The Devil's Deuce (The Barrier War) (28 page)

A soft breath ─ less than a whisper ─ behind
Maran made him turn, and his already impassive face tightened even further. A
woman stood beside the most recent of tombs, her slender fingers resting gently
on the carved stone surface. She traced the outline of the visage, her own face
sad.

Maran’s breath caught in his throat, and she jerked her head
upright and stared right through him.

“Is someone there?” she asked.

“No,
Jethyra
,” Maran replied in
his soft voice. She gasped and took a step backward.

“It can’t be you,” she said breathlessly. “Maran?”

“So you remember your brother,” he said, moving aside so she
was no longer looking at him. It was an old game of his from his youth, and he
knew it unsettled his sister, who had never grown accustomed to Maran’s habit
of disappearing from sight at will. Of course, then he’d only been using his
Lightweaving skills openly. Now he used Shadowweaving to accomplish the same
purpose, and even in his mind, it lent a more sinister air to his invisibility.

“Why y…” she began, then she stopped and her face grew cold.
“My only brother lies within the earth and here before me.” She indicated the
sarcophagus she’d been touching. “I have no other siblings.”

“You can deny me all you like, but that will not make me
cease to exist, my sister,” Maran said with regret in his voice. Then his voice
firmed and he glared as he slowly circled her. “I will always be a member of
this family.”

“This family has existed much better without you,”
Jethyra
hissed, looking about to try and pinpoint the
source of his voice. “You are nothing. You never were. I had only one brother,
Rowin
, and he lies dead.”

“And his son?”

Here
Jethyra
stopped, and her face
was visibly troubled.

“His son is a shining example of what an elven prince
should
be,” she said haughtily, but Maran heard a quaver in her voice. She looked
about with slightly wild eyes, still unable to sense his location. “His son
will be a testament to him.”

“An odd sentiment from someone who used to pray nightly her
brother would remain wrapped in sorrow and never remarry,” Maran sneered.

Jethyra
was silent.

“Childless yourself, I know you secretly hoped our brother
would remain widowed while you searched for some poor soul to curse with your
hand in marriage. I heard you. All those years, watching him mourn. No wife. No
heir,” Maran said, deliberately needling her. The antagonism between the two
siblings had not faded with the years of separation, and Maran’s distaste for
his sister’s attitude smoldered even now.

“He didn’t need a wife of his own, he had
Isael
,”
Jethyra
said spitefully.

Maran suppressed a surge of bitterness and anguish he’d long
since accepted as the price for his son’s life. His wife and brother had
feigned an affair, allowing her to divorce Maran with some semblance of
legitimacy in avoiding his fate in exile. They all knew she was pregnant, and
it was for the sake of their unborn son, Rill, that
Rowin
and
Isael
shamed themselves and Maran left alone.
While
Rowin
had vowed to never lay a hand on her in
private, Maran had tortured nightmares picturing the two of them together for
years until he received word of
Isael’s
death.

“I assumed you were smarter than that, sister,” Maran said,
his voice a frigid wind preceding the storm. “Ambitious and cold, yes.
Conniving and envious, always. But you were never stupid,
Jethyra
,
and I know you know the truth.

“Our dead brother had no son of his own, and my wife was
faithful to me until the day twilight and disease took her from the world,” Maran
said with absolute certainty. “Our dear, deceased brother adopted the unborn
son of his own brother. Me. No matter how much you resented your lot, no matter
how much you resented my being the child of our father chosen to inherit his
mantle, still the crown will pass to a child of
my
flesh, and not to you
or a child of yours. You will never wear the crown, nor will your offspring.”

Perhaps Maran would have said more. Perhaps
Jethyra
would have responded. Perhaps the long-dormant
sibling animosity between the two would have exploded into something more. Just
then, however, they both turned at the sound of a shuffling step entering the
room. Maran squinted briefly in a sudden flare of white light, then his
normally impassive face cracked to reveal a festering grief and pain within
him. In the doorway, holding a glowing ball of light in one hand, was his
father. The aged king was stooped slightly as he shuffled into the room,
looking about anxiously. He spotted his daughter and stopped in surprise.

“
Jethyra
,” he said. “Why are you
here, my daughter?”

“Paying a remembrance to your son, father,” she replied
after composing herself. “I am finished here, however. Let us dine together
tonight, as we used to.”

“Perhaps another night, my dear,”
Vareille
replied. “For now, leave me be. I wish to be alone with my son.”

Jethyra
hesitated, glancing back
toward where Maran stood.

“Father, I…”

“Leave me, daughter,” the king said sternly. “Now.”

Maran’s sister knew better than to argue. She spared one
final glance in Maran’s general direction, then stalked from the room
furiously.

Maran composed his features, then allowed his invisibility
to begin fading away.

“Father,” he whispered.

“My son,” the king said. “You must not be seen, even by me.
There are things beyond even my control that must be observed.”

Maran nodded, knowing his father couldn’t see the gesture. A
mere thought centered his
sai
and ensured he
would stay invisible. He tried to say something in reply to his father, but no
words would come out. Instead, he took two quick steps forward, then abruptly
slowed in hesitation and halted a step away from his father. He knelt on one
knee and bowed his head deeply.

“I’m sorry, father,” Maran said, his voice barely steady.
“I’m sorry.”

Maran’s father took two faltering steps forward, then
reached out to steady himself and his hand fell on Maran’s shoulder.

“
El’Maran
,”
Vareille
whispered. He clutched Maran to him and hugged him fiercely, tears running down
his wrinkled face. The aged king’s hand trembled as it briefly came in contact
with Maran’s severed ear, then moved quickly on to grasp behind his son’s head.
Maran’s control broke entirely, and he joined in his father’s tears. The
normally impassive thief wept silently into his father’s robe, staining the
rich material with discolored streaks of grief and remorse. Two long, wet
trails appeared as if from nowhere on the robe as the aged monarch apparently
held nothing at all to his chest.

“I’m sorry, father,” he repeated.

“And I, too, am sorry, my son.”

Again, they both cried and clung to each other with
desperate emotion. The release so long denied to both of them had finally come,
and the years apart made no difference to the freshness of the wounds they both
felt. It wasn’t years ago that Maran had betrayed his family, it was yesterday.
It was yesterday that the king had banished his son and ordered his ear
removed. And it was yesterday that neither had been able to speak to the other,
and neither had been able to understand or say what he wanted.

“I’m sorry.”

One cannot understand light without understanding darkness.

-
El’Maran
El’Eleisha
,

testimony given during trial (983 AM)

- 1 -

Much to Birch’s relief, they were given a room in the palace
in which to spend the night. Large fans spun lazily overhead with blades made
to resemble giant bird feathers. The walls were sculpted of the same living
stone, as was a beautifully intricate table set in the middle of the room. The
central table was carved – or more likely “Woven” – to resemble a tree and
literally grew out of the floor itself. The uppermost branches were flattened
and fused together to create the table’s smooth surface.

A frieze of wild animals cavorted around the room near the
ceiling, and narrow windows overlooked a courtyard garden bursting with color
and life. Despite the rapidly approaching winter season, Birch had not felt
cold since he’d set foot in the capital city, and he was beginning to wonder if
elven magic kept the winter chill at bay.

Whatever the amenities and beauty of their room, however,
for Birch the greatest comfort was knowing he didn’t have to crawl back through
the tunnels again. He’d resigