((Niall))
The stars twinkled brighter in the land of the Ădellics than FechĂn had ever seen them shining in the Ălfher skies; the thought came to him because he was regarding two of the latter now, one tall and kingly, the other small and wild. And he crouched there, watching them, because that was what CiarĂĄn had wanted him to do. The heart-lordâs strength was alert tonight, as it always was when the half-moon bathed the world in brilliant silver light, for it was on the night of a half-moon that his body was abandoned to death and by the cycle of moon-months, his strength rose and fell. Tonight... tonight CiarĂĄn was strong. FechĂnâs avian heart glowed with pleasure, for he knew that the heart-lord would need him, and that for a moment (a brief moment, the length of a single conversation, perhaps, but no less precious a moment) his true lordâs gentle presence and delicate being would once again touch the birdâs mind and feelings.
FechĂn. A thousand whispers consolidated into one young voice. The ravenâs head swiveled about and he cawed. FechĂn, my FechĂn... open the window. Fanning out the inky expanse of his wings, the raven hastened to obey. Adroitly, his dagger-sharp beak manipulated the lock of the barrier until it swung open, him hopping clear of the casement as it cut its arc, then returning to perch on the sill. Two malevolent green eyes glittered at him from where they rested, set in a boy curled over the elf-lordâs chest. Diarmuid was awake.
With a feral air the elfling rose, the venom of the wary never leaving his eyes. To his hands and feet he dropped, hair falling in a ragged golden tumble about his pinched features, and with lion-learned stealth, the young lad stalked toward the raven. âFechĂn,â he hissed. The ease with which he spoke the raven-tongue surprised the avian, who had not seen his conversation with Fiacre nor fully believed the powers which his heart-lord had tried to give him a sense of; FechĂn had merely assumed that he did not understand CiarĂĄn fully, as happened when the elf-masterâs power was yet waxing.
âFechĂn, what brings you here?â Words cordially stated but coldly delivered; Diarmuid little trusted the ravens. Fly to the headboard of the bed, little FechĂn, and stand over the sleeping elf-lord. Be silent, for I keep him weakly in his dreams and he sleeps but lightly. The bird thus did not deign to respond to the golden-haired child, but rather leapt into the air and glided on the force of his jump to crouch over the flame-haired one. The raven turned a beady, analytic eye on the reposing elf.
His features were built in the classic Ălfher fashion, with a square jaw that was not broad, an aquiline nose and long, medium-proportioned eyes. They were lidded now, but had shown the hazel of the family earlier in the woods, when the traitor LothĂĄrn had approached him. FechĂn liked the way the manâs shoulderâs were set. They were muscled but slender, and pools of shade gathered in the hollows of the stomach, throat and collar-bone. It was a design not unlike what the heart-lordâs might have been, had he not been thrust into the core of darkness.
But FechĂnâs mind wandered just as much as his inconstant lordâs, for lost in avian reverie, he hadnât heeded the feral boy and was shocked into skittering back when Diarmuidâs curled fingers clenched into the feathers of FechĂnâs neck and back. âWhat is your business here?â he snarled. Although Diarmuidâs hard glare was focused on the bird, a vesper of suspicion fired part of the question at the heart-lord, whom he knew not as the lord but only as the guard in their minds.
Something scrabbled against the fluid darkness ensconcing the birdâs thoughts, something arched and single-mindedly protective. It did not deter now from attacking the shieldâindeed it attacked whole-heartedly, seeing the elf he reluctantly loved being kept in the realm of sleep. The insistence grew, and grew, until it was like the boy was straining to budge an unyielding boulder in the earth with all his force, but the boulder was content to sit secure.
CiarĂĄn relented.
As if a taunt rope had snapped, Diarmuid tumbled headlong into the depths of FechĂnâs mind, or rather, his magic did. The child was not a telepath, but a possessor; thus, he did not himself get lost, only entrenched. He was truly lost when CiarĂĄn stepped forward and slammed the elflingâs mental wrists onto a mental table and did not let the child move forwards or retreat. That was when Diarmuid was truly lost, and the pearly mist of his gaze grew tainted with opalescent grey tones.
The force of the shadow-mage quickly streaked into the elflingâs thoughts and a thousand, then a million voices all in a cogent and fully self-possessed chorus clamoured for Dia to connect to the elf-lord, to connect to the red-haired one. Then of their voices there was a consolidation of sounds and past and memory; all more tangible to Diarmuid, as though the voices had been oil but this voice was alcohol. The madness died down and melted away. It gathered in the cloak and cowl of a single elf he had never before in his life met.
The elf looked like a mirage, or as though infinitely small scribbles of ivory pale, ocean blue and sooty black inky had been used to scrawl centuries upon centuries of history and magic into an elf-shaped book. âChild,â the creation whispered in greeting. His voice was young and supple, but he gasped as though his throat burned to speak. âDiarmuid,â he whispered, walking to the young boyâs mind and kneeling to place them eye-to-eye (somehow, the elf had made a world where they were of proportionate heights), he spoke again. Within his turbulent regard there nestled the power of a world. Diarmuid had thought the world was strong in his eyes, for his was the world of all that lived and moved and breathed. It was nothing compared to the world in this elfâs gaze. The vastness contained within it spoke of ages unnumbered, of time beyond time, of existence in the days before there were days and there had been no sun, no moon, no stars or worlds beyond the world of darkness.
The elf-king spoke again. âDiarmuid, connect to Niall. I must... I must speak with him-- do not fear--â, for indeed, trepidation shined in the elflingâs thoughts and he shrank from spectral elf, âI will not... harm... Niall.â
Diarmuid hesitated. The language of the cloak was ominous and the cowl a malignant inky colour. The umbrage which ensconced the elf was mercurial and impartial, insensitive to the world beyond dark, for it was both ancient and powerful, two things which are not easily impressed. But the elf himself was steeped in honesty. The whole of his quick, starved features and conflicted hands spoke as much and were contradicted only by the storm within his eyes, for that storm had the same world-power as the lapping script of his garb. Yet the storm was his storm; Diarmuid could feel how they were one and the same and how even though it was greater and older, the immense totality of the world around this elf waited for his command to act, listened to his heart before it moved, sat upon its throne of ancient being and cherished this single soul.
âI look at you andâI can see the sincerity of your words, mantling your shoulder shoulders and following your lips, Lord Ădellic,â Diarmuid murmured, his own voice containing the mischievous resonance of what it might have been had he never fallen into magic. âIs it even possible to lie here?â A cautionary pause laden with last-minute reservation, and then the final verdict: âCome.â
The pale elf nodded, as though he had expected nothing else. He watched Diarmuid spin the silver threads of possessing into Niallâs sleep and when the trail was done, a fast piece of work, the elf took just four gliding steps onto the shining light before in a trail of shadow, he nigh flew into the young manâs dreams.
Diarmuid stood stock-still, aware of the fact that the raven-guardian had not released the child from his grasp. He was stronger, then, than he seemed... more menacing than the fragile appearance let on. As he realized this, Diarmuid realized something else: he was caught in a warring limbo, the silver-grey link between the bird, its master, and the otherwise un-trespassable reaches of the Ălfherâs mind.
