The Darkangel (Darkangel Trilogy #1)

The Darkangel (Darkangel Trilogy #1) Page 14

The duarough stood transfixed with wonder and astonishment, watching Aeriel as she cut out the lump of lead from the darkangel's breast and gave up her own heart to him. He had not imagined she would do that - his own solution had seemed so obvious - no, certainly her actions were not at all what he would have done. But then, he had never imagined anyone might feel pity and mercy for a darkangel, let alone love. Only when Aeriel lay down among the ashes on the floor and closed her eyes did he come to himself and realize he must be quick about it if he were to save her.

Lifting a lamp from its niche in the wall, he brought it over to where she lay. He knelt down beside her and felt the air just above her lips for breath - her breaths still came, but very faintly now. The dram of life, her wedding toast, was keeping her yet alive in the world, just barely. As for the one who had been the vampyre not an hour before, his breaths were coming deeper and stronger all the time.

The little mage of Downwending picked up the lump of lead from the floor and held it above his lamp's white flame. The cold lead grew warm and soft in his hands. The outer coating ran and dripped away. The duarough nodded. There was still living flesh underneath, as he had hoped. Why had the girl not thought to do what he was doing now?

The little man pursed his lips. Love did seem to have a way of dampening the analytical faculties. He shrugged in agitation, but then softened. Well, who was to say her method might not prove the better?

He let the last of the lead trickle away before he set the lamp aside and turned to Aeriel.

She barely breathed. He laid the inner heart of flesh within her breast and rejoined the parted tissues with his hand, grateful for the powers yet lingering within the room, surpassing his own poor abilities. Bending over her, he watched anxiously. Soon, gradually, the color crept back into her face and she began to breathe deeply again. He settled back on his heels to wait.

When Aeriel opened her eyes, she saw the duarough sitting on his heels to the side of her.

She raised herself a bit, and looked at him in wonder. "How is it that I am not dead?" she asked him softly. Unease overcame her then as she realized what that might mean. She glanced about her worriedly. Had the little mage somehow undone her doing, given her her own heart back and let the darkangel die?

"Peace, daughter," her companion assured her. "He lives. I have given you the vampyre's heart." Aeriel touched her breast, felt her fear subsiding into puzzlement. The duarough continued, "It was lead without, but flesh within. I have removed the lead and given you the flesh. How do you feel? Are you well?"

Aeriel nodded. Indeed, save for a little weariness, she felt better than she had in many day-months. "The darkangel," she said. "How is he?"

"No longer a vampyre," the duarough answered, "nor icarus - and well enough. Come look. He is about to wake."

Aeriel sat up slowly and waited for the world to steady, then leaned closer to look at the one who lay beside her. His wings had fallen all to feathers that lay like scattered leaves beneath him. The slashes on his face and shoulder had closed over now in clean, pale scars. That he was but a youth surprised her. He looked little older than herself.

Despite the scars, he was very fair to look at, much fairer, she realized, than the vampyre had been. His skin was the light, dun color of the plains people and his hair was as glossy black as Eoduin's. He stirred once, as in troubled sleep. His eyelids fluttered. Aeriel watched, and when his eyes came open then, she saw they were as blue as earthshine.

"Nurse," he cried, sitting up stiffly. "Dirna, I've had a dream." His voice, though husky, a youth's, had somehow the quality and inflection of a child's. He sat a moment, frowning anxiously, murmured as to himself, "A long and wondrous dream..." He caught sight of Aeriel suddenly and started. "Who are you?" he asked.

Aeriel told him her name. "What did you dream?" she said.

"I remember...," he began. "I dreamed I was a vampyre who drank maidens' blood." He halted, perplexed, looked at Aeriel more closely. "You were in my dream," he said. "But I do not know you. How could I dream... ? And Mastei Treasurekeeper," he exclaimed, catching sight of the little man beside her, "what brings you to my chamber at such an hour?"

"We came to kill the darkangel, my prince," the mage replied.

"You are Irrylath," said Aeriel suddenly, quietly. The realization at once surprised her and did not. "This castle, then, is Tour-of-Kings."

