Forester's Fate Prologue 47, Age of Arcadia, Early Summer The slamming of the door seemed to shake Echelli Durillo as soundly as it shook the cottage. The curalli winced and closed his eyes, wondering dully if the insistent ache in his head was caused by something physical or by the same hurt that was ripping his heart in two. Once he thought he heard quick movement from inside, and, hastily opening his eyes, he knew he saw a flicker of shadow pass by a window. Hopeful, he took a step forward, but immediate negative feelings washed over him and he stopped. He knew what that meant. Corya had not yet forgiven him. For a moment Echelli thought of entering the cottage and pointing out that it was after all his home, not hers, but he dismissed the thought quickly. It wasn't worth arguing about. All he needed at the moment was to be alone, to rationalize and bury the pain his friend's sharp words had caused him. His friend. The hurt and guilt washed over him again at the thought of that phrase. It was the root of the argument, after all- The forester whirled and sprang away from the house that Corya had excluded him from, not caring that it might look as though he were running away. He dashed desperately into the woodland, needing something that had kept the semblance of normality, something that had always been a stern and steady anchor in his life. He found an oak and leaned gratefully against it, tilting his head back to scan the sky above. A perfect night, lit with millions of stars- even more to Echelli's view than was ordinary, for he could see the black stars. He relaxed a bit as the sight of Elwenkind's creators calmed and filled him, draining away some of the helpless anger. Unbidden, a memory rose into his mind, the memory of captivity in the Corocoro city of Orocoroc. He had taught Corya to sing there, on a night nearly as fine as this- He ground his teeth. "Enough," he announced, cheerily and a bit too loudly, the sound of his own voice jarring him. "There will be time enough to think about this later." Privately he promised himself that he would avoid those thoughts if at all possible, and then melted into the night. He felt like hunting and knew the creatures of the woodland would be able to sense that high-strung, hungry tension a predator always carried with him. The trick was to flush something of suitable size and intelligence to give him a good run- Without warning, the brush before him imploded, and a hind that Echelli had ignored as being too securely protected by briars sprang forward, delicate hooves drumming the earth before her body had returned to it. The forester hesitated only the briefest of moments to check her former hiding spot, wanting to be sure he was not hunting the mother of a fawn. No young deer lay curled there, however, and so he grinned and began to run silently after her. Echelli wore sable clothes and made no sound even when slipping through the closest of brush, but he could do nothing to mask his scent. The doe appeared to recognize the smell of black roses and ran madly, but she was doomed almost from the moment she chose to run instead of stay hidden and secure. Echelli knew it, and felt almost certain that his prey did as well. Already the distance between them had begun to narrow. For now, though, it was enough to run like an earthly lightning flash, exulting in his speed and strength, letting the physical exertion drive thoughts of Corya away. He was, after all, an Elwen in the prime of life, and, what was more, a curalli running in that most sacred and safe of elements to his kind: darkness. Even the heady warmth of the summer night seemed to help rather than hinder him, pounding through his blood and adding to the excitement of the chase. The deer descended the bank of a small stream with a swift rush of hooves and flung herself forward, over the water. Takon, the blue-green moon, sparkled through an opening in the branches, framing the hind's magnificent leap and setting the water dancing with cool fire. For a moment, Echelli hesitated, awestruck by the beauty of nature; then he tensed his own muscles and sprang past her, landing on the opposite bank with an effortlessness that delighted him. He whirled to face his cornered quarry, crouched, and drew his dirks. The doe barely managed to stop in time, slender body twisting impossibly as she raced away from the stream, driven on by terror. Echelli followed with the silent grace and deadly, enduring ease of a hunting wolf. She would tire long before he did. Sure enough, the opportunity soon came for the curalli to close with the animal and wound her, pricking her flank with a dirk. For a time hot horror spanked her on before him, but Echelli had already gauged the end of this hunt. The doe could not run another ten miles. Following a growing blood trail, he tracked her to a clearing. There she lay amidst a pile of blue flowers, spent, as if her last energy had been used to choose the loveliest grave possible. Echelli shook his head at his own unusually poetic thought and knelt to give her mercy. Striking so fast that the curalli could only blink in stunned astonishment, one of the blue flowers curled about the deer coiled like a snake and reached out to twine its tendrils about him. Smooth green leaves- smooth, that is, except for their spiked edges- grasped him, and that grip tightened until it felt as if he were bound by the strongest steel chains. The curalli gasped in surprise and immediately wished he hadn't. A puff of gas entered his lungs, carrying with it a drowsy fragrance, and abruptly Echelli felt his limbs become like a statue's, heavy and immobile as stone. His eyelids drooped and then closed. Helpless, overcome with a sense of inevitability, he slumped to the ground. More flowers crept like sliding snakes over him. Still, his mind was working at a furious pace, not to be deterred by the increasing amount of gas he was breathing in. Depli, his thoughts chattered to him, among the more deadly carnivorous plants in Arcadia's wilderness. Oh, wonderful, he answered himself, silently and scathingly. Nice to know the name of what's murdering me just as it does! With a suddenness as shocking as the original attack, the bonds grew yet tighter. Why? Echelli wondered drowsily. The depli has me where it wants me. Even if I were free, I wouldn't be able to crawl far without falling asleep. Indeed, drowsiness hovered dangerously close to his mind now, singing a compelling siren song of surrender. The bonds grew so tight they almost cut off his circulation, then abruptly collapsed. The forester tried to sit up in surprise, but it was no use. He fell weakly back among the depli, helpless. Strong hands caught him under the arms, their frigid touch rousing him as effectively as cold water in the face awakes a fainter. He sat up on his own, wise enough not to try to shrug off the assistance of the arms. There was only one person it could be, here, and she thought that refusing aid was not pride but foolishness. The final fog of the gas cleared from his brain, and he managed to lift his eyelids, which felt progressively lighter every moment. His gaze met a pair of brown eyes so alive, so warm and vibrant in their concern for him, that the guilt returned tenfold. If only he could do as she asked him to do! "Echelli, are you all right?" whispered Corya Deathbring, touching him on the forehead. The coldness of her dark skin melted the last dreamy thoughts and left him lucid once more. He drew slightly back, unconsciously admiring her beauty once more as he replied. "Yes," he answered, and watched in wonder as the lines of tension vanished from her face with almost magical swiftness. It still surprised him and made him feel uncertain to realize how she worried over him. "Stupid of me to run into a patch of depli. I was coursing a doe and my mind was on the hunt, not anything else." Corya did not speak, no word of reproof or encouragement. Instead, she hooked one arm around his back and laid her free hand on his shoulder, a special gesture that had developed gradually over the years, an expression of their affection for one another. They sat for a long moment, Echelli trying to avoid Corya's eyes and think of nothing in particular, the death Elwen staring at him with that intensity and devotion that had always made him uncomfortable. Finally, she stirred and removed the one hand, though her arm curved, drawing him a bit closer to her. "We need to talk," she whispered, voice as strong and clear as if there had never been an argument. Indeed, only the reddened corners of her eyes showed that she had wept at all. Echelli started, for even the harmony of her voice was sufficient to disturb his inner peace, and attempted to draw away. Before, Corya had always been respectful of his feelings, enough to let him go. Now she transferred both hands to his shoulders and pressed him down, so hard that he uttered a half-muted sound of surprise. The churni did not appear to hear. "Now," she insisted, brown eyes gleaming with a steel-hard determination. "I won't have you running away from me any more, Echelli. It will be best for both of us to settle this in the open, here and now." "I have no idea what you're talking about," the forester said desperately, battling the abruptly roused curalli instinct that insisted he needed to be free. He felt sweat break out on his brow and made a little wriggle that only prompted Corya to tighten her grip the more. "If I had any idea what you wanted-" "You still would not do as I ask you," Corya completed softly. Her voice had gone from determined to inexpressibly weary. "Please, Echelli, will you not consider my words once more? It is a reasonable claim." Her fingers brushed his silver cheek, causing a shiver of unaccountable revulsion to course through the mixed-blood. He jerked away, leaving her hand stroking empty air. His voice was sharper, colder even than he had intended it. "You don't know the sacrifice you ask of me." Corya's temper exploded; for one of the few times in ten years, the fire of her brown eyes was turned directly on him. Her grasp tightened until Echelli thought he would faint from the pain and her words came and went through ringing and black clouds. "It is no sacrifice, Echelli; if you think it is, you have not understood what I am asking of you at all. A free, open acknowledgement that you love me. It costs a great deal less than the pain it must give you to keep your love concealed. And it is painful, don't bother to deny it. The hurt is in your eyes whenever you look at me." "Corya..." Echelli choked, trying not to gasp. "You're... squeezing me... please." She released him at once, her eyes going from angry to apologetic so fast he blinked at the transition. This time her touch was gentle, and she pulled away at once when she touched his bruised shoulder and he winced. For a moment he knelt there recovering his breath under her anxious eyes; then he scrambled to his feet and walked toward the cottage, head bowed. Corya trailed him slowly. They moved in silence, perfectly in accord without speaking a word. Once Echelli stopped to study the death Elwen as she passed through a star-filled clearing, and a little shiver of wonder trickled through him. The stars crowned her blue hair with silver, lit the shimmering black pools in her skin