Moonlight swamped the world without. Within Niallâs chambers, it melted in a silver-cast square across the sill of the open windows and flowed across the floor and onto his bed. The light stopped short of his knees, but the stones of the chamber were dully refulgent, and an aura of soft nighttime permeated the whole apartment. On some walls hung exquisitely plain tapestries, beautiful the way the black writing of winter trees was beautiful, or the simplicity of dry roses a comfort. On these walls there hung nothing; they were set in with stones instead, precious stones. With depictions of history and magic beyond the comprehension of the slumbering scholar, they were every inch a worthy adornment for a visiting dignitaryâs chambers, and in some shape or form every sort of magic was included: shifter-magic, faery-magic, and mage-craft. The colour-scheme of the place was as quietly ornate as its tapestries, combining somber hues of little vibrancy into a pleasing whole.
But then⊠something shifted. It was a minor something, a change in the square of moonlight which seemed to solidify rather than diminish the peaceful scene. However little its effect on the visual senses, though, it struck upon the innate sixth sense with intimate strength. In the part of the body which stirs uncomfortably and casts anxious looks at dark corners, the change in the moonlight was like the vast, undulating ripples of a stoneâs wake.
Niall awoke.
He didnât notice his surroundings at first; the thing which registered foremost in his thoughts was that he didnât see, hear, or feel Diarmuid anywhere in the vicinity. The cogitation of this thought propelled him into full alertness. It was then that his vibrating, heightened senses finally picked up on the strangeness of where he was, how much it had changed, and the fact that he must be dreamingâfor there, framed in moonlight, stood the long-deceased lord.
He was painfully insubstantial; one almost had the sense that he was made of moonlight, were it not that on every aspect which should have been illuminated by light, there was nothing, and the closer one got to the far side of the elfâwhich would have been wholly reposed in shadowâthe more substantial and visible he became. Nonetheless, though most of his face was invisible and that part which was visible was obscured in darkness, there was no mistaking the presence of CiarĂĄn Ădellic.
âChild, welcome,â he whispered in a voice which, if Niall were asked, he would have said seemed to find its origin within his own head. It bore the weight of stones and dark pools. âDo not look so waryâwe are in your dreams of my memories, no more. When you awake, you will find yourself much as you were when you went to sleep, bar that there will be a raven above your head and your nephew will be somewhat angrily attempting to dislodge him.â
Niall smiled tightly. âYouâll pardon me, I pray, for not being particularly comforted by the news.â
The dark figure laughedâor gave an air of laughter, for he did not move and indeed, the CiarĂĄn of Niallâs past was little given to expressions. The Ălfher lord drew up his knees and rested his elbows on them, eyeing the strange apparition with more interest, if no less misgiving. It was not a state lost on CiarĂĄn; with an ironical smileâthis did appear on the moon-cast man, as a barely visible twitch in one segment of darknessâhe murmured, âEven dead men may laugh.â Beyond that, he was evidently not inclined to explain why dead men might laugh.
The elfâs smile stayed in place as he shifted from moonbeam into shadows; the tenebrous corners and light-shielded aspects of the room did as much to solidify his appearance as they did to obscure it. Niall frowned, unappreciative. Light might have erased the Ădellic lord, but at least it didnât lose him.
âI am briefly in your dreams to impart a series of instructions to you. Heed each word, for delivering them is not easy and they will bear great weight on the future course of your country should they be followed.â
Suspiciously, Niall asked, âWhy?â
CiarĂĄn suddenly appeared in the gloom beside him; this close, hints of his bone-pale skin and the light, briar-rose pinking of his lips were obscurely apparent. The dead man said nothing, but his hand reached out to touch Niallâs breast, and then he felt: deep, rushing, purely honourableâa brilliant love of freedom, of life and of his country. Beneath that, though, there pulsed a slender inky thread, which quickened at being noticed and snaked to the forefront of the tide. âI,â CiarĂĄn whispered, âam the lord who cannot be unthroned, who was first to govern the land of elves and who will be the last. I have gained this land and the Otherland, and they are mine ere I forsake them. While there are people good and honest in them, I will protect them; while there are children whose youth was marred by suffering, I would avenge them; while there live warriors who sought to keep home and honour secure and were felled, I will erase the scourge for them. I am one of the many lords of Aduro, and its people are my subjects to protect.â
âFew lords have done this, Niall Ălfher; a very, very few. Most have died; turned traitor to their people; or fled their thrones and lie in hiding, desperately attempting to evade the eye of the Rau-lass ere it falls upon them, in its thirst for the blood of rulers past. Aduro needs its strongest men to stand by her side.â
The ironical smile graced CiarĂĄnâs lips again as though at some bitter, private joke. Niall instantly thought of the people who were CiarĂĄnâs own subjects, the starving, malnourished elves of the Ădellic province, and the elf remarked, âthere is a black humor in that I, a lord dispossessed by his people, should care to aid a people dispossessed by their lords.â Niall wanted to ask further but he said nothing. Still, something in CiarĂĄnâs hands and eyes seemed to have guessed at it.
Nonetheless, he did not return to this topic; if it was of any importance to him, he did not show it. Indeed, CiarĂĄn seemed past all caring for it, as though spending so much time in the company of the shadows had imparted to him a little bit of their world view and he too now saw a great many things as being transient or insignificant which once would have appeared at the fore of every address. Now he began to give his instruction, and although the words were delivered softly, each as sibilant and subdued as the ink of a shadow, they were nonetheless as clear and readily heard as the splatter of a raindrop was felt.
âDo not trust Darragh Unorian,â he whispered. âI know you have not and do not still. He is true of heart and courageous, raised to know right from wrong and bear the greatest will towards carrying out honorable deeds. Yet even the brightest among us may be readily corrupted, and Darragh Unorian is no more true to Aduro, but to the Rau-lass. In his blind devotion to ParthalĂĄn Unorian, he has made himself the perfect instrument for this Elder Lordâs ploys.â
Niall interrupted. âYou mean to say that the highest Unorian lord,â he murmured almost accusingly, âhas turned into an agent of the Rau-lass. ParthalĂĄn Unorian, so old that no threat means anything to him anymore, a man no more impressed by a telepathic army now than he was by his own kinsmen in civil war over a millennia past.â
âI mean this very man,â CiarĂĄn murmured not coolly but reprovingly, as though correcting a child which had erred. âLord ParthalĂĄn is not impressed by a telepathic army, for he has indeed grown too diffident with age for thatâand even such an army would not be able to enter his halls without forgetting that their wish was to kill him. Yet do not forget that such a one as he would have no nostalgia for the past and no care for the present, but only for the future. What future would he choose? The fall of the Ălfher and Ădellic? Or the continuing growth and prosperity of elf-kind and chiefly, Unorian-kind, as they adapt to circumstance? ParthalĂĄn has seen the world change until the fabric of today has little to no relation to the world of his birth over 1,700 years past. The Faery Empire was once the greatest force on Aduro; it rose out of the betrayal and trickery of a single bird-wing. Once there were only FĂŠderne, Blodsian and Ădellic, and the last was the strongest and most fearful. Then there were twelve of us, and now eleven, and that which was the greatest in the arcane and in riches has fallen the lowest. The Ălfhers were once an army, you know this by your family name: Elf-Warrior. Dragutin swore that he would be a true lord among lords, one who relied on no guards for the safety of his family and need not press into service the men of his province in order to protect the land or wage warâin exchange for rulership, he and all Ălfhers would be the complete and independent protectors of their land. ParthalĂĄn was a young Unorian boy when his family became noble alongside the Ălfher, and he saw Dragutin make this vow. Now he shall see its fruit.
âFor such a one, aiding the Rau-lass is merely logic.â
Niall nodded, a chill in his heart. Darragh had not been dear to him or Diarmuid and neither one had approved of the many independent forays Darragh had made into the woods when theyâd travelled, the number of foxes, wolves and wild dogs heâd spoken to. Now Niall couldnât wonder, which a slightly sick twist of worry, as to whether Darragh had been leaving behind clear directions of their coordinates for the Rau-lass with each and every canid.