"I am Irrylath," he replied. "My mother is Syllva the Queen, and my father is the chieftain Imrahil. Maid, are you some new lady of my mother's? Where is Dirna, and my other attendants?"

"What did you dream of Dirna?" asked the duarough gently.

The young prince thought a moment. He shivered as with cold. "I dreamed," he said, "I dreamed that Dirna pushed me into a still, dead lake and I lay on the bottom amid the eels' nests and the water weeds a long time very cold until a lorelei found me and brought me to her palace."

Aeriel felt a second understanding steal upon her. "The vampyre's lorelei and the Fair Witch of Dirna's tale are one," she murmured soft, very soft beneath her breath. Now she understood the desert jackals and their pursuit of her for the immortal hoof.

"There she cast spells over me," the prince continued, "to cause me to forget my name, and taught me all things new - hbw to strangle little marsh hens and...and other things."

He closed his eyes a moment, shivering. Aeriel wrapped her arms around herself. "She used to sing to me at night," said the youth. "She told me she was my mother, and in the dream I believed. The lorelei said that when I was old enough, she would make me a vampyre to join my six brothers and conquer the kingdoms of the world."

He opened his eyes, looking at nothing. As Aeriel listened, his voice grew strained.

"Ten years passed while I was with her in her palace. Then one night she gave me a dram that was very cold, and drank off my blood that the cold would not kill me, and opened my breast with her fingernail to gild my heart with lead." Aeriel laid her hand on her own breas&one even as the prince touched his. "Then she gave me a dozen great wings and told me to fly and find a kingdom, then return to her in fourteen years with the souls of as many maidens for her.

"So I flew home to Tour-of-Kings, which was my own father's castle, though I did not know it - but my father was dead and my mother gone away across the Sea-of-Dust.

Then I stole and married fourteen maidens in as many years." The furrow between his brows deepened. "But the last one poisoned me." He turned to Aeriel. "She looked like you." Aeriel could think of no reply. He looked away from her again and chafed his arms.

"Such a terrible dream," he murmured. "I've taken chill from it, I think - my voice sounds different this morn...."

The duarough shook his head. "No dream, my prince."

The youth looked at him, then glanced about him uneasily, at Aeriel. Then he shook his head and made attempt to laugh. "No, surely you are sporting with me. All is as it was when I retired, I... went to bed. I went - is it morning yet?" His words had slowed, but quickened now. "I must rise early, for my mother and I are going on a pilgrimage to Lonwury___" He stopped himself again, shifted. "Or... but - I have already been to Lonwury. We stayed a year. And then in the desert, Dirna woke me___I, or was all that, too, part of my dream?"

"Look at yourself, my prince," the mage replied. "You are no longer a boy. Look at the scars on your face and shoulder. Hear the deepened timbre of your voice. This castle is deserted. There rests the chain the lorelei gave you. The dust of maidens lies scattered on the floor, and there burn thirteen new-made stars in heaven."

Irrylath gazed about him slowly. He had fallen utterly silent now. Aeriel saw him flinch at the sight of the dust and the chain and the night-dark feathers on the floor. His movements had altered subtly, grown weightier, and as he gazed, his face grew ashen-colored when he put one hand to his throat where the chain had been. He felt one shoulder blade, no longer winged, traced the new-healed scars upon his cheek. His back stiffened.

"I remember," he murmured, letting go his breath. His voice trembled. "It, then - all of it was true, and not a dream." He turned suddenly on Aeriel, sat staring at her. "I have lived ten years with the lorelei, and these last fourteen a dark-angel." He caught up a handful of dust from the floor and watched as the fine grey stuff slipped through his fingers. "I have murdered" - he blinked, swallowed as against great dryness -  "worse than murdered thirteen maids. I remember it." His voice had hoarsened to a whisper. He looked up from his empty hand at Aeriel again. "I would have murdered you."

The tremor in his voice distressed her. She felt her own heart twinge with his pain.

"Courage," she told him; "peace," and reached to touch his hand. "You are not the darkangel anymore."

But he shuddered at her touch, started back as though she stung. "I am," he cried. "I have been."

Then Aeriel, too, drew back. "What's this I've done?" she murmured, gazing at him. "It was not solely your body I meant to heal."

