Tree Of Life Part 2

Aeoden rubbed his brow frustratedly. "Are you certain?" Without waiting for a response, he said, addressing no one in particular, "We have been deceived; we are going the wrong way." He impatiently took the reins of his horse.

He had come to trust Daenara's visions. She had warned him of dangers and guided him and the men safely through unknown and treacherous terrain. They had been deceived; the tracks had been false. Necromancers have many deceiving powers, such as illusion, and can make things appear as they are not, even to a trained eye.

"Let us proceed now. We have lost too much time." Aeoden said.

"In which direction are we to go?" asked one of the men.

"The only mountains to have snow this time of year are in the realm of Illesmore," said eomus, a.s.sisting Daenara to mount.

Aeoden nodded. "We go north," he said, settling himself in the saddle. In an attempt to make up for lost time, they had not taken a break in many hours and rode into the night over dark fields with only the stars to light their path. They eventually set up camp in a dark wood. An unfortunate boar on a spit had become dinner for the evening. As she partook of something to eat, Daenara found her attention again drawn to Goran and Thedred, even though the two now sat apart and seemed to speak little.

Goran had lost interest in her entirely, while Thedred had his eyes always upon her-always with the same dreadful look of remorse-eyes always slightly averted as though he could not bear her gaze. His face was heavy with some burden. His haunted glances made her deeply uncomfortable. He, at times, gave her the feeling he wanted to get her alone with him, where she would not have the safety of the other men. His strange att.i.tude pressed against her already weary soul and made Daenara feel as though she would wilt with the pain of it. Her arms ached to hold Deacon, to feel his warm little body against her own. She feared that he was afraid and alone.

Not far from Daenara, another's heart was aching for hers and had a great desire to soothe her. He stood with his shoulder against a tall tree, never far from her. He settled kind, pale eyes on her with grave interest. He could see that she grew paler and fainter with each pa.s.sing day, but the absence of bloom on her cheek did not diminish her beauty in eomus's eyes. Her loveliness was of the earth, warm and natural. The soft glow of the fire touched her face, bringing warmth back into it.

Presently, a hand gently rested on Daenara's shoulder. It was the whitest as well as the lightest ever to have been laid on her. She looked up into the face of eomus. He smiled down on her with the look of promised alleviation, and she felt herself soften at his touch.

"This will all soon be at an end," he said, and the calm intensity of his voice held her with a sense of a.s.surance. "You will again, very soon, behold him and take him into your arms. This is all just a terrible dream from which you are soon to wake." A deep frown creased his otherwise smooth brow. "I pledge my life on it." The moment he removed himself from her side, it was as though a light had been extinguished, leaving her in darkness.

Later, when the men were settling into their tents, Daenara noticed eomus vanished deeper into the woods as quietly as the breeze pa.s.sing. She had in fact noticed that every evening, wherever they might be, eomus would silently steal away to be on his own for a time. She followed him this evening, treading softly through the moonlit trees. The soft sound of rushing water came to her ear and led her to where water flowed down from rocks and collected in a pool of shimmering water. eomus stood at its edge. The moonlight outlined his slim well-proportioned figure.

She could hear him speaking softly in a language that was of the earth, the trees, and the wind. The words flowed from his graceful lips reverently as though in prayer, though his face was not down-bent but raised to the night sky. His luminous features were smooth without any sign of care. The meaning of his words eluded her but were nevertheless healing. Without making her presence known, she listened long to him. Her face rested upon her hand as she leaned against a tree. The lilting, melodious words filled her with a deep sense of calm.

"Does it bring you comfort?" he asked quietly. The unexpected address brought her back with a slight start. She believed that the trees must whisper to him, for she fancied she had made no sound. Yet still he knew she was there.

"Yes," she said in a half-whisper, feeling somewhat ashamed. It was after all his personal moment. Perhaps he wished to keep it for himself, but his expression when he turned toward her was of pure tenderness.

"It is an invocation requesting strength and guidance," he said.

Amid this deep quiet Daenara felt an unspeakable anguish arise within her heart. Until now she had borne the despair with unfaltering courage. Tears gathered in her eyes. "I cannot let my son die." Her voice was scarcely a whisper.