Small wonder that he, his faithful dog who would have carried out any instructions, and his stubborn friend who would have reported any events, had been barred entrance into the Ădellic lands. Again with that air of following his thoughts, CiarĂĄn murmured, âdo not confide in your uncle either, Niall. Lysanderâs trust of Darragh makes him fundamentally weak. Now, when you have gone through my lands and are back in the company of those two lords, you shall find with them a small girl. She briefly passed through a segment of my woods, though she knew naught of it, in a mad flight during the night. Her name is Pyrei and she is true to Aduro. I charge you, Niall, not to go further south with your uncle when youâve met with him again, but rather to go northwards with Pyrei, to her peopleâa group of rebels themselves. For magic and elvish strength, you and Diarmuid would be welcome. I bid you not go as noblemen, though, but as mere elves.â
CiarĂĄn raised his hands and now traced black lines in the air, which twisted and vanished. âYou, with Diarmuid, would be able to communicate with all of Aduro. Phoenix Raine can speak with wolves; Signum Vulnus, I know from the flight of my ravens, has acquired a telepath; and there are shifters to the north who share half their souls with dogs and foxes. Place yourself where I send you, and there shall be a clean line of communication between all the rebel factions scattered across Aduro, who do not even yet know that they exist.â His cool hand touched Niallâs warm forehead. âSend Diarmuidâs wolves, loaded with memories of allies and with his messageâthe surest proof for any telepath or wolf-speaking shifter of their trustworthinessâto this place in the north.â Niall saw Aduro as though it were a map imprinted behind the lids of his eyes; he saw it without eyes, in the way that magic renders all the normal senses unreliable and draws on a sixth sense of cognition, and on the map he was sent through roads and forests, weeks of journey from a wolfâs point of view condensed into seconds. The end of the road was a shining silver light. A magical x-marks-the-spot.
âThen we will all know of each other,â Niall thought. CiarĂĄn nodded. Though he lacked an air of finality, Niall now interrupted him and sharply demanded, âYou have given very clear directions, Lord Ădellic. But as I recall, you were a most discreetly placed spy and traitor in the last days of the warâhow do I know that youâre not some malignant spirit trapped in his lands, seeking to continue his black deeds through the body of another? Your knowledge is great yet as youâve demonstrated, it cannot leave your lands and none may enter them who sympathize with the Rau-lass or who are close to such persons. Add to that the state of your peopleâyour sickly, sallow people!âand tell me how Iâm supposed to trust you and believe that you truly do work for Aduro. You showed me your heart, and it was brimful of nobility and just purpose for a cause; yet how am I to know that your cause and mine are the same?â
Deep offense shone in CiarĂĄnâs eyes and for a moment Niall wondered if heâd been too hasty. All of a sudden there was a world rather than an ocean in his gaze, a vast world older than time and there beyond life, and this world was grieved and angered. For a heartbeat the chambers turned all to black, and a great menace grew about Niall, clutching not at his bare, unprotected chest or nerveless hands, but at the very pulse of his horribly vulnerable soul and beingâ
âI,â CiarĂĄn whispered, âunderstand.â His voice was like diamond; it glittered as nothing from him yet had and all that clamouring umbrage seemed to coalesce around its shivering brilliance, shadows collapsing around it until they were, very suddenly, back within the heart of the mage and all was as it had been before.
Or perhaps it wasnât. Almost as though he was what he felt, CiarĂĄnâs aspect had turned haggard and time-lost. His black hair fell like ragged, moulty crow feathers to brush his shoulders and his whole self seemed to shudder from a hollow emptiness, the immortal grief of an elf. âI understand,â he whispered again, âand so I will show you. These are the memories I meant to give to Phoenix Raine that day I died, but as magic compounded upon magic I found myself too weak to impart it in full to herâlook closely now, and tell me then that I would ever freely aid the Rau-lass.â
Niall felt the cool weight of a hand on his forehead.
It all began with a little boy who at three years old found another voice to join his motherâs in singing him to sleep, and found another voice to follow his fatherâs when telling him about the plants and flowers blooming into life during the spring. It was this voice which found him drowning in a river and had sent the sense of urgency to a rye-haired elf-lord before whom the pacing current parted and it was this voice which was his closest company. When he was old enough, at seven, he was whisked away like a baby bird in their thousands of hands to a strange, yet utterly safe place: a quarter of magic which was bitterly cold but secure. Among these stone monoliths, clad only in the silk tunic and breeches heâd been wearing and now terribly cold in the whipping snow, he began to learn. The first lesson was how to keep warm; it was his first magic. The second was that he should keep this a secret for as long as he could, to be a child for as long as he might, until his body was strong enough to hold and harbor the full magic.
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The meadow bore a dreamy sheen, bathed in the beauty of a northern summer. The air was still cool, touched by a breeze, and the plants which grew were of that low, scrubby variety that favored such climates. Four horsemen rode over the scene, and Niall instantly recognized the first three: CiarĂĄn rode in the lead on a black pacer, dressed in white tunic and black breeches, with a stony expression on his face. Behind him, on his left and right, rode LĂłtharn and a man from his band; the man who took up the rear was unknown.
The foremost pair looked decidedly frustrated.
âMy lord,â LĂłtharn said with the air of someone repeating something, half-hoping that this time it would register. âHave you not considered your political standing? You are soon to join the ranks of the High Lords, not because you are yourself an elder lord or a seasoned debater, but because your father has stepped down and there is simply no other Ădellic alive to take the seat! You have scant little age as it isâbut compared to the likes of ParthalĂĄn Unorian, Aralt Eald, Muiris CynfĂŠst, Ciardha Blodsian, or MaelĂĄn FĂŠderne! Even Nieander Ălfher, youngest though he is, was inducted for his quick wits and astute diplomacyâwhereas there is no choice with you! You could match, for instance, Cathal Unorianâbut to be placed in opposition to High Lord ParthalĂĄn? You are fifty, he is over a millennium and a half. The shadows are ancient, my lord, all-knowing; if you will not accept them for the standing their powers will give you, then at least embrace your powers for the wisdom they are bound to impart!â
The elf-lord rode on, his expression unchanged, although his body swayed with his horse as the small-hoofed equine picked his way down a gorse-scattered mound. âCiarĂĄn!â LĂłtharn snapped, kicking his horse to rear before CiarĂĄnâs and grabbing the other horseâs bridle. âCiarĂĄn, listen!â
The youth sat erect and as still as granite. With the regal bearing of his noble birth, he turned his head as little as was absolutely necessary to give the other man a distant, cool look. Beyond that, he said nothing; instead he raised his pale hand and lowered it. Of a sudden, the horses of the other three reeled back in confusion, squealing and whinnying alarm as shadowy creatures fogged their vision and the world flickered in confusion (a confusion none of the riders could see, but which was terribly apparent to their mounts). CiarĂĄn diverted his attention to a winging raven. A small, sarcastic smile graced his lips and he cantered after the flapping spectre, whilst his attendants sought to dispel the burst of magic.
-------
"Careful, Aryanna..." The child looked up at him, a look that stoked strong parental love in his heart, with eyes as dark and mysterious as his own. "It's only water," she protested to the other. "Come on, CiarĂĄn! I wanna play with you!" But the elder only shook his head, smiling gently from where he stood, cloaked like one of the powerful spirits of old by the shade of an elm. Laughing, the round-faced child skipped after a toad, returning sodden with her trophy and presenting it proudly to her brother. "See? Lookit what I caught!" Kneeling down, the other elf carefully picked up the amphibian. He examined it and proclaimed it to be a fine specimen of a toad. Grinning broadly, his sister wandered on and then froze.
