Some misspellings corrected, better words sought, details added for clarity. =)

2

As for Reston feen Tarandahl, back in that long ago, desperate time, the half-elf had left for home in burning haste. He'd taken his leave of the Desert Rangers and blazed away east, across wasteland, mountain and forest. Had traveled as fast as he could, thinking only to be there in time to see his mother as more than a mound of cold earth.

Sigismund's folk did not hold with the burning of bodies to release a trapped soul. They would immure her in darkness, forever; pinned beneath dirt and stone till the end of time.

So he made speed, feeling Ashlord's hand upon him the entire way. Scarcely halting for sleep, food or to rest his mount. Had avoided wood-elf territory on his way back through the forest, not wanting conversation or comfort. Not wanting others, at all.

Dodged sentries and ward stones as he crossed the border wall into Ilirian, his father's realm. Here, it was early spring, with small purple blossoms pushing their way through the lingering frost, as She-of-the-Flowers brought life. Newly arrived birds were just beginning to twitter and call in the branches above him. Higher still, the sky was overcast iron, torn between drizzle and snow.

Reston himself was half-grown and scruffy, with a reddish brown beard just starting to show. Had most of his father's height and quick, implacable temper. A bit of his mum's depth of heart. Her strength and her loyalty, too.

The way was direct, but not easy. There was only one town in Ilirian, other than Land's End up by the wild northern coast. No paved, warded roads, even had Reston's purpose been entirely licit or his presence at all welcome.

He did not use the overgrown trail between Lobum and Starshire. Too much risk of detection or hostile encounter, there. Neither side trusted the other, and goblin troops lurked in the forest, lying in wait for lone travelers.

But Reston had become more than they had teeth for, able to raise clouds of glassy, lung-shredding ash, conjure smothering fumes and hurl lightning. After one or two disastrous trials, the vermin made haste to avoid him. Having sworn himself to Ashlord, body and soul, Reston had no mercy at all. Accepted no pleas. Just drove himself onward, crossing the border and Galadin's wall some twenty-one days after he'd set his back to the desert.

Starshire was still a mere village. A cluster of homes, fields and pastures in the shadow of mighty Starloft. Its folk… mostly human, some half-elves… were just setting off for workbench or plow, when Reston rode up to the Shire Reeve's hall. There he paused and drew rein, for the structure boiled with magic, locked away from the rest of the village by a great and powerful ban. Not Galadin's doing. No mortal spell at all, but divine.

Sigismund hurried up to meet Reston, as the young half-elf slid from his saddle and onto the muddy ground. There was a hut erected nearby. Evidently, the reeve had been staying there, unable to force a way through the barrier but unwilling to leave.

"Reston! Thank all the known gods and forgotten ones!" the man babbled, rushing forward. He was shorter than Reston remembered him, with less blond and more frost in his hair, muscle now running to fat. Pitifully human, and openly weak with emotion.

"Your mother and brother are still inside," he said. "She is sick, and Kristoff is just a boy. Please, son, if there is anything…"

"I am not your son," Reston clarified, avoiding Sigismund's hand and his pleading gaze. "Nor is Kristoff any relation of mine. I am here to see Lana, my mother. Stand aside."

Something of his father's command authority… something of Ashlord's veiled might… must have impressed the reeve and the gathering crowd. They got out of his way as Reston approached the long wooden hall.

It shimmered and wavered in stasis-lock, twisted half an arc out of the plane by Ashlord. Reston went to the barrier, which enveloped Sigismund's hall like a globe, piercing ground, air and objects. In one case, half a dead goat.

"Ashlord… Silent One… I thank you," he whispered, lifting a hand to that bubble of force. "This is surely a small thing for you, no effort at all, but it means all the world to me. At your will and by your leave, my lord, please let me in. Let me see her again."

An opening spiraled into existence right before Reston, like a spider's web unweaving itself. The young half-elf stepped through, leaving chilly dank air and the smell of that closely packed crowd behind him. Sigismund tried to follow, but the door would not work for him.

Reston did not glance back to see how his mortal stepfather reacted. Just went into the longhouse through its flung-open doors.

