13

It was one thing for Lerendar, probable heir to the realm, to leave the Central Keep with a royal companion. Quite another for the shady fellow who skulked along at their rear to track His Lordship's movements all through the bustling transit hall. A spy, at least, thought the guards; perhaps an assassin as well, sent to spark war.

At any rate, when Lerendar and Andorin stepped onto the 'Nobles Only' magical lift, a sudden quartet of uniformed guards pounced on Elmaris, preventing the trickster from joining his friends.

Elmaris did not attempt to dodge or battle them. Too many eyes and drawn weapons were present, with curse-all sense of humor. Lifting his nimble hands, gold coin doing its odd little dance in front of him, the rogue simply smiled, telling them,

"Easy, hall-patrol. I intend no harm to…"

Hadn't counted on Lerendar. His Lordship surged back off the glowing platform to stand by Elmaris.

"What," he snarled, "is this?!"

The highest ranked guard, a mere group leader, bowed low and saluted. So did her trio of raiders. (None of them over forty.)

"My Lord," she said, in a tight, worried voice, "Group Leader Ava, reporting. I saw this one following you, keeping always to shadow, and I feared…"

"He is my friend," snapped Lerendar, who… with Reston and Keldaran… ranked as Warleader, highest of all below Galadin. "My brother. You will not hinder or molest him in any way. He may go where he wishes and do whatever he chooses, on my authority."

By this time, Andorin, too, had stepped off the magical lift. Smiling, one hand lightly brushing the strings of his dulcimer, the raven-haired bard asked,

"There is some confusion, my friends?"

Then, taking in the group leader's tension… the near bowel-voiding fear of her raiders… he said,

"Such commendable vigilance for the safety and health of your lord and myself, Spear-captain." Glancing at Elmaris, he joked, "I would not have trusted this reprobate, either. However, he belongs with us."

On a sudden whim, the sea-elven prince drew a sword from one of his faerie pockets. A shining parade weapon, much more for show than for battle, it gleamed in the light of Starloft's high windows. Winking at Lerendar (who was still tense with fury) he turned to the trickster.

"You there, untrustworthy scoundrel and footpad!"

Elmaris bowed elaborately, clearly enjoying the attention.

"At your service, oh dampest, most highly soggy of wandering royals."

"Kneel, Scofflaw," ordered Andorin.

Elmaris quirked a dark eyebrow, but obeyed the prince. He dropped to one knee on the polished white floor of the transit hall. By this point, a small crowd of officials and guardsmen had begun to stack up. Not because they could not use the disk, but because they dared not go past, to their own freight-and-commoner lift, beyond it.

Playing to the crowd, always a showman, Andorin lifted his sword. Made a slicing motion with it, over the startled rogue.

"Thus, is slain Elmaris of Nowhere, whom no one is willing to claim… doubtless tossed out with the night-soil, soon after his birth. Now, riseth Lord Elmar, Warden of Fardeep, rider of sharks. Mark it as written and done, all who witness this act of ennoblement."

The trickster's angular jaw dropped.

"What?!" he blurted. Then, a bit pathetically, "Fardeep? I can't… I don't even know how to swim, Andorin."

"Prince Andorin to you, ink-not-dry-on-the-patents fresh lord," laughed the sea-elf. "Besides, Fardeep is no gift. I am well rid of the burden. Seriously. Rise, Elmar. Thou lookest a fool on thine knees, that way."

Elmaris wobbled upright again with a hand from Lerendar (whose good humor was now restored). The elf-lord turned to grin at the pretty young group leader.

"Any further questions?" he asked.

Ava shook her head, making her sleek, dark braid swing.

"No, My Lord. And… I apologize for insulting your friend, thus. I will resign my rank and…"

Lerendar cut her off with a brisk head shake.

"No, Group Leader. Your instincts were sound and your perception sharp. I overreacted, seeing only a friend where you spotted possible danger." He bowed, saying, "It is I who apologize."

Her commander, a harried Unit Second, came racing up, drawn by the crowd and commotion.

"My Lord," he gasped. "If this one…"

"Group Leader Ava deserves consideration for promotion, Unit Second," Lerendar told him. "I believe she would make a fine scout."

"I… I…" dithered her officer. Then, "Yes, Milord. I will see that your recommendation is passed up the chain of command."

Ava looked ready to faint. One of her tween-aged raiders already had. She could only stare, having fallen completely in love with Lerendar; silently vowing to win his attention, again.

Such a small act from one of the Great, costing him nothing, yet changing forever a humble young life. Meanwhile, Elmaris pulled Andorin into an alcove, telling him,

"For the satiric ballad I sense will come of all this… I was traded to a thief-lord in payment of debt, not tossed away in a bucket of night-soil."