âGood day!â She chirped, skipping ahead on the dry peaks of the river-rocks until she was at the arm of a lady neither sibling had noticed. The womanâs hair was a silky, sooty brown as rich as bistre and her eyes were the verdant color of the pines. Her flesh was as pale as that of any Ădellic elf and appeared particularly colorless beside that of the vibrant, rosy Aryanna, but when she moved out of the bluish shadow, a certain rosiness was evident on her cheek and lips. âGood day,â she said back. Her voice bore a slightly uncouth edge, but her wide smile more than made up for it. âAnd who are you?â
âIâm Ari,â the golden-haired child replied. âAnd thatâs my brother!â She pointed to CiarĂĄn, whose watchful face was hidden from view. With a sigh, she lamented, âI had a frog anâ he let it go, otherwise I would show you it.â The lady smiled laughingly, flattered by the childâs attention. Setting down a basket of witch hazel, she offered to help Aryanna catch another. As it turned out, she was even more reckless than the little girl had been in her attempts to get the largest (or the quickest, whichever one happened first) toad in the creek. âBe cautious, my lady,â CiarĂĄn murmured sharply, âyou may risk your neck with whomsoever else you will, but I beg for more prudence in the company of her ladyship.â The smiling woman froze in motion far too soon and by consequence, tumbled onto the bank. Heedless of the silt on her dress, she said quickly in her wild-hill voice, âher ladyship?â
CiarĂĄn did not answer, but removed his cloak and stepped out of the shadow of the elm, letting its darkness cling to him for half a stride ere it dissipated. The sunlight shined on the rich, supple black leather for his boots and glanced off of the smooth black silk-on-cotton of his tunic and breeches. It outlined his hair, eyes and bloodless face. If the identity was not clear before, it was made utterly apparent when a great raven flew from the bower of the elm and settled on the elfâs shoulder. âMy lord!â The elf-woman made as though to fall to her knees and bend her head over her palms as was proper, but she found she could not; a thin, white hand had closed around her elbow and stayed her motion. Drawing her up, CiarĂĄn murmured with a pleasant air, âyou never named yourself.â
âLiadan Ăd-Eolluin, my lord,â she said lowly. âGrey one,â he said calmly, for Liadan meant grey lady, âyou need not be so alarmed; you could not know us for your lord and lady, when one was cloaked and the other is clad in a rather muddy, plain shift. However, for the sake of her nobility, and because I find us a rather strained species, I do request that you be more cautious with Aryannaâs safety.â
Liadan nodded quickly. Although initially she was still chary, CiarĂĄn found out later that her behavior by the creek was wholly uncharacteristic of the woman. Generally she was known to be proud, strong-willed, and not so readily impressed. Still, finding oneself accidentally in the company of the powerful (and playing with one such individual) could be disconcerting in the most unanticipated of ways. Later CiarĂĄn would find her to be grave and contemplative when she wasnât openly light-hearted. Liadan had no family bar a cousin, RĂșmil, and together they plied their trade: weaving. Say rather, RĂșmil wove canvases and clothes, working his water-magic into them so that no storm could penetrate the fabric. Then he gave it to Liadan, who with needle and thread would sing a silent spell and stitch symbols into the cloth, charms of enchantment for good health, prosperity, whatever was asked of them. This was not difficult for her, for her magic was Old magic, the art of slipping into the patterns of the arcane and walking between fate (not at all surprising, as somewhere in her line she was bound to have Ădellic blood).
Against himself, CiarĂĄn came to find his thoughts full of her. He found his blood and heart quickened at her footfall and his thoughts twice as keen when he exchanged words with her. As Liadan grew sweeter to him, the thought of wraith-dom and shadow-magic grew less so. What LĂłtharn and all the rest would not understand was the cost of becoming a complete vessel for the magic. Eternal darkness would become mandatory, the ability to have children would be lost, and slowly his heart would dim and dull from the ancient crowd. Nowhere in this was there room for Liadan. Thus, though CiarĂĄn said nothing to his regent or to the line of stewardsânot even to the former lord and lady, his father and motherâthe dark lord quietly and privately laid aside any and all plans that would distance him from her. Inevitably, the line of stewards soon caught on. They had been struggling with his lordship for decades, after all, in the attempt to strengthen his political force. Rather quickly, they identified the newest obstacle to their goals as being Liadan.
-------
It was autumn. The trees were bowered in golds and reds, for these were not Ădellic pines they stood amongst, but rather the tall deciduous trees of Duilluir. "I'll wait for you, I promise..." the woman whispered. "I know," he replied, stroking her silky hair, "I know..." Her full mouth parted from its smile as she bent her against his robed chest, breathing in the scent of the thick, soft black wool. âDarkling,â she whispered. âWhatever happens⊠come back to me. Please, please, please, come back to me.â
A bony white hand cupped her pinked cheek and lifted the womanâs chin, so that her vivid green eyes were fixed on his dark blue. âLiadan,â he murmured. âWhy are you so worried? Be I off to Occalus or to Calydon, or even yet the heart of Acerbus, you need not fear. Five months and we shall be re-united, mo chroĂ. You know this, and I wouldnât stop it for the world.â Her eyes darkened and she looked away, face drawn with some secret knowledge. Inexplicably, the Grey Ladyâs fear leeched into her loverâs own flesh until he shivered and hugged her close, fiercely whispering enchantments which would bind him to her side the moment harm should come her way.
Unbeknownst to CiarĂĄn, Liadan too wove a little magic of her own that day. Before he departed she stole to his thick, heavy travelling cloak and his polished riding boots; with her blackest wool thread she stitched a protective charm. Whatever might befall the nobles, she would not have CiarĂĄn injured for their sakes. If, on the unsafe border the elvish and shifter nations were to meet, there should arise an opportunity for CiarĂĄn to place himself in the path of physical harm (as well she knew he would, rather than let his companions be wounded)... well. He would simply be incapable of it.
-------
Three months later the horrifying happened and CiarĂĄn was running along paths heâd never stepped onto before, steeped in blackness heâd never allowed before. Clamorous whispers filled roads of strange stone and towering ruins older than the very world, yet formed into worldly shapes as suited the mind of their earth-bound brother. A vast bridge stretched off so far over empty space that fog shrouded it while the wide arc was still rising; CiarĂĄn was heedless of it.
The road opened into a world of light and pain: Liadan and Aryanna, the latter screaming as two tentacle-haired, erotic beings clutched their slender elfin arms and stopped their movement. At his arrival the pair of them smiled simultaneously, twin portraits of languid malice. There must have been some sort of telepathic link between them and their kind, for as their full lips curved so unpleasantly a whole host of Rau-lass melted out from the trees. CiarĂĄnâs quick eyes darted from one, to another, to the next and he thought and calculated how he might kill them allâthere were twelve of them all toldâbut ere he could begin his magic, a strange weight took hold of his mind and stopped him.
The Rau-lass seemed not to notice. âLord Ădellic,â the viper holding Liadan purled, âsuch a... pleasure to meet you at last.â
His throat was dry. CiarĂĄn said nothing and did nothing either, incapable of predicting their actions.
Taking his silence for what it wasâattentionâthe wretched beast smiled and said, âwe have a small proposition for you, lord elf, a minor agreement which may well benefit you in the long run.â
And because he could do nothing else, CiarĂĄn lifted his head and raised a brow, indicating that she continue.
But it was a slight, tall male with ragged black hair and a plotting face who suddenly slipped out of the trees and began to speak instead. âMy lord,â LothĂĄrn murmured, his eyes scorching like hot coals as he glared into CiarĂĄnâs eyes, âI am afraid that there is very little choice left for the future of the elves. A fortnight to this day it so happened that I received a most peculiar missive from one of our mages. A telepath on the Northwood front. It might surprise you, Lord CiarĂĄn, to know how ruthless and meticulous the master plan of the Rau-lass truly is and quite frankly? We donât stand a chance.â
He stepped closer, taking CiarĂĄnâs motionlessness for being his usual obstinacy. He came close until the two elves were practically nose-to-nose and in an emphatic, tried undertone, he said with deliberate enunciation of each word, âCiarĂĄn, this is no time for you to pause and ponder. Do you know what the future has in store for us? It has death, my liege. Every great family you ever knew will fall and Occalus will burn. There will be no salvation for anyoneâI know this for a fact, boy. You would not listen to me when I bade you take the wisdom of the shadows and have only survived being tirn piecemeal by the Elders through some providential force, but listen to me if ever you choose to listen, there can be no such dallying about this matter. Let the Rau-lass into your province. Ally yourself to them, give them the greatest secrets of the Arandein and instruct them on every weakness in Occalus. Make yourself indispensable to them and when they have Aduro in their clutches and all our kinsmen are enslaved or dead, we at least will be free. The cost is great, CiarĂĄn, no one ever said otherwise. But do it! If you have any sense in you, accept their aid! If you have any love for the lives of your countrymen, then do what you must to let them prosper!â
Yet even as he pushed forth with all his power of entreaty, even as he sought to turn his claim into an inevitable and there understandable action, LothĂĄrn once again looked into the young lordâs eyes and saw therein that apathy and disdain which had always denied him. Steel, heat or ice might have been managed, but there was nothing so slippery as a sheer lack of care. The expression of it threw him off entirely. But he was desperate this time.
The regent spun about on his heel and stalked away, avoiding Aryannaâs wide, confused blue eyes and Liadanâs hate-filled, understanding green. CiarĂĄn followed each footfall with white-faced anger, trying to think, trying to shrug off the strange weight on his arms and legs. And when LothĂĄrn whispered, just barely audible, âconvince him,â he was still powerless.
And it happened. The memory appeared to gain speed here, as though the experience were beyind bearing again. Liadan was threatened first, she was held before him and slowly ripped apart. And she screamed, how she screamed! It was all the sound in CiarĂĄnâs world, all the sight and smell and feel was pain and blood and numbness, and he could do nothing! When blanched paler than paper and quivering from shock he still said nothing and Aryanna was next brought forth as persuasionâwhen his dear, darling, sweet little sister was brought with all her terror and tears, culled messily and slowly before his eyesâstill he could do nothing. Something snapped within him then, something which lashed out and grabbed Aryanna in an invisible black blanket. It was the only part of him which could move.
It was only after the last tortured breath of life had left the despoiled childâs body and neither his love nor his sibling were anylonger there that the weight fell away and the shadow-mageâs pent-up frustration, rage and hatred detonated in a fell wave of darkness. It was a magic so profound that the glen was thrown into a premature night as the Rau-lass screamed and twisted, their telepathy and soul-magic suddenly powerless as the shadow-mage grew insubstantial and wild.
When their death-cries were all silenced, CiarĂĄn glided across the pine needles and scree to the only figure left standing. He looked straight through LothĂĄrn. Lip curling in disgust, the elf-mage suddenly lashed out and seized him by the throat, keep the man in his grasp thus as the shadows transported him to one of his many halls.
There was no word for the expressions on the faces of his supposedly loyal advisors when their lord suddenly appeared in their midst, materializing from the dark embroidery of a tapestry as though he had always been there. RĂșmil fell to his knees, fox-face paling. The woman beside him froze and step back. CiarĂĄnâs quick eyes settled on her, then flew to RĂșmil again. âYou knew too,â he snarled, âas did your mate... how many of you knew, I wonder?â Though his voice now came harsh and low, it was the loudest sound in the sudden hush of the court. From stairs and other rooms elves trickled in. On every face was etched dread or confusion. Somehow, without consulting anyone or hearing everything, all of them knew that heâd found out. Even those few who had not been privy to the affairsâindicated by the honest confusion and trust on their facesâguess that something deeply, terribly wrong had occurred.
âLothĂĄrn,â CiarĂĄn whispered, sweeping along to regard each and every face as it was named. âRĂșmil, GirdĂșn,â he went through each councillor present; there were many more in the line of stewards at his other halls, and in the course of the day each would be met in the same fashion. âMy advisors good and true. You most honest of men, loyal to the death...â
âHenceforth I will no more be your lord, but neither will any of your foul-blooded line take my seat. From this day on your sentence is to be lordless.â Their fearful faces trembled, for this was a light verdict and such a thing was disproportionate to the heinous crime that each and every one of them must now regret allowing. Only in their failure did their morality return, tail begtween its legs like a cowardly dog.
âFrom this day on,â CiarĂĄn whispered, trembling in the heat of his anger, âno beast, living or dead, may enter this realm who has the least sympathy for the Rau-lass.â Rubies and emeralds shattered and burst in the wake of his anger; as the dark lord passed each tapestry, the darkness between the threads seemed to grow over it like a deadly ink and consume the patterns whole. Stones exploded in his path. As CiarĂĄn walked and spoke, the whole of his wounded being vented its anger in the destruction of the fair home once occupied by his family.
âFrom this day on,â he continued, âno man sympathizing with the Rau-lass may leave this land.â As CiarĂĄn spoke, something changed within him. That black blanket he had thrown over Aryanna had never left. Now it unpeeled itself from a bright surface it surrounded, a brightness which flew into and coloured the shadow-mageâs words until they had become a spell, a bright spell that sank into the trees and the hearts of elves and beasts. It was not him that did this. It was wholly Aryanna; the Ădellic siblings were still together. But the brother was not willing to leave it at that.
âAnd,â he finally said, voice dropping to the soft hiss of steam from a kettle, âon the day that I die, let this land wither with me. On the day I die, let the dirt of the soil cling together until it is too stony to yield a lush harvest. Let the rivers keep their silt and never flood the banks with their fertility. Let each and every deer, rabbit, dove and animal of these forests hear your arrow even before it is nocked to the bow and to be warned by your shadow even if you are not near, so that you will starve and be forced to learn how to walk with the silence of ghosts, if you wish for any chance of feeding your wives and children, or even yourselves. Let those who you love most be afraid of the dark and see their worst terrors in the dead of night. And let every child of yours suffer for the sin of their fathers and be released from their fear and torment only when that father dies. But you,â he snarled, âwill never take your lives by your own hands. You are immortal beings, and I condemn you to the barest of possible existences without the pleasure of death. Your hands will not cooperate when you try; your legs will not move when you wish them to. The curse for your betrayal of your lord will be hell on earth and it will never break for as long as you live.â
-------
Yet he found themselves in their grasp a second time and this time, it was the most powerful Rau-lass who bent his soul to her will until he finally left life and was beyond her forever.
âNow tell me that I would ever again aid them.â Niall shuddered.