All within was silent and still, with even a sparrow, flitting from roofbeam to window, frozen in place. A young serving maid sat by the central hearth on a low wooden stool, small Kristoff held on her lap. Reston turned away, feeling his stomach lurch at the sight of this unwanted, surely forced from his mother, young sibling.

"None of mine," he muttered, stalking past to where Sigismund's private chamber lay screened in the back.

There were a few other folk here and there. Mostly servants, frozen at their work. The fire glowed very dimly, but shed no heat. A large iron pot on the tripod above it gave forth no savory smells. Just a wisp of ice-sculpture steam, coiled like the head of a silvery fern.

Reston pushed his way through gummy air, passing between embroidered curtains that might have been made of stone, for all the give and sway they exhibited. Inside the Reeve's private chamber, his mother lay on her low bed; covered in blankets, a mug on the carved wooden clothes chest beside her.

Someone had tied up her beautiful, long auburn hair with a blue ribbon, to keep it away from her face. Reston drew up a three-legged stool and sat down.

Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.

All the time that she'd been with his father, Lana had aged scarcely at all, seeming always just out of first blossom. These last few years as the wife of a mortal had been hard on her, Reston saw; putting threads of silver in her dark hair and lines on her beautiful face.

Reaching out, he touched her hand, whispering,

"Mom, it's me. It's Reston. I have come back."

And, just like that, time started up again. People coughed and spoke. The fire crackled and surged as it ate up its piled sticks. A small bird completed its flight, cheeping and fluttering. The maid servant sang to young Kristoff, who fretted and whined for his mamma.

Reston hardly noticed, keeping his gaze on Lana. Hearing his voice, his mother fought to open her blue-grey eyes. Managed a smile, whispering,

"Hullo, baby-boy. How big… how handsome you've grown."

She tried to sit up, but he wouldn't let her. Bent low, instead, to kiss her forehead. Then Sigismund burst into the curtained chamber, Kristoff held in his arms.

"Lana!" the man called out, rushing forward.

Reston surged to his feet, causing the stool to tumble into the clothes chest, spilling mum's drink.

"Get out!" raged Reston, rounding on Sigismund, not caring at all that he'd frightened his tiny half-brother. "Can't you see what you've done? You're killing her!"

…because, away from Galadin's magic, time and illness could reach and corrupt her.

"Please," begged Sigismund, almost crying. "For the boy, let me talk to her. Let Kristoff see his mother!"

But Reston wasn't listening, as an unhappy youth hardened into a cold, bitter man. He stooped down, taking Lana, blankets and all, into his arms.

"I'm bringing her to Starloft," he announced, to those who had crowded into the Reeve's wooden hall, attracted by spectacle. "Get in my way, delay me at all, and I'll kill you."

By all the gods, he would force Galadin to do something. Make his father heal her.

Reston carried Lana halfway to the fortress, with most of the villagers trailing along on holiday in his wake, Sigismund at their head, cradling Kristoff. Then, with a sudden burst of pale light, Galadin appeared, stepping out of a conjured gateway to stand on the wagon path.

Very tall, his silver hair caught back in a golden circlet of rank, dressed as though fresh from the council hall, Galadin blocked his son's way; utterly calm, perfectly glacial, unreachably noble.

"Enough," he said, folding both arms across his ceremonial breastplate. "You will cease this unseemly display. Slow time," he added, causing everyone else but Reston, Lana, Sigismund and poor, whimpering Kristoff to grow still.

"Your mother does not wish to outlive her mortal lord or their child," said Galadin, adding, "She has lost three, already."

Reston forced himself to meet the elf-lord's gaze. Refusing to back down, he said,

"I have returned to her. She has me, again, and I will not leave her. I know that your healer can restore her to health… My Lord."

"Or, I can," said the Lady Alyanara, weaving herself out of breezes and light to appear on the path between Reston and Galadin. This time, the young half-elf did look away, ducking beauty that smote the heart and brought hopeless yearning.

"If you trust me to do so?" the sorceress asked Reston, reaching for Lana.

"Yes. Yes, please, My Lady," he whispered, hugging his mother, then holding her out just a bit.

Alyanara touched Lana's forehead with the fingers of one slim hand.

"Ah," she said, after a moment. "There is a growth. An eater, within her belly."

Warm light flared from the elf woman's hand, pouring itself into Lana, who twisted and writhed in Reston's grip. Kristoff was crying aloud, reaching for his mamma with both outstretched arms. Sigismund could barely restrain the boy, who did not understand what was happening.

"There," said Lady Alyanara. "It had spread through her body, but I have got it all. These things, once established in mortals, often attempt to return. I shall require the aid of our chief healer to block the dark eater's resurgence."

Looking away from Lana, who'd settled into exhausted sleep, Alyanara said,

"She is mortal. She will die over soon, by our measure… but it need not be now. Stay, child, for your presence brings joy that she badly needs."

His mother's limp form was lifted from Reston's arms by Alyanara's mere gesture. The young half-elf met the gaze of that mighty sorceress… his father's official wife… but saw in her crystal eyes only compassion and strength. None of the burning anger, the choking resentment that had so long tormented Reston. He bowed his head in assent, allowing Alyanara to vanish away with mother.

Galadin spoke up then, first clearing his throat, then saying,

"Walk with me, boy. I would speak with you."

Sigismund stirred, perhaps wishing to join them, but was stared into silence by Reston and High Lord Tarandahl, both. They turned and continued up the wagon path toward Starloft, leaving the shire reeve clutching his son; a light drizzle hiding any tears the unhappy mortal might have shed.

Reston wanted so badly to speak to Galadin. Call him father. Have everything somehow made right, again… but it wasn't to be. Instead of welcoming Reston back as a son, the elf-lord said,

"I find myself in need of a horse master and chief groom. The last one was trampled to death. Unfortunate. Perhaps… you would consider accepting the post. It comes with a large stipend, food and living arrangements in Starloft. As for Lana… she may please herself. Remain with the mortal, or join you up at the fortress."

Reston shifted his gaze from the chill, soggy landscape to study his father's stern profile. Galadin did not make eye-contact, resolutely keeping his grey eyes trained forward. He clearly expected a reply, however. It would have been churlish to turn and stomp off to the village in furious silence.

…and something was better than nothing at all. He could feel Volmar Ashlord pressing him to accept this scant bit of recognition, rather than hold out for a return to what had been lost; the two halves of the twin god seeking quick resolution.

Reston sighed and looked back out at the path before them. At Starloft, rising from drizzle and mist like a mountain.

"I thank you, Milord," he said. "I will stay, and accept the position. Whatever my mother wants, I shall honor, to the end of her days."

And so it was.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Somewhat later, Galadin Tarandahl sat on a porphyry bench, one of several scattered around the smaller of the two floating islands that circled Starloft. The Lesser Shepherd, it had been nicknamed, for the ceaseless circuit it made 'round the great fortress. The other, Great Shepherd, was farther out, with a wider, less regular orbit and a higher, magically augmented view.

Galadin often came here to think, making it easy for one who knew him… could use misty-step or the sigils of transport… to locate Ilirian's Silmerana.

Alyanara did so, now, seeming to form out of golden torchlight, itself, just behind and to the right of her wedded lord. Galadin exhaled deeply. Asked, without turning around,

"She will live?"

Alyanara inclined her blonde head.

"It appears so, although much with mortals depends upon mood and loving companionship." Then, changing the subject, "My Lord, you were wed to a child, fresh from her bonded service at the Temple of Dawn, free to whomever would claim her."

"A child half-goddess," Galadin muttered, looking slightly her way.

"That is the rumor," she admitted. "What matters is that I knew nothing of being a wife. Of making conversation on any subject but incense and offerings… and you could not teach me. You soon lost interest in trying."

Galadin shifted aside on the bench. Patting its surface with one hand, he invited Alyanara to join him.

"I was wrong," he said. "I apologize to you and to She-of-the-Flowers. My family and your goddess chose this union… but perhaps we can still make it work. I would… start again, Aly, if you've patience to make the attempt… and I thank you for saving Lana."

Alyanara sat down beside him. She said nothing at all, but took Galadin's hand. And maybe something else dying was saved that day.