Sheleasoun Free Sample

Free Sample of Sheleasoun by Brandy Wayne

Chapter 1

“Darra, don’t you have someplace to be, dear?” Maeve repeated to the girl whom she was currently instructing in the many uses of mint. Wisps of graying hair, having escaped from the bun at the back of Maeve’s head, floated around the weathered face of the herb-mother. Darra, preoccupied with doubts about what she wanted to do with her life, had paused in the act of grinding dry leaves with a mortar and pestle and did not hear her friend’s question. The older woman looked sharply at the girl and cleared her throat noisily.

Darra started and dropped the mortar. The base of it landed on the ground mint in the pestle, the stem clinked against the side of the ceramic bowl. Darra set the pestle down as reality shoved away a flimsy fantasy, and she looked up at Maeve with wide eyes. “Oh no! I was supposed to be home by now. Mom’s going to be furious with me.”

The two women stood at opposite ends of a large, wellworn table that dominated the main room of Maeve’s two-room cottage. Dried bundles of medicinal herbs hung from the exposed roof beams. Clay storage pots stood along a shelf erected on one wall near the simple hearth. Baskets of various sizes were scattered about, some hanging from the beams between the bundles of herbs, some resting on the simple dirt floor or occupying the modest bent-wood furniture.

“You’ve been late for dinner before, dear. I really didn’t think it was so important to your parents.” Maeve pursed her lips as she studied the panic on Darra’s exotic features.

“We were supposed to discuss my going away to school tonight,” Darra explained, nervously tucking her wavy copper hair behind one of her slightly pointed ears. “I’m supposed to show them how responsible I am.” Darra began hurriedly untying the apron she had borrowed.

“Are you sure you want to go away to school?” Maeve could not imagine the girl sitting still and quiet all day while an instructor droned on for hours. On one of Maeve’s visits to the Sacair Manor, Darra’s childhood tutor had secretly declared Darra too rambunctious for higher learning. He had not endeavored to educate her further than to read, write and cipher.

Darra, more at ease with her older friend than anyone else, acknowledged the now familiar doubts that surfaced whenever she thought about her desire to attend a university. “I’m not certain, Maeve, but it’s the best option available to me. Bye, I’ll have to run all the way home.” Darra tossed the apron onto the table and turned to leave.

“Bye, dear, good luck!” Maeve called as Darra dashed out the door of her small cottage.

Darra grabbed up the hem of her skirt and sprinted across the clearing surrounding Maeve’s cottage and into the dense cluster of mostly deciduous forest that grew between it and her home. The new spring leaves were barely visible this close to dusk. Her feet flew down the trail that led to the manor that had been in her father’s family for generations. She knew the path so well she could have run down its half-mile length blindfolded.

Almost there! Maybe if I’m fast enough mom and dad will let me go to school! Darra burst forth from the woods, ran past the huge stone and timber barn which had stood for as long as she could remember, and dashed up to the two-story stone manor. Funny how the house always seemed to frown at her, never greeted her warmly like a home should.

She leapt up the wide stone steps to the massive oaken front door. She shoved it open, grunting with the effort, and slammed it behind her. Careening through the foyer and down the hall to the dining room she ran, her dark copper hair bouncing behind her. She reached the dining room and tried to halt her charge, but succeeded only in sliding across the varnished wooden floor on her worn leather shoes and bumped into the dining room table. The dishes on the table clattered and she reached out to grab a water pitcher that was in danger of spilling.

“Late again, Darra Grace Sacair? Must you be so hard on the furnishings?”

Darra closed her eyes and prayed for deliverance. Chiding herself, she straightened, opened her eyes, and looked at her parents.

Illithriel, Darra’s petite mother, sat behind the heavy wooden table. Not a single strand of her dark golden hair dared to stray from her coiffure, which exposed her delicate pointed ears. Large slanted gray eyes, set within dainty alabaster features, regarded Darra with just a hint of irritation as she masked her amusement in her usual emotionally reserved manner. She wore a silver-gray gown of the finest material, cut square at the neck with long sleeves.

Darra’s father, Jamson, seated beside her mother at the table, wore a simple white shirt tucked into belted leather trousers and knee-high leather boots. Amused at his daughter’s antics, he held a goblet in front of his handsome clean-shaven face to hide the grin on his lips and the mirth in his sapphire eyes.

Illithriel turned to look at her husband and tapped him on the arm when she noticed the telltale twinkle in his eyes that usually foretold of his sense of humor undermining her attempts to discipline their daughter. “Don’t encourage her behavior! It’s no wonder she acts the way she does!” Turning the same stern look on her, Illithriel asked, “Why are you so late? You were supposed to be here fifteen minutes ago.”

Darra plucked at the sleeve of her plain blue dress before glancing mournfully out the window. The hardness in Illithriel’s face softened momentarily as she looked at the daughter on whom many of her husband’s traits were clearly stamped. The deep blue of her eyes, though large and slanted like her own, the unruly dark copper hair, the nervous energy, and even the set of her mouth when things did not go as she wished, all were Jamson’s likeness.

Darra swallowed nervously and cringed under her mother’s strict scrutiny. “I was at Maeve’s,” she said softly.