with argent flame and lent their light to be swallowed by sable clothes and face. Something more beautiful could hardly be imagined. Why, of all the people in the world, had she chosen to love him? He felt her eyes on him in return, though they were shaded by her leather cowl, and knew that it was the one question he would never get an answer to. He turned and moved back toward the cottage, ashamed of himself for that momentary show of weakness. He was afraid of her, more frightened than he liked to admit- fearful that a time would come when he would not hesitate to share his inner being with her. At the moment, he could not imagine anything less desirable than such a communion. She stopped him with a light hand on his arm when they reached the clearing and nodded at the sky. A wary glance told him nothing; her brown eyes were shuttered, as his had so often been. Not knowing what else to do, he accepted her silent invitation and tilted his head back, drawing in breath to sing. The sounds he produced were darkly accented but achingly beautiful, as always, and also as always, they relived him of anger and tension, lapping his soul in a sea of unruffled peace. Corya, contrary to her usual custom, did not join him but stood listening to him with head tilted. When he had finished, she took him gently in her arms and turned him to face her. A slight thump of hooves and a flicker of movement to the side warned him that the deathtrotters were there, but he was unable to tear his eyes from Corya's glittering ones. He saw now that the main part of that shine was composed of tears. At a loss for words, he turned his head away awkwardly. "Ah, Echelli, I love you so much, but you will not permit me to say it to anyone else," Corya told him, the light tone of her voice obviously forced. Confused, the forester looked back at her- and found himself a prisoner. Entranced, he listened as she continued. "I will never say it to anyone else, you understand, but will you not at least admit your own love for me to Keren, to someone else so that I can be sure of the strength of your emotion?" Echelli shook his head and drew away. Behind him, Corya gave a little sound that might have been a sob or sigh, and there came the noise of the door closing, gently this time. Echelli turned to find Dancer, his stallion, staring at him with burning red eyes. -You fool- Echelli did not answer as he bedded down under the stars, his only companion a growing conviction that the stallion might be correct. Chapter 1 The Visitors 47, Age of Arcadia, Late Autumn "You know, Echelli, that there is no reason in the world that says you can't find someone else to love." His friend's voice was teasing, and yet there was a concern under the half-mocking tone that caused Echelli to smile slowly in response. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?" he returned aloud, uncertain of the tone behind his words, whether it was lightly jesting or lightly malicious. "You never have liked her." Chen Raven colored and coughed a bit. "Now, Echelli, you know that's true," he said with his usual honesty. "But in this case, at least, I am sure it is quite apart from my feelings toward her. She's wearing you out. I haven't seen you look so careworn in months." "You haven't seen me in months," Echelli retorted, but his face softened in spite of himself. They stood on the soft, dew-bedecked grass of the curalli sanctuary in Rowan, sheltering in the comfortable shade of a large hylea. The tree's delicate golden blossoms were open now, and of course it kept its leaves, having the kinship to autumn that it did- all of which made it a pleasantly cool place on this unusually hot morning. Echelli had ridden in the previous night to visit Chen, driven by a strange restlessness he could not explain- unless it was simply a need to have friendly companionship that was not Corya's. Looking now at the young half-curalli, his lanky frame stretched against the hylea's trunk, his youthful dark eyes gleaming with health and a strong, sheer love of life, he felt contented. The comfort his friends gave him was worth the occasional inconvenience of doing things he didn't like for them. Lately, however, that sentiment had not been applying to Corya. Echelli ground his teeth and managed, with an effort, to focus his mind on Chen's words. The argument had continued for six months. It could wait a little longer. "The sanctuary is doing even better now than when Gercom led it," Chen was saying, eyes shining with relief. The young mixed-blood cared deeply about his people and had a natural gift for leadership but a hatred for it as well. Echelli could read his thoughts now: he much preferred the leadership of Fletcher, a young land Elwen, to the chore of doing it himself. "Many of the children who came to the sanctuary to play when they were younger have succeeded in getting the School to accept their curalli friends. And there have been other changes as well. People no longer sneer or spit at us in the streets, and only one stone was thrown this past month!" Chen's voice had risen to a fever pitch of excitement and happiness. Nothing less than total acceptance of Rowan- born curalli as citizens had always been his goal. "However bad it is in the world outside, here in Rowan people are at least becoming civilized." Echelli decided privately that he would not mention how he had been attacked soon after entering the city. He would not have lifted a finger to destroy Chen's joy, not even for Corya. It was a comfort to know that someone was happy, even if it could not be him. "How is Fletcher?" he asked to keep the boy going. The younger forester smiled radiantly. He wore white clothes, unusual for a curalli but showing up in striking contrast to his skin- yet another sign of gaiety. "Doing well- very well. He is so charismatic! Even the angriest parents, who will absolutely not have their children come to the sanctuary, calm down when they see him and explain their fury courteously. It is a shame he had to be away while you're here; he'll be sorry to have missed you. Are you sure you won't stay one more day?" Echelli laughed. "Chen, I've been here for a week so far, and every day you beg me to stay a little longer. I'm sorry about missing Fletcher as well, but he'll understand." Without quite understanding why, he lowered his voice an octave. "There's another one who won't if I do not return. I've already been gone a day longer than I promised." For the first time, Chen's face darkened, and Echelli mentally cursed himself for forcing his own troubles on the younger fighter once more. "I think you need to tell her off," said Chen fiercely, also in a whisper. "If you don't want to acknowledge the fact that you love her, then don't. She cannot force you to do so." Echelli gazed at him in appreciation. "Thank you, my friend." He clasped the half-curalli's hand warmly and rose reluctantly to his feet. "I should be leav-" Chen clasped his hands, face abruptly so imploring that Echelli had almost relented before he started speaking. "Oh, Echelli, a few hours more! I haven't seen you in months, as you pointed out- almost a year, in fact- and I don't want to take the chance that you'll be forbidden to return by Corya. At least one more walk around the clearing," he continued rebelliously, when Echelli regretfully shook his head. "Very well- one more," the mixed-blood whispered, his voice barely audible, his nod the truly visible sign of his assent. Chen beamed and began to lead him toward the community clearing, chattering happily. Echelli let the warmth of that talk flow around him. It made him feel as if he were walking in sunbeams. Abruptly, however, he stiffened and stared through the trees. Chen turned to look at him inquiringly. "What is it?" he asked, the idle happiness going out of his voice and manner as his eyes took in Echelli's tension and fixed stare. Abruptly he was a fighter and forester once more, one toughened by patrolling Rowan's often hazardous borders, and only unequal to Echelli in experience. "What is it?" he repeated, but his voice was much softer now, and he glanced down at his white clothes almost in disgust. Echelli shook himself and returned to the world. Even if it were true, he told himself sharply, it's ridiculous to suspect every innocent creature of wrongdoing. "Nothing," he answered, sufficient lightness in his tone to relax Chen. "Now you were saying about Fletcher?" Chen immediately picked up on his favorite subject once more, Fletcher's lovesick courtship of a young curalli girl. Somehow Echelli managed to keep his eyes on his friend and make appropriate noncommittal noises, though he really wanted to leap from Chen's side with all his might and track the scent he suspected was there. He had been sure he had seen a raven watching him from the trees. ---------------------------------------------------------- Echelli Durillo dreamed. Though his body was still, resting quietly on an ordinary bed of bent boughs, his mind twisted and turned through the tortured convolutions of something that happened, not every time he slept, but often enough to disturb him. Indeed, in a way its very unpredictability made him jittery. He was unsure if it was a natural occurrence or some form of sick revenge. The dreams were of Julian. Over and over again he saw his brother escaping, his crimes unpunished, his claims proved true, defeated and yet somehow triumphant. Over and over he saw the powerful results of Julian's attempt to exert power; his wife driven insane, his son forced to leave the city, hundreds of curalli stripped of willpower. The worst dream, however, was the one where Julian offered him magical training and power, and instead of scornfully turning from it, the dream-Echelli wanted it and wept when it was denied him. That one in particular haunted the fighter. What if he was like Julian in more than magical power and eye color? Julian still lived somewhere, a curalli of strangely powerful magic, and he could be sending the dreams. That would explain Echelli's occasional inability to waken. This night, however, he twisted out of sleep as soon as the horrible dreams began, panting hard. He closed his eyes, swallowing as he realized that his thought about the nightmares had actually been part of them, weaving and dancing through them somehow. Some new horror of Julian's? -Echelli- The mixed-blood bit his tongue, hard enough to taste white blood and to calm his involuntary start. "Dancer," he whispered in acknowledgement, turning and lifting a hand to caress the snowy mane of the anxious stallion who stood behind him. "Sorry. I was- thinking." -An unusual activity, for you- noted Dancer sardonically, but he did not pull away from Echelli's hand, as he would have done if truly annoyed. Indeed, he seemed to welcome the contact, pressing worriedly against his master. In silent apology, Echelli intensified the stroking. He knew that it was hard for Dancer to stand the mental torment he had to, bonded to Echelli as he was. "Dance, as I've told you before, you can always-" -Break the bonding- The stallion did pull away now, reproof shining bright in his proud red eyes. -No. Never. What kind of a traitor would I be then- "One with his sanity still intact," Echelli began, but the stubborn expression on Dancer's long equine features assured