~ 23 ~

The world dripped—but more from a heavy mist than actual rain. Faulk noticed Anlin kept using the rain as an excuse to wipe moisture from her face. If she wished to pretend she was not crying, Faulk would go along with her self-deception.

“Are you sure the passes will be open?” she asked Callip for perhaps the hundredth time.

“Yes. Only Questor Pass should present any problem, and we can get over it even if we have to leave the packhorses for later retrieval.” Since Callip said this as he checked the covering over his precious scrolls, also for the hundredth time, Faulk seriously doubted any packs would be left behind even if the shaman had to dig a path through the pass all by himself.

The sound of rapid steps and the jangle of tack, accompanied by a cacophony of frantic barking and baying from the barn, indicated Telm was on his way—and Dragon had been locked in a stall.

Faulk and Callip had both tried to come up with a method to get the dog to Rennic. He couldn’t make it on his own three legs. Just playing with Telm for less than an hour left Dragon exhausted. He would then lie on the hearth with tongue lolling. It would be some time before he would be ready to again frolic. But he’d become too large to ride with Telm and the journey couldn’t be constantly delayed for the dog to recuperate.

Telm had been stoic when he heard the decision. As he approached leading his bay mare, however, it became apparent he had the same problem with getting rain on his face as his mother did. Partings were always hard.

Callip, who had taken his formal leave while waiting for Telm to arrive, mounted and held out his hand to take the reins of Telm’s horse. The boy left his mare in care of the shaman, straightened his shoulders, and approached Faulk.

He bowed with great formality. “My Lord. I thank you for your wise counsel and friendship. You have taught me much of what a man should be and have opened my eyes to alternate views of the world. I will hold you in my heart while we are parted.”

Faulk wasn’t sure if there had been all that much wise counsel, but he hoped there had been friendship. Over the winter, Telm had often accompanied him on his errands around his demesne—the two of them riding contentedly side-by-side, their breaths misting in front of them like tangible thoughts. The topics of conversation had ranged far and wide, some of which were not always comfortable as they challenged each other’s preconceived ideas.

A few nights ago, as a parting gift, Faulk had given Telm a carving he’d made of a nightpiper when he, too, was a boy. The carving itself was primitive, but Faulk thought he’d caught the bird’s inquisitiveness in the turn of its head. “It’s probably not a very accurate rendering,” Faulk said, “but it’s supposed to be a nightpiper. Do you have those in Rennic?”

Telm had frowned at the carving in concentration. “I’m not sure from the carving,” the boy honestly said. “I know it is your emblem, and mother has been emphatic that it is not a falcon, but if you tell me what the actual bird is like, I might be able to identify it.”

“When I first met your mother, I think she very much wanted it to be a falcon,” Faulk said with a laugh, although he was gratified at how easily the word “mother” now rolled off Telm’s tongue. “She was deciding if she should marry me, and I suspect she was looking for someone more heroic.”

Telm looked at him as if to say he thought Faulk was very heroic. He’d been quite impressed with the title King’s Protector and had believed every word of the embellished version of how Faulk had come by the title that Waylon told. Faulk decided it was a nice way to be viewed, and so he didn’t disabuse Telm with the facts.

“The nightpiper is a medium-sized bird that flies at night on silent wings. He is seldom seen, but often heard. As the name would suggest, he has a chirring call that reminds the listener of a piper on a faraway hill. During the day, he disappears into the tall grass and makes not a sound. Does this sound like a bird you’re familiar with in Rennic?”

“Yes!” Telm seemed as excited as if he’d won a tournament. “You’re talking about the sky ghost. I love to listen to their call when I lie in bed at night.”

“As did I,” Faulk said. “My life when I was around your age was very harsh, and so I imagined in some way I could be like that bird. That I could disappear, but still be here, if that makes sense. And as an adult, I’ve tried to make my accomplishment my song, something I’m proud for others to notice. But the real Faulk—the essential man—I hope he remains hidden.

