DemonWars Saga Volume 2: Mortalis - Ascendance - Transcendence - Immortalis (The DemonWars Saga) (109 page)

And yet, I hate them, with all my heart and soul. Were I to raise an army tomorrow, I would turn it upon Andur’Blough Inninness and raze the valley. I would see Lady Dasslerond and every one of her taunting kin dead in the grass
.

In truth, I am frightened by my own level of anger toward them
.

I remember once overhearing Belli’mar Juraviel and To’el Dallia speaking of their respective trainees. Belli’mar was explaining the latest test they had devised for Brynn Dharielle, a challenge of tracking, and was saying that he and Dasslerond had devised a series of tests, each one more difficult than the previous, until she reached a level of trial that she simply could not pass. Only then could they truly judge her potential, and only then could she truly understand her limitations
.

That made sense to me, for I, still young in my power with the gemstones, have already come to understand that the greatest asset of a warrior, the thing that will keep a warrior alive, is the ability to understand his limitations, the wisdom not to overstep those bounds. A warrior has to choose right every time he picks a fight or else he is no more than a dead warrior. I appreciated the Touel’alfar and their techniques at that moment, for their honesty and integrity, for their high expectations of each of us. They would bring us to the level where we could honestly, and without self-doubt, take the title of ranger
.

Or Brynn could, at least
.

For then To’el, my mentor, had explained to Belli’mar Juraviel the course that Lady Dasslerond had set out for me, a regimen of trial after trial, and with the expectation—nay, the demand—that I would not fail any of the challenges. I could not fail, as To’el explained, for I had to be the perfection of form as a ranger
.

I should have been flattered. In retrospect, I am surprised that I, though only a dozen years of age at the time, recognized the horrible truth of that statement for what it was. I expected Belli’mar Juraviel, as close to a friend as I had among the Touel’alfar—which says little, I admit—to recoil from such a suggestion as that, to tell To’el that he would go straight off to speak with Lady Dasslerond
.

He said
, “Tweken’di marra-tie viel vien Ple’caeralfar.”

I can hear the resonance of those words in my head now, these years later,
more clearly than I heard them that long-ago day
. Tweken’di marra-tie viel vien Ple’caeralfar.
It is an old elvish saying—and the Touel’alfar seem to possess a limitless number of those!—which has no literal translation into the common tongue of men but is something akin to “reaching high into the starry canopy.” For the elves, the saying refers to the joy of their eventide dance, when they leap and stretch and try to enter the spiritual realm of the stars themselves, shedding their earthbound forms and soaring into the heavens above. Or, in a less literal usage, the saying refers to the high expectations placed upon someone
.

When Belli’mar Juraviel spoke those words concerning me, he was saying that he fully expected that I would live up to the demands that Lady Dasslerond had imposed upon me. It was a compliment, I suppose, but as the months of trial moved along, Belli’mar’s words became a heavy weight wrapped about my neck. The Touel’alfar would take care not to limit me by setting their expectations too low, but might they be limiting, as well, by setting their expectations—expectations and not hopes—too high? If they ask of me perfection of form, of body, of mind, and most important, of spirit, are those expectations potentially translated into a most profound sense of failure should I not attain the desired level, and immediately? And as important, are those expectations indelibly embedded in the minds of the elders? Would Lady Dasslerond have offered more room for discretion if she was not absorbed by this need that I become the epitome of a ranger, the symbol of perfection in human form, as defined by the elves? She did not say to me upon our parting that I could not become that very best of rangers but that I could never become a ranger at all. Her disappointment, I think, sent her flying into a world of absolutes, where nothing but the best could suffice
.

Thus, the fact that I disappointed her on the highest level of expectations translated into a shattering of all of her hopes and expectations at every level. I could not be her epitome of a ranger, thus I could not be a ranger at all, in her eyes
.

How I hate her and all of her superior-minded folk!

How I long, more than anything else in all the world, to show her the truth of Aydrian, to not only become a ranger, as she claims I cannot, but to become the best of the rangers, the stuff of legend. Let them sing of Aydrian in lyrics more reverent than those to Terranen Dinoniel, and in terms more reverent than those now reserved for my own father, Elbryan the Nightbird. When I have reached that pinnacle, I will visit Lady Dasslerond again, I think, to stand over her valley and let them know the truth. I will force from her an admission that she was wrong about me, that not only am I worthy but that I am most worthy!

Those are my revelations, as shown to me by the guiding force of Oracle
.

That is my dream, the force within me that carries me on now from day to day
.

—A
YDRIAN
W
YNDON

Chapter 12
 

H
E SAT ON THE SIDE OF THE HILL
,
EXPERTLY HIDDEN IN THE SHADOWS OF THE
trees and as quiet as those shadows, watching them at their work. Two women, human women, and a young man of about his own age knelt by a small stream, washing clothes. And they were talking, and how good it was to hear human voices! Not the singsong higher-pitched melodies of the elves but human voices! Even if he could hardly understand a word they said, Aydrian felt more at home here than he had for years in the foreign land of Andur’Blough Inninness. For, indeed, he knew now, sitting there and looking at the people, that the elven land was, and would forever be, foreign to him. To be truly at home in Andur’Blough Inninness, Aydrian had come to understand, one had to be possessed of an elven viewpoint, and that was something that he, with barely a tenth the expected life span of an elf, could never have.

So now here he was, someplace far to the east of the elven valley, lurking near a small farm town. There were hunters in the town as well, he knew, for he had shadowed them on several excursions through the nearby forest. How clumsy they seemed to him, and how loud! In watching them plodding along the paths, oblivious of prey barely fifteen strides away and scaring off more game than they could possibly have carried back, Aydrian could almost understand Lady Dasslerond’s disdain for humans.