Andorin cocked his head, already composing.

"I like that," he mused. "Gives you pathos and depth. Some scam gone wrong, was it? Parents trapped by a sleep spell, left to take all the blame while a fellow conspirator made off with the loot?"

Elmaris lowered his amber eyes. For once, not smiling at all.

"They… she, rather… I've no idea which "dad" plowed the field... Anyhow, slaves to the dream-dust, all of them. She paid off her debt the only way she knew how. With me."

Andorin reached across to place a hand on his friend's shoulder. What was there to say? He had come here to arrange the bloodline of two noble houses, crossing youths and maidens like horseflesh. Not all that different, really.

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…and descent into dream-dust had only one end.

It took a little more than a candle-mark's time to arrange for horses and ride out of Starloft. A unit of guards had been strongly suggested, but lord and prince both refused. The one they searched for would just melt away, if they came with a crowd, while Elmaris's stance on the local constabulary was firm. His opinions hadn't been shaken by sudden high rank.

Anyhow, on Lerendar's hunch, they headed eastward and north, until the vast citadel behind them was swallowed by distance and winter-bare trees. They soon left the cobbled road. Paused by a sparkling stream and dismounted to water and rest their horses. Also, to take a much-needed stretch. They were close, though; making enough gentle noise that anyone seeking would find them.

In the meantime, the elves kept themselves busy. Lerendar hunted, coming back with a brace of partridge. Elmaris built a small, smokeless fire, in the manner of those who prefer to keep hidden. Andorin sat himself down on a fallen log to work on his epic, thus far featuring Idolan wine and a kidnapped young prince raised up as a thief.

"Needs a love interest," he murmured, causing Elmaris to snort.

Then… all of them sensed it at once… someone was there, standing off in the skeletal trees, out of sight. They glanced at one another, but it was Lerendar who stood up from plucking his gamebirds. Cleaned himself up at the stream, then slipped away into that grey-and-brown forest, deliberately crunching dead leaves and small twigs underfoot. The chilly breeze brought him few traces but moss, pine and wildlife. Seemed that the Other was nervously staying downwind.

His sense of their missing companion was strong, but also the feeling of shyness and dread. Very much, something was wrong. Coming to a halt well away from their campsite, Lerendar said gently,

"Here you find only safety and friends. Your presence is very much missed, Quiet One."

There was some movement in shadow, just where a drooping willow trailed its bare branches. For an instant or two, Lerendar made out the slender shape of a ranger; cloaked and hooded in grey. Then, the figure retreated again.

Back at the fire, Andorin began lightly strumming his dulcimer, humming courage, welcome and strength. Only sometimes resorting to words, the bard wove trust and bond-beyond-life into music.

Another long moment passed. Then the ranger parted the willow's long branches, exposing its gnarled grey trunk. Stepped out into branch-filtered sunshine but wouldn't look up.

A name came to Lerendar, then. Brondon? Bron- something? He extended a hand, saying,

"Come to the fire, friend Bron. We are not us, without you."

The figure signed with one hand, using the other to pull down its hood.

'Come, yes. Stay, no.'

Lerendar inhaled sharply, all at once puzzled and hurt.

"We shall not detain you, if solitude is truly your wish… but at least tell us why."

The answering sign was more gesture than notion. A combination of grief and resignation that trailed off nonsensically. The ranger followed him back to the campsite, though. That was something.

There, Lerendar, Elmaris and Andorin got two surprises. First, that their friend was a female of the fey Winter Court. Some cast-off minion of Titania's, with grey skin, golden eyes and dark hair. Second, once she'd lowered her hood, that a smoldering wound was eating the flesh of her face and left shoulder, exposing the damaged bone of her cheek and jaw; baring her teeth and a badly acid-burnt collarbone. Worse, the wound bubbled and stank at its edges, still growing.

"Dragon venom," said Lerendar, who'd seen its like in the field, after a hunt gone terribly wrong.

"The wound that cannot be healed," added Prince Andorin. Elmaris said nothing at all. Just prepared a stiff drink out of the stuff in his faerie pockets, sensing the ranger's awful hunger and thirst.

Problem was, she could only drink by tilting her head very far to the right, a clumsy business that dribbled off more than got in. She was in wracking pain, as well. Ate only with difficulty. Talked not at all, except in hand signs and grunts.

Bron crouched on the ground, taking the drink that Elmaris prepared, and some soup that Lerendar made for her. Andorin sat in deep thought, meanwhile, strumming his dulcimer. The ranger's hands shook as she struggled to feed herself and sign at the same time.

