Forgotten Realms - Realms of Magic Part 7

With equal unexpectedness, the pressure keeping him under was gone. Jander shot to the surface. Eldath had vanished, leaving Jander desperately gasping for air. It took a few seconds before he realized the import of that simple fact.

He needed air. Dear G.o.ds, for the first time in nearly a hundred years, he needed air!

He laughed as he gasped, and struggled to the bank. He clambered out, wet and cold-cold!-and shivering.

Jan-der continued to laugh between coughs, remembering the G.o.ddess's words. When he had caught his breath, he inhaled deeply through his nose. The fresh scent of a forest at night came to his ears; that was all. No scent of deer or squirrel; no smell or sound of living blood pumping through veins and arteries.

On an impulse, he reentered the spring, splashed his way to the boulder upon which the G.o.ddess had sat, and put his arms around it. Grunting, he tried to pick it up. He had lifted heavier things in days past, but now, his uncanny vampiric strength had gone. Shaking, he sank down into the water, making a slow way toward the bank.

She had done it. The blessed Eldath the Quiet, with the approval of Silva.n.u.s, the Lord of the Oaks, had taken away most of what it meant to be a vampire. Jander understood that he would never be able to leave the relatively small circle of protection provided by the grove. That was no hardship, not in exchange for what they had given him.

But the night was fading fast, and Eldath had warned him that she could not protect him from the ravaging rays of the sun. Dripping and shivering, the elf followed the circ.u.mference of the grove. He found the protection he needed; a cairn of boulders over a deep ditch in the earth. It would effectively shield him from that beautiful but deadly light.

The magical night began to grow lighter, and the vampire that had been, his heart light for the first time in decades, sought his rest.

Jander emerged at twilight, eager to begin his first full night without the dreadful thirst. He breathed deeply of the cool evening air, closing his eyes and enjoying it.

"Good even to you, friend!"

Startled, Jander whipped around. "Who calls me?" he asked, his customary defensiveness aroused.

But it was only a young man, clad in robes of earth-tones and forest green. His hair was as red as that of Sune Firehair, and freckles dotted his open, friendly face.

Jander could not smell his blood at all.

"Oakbrother Endris, of Oakengrove Abbey." He indicated the two wooden buckets he carried. Tve come to get some water from the spring. And who might you be, friend?"

Sudden fear clutched at Jander's heart. "Don't send me away," he pleaded.

A shadow of puzzlement fell across Brother Endris's face. "Why would we do that?" He strode forward and began to draw water from the spring.

"I... I..." Jander floundered for words. "Oakbrother Endris, do you believe in miracles?"

Endris shot him an incredulous look. His blue eyes were wide. "And what kind of a priest would I be if I didn't?"

Jander felt suddenly embarra.s.sed. "I meant no insult," he apologized. "But until last night, I had certainly ceased to hope for a miracle."

Jander relayed an edited version of what had transpired to him, leaving out the shame of his condition. He said he had been "absolved of a great evil," that he was "charged to remain within the circle as a symbol of his repentance."

He expected to see disbelief or possibly even anger on Endris's countenance. Instead, the brother listened quietly. At last he spoke.

"Such is not unheard of here," he said quietly. "It would seem that Silva.n.u.s and Eldath must have work for you to do."

"But... I cannot leave the grove," said Jander. "What work could I do to earn my keep?"

"If the G.o.ds have taken you under their wing thus far, they'll make their wishes known soon enough. In the meantime," and he grinned like halfling, "you can help me draw the water."

Jander laughed, and gladly did so. He escorted Endris to the ring of the grove. "Thank you again for permitting me to stay here," he said.

"None of my doing," replied Endris cheerfully. "But it's good to see an elven face. Far too few folk come visit us these days. I look forward to speaking with you further, Jander Sunstar."Silently, Jander was grateful that few folk visited the abbey. No doubt his name was being pa.s.sed along rapidly among the Mistledale folk, ever since that incident a few months ago. . . . No. That was part of the past. This, he thought to himself, looking around the peaceful grove, was the future.

When Jander turned to walk back to the spring, he stumbled. He glanced down and found the discarded antlers of a deer that had pa.s.sed through the grove, along with a few limbs that had fallen from the old trees.

And then he knew their meaning. "I understand," he said softly to the hush that filled the sacred place.