“I can’t hear you when you mumble. Speak up, dear, I taught you better. Tell me again why you’re so late.”

Darra took a deep breath as her mother sat waiting for an answer. “I was at Maeve’s. I lost track of the time,” she admitted and suddenly gave them her most winning smile and crossed her fingers behind her back for good luck. “So, have you thought about me going away to school?”

Jamson and Illithriel looked at each other, then back to Darra. Jamson raised his goblet to his full lips, swallowed deliberately, and then spoke. “You’re going to have to show more responsibility than you have so far in order for us to consider sending you away to school.”

Darra’s smile disappeared.

Jamson hated to see the look of disappointment marring his little girl’s beautiful features. “There are still a lot of things you can learn here. We can hire private tutors if you have your heart set on schooling. We just don’t think it’s in your best interest to go away to school just yet,” he said with as much diplomacy as twenty-five years of being a cloth merchant had taught him.

Illithriel spoke less harshly than she had before. “Darra, you are so set on going away to school. Do you have any idea what you want to study? Even if you’re only seeking a general education, the thought of what you’ll be doing with it should be foremost in your thoughts.”

Darra kept her shoulders square, and her eyes almost met those of her mother. “I was thinking about becoming an herbmother.”

Illithriel pinned her with a stare of disbelief. “You’re spending entirely too much time with Maeve. The world has a lot more to offer than living in a one-room shack and digging in the dirt the rest of your life. As much as I like Maeve, I have to say that herb-mothers generally do not make a good living. If you want to consider healing, maybe you should look into becoming a chirageon at the temple of the One. At least then you would always have food in your belly and a roof over your head.”

“I don’t want to marry my life to the temple.” Darra tried to hold her anxiety down, to keep it from seeping into her voice or her face.

“You have to come to a decision sometime,” Illithriel said.

Jamson was thoughtful. “Well, have you considered marriage? You would have the freedom to run your own household.”

Darra’s voice rose in volume slightly. “Just to wait hand and foot on one of the spoiled young men around here and bear him a bunch of brats? Besides, who would have a half-breed like me?” The bitterness in her voice lent her words a harsher tone than she had intended.

“Darra, we know life hasn’t been easy for you, but that kind of attitude doesn’t help, and it would be worse at a large university. We only want what is best for you. Marriage may be something you should consider. Life does not always give you the choices you wish it would. Most of the schools are in areas that are dominated either by Danu or by humans, and you would be at great risk in either area. Sometimes hideous acts are committed even against those students who appear to fit in with their peers, and it would be worse in an area with a lot of racial tension. I do not want that to happen to you. Besides, most women are not allowed to attend the universities,” Illithriel said.

“Then what am I supposed to do with my life?” Darra unconsciously took a step back from the table at which her parents still sat. “I’m not like dad. I don’t have a head for business, and being a merchant is beyond me. I don’t think marriage is an option for me, either. If I were to decide to marry, I want it to be more than just a business agreement where I am a pawn.”

Illithriel closed her eyes and sighed in frustration. She thought back to the events that had led up to her flight from Yelessen, the Danu city where she had grown up. She remembered her own mother, used as a pawn to further her father’s political goals. Her father had begun plotting ways to bind her, too, into a marriage that would be politically favorable to him, not caring how the flighty girl she had been had felt. When he had begun to acquaint her with the nobleman she was to wed, she had discovered him to be loathsome and had run away from everything she knew.

Illithriel turned to look at her husband, noting the light touch of gray at his temples, the beginnings of crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes and the deepening of the laugh lines on either side of his mouth. She wondered how different and empty her life would have been had their paths not crossed. Thanks to Jamson, she knew what it was like to be loved, not just used for the property and alliances a bride brought to her groom. She, however, would outlive him by centuries and she worried what she would do without him.

“What about the University at Sky Lake?” Darra asked, turning Illithriel’s attention back to her.

Jamson looked at his daughter with trepidation as Illithriel asked, “How do you know about that?”

Darra flushed. “When I went on that last trip with Dad, I met a boy like me, a half-breed. He said he was going to Sky Lake University because there’s a large population of sidhes there.”

“And did he tell you what he would be studying?”

“Law. He said he wanted to be a lawkeep. He was a very nice young man.”

“I’m sure he was.” By her mother’s dry tone, Darra could tell she did not believe her. “However, your father and I just don’t think you’re ready yet to be so far away from home, with no one you can turn to should you have problems.”

“But, mom, I wrote them a letter. I asked the priests that run the university for information about the school. They even sent me a reply,” Darra protested desperately.

Illithriel shook her head. “Absolutely not. If you do not believe you have the mind to be a merchant, what makes you think you have the mind for a university? Especially since you are so uncertain about what you want to do with your life. Besides, that is entirely too far away for you to go just now; maybe when you’re older we can feel safe about letting you go.”

Darra’s face flushed. “If I were a full-blooded human, would you have let me go?” She demanded angrily.

“If you were a full-blooded human you would be married and have three children by now.” Illithriel shot back. She looked down as Jamson’s large, strong hand suddenly clasped her own tightly. Illithriel glanced at his face, expecting him to be angry at her words, but fear tensed the muscles of his face instead. The small hairs on the nape of her neck began to rise and her whole body tingled. Horrified, she looked at her daughter. The air rippled around Darra, the surge of an unmistakable aura of power, and the dishes on the table began to clatter. Stunned, Illithriel could only watch as she realized all her hopes for a seminormal life for her daughter had just vanished.