him he would get no further. He shook his head and drew back a little, not about to pet him unless his steed asked for it, once again marveling that a creature so like a horse could convey such subtle nuances of emotion. "I'm sorry, Dance. You're right. I need you and always will." The stallion, young because of a slight accident with a time dragon's breath, snorted and touched his nose to Echelli's shoulder, his anger apparently forgotten. -There is another who would give much to hear you say that- Echelli sighed softly and let his eyes drop shut, unwilling to meet his fiery gaze. Dancer had been lecturing him all the way to Rowan. He finally opened his eyes but kept his head turned away as he asked in a half-defensive mumble, "Why is it so important to Corya? She knows my emotion and its strength. She saw what happened to me when I thought her dead." His voice faltered in spite of his resolution to keep it steady. "Why is she determined to break me?" -It's not that- Dancer answered, swiftly, almost too eagerly. -But, like so many with two legs, she does value symbolism. Hearing you say that you love her in another's company would provide her with a new sense of her own importance. You really ought to be more affectionate toward her, you know- he added with more than a hint of rebuke. -You've known her twenty-five years, you've loved her for ten and very probably more. Yet you refuse to even consider- "Don't say it," said Echelli sharply. He could feel his eyes narrowing. "Marriage is not an option. Never has been, never will." Dancer nudged him so sharply he almost fell. -Try and tell that to Corya, stubborn one. She's set on having you humble- not broken, as you so crudely put it, but humbled enough to admit you need her and love her. Three simple words, Echelli. Say them, and you'll spare yourself and her a great deal of pain- Echelli knew he was being unreasonable, but then, so was Corya. She knew what he was like, knew he would die before performing a duty he did not wish to do. "No," he replied, serenely, certain his decision was the right one. "I will not." Dancer only cocked his head and swished his sable tail against his knees, gazing at Echelli with a thoughtfulness that disturbed him. -I hardly think Corya will see it that way- ---------------------------------------------------------- Echelli stayed at the campsite for an extra day, just for the worry he knew it was causing Corya. It might be childish, but at least he was having some peace and proving he could take care of himself. And there was the chance, the slightest chance, that she might stop loving him for it. Dancer knew better than to scold Echelli when he was in one of his moods and vanished into the forest for a prolonged grazing period. The curalli spent most of the day sleeping and hunting, though he knew as the sky darkened that he would not be able to keep away from Corya much longer. Already the peculiar itch that took him whenever she was not there was starting, an odd mixture of concern for her safety and irritation that he should feel that concern. He could never admit to himself that it might be because he needed her. The point was that Corya drew him like a magnet, whatever their disagreements, and he could not resist that pull much longer. As full evening descended, he ate lightly of venison, put out the fire, and whistled Dancer to him. The stallion came cheerfully enough, despite his complaints about being called like a horse, and let him mount, then took him south with a speed that stole his breath and left tears dripping from his eyes. Echelli retained enough wit, however, to know when Dancer started to turn toward their home and jerked sharply on his mane. "I haven't seen Keren in a month," he whispered when the stallion whickered softly in protest. "He contacted me when I was in Rowan and told me that Esain has returned. This might be my last chance to see him. Please?" -He'll still be there in the morning- grumbled Dancer, but he turned obediently. Echelli wondered if it was out of affection for his rider or for the mere excitement that came with the run. At any rate, he was not about to argue with the usually surly stallion's willingness. He flattened himself on the sable neck, trying to make Dancer forget he was even there. The sun had only just set, Dancer's hooves outracing the swiftness of its sinking rays, when they cantered into the field that held Keren's home. Echelli dismounted with a pat of gratitude and waited politely, half-watching the house and half-watching Dancer as he grazed. He was reluctant to approach Keren's house without express invitation; after all, someone might be sleeping. The door opened soon enough, and Keren came running to meet him, pace cheery as a young child's. Echelli moved toward him, smiling, and even Dancer looked up once from his grass the flick a sharp greeting with his tail. But the words of welcome died on Echelli's lips as the land Elwen neared. What he had mistaken for almost youthful exuberance was the frantic energy brought on by worry. Keren's face was lined; he, by rights a possessor of eternal Elwen good looks, appeared older than many humans Echelli had seen. He did not even notice that Echelli was staring at him, too stunned to say hello; he seized the curalli's hand, his eyes bright with desperation. "Echelli, thank the stars you've come. We need your healing skill and we need it fast." The forester looked at his friend, wondering if he had taken leave of his senses. There was no injury on Keren's body, and Echelli could smell no disease or poison. "For you? But you look-" "No, not for me," Keren choked out, and Echelli was appalled to see how very bright his eyes were, feverish and glittering with tears and a hope that Keren could not afford to feel, a fragile fluttering thing balanced against a very real despair. "No, it is something beyond the range of my own magic. Please, Echelli, we need you to heal." Despite himself, a tear slipped down his cheeks, leaving a trail that glittered in the starlight. "Please-" "For what?" asked Echelli, very nearly screaming aloud in frustration. Only his tightly trained self-control held his emotions at bay. "Esain-" Echelli waited to hear no more than the name of the boy he had trained, a young half-Elwen who had grown from a child wielding a wooden sword to a fledgling warrior under his tutelage. He raced toward the house in great, silent bounds, Keren running beside him, parental fear giving him the strength to match Echelli's speed. Esain was resting on a bed in Keren's garden, for which Echelli was grateful. He knew the atmosphere of Keren's house must stink of worry and tears, and he would find it easier to focus his little-used magic in the clear outside air. The curalli bent over the barely breathing boy, his nightsight seeing the damage at once. Even the trained fighter, who had survived more wounds than he cared to remember, caught his breath at this. Keren's hand closed on his arm in a grip made tight by terror. "You see?" he murmured, before he lost his struggle against the tears and began to sob. Helpless to do anything else, Echelli nodded. His entire being was focused on the youngster before him, as if his concentration could will life into Esain's fading body, give him the energy for one more heartbeat. One long wound, frosted over at the edges as if it had been made by a knife of ice, tore across the boy from shoulder to shoulder, and it was only a miracle that had prevented the jugular vein from being torn open. The second, and more terrible, started on his temple and twined sinuously around his body like a snake, winding up on his left foot. That cut was also iced over. Keren regained enough breath to say, "What did this to him-" "Questions later," Echelli said ruthlessly, and knelt beside the bed. Bowing his head, he sent a compelling command to his life-force, and the golden warmth of healing magic filled him. He focused his entire mind on that, ignoring the distant babble of Keren's words. They could hardly matter to him at the moment. Life-force poured from his hands and flowed over the boy's body. It flowed as far as the edges of the injuries and abruptly stopped, as if balked by an invisible dam. Echelli felt something, cold and implacable, resisting it. Had he had the power to perform two magical feats at once. he would have looked to see what stray spirit had possessed the boy. ^Leave,^ Echelli commanded telepathically, pushing his life-force forward and gathering his magic like a shimmering cloak about him. ^He is not yours.^ There was no answer, and Echelli began to suspect that it was not a sentient force but only some lingering enchantment left by whoever had attacked Esain. These wounds certainly looked like the work of a mage. As he could not dispel it, he pushed his awareness forward through it. There came a cold, acrid stench, inexplicably familiar, and Echelli "felt" a chill, distant howl of rage. But the life-force went through, Echelli taking the cold into his own body as he gave his warmth to his adopted nephew. He managed to keep himself from flinching away, to welcome the cold and think of it as a natural result, a part of the magic. It was only when he crossed the line into spiritgiving, a pouring of his soul into Esain, that he restrained the flow of strength. Even a little bit of spiritgiving left him exhausted for days. The curalli opened his eyes and staggered to his feet, half-astonished to find himself swaying slightly. Keren caught him and held him in an embrace conveying both utmost support and gratitude inexpressible any other way. The curalli glanced at Esain. The wounds had closed to thin, puckered scars, the glittering lines of frost were no more, and the boy's breathing was deeper and easier. "He'll sleep for a few days," Echelli said, wondering dimly how he knew. "But he'll live." After that, Keren was solicitous of him, more than he really needed to be, fussing until Echelli sat down and accepted a blanket and the offer of a mug of soup. Esme had come out but was too busy tending to Esain to even thank Echelli for his help, except with her eyes, so Keren brought the mug, despite his obvious desire to spend more time with his son. Echelli held the earthenware cup and sipped slowly, delighting secretly in the warmth, though he kept his face as stern and impassive as ever. Keren started the sentence that shocked Echelli in an innocent way. "We know who did this to Esain," he said softly, glancing over with love at the youngster's still form, "because our son was still conscious when he came back from hunting yesterday. He said that Sodiest-" The mug shattered from Echelli's abruptly tight grip. Keren stared in shock as tinkling pieces of white earthen- ware fell to the ground, then smiled weakly. "It's all right," he assured the guilty curalli, stooping to pick up the parts and waving Echelli back when he would have risen to help. "You simply don't know your own strength." The fighter stared dazedly at the broken mug, barely noticing the rhythmic plops as drops of blood from his cut hands plummeted to the ground. Keren did, however, and used a strip of his own tunic to bind the wounds. Echelli sat still and endured the indignity without protest, but he stood as soon as Keren was finished, docility gone. "I suppose I'd better be