"It will not be a grief you will have to bear," he soothed. He extended a slender hand toward her. "Come to me."

The moment her hand was laid in his, she was drawn gently into his embrace. Not the finest silks nor satins could compare to the feel of his touch. Caressing her lovely hair, words were spoken from his lips in a melodious tongue. Daenara looked into the pale eyes with their unfathomable depths and felt a hushed sense of peace. eomus lowered his face and let his words fall on her lips, kissing her deeply as if he meant to take upon himself all of her sorrow. In the moonlight they stood serenely radiant, with their heads bent together.

Chapter6.

Luseph.

-ar in the northern lands of Gonriel, a bitter everlasting winter had gripped the lands. It was a wild and formidable terrain, with harsh winds and jagged mountains, covered in frost and snow, peeking up through thick fog. Rising from this cl.u.s.ter of mountains was an isolated mountain, on whose summit was a dark spire-like temple. Within that terrible structure things half-living, half-dead, and entirely unholy, walked its halls.

Luseph's study was a large, comfortable room, where rows of books, thickly bound in leather, lined an impressive case. Thick rugs were splayed across the stone floors, along with richly carved furniture that carried with them a forlorn smell of things ancient and forgotten. Luseph stood by a fire that burned steadily in a gaping fireplace, with his hands clasped behind his back. He was dressed in fine black robes, with a high stiff collar that fit tightly and neatly against his white throat. A man with cunning eyes came to stand at his side.

"You did not bring his mother," Luseph said, in a tone that did not seek to disguise his displeasure.

"It turned out to be an impossible task. And my first priority was the boy, as you instructed," he reminded Luseph with a shade of patronization, which quickly died as the latter turned on him. For a moment the man was uncertain, but Luseph's attention was soon drawn to the small boy curled fast asleep in a leather chair.

For a long time he looked at Deacon. No expression of tenderness showed on his features, yet still he looked, as one might look on a precious item. Presently, Deacon awoke from this unnatural slumber and seemed afraid. Luseph stepped forward. He knew Deacon looked on him without recognition; his face was hardly his own. The sleepless nights and strange dealings with the dead, had all sufficed to dissolve any likeness to his former self.

"Do you know who I am?" asked Luseph and beckoned the trembling and bewildered child get down and come to him, but Deacon shrank away. Luseph did not endeavour to comfort him but knelt down, placing a hand on each armrest either side of him, as though to box in the fretful little fox. "Do you know me?" he repeated. His eyes shone like moonlit ice.

Deacon recoiled against the backrest as though he could sink into it and escape.

"I'll tell you now. You are my son, and you are going to a.s.sist in making the world a grand place." Rising to his feet, Luseph lifted Deacon from his seat and set him down. "Let me look at you," he said, taking a seat and drawing Deacon to stand before him. Gently, he pushed back the dark hair from the sullen face, and the blue eyes, timid and wet, lifted to examine the examiner.

"Do you still not know me?" Luseph asked in a softer tone, and taking the little hand in his own, placed it to his cheek, all the while looking intently into Deacon's face to detect any sign of recognition. There was none. And Deacon again began to grow fretful. Luseph rose sharply, letting Deacon's hand drop as though he had lost all interest in his existence. He moved to the window, where he stood, silent, with his back towards them.

"Shall I have him placed somewhere for the time being?" asked the man.

"No. He stays with me," Luseph said, in a way that left no room for discussion. With a slight incline of his head the man left father and child alone. Deacon retreated to the leather chair. A prepared tray of food had been set on a side table. At his heavy writing table Luseph sat silent in his deep seriousness. Fixed intently on nothing, his grey eyes looked frozen, directed at his son. The only sign that his mind was working was the slow rubbing of his fingers. From under bent brows he could see that Deacon trembled.

Though he appeared indifferent and was cold, very cold, Luseph was not bad-tempered toward the child, and the child was not ill-natured. However, under the circ.u.mstances, Deacon kept Luesph in a constant state of disquiet, refusing to eat and fretting for his mother. In his worked-up state he often used a form of speech that was mostly incomprehensible to Luseph, which frequently resulted in one cursing and the other crying.

