Ifhrd as he died must be recalled; it may make our rather odious task that much easier. And speaking of tasks odious and tiresome, I must go and see the Lady Adriselle. She’s not odious, but I must prepare her for a confrontation with Mordrak, which is quite independent of all these other things.” He frowned. “Oh dear, oh dear. Nothing seems simple one whit.” He frowned with concern lining his face.
“Faerie is an alternative world, isn’t it?” Jorlon asked as they went to the door.
“So it is said.”
“But what of the cataclysmic magic?” exclaimed Jorlon.
“No need to seem so excited, dear boy.” Astocath frowned. “It’s not a good place to be around for very long.”
“Even so, if I may press you further, Master Astocath.” Jorlon paused and looked at the mage waiting impatiently at the door, trying to get away. “You want to be primarily instrumental in establishing the Circle, don’t you? I mean, what if the Circle is behind this malaise, as you suggest? What then can we do about it?”
“That is the essence of my motive; I want us established once and for all. And as for the Circle being behind this, I should think off the top of my head, we would have to expose it.”
With that, Astocath walked quickly down the marble floor to embrace Adriselle. His rapid footsteps did not echo noisily behind him.
And behind him Jorlon wondered how the two of them could confront the Circle if the possibility of counter-intuition was proven to be correct. It would be betrayal and darken all ambition.
***
ASTOCATH KNOCKED LIGHTLY on Adriselle’s door. As she answered, the smile on her face allayed all his fears and misgivings. She was positively glad to see him.
“Have you seen Mordrak yet?” he asked.
“No, but everything will let loose when I do, won’t it?” she smiled though, pleased to be alone with him after all this time.
“I’m not sure.. but I don’t think I have I said this yet...” Astocath swallowed. “I love you.”
“I have had a chance to think things over and worked out that you do. I think Mordrak had Tulan in mind for me, at least for a while. Then of course, Tabor. My mind is in a spin, for what he wants. But it would be because you loved me, you gave me a child to carry. I love you too. And Sylvendene is a pretty impressive fortress to live in! And you’re the someone I want.”
Astocath gazed at her. “So it would be right and proper to ask for your hand.”
“We must approach Mordrak first. And even before that I must meet with King Errimiayo.”
***
LATER, WITHIN A SMALL chamber decorated by a tapestry depicting all the races dancing, feasting, hunting and working, Errimiayo sat upon a seat too small for a throne that was nevertheless adorned with a host of arrayed gemstones. Mordrak guessed its structure was pure gold, or at least generously plated. He stood before the King, whose audience with him was only Astocath, Tulan and Jorlon; no other guard nor courtier was present. Mordrak felt uncomfortably overawed by Errimiayo’s presence, and even the wraiths seemed far removed. A small fire crackled in the grate of a large fireplace, and although light entered through clear glass windows, the sky was dark, denying sunshine.
Astocath spoke of the curse at large over Tell and his growing empire. He related Tell’s ambitions and aspirations for his people that peace was ultimately to reign over all.
“I confirmed a treaty with him,” said Errimiayo, with his silvery hair that rolled down to his shoulders. His almond eyes were almost impossible to read, at least if one looked for while. Mordrak would estimate the kind face to belong to a forty-year-old man, were it not for his elven blood. “My mind has not changed a jot. I shall not help him any more than that, and I shall not stand in his way. Let the Unseelie speak for themselves, but they have less desire for a united empire than anyone. Otherwise, you surely know that when men become bored, they go to war, don’t they? Whatever happens, there will always be conflict.”
Astocath affirmed with a light nod of the head.
“How should I help you, Astocath?”
Astocath coughed in embarrassment. “Oh! Errimiayo, I am at a loss, for my manners I know are lacking, but all I can see before me is the schism—between mage and man, and man and Seelie or Unseelie, and mage and mage—all resulting in terrible disasters and awesome confrontations! The innocent will soon suffer worst of all. Are my fears truly unfounded?”
Errimiayo sighed. “What do you expect me to do about your Circle? I cannot wave a wand in the air and reverse your fortunes. Yet the task you have set yourself is surely within the reach of your many capabilities, and I have no doubt you will do well. However, we are at a time when too many magi have secreted themselves in the world of Faerie, and it is not good. I shall assist you as I may whilst you remain there, for as long as you need to withdraw them back to Escavia and sort your grievances with Tell. That is, I shall refer to our High King there in Faerie, who I have no doubt will accept my counsell. None of us approve of your magical ways, although we do approve of your Circle’s laws that limit your practice in the world, and we certainly want that status quo. I will not speak with your King Tell on these matters since he will not listen to my Judezzeks. Yet if I am to advise you on your quest, it would be to say: you would be better off using a gate that some of your people have used already. Surely then you would be more in tune with them. I need not tell you, of all people, that Faerie has a number of planes of consciousness.”
Astocath nodded. “Is it probable that it is the Unseelie Court operating against Tell?”