going-" Keren laughed softly. "Echelli, is it necessary for you to do so? Surely Corya will not mind if you stay here; she knows we'll take good care of you. And with that hand and the drain from your magic, you're in no shape to ride." It's true, I am rather dizzy, Echelli admitted to himself, and could not stifle a yawn. "Perhaps, a short rest-" he murmured, pulling his legs up beneath him on the bench. "Of course," Keren crooned, pulling the blanket tight over him. Echelli looked up at him through bleary eyes. The world was going in and out of focus, and there was a distant, not unpleasant ringing in his ears. He knew enough to recognize the symptoms. "There was something in that soup, wasn't there?" he asked accusingly, but the effect was rather spoiled by a yawn. Keren chuckled as he patted the blanket around his friend's shoulders. "Of course. What do you take me for?" Echelli opened his mouth to answer, but the sound became a snore as he fell asleep, literally between one breath and the next. ---------------------------------------------------------- Riding home on Dancer beneath a new morning sun, Echelli did have to admit to himself that he felt better rested and more relaxed than he would have been otherwise. Even Dancer seemed happy, though he predicted dire trouble when they reached the clearing. -Corya is not going to be pleased- he told Echelli again and again. -She hates it when you break promises- The curalli snorted and tried not to feel the irritating tickle of guilt in the back of his mind. It did so ruin the morning. Besides, he had more important things to think about. How to punish Sodiest, for example. Ten years ago, the dead mage, Keren's most hated enemy, had revealed himself again, and Echelli felt at least partially responsible for that. Had he not attracted Tirosina's attention and vengeance, Sodiest might still be relegated to the background now. This wounding of Esain was the latest in a long series of little plagues he had been launching against the Deerfriend family since his reappearance, and Echelli knew they had to stop. Besides, he had a personal stake in this, one that should satisfy even his darker, self-centered curalli side, the one he took such pains to keep hidden. The longer Sodiest remained in the open, the greater the chance that someone would discover the secret of how he had perverted Echelli's magic. Perhaps it was thinking about such evil, but Echelli suddenly felt strangely aware of things in the forest around him, as if his senses had suddenly been sharpened. "Ghost tales," he muttered to himself, but there rose in his mind the acrid stench that had lingered about Esain's wounds. Ghost tales could too often become reality. And then the stench was there, was real, and Dancer was dancing hysterically backwards, neighing with terror as a smoky, amorphous shape rose before them. Echelli kept his seat somehow, his hands clinging with grim purpose, perhaps because he no longer felt fear in Sodiest's presence. Only hatred. The smoke formed a face, a countenance framed by flowing purple hair and coldly handsome except for the dark, flat eyes, no more alive than a snake's, that glittered from it. No, not even that alive, Echelli corrected himself. They had long ago passed beyond reptilian or even filthy into loathsome, so utterly dirty that it made Echelli want to retch. The foully sweet scent of rotting things rose from Sodiest's spirit and mingled with the much more pleasant scent of Dancer's sweat. Echelli laid a calming hand on the stallion's neck and studied the figure before him with hardly any emotion whatsoever. "Greetings," hissed Sodiest in a voice that was a blatant mockery of his resemblance to a reptile. Indeed, the hooded head of a great king cobra briefly flickered about his face before it resumed its "normal" features again. Dancer stamped and stepped backwards in spite of all Echelli could do to control him. Horse or no horse, Dancer shared the equine aversion to snakes. "How is the proud-" "Not half so proud as you, you arrogant son of a human," Echelli answered placidly, and watched in satisfaction as Sodiest's face twisted a little more. Since the Sublimation, the name of that wretched kind had become the worst insult an Elwen could give. "I hope that Sotam is doing well?" Sodiest ignored the question, though Echelli could see he wanted badly to answer. He briefly formed a solid body out of the smoke, then let it fade up to his waist, so that he hovered like a genie. With a brief flutter of wings, a raven flew out of a tree and settled on the spirit's shoulder, exactly as if it were solid. Echelli's eyes barely registered the bird's movement, but inwardly he wondered how long it took a raven to die. "We have much in common, you and I," said Sodiest softly, stroking the raven's head absently. His smoky fingers passed through the glossy blue-black feathers, but neither bird nor mage seemed to mind. "We are both dark souls, both with powerful magic and a sad tendency to be misunderstood. Of course, that last characteristic was fatally exaggerated in my case." Echelli felt himself stiffen, grow cold and almost sick with contempt. He pulled himself straighter on Dancer's back and noted a quick tightening in Sodiest's spiritual jaw muscle. Apparently the mage was more impressed than he would care to admit, Echelli thought with frigid amusement as he spoke. "We are nothing alike, Sodiest. I do not have your corrupted, unnatural craving for power, for one thing." "Ah, but you could," purred the spirit. "What of the entertainments I showed you when I held you captive? What of them?" His smile widened into a skull's rictus. "They proved you are more curalli than you thought." Echelli swallowed, trying to deny the longing surging through his body. What Sodiest had showed him had indeed pleased him, brought pleasure to a dark side of himself that had not awakened for many years. Ever since then, that dark side had grown harder to control. Maybe it would settle down if he nurtured it, after all... No! That was what Sodiest wanted him to think! Echelli jerked his head up, abruptly the cold, regal forester once more. "Never," he said simply. Nothing more was needed. Sodiest merely smiled, a twisted little thing, but an expression that did not disturb Echelli. "I could tell Keren your secret, you know," coaxed the spirit in a purring whisper. "He will believe me, for he will have no choice. Just as you had no choice about-" Echelli was springing from his position, a predator in flight, before Sodiest could finish. Surprised, the spirit jerked back, but Echelli did not aim for any part of that smoky flesh, knowing from previous attempts that he could not hurt it. Instead, his dirk struck the raven. The equally stunned bird was skewered almost before it realized what was happening. It squawked and fluttered pitifully, but for once Echelli had no sympathy for an animal. He toyed with it like a cat until it was dead, then flung at Sodiest's feet and met the mage's eyes with a slow, mocking smile. Sodiest's eyes, though, held humor through the rage. "I might have expected that," he noted laconically, barely peering at the raven's body. "Let's even the score a bit, shall we?" With an economy of motion almost frightening to watch, he gestured. Two smoky shapes condensed out of the trees, as if born of the morning sunlight, and Echelli felt his hair rise on the back of his neck. A sense of such wrongness flowed from the slowly undulating forms that he wanted to spit. Such creatures had no place within the brilliance of an autumn morning. Echelli felt compelled to destroy them, and only his warrior's instincts held him back to study the situation and determine the best strategy for that destruction. They were frosthounds, he noted absently, long, lean canines with glittering white coats and angular, almost serpentine heads. Though they flickered in and out of being- their true home was the spirit-void, and they came so rarely to Arcadia that most thought of them as legends- he had felt the bite of those stinging, cold teeth before, and he knew well the damage they could do. He knew also how to hurt them in return, and in a way they would not expect. In a simple, silent movement, he leaped into the branches of a nearby pine and ran away into the woodland. He heard Sodiest's incredulous, mocking laugh and the deadly baying of the frosthounds as they sprang after him. He glanced back as he clung to the boughs of a hylea, hoping they would not hurt Dancer, but the deathtrotter was already gone. Echelli breathed a sigh of relief. That relief turned to anger, strong and cold as the merciless dogs following him, when he saw an oak he had just passed withering, its leaves curling and turning brown, touched by frost. He felt his body tremble as if the hounds had touched him instead, and he vowed silently that they would pay for this. He waited until they were directly below him, then picked the smaller of the dogs and closed his eyes. Whatever damage Sodiest had done to his magic, he had to trust it now. A bolt of purest magic lanced from his hands, touching the autumn-dried grass. The dew had faded enough for the reaction Echelli wanted to take place. Licking orange flames sprang up, wreathing the frosthound in the deadliest form of weapon to a creature of cold. The dog yelped and attempted to spring backwards, but its movements were unnaturally slow and clumsy. Echelli, his eyes open again, watched with a derisive smile of victory as the silver-white body melted, leaving a small puddle that soon doused the fire. He lifted his hands again and turned to find the second pursuer. The bigger frosthound was not where Echelli's searching eyes had expected to encounter him. He lowered his hands and leaped from the tree, not questioning the fighter's instinct that had told him to do so. A frustrated snarl and the shaking of the branch he had just left made him laugh aloud in victory. Turning, he aimed his hands at the struggling canine. The dog had time to bark defiance before it vanished. The curalli nervously dropped his raised arms and looked around. His magic had not affected it; the frosthound was simply gone, as if someone holding a leash in the spirit-void had tugged it back. He stared nervously at a patch of shaking brush. His hands crept to his dirks. Something Elwen in form but moving like an angry whirlwind burst upon him. He knew it was not Sodiest; there was a warm, living scent about this stranger and the feel of a solid body against him, pushing him backwards. He recovered his balance with an easy flip and stood, eyes trying to rationalize what stood before him. It was a young curalli, less than half Chen's age, perhaps, though it could be hard to tell with full-blooded shadowed Elwens. He had hair the rich blue-green of a sea after a storm, but his eyes were as dark as Echelli's, as though in apology for giving him a mane so bright. He wore the light sable outfit of a hunter, but the clothes looked worn. He carried a pair of unusual swords; the top part of each was a gentle curve, the lower part abruptly straight but edged with spikes that appeared more decorative than useful. His lips curved in a cold, challenging smile. "It seems that you will have to do until my lord sets me to fight a more worthy opponent," he said, with a careless