Forsaking his chair Deacon uttered a teary and miserable appeal to see his mother. Luseph pinched the bridge of his nose. Since Deacon had awakened he had proved a tiresome creature. "Cease whining!" Luseph said with an impatience amounting nearly to anger. His outburst subdued, but did not cease, Deacon's misery; the brave little chest heaved a dignifying sigh. Coming to crouch down at his level, Luseph stretched out a hand, dragged the boy roughly between his knees, and embraced him sternly.

"Hush, now," Luseph said with curbed ferocity and rose with Deacon gathered up into his arms. The father that remained in him had a strong desire to comfort the child. For many minutes he held Deacon till he felt the fearful, rigid body finally succ.u.mb to exhaustion and slip into a heavy sleep.

In Luseph's bedchamber was a st.u.r.dy dark wood bed, its red silken covers embroidered intricately with gold thread. A tray of half-melted candles emitted the feeblest light. Luseph slept in a chair, while Deacon was tucked into the large empty bed. The door was securely fastened, so there was no fear of him breaking bounds, but Luseph's repose did not long last before he sat up wearied. His fist pressed to his lips, he watched, silently, the child who slept in his bed.

Luseph was regretful of the life Deacon should have had and remembered with bitter clarity his own miserable childhood. He thought of his family that spat at the mere mention of magic and any thought of him studying it. It was for this very reason Luseph had moved to the Imperial city; to further his education in the ways of magic, and the moment he did so, he had lost his family.

His own brother had beaten him. He thought of his sister and how the only affection he could expect from her was a hard slap. His father would do everything but foam at the mouth should even the slightest mention of magic be uttered under his roof.

His mother alone understood him, but even she failed him-she perhaps most of all, for even with her understanding, she still turned her back on him. She was not willing to risk the sacrifice of her husband and other children for his sake. And so it was through bitter tears that she impressed on him that should he walk out that door, he should not bother to return.

He left without turning back, a boy of not quite sixteen. He had no family, but he had a home, the university, and so it was for many years until Travon had destroyed all he had worked for.

Luseph recalled a conversation he had with his Necromaster and the futile frustration he felt. In the dim musky room Luseph had stood before the old mage with the full face of youth and determined eyes; under his robes was a strong young body, and sheathed at his waist was a long sword. The contrast between the young mage and the frail older mage-with his bony hands and sallow skin-was considerable.

Luseph bore his gaze with a rigid dignity but inwardly shrivelled under the disapproving stare. The withered eyes sneered at his bronzed skin as though it were a brand of inferiority. The old man did not believe one could achieve his full potential while dividing his time between magic and weapons.

"Arch mage Travon is a powerful man who has many loyal to him. It would not be a fight we would win," he had finally said to Luseph, who came to him in distress in regard to banning necromancy.

"Ah, I see," said Luseph, hostile. "It is not respect you show, but fear."

The Necromaster had responded cruelly, which ferocity Luseph bore with unflinching courage. After this he left the university and tried to live a normal life, which he achieved with Daenara for several happy years, until the Necromaster sent him a letter informing him of their location, and what they intended-Travon's downfall.

Having grown uncomfortable in his chair, Luseph moved to stand by the narrow window. Beyond his reflection was a stretch of night. His thoughts went to Daenara. He knew how desperate she would be and desired that she should be here with him. Her touch he longed for, yet he knew it would be difficult to make her understand. There was much pain and suffering for both of them yet.

In his study the following day, Luseph stood before the fireplace, lost in thought. He forgot for the moment the silent little presence that occupied the room with him. Presently, a young man entered the study. Preston was his apprentice. He was a youth of not more than sixteen years of age, though with his untainted self-a.s.surance and arrogant disposition he appeared much older. Luseph treated the youth often harshly, though, at times, with the kind of pride that a father might have for a son, and Preston was eager to please Luseph.

"You require of me?" asked Preston, taking little notice of Deacon.

Luseph said, "Take the child. He's in your care."

Preston's eyes turned onto Deacon with undisguised aversion; for a considerable length both regarded one another with uncertainty.

"Take him, you idle boy!" Luseph spoke with a measure of sternness. "I have warned you."

Preston's straight shoulders seemed to fall slightly, as if he was unimpressed with the task. With great reluctance he took Deacon by the hand and led him out.