The dark-haired man lapsed into silence, with an air of having had quite finished all that he came to say and that nothing more could be gotten of him. The lost Ădellic turned away from the younger rival lord. He seemed rather ready to leave the dream and allow Niall to sleep as planned, but then a thought seemed to occur to him and he turned about again. He approached Niall a last time and observed him thoughtfully. Then, with the air of a mother removing a resilient spot of dust from her childâs cheek, he licked the tip of a finger and ran it over the crease of both the younger elfâs eyelids, and traced the upper and lower lip. This alone was insufficient for him; the mage next lifted up Niallâs right hand, and his palm tingled as he felt CiarĂĄnâs long finger tracing a circle over it and next repeating the procedure on his left hand. When the elf was done, Niall saw that both palms were obsidian. It was as though he had chosen to play in coal-ashes, bar that this was far smoother and natural shading than that which was to be had by mere dust. This was shadow. The mage lastly walked down to Niallâs feetâor where they were under the covers. Muttering in a foreign tongue, the language of crackling branches, gurgling streams, falling rain and death in a hailstorm, he again inscribed a circle in the air, leaving a trail of smooth jet in the wake of his words.
Niall quickly kicked aside the sheets and found the soles of his feet were as dark as his palms had been; he was willing to bet his eyelids and lips were streaked black as well. He cast a hard, scrutinizing look at the fallen lord, but the other did not heed it. His mind was already elsewhere and his deep, compelling blue gaze was fixed upon the half-moon sky. âWait, CiarĂĄn!â Niall snapped. âWhat is this?!â The lord paused and looked back at him.
âWhen I need you to do my work for me, you will do it,â he whispered. âWhere I need you to go for me, you will go. You will be my eyes and voice beyond the Ădellic lands if ever I should need it be so, and should the heart and hands of Phoenix Raine weaken in battle, from your body I will go to her and give her my strength and resolve; and the stones, the trees, the flowers, the shade, the very darkness which is within us all will course in her limbs and renew her in battle.â
Niall awoke with a start. A raven flew away from his bedpost and Diarmuid fell to the wooden floor with a thump. For some odd reason, a chill hung over Niall, although he could have sworn heâd been sleeping well. He felt the sudden urge to examine his hands and feet. They were clean and normal. He wasnât sure what else heâd been expecting.
Then Lilith entered the room and he remembered everything.
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((Lilith/CiarĂĄn))
By early morning, when it was still dark and the she-elf had finally found sleep, it began to rain. The course of it started in a fine drizzle which would have been beautiful to those who saw it, for moonlight was strong in the region and illuminated the droplets where its shafts touched them. However, the clouds soon thickened and blotted out the silver orb. A deluge of rain then followed, falling in thick, obsidian sheets over the drooping pine boughs and the ragged-winged ravens. Fiacre, who had remained beside the windowsill of Lilith and Anahitaâs room, croaked miserably; he would have stayed outside, a sodden spectre, had not a familiar and beloved voice whispered to his rain-chilled thoughts, enter the warmth, my kind Fiacre. The home is mine, not theirs, and I welcome your presence.
All the hunching shifting and trembling vanished in a spell as the birdâs head shot up, glassy eyes glittering. With an affirmative caw, the raven hopped a step into the air and landed on the windowsill, quickly working the latch so that the glass pane swung open, smooth and noiseless, and he hopped in. There was no wind or thunder tonight, only the heavy sound of the deluge beating the ceiling-stones and the earth; for the great bird this was providential, as heâd have been incapable of closing the opened portal again had the wind jerked it open and resisted the force of his beak and talons.
The air in here was... peacefully wary. The two women were silent sleepers, and the air of femininity tempered by knowledge of their natures made the scene peculiarly safe and active in a blow. It was not something a normal bird should have appreciated.
Fiacre flew to the mantle, as the she-elf had claimed the hearth. Over the embers of the fire he crouched, wings held out on either side to facilitate their drying. The image made the voice in his head laugh. The bird tipped his head and blinked at the shadows; though he did not speak for the sake of the resting women, the ruff of feathers about his throat rose with its swelling and then fell, like the furrowed brows of an elf. My apologies, sweeting, I did not wish to offend you. CiarĂĄnâs voice, smile-tinged, sounded young and child-like, the voice of a boy. It was only that your shuffling and your outstretched wings made you seem as of an old human man. The image of such a figure was briefly etched into the ravenâs memory, to which Fiacre irately preened his feathers. Your business, my one true master. FechĂn had the elfling lord, but for she you lack a link-- this you know. Master, I love you, but waste no time on my heart. It will not kill me to wait another week or month ere your strength allows you to speak again, and her country is at stake.
Wise words and too honest... my mind wanders again. The forest takes it. Thank you, Fiacre. The raven close his eyes and bent his beak sorrowfully into the slippery feathers of his breast. If it were in the power of a bird to cry, a tear would have slipped from his spruce-bark eyes, for the fate of the one elf remaining out of four elves heâd loved.
A penumbra fell over Lilith, visible only to the raven. It was CiarĂĄn, bending over her and placing a hand on her forehead-- shadow, no more than shadow. Not even a physical form here; he was reserving his strength. With a deep mental sigh that reverberated among all three of the ravens, their heart-lord fell to his knees beside the woman and then crumpled over her, shadow falling upon shadow, until the darkness ceased to be visible and entered her mind.
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Lilith wandered through the never-ending hall, occasionally taking various turn-offs. The stonework made her think of the Academy hallways, though she could truthfully say she didnât ever recall this particular set of corridors. Such is the nature of dreams, she thought to herself. In this dream, she had the feeling that she was supposed to be doing something, or finding something, but she didnât know quite what.
A raven hopped out from some corner of the corridor that was not a corner, but an abstraction of the dream-hall. The ravenâs form was not wholly avian either, for in another skip the bird grew taller, and when he landed on his feet again he was not a bird, but a young man-- a long-haired elf with slender features and an immortal air. The clothes he wore were of fine make, though all in black, and embroidered scantly with gold and silver. He turned to Lilith with an ephemeral air, as though a candle flame had suddenly decided it wanted to speak with her; a sense of purpose emanated from his being.
Lilith eyed the elf for a moment. She had seen the elf CiarĂĄn once in passing the year before, and this dream-elf now bore slight resemblance to him, if only that CiarĂĄn werenât half-starved and were better dressed. What the h*ll is wrong with me? she idly wondered. First she had been commenting on Niallâs chest, now she was dreaming of attractive versions of a man she had never properly met. Letting it go as one of the strange ideas of the dreaming mind-- and making a note that something should be done about her wandering thoughts-- she continued walking down the hall, which rapidly opened up into a large, cathedral-like room with nearly invisible ceilings somewhere above in the gloom.
âWait,â a soft voice spoke, fluid and young. CiarĂĄn stood in earnest by the wall. âLilith IndracrĂŠs, I have much news to tell you, and little time or magic left to tell it.â
Lilith ignored the spectre of her mind. While the message was most unusual (for her dreams, at least), she didnât feel like talking to what was, ultimately, a figment of her imagination.
CiarĂĄnâs brows knit together in consternation, and he swore a light oath. âLilith, you must listen to me-- and listen now! I have spoken to Niall Ălfher already tonight, but I have not told him all. The fate of Aduro depends on your heeding my words, and think what you will, you may confirm that this was no dream on the morrow. You need only ask Niall of what his dreams were for as much proof! But time wastes, and this is of the imperative. Even if you think it only a dream, listen to this dream! My time here comes only with the half-moon, and it wanes as dawn grows nearer.â
Lilith sighed. This was certainly the most bizarre dream sheâd ever had-- part of her mind asking her to listen, even while knowing it to be false-- but she might as well humor herself. She was more than certain that this was just a side affect of her constant pessimistic thoughts about the fate of Aduro, but it wouldnât hurt. Besides, it wasnât like she had anything else do to. She was concerned about herself, however; it was a certain indication of her growing arrogance if she were dreaming that it was important for her to hear something that would save Aduro. Sheâd have to do something about that...