“My King would know better than I.” Errimiayo smiled kindly. “But I suppose it is. They will aid your renegades who seek to trouble Escavia. The Unseelie will use any means, you know that. Nevertheless, for my concerns, there are many half-elves and not one of them mean less to me than full-blooded elves. As for magi, I am aware yours is a muddled clan and spell-craft becomes a natural option for many of you. But go with my blessings, and if I can help you I shall truly help. Not because I see any great importance to your mission in itself, but because of the value of life itself that the renegade is costing.” With this said, he turned to Mordrak. “Knight, White Brother of the Order of Vali, your lands will ever be with troubles, especially the goblins who will ever contest you for tribute until a way is found to snub them. There will be no end of things for you to do, Sir Mordrak. Take heed.”
Mordrak was speechless and bowed mutely. If this were a blessing rather than a curse, how terrible this King’s wrath must be. The King’s words cut into his very soul, unlike anything—scorn or rebuke—that he had ever endured. These words, although cast peaceably, carried a sharp potency.
Errimiayo then considered Jorlon. “To you I will say little. However, nurtured acorns grow to great oak trees with a life spanning a multitude of generations, even for magi. You know the saying? What use is an oak that bears no fruit? It is not even fit for squirrels. Such a tree is as good as rot in the forest.”
Rather wishing to doubt the King’s suspicions of him or any insight that may have inspired these words, Jorlon’s soul felt cut to the core, leaving him feeling naked and filthy, unfit to stand before Errimiayo’s throne.
“And for you, Tulan. Faithful friend and discerner of the winds, may you prosper and find honour in all you do. Yet valour comes with a gentle spirit; what becomes of the gaoler who treats his prisoners fairly? Surely he is secure when their debts are paid?
“Now, Astocath, go and take Mordrak to his sister, and trouble me no more with your affairs.”
Astocath led them from the chamber with dread anticipation of what was to come between himself and Mordrak, and no amount of wizardry could help him now. His heart quailed as he thought of the perception of magi amongst ordinary folk. It was as if a mage was taller than a mountain if he wished to be, and no earthly need could overtake him. Yet there were times when the most powerful were ill-equipped to make even the simplest of negotiations, where magic wasn’t appropriate.
They found Adriselle laughing with some elven friends outside the castle, and her laughter turned to tears of joy when she saw Mordrak and Astocath approach. She wore an emerald green dress that veiled her body so that, as she moved, she seemed to glide. Mordrak held out his arms to embrace her. As he lifted her in his arms, he staggered. “Oh, Adriselle, I am either weakened by my chill, or you have put on weight! Both, no doubt.”
She tried to smile, but he seemed to instinctively sense that something was amiss. Nevertheless he smiled in return, and putting his arms around her waist, said, “It’s all right, sweet sister. Now I’m here. Everything will be just fine.”
She stepped back from her brother, who, rejected, stood in open-mouthed confusion.
“This is the one I intend to marry,” she said.
Mordrak cast his eyes from her to Astocath. “You’ve kept that rather quiet, haven’t you?” He was appalled, and unable to force Astocath’s nervous eyes to meet his own, he turned to Adriselle. “I am arranging for you to be wed to Prince Tabor.”
“You’re not Father, Mordrak, and I am of age. I shall do what I think is best for me.” She looked up at Astocath, certain that she should fight for her right but temper her mood. With Astocath’s aid, she felt capable. “Why have you not told him?”
Astocath’s eyes pleaded with her, and he gripped her hand firmly with a will for mutual encouragement. “My dear ...”
“Why have you said nothing of this to him?” she asked again.
“But our family—” continued Mordrak.
“Will not use me as a pawn for your power games! You have power already, Mordrak—don’t abuse it on me! Why you won’t talk to Astocath now, I don’t know.”
“Adriselle?” The mage gasped.
She ignored him and continued to berate her brother. “You have sudden power of a magnitude to which you’ve not even begun to become accustomed. Don’t make us both sorry ...”
Mordrak went white. “You’re with child, aren’t you?”
“Whether I am or not is of no consequence to you in this argument.” She held her head high in defiance.
Mordrak dared not press her on the truth of her condition. Turning to Astocath, he demanded, “What have you done to my sister?” Yet his heart beat helplessly, and he knew he would be unable to best this mage. He looked at his sister long and hard.
“What have you done?” returned the mage, his eyes burning beneath bristling brows. “How dare you accuse me of subterfuge? I have not really known Adriselle’s feelings until now and we, yes, we are having an affair and wish for marriage. I have been away, searching for you. I brought Adriselle here for her safety and respite.”
Adriselle whispered, “You didn’t know?”
Mordrak was red with fury. “How would I when this lecher never told me. What do you mean, by this? As your elder brother, the eldest brother, I am responsible for your well-being. This whole charade is ridiculous!” he retorted.
Adriselle lifted her shoulders; even so her size was diminutive against her sibling. “You know full well I am capable of making decisions, I am not a half-wit, nor subject to the laws regarding such people. If I am to be your slave, I could not make you any happier. Don’t force me into ultimatums with you.” Tears welled in her eyes.
