DragonCrown Saga - The Grand Crusade Part 51

The doorway to thecoruescimelted away. Magarric emerged, followed by Isaura, Kerrigan Reese, and a huge stone behemoth that was the Norrington. Alexia had been told that at the time he killed Chytrine, the Norrington had appeared to be very much the embodiment of Will. Chytrine's breath had vaporized him, but Isaura had cast a spell on him previously that allowed his body parts to merge back together if sundered. When Chytrine had breathed in the vapor, his form had coalesced inside her, allowing him to claw his way free and kill her. Over the months since then, more and more of the dust that had made him up had come back to him, returning him to the shape he had been when pulled from thecoruesci. Even so, his body had taken on some definition and, without much effort, Alexia could recognize Will in the creature's face.

Magarric wore a rainbow robe with dozens of small ribbons hanging from it. Isaura followed in a gown white enough to match her hair. Kerrigan had adopted a Vilwanese robe of black, but circled his waist with a red rope. The Norrington came last, unadorned, though his eyes did contain flames that flared up to lick at his forehead.

The ancient elf paused at the edge of the courtyard, opened and raised his hands. "We welcome you all, friends, children, and very special guests. Today we will see the fulfillment of a portion of the Norrington Prophecy. This day Vorquellyn will be redeemed. For over a century Chytrine's creatures have held sway here. They desecrated our land. Those bound to it feel the pain of its rape, but we also know healing can happen. For while others have been of a different opinion, we know this to be true."

Alexia saw Trawyn off to her right slowly smile and Qwc, who was seated on the elf's shoulder, playfully tugged at a braided sidelock. Trawyn's presence was a break with certain orthodox elven groups that had maintained any effort to redeem Vorquellyn would be doomed to failure. She'd left Loquellyn and its reconstruction effort over those differences. She had surrendered her t.i.tle and all claim to her mother's throne because of the disagreement. When she had spoken to Alexia of it, Trawyn had been surprised that her homeland did not indicate its feelings one way or another concerning her decision.

Magarric turned and drew the Norrington forward. The behemoth knelt easily, then sank back on his haunches. His right hand narrowed to a point and his left hand lay across his lap.

Kerrigan moved behind him, then held out his right hand and accepted Isaura's left. They exchanged glances for a moment-Alexia did not know what to make of that-then began to chant in unison. Their words came in a tongue Alyx did not recognize, though its sibilant tones and the very antiquity of the sounds would have had her betting on dragon. The words themselves had substance and seemed to thrum in her chest. As they chanted-as the words picked up speed-power gathered.

Isaura's white hair and gown began to glow with purple highlights. Alyx glanced at Crow and saw his beard and hair picking up the same highlights. Energy poured into Isaura, turning her into a noontime sun, then crept along her arm to spread to Kerrigan. The slender young man shook for a moment, then his voice strengthened and became louder.

The words beat at Alyx as if they were fat raindrops. Even more curiously, she felt the ground react as if they were. It seemed as if whenever a droplet struck the earth, an invisible puddle accepted it. The silent, ethereal rainstorm continued and even increased its pace as Isaura and Kerrigan chanted faster and faster. Alyx found herself mouthing the same syllables, and power tingled through her, too.

More swiftly came the words, harder and heavier came the power. The ground fairly rippled with impacts. They'd gone from blood-red to the pink of a newborn child's cheek, with the same soft texture.

And, Alexia could have sworn, the same clean scent.

Kerrigan brought his left hand to Force's left shoulder and Isaura touched the stone creature on the right.

The aura of power that had linked the two of them now spread down to Force, but it did not engulf him. The light entered him at his shoulders. The fire in his eyes flared, then went from red-yellow to pure white, and disappeared altogether, with only the wavering images of Isaura and Kerrigan to mark where the invisible flames burned.

Force punched the point of his right hand into his left wrist. Molten blood began to drip, running down his thighs and hitting the ground. It pooled there for a moment, then a tendril found a crack between stones and Force's blood sank into it. The Norrington contracted his left hand into a fist, pumping more blood out.