Leaning against a pillar, she raised one brow shadowed by her cowl at the dream-CiarĂĄn.
The young elf-lord did not expend time on acknowledging things then, but launched straight into his explanations, casting a concerned eye to the stone walls as though he could already see the sky beyond. âYou are a metal-mage,â he said, âand this is vital. Youâre the only metal-mage who may use both the dagger possessed by yourself and that possessed by Sorea Pardai, two of a very few selection of weapons to have ever been imbued with metal-magic. In these knives there is a rare combination of magics-- poison, faery, telepathic, fire, and metal. â The words were delivered eloquently, if clear diction could ever claim to substitute for vocabulary in that regard, and at a clip that said the elf was both in a rush and delivering something unprepared, if well considered.
âThis is greatly important. Queen Nstifâikta Iâlar, leader of the Rau-lass forces, cannot be stopped unless you do as I ask you to. Her death will come by the sword of Phoenix Raine, yet Raine is ill-matched against her in magic and soldier-ship; the queen has lived untold centuries, gained experience that has only honed extant talent. Raine cannot beat her. Not unless you recover the other dagger, the one possessed by Sorea Pardai and now in the hands of her murderer--,â CiarĂĄn had never met Astrophel Soryuu by name, âand then forge a sword of them. The metal-magic you bear is necessary to serve this end, for the daggers are already twice-forged, and the sword undoctored by your skill will be brittle, a useless weapon. The person to make this sword must have the signature of yourself or Pardai-- thus, it may be either her right hand, the man who bears half her soul, or her sister, the one who bears the remnants of her magic.â
CiarĂĄn bowed his head, glaring darkly at the floor. It was a degree of expression not exhibited by him while he had lived. âI cannot tell any of this to Anahita Pardai. Ere she died, Sorea attempted a black magic on her younger sister, a soul-transfer that proved unsuccessful, but which bound the faeryâs spirit to her sibling.â Perhaps out of reflection of the elfâs thoughts, there was the sound of clacking boots and from the distant side of the hall, a replication of Sorea strode across the room and disappeared, intent on something but unaware of the other two.
âSooooooooo...â Lilith murmured, drawing out the word and examining her gloved fingertips-- sheâd be examining her fingernails, but in this dream she still had gloves on and didnât feel like making them vanish-- âletâs pretend for a moment, just a moment, mind, that youâre not a figment of my imagination created by prolonged lack of decent sleep, strange surroundings, and the usual images created during sleep. If we play this game of pretend, it means that you are some other entity. Now, continuing our game of pretend and presuming that you are who you say you are-- CiarĂĄn Ădellic-- how would you be in my head right now, messing up my dreams? And,â here she pointed to where the image of Sorea walked by, âwas she a result of you, me, or neither?
âContinuing to suppose that all of the aforementioned points hold true, I have another question to ask of you: what the hell have you been smoking? I will agree with you that the human canât beat the Rau-lass queen--â the fact of the matter was that you were talking about a human versus an old, deadly, vicious being with magic that was (in any fair, reasonable universe) cheating (unless it was your side that had it) â--but youâre saying that I have to use my-- how did you put it?-- skill to undo something that even my master can undo.
âMr.-I-Swear-Iâm-Not-A-Part-Of-Your-Sleeping-Brain, do you realize how bloody impossible thatâs going to be? If thatâs the only way Aduro and Acerbus will be free of the Rau-lass, then we all might as well commit suicide now. If youâre the creepy stalker guy that you seem to be, youâll know that I donât even have a nodding acquaintance with control, much less the power to do as you seem to feel is necessary. Oh,â she said brightly, her entire face lighting up, a small smile brushing across her face âand did I forget to mention that more and more control slips out of my grasp with every passing day? Now how do you propose that, in a very short amount of time, I learn how to do what you want? I have neither the time nor the resources to keep my abilities at the level they were, much less to improve upon them.
âAll of which brings me to another question,â she continued airily. âWhy should I trust you? I seem to recall that CiarĂĄn Ădellic sided with the Rau-lass. What argument could you possibly give me that would make me trust a traitor?â Here, Lilith ignored the thought that, even by using many different definitions of the word, she could be marked as a traitor herself.
The elf almot seemed to scream in helpless anger at those very last words; say rather, the dream screamed while he remained stock-still and composed bar a twisted, heavily wounded expression. âAsk Niall,â he murmured simply. âAs him. He knows all the rest-- I gave him my history, as I could link directly to the elf through the power of my ravens and the little wild-mage. I,â he whispered, and his blue eyes burned hellfire, âI never, never sided with the Rau-lass. Not from my forced conscription to my dying breath did I ever give heart or allegiance to the murderers who killed in cold blood my mother, my father, my child sister, and the woman I would have called my own for all eternity. Never. I loathe them as darkness loathes light, or as fire does water; nothing... nothing...â He broke off, a hand pressed against his ghastly pale forehead.
The fine-dressed young elf stared uncomprehendingly into the air for a moment, features still pressed into a stunned mask of shock.
But then he collected himself, just as Lilith was about to prod him. âDonât distract me yet,â he requested, âplease. My mind wanders without a physical manifestation to ground it; and I have not told you all.â Lilith eyed the dark-haired elf suspiciously, but otherwise remained silent. If this were all a dream, it didnât matter. But on the off chance that it wasnât... Well, it couldn't hurt. Though the bit about not having a "physical manifestation" was a rather interesting phrase choice that she wished to comment on, Lilith remained silent.