He shook his head. "Why have you spared me?" he whispered. "I don't understand."

Aeriel struggled; no words seemed enough. "There was a little good in you. You let me feed the gargoyles, spared the bats, and then my own life more than once."

Irrylath closed his eyes. "Not kindness," he said. "Surely I never meant any of it for kindness."

"Even so..."

"Children," the duarough interjected then, his tone gentle and reproving. The young prince started, as though he had forgotten the little mage entirely. Aeriel was slower turning to face the duarough. "Children," he said again, "mercy or love cannot be earned.

They are free gifts only. This maiden's merciful love has made a start at healing you, my prince. Who knows what it will accomplish with time? And that is well. But just at present, I think, we must turn ourselves to more pressing matters."

"The lorelei," said Aeriel.

"Just so," the mage replied.

"She must be slain," said Irrylath, his words harsh with hatred. "I must..."

But the duarough was shaking his head. "I fear that may be a bit beyond your power, prince," he said kindly. "Beyond anyone's at the moment, in fact."

"But what can be done?" said Aeriel.

"She will steal another babe and make a vam-pyre of him when she learns that she has lost me," murmured the prince. His teeth were clenched; his hands beneath Aeriel's were as well.

"And that we must prevent at every cost," the duarough agreed, his tone growing stern,

"for when her icari number seven, they will be invincible."

"But there is the blade adamantine," said Aeriel.

"I can wield it," said the prince, catching it up from the floor and eyeing it fiercely,

"against the icari. If only I might undo" - his voice faltered as his gaze fell upon the ashes on the floor -  "some of the evil I have helped to cause. Perhaps then..."

"But how may you ride against them, prince, without a mount?" inquired the mage.

"Horses are easily come by," began Aeriel.

"But not of the sort he will need, daughter. A winged steed to meet a winged foe."

Irrylath's gaze fell. He set down the blade again. "The starhorse is dead," he answered dully, "the only winged horse in all the world." His voice grew tight. "I drove him into Pendar to die."

The duarough said nothing. He seemed to be waiting. Aeriel sat by the prince a moment in silence. Then she rose and walked to where the vampyre had thrown down the immortal hoof of the Avarclon after toasting his bride. She lifted the silver-bright vessel in her hands and answered slowly.

"The Avarclon is called undying, yet I saw him dead. This hoof of his is different from the others. It shines and does not crumble like flesh and bone. The lyon called it 'the immortal hoof.' "

The magician laughed his sage's laugh. "Wise girl," he said, "you have solved even this last riddle well. You must take this hoof to Esternesse.

There are priestesses and wisemen there with the learning and the science of the Ancient Founders. With their magic and machines, they can restore the starhorse - call back his soul from the center of the world, give him new flesh and blood and bone." Turning to Irrylath, he finished, "In a year's time, he will spring full-blown from his immortal hoof, and bear you against the vampyres in the world."

The young man raised his head. "Esternesse," he said softly, slowly. "My mother is in Esternesse."

Aeriel returned to him. "And you would much like to see her, would you not?"

He turned his haunted eyes to her. "I... no -  yes," he admitted at last, closing them. "Very much."

"But how?" murmured Aeriel, half-turning. "How may we cross the Sea-of-Dust with neither ship nor sail?"

"Ah, children, but you have a sail," the duar-ough said, "or the makings of one. And as for ship, I think you will need none."

Aeriel eyed the little mage a long moment in puzzlement, until she saw he was looking at the feathers that covered the floor thickly in the space where the fallen icarus had lain

"My wings," she heard Irrylath beside her murmur, as if new hope were stirring in him now. "The feathers of my wings - there are thousands of them, enough for the weaving of a great canopy."

Aeriel said nothing for a moment. She was looking at the little man. "You will come with us, Talb, will you not," she asked him, "to Ester-nesse?"

"That I shall not," he replied, "for I've another errand to attend to." He reached for the vampyre's leaden necklace and its charms, tucked them away into his sleeve. "I must bear this to the water witch." His eyes smiled merrily. "I shall tell her, prince, that I am your servant - never mentioning, of course, that you are no longer hers. I shall say that you have bid me bear the tribute to her straightway and you will follow in the morn. She's bound to be growing thirsty. It has been many years since last she had souls to drink."