Darra’s anger subsided and fear took its place as her vision blurred and her hearing became muffled. A metallic sensation crept into her senses. The room around her suddenly solidified into startling clarity. The metallic feeling grew stronger and overwhelmed her with a buzzing torrent of lightning-like energy. Adrenaline pumping, heart pounding, fear clutched her tighter as she lost herself in the grip of the power. All her nerves buzzing and raw, Darra screamed and held her hands over her ears.

Illithriel stood and gripped Jamson’s sleeve as she looked within herself as she had not for so long. A chilling flood welling up inside her answered her call. The inherited power roiled within and around her, rushing out from her aura to surround herself and Jamson in an arcing wall.

The burning power built to a crescendo inside Darra’s head and with a massive effort of will, she shoved the unknown force out of her mind and into the air around her in successive waves. The roast bird on the table exploded and the china shattered. The Danu woman gasped as Darra’s manifested power slammed into her own. Illithriel physically staggered and desperately held onto Jamson to retain her footing. Spurred by terror, she pulled more power from her wellspring to protect herself and her husband from the shattering waves of force surging against her barrier. The couple shuddered as wisps of their daughter’s power leaked past Illithriel’s shield. Then suddenly, it vanished.

Darra stared at the remains of dinner. Numbly, she shook her head, her mind unable to make the connection between the surge of energy and the remains of dinner and stoneware on the table.

“Darra,” Illithriel began, not sure what to say.

Darra, in shock, stared at her mother dumbly. She saw only the look of horror on her mother’s face and ran for the sanctuary of her room.

Jamson reached out an arm to steady his wife as much as to steady himself. “Illithriel? I thought she couldn’t get it, the human blood.…” he trailed off, staring at his wife.

Illithriel looked at the spot where Darra had stood seconds ago and raised one shaking hand to her face.

Jamson studied her strained features. “Illithriel?” he repeated uncertainly.

Reluctantly, Illithriel raised her eyes to her husband. “Promise me that you will tell no one,” she said in a low voice.

“I don’t understand,” Jamson said, shaking his head.

Illithriel considered what to say. When she had fled Yelessen, she had left behind most of the convictions of her people. Now, it seemed she would shed one more. She hesitated, but Darra was just as much Jamson’s flesh and blood as her own, so she forced the words past her fear. “Among the Danu who have the Sheleasoun, what I am about to tell you is forbidden to others.” Illithriel took a shaky breath. “You can blame me and my foolishness. I will certainly understand if you don’t want me for a wife after I tell you.” Jamson waited in silence and Illithriel drew on the shreds of her courage. “There have been … rare instances of one with both human and Danu blood that have inherited the Sheleasoun. Only four of them in the past three thousand years,” she rushed to explain. “This is my fault; I knew it might happen.”

“So, you figured the chances were too slim to consider, and you now think I would put you aside for that?” Jamson loosed a shaky laugh, beginning to feel relief.

Illithriel began to shake, tears welling in her eyes. “Jamson … it is forbidden for her to have it. Any Shealie will hunt her down if they discover she has it,” she finished, voice trembling. Ashamed, she turned away from him and retreated a few paces away.

Jamson studied his wife’s back and closed the space between them. Illithriel heard him approach and tensed, surprised when she felt his arms encircle her.

“Shouldn’t you go and talk to our daughter?” He asked, his mouth touching her hair.

“You still want me?” Illithriel could not help asking.

Jamson squeezed her lightly. “So what if you forgot to mention one tiny detail?” His voice lost its false bravado as he continued. “I love you. I have since the first time you smiled at me. I couldn’t put you aside. Besides, from what you’ve told me, Darra’s situation is extremely rare. How can I blame you for something you couldn’t have foreseen?”

Illithriel turned in his arms and tipped her face up to his. “But this is why the Shealies frown on marrying or coupling with humans. The Danu are very prejudiced about the other races and the Shealies encourage it to prevent something like this from happening.”

Jamson could feel her trembling against him and smiled ruefully at her. “Four? In three thousand years? Don’t you think that’s being a little paranoid? Woman, go talk to our daughter.”

Illithriel nodded. “Yes, she needs someone who has been through this.” Struggling with her burden, Illithriel walked slowly to the door. She saw one of the house servants lingering in the hallway, obviously afraid of whatever had happened in the dining room. She fixed the servant with a harsh glare as she passed her in the hallway. “Clean up that mess and tell no one,” Illithriel commanded. How many more know?

Foreboding gripped Illithriel as she climbed the steps and made her way to her daughter’s room. She could hear Darra crying on the other side of the door and entered the room without knocking. Her daughter sat on her bed, arms crossed over her stomach, shaking with sobs. Illithriel alighted beside her and wrapped one arm around her daughter in a rare show of affection.

“I’m sorry,” Darra, gasped through her sobs.

Illithriel shook her head. “No, I am. I need to talk to you and you need to listen to me. I never expected to need to talk to you about this.”