“I suspect when you’re an adult, hiding yourself will be more difficult, but regardless of how public your life becomes, try to keep a part of it that is only yours.”

Faulk wasn’t sure if he could consider that wise counsel, but Anlin told him when Telm packed the carved nightpiper, he wrapped it as if the piece of wood was the most precious of Tremellian glass.

He would miss the boy. In good-bye, he reached out and squeezed Telm’s shoulder. It was still bony, but further from the ground than it had been when he’d arrived all those months ago. “Travel within Cheelum’s smile,” Faulk said, feeling tightness in his own throat. Partings were damned difficult.

Telm went to stand in front of Anlin, who was openly weeping. He went down on one knee before her. “I honor you as my mother,” he began, but stopped, his face suddenly becoming blank. He reached his right hand out and placed it on Anlin’s abdomen.

“So strong,” he said, his voice awed. “I have never seen such a blinding light from such a tiny spark.”

His eyes regained focus and he looked up at his mother. “Two,” he said. “There are two. One who shines like the sun at noon and the other who reflects this light like the moon and makes its own beauty.”

The boy closed his eyes and leaned forward until his forehead touched Anlin’s abdomen. “I greet you, son and daughter of my mother. You will grow tall and strong, and each of you will walk your own path. One will be feared and one loved. People will call one Lord of Giffard’s Crest and the other Lord of Tarn’s Mount—and I will call you both, friend.”

Faulk felt frozen with this pronouncement. Anlin must have felt the same, for she didn’t move as Telm quickly stood and awkwardly hugged her. Judging from the flush of embarrassment that branded his face and the speed with which he dashed to his horse and mounted, Telm had not planned that display of affection.

Anlin raised her hand toward her son, but he had already gone beyond her grasp. “Travel within Cheelum’s smile,” she whispered.

Faulk took the two steps that separated them and slipped his arm around her shoulder. She nestled into him. He felt the faint tremors that shook her body. He thought either Callip or Telm might turn back to them or even raise a hand. But neither did, as if by the act of leaving, they had turned all those they left behind into nightpipers—no longer seen but a memory to be called to mind in the still of the night.

The two riders continued on their way until they were specks that disappeared behind a forested hill. Faulk and Anlin stood wrapped in each other’s embrace and watched them go.

“I love him,” Anlin said, “and so, as we agreed, I let him go.”

“It was what was right for him. He didn’t fit here. He might not fully fit in Rennic either. But there he is honored—just as I suspect he will eventually be honored here. It will simply take time to change attitudes on both sides of the border. Just remember he’ll be back in two years. Callip would not lie.”

“And then he’ll be even less the boy I remember than he is now.”

“True, but sometimes love needs to let go—and sometimes love holds on tight. I’m the one who holds tight.” Faulk pulled her snuggly against him and kissed her forehead where the white blaze he so loved started. “Do you think he was right about there being twins coming?

“I’d like him to be.” she said. “But what he said was so fantastic… I’ve seen Telm do amazing things, but I think in this he is in error.”

“We could help make his prophecy come true?

Anlin looked at him in confusion “Help Telm? Young as he is, I doubt he needs our help.”

“Well, we could help make his prediction come true. If there’s not yet a child, or children, we could perhaps start one this morning. Remember I’m the love you hold on to.”

“I’ve discovered I like you to hold me,” she said with a watery smile. “And this morning is a good time. Some of the villeins will be here this afternoon to take down the bed in preparation for our move to Tarn’s Mount.”

“Then I will definitely have to spend the afternoon with Dragon in the barn,” Faulk said. “He’s barking himself hoarse—and I hate the idea of packing.”

She chuckled and poked him in the ribs. He kissed her, tasting her tears but knowing all was as it should be. He had no doubt Telm spoke the truth, and Faulk was pleased Anlin’s three magical children would be friends. And at least two of these Talented children would be his and Anlin’s together. He smiled. People were wrong when they thought he and Anlin were without Talent.

“Let us go make magic,” he said.