"But," said Aeriel, "the vials are empty."

"They will not be when I give them to her. I think I have fourteen drops left of my distillate -  not enough to slay her, or even harm her very much, but enough to give her a bitter taste in the mouth."

"She will kill you," said the prince.

"I think not," the duarough replied, "if I am careful. I am a little bit of a wizard, and I know a trick or two. Well, children" - he nodded to both of them then - "I must be off.

And as for the two of you, there is weaving to be done."

Then, before either of them could speak or reach to stay him, he turned swiftly and departed, with never a glance behind.

Later, it was only much, much later that the bards began to sing of the wonders of his journey to the witch's realm - a journey made both over land and under - and of all the marvels that he met along the way. And further, they sang of his disguises, and how he passed the inspection of the witch's many gatekeepers and was at last admitted to her presence. Also of how he beguiled her into drinking the fourteen vials, of her great fury when she discovered his deception, then of how he slipped by her many traps and finally escaped - but all that is another tale entirely. Suffice to say that it was done.

And as for Aeriel and her prince, they wove the whole night through, making a great sail to bear them to Esternesse. Aeriel procured their food from the lighted caves, but they ate in the castle above, for though the stone halls stretched vast and empty still, they had lost their clinging chill. Irrylath worked silently, almost feverishly, beside her, helping her to plait the coal-black feathers. When she could persuade him to talk -  and that always low and haltingly - it was ever and only of his childhood at the keep or in Lonwury on pilgrimage. Often, however, when they slept, his cries awakened her. She rose at once and went into his inner chamber to rouse him from troubling dreams. But he would not speak of them to her, and always turned away.

"But time will come," she murmured softly when once more he slept, "that you will not turn from me," and left him again to quieter sleeps.

And when at last the dawn arrived, the two of them took their finished canopy out into the garden, which was beginning to bear fruit again for the first time in many years. Then taking their devisement by the corners, they spread it into the air. The plains wind caught it, and lifted it like a raven sail. The west wind swept them aloft, high over the plains. Far away on one horizon, Aeriel could see the desert of Pendar, and offered a silent prayer for the Pendarlon, that he might by this time be well healed of his wounds. In the other direction, she caught sight of the mountains of Terrain, at whose foot her village lay.

Before them lay the Sea-of-Dust, and beyond that, Esternesse.

And just as they crossed from over the plain to above the sea, they heard far away in the distance behind them, a hideous cry. It came, Aeriel realized, from the depth of the dead lake on the desert's edge, and embodied all the raging hate she ever could have imagined, and more.

"The witch," she heard Irrylath behind her breathe, "she has discovered the duarough's trick, and that I am lost to her."

"Talb," said Aeriel, listening to that furious scream, "I hope he slips safe away. If she should take him..."

But her companion shook his head. "No," he answered quietly, with the first hint of calm, true hope she had heard from him since his awakening, "I think we need not fear for him."

The scream of the white witch rose louder, shriller, and ended in a shriek that caused the very air to shudder. Then, as its echoes rebounded from the steeps and gradually died into silence, Aeriel looked up at the sail blown full above them and saw - as the last of the lorelei's magic left it -  that it had turned to white. And so on a throw of pure white feathers, she and her chieftain's son crossed over the Sea-of-Dust, alighting later that same day in Esternesse.

Don't miss the thrilling second volume of The Darkangel Trilogy Aeriel's love has transformed the darkangel and rescued him from his mother, the dreaded White Witch.

But though Aeriel and Irrylath are free, the rest of Avaric is not.

The White Witch grows ever stronger. Her evil magic blights the land, and her other darkangel sons are growing more bold in their attacks as her power increases. Worse yet, the White Witch has not wholly relinquished her claim on Irrylath - her plans require all seven of her sons, and she will not give up Irrylath so easily.

If Aeriel is to save her world, she must track down and defeat Irrylath's bloodthirsty darkangel brothers - and confront his terrifying mother face-to-face.

"Superb.... The author's imagination seems boundless."