Reverently, Jander picked up the items, seated himself on the boulder next to the spring, pulled out his knife and began to carve.

By dawn, when Endris returned for more water, Jander had acc.u.mulated three completed carvings. Smiling, he presented them to the astonished young oakbrother.

"They're .. . they're exquisite," Endris said softly, examining the two carved wooden likenesses of Eldath and the cl.u.s.ter of oak leaves and acorns Jander had created from the antlers.

"Have your oakfather bless them, and you can sell them as talismans," said Jander. "You can raise money for the abbey."

Endris lifted shining eyes to the vampire. "I told you the G.o.ds would let you know what they wanted from you.

Thank you, Jander. Oakfather Raylen will be most appreciative. Oh, I almost forgot. I've got something for you, too."

He'd been carrying a large, bulky pack. Now he rummaged through it, humming in an off-key voice. "Ah, here we are." From the pack emerged a brown and green robe with a simple rope belt, some fruit, and a bottle of wine. "Anybody who has the favor of the G.o.ds like you do gets treated very well by the abbey." He grinned.

Jander's throat worked. "I... thank you, Oakbrother. Thank you." The words were inadequate, but they would have to do. They were all the surprised elf could manage.

The nights fell into a pattern for the next few weeks. Jander would talk with Endris at the beginning and the end of night, and carve during the rest of the time. He had been an adventurer for most of his days, and at first he feared that the quiet, the peace, and his inability to leave the confined s.p.a.ce would wear upon him. But it did not. He had lived a long time as a breathing being, had existed for nearly a century as one of the undead. Now, he simply was, and that was more than enough. For long hours, as Jander carved in silence, he would meditate on the stillness that surrounded him, would think of events long past, of people long since crumbled to dust. And he would think with subdued joy to himself, I do not need to feed upon blood! And that thought made what some might call a strange exile into a paradise.

Endris, too, helped pa.s.s the time. He was a jovial fellow, and it seemed every other day he had a new joke to tell his friend. From him, Jander learned about the day-today events that occurred in Oakengrove Abbey, only a short walk away over a small green hill. Jander could even glimpse its stone walls when the branches moved in the wind. But as far as the vampire was concerned, the abbey might as well be as distant as Evermeet, for he would never move a single step closer to it.

One twilight, Jander waited longer than usual for the customary arrival of Endris. But the oakbrother did not come.

The night wore on, and Jander became concerned.

It was then that he heard the bell tolling and saw the night sky lit up with an evil, orange hue.

Fire!

Jander's first impulse was to run and help. He almost reached the edge of the circle when he skidded to a halt. If he left, he would never be able to return. He hesitated, torn between his concern for his friend and his blessed peace. At last, angry with himself but seeing no alternative, Jander turned and went back to the spring, hoping miserably that his aid was not needed.

Shrieks pierced the night. Jander tensed. A fire was frightening, of course, but self-a.s.sured monks wouldn't panic and cry out in terror-would they?

"Please, Silva.n.u.s, protect your own," he murmured. His golden hands clenched and unclenched, reflecting the war that raged within him.

Abruptly, joining the shrieks of terror and pain, came the sound of raucous laughter. The vampire leapt up and raced to the limits of his sacred s.p.a.ce, pacing like a caged panther. Unable to help himself, he cried aloud, "Endris?

Anybody?"

"Jander!" The voice was weak but recognizable. It was Endris, and after a few seconds that seemed agonizingly long to the agitated elf, the oakbrother stumbled into view.

His face was covered with blood, and he cradled his left arm awkwardly. Jander, who had seen a hundred fights in his day, realized at once that it was broken.

Jander cringed, thinking he knew what Endris was about to say. The oakbrother had no idea-could have no idea-of the real depth of the evil that had haunted Jander Sunstar. He couldn't know that if Jander set one foot outside of the grove, the maddening bloodl.u.s.t would return, that he would be driven to hunt and harm; that he would again become one of the undead. And Jander knew Endris was about to ask for aid. What would he say? What could he say?

He braced himself for the plea, but Endris's words shocked him-and moved him.

"Jander," gasped the young monk, "hide yourself! Marauders have come to the abbey. They posed as pilgrims, and once they were inside . . . they will surely slay you if they find you!"

"But," said Jander, "my help ..."