Into a small dark room Preston took him. It was a storage room of sorts but hadn't been used for a long time. It smelled of stone and dust and of daylight trapped too long. "You're going to have to entertain yourself," said Preston, lighting a small candle, which served only to cast haunting shadows on the empty walls. "You can sit there." Preston indicated the only chair in the room.

He started for the door, when Deacon commenced pleading and crying again. "Quiet! Your mother isn't here, you snively little nursling. If you were more of a lad and less of a la.s.s, I would give you a flogging," he said, lifting Deacon up under the arms and plonking him down on the chair. "Now sit there, Misery."

Preston then closed and locked the door behind him, paying no heed to the m.u.f.fled sobs from the other side.

Chapter7.

A Loud Cry.

Through a narrow rocky valley, the travelling party were compelled to dismount and lead their horses on foot. The ground was broken and uneven and had become slippery with ice and snow. Swirling above them the sky was dark and gloomy. Their heads bowed against the stinging wind they trudged on. eomus had given Daenara an elven-made cloak, which kept her body exceptionally warm, but her heart was cold with despair.

The arctic breeze was restless. It did not only affect Daenara, but the entire party of men. The horses, too, were restless, tossing their manes, their breath misting as they whined with unease. Daenara and eomus suddenly stopped, which in turn halted the rest of the party. They both felt the effects of evil.

Several small grey rocks tumbled down the side of the left wall, drawing everyone's attention up toward the cl.u.s.ter of large rocks. A shrill wail pierced the icy air and rang sharp in their ears. Daenara's horse reared so violently his reins were wrested from her hands. She tried in vain to calm the beast by clutching at his reins and speaking kindly. The men drew their swords in a state of readiness. Daenara sufficiently calmed the distressed animal to retrieve her sword, a gift from her brother that would not have been given in vain.

"Be not far from me," eomus said hurriedly to Daenara. His silvery blade shone like sharp light on ice, drawn and ready. The words had only just fallen, when from high up on the walls came descending down on them, like a great flood, a ma.s.s of hideous brutes that bore grotesque resemblances to men. A brilliant burst of sheer energy erupted from the readied Imperial Guardians with the power of their collective will and blew apart the first descending wave, like an explosion.

Pooling down from both walls came these wretches, their leathery grey skin almost as thick as armour. They were relentlessly hideous. It seemed impossible that they should have the intelligence to wield swords. Nevertheless, they did each have a menacing-looking blade, and they rushed forth with a great thirst for blood.

The Guardians struck many down before the brutes could even reach them, throwing liquid-like spheres of energy that shattered bones and blew off limbs. A protective wall of force was also established, which slowed the Wreavers' advancement as though they were running underwater or against great winds. It was not long, however, before the narrow valley was flooded and a fierce battle raged between the two opposing forces. The monsters had the greater number, but the Guardians fought with the ferocity of the G.o.ds against the ferocity of the devil.

In the midst of it all, Aeoden drew on an immense amount of energy, fuelled by the fever of battle that burned in his chest and propelled a dozen Wreavers violently through the air. The vicinity round him was cleared briefly before he was again a.s.sailed. With a slash of his blade, Aeoden cut deep into a brute's exposed chest, then followed the stroke with another from his metal gauntlet, striking the wretch full in the face, mangling it into a blur of b.l.o.o.d.y flesh. Not far from him, Thedred hurled a shaft of heat which pierced the shoulder of another like a spear. His action prevented Aeoden from being struck from behind, and both men exchanged a brief acknowledgement of kinship.

eomus was a fierce fighter. He cut down many foes, leaping over one to get to the next. Because of his lightness, speed and nimbleness, he was not easily matched. More than once he shouldered and slashed a foe attacking Daenara. She drew blood with the swing of her own blade with clean and precise strokes.

Man and monster fell without discrimination in one confused, b.l.o.o.d.y ma.s.s. The cold flash of magic along with the clashing of steel was chaos round Daenara. Love, anger, hate, all rose in a storm within her, and a strong wind, which her own being seemed to conjure from an unconscious source, began to gather, becoming so fierce her own hair lashed and stung her face.