He considered his sister. It was apparent Adriselle still loved him dearly and was loath to appear as if she felt differently. Yet she could not cast doubt as to whose child she carried, for it had to be Astocath’s. Adriselle’s words came back to him:
If ever I leave you, it is because I am your sister.
He wondered if they were to be parted forever. But something reasoned with him in the turmoil. It did not need to be that they never see each other again. Mordrak cast a desperate glance at Tulan, who stood self-consciously silent, and then dashed his eyes across Jorlon’s barely disguised grinning face—he was clearly enjoying the spectacle. ‘Oh, to have the chance to sink a steel mace into that mouth!’
“We’re on foreign ground,” said Mordrak. “It is as if I have no power over you at all.” His head told him he should grab her and cast her into a dungeon until she saw sense. His heart ached that she would never treat him the same again, and his whole being told him he could never expect to be happy whilst she was miserable. He had only ever known her to give to him freely, and in return, there was no joy he could steal from her. “Are you sure you’ll be happy tied down to an outcast? That the both of you will be subject to distrust from one and all?” He looked at Astocath and gripped his hands as he considered how selfish this mage had been. He looked again at Adriselle. Her face was filled with sorrow. “You’ll be an outcast, whether or not he be an outlaw or worse. You want that with him?” he argued, sensing his voice sounded churlish, true as he might be. He knew well enough that little deterred her from holding on to her desires, however great the odds be against her. Running as an urchin into the city was just one example of her nature.
“Mordrak, my beloved brother, see for yourself what Astocath can do for me.” She span around upon her heels with her hands outstretched as if she were bestowing the whole forest upon him. “Astocath will not devour me. He is caring and gracious and will be a good ally to you. But you would devour yourself if you refused to accept.”
Mordrak was adamant. “Whatever you want, you must consider your family. You are denying your right to be a princess. You must think of the family—think of me!”
“I’ve thought much of you—too much! I’ve given you everything, but none of it could last. I cannot play the game. Why do you think I ran into the city?”
“What are you saying?” Mordrak was shouting now. “You are a noblewoman. You can’t keep running away. It’s irresponsible.”
“That I know. But what do others think? What will they think? What do you think they’ll be whispering in the corners of your great hall—or even the King’s?” She gripped the tunic around her belly tightly. “This is my chance to escape—and yours! And you ... you ...” She could not find the words to finish her speech. She whispered as if the breath she sighed was the last of life. “If you love me, let me be.”
Now he drew in deep breaths. He turned his back on her and held his head as if he were trying to retain all his thoughts. “I didn’t believe I would give you over so easily,” said Mordrak, “and you seem to have understood me better than I thought for myself.”
She stood next to Astocath and said to him, “I am prepared for all manner of misunderstandings. And I know how you must hurt to be shunned.”
Astocath drew her to himself. “My pain has so long been endured that without it, I would believe there was something wrong. You must understand that I want you to be my friend, and that to be yours, I would sacrifice this opportunity to win you if I would lead you to your ruin.”
“And he’s old enough to be your grandfather,” said Mordrak with distaste. “With not the wit to have collected himself a dowry over his aeons.”
Adriselle said nothing in reply but stared at Astocath with tender affection.
Mordrak shook his head. “Since this must be, have you decided to mark the day, and where and how and who and everything?” he asked irritably.
“When I return here again,” said Astocath without hesitation, and he put a hand on Adriselle’s shoulder.
She smiled as she looked around the clearing, and realised for the first time during their discussion, that there were no elves around, neither as a staring audience or lingering to eavesdrop. She smiled at Tulan, knowing his feelings for her in his eyes, and once when they had grown fond of one another, perhaps he had dreamed. But now if it were not for he and Jorlon, they three would have been left quite alone to discuss what was truly sacrosanct. Nevertheless, she held up her hands to bless her brother. “I am so happy. Oh, Mordrak!” she cried softly and approached him cautiously. He had seemed to relax, and she hugged him lovingly, her grip tight around his lower ribs. “Bless you! Bless you forever!”
Mordrak could have wept but checked his emotions, and laying an arm lightly around her waist, he said, “I’d best leave you both to sort out your affairs. I’ll be in my chamber.” He held her at arm’s length and smiled, knowing his face would tell her all. He walked away, feeling that he would not much look forward to her wedding.
“Have you freed him of those wraiths?” she asked Astocath with a breath of relief. “He’s so much more like his old self. Understanding.”
Astocath raised his eyebrows. “No, not yet. Not properly. He is enjoying temporary relief—they’d not dare intrude here. I hope when he returns here with me again, he really will be his true self, released of them once and for all. I cannot believe he is truly wicked, not if you have a heart for him.”
There was so much she could say, but it was enough to know that they had both seen his wills and ways.
They watched him walk quietly beside Tulan, their backs erect, walking purposefully towards Errimiayo’s castle. Tulan put a hand upon Mordrak’s shoulder, to which Mordrak’s reaction was to give Tulan a look that appeared appreciative. Jorlon followed behind them just as straight, but a little more slowly, presumably to give the two men space.