"You are only one elf, with no weapon," Endris replied, wincing as pain racked him. "You cannot stand against six such as they!"Jander began to feel a dreadful, sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. "Six?" he repeated. No, surely it could not be-there were many ruffians out in the woods. ...

But he had no time to question further. From the direction of the burning abbey came a chorus of laughter and whooping. Endris turned horrified eyes on the four men who emerged from the shadows, cried once more, "Hide yourself!" and charged, weaponless, at his enemies.

It was perhaps the single bravest gesture Jander had ever witnessed in several centuries. For a moment he stared, dumbfounded. He recognized these men. They were the band of six killers upon whom he had attempted to feed a few weeks ago. He realized, with a dreadful shudder, that they had followed him. In all ignorance, he, Jander Sunstar, had led them to this place, had caused them to butcher the innocent priests, had given them the opportunity to defile the grove that had succored him.

They were busy beating Endris. They did not bother using weapons; they could draw out the pleasure longer if they slew Endris with bare hands and skilful blows. The men, their faces burned into Jander's brain, had not seen him.

Not yet. He could do as Endris had wished him to- hide in his protective cairn, wait out the storm, and emerge whole, sane, his soul still reprieved.

But that would mean letting Endris, and all the other good men who had shown him only kindness, die senseless, brutal deaths.

Tears stung Jander's eyes as his heart broke. '

With a cry of mingled outrage and deepest grief, Jander charged the group of thieves and murderers. He transformed into a gold wolf as he left the protective circle, the quiet place, and felt the full weight of his curse resettle upon him. The red thirst raged, more powerful than he had ever known it. Strength flooded his limbs, and his rage knew satisfaction when the eyes of the nearest man fastened upon him and widened in horror.

The wolfs jaws crunched down, severing the throat. Blood flowed down Jander's chin, and he almost forgot his true purpose in the overwhelming desire to lap up the crimson fluid. By sheer strength of will, he turned away from the dead man, found another victim, and again launched himself at the man's throat.

Now it was the interlopers who screamed in fear. To terrify them further, Jander permitted himself to change back into his elven form. But no elf who breathed air looked like this; golden face covered with blood, long fangs extended, gray eyes snapping with fury.

Two were dead. The other two fled, but Jander outran them with ease. One he slew with his dagger; the other's neck was snapped with a single twist of one powerful, sharp-nailed hand.

Four were dead. That left two more, raiding and defiling and destroying inside the abbey. Jander tensed himself and prepared to run in that direction. A hoa.r.s.e call from Endris brought him up sharply.

"Jander!"

The anger ebbed, to be replaced by fear. Others, knowing his true nature, had rejected him. What would Endris do? Slowly, the elven vampire turned around.

Endris had been badly beaten. Jander tasted a sudden fear that perhaps his intervention-his sacrifice-had not been in time. But the young man struggled to prop himself up on his good elbow, a b.l.o.o.d.y, broken hand reaching out for the vampire. Jander went to him. If Endris wished to spit in his face, he had the right to do so.

Endris coughed, struggled for breath. "You spoke ... of evil... I did not know. Go back, Jander. You left. . .

sanctuary for good cause ... Go back in."

Hope flared suddenly in Jander's heart. Would Eldath and Silva.n.u.s indeed understand why he had rejected their greatest of gifts? Would they give him another chance? Endris's words gave him new resolve. As gently as he could, Jander slipped his arms beneath his friend's body.

"You need help," he said quietly when Endris protested. The young man, though strong and muscular, weighed next to nothing in Jander's grip, thanks to the return of his vampiric strength. Quickly, keeping his pace as rhythmic and steady as possible so as not to jar his friend, Jander ran toward the abbey. At the first few steps, Endris moaned and went limp in his arms. He was still breath- ing; he had merely fainted from the pain. Jander thought to himself that this was probably for the best.

He was met halfway by a crowd of angry brethren, brandishing powerful-looking canes. One or two of them were clad in the beautiful, oakleaf-shaped armor that was traditional among priests of Silva.n.u.s. When they saw the bloodied elf and the precious burden he bore, they at first thought him another marauder. One of them charged, staff at the ready.

"No, wait!" came a voice. From the back, a tall, thin man with white hair pushed his way forward. Jander guessed this was the oakfather, Raylen. "I believe it is Endris's friend, the elf who was granted sanctuary in the grove."