“What are you talking about?” Darra quieted, the numbness of shock wearing away, as curiosity about her mother’s affection began to take its place.

“The Sheleasoun.” Illithriel let the words hang in the air. “You shouldn’t have gotten it because your father is human. Humans don’t have the Sheleasoun.”

“Sheleasoun?” Darra echoed. It was a Danu word and felt foreign on her tongue. Still lost in her confusion, it did not seem much of an explanation for what she had experienced in the dining room.

“Yes, Sheleasoun. It is an old Danu word.”

Darra merely sat silently, briefly reminded of her mother telling her about the changes in her body as she grew up.

Illithriel continued, her voice calm despite the fear for her daughter that sat heavy on her heart. “Darra, I grew up in Yelessen. It is an ancient Danu city. I was from a well-to-do family and we never wanted for anything. But, because my mother had the power, my father used her for his own schemes.”

Illithriel looked down at her daughter’s hands before continuing. “When your father and I first came here, I was pregnant with you. Things were not easy like they are now. People fear what they do not understand, and I was already strange enough to them because I was Danu. I was thankful I had a degree of control over this power, because I couldn’t let anyone know I had it.” She paused again, considering her next words.

“Darra, with this power, women become mere puppets. Many ages ago, Danu society was matriarchal and ruled by a powerful Empress. Only the Empress and her daughters possessed the Sheleasoun. In time, the rule of the Empress was overthrown by men, resentful of the power she held over them.”

Darra eyed her mother with a look of disbelief on her face. “If the Empress was so powerful, how was she overthrown?”

Illithriel touched the ring Jamson had given her after she had fled Yelessen. “History doesn’t say. However, only a select few female descendents of the Empress inherit the power, Sheleasoun. My mother was unfortunate enough to inherit it. As I grew, I watched my father use her for her power. Men think they can control the power if they control the woman, and so she becomes a pawn in political power struggles. I never understood how they thought they could control it. Since men have never had Sheleasoun, I guess possessing the woman who has the power is what they want. They think it gives them a lever against their political rivals. Darra, you are going to have to learn to control this. You can’t reveal it to anyone, or the wrong people will try to use you.” Illithriel looked deeply into her daughter’s eyes, trying to convey how strongly she felt about the inheritance of the Sheleasoun, uncomfortable with the lie she felt she had to tell her daughter, though it was not far from the truth.

“Mom, dad loves you very much. He doesn’t use you as a pawn.” Darra objected.

“No, I am very lucky. At the worst point in my life, I met your father and fell in love. I don’t know what I would have done if he hadn’t been there for me.”

Darra frowned, thinking. “Wizards have magic. I know most people are afraid of them, but they have their uses and I have never heard of them being manipulated like that.”

“Honey,” Illithriel said, shaking her head. “This isn’t magic. Magic is the external manipulation of natural objects using the natural energy within them. Anyone can learn to do magic, some better than others. Sheleasoun is a part of you. Magic compared to Sheleasoun is a trifling thing. What you did to the dining room this evening was just a small measure of what it can do. If you can learn how to control it, the possibilities are too numerous to count, but this is a heavy responsibility, and it can be very dangerous for you if the wrong people find out. Lack of control over Sheleasoun can drive you mad. You can learn to tap into it when you need to, but during times of high emotions, it can surface and control you.”

“Like this evening?” Darra asked, chagrined.

“Yes,” Illithriel agreed quietly.

“Is this why you didn’t want me to go away to school?”

Illithriel waved away the question. “Darra, you need to be extremely careful, not only about letting others know you have this, but also because you have the Sheleasoun stronger than anyone I’ve ever known. Typically, the first manifestation of it is only a shadow of how strong it will be.”

Darra frowned, looking questioningly at her mother.

“I was barely able to shield your father and me from what you did,” Illithriel explained. “I was considered to show great promise in the Sheleasoun before I left Yelessen over twenty-five years ago. Time should have done nothing to my abilities, but it was all I could do to protect your father and myself. Having Sheleasoun this strong brings staggering responsibility to you. I worry about what will happen to my only child.”

“I thought you didn’t want to let me grow up.” Darra confessed.

“I didn’t, but Nature apparently has different intentions.”

Illithriel smiled to soften her earlier words. “You and I will steal away tomorrow and I will begin to show you how to control the Sheleasoun. I can only teach you a little. After you learn what I have to teach you, the rest will come with time.”

Both women heard the deep tones of a bell tolling in the distance. “Isn’t that the new bell dad just had put in at the gatehouse? I thought he wasn’t expecting any caravans in for three days?”

Chapter 2

Jamson admired the slim form of his wife as she left the dining room to talk to their daughter. He did not envy her the task. Illithriel looked frail and delicate, yet Jamson had caught glimpses over the years that prompted him to believe he had not credited her inner strength.

He glanced down at the table and the remains of dinner when he heard Illithriel command one of the serving girls to clean up what was left of dinner and to tell no one what she may have witnessed. The girl came into the room and began to gather the fragments of dishware to be disposed of. Right in front of him, lying surprisingly intact, was a leg from the ill-fated roast chicken.