shrug. Echelli, his throat tight with the thought of any of his kind serving the dead mage, did not answer. Had he been given a choice, he would not have raised his blade against the youngster, but as it was he met the first powerful strike with a savage blow of his own. His dirks twisted, skipping across the plunging blades and denying them the cut to his midriff they would otherwise have made. For a moment they stood, hilts locked; then the younger curalli stepped backward, a look of such confused surprise on his face that Echelli himself blinked. "You are good," murmured Sodiest's servant after a lengthy pause, and moved a step forward. Echelli tensed, ready to attack again and fully expecting the stranger to strike, but the boy seemed interested only in examining him. His dark eyes lingered in particular on Echelli's dirks, and his lips compressed into a thin line. "So," he said at last, softly. Echelli peered suspiciously at him. Were it not for the absolute blankness in his eyes, the forester would have thought that tightness about the mouth caused by pain. The young fighter struck again, but again Echelli matched him, driving him back. The curalli was good, one of the best he had ever seen, but he was too young to have Echelli's wealth of experience behind him. Despite the pureblood's valiant desperation and almost inElwen speed, Echelli forced him to retreat, little by little. At last he pressed his opponent's back against a tree and set the tip of his left dirk against the youngster's throat. "Surrender," he whispered, his tone flat and emotionless. The victory gave him no pleasure whatsoever; all he could think of was the tragedy of this one's evil. Sodiest's servant closed his eyes momentarily and let his swords drop to the ground. "I never thought I'd see the day anyone would beat me," he murmured in subtle acknowledgement of his defeat. "But, of course, that's only to be expected. I know who you are and what you are capable of, after all. I have a good memory." Echelli began to tremble. "No," he whispered, stepping backwards, in his numbness forgetting to pin the other. "Please, no." The young curalli gazed at him in wonder, then smiled cruelly. It was an expression that seemed wrong for his face, and yet- too right. "It seems my lord was correct, then. You really didn't recognize me when you saw me, did you?" Echelli shook his head, throat tight, eyes tearing. The younger fighter shrugged casually and stooped to pick up his weapons, as though fully confident Echelli would not attack him. "Ah, well," he purred, letting his eyes linger more insolently than ever on Echelli's dirks. "It cannot be helped, es-" There came a sharp whistle from somewhere in the forest, and the young curalli looked up. "Stars," he noted casually. "I have to go." He turned to Echelli, his hands sheathing the weapons while his eyes remained locked on the stunned forester's face. "It's all your own fault, you know. If you hadn't-" The whistle came again, louder this time, and the boy shrugged and glided into the brush. Echelli knew that he would find no scent if he tried to follow. He stood and trembled for a long time. ---------------------------------------------------------- Echelli plodded home along the trail, avoiding the dangers of the forest with an almost automatic manner. All pleasure in the day about him, in the woodland, had been taken from him. He could think of nothing but Sodiest's servant. He could, perhaps, excuse himself for not recognizing the boy, but he could not excuse the weakness and pain still in him. He reached the clearing and murmured dazed reassurances to an anxious Dancer, accepted his apologies without really hearing them, and sat down in the grass, half-fearful he would fall unconscious from pure and simple shock. He clutched his temples and talked to himself, never able to remember afterward what he had been saying. A cool hand touched his shoulder with the force of a slap, breaking his fog apart, though not completely. He blinked up once into Corya's unamused face and swiftly turned his head away again as she sat down beside him, not responding when she took his hand and held it tightly, with the strength of fury. "You've got some explaining to do," she told him, voice unemotional except for the cold core of anger in its middle. Echelli wrenched his hand free, unable to think of doing anything else. The one thing he had to be thankful for was that no one else had seen that boy, he thought dimly, folding his arms over his head. Corya touched him again, but this time the touch was truly concerned. He knew why. He could react with anger or contrition- she would accept both, though she might scorn his fury- but he was not supposed to simply lie there, as if the world did not matter to him anymore. "Echelli?" Her voice was a whisper too tender for ordinary speech. "Echelli, what's wrong?" The curalli longed desperately to sit up and let her see his tears, but he did not know how. Always before he had been the comforter, not the comforted. What remained of his admittedly diminished pride forbade it. "Ah, Echelli." Corya was turning him gently over now. He shut his eyes to the brilliance of the sun, not squeezing them to stop the tears from leaking. He couldn't. The apathy that had come upon him made any movement a horrendous effort. Corya was gathering him close to her, he knew that, and let his head sag to her shoulder. He would have been grateful if emotions were possible for him in this state, but they were not. However, he was aware of the hesitant wonder with which she held him. Echelli let himself seem Elwen so seldom that she was not quite sure what to do about it. They sat there in silence, Corya supporting him while he wept tears born of a fear and hatred that he knew he would never explain. At last he drew back, touched a finger to his cheek to dispose of the last drop, and nodded coolly- all the thanks she would get. She knew it and did not mind, rhythmically stroking his hair in all the intimacy he would allow her. "I can count on my fingers the number of times I've seen you cry," she murmured at last, a kind of awe in her voice. For Echelli, however, her words broke the spell that had led him to accept her touch, and he drew back from under her hand. "I'm sorry I'm so late," he said, with no real trace of apology in his voice at all. "I stayed a little longer than I planned in Rowan and detoured to Keren's house on the way home. It was a good thing I did. Esain had been wounded, and they needed my skill to heal him." There was no boasting in his tone. "Then I came back here." He felt Dancer's presence behind him and tensed. All it would take was one word from the stallion, and Corya would know about the encounter with Sodiest. From there... But the deathtrotter said nothing. "I'm not angry," Corya murmured softly, startling him. He glanced at her warily, seeing nothing but the utmost sincerity in her brown eyes, and relaxed. "I think it was good for us to be apart a short while. We both needed time to calm our emotions- and," she added with some asperity, "to hope the other is more reasonable." The tension flowed back into Echelli, but what Dancer had said remained in his mind, and he tried to speak calmly. "Corya." Even speaking her name was an effort. "You are the one who always says that love cannot be forced. It's only in these last ten years that I've been sure of what I feel for you. I don't think that waiting a little longer, out of caution, will make much difference." "You've denied me the truth for a decade," Corya said, her voice sharp but still soft. "I know very well that you love and need me, Echelli Durillo. Perhaps ten years is only a thousandth of an Elwen's life- and less of mine, since death Elwens live eighteen thousand years instead of ten-" Relief washed over Echelli, almost making him laugh aloud. "There, you see?" he murmured, shoulders going limp with the sudden, second release of tension. "I'll die long before you will, Corya. You don't want a-" He paused, searching for the least implicating word. "-friend who will do that." Corya cocked an eyebrow. "Perhaps, but why let it throw a shadow on me? And if you believe that so fervently, Echelli, why do you deny me the happiness I want? A friend would give it." Once again, her words made the forester feel helpless, brought home the essential insanity of his own position. As Dancer had said, all she asked for were words. But then the answer came, clear as the ringing of a bell, for the first time. Neither of them realized how much those words would mean to him, how far past symbolism they were to him. They would bind him, and Echelli had spent so much of his life keeping promises that he knew he would enter this binding with all his heart and soul. That was what frightened him. He didn't realize until he heard Corya gasp that he had said all this aloud. Frightened, he gazed at her, his terror so great that it paralyzed him, held him helpless as she placed a hand on his shoulder, her face suffused with compassion. "Oh, Echelli, if I'd realized," she murmured tenderly, "I could have done so much to help you. Why didn't you tell me?" Here her voice soared into the slightly accusatory levels again. "You think it is easy for me to confess?" The words tore from him, left him paralyzed once more. Corya's features seemed almost to melt with softness, with understanding that frightened him all the more. She hugged him close. "Of course not. I should have realized," she repeated. "If only..." "Excuse me." Both Elwens jerked involuntarily at the sound of the voice, and Echelli whirled, cursing himself. He had smelled nothing of the approaching intruder, and he fought the fear rising in him unsuccessfully. If that boy had trailed him... But no, the figure who stood at the edge of the clearing wore a sky-blue cloak, its cowl pulled low over his face, and stepped back at the swearing that burst from the curalli, seeming irritated and astonished. Good, Echelli noted with relief, it's not him. "Who are you?" he asked then, still more harshly than he intended, not wanting to admit his own startlement. "What do you want?" Though he could not see the stranger's face, Echelli's impression was of a quirked eyebrow- and, indeed, the rich, musical voice held puzzlement in its notes. "Why be so discourteous to a guest? If you knew what reputation you were staining-" "I don't care about any reputation," Echelli interrupted impatiently. "If you will just tell me your business-" He did not complete the sentence with the words "so you can leave," but they hung there. The stranger sniffed. To Echelli's complete amazement, there was no emotion in his voice beyond patrician distaste. "It is business that I think is important to you, that I think will help you- and besides, you owe me a debt anyway," said the stranger, striding forward. He had still not lifted his cowl. The flowing grace of his gait, even beyond the musical voice, showed his Elwenity. Echelli raised an eyebrow in turn. He had seen dancers and people whose gait was made of constrained grace, completely unnatural, but the stalking pace was natural, unconscious- and quite the most beautiful walk he had ever seen. He was sure he would have remembered this Elwen if he had met him. "What does he mean about you owing him a debt?" Corya asked