"Aye, Oakfather," said Jander. He held out Endris's limp form to the nearest priests, who gathered him carefully to them. "You need fear nothing more from four of the men who attacked Oakengrove. But there are two left-"

"We have dealt with them ourselves. They have been captured and await our decree." Raylen looked at him keenly. Even in this dim light, Jander could see perfectly well. The man's face was chiseled with the pa.s.sing of the years, but it was clear that his mind was still as strong as the oaks that grew in the grove.

"The other four are . . . your doing?" Raylen asked quietly. Jander nodded.

"I left the grove to save Endris's life, and to protect your abbey. It was-a debt. I think perhaps that I unwittingly led these evil men to you. I needed to atone for that. Endris thinks I may be readmitted to the grove, because I left it for a good cause."

Raylen's wise eyes roamed Jander from head to toe, taking in the blood and the dishevelment. The light was too dim, thank the G.o.ds, for him to see Jander's fangs. When at last he met Jander's gaze, his face was sorrowful. He shookhis head slowly. Jander's heart sank.

"But . . . Endris would have died . . . how could I not have helped him?" cried Jander.

"That you chose to do so shows me why Eldath gave you sanctuary in the first place-your heart is good, however dark your deeds may have been. It was wrong of Endris to give you false hope. Few get even one opportunity such as was granted to you, my friend. No one receives such blessing twice, whatever good deed they may have done. Take comfort that you have not sacrificed your haven in vain- Endris will live. So will others, who might have died but for your actions." He raised a wrinkled hand and moved as if to give Jander absolution.

The vampire ducked back quickly. His ident.i.ty as an unholy thing would be revealed the moment Raylen began speaking sacred words. Without another word, he turned and fled, racing down the green, gra.s.sy hill toward the grove. He slowed as he approached, fear rising up to choke him.

"Please," was all he said as he stepped forward.

And winced in pain as he encountered the invisible barrier that weakened him at once, the intangible but very real obstruction that prevented evil things from entering sacred s.p.a.ce. He stared at the place that only a few minutes ago had been a G.o.ddess-granted sanctuary. His gray eyes roamed hungrily over the boulder upon which he had sat, the half-finished carving that had fallen from his hands and now lay quietly on the cool gra.s.s.

Jander half-hoped Eldath would appear, so that he could speak with her, plead his case. But she did not, and as the long moments crept past, resignation slowly replaced grief in his heart.

He could have made no other choice. He knew that he could no more sit by and watch an innocent friend be murdered than he could become a priest himself. Had he done so, the grove would have been tainted by his cowardice.

He would have grown to loathe it, as he loathed himself; and one day, as surely as the seasons turn, he would have left the quiet place with more bitterness in his heart than he felt at this moment.

Deliberately, Jander turned away and began to walk. Where, he did not know. Perhaps to Waterdeep, his original destination. The G.o.ds had tried to offer respite, but fate and Jander's own remnants of goodness had foiled that attempt at peace.

The acrid scent of smoke still filled his nostrils as he forced a deliberate breath; but there were no more leaping flames. The injured would be tended, the destruction repaired. Life would go on as usual in the abbey-and at least some small part of that was due to his actions.

His heart lifted slightly. Alone, friendless, with no hope offered and none to dream of, the elven vampire walked toward the east, a smile playing on his lips even as darkness and death haunted his footsteps.

He had done the right thing. And in the end, when all the scores were tallied and all the chips of fate put away, that deeper peace would be worth all the quiet places in the world.

THE EYE OF THE DRAGON.

Ed Greenwood.

Ambreene glanced irritably out the window as she hurried along the Hall of Clouds behind the politely insistent seneschal. Why did Grandmama Teshla want to see her just now?

The deliriously cool breeze that slid around Hawkwinter House was dying away. Waterdeep would soon be cloaked in a damp, clinging haze that played Tymora's happy dance with lightning spells.... Even if all the household slept, she'd dare not conjure a single spark. Awkward, unpracticed casting was all she could manage.

Another tenday would pa.s.s in endless palace promenades; dull tutoring sessions on the honorable and very long history of the Hawkwinters; and idle chatter with the empty-skulled high ladies who were her sisters' friends-if such a cold-hearted, scheming, petty lot of cat's claws could truly be deemed the friends of anyone. Another tenday would pa.s.s in which Ambreene Hawk-winter-one more society beauty in a city that teemed with superior young she-n.o.bles-would work no magic of consequence.