Ever the opportunist, he picked it up and began to munch, thinking to himself what a shame it would be to let it go to waste. Chicken leg in hand, he stood and wandered out of the dining room and into the hallway, making his way down to the study where he always seemed to do his best thinking. The study was the exception to all the other rooms and halls in the manor. The others were all white washed, the pale tones brightened by colorful rugs, furniture and wall hangings. In this room the warm tones of the wooden paneling paired with the leather volumes of books always eased his mind and provided him with a retreat from which he could either do business or relax. The hard soles of his leather boots squeaked on the varnished wooden floor. Here was where he kept relics of his adventuring days before he had met Illithriel, and some from after. Mounted in one corner to the side of the hearth was his worn leather and mail armor from the days when he had ridden on the trade routes with his caravans. He stopped before the hearth and gazed at his favorite sword mounted on a plaque above the mantle. While not particularly ornate, the workmanship was excellent. When in his hand the sword seemed a natural extension of his arm. His eyes traced the wheel-shaped pommel up to the slightly upturned guard then traveled down the length of the blade, nicked in several places.

His eyes dropped to the sheathed twin daggers on a wide leather belt resting on top of the mantel. Despite their enchantment always to find their target, they were not formidable weapons. Being of Danu manufacture, he had always thought them rather frail for throwing weapons. Jamson kept them mostly for sentimental reasons, as a souvenir of the adventure that had brought him and Illithriel together.

The first note of a distant deep ringing broke him out of his reverie. He tensed as the notes of the sentry bell he had recently installed in the gatehouse began to gather speed and culminate in a fast panicked tolling. A slow ringing of the bell meant the arrival of a caravan.

Snatching his favorite sword from the plaque above the mantle, he ran out of the room, through the hall, and to the front door. He jerked the door open and stepped out onto the stone porch. A wedge formation of horsemen, flanked on either side by men running on foot with weapons drawn, bore down on his home. He hurried back into the house, closed the door and dropped the heavy crossbar into place. Jamson raised his voice and yelled for the servants.

They came to him in twos and threes. He calmly instructed them to bar doors and guard windows. He recognized one young man who was a newly hired guard for his caravans, probably only come to the house to flirt with one of the serving girls. “You, Niam, stay here with me and guard the front door.”

The young man nodded and drew his sword. The door shook with the force of the first blow as an axe sunk into its surface. Jamson squared his shoulders, preparing for battle, with Niam to his left.

Jamson turned to yell up the stairwell for Illithriel and Darra only to see them already running down the steps. “Go to the study and bar the door behind you. I’ll come for you when I can.” A second axe chopping at the door along with the first reinforced his instructions.

Illithriel opened her mouth to argue and then thought better of it when the door began to come loose on its hinges from the assault on its exterior. The tempo of the axe blows increased as the door continued to shudder and the crossbar groaned in protest. Jamson had enough to deal with without her stubbornness. As Illithriel and Darra reached the bottom of the steps and turned toward the study, the door gave one final groan and buckled inward. Darra panicked and whirled toward the sound.

“We’ll hold them while you get to the study,” Jamson called to Illithriel as he and Niam braced themselves for what was to come.

Illithriel grabbed Darra’s hand and dragged her forcibly into the hallway. “Move!” she commanded, her tone brooking no argument.

Feeling very small and very much the coward, Darra obeyed, lengthening her strides beside her mother’s as they turned down the hall to the study.

The first wave of the small invading force kicked aside the remains of the door and surged into the house. Jamson and Niam fell back into the confines of the hallway, preventing the intruders from flanking them. Grimly, they raised their weapons to meet the first attack. The attacker who squared off against Niam came on with a backhanded swing of his axe. Niam turned the blow aside with the flat of his blade. The man assaulting Jamson brought down his axe from high overhead, aiming for Jamson’s head. Instinctively, Jamson threw his sword up to meet the blow, turning the force of the blow down and to the side. Using the flow of the momentum, he tucked his arm under and brought his blade forward in a jab at his opponent’s belly.

From the mangled doorway, an archer raised his bow and aimed for the slender Danu lady running beside the young woman in the hall. Dropping his leading hand slightly, he let fly the arrow.

The clash of steel grated on Darra and Illithriel’s ears as they rushed down the hallway. A searing pain exploded through the back of Illithriel’s right thigh and she yelled, stumbling. Darra heard her mother cry out and made a wild grab to catch her before she could fall. Taking her mother’s right arm, Darra eased it around her shoulders and helped to bear Illithriel’s weight as they made their way down the hall.

Jamson felt the wind from the arrow passing by as his opponent’s axe forced his sword down. Hearing his wife’s cry of pain, rage flared behind his eyes and he redoubled his attack on his foe.

Niam’s opponent took a swipe with his axe at Niam’s abdomen, turning aside the young guard’s backhanded swing. Dancing back from the onslaught, Niam brought his sword up and over, letting it fall heavily onto his attacker’s head. He heard the crack of metal as his sword cleft the thin helmet and shattered the skull underneath.

Jamson’s blade, fueled by his rage, swung in over his opponent’s axe and bit into the other’s neck. The attacker, his life seeping from him, fell to the side, immediately replaced by the archer behind him. Dropping his bow and drawing his short sword, he thrust at Jamson’s mid-section. Jamson knocked the weapon out to the side, completed the arc, and brought his sword around and into his opponent’s shoulder.