Her eyes were as dark as the storm that raged round her and showed great penetration. For a moment she stood motionless, this volatile atmosphere tearing about her imposing form. Its tremendous gusts scattered the brutes in her path like leaves in a gale. Soon the destructive winds spent themselves; her body suddenly depleted of strength, she staggered backwards a little and found her back against the rock wall.

She started violently as one of her comrades suddenly slammed against it, very near to her, his blood staining the cold rock as he slumped, broken, to the ground at her feet. Frozen in terror, Daenara saw the monstrous thing that had tossed the unfortunate man gaze up hideously in her direction.

The hulking ma.s.s of advancing force, that seemed to crush all in its path, covered the short distance between them in an instant. Daenara cried out as the sharp pain of its embedded claw stabbed into her shoulder and spread down her arm like a thousand shards of ice through her veins. Seized by its vice-like claw, Daenara sank to her knees, panting, like a wounded lamb in the clutches of a beast. Her sword dropped from her hand and clanged to the stone.

The sounds of battle were far off and distant as she looked up into the abominable face of her captor. The smile that twisted its lips was the smile one wears when he has securely fastened his victim and relishes the moment of victory, before he savagely ends the torment. The brute raised its b.l.o.o.d.y sword over Daenara's head, ready to strike; then suddenly the hideous features contorted with pain and a wail of rage. Daenara's gaze fell to where a sharp blade was stuck through its belly from behind. She was released, and its claw having been the only thing holding her up, collapsed with a breathless gasp to the icy ground. Aeoden wrenched his blade from the monster, and before it could turn, lopped its hideous head clean off the rest of its form.

"eomus!" he called wildly as he knelt at the fallen woman's side, the sleeve of her dress drenched in her own blood. Her gla.s.sy eyes strayed about without focus, looking upward to the grey sky swirling above with gloomy malice. High above her she saw a single drop of rain fall. Slowly it fell-and seemed to fall and fall-like a silver bead streaming down, before she felt it cold upon her face. The single droplet ran down the side of her marble cheek before many more fell. The cold drizzle she could not feel, nor any pain, save for the pain of knowledge. She had failed Deacon. He would be alone.

Even as she lay there with the rain on her face, the battled continued fiercely. Through her haze she saw vaguely a figure bent above her. The brightness of his countenance seemed to blind her; she closed her eyes against it, yet still through closed lids could she see that brilliant white. It engulfed her in its serene brilliance and a warm light suffused her, surely, softly, beautifully.

When her wet eyelids fluttered open, her lashes heavy with rain, eomus was kneeling over her. She saw fading from his hands the effulgence that transfused life from himself into her. His face was solemn and grave; to heal one must give something of oneself, though it is always replenished a thousand-fold. Looking up into his face, Daenara opened her pale and trembling lips, but not a word came. He gathered her into his arms and took her to his horse, where he a.s.sisted her up into the saddle and quickly eased himself behind her. He spoke words to his horse and the beautiful beast started off with clean, easy strides, leaving the battle behind.

Save for the last few determined brutes, most of the Wreavers lay in a b.l.o.o.d.y mess over the wet, rocky floor of the valley, stinking and putrefying the atmosphere. It was not long before they were slain, and the victorious party caught up with eomus and Daenara.

They stopped at a village situated snugly in the hollow of cold mountains. The village was composed of a small number of st.u.r.dy stone cottages, with slate roofs powdered with snow. In a cosy tavern that smelt of smoke and burning wood, they took rest and food. The hot little room was packed full. The few locals here seemed pushed up against the wall, holding their mugs of ale with looks of displeasure, eyeing the well-dressed intruders, who were overwhelming in their uniformity and proud militant air. Few travellers ever came this way and the locals enjoyed their solitude.

Daenara shrank close to the fire, her face pale and clammy. eomus, sitting next to her, took her cold hands between his own.

"You will carry that wound for the rest of your life," he said. His face was untouched by the harsh conditions, but his eyes were full of care and unhappiness.

"Better to have let her die," Daenara heard one of the men say in a hushed voice to one of his comrades, in tones of pity and fellow feeling, sympathetic with the knowledge of her inevitable death.