from the side of her mouth, her voice not pleased. Echelli felt his heart sink, hearing the suspicion in her voice, but managed to answer indifferently. "I have no idea. I've never seen him before in my life." That at least was true. Echelli continued to study the Elwen as he stopped in front of them and made a sweeping bow, but he could recall nothing. Indeed, the only glimpse granted him was a quick flash of golden eyes from beneath the cowl, eyes that swiftly lowered in respect. He rose and folded his arms, and this time the easiness of the motion was definitely studied. Echelli frowned, disliking that innocently insolent manner. Here was an Elwen who could get away with any sort of mockery, for his polished facade left people uncertain that it truly was mockery. "Who are you, and why should you be important to me?" asked Echelli with a trifle more impatience. The stranger smiled slowly, ice-blue teeth gleaming in the double golden blaze of sky and sunlight from above. "Though my name will mean nothing to you, I am Xemi Afterimage." While Echelli was still working the name in his mouth, trying to decide why it had such a strange tang of importance, Xemi added casually, "I was a friend of your grandfather's." There it was, without drama. Echelli stared at Xemi in silence. Those yellow eyes were briefly visible again, mocking; then a hand, gloved so that Echelli could not even see the color of his skin, rose and pulled the cowl forward a little more. The Elwen stood in that deep quiet, humming to himself and softly snapping his fingers in time to the tune. It was Corya who stirred herself first. "Why should that make you important to Echelli?" she asked in challenge. Echelli heard the growing distrust in her voice and had to force himself not to reach out and take her by the arm. She might have a dislike of his family members, stemming from Julian, but he did not want, suddenly, to antagonize this strange Elwen- and it had nothing to do with the connection to his grandfather. "A wise decision, Echelli Durillo," purred Xemi, and Echelli realized the unguarded thought must have been visible in his eyes. He resurrected his barriers and forced himself to make his gaze cold and unfriendly. "To repeat my friend's query: Why should that make you special to me? My father never mentioned you. That could mean any number of things- that you were a traitor, that you're lying, that-" "I'm not surprised that he didn't mention me," murmured Xemi, unperturbed. "He never liked me." The last words had no self-pity in them. "But then. he didn't mention your brother Julian either, did he? That was a great pity. If he had talked to you about Julian, things might have gone rather differently." Echelli began to shake. The conviction that hit him was pure, hard, simple: Xemi was not lying. He had not told even Keren about his disappointment in his brother. "How did you know?" he whispered, barely conscious of what he was saying or even of Corya's warning clutch on his arm. "I visited Julian," Xemi admitted freely. "Why- well, I shall wait to tell you why. But I learned of him what had passed between you. He trusted me, thinking me as evil as he was." "And you're not?" Corya's second question was also a challenge, and not even a brief, amused glance from Xemi's luminous eyes calmed her belligerent expression. "That depends entirely on your opinion," Xemi replied easily, and bent to whisper to Echelli, as though forgetting Corya's existence. "It was I who jerked the frosthound back when he would have sprung on you, Echelli Durillo. They are powerful creatures and clever; you might not have survived if I hadn't saved you. I am prepared, not to collect my debt, but to offer you something you want very much." Echelli kept his tone restrained, though inwardly he wondered what kind of mage could be powerful enough to pull a summoned frosthound back to its home. "We've just met. How could you possibly offer me anything I want?" "Nevertheless, I can," muttered Xemi, abruptly dropping to a sitting position before the curalli. Had Echelli not heard the mocking tone in his voice, he would have thought that those brilliant yellow eyes begged something of him. Certainly they looked pitiful enough as he whispered, "The chance to get rid of Sodiest." Echelli felt something settle in his heart, saw a smug smile of satisfaction and understanding on Xemi's just- visible lips, but the smile did not annoy him. "For that I would give very much," he answered softly and steadily, never removing his eyes from those yellow ones which dodged in and out of view. "I do not know how much, but the amount would be enormous." "I do not ask money, merely your time." Xemi rose to his feet, all trace of a pathetic and intense attitude gone. He gave a slow, scornful glance around at the forest. "Is it truly necessary to talk here? Can we not go inside?" Echelli did not look in the direction of the bristling Corya, but bowed and gestured toward the house. "Certainly," he murmured, watching narrowly as Xemi strode ahead. He did not completely trust this strange Elwen who seemed to know too much about him, but what he had said was true; destroying Sodiest was high on his list of priorities. Xemi wrinkled his nose fastidiously as they entered the house; Echelli saw that his cowl had slipped back, though he hastily drew it up again before it could reveal the color of his skin. "Anxious not to be seen?" asked the curalli, tone derisive for no reason he could name. He felt compelled to ruffle Xemi, perhaps because his incredible offer was too good to be true. "I have traveled through many lands not friendly to my kind," was Xemi's only answer. He sank down into a hard, austere silver chair, one of the few original pieces of furniture left in the cottage. Corya's softening touch had had twenty-five years to work on this place, and the death Elwen had a weakness for luxury. The stranger did not seem to find that amusing as he glanced around. "Nice place you got here," he noted, sarcasm in his silken tones. Corya planted herself in front of the stranger, taut with frustration. She did not place her hands on her hips or raise her voice; Corya never raised her voice except when pushed beyond the boundaries of reasonable anger. The cool contempt and almost-pity in her voice was not fury; indeed, it ridiculed the stranger's attempt to rile her. "I do not care about your opinions, Afterimage. My friend goes nowhere without my permission." Echelli gulped back the protest in his throat; it was true, after all. Xemi peered around the defiant churni at Echelli. "My, my. You're worse off than I thought. Letting a woman run your life for you? Tsk, tsk." Echelli stared at him, flabbergasted. There had been a note of true contempt in Xemi's voice. Never before had he seen a male Elwen consider a woman as inferior. That was an attitude for humans to take, not Elwens. None of his species even had the faintest notion of superiority toward members of the other gender. It was an unwritten law of Elwenkind; things had simply not ever been that way. And, inexplicably, here was a stranger who had insulted Corya just because she was a woman. "I beg your pardon," Echelli said coldly. "The door is on your left. I don't care about destroying Sodiest at the price of my friend's pride." He felt Corya's hand brush his arm and was afraid to turn, lest he saw anger on her face, but his own friendship- his own love- had demanded the words. "Loyalty." Xemi spoke the word with an emotion Echelli had no name for. "Trust. Fine things, are they not?" Then his voice softened, lost the cutting edge of a bitterness so deep that Echelli had never heard its equal. "Forgive me, young master Durillo. I had no right to say that. I forgot that my hatred of women does not extend to the whole gender, just to-" Abruptly he cut himself off. "Let's talk business, shall we?" For some strange reason, Echelli knew then that Xemi had been hurt and hurt deeply in some way he could not define, though not by his words. A carrier of hidden pains himself, he responded with instinctive sympathy, though he did not apologize. "If you wish. How can I get rid of Sodiest?" He sat down on the bed, while Corya took a seat in a cushioned chair, brown eyes still smoldering with resentment. "I do not know the actual name for the process, but I do know that it will have to involve magic," replied Xemi, leaning forward and extending his hands as though to a fire- or as though begging a favor. "Sodiest is a mage- lord, that I realize, but even the greatest of magic- wielders can not master a magic that is totally different from his own." He laid a greater emphasis on the masculine pronoun than he needed too, and the mocking glance he threw Corya's way was so tangible that Echelli did not have to see his face to know what he was expressing. He ignored it- for now. "Sodiest is Elwen," he pointed out, "and, even more in his favor, he has passed beyond death. He cannot be hurt in any ordinary way, by any ordinary magic." "That is why," Xemi responded with a touch of impatience, "you need the person I know of. He deals with spirits, and-" "A necromancer, then?" Corya spoke for the first time since sitting down. Her brown eyes glittered hard and cold as marble in the light of her aura. "A creature spawned of an even fouler evil than yourself? I do not think so." She glanced at Echelli, and he felt her expectancy. She was waiting for him to deny it as well, to reject Xemi's offer and show him the door. The expression of amazement on her face was priceless when Echelli ignored her silent invitation and turned away. "Explain," he stated briefly to Xemi, and saw the other's now seeable lips curve in a smile of relieved victory. The strange Elwen leaned forward again, seeming more eager than ever to convince the forester, his voice like honey. Echelli listened with arms folded and head tilted. "I cannot tell you exactly what he is, for I promised not to," hissed Xemi, his manner definitely theatrical now. "You see, his kind is threatened. But I can promise you this: you'll never find a better magic-worker. I have lived eight thousand years and more, and he surpasses all I have ever seen as a sorcerer. Better, his magic is so utterly foreign that Sodiest will have no idea how to counteract it." A purling chuckle broke from Xemi. "I look forward to seeing that arrogant spirit confused." "Will it require us to travel anywhere?" asked Corya, lounging in her chair with the liquid, boneless grace of a cat. Echelli knew that pose was false. Corya never relaxed so around people she hated, and Xemi had certainly earned her dislike. However, he forgot his worry when the Elwen answered. "The Frigid Waste." Echelli's head snapped around, and a sweet elation, glorious as an anthem, filled him. He felt the curalli part of him responding to the name of that ancient homeland of his people, a reaction, a longing like nothing he had ever experienced. Xemi laughed softly, but not even that could break the spell. "Ah, it has snared you, hasn't it, Echelli? The same for me. When I first heard that name..." Echelli turned to Corya, ignoring the rest of Xemi's speech. He knew his eyes were full of pleading- knew it, and for the first time in his life, he did not care. "Please, Corya." His voice shook and his words tumbled over