"Left fey wild,' she stated, between messy gulps. 'Encountered black dragon. Got its death-wound. Me, too. Only longer to die.'

"No," said Lerendar, as he added wild garlic and herbs to the simmering broth. "There's a solution for this. There has to be. Lord Oberyn's brother… what's his name… survived a dragon wound. Copper, I think."

Andorin nodded, still caressing the strings of his wooden dulcimer.

"It was, and he did, thanks to the Strider's quick action and courage. Might be something in that. Let me think a bit."

They did so, each caring in his own way for the critically wounded ranger.

"Must've been one nether-pit of a fight," ventured Elmaris, applying his strongest potion. Didn't heal the wound, but slowed its progress a bit, causing those bubbling edges to quiet.

She could not smile at him. The muscles were burnt and nodding brought terrible pain. Signed, 'Yes,' though, adding, 'Very young dragon. Very fool me.'

Lerendar, too, hauled forth medicines, most of them Bea's.

"This one," he said, "is supposed to bring ease, and soothe nightmares. Bee calls it Sleep Soft."

Very carefully, with Bron tilting her head, tears slipping out of her golden eyes, Lerendar dripped potion onto her face and shoulder. Andorin stopped making music, then, saying,

"I have it, I think… but it will need all of us to handle what cannot be healed. Only shared, as Oberyn did with his brother's wound."

Bron surged clumsily upright, signing,

'No.' Pulled her hood back into place and made ready to misty-step off. 'No harm to you. Thanks for food, help. Leave now.'

Andorin was at her side in a flash, placing a slim, strong hand on her arm.

"Would you not do the same for any of us?" he demanded. "Have we not survived death together, already? What is a scar, shared out between brothers? Sibs, that is. Any of us can choose where to place their share of the mark. But yours, I fear, must remain on your shoulder or face."

"And you really do not want this sodden warlock hunting you down," added Elmaris. "He'll give you no peace, tagging along just to witness the end, then weave it into some tedious poem. Better off letting him tinker with magic, Bron. Sometimes, he knows what he's doing."

"Anyhow, this is my realm and here, I command," cut in Lerendar. "You've eaten my food, Bron. That makes you my guest. I have to assist you."

And there was no gain-saying guest right. Even Bron could see that. Her answering sign was a muddle of thanks and attempted refusal, but Lerendar wouldn't see or hear No.

Andorin got to work soon afterward, combining potions, music and bardic magic. Set aside his dulcimer to play a far mightier instrument, which he accessed through shifted time and great distance. Formed from the exposed ribs of some vast, ancient beast, strung with magical light, its power was a thing out of legend. Llyroc.

Manna rose up around them as the bard handed his potion around in a small silver cup. Fey lights appeared, swarming like bees at a honeybloom tree.

At Andorin's word, the others took hands in a circle. Even Bron, though she tried to pull free. His chanting opened a gate in the midst of their group. Through it, they saw a massive dark cliff looming high over thundering surf; heard keening wind and the shriek of white gulls. Felt stinging spindrift and tasted salt air.

The giant harp projected over a strip of pebbly shore, slapped at by waves and scissored by wind. Its strings had formed at Andorin's call, and they shone as he reached out to play. Its notes, his voice, along with the surge and crash of the ocean, wove themselves into a prayer of sorts.

"Father Ocean," he sang, "a blessing we crave.

Acid to douse, a companion to save.

Let shared damage close that which nothing can heal.

Let pain be divided, let death-wound be sealed.

So may it be through the bond that was wrought,

When four dwelt in one, and together we fought."

Andorin left off playing to join their circle, taking Lerendar's hand and Bron's. The terrible wound flared deeper, seeming to slash its way through the group. All of them felt its blighting poison and searing agony. No one cried out or let go. They'd fought to the end in that hut by the sea, and would not give in, now. Through pain and fire and hell, till the last note faded, they gripped tight and hung on.

When it was over, the portal faded like mist, taking with it that glimpse of some alien, long-ago sea. All of the group were left scarred; Lerendar, on his abdomen, just over the navel. Prince Andorin, at the top of his chest (where he could loosen his shirt to show off the mark). Elmaris… somewhere safely concealed.

As for Bron, a narrow white seam ran from the bridge of her nose to her jawline, but it no longer gaped open or burned at the edges. She was whole, once again. The ranger explored her healed face and shoulder with shaking hands. Then, she turned away from her friends, drawing her cloak up over her head. Had a good, private cry that no one disturbed

Once she emerged again, Idolan wine flowed like water, and faerie pockets were ransacked for anything tasty. It was a party, and everyone wanted to hear how "they'd" gotten "their" scar.

In a husky voice, eating three times as much as the males, Bron told her tale.

"It was like this," she began.