Another adversary took the place of the man dispatched by Niam’s sword. The new foe came on with an overhand chop of a longsword. Niam threw up his sword crossways to block. Twisting the blade down and to the side, he reversed the direction of his swing, narrowly missing his opponent’s face, but also coming too close to Jamson for comfort.

Jamson flinched. “We’re on the same side, boy! What are you trying to do with that thing?”

His adversary took advantage of Jamson’s distraction and aimed a blow at Jamson’s neck. Reflexively, Jamson threw his left arm into the path of the blow, and the blade bit deeply into the flesh of his forearm. Grunting in pain, Jamson brought his sword into a wide sweep, slicing across the jugular and windpipe of the archer. The man dropped slowly to the floor, clutching at the blood gurgling out of his throat as his body quaked.

Niam’s antagonist thrust straight ahead. Niam pushed the blade down only to have the point driven into his right thigh.

Off balance and realizing his vulnerability, he brought his sword up, over, and let the force of the swing bring the sword down at his adversary. The other man raised his blade and deflected the blow to the side.

Jamson looked up, seeking his next challenger. A mercenary stood in the doorway, bow raised and arrow leveled his way.

Chapter 3

Darra led a shaky Illithriel over the threshold of the study and awkwardly shut the door behind them. Together, they hobbled across the room to the settee and Darra gently helped her mother to lie down on her left side, facing the door.

“Bar the door, Darra,” Illithriel said, beginning to feel a little woozy.

“What about dad?” Darra asked, fear threatening to overtake her voice.

Illithriel fought to keep her voice calm despite her own terror and the pain of her wound. “Bar the door, honey. Your dad will be fine.” I hope.

Panicked, Darra’s eyes swept the room for something with which to block the door. Her eyes fell on the huge writing desk her father kept in the corner. Somehow, on legs shaky as a newborn colt’s, she managed to slide the desk in front of the door. The screech of the legs on the varnished floor almost drowned out the sounds of battle outside the study door.

“Come here, Darra,” Illithriel said when her daughter completed the task. “I want you to take this,” she took a ring from her right hand and held it out to her daughter, “and go for help. There is a man in Faihne, Morgan, who will recognize the crest of this ring. A long time ago he promised me aid, should I ever need it.”

“What about your wound? Do you think I should pull the arrow out?” Darra bent to inspect the shaft of the arrow sticking out from her mother’s thigh.

“Never mind that now. I want you to go get help.” Illithriel weakly held the ring in front of Darra’s face. Darra frowned at the crest on the ring. For such a tiny piece of work, it was very elaborate. A griffin sat on its haunches, a snake in one talon and a sword in its beak. Confused, she looked to her mother.

“It is from my mother’s family,” Illithriel explained.

“Morgan will recognize the crest. You have to go into town to find him.” She struggled to make herself sound lucid.

Darra stared at her mother in disbelief. “I think you’re hurt worse than you think you are, mom. How am I supposed to get out of here? And who, may I ask, is Morgan?”

“Go over to the bookcase. There is an iron sconce on the wall. Pull down on it.” At Darra’s continued disbelief Illithriel snapped. “Now!”

Hands on hips, Darra threw Illithriel an unreadable look. “What am I supposed to find? A secret tunnel? And who is Morgan?”

Illithriel pushed the ring into her daughter’s hand. “Take it and go! Do as I say, Darra,” she pleaded.

“All right, Mother. I’ll do as you say.” Crest ring in hand, Darra crossed the room to the iron wall sconce, and tugged down on it. To her surprise, the bookcase swung out from the wall, grating only slightly on hidden hinges. Mouth agape in shock, Darra peeked around the corner of the bookcase to see a gaping hole in the floor between where the bookcase had been a moment ago and a wall she had never seen before. “I’ll be damned,” she said aloud.

“Watch your mouth, Darra. I can still hear you.”

Don’t know why I was worried, Darra thought to herself. She certainly seems fine enough. “Mother, who is Morgan?”

Illithriel waved away Darra’s incessant curiosity as her daughter turned back to her. “I don’t have time to explain. Your father and I both knew him a long time ago. He gave me his word that if I ever needed him he would help in any way he could. Take your father’s daggers from the mantle.”

A loud crash outside the door drew both women’s attention back to the matter at hand. “Darra, please. Go. Close the bookcase behind you.” The seriousness of her mother’s voice convinced Darra to stop probing and do as told. She reached above the mantle and took down the pair of daggers in their belt. Made to fit Jamson’s larger waist, the belt would have hung precariously on her hips had she not pulled the extra leather through the buckle and looped it instead of using the buckle.

Darra took one last look at her mother lying on the leather couch of her father’s study, the blood from her wound seeping through the fine material of her dress.

“How can I leave you?” Torn, Darra looked at the gaping maw of the tunnel and back at her mother. Outside the study door, amid the clash of steel, Jamson shouted, cut off in mid-sentence.

“Go!” Illithriel commanded, pointing imperiously at the bookcase.