Alyx shivered as Force bled. Kerrigan had described to her in great detail what they would be doing to redeem Vorquellyn. As with most of his explanations of things thaumaturgical, she caught very little, but what she had recalled was vital. Isaura, having being born on and bound to Vorquellyn, was schooled in the Aurolani magicks that had destroyed the island. As she worked to break those spells, Kerrigan-who, likewise, had been born on Vorquellyn and therefore also had a link to it-would work spells to purge the island of the poisons instilled in it during the Aurolani occupation. Force, who had been reborn on andofVorquellyn, was fated to revitalize the island. His body, cleansed by dragonfire, had a vital essence that could quicken the island and bring it back to life.

A trembling that communicated itself through the ground began. The air seemed to hum and the stands squeaked as the wood shifted slightly. Outside the courtyard one of the blackened trees trembled. Its bark split, peeling away in dark curls as verdant growth thickened the branches and extended them.

Deadwood fell with a clatter, then buds appeared. Most blossomed into leaves that unfurled with a silver hue. Blue flowers with yellow splashes exploded, filling each tree with color that rivaled the ribbons now hidden in argent splendor.

As those leaves shimmered the vibration grew. The stands groaned again but Alexia feared no collapse.

The very wood that made them up wanted to grow again. Joints fused, locking more solidly than their peg construction had ever allowed, and branches sprouted here and there. The people in the stands laughed delightedly and, down below, even Resolute managed a smile.

Magarric turned away from the trio and raised his hands. "As our land is healed, so its people must be healed. Answer these questions from your hearts, and you will be joined to Vorquellyn forever and all evers."

His eyes sharpened and his voice rose. "Do you acknowledge Vorquellyn as the place of your birth?"

The forty Vorquelves answered as one. "Yes and yes."

"Is it your desire to serve your homeland with all you are?"

Again they replied in unison. "Yes and yes."

With their second answer, the brilliant energy wreathing Isaura and Kerrigan began to seep upward through the ground. The stones of the courtyard began to glow brightly enough to swallow boots and hems. The glow spread outward from the courtyard like a low fog and flowed beneath the stands, hiding the ground completely.

Magarric's voice reached a high pitch.

"Do you acknowledge yourself, always and in all ways, a creature of Vorquellyn, its will to be your will, its joy your joy, its pain your pain, its life your life?"

"Yes and yes."

The incandescent glow rose to the Vorquelves' knees, then flashed up and out, blindingly brilliant. It encompa.s.sed everyone in the courtyard and those watching, linking them in an instant, fusing their futures and further binding their destinies. In that moment Alexia knew what it was to be Oracle, to see so many possibilities blaze past. The potential for the future of Vorquellyn seemed infinite.

At the same time Alexia felt something stir in her belly. Her grip on Crow's hand tightened. Life burned within her.Lives. Two lives; her sons. She knew it in an instant and caught sight of them, clean-limbed and strong, riding outside Svarskya with their father on a trip north.

She looked at Crow as the glow began to fade. She tried to speak, but a lump caught in her throat.

He said nothing, but pulled her to him and hugged her tightly. He kissed her cheek, then whispered to her, "I know, Alexia, I know. Two sons. I saw them, and our daughters, too."

Down below, in the courtyard, the Vorquelves all blinked. Amends and Predator, as unlikely a pair as could be thought possible, laughed and hugged each other. Banausic stared down at his hands. Even Oracle looked around, the dot in her copper eyes black instead of white. The way her eyes darted, Alexia felt certain she could see again, and smiled for her.

The smile died as Oracle's gaze fell upon Resolute. His hood had fallen back. He met her stare openly-with pure silver eyes. His expression combined dismay with disbelief and just a touch of fury. Of those present, he alone had not been changed. By the same token, he had not been destroyed as had the kryalniriChytrine had tried to bind to Vorquellyn.

Hand in hand, Alexia and Crow descended to the courtyard and found Resolute. Trawyn and Qwc joined them and, for a moment, no one said anything. Then Crow reached out with both hands and settled them on his friend's shoulders. "We'll figure this out, Resolute. Youwillbe bound to Vorquellyn."

Resolute shook his head. "You don't understand, my friend. When called upon to answer from my heart, I did. This is my place of birth. I wish to serve. I would be Vorquellyn's creature for eternity. I could perform this ritual a thousand times. My answers to those questions would be the same. The results would be the same, too."

"No, that's not right." Crow's nostrils flared. "After all you have done for Vorquellyn, you cannot be refused."