CiarĂĄn took a deep, shuddering breath and exhaled, arms crossed over his chest. âI work to destroy the Rau-lass,â he said simply, âand to restore Aduro to what it must be. Now please, listen.â Oh, and what do you think Iâm doing right now? Lilith thought crossly. âI will answer the rest if dawn does not break before I finish.â
âThe sword you give Phoenix Raine must have elements of Signum Vulnus, so that it may heal her wounds, for she will receive many of them in combat with the immortal queen. It must have your metal-magic to make it a sword without equal, to break bone and flesh in a single sweep-- for a single sweep may be all she gets-- and to withstand battery from even the direst of black magics. It must be a blade imbued with poison and capable of manipulating poison, for Rau-lass and atrox drip venom that would damage the sword-wielder if the sword itself did not have the ability to right the misfortuned incursion. With Sorea Pardai woven into it, as well as Aryanna and myself, you will help the faery Anahita forge a weapon that can cut through souls and shadow, not just flesh and sinew, and with Aryanna woven into it the sword may swipe through minor enchantments. I ask a great deal of you, young metal-mage, a very great deal, the sort of thing born of legend and myth, but you have the power for it-- believe me, you do.â
âThe second thing I ask of you is more readily done than the forging of the sword. You know Darragh Unorian by now, and you know him to be loyal to Lysander and vice-versa. Do not trust Darragh, and trust no Unorian whatsoever.â His eyes flashed black as he spoke, and the mien of the raven seemed to hang like a mantle over the well-formed shoulders. âDarragh and his brothers, his father and the patriarch of the line, they take a deadly gamble and dare not play false lest the price they pay be that which Lysander shall see ere he leave the land of elves.â
With a second concerned glance to the wall, CiarĂĄn murmured, âknow this of the Unorians: their patriarch, ParthalĂĄn Unorian, is an elf great in stature and in power. You may readily recognize him as the tall and stillest in any company; he is of the second generation of Unorians, a man who was old enough to go to battle in the time of Dragutin and Ivona, the height of the Ălfherâs blossoming flower. His power has only grown since then, and it had now become so subtle and nefarious a power that he need not even summon it for it to fall about him like an insidious robe, a power that undulates with the waves of his feelings and at the slightest consideration of a thought, let alone the enacting of it, becomes a deadly dart: the manipulation of emotions. Whatever High Lord ParthalĂĄn wishes to know, he will know if one with the knowledge should be in his presence. And what does Lysander know that he may wish to know? He knows where Signum Vulnus is, no doubt; he knows many strategic points of any budding rebellion, no doubt; most importantly, he knows how to find and capture Phoenix Raine or failing that, Argenti Malkeya. Let ParthalĂĄn even think that he might fancy such information, and it will be beyond Lysander to not feel that he must tell this wise, powerful elf, this leader of generations whose wisdom might help shed valuable light on his predicament. Another like him, but far, far weaker is the IonodaĂ of the seventh Unorian generation: Cathal. You need not wholly fear him, but you must avoid him if you may.â
âEvents have conspired against you party, Lilith. They have conspired with Darragh, and they conspire to bring you before ParthalĂĄn before youâre safe from their reaches. It is too much to ask that you kill the Unorian lordling, though much trouble would be spared if he and the canine that loves him were drawn out of the equation. Instead, I ask this: if ever it seems that you must voyage to the Unorian province, concoct a potion which can by some means be delivered to Lysander. It must be simple, effective in small quantities, and discreet. What it must do is this: either remove his emotions before he steps foot in the province, or else knock him out from some natural-seeming cause when he comes into the presence of the High Lord-- grief comes to mind, for he will grieve on returning home-- and in achieving unconsciousness, place himself beyond the reaches of Lord ParthalĂĄn.â
âIf you fail to make the sword, you fail to make the best weapon by which Aduro may be saved; if you fail to rescue Lysander from his emotions, all may be lost and Aduro will fall to darkness, as will all places around it.â
âLastly: when you return to Signum Vulnus, remove Phoenix Raine from his grasp. She wastes her time with him, when she must train hard and fast to meet this menace beyond her skill. She must be there for the forging of the sword and because she is unique, a vessel for magic-- hence her ability to be a repository for both the light magic of Ymandra Llanna and my own shadow-speech-- she must be taught how to wield her powers. There are many forces amassing in Aduro to fight, as the heads of a hydra rounding in on a target, but it is Phoenis who is the greatest of these heads, and it is she who has the best chance of lopping the head off of the Rau-lass war machine.â
âThat is the most I may say. Leave quickly; another will answer your questions come evening. She will tell you what I have not the time for-- that is, how to forge the sword. Leave. The shadow of darkness will protect you this night, but it will be another moon-cycle ere my strength will be so great. Take the safety while it is there-- flee for the north border.â
The young elf sighed and fell against the wall. For a moment he was still, hand pressed against his forehead again. Then a shaft of moonlight fell upon him, moonlight out of nowhere, and the elf burst into a flock of ravens who, in a storm of caws and inky feathers, flapped into the vast beyond.
---------------------
Lilith rolled off of the couch and landed on her knees with a rather heavy thunk, throwing a pillow at the still-sleeping Anahita. âAnahita,â she hissed, not at all sure what had woken her up, her eyes already roving around the room. The embers had died down to almost nothing, and the window was open to the drizzling sky outside. Small shadows interrupting the light coming from the crack under the door indicated that there were several someones-- little someones-- outside.
Closing and locking the window, Lilith strode to the door and opened it a fraction, borrowed clothing rumpled and hair rather tussled, the string she had been using to keep it back lying on the floor next to the couch. Her cold, irritated look first caught a guard standing across the hall-- his post had obviously crept closer to their rooms as the night progressed, something that irked her greatly-- due to the fact that he wasnât below eye level. Or waist level, for that matter.
Her gaze settled on Anrai, hand tentatively raised to knock again. A couple of the other children had followed their companion across the hall, and several other pairs of small eyes peered at her from across the hall.
âWhat are you doing?â she hissed, looking ready to kill all of them. Being the most diplomatic, if also among the most soft-spoken of them, it was Anrai who headed the response-- finding that no other volunteer was willing to speak to an adult so intimidating in her presentation. âThe little ones had nightmares,â he said in plain, stumble-about Elvish (somewhat ignorant of his own status as a little one). âAnd when they awoke, Murtagh was afraid because of the big korbl* and wouldnât stop making a fuss, even when Fionnoula tried to calm him. They would all like to see Anahita-sĂog, please.â He was possibly the one child who properly pronounced the faeryâs name.
Lilith eyed the child, pure murder in her eyes. She looked over her shoulder at Anahita, who was sitting up. Very, very resentfully, she opened the door further, stepping into the hall and holding it open. âSheâs in the bed,â she muttered through gritted teeth. The children hesitated for a moment-- likely debating whether it was worth going past her in order to receive Anahitaâs comfort-- then scampered in, the room across the hall emptying as those not initially brave enough to cross the big, scary hallway followed their friends.
Unable to take out her utterly feigned, utterly convincing rage on the children, Lilithâs eyes snapped onto the next best thing-- the guard. âWhy are you so close?â she snapped. âAnd for pityâs sake, what the hell are you even doing here? After weeks and weeks of travelling through the wilderness, setting camp in the worst by-ways any elf would have to endure, and sleeping on dank earth, weâre not going to pass up a night in a bed just to wander around. Go away,â she barked, spinning on her heel and slamming the door almost as hard as she could. Many pairs of startled eyes-- belonging to tense, panicked bodies-- greeted her, but then moved back to Anahita as Lilith made her way back to the couch, the faintest beginnings of a largely unnoticed smile playing on her lips.
It died, however, as the memory of her dream came back to her, and Lilith sat on the couch, resting her forehead on her clasped hands. With the slightest shake of her head, she got up. Sheâd dwell on it all later-- with the important exception of possibly-CiarĂĄnâs last words.
Grabbing her cloak, she donned it and changed into her clothes underneath it. Running her fingers though her hair in lieu of a comb, she tied it back again and walked out of the room. A thin, black-haired elf looked up from where heâd been paring a scrap of wood at a distance, his over-large eyes following her strides with those of his companion elf (both their gauntnesses made their features seem slightly over-sized); beyond that, they did nothing.
Lilithâs long legs easily took her down the hall, following the path to Niallâs room. Another guard was there but as of the others, he made no motion to hinder her movement; he merely observed her path, again seeming to mentally note with that shared language of the forest-scouts the things she did, the way she did it, and other minor nuances.
Niallâs room was locked. Lilith knocked once, then slid a lockpick out from beneath her sleeve and was able to get into the room before the man had a chance to let her in. âNiall, Diarmuid,â she said, shutting the door behind her, âget your things, weâre leaving. The kids are in a state of near-panic, Anahita isnât doing too well herself, and even Iâm feeling uneasy about this place. I know that I have a history of being a little paranoid, but I really believe we should go. Now,â she said, to emphasize the point.
Niall looked up at her from whereâs heâd been sitting cross-legged on the bed, shirtless as was his wont when sleeping. âI know,â he murmured. âHis lordship sent me visions as well.â
*Regional colloquialism; although the forest-elves call ravens fiach, sea-side elves know them as korbl or fiach.
Last edited by
ShadowPhoenix on Mon Jul 11, 2011 8:02 pm, edited 9 times in total.
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