Hunted (Book 3) (33 page)

“I thank you for your good opinion,” Gen replied, “but I think even you will have to admit that I became so drunken with my own pretensions and pride that I destroyed my opportunity to be of service to the Chalaine, and to you.”

“Yes, that I can blame you for, though I felt some gratification in seeing you start to realize your own power. Your application of that realization was tragically mistimed.”

“I am glad we can agree on that point. I suppose it is time for the gratitude,” Gen said, turning to look her in the eyes.

“There is no need,” she said in her best imitation of Gen’s voice, a playful spark springing to her eyes.

“But there must be some reward for saving the evil creature of prophecy. Honor demands that something be done.”

“You have already given me my honor, my daughter’s life, and someone to love. No more is needed or required. It is my pleasure to help you, however I can.”

They laughed quietly for a moment.

Gen brushed away a fallen blossom that had alighted on his pants. “So do you remember everything I have said?”

“Most of it,” she answered, stretching. “So are you going invite me to walk with you through the orchard? It seems that it would be the thing to do, or perhaps the
only
thing to do here.”

Mirelle took Gen’s arm and they walked in silence for over an hour, taking solace in one another’s presence. They meandered without purpose or direction through the long rows of trees, finally arriving at the mouth of the shard. The elves had constructed a low wall across its length, though it provided little aid against the surge of vertigo at the sight of the shards swirling below in the emptiness of space. The massive chunks of the world had nearly realigned, rotating now in a rough sphere, approaching the prophetic day of Unification.

“I hope my daughter is well,” Mirelle expressed sadly, eyes on the shards as if to divine the Chalaine’s location. “I wish I could be with her. Who knows what Athan and Chertanne will put her through. Now she doesn’t even have Mena to keep her company.”

“I think about that often,” Gen replied in kind. “If they truly believe the prophecy, then her swollen belly will act as a reminder to treat her with respect. Where she goes, there goes God.”

“I hope you are right, though she is no doubt as lonely as she has ever been.”

They left the opening and returned through the trees. Gen glanced up to the rock where he and Mirelle had lately spoken and found Gerand and Mena there with feet dangling over the edge. “Wait a minute, Mirelle,” Gen requested.

“What? Oh, I see. What are we waiting for?”

“To see how this turns out.” Gen briefly recounted his history with Mena and Gerand’s bitter rejection of the idea that Shadan Khairn had forced his daughter upon him as a wife. They sat inconspicuously underneath a flowering apple tree, pink blossoms littering the grass beneath them as they watched the couple talk with each other in the distance.

“I will never get all these blossoms out of my hair,” Mirelle complained quietly as she shook her blonde locks. “Are there any left?”

“A few.”

“Could you lend assistance to a lady?”

“Mirelle, please.”

“This is not some pathetic attempt to trick you into touching me. I am sorry if it seemed that way. Forget the request. I am perfectly aware of your feelings and don’t want to discomfort you.”

“It is I who am sorry, Mirelle. Hold still. This won’t take a moment.”

As Gen worked through her hair, he found it more difficult than he thought to remove the tiny particles and elusive petals. The sweet smell of the blossoms and the pleasure of the touch of her hair sickened him with guilt, and seeing her head bent back, eyes closed, face peaceful but sad, he stopped.

“I think that is most of it,” he lied. “Do the elven women have brushes for their hair?”

“How would I know? Are you well?” she asked.

“Just a little tired. I don’t think I have my full strength, yet.”

“What will you do if you can see the Chalaine again?”

“Beg her forgiveness,” he said. “I failed her badly. She has so many trials, and I. . .”

“No more stupid speeches of that sort, Gen. The Chalaine will want none of that blubbering. Will you tell her how you feel?”

Gen’s face contracted. “That she knows too well and would as soon forget, I think. It is no boon to her. From what I understand now, she and the Ha’Ulrich must come to some good feeling toward each other or we are all doomed, and I certainly stood in the way of that.”

“They will never love each other,” Mirelle stated, voice sure. “He is incapable of love, and he has wronged the Chalaine too deeply for her to forgive. To own the truth, Ethris and I had intended to supplant Chertanne with you once we learned you held the power of Trys. So you see, I hoped that you would love my daughter while desperately loving you myself. When I kissed you, I told myself it was to keep you from marrying Fenna so you would be free to wed my daughter.”

He was stunned. “And how were you to get rid of Chertanne?”

“Assassinate him. Don’t give me that look! You actually tried to do it; I had only planned to do so. Jaron ultimately had the satisfaction. One of Chertanne’s only redeeming virtues is that he is alive again, so hopefully someone else can have the pleasure. We were going to use the Assassin’s Glass to do it after we were sure the Chalaine was pregnant. Of course, we had no idea the Church had ways of returning the dead to life. Please don’t tell the Chalaine about our plan if we chance to see her again, if you would be so kind. Oh, look, he’s finally done it. It’s about time.”

Gen, mind spinning, turned toward the slab, finding Mena and Gerand kissing ardently. He smiled and turned to Mirelle, finding her gaze riveted on them as well, and while her lips turned up softly, her eyes were flint.

She sighed. “It is no good for the beggar to watch the feast, so if you aren’t planning on grabbing me and kissing me until I can’t see straight, I must bid you farewell. Those two could use a good example, you know.”

Gen could not think of a single reply, and Mirelle squeezed his arm and left, face disappointed. Gen exhaled and ran his fingers through his hair, a shower of blossom petals falling about him.