"I would beg to differ, Kedyn's Crow." Magarric cut through the milling crowd of Vorquelves and their well-wishers. "There is one reason why Resolute was refused. It is not, as Trawyn is thinking, that he has become a creature for which Vorquellyn has no use."

Trawyn blushed, then looked down. "That's not what I think of you, Resolute."

The Vorquelf turned and stroked the cheek beneath her eye patch. "Of this I am aware, Trawyn."

Magarric smiled briefly. "Resolute, have you seen images from the time before the homelands were created?"

He shook his head. "I was barely aware there was a time before. I do know stories of heroes like Raisasel. They would have been from that time."

"They would indeed. Do you know what his name means?"

Resolute thought for a moment." 'Eyes of ebony' I believe."

Vorquellyn's founder nodded. "Exactly. You see, in the days before the homelands, all of our eyes were as yours are, one color. What elves now decry as the eyes of children were once the eyes of ancients.

You have ancient eyes, Resolute. The ritual of the binding has become an acceptance of adult roles. In the time before the homelands, it was experience that made us adults. You have pa.s.sed into adulthood and need no binding."

Resolute frowned. "But that is hardly a reason for Vorquellyn to reject me."

"It rejected you because your destiny is one that reaches beyond Vorquellyn. You became an adult fighting to redeem Vorquellyn. That is your nature, and your task in life is to fulfill that nature."

"I don't understand."

Magarric reached out and flipped Resolute's cloak back from his right hip. "You wear the Syverce of Sylquellyn."

"Yes."

"You have redeemed one homeland." Magarric smiled. "It is time for you reestablish another. Your task is to go into the world, create acoruesci, and bring a homeland to life."

"What? That's not possible." Resolute slipped the clasp of his cloak and let it slide from him. "I have no magick that heals or creates."

"I know, Resolute. All your spells destroy. Reverse them." Magarric held a hand up. "Do not tell me it is not possible, for I know it is. You can't do it alone. Choose your help and your place well. It is your destiny, and the final victory over the witch from the north."

OKRANNEL.

To my beloved sons, It may strike you as odd that I would be writing to you barely an hour after your birth, but I cannot bear to be apart from you and your mother, I love you all so well. Here I sit, then, in the same room in Svarskya as you and your mother slumber. I pray the scratch of quill on paper will not awaken you.

Kirill, you are firstborn and are named for your mother's father. As you will hear down through the years, he was a brave man, and wise. He was a hero who saved my life more than once. He did the same for your mother, sacrificing himself for us both. There is no greater sign of love for someone than to put their lives before your own. It is a lesson few learn and even fewer embrace. Only the great can do that.

Dunardel, you bear an elven name, also that of a hero. He saved my life more times than I can count.

You will have the opportunity to meet him, for he lives in Sylquellyn, the elven homeland he founded on the site of the city ofSvoin. In six months he has managed to reverse the poisoning done by the Aurolani.

The Gyrkyme have joined with him to create this homeland and, with his consort, Trawyn, they are creating a paradise in the south of our nation.

You will, the both of you, hear many tales of the times before your birth. It was a grand age of heroes and villains, wizards, dragons, monsters, and hideous weapons. With luck and wisdom, the world's leaders like your mother will ensure that such an age does not return. In time-a time that knows only peace-it might be that the horrors are forgotten and the scars are healed. I pray you never have to know the crucible of war that shaped the world you will inherit.

I do not think you will. Aside from your mother and other leaders who value peace, there is another who will guarantee it. By the time you are the age we found him, he will probably be little more than a rumor -a report from trappers venturing far north. You will hear tales of a ma.s.sive stone man who wanders Aurolan, rooting out the remnants of Chytrine's evil; alone, ever alert, ever vigilant, that her evil does not return.

The DragonCrown War, which birthed your world, was terrible. Many people died-your grandfather one among many heroes-to bring peace. I will tell you many tales of those days, though perhaps not all of them. The grandest, however, will be the story of the Norrington. The Norrington you will know will seem a myth. He was flesh and blood, but became more, and hedoesyet wander the north. Someday we will go north; we will disturb his solitude so you may meet him.

Peace does not come without sacrifice. The Norrington is that sacrifice.

People may forget the price at which their freedom was won, but we will not. He is our reminder, so I shall take you to him, and you will take your sons, and they will take theirs, forever and ever, so war never has to come again to the land.

Your loving father, Tarrant Hawkins.

end.