More than that, though, the young man was quite pleased to see the bumbling hunters at work, for their ineptness made him more confident that he could make a great name for himself here, much as Brynn would likely do in the southern kingdoms of To-gai and Behren.

He had come here this morning with the hopes of making his first contact with these people—with Elene, the oldest of the women, and perhaps with Kazik, the young man, for both were out here every day. Unfortunately, old Danye had come out this morning, as well, with her hawkish, hooked nose and foul temper. He had seen her here a few times, and never once had she showed the hint of a smile, never once had she spent more than a quarter of an hour without yelling at Kazik.

Aydrian sat and watched, having no intention of going anywhere near Danye. Sometime later, he was about to give up and wander back into the forest—and was, in truth, feeling more than a little relief that circumstance had brought him a reprieve—when the old woman unexpectedly departed, leaving Elene and Kazik alone.

Aydrian was out of excuses to delay. As nervous as he had ever been in his young life, he took a deep breath, and rose to his feet. Then, before he could begin to second-guess, he walked down the side of the hill, out from under the trees.

“Hey there!” Kazik greeted, seeing him first. Then, as if it suddenly registered with the young man that Aydrian was no one of the village, was no one that he knew, Kazik’s face screwed up curiously, and, his gaze never leaving Aydrian, he reached out to the side and tapped Elene on the shoulder. “Mums,” he said, “ye best look over here.”

With his limited understanding of the language, Aydrian could hardly pick out the words through the thick dialect. He kept approaching, slowly and without making any movements that could be construed as threatening.

“Who are ye?” Kazik said loudly, taking a defensive stance as Aydrian neared the opposite bank of the stream. He glanced around and spotted a large stick, then picked it up. “And what’d ye want?” he demanded.

Aydrian’s perplexed look was genuine. He held up his hands and stopped. “Aydrian,” he said, “
Ni tul
 … I am Aydrian.” He almost said his surname but bit it back, realizing that if his father was nearly as important as the Touel’alfar had indicated, then the name would be recognized. And that, for some reason that Aydrian had not yet sorted out, the young man did not want.

After some uncomfortable moments, Elene moved in front of Kazik and said, “Bah, he ain’t no bandit, he ain’t. Who are ye then, boy, and what’s bringed ye all the way out here? Yer family comin’ to Festertool?”

Many of the words went right past Aydrian, but he did recognize the sympathy in the gentle woman’s tone. “I am Aydrian,” he said again, more confidently.

“Where’d ye come from?” the woman asked.

Aydrian smiled and looked back over his shoulder, opposite the rising sun, then looked back at Elene.

“From the west?” she asked skeptically. “Ain’t nothing out in the west. Just a few o’ them huntin’ towns …”

“He’s a bandit,” Kazik whispered, but Aydrian heard, and though he didn’t know exactly what a
bandit
might be, he could easily enough discern that it was nothing good.

“Then he’s a damned bad one,” Elene replied with a snicker, and she turned back to Aydrian and motioned for him to approach. “C’mere, boy,” she said.

Aydrian crossed the stream and stood near her. Kazik stared at him hard, silently challenging; but Aydrian, so desperate to find some companionship, at least knew better than to return that stare. If he did, if he engaged in some kind of a duel with Kazik, it might soon become explosive, and he figured that he’d have a hard time being welcomed in the town after that battle, especially by Kazik’s grieving parents.

“Where’s your family?” Elene said quietly, looping her arm in his.

“Dead,” Aydrian answered. “No more.”

“Where ye been living, then?” the woman pressed.

Aydrian turned back to the forest and answered, “Trees.”

“Ain’t for speaking much, is he?” Kazik remarked.

“I’m thinkin’ he’s not catchin’ our meanin’s,” said Elene. She turned back to
Aydrian. “Well, whate’er’s yer trouble, boy, ye come back with me. I’ll get ye a fine meal and a warm bed, at least!” She pushed him along the trail heading back to the village and told him to go along, but she lingered for a moment with Kazik.

“Bandit,” the young man said.

“And better for us if we got him under our eye now, if he is,” Elene replied.

Aydrian caught every word and understood most. He only smiled again, feeling very much like he had just found a home.

The reaction from the rest of the villagers ranged from apprehensive to warm, except for Danye, who insisted that the strange young man be put right out. His sudden, unexpected, and still unexplained appearance caused quite a stir, of course; and later on that day Aydrian found himself sitting at a table with many of the village leaders, tough men and women, all. They grilled him all through the afternoon and far into the evening; and whenever he couldn’t understand a question, they rephrased it, searching for an answer. Most of all, they wanted to know where he had come from, and when he answered
“tolwen,”
the elven word for
west
, they all looked around at one another, their expressions puzzled.

“Tolwen, yeah, Tolwen,” one man said suddenly. “Hunting camp. Yeah, I heared o’ Tolwen.”

Aydrian looked at the man curiously but didn’t try to correct him.

The group began talking among themselves then, and Aydrian sat back and let himself drift out of the conversation. The first thing he had to do, he realized, was gain a stronger command of the language, and he had an idea how he might do that.

They put him up in one of the small rooms above the town’s common room, the only building in the small community that had two stories. It also had, Aydrian quickly discovered when he followed Rumpar, the tavern keeper, to fetch his dinner, a small cool cellar to help keep the food fresh.

Aydrian was back at the cellar before dawn, propping open the outside trapdoor and crawling down into the musty room. He used one of the gemstones, a diamond, to bring up a soft light, but as soon as he had himself situated, his mirror placed on a shelf along the opposite wall, he dismissed the magical glow and let his eyes adjust to the early morning light.