themselves. "Please, Corya, I've got to go." The death Elwen glanced at him and shrugged with a sigh of defeat, but there was nothing beaten about the cold gaze she turned on Xemi. "On one condition." The strange Elwen nodded, and her voice became a command. "Remove your cowl." This time there was no hesitation as the hand went up and flipped back the cowl, revealing a high, angular face, its cheekbones almost as finely planed as an elf's, its feathery eyebrows having the same rakish tilt. Yellow eyes gazed at them from under a mass of glittering, frost- colored hair, sparkling against skin that was white with misty swirls of blue. Echelli drew back in his chair. A xanmara. A nightmare Elwen. Chapter 2 Unexpected Opposition For a long moment, everyone in the house remained silent. Then Xemi leaned forward, all trace of mockery gone from those perfect, glowing eyes. "Will you still come with me?" It was not so much a question as a simple, dignified plea. Corya was the first to recover. "Most certainly not!" she snapped, rising to her feet in a swirl of night-blue curls. "Do you honestly have so much self-confidence that you dare to walk in here, reveal yourself, and then presume we will go with you? I have never heard of such arrogance in my life! I-" Slowly, her voice faded under the effect of a stare more contemptuous and scathing than any words Xemi could have uttered. The two matched wills through their eyes for several long moments, but it was Corya who sank back down first and turned her head away. Xemi gave her a smile- a small, swift, cruel one- and turned to Echelli again. "Will you?" he asked a second time, his voice cool and indifferent once more. Echelli shot him a sharp glance and decided he must have been mistaken about the strength in those sulfurous yellow eyes. Xemi appeared shallow and self-centered once more. "Why would you want to come?" he asked, disliking the necessity of speaking so but feeling compelled to. Xemi smiled wistfully. "I made a promise to Gershoon long ago- a promise that I would always protect his descendants from danger," the xanmara murmured. Abruptly the dreamy, soft look in his eyes slipped away as they clouded with distaste once more. "I offered my aid to Julian, but he did not need it. You, however, do." Echelli privately thanked the stars that his brother had refused the nightmare Elwen, thinking of the havoc two powerful magics together could have caused. "I have one question. Will the process of destroying Sodiest destroy the workings of his magic along with him?" "I would suppose so," Xemi admitted freely. His face assumed a curious look. "Why?" Echelli ignored the question, though there was still something indefinable about this that disturbed him. After a moment, he realized what it was. "You have no need to come with us," he murmured, the words for Xemi's ears alone. "You could simply tell us where to find the sorcerer, and we could leave. You want to come with us for something more than a promise. What is it?" For a moment he thought Xemi was going to answer him, but then the golden eyes dropped and the xanmara said smoothly, "Something of my own that I must do. Perhaps I will tell you when I feel you are able to handle it." But Echelli heard the mockery and the lie in his last words, and knew he would tell them no such thing. There was no point in arguing, however; the lure of the Frigid Waste was simply too strong. He held out his hand, but the xanmara did not clasp it. Instead, he touched his fingers lightly to the back of the curalli's wrist, and an electric blue spark, somewhat brighter than the azure swirls on his skin, leaped up. The whole of Echelli's arm tingled. He snatched it back, staring at Xemi suspiciously. The xanmara met Echelli's gaze with a serene look that gave him no confidence. "Yes, Echelli Durillo, suspect me if you like. Not that it will do you any good." ---------------------------------------------------------- It took several hours of whispered discussion to make Corya sulkily accept the fact that Xemi would come with them. That was the easy part. It was much harder to convince Xemi. "She's only a woman!" he insisted violently when Echelli tried to reason with him. "She'll slow us down; she doesn't approve of me anyway. I don't care if she is your friend, Echelli. My business requires only you." Grimly, Echelli reminded himself that he could not lose his temper, or it would probably result in the temperamental nightmare Elwen becoming insulted. Instead, he answered as gently as he could. "That's right, she is my friend. And I don't do things without consulting her. I won't leave her behind. Will you please accept that?" Xemi was silent for a long moment, and Echelli waited without sound as well, half-fearful that the xanmara would start the endless circuit of protests again. And then, glancing at the churni, who watched only Echelli and proudly avoided that yellow gaze, something seemed to drain out of the nightmare Elwen. He lifted his hands in the time-honored gesture of surrender. His voice was heavy. "Who am I to protest? I know love when I see it." Abruptly he rose, sky-blue cloak flaring around him. "I think I'll wait outside. I need to call my mount anyway." Before Echelli, curious, could acquire about his transportation, the nightmare Elwen had stepped from the cottage and gently closed the door. Echelli sighed and turned. To face Corya. The death Elwen looked lovely even in anger, the sharp lines of her face made even more elegant, the ebony pools placed in her cheeks whirling so fast that they shed a magnetic rainbow of colors. He let his eyes drift shut, knowing he wouldn't be able to argue effectively if he had to do so confronted by that beauty. She tilted his head up by placing two fingers under his chin. "Echelli." Her voice was coaxing, soft and hard at once, suggesting she would forgive him for arousing her anger if he did as she wanted. "Xemi mentioned that he had saved you from a frosthound. When did this happen?" Quietly cursing the nightmare Elwen, Echelli answered- reluctantly, but having no choice. "While I was on my way back from Keren's, I was attacked by Sodiest. It was he who wounded Esain," he explained, not certain why he felt he needed to. "I fought the two frosthounds he sent after me, but one of them vanished before I could melt it. I didn't know what had happened then. Now I do." Silence. Then, "Why didn't you tell me?" asked Corya, in the lazy purr she always used just before an explosion. Echelli opened his eyes to meet her gaze again, suddenly not caring if she were angry at him or not. He felt a mixture of weariness and fury. "You won't believe me if I tell you the real reason, and you'll only get angrier if I tell you that I didn't want to bother you. What else is there to tell you?" Corya nodded silently, as though in answer to a question he hadn't realized he'd asked. "Xemi did say one sensible thing, Echelli. He knows love when he sees it. Don't you?" "What has that got to do with anything?" Strangely, he saw that his casual words were more of a pain to her than his insults had been. Corya's hand went to her mouth, and for a moment the lively fire of her brown eyes dulled with anguish. Before he could say anything to make up for the unexpected blow he had dealt, she turned and walked to the door. She laid one hand on the knob and stood with shoulders tense, seemingly ready to glance back at him any moment. But she did not; nor did she speak. Instead she twisted the handle and went out, shutting the door gently behind her. Echelli thought he would have preferred her to slam it. He closed his eyes and dropped limply into a chair. Or tried to. Somehow he missed and sat on the floor instead. He sagged against the piece of furniture, too tired to care. It was several minutes before he stood up and made himself walk outside. The sky overhead sparkled that special gold that only comes in the late days of autumn, and the air was perfumed with birdsong and late flowers. Echelli carefully turned his head away from Corya, who was braiding dry grass into Chance's mane with a mechanical motion, and glided toward Xemi. He took only a few paces before he stopped, thunderstruck. A gasp of awe welled slowly out of his throat. Xemi turned to grin at him impudently. "Beautiful, isn't he?" One hand lay affectionately on his mount's mane for a moment, then withdrew. "I do say he's one of the handsomest equines yet foaled." The steed whinnied impatiently, and Xemi blushed as though he had been scolded by his mother. "Of course, sorry," he muttered and gestured to Echelli. "Echelli, this is my nightrider, Ranger." Beautiful wasn't the word for him, Echelli thought as he stared at Ranger in silence. While not as deadly- looking as Dancer or Fate, the xanmara's horse was absolutely indescribable in terms of physical looks. His coat gleamed a healthy white, dotted with blue swirls halfway between the color of his master's hair and that of Takon's moonlight. His legs were clean and straight, his body the slimmest Echelli had ever seen in an equine. He looked like a piece of music enfleshed, and he moved as if completing every unfinished melody in the world. His mane and tail gleamed the rich blue of sapphires; his huge dark eyes sparkled with lively, vicious intelligence. Echelli had never seen such perfection before and never expected to see it again. He was scarcely aware of the deep, musical voice that snapped, "Don't stare. It's not polite." It seemed natural to him that Ranger should speak aloud, though no other intelligent equine he had met did. He dipped his head and replied courteously, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to gawk." Ranger accepted his apology with the regal nod of a king's steed and then knelt, slipping one leg beneath him. Echelli noted that he wore no saddle, but Xemi did not seem to find sitting upon that soft, slim back uncomfortable. He stroked the blue mane and again grinned at Echelli. "Are you almost ready to leave?" Echelli turned to whistle Dancer to him and found the deathtrotter stallion already there. The black equine did not move when he mounted but stood staring at Ranger with narrowed eyes. For a long moment, a tense, waiting silence hung between them; then the blue-white stallion dipped his head a second time, now in respect and obvious curiosity. Echelli sensed that some kind of understanding had been reached, for Dancer paid the nightrider no more attention as he trotted away. Echelli noted that Corya had mounted Chance and stood with head politely turned away from him, a gesture which told him she had no more desire to continue the argument than he did. He sighed, but carefully, not wanting either of his traveling companions to know his unhappiness. "I should stop by Keren's home first and let him know I'm going," he murmured softly. He did not mention his real reason: he needed to check on Esain. "Go, if you wish," said Xemi gallantly. "It's been a while since Ranger's run in a woodland. I'll take him there to get him used to it again while you're gone." The nightrider snorted his amusement but said nothing. "I'll stay here," announced Corya quietly, slipping from Chance's back. Echelli tried not to look at her as he urged Dancer south, down the familiar trail, but he could feel her eyes upon him, almost boring holes in his