Darra turned for the bookcase and pulled it shut behind her. She slipped her mother’s crest ring onto one of her fingers as she began to descend the ladder. The earthen walls of the tunnel swallowed her. At the bottom of the shaft, she paused, glancing up at the closed bookcase, praying she would see her mother and father again. One hand on the side of the tunnel wall, smell of earth thick in her nostrils, she began to make her way through the darkness, her pulse pounding in her ears.

With Darra out of harms way, Illithriel fixed her wavering attention on the study door. She tried to ignore the white-hot throbbing of her wounded thigh. Shifting slightly to find a more comfortable position, she nearly blacked out when the fletching on the arrow brushed the back of the couch. The sudden sound of bodies slamming against the study door brought her mind back into sharp focus.

Anguish twisted inside her like a living thing. She feared the worst for Jamson, and shame at not having stood with him swept through her. She wished she had gotten to tell him that she loved him just one more time.

The latch on the door cracked. The desk shoved away from the door and screeched across the floor. Illithriel snapped her attention back into focus. Her body tingled with power as she called the Sheleasoun to her. The first of the raiders shoved the desk further into the room. He stepped in, sword dripping blood.

Eyes narrowed, Illithriel stared fixedly at the blood dripping off the blade of the sword. “No,” she breathed.

“Jamson.” She raised her eyes to the shape of the man filling the doorway. Blind anger welled up inside her followed by the crackling surge of power. With a primal scream, she hurled the Sheleasoun at him.

The wall of force slammed into the mercenary, throwing him backwards, and his shoulder clipped the doorway, spinning him around in mid-air. Headfirst, he slammed into the wall opposite the door and fell lifeless to the varnished wooden floor of the hall. The aura of power swirling around her, Illithriel lay in wait for the next invader to come. She heard only silence beyond the study door. Then a voice, vaguely familiar, tickling at old memories, broke the stillness. “Here is your shield.”

Shield? Illithriel puzzled. What shield would protect against the Sheleasoun? A wave of dizziness tried to tug her down into blackness. She pulled the swirl of power around her and fought to stay conscious. The wandering question of how much blood she had lost crossed her mind.

Another man appeared in the doorway. Illithriel prepared to attack and power surged within her. The cold electric tingle of Sheleasoun permeated the study.

“Take a good look, my dear.” That vaguely familiar voice spoke again, just outside the door. “Are you sure you want to do that?”

Illithriel, forcing her foggy mind to work, looked closely at the man in the doorway. Jamson! She had been sure he was dead. Joy and relief mixed as she saw he was indeed alive, though in rough shape. He was silently fuming and his handsome face was set in a pale grimace of pain. The fine linen of his shirt, stained with his blood, stuck to him. The shaft of an arrow, embedded in his left shoulder above the heart, protruded through the shirt. Her eyes looked past him. Two mercenaries behind him held each of his arms. Using him as a shield, they pushed their way into the room. Two more men, bearing swords and wearing leather armor, filtered into the room after them and began to search the study.

Illithriel released her hold on the Sheleasoun. She could not loose its power with her beloved Jamson held as a safeguard. “As I told you, the very best way to control a woman is to control her heart strings,” the arrogant, familiar voice counseled before its host strode into the room. Thigh high black leather riding boots and pale trousers encased slender thighs. A rich blue cloak rested almost carelessly over one shoulder of his tall, thin frame. Ever the aristocrat, his dark blond hair was pulled back in a neat queue, exposing pointed Danu ears. Cold slanted gray eyes bored into Illithriel’s own.

Illithriel fought another blackening wave of dizziness. “Elevendel?” She shook her head weakly; trying to deny what her eyes told her was true. Power pulsated round her once more as she called it, her aim narrowing in on Elevendel.

Elevendel calmly snapped his slim fingers. Instantly, one of the men holding Jamson captive pressed a knife against his throat.

Illithriel glanced from Elevendel to Jamson, helpless against his captors. At her pause, blood began to well up where the knife lay pressed against Jamson’s skin. Illithriel dared not use the Sheleasoun for fear of Jamson’s life. Defeated, she let the power drain from her once more. She warily watched Elevendel as he crossed the study to her, looking into her eyes.

“I’m quite pleased to see you, too, my dear.” One of his thin hands reached out to caress the side of her face.

“Don’t touch me!” Illithriel spat, jerking away from his touch. The fletching on the arrow brushed against the back of the couch again. She paled and a faint threatened to overtake her.

“Still have that special touch with the ladies, don’t you?” Jamson’s voice dripped with sarcasm.

Elevendel shot Jamson a hateful look, but he let the quip slide and turned back to Illithriel. “You certainly made it hard enough for me to find you.”

He caught a lock of her errant hair that had escaped its coiffure, rubbing it between his thumb and forefinger. “But then, unlike your human husband, a quarter of a century is not so long for you and I. I’ve been quite occupied with business here and there since the last time I saw you, else I would have come to fetch you sooner.”

“Sir?” One of the men who had been searching the room addressed Elevendel.

Irritated at being interrupted, Elevendel frowned and turned to the mercenary. “Yes, what is it?”

“What about the other girl?”

Elevendel turned back to Illithriel with a thoughtful look on his face. Illithriel stared back, hiding her disappointment. She had hoped he would have forgotten about Darra so that she could get away. “Ah, yes, your half-breed daughter.” He waved his hand dismissively. “She is unimportant.”