Aeoden leaned against the wall with his arms folded across his chest, looking at her with compressed lips. Without addressing her, as though she were already dead, he spoke to eomus. "We cannot take her further; she'll have to stay here until we return. She can be of no more a.s.sistance at this point in any case and would be a hindrance," he said, not unkindly. "One of the men will stay behind with her until our return."

eomus was not difficult to convince. It was his preference that she stay here and be safe. Thedred volunteered for this. Daenara was not entirely comfortable with him but had hardly the strength to object, and although she would have preferred eomus to stay, she knew he would be greatly needed in fulfilling their task, since he was the only healer among them. eomus and Daenara parted with a brief farewell; with an evanescent whisper of his devotion and a promise of his returning not alone.

Alone in her room, Daenara fastened the door. She stood a moment with her arms clasped round her body. It was night, and she was exhausted, but she could not sleep nor lie down. She was pervaded by a vast fear as she thought of Deacon in the clutches of dark mages, helpless against the perverse dealings of black hands. Thedred stood posted outside her door in the hallway. She could hear him pace restlessly.

Thedred was in the clutches of his own h.e.l.l. His mind was hot with confused thoughts. He felt he could not bring himself to take her life and paced violently as he struggled with himself. He was used to witnessing the most gruesome of deaths and tortures, but this was all too close to home. He thought of his own young wife and child who awaited him. Goran, he knew, would not be suffering the same restlessness as he waited to extinguish the life of the child. Thedred knew the wretch would find some perverse pleasure in the task that he himself had a.s.signed. The thought made him ill, yet he had a fierce sense of duty he could not ignore.

Daenara soon heard the heavy tread stop dead. She could almost feel his presence standing directly outside the door. The silence and the intense stillness was somehow more unsettling than the restless steps. The pulse in her neck seemed to pause as her gaze fastened onto the handle of the door, waiting, a sense of anxiety rising within her. But there was nothing.

A feeling of weariness took her, and she sank down on the edge of the bed. She sat there for a good moment with her face buried in her hands, and then slowly she raised her eyes. She had heard a gentle sc.r.a.ping noise at the door, a drawing of bolts. The latch to her door slid slowly across. She rose cautiously as the door quietly opened. There Thedred stood, pale and haggard, like a man who was suffering greatly.

"What is it?" she asked nervously. "What is wrong?"

For a moment he did not answer but held her fixed with eyes that were intent and feverish. A bead of sweat gathered on his brow. His strangeness filled her with a sense of dread and urgency. His presence seemed to take up every s.p.a.ce in the room, so that she felt she had nowhere to move. She remained perfectly still, feeling any sudden movement would provoke him and seal her fate.

"Forgive me," he said breathlessly.

"Thedred," she implored, retreating a step.

In a stride or two he had seized her. He grasped her firmly behind the neck.

"What are you doing?" she cried. "Let me go!"

She struggled against him with palms, elbows, and fists, but he held her close as one might restrain an hysterical lover. A strange tingling emitted from his hand behind her neck, and a sensation of numbness invaded her body. It was as though her very blood had run cold. She was helpless in his embrace and would have sunk to the floor but for the powerful arms that still held her close. Silently her pleading eyes held his with an unswerving steadiness, willing him to stop, but he closed his eyes against her and rested his forehead upon her deathly face as though he might weep.

Frozen and staring, she was unable to move, but inwardly she was desperate. She could feel her lungs closing and gasped for air through numb lips. It was almost done when the candles suddenly died, and all became dark. She felt the strange hold on her relinquish and his body stiffen. She searched frantically for his face. There was just sufficient light for her to see him, ghastly and unrecognisable, his mouth gaping open in a silent cry. His eyes had shrivelled in their sockets until they were but two black holes, and the skin on his face had become tight-drawn, so that it was almost skeletal.

He released her and crumpled at her feet, nothing more than a ghastly corpse. Behind where he had been standing, Daenara saw in the shadows a shape of blackness. She choked and gagged, stooped over. The dark figure advanced from the shadows like a ghost from her past. Black robes completely draped his pale body.

"Luseph," she gasped, as though she had not used her voice in a long time, her body trembling in pitiful weakness. "What have you done?"

He laid his thin fingers on her, and they were as ice upon her flesh. "You need not fear me," he said in his pale voice. It was the last thing she heard before the world went silent and she felt herself sinking into a vacant blackness, an incredible gulf of emptiness.