back. He wondered if he wouldn't prefer that kind of wounding to this tight, accusing silence. Dancer let him have it as soon as his flowing deathtrotter canter had left the clearing seven miles behind and so out of earshot. -Echelli, she loves you and you treat her horribly. You have no right to do that. When will you realize that simple truth- A high note of desperation tinged his "mental" voice. -I lived in the ka'cheeri of the churni for most of my life, and it's not often that a death Elwen gives her or his heart to someone. The majority of their marriages are for convenience alone, to unite powerful klainae. Do you realize what a precious gift Corya has given you- "Yes," murmured Echelli, unhappy at being pushed into a defensive role. "I know what she sacrificed for me, betraying her homeland and her people. But I don't think that gives her the right to hurry things. We've waited ten years. We can wait a little longer." For a moment there was silence, save for the unimaginably swift beat of deathtrotter hooves across earth. Then Dancer spoke again, in a tortured tone. -I suppose I shouldn't tell you this, but you would have eventually found out anyway, just as Corya found out about Sodiest's attack. It's more than mere dislike and fear of Xemi that made Corya resist the suggestion of going on a journey. She was determined to stay home with you this winter and convince you to marry her- Echelli lapsed into stunned silence, his surprise too great for words. Dancer continued on for a few moments, but finally slowed to a walk and then stopped altogether, with a few heavier beats of his hooves. He turned his head to regard his master, asking in a questioning tone -Echelli- The curalli waved away his mount's concern. "I'm fine, just bitter," he whispered. When Dancer stirred scoldingly under him, he met the deathtrotter's eyes challengingly. His voice began to tremble despite his supreme effort to control it. "Well, what did you expect me to say? I thought Corya respected me enough not to do this." His body was shaking now as well, mimicking his voice. "To force me- that's not love, that's-" Words failed him, but he did not feel like weeping and blinked back the few tears that came. He had cried too much lately, much more than was forgivable. He sat straight and stiff on Dancer's back a moment, staring blank-faced at nothing, than nodded sharply and patted his steed's neck as a signal to go on. Dancer did not move. -You've confessed your fear to us, Echelli. That helped some. But not until you confess your love as well is Corya going to be happy- Echelli bit his lip to keep himself from uttering a hurtful lie that he would regret later. He cared about Corya's happiness; there was no way he could say he didn't and be sincere. "Let's get moving," he said instead, and gave the white mane a little jerk. The stallion launched into motion, but not without having the last word. -Someday you'll thank me, Echelli Durillo- he remarked, and then refused to respond for the rest of the ride, no matter how much Echelli railed at him. ---------------------------------------------------------- They galloped into the field that held Keren's home for the second time in two days, and again Echelli jumped off Dancer with a pat of gratitude. This time, however, it was not as sincerely felt. Dancer seemed to know this, but said nothing about it- which only made Echelli all the more uncomfortable. To cover that discomfort, he strode purposefully toward the house. If Esain had remained outside, he wouldn't have to wait until he was invited in. Behind him he heard the sound of Dancer's teeth going to work on the grass. Keren must have seen him, for he met him halfway across the field. His face looked much more relaxed and cheerful; his black-gold eyes again sparkled with a strong, pure love of life. "Echelli!" he greeted the curalli enthusiastically before Echelli could say a word, flinging an arm about the fighter's shoulders. "We didn't expect you back again so soon." Echelli answered casually. "Well, I thought I would come see how Esain was doing before I left." Keren made a face. "You're traveling again? So soon? And here we thought you were going to settle down in that nice cottage you built. Ah, well." He gave a gusty sigh in tribute to those parts of the world he could not understand, meanwhile guiding Echelli steadily toward the back of the house. "Any particular place you're going?" "The Frigid Waste," Echelli said, again feeling that strong, sweet elation fill him. He did not notice that Keren had stopped and was staring at him, but went on, speaking eagerly. "It's going to be wonderful, Keren. A nightmare Elwen showed up out of absolutely nowhere, claiming he knows a way to destroy Sodiest. I can do it if Corya and I accompany him to the Frigid Waste." He knew that his cheeks were flushed and berated himself for this un-curallilike show of emotion, but he couldn't help it. "And you're going with him?" Echelli would have taken no notice of Keren's voice if not for the quiet way in which he spoke. There was some emotion hovering behind his words that had no right to be there- anger. The forester stared in disbelief as Keren continued, unable to understand why the land Elwen appeared furious. "You're actually going with him to that evil-blighted place to destroy a monster? Fighting darkness with darkness?" "Be careful, my friend," Echelli advised in a low, sarcastic purr, the only defense he could think to erect in his bewilderment. "If I didn't know better, I might think you didn't want me to leave." Despite his teasing, sardonic tone, there was more than a hint of a question behind his words. Keren closed his eyes and gave his head a brisk, violent shake. When he opened those eyes again, they looked haunted, but Echelli had the uncomfortable feeling that it was he who had inspired that dread and not Sodiest. "You mean well, but you don't understand, Echelli," Keren whispered. "Please realize that I'm not criticizing your intentions. You have as much reason to destroy Sodiest as I do, but it is a nightmare that I must end on my own. The fault that he is attempting to destroy me and my family is my own; the solution must be as well." "What you're trying to tell me," said Echelli with cold precision, still unable to believe he was hearing this, "is that is that you want to kill Sodiest by yourself?" "You do have the most remarkable way of phrasing things, Echelli." Keren laughed pleasantly, but there was delicate menace behind the tone and unhealthy malice in his eyes. He dropped the cheer a moment later and spoke with a viciousness Echelli had never heard before. "Yes, that is exactly what I mean. I've come up with a way to do it, too, if you will stay and help me. But it requires magic, and mine will not be strong enough- at first. If you will spiritgive for me-" "No." Keren stood staring at the forester as if he could not believe the reality of that one, simple word. Echelli tried to explain as gently as he could, even though he knew already that it would not work. To give a full explanation would require the telling of a secret he would never give up for anything. "Keren, I am your friend, that much is true. But I have as much right to Sodiest's destruction as you do, and Xemi- the xanmara- knows a way to do it. If nothing else, I must give him the prerogative of discharging a debt of honor. He made a promise to my grandfather to protect me." He didn't add another reason; what he had seen in Xemi's eyes had convinced him the nightmare Elwen needed this as badly as he did. "You're a fool." There was no condemnation in Keren's tone- or almost none. His voice assumed a faintly patronizing attitude. "Who would ever have thought you would desert your dearest friend for a creature spawned of foulest evil? Even I thought better of you than that, Echelli." The forester lost the struggle against his temper and his blacker curalli side. "You already had one chance to destroy him, and you failed. Why should I grant you another?" For a moment they stood facing each other, and Echelli, seeing the shock on Keren's face, smiled coldly. He knew what the land Elwen was thinking, for his thoughts were mirror images of Echelli's own. They had reached a point in their relationship- first twenty-five years ago, then now- where they no longer needed each other as much. Their differences had grown pronounced, their arguments more violent. And yet they had always managed to make it up. Echelli wondered if they would this time. And if he wished to. He saw Keren's lips shaping to form words, but whether to demand an apology or to say one of his own, the forester did not know. Quite suddenly he did not want to hear whatever Keren would say. He bowed coldly and turned toward Dancer, ignoring Keren's soft moan and wondering if he would turn back if the land Elwen called for him. No. He wouldn't. The question was answered, solved, final. He whistled what he had been able to catch of Xemi's earlier song as he mounted the deathtrotter and wheeled him toward the woodland. The steed snorted, took one step, and refused to move. Keren's hand was clinging to his mane. Dark eyes locked, transmitting gazes full of anger and pride. Echelli turned away first, but it was not an admission of defeat. No victory could be more complete. "May the black stars sing your praises and the darkness guide and guard you," he murmured, without looking at Keren. He kicked Dancer gently again, and this time the deathtrotter responded, charging forward with a speed and strength that forced Keren to spring aside. Still, Echelli felt the land Elwen's eyes watching them until the path bent, protecting them from Keren's sight. Only then did he close his eyes and let the pain he would never admit to anyone begin. ---------------------------------------------------------- By the time he arrived back at the clearing that held his "home," Echelli Durillo was perfectly composed, and no one could prove that he wasn't. He noticed almost immediately that Xemi wasn't back yet, though he could not say how he knew. Perhaps it was the scent of the xanmara's presence, not yet there. Or perhaps it was the eager way Corya ran to meet him, blue hair streaming behind her, dark face open and brown eyes utterly alive, something she never did around strangers. Echelli wondered what could have caused this exuberance as he embraced her; her mood when he had left had been no more cheerful than expectant resignation. -It's the fact that you're back, idiot- Dancer told him privately as he moved to graze. Echelli shot a dangerous look at the stallion, to which the deathtrotter paid no attention, doggedly cropping the grass instead. Then he had no more time to spare for glaring; he had to answer Corya's storm of questions without revealing too much of what had happened. Corya had built a solid friendship with Keren's family as well and would not like the thought of it disintegrating. Somehow, though, he found himself inclined to tell the truth, and before he knew it the whole story had gotten out. Corya listened with a serene, clear face, then smiled and asked simply, "You didn't think I'd be angry, did you?" Echelli stared at her, too stupefied to pull away instantly when she leaned toward him. "Yes," he stammered, but not even that could change the smile on her face.