Illithriel could not hide the relief that surfaced. She snuck a glance at Jamson who was glaring openly at Elevendel.

From the doorway came a commanding voice. “That’s not a wise decision, Elevendel.” Another man, human, entered the room with a long easy stride.

Jamson, still held between two of the attackers, watched him enter the room.

The man’s blue eyes swept his surroundings, registering everything and everyone around him and filing it all away for later use, should it be necessary. He easily stood over six feet tall. The heavy muscles of his arms and chest showed through his chain mail and leather jerkin. The grace with which he carried himself indicated to Jamson that this was not a man to take lightly.

“She could bring unwanted attention to our presence here. Your exact words were ‘No one important must know what we are about or what we have done until we are far away.’ This girl is a loose end that could cause us a great deal of grief. She should be taken care of immediately.” He strode over to the bookcase and touched it. It swung a little at his touch. He pulled it out and leaned into the cubbyhole, eyeing the mouth of the tunnel. Turning back to Elevendel he stated, “Whatever the decision it should be made now. I’ve just found how she got away.”

“As you say, Flynn.” Elevendel nodded. “She is a loose end. Take care of it.”

Flynn turned to one of the men standing by in the study. “The tunnel behind that bookcase leads to the south.” He gestured in that direction. “Take three men and sweep the land and woods on that side of the house. Find the girl. If she cooperates, bring her to us. You know where we will be camped. If she gives you trouble, dispose of her.” Hearing Elevendel clear his throat, he added, “Make it quick and painless. Don’t make her suffer.”

“Shame to kill her without having some fun first,” the mercenary smirked.

Illithriel gasped. Jamson’s jaw clenched as he mentally tallied the number of men he would wipe from existence the first chance he got.

“No.” Elevendel smoothly countered. “We can’t run the risk of having anymore mixed-blood bastards running around.”

Flynn narrowed his eyes at the mercenary to whom he had given orders. “You have your orders. I expect them to be fol lowed.” Reluctantly, the man acknowledged and left the study.

Elevendel looked down at Illithriel. “Flynn is very thorough. He likes to cover all of his options. Now, if your daughter is less impulsive than her father was those many years ago, you will be reunited before too terribly long.” He reached out to caress her face once more.

Illithriel shrank away from him. Her face paled as the muscles in her thigh clenched around the arrow embedded there and a groan of pain escaped her.

“Where are my manners?” Elevendel asked no one in particular. “Or indeed, even my decency? We must take care of this nasty arrow.” He leaned down, took the cloth of her skirts in his hands and ripped the material to expose the arrow. With a flourish, he took his cloak from around his shoulders and arranged it around the exposed wound on her thigh. Reaching into a pocket in his cloak, he produced a small pouch and a stoppered bottle. Holding himself perfectly still, aware of the knife at his throat, Jamson watched Elevendel’s ministrations with keen interest.

Illithriel watched Elevendel warily, his intentions becoming clear to her. “When did you start pretending to be a healer?”

Elevendel shook his head at her. “You of all people know I’ve never been one to put on false pretenses. While I do plan to heal you, my methods are unique.” He opened the pouch and began to sprinkle a shimmering powder on the arrow. Once the arrow was covered, he spoke softly and blew gently on the powder. With a soft hiss and a puff of smoke, the arrow simply evaporated. As blood began to ooze from the wound, Elevendel took the cork from the small bottle. He carefully poured a small amount of a bright blue liquid onto her wound. Illithriel whimpered, trying to stifle a scream.

Elevendel looked triumphantly at her, a sly grin curving his lips. “I’ve learned a thing or two since last we parted. In an hour or so, it will be as if you were never wounded. Now, let us see to your husband.” He placed the small pouch back into the pocket inside his cloak. Elevendel turned and strode over to Jamson. Without any prelude, he grasped the shaft of the arrow and wrenched it from Jamson’s shoulder. Jamson jerked and cursed loudly. Elevendel liberally poured the bright blue liquid onto Jamson’s wounded shoulder and he howled in rage and pain.

As the pain subsided, Jamson sneered. “I’ve missed you, too. No pretty powder for me, you just get right to the rough stuff.”

Calmly, Elevendel turned to Illithriel, ignoring Jamson’s string of curses. Indicating the bottle in his hand, he explained, “A small amount speeds healing. Regrettably, it does not take away the pain of healing. Consequentially the more you use, the faster the healing. The faster you heal the more pain you must endure in a shorter period of time.

“I can’t control the Sheleasoun, yet. But, if you don’t do as I say, I can torture your beloved and bring him agonizingly back to health time and again.” He directed his attention to the men holding Jamson. “Bind him, and put him on one of the horses. I’ll take the woman; she can ride in front with me.” Between them, the two mercenaries holding Jamson quickly bound his hands behind him and bullied him out of the room. Flynn started toward Illithriel.

“No, I’ll see to her personally.” Elevendel waved him away and crossed the study to where she lay on the couch. He bent down and picked her up in his arms, cradling her against his chest. He looked down into her pain stricken eyes, not bothering to hide his pleasure at having her close. Dizziness assailed her as the blackness of oblivion rose to claim her, and she had not the strength to fight it any longer.

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