He turned away from Gerand and Mena, comprehending perfectly Mirelle’s comment about beggars and feasts. The sunshine attracted him, and he returned to the low wall in front of the opening in the shard, flipping his legs over the edge to dangle them into the void. The shards drifted in orderly patterns, covered in the white of winter. So small they seemed that he felt he could extend his hand and pluck one up and examine it closely. The Chalaine, pregnant and defenseless against Chertanne’s barbarity, walked somewhere below, and Gen could do nothing to help her.

The approach of Devlis, a jade staff in hand, distracted him from his thoughts. The ancient elf regarded him with curiosity, standing just to his side and gazing into the expanse below.

“You do not fear the fall?” he asked in Elvish.

“No.”

“Do you have such confidence in your own control, then?”

Gen chuckled. “In matters of physical balance and strength, yes. My temperament I cannot vouch for.”

Devlis leaned on his staff. “It is always so with your kind. There simply isn’t time in your short lives to develop the steadiness that would help you rule your natures, or if it is developed, then much of the power you could wield with your wisdom has faded with age and infirmity. So you are left vainly trying to convince the heady generations of the unheeding young to hearken to you and obey your counsel. And so the cycle has gone, century after century, and the entire race is unable to progress simply because they cannot live long enough to reap the benefits of the lessons they learn in life.”

Gen nodded. “And your people live so long they can no longer take pleasure in or feel sadness for anything because every experience is too familiar and every feeling a repeat of something felt a hundred times before.”

Devlis rubbed is chin in thought. “A fair assessment, perhaps, but your arrival has certainly stirred some sentiment within us. But I want to return to my initial comment, for I did not offer it to give you insult or make light of your race. You see, you are unique among your kind. You have the benefit of long wisdom, given you by the men and elf who inhabited your mind for a time after they released themselves from the stones. The Millim Eri did not foresee this.”

“If you know that much, then you have no doubt also seen how the additional endowment of wisdom has profited me little, for I leaned on my own instead.”

“In some things yes,” Devlis said, “but in others you acted with a wisdom and courage beyond your years. Your challenge of Chertanne is an example. If left to your own wisdom, I doubt you would have had the sense of moral courage or the disregard for titles and station it required to act when you saw indecency. It seems so natural to you that you acted as you did that you can scarce understand why it should seem remarkable. Take the chance to ask your woman about how she perceived those events, and you may start to understand.”

“My woman?”

“Mirelle.”

Gen turned away from his gaze. “She is not
my
woman.”

“She is. You simply aren’t her man. But to the point. I come to encourage you. You are wrapped up in a mission you see as noble, but which is, in fact, short sighted. You have shut away the wisdom in your head so you can wallow in your failures in an attempt to justify your own inaction.”

“My inaction?" Gen exclaimed, irritated at Devlis's assumptions. “I would like nothing more than to cross to the world below and act. The Chalaine needs my help, and I desperately wish to give it.”

“That isn’t the inaction I am referring to,” Devlis said, stepping closer. “Your idea of action is to present her a pile of the bodies of her enemies, whisk her away to some stronghold, and then guard her like a starved dog guards its last bone.”

“And you say that such an action isn’t necessary?”

“What I am saying is that your goal is only to spare her pain, but not to
help
her. Do you think the Chalaine sits and thinks all day of her own comfort and safety? That she wants nothing more than to be loved and happy? Certainly, these are desirable to her, but her teachers raised her to respect her duty and to strive to fulfill it. You understand this. I saw it in your mind. What I am suggesting is that you help the Chalaine by helping her purpose, by lending your wisdom to her duty, and not just by cutting up everything that threatens her.”

Gen thought for a moment. “But her only duty is to bear a child, and to bear a child requires nothing but her survival. Cutting up everything that threatens her seems to be a wise course in helping her.”

Devlis leaned heavily on his staff. “Let me explain this differently. Your problem is that you treat the Chalaine’s problems as if you were both standing alone in a room. If a monster comes in, you kill it and are done, not caring where it came from or the forces that set it in motion. From what I have gleaned from your mind and from your companions is that there are many forces—political, magical, and sinister—that strive to turn the Ki’Hal that men have fashioned into chaos. What I am suggesting is that you are possessed of unique gifts that can help the Chalaine by shaping and manipulating the forces that are sending the world to its destruction. Your woman has an excellent sense of this and can help find places you can be of use and apply what is already in your head.”

“Please don’t call Mirelle
my woman
. She would be very offended.”

“She most certainly would not,” Devlis stated flatly. “But let me offer this. When you return to Rhugoth, your inclination is to return to the Chalaine. Do not give way so easily to your first impulse. Tap into your mind. Talk with Mirelle. You might be surprised what two clever people can do, even if human.”

Devlis left, and for several moments the thought of getting off the shard and returning to Ki’Hal drove away all of Devlis’ instruction. But as Gen rose and walked the orchard, the ancient elf’s words sank into his heart, and a memory from Telmerran surfaced. During the First Mikkikian war, an Uyumaak horde had streamed toward the Castle Mekhower, the stronghold of Telmerran’s Lord. Telmerran and his men, having campaigned much in the warm summer, heard of the danger and tried to return to aid their Lord. They arrived too late, finding the castle besieged. Throughout the winter, Telmerran and his intrepid men cut off supply lines, raided camps, and assassinated leaders until the siege collapsed in chaos.

The memory gave weight to Devlis’ words. If he could not be with the Chalaine within her stronghold, then he could weaken the enemies that beset her and perhaps save her from a certain doom when she stood with Chertanne before Mikkik’s armies.

Invigorated by these thoughts, he sprang up the stairs, interrupting an embarrassed Gerand and Mena. He grinned and waved, jogging toward the stone tree the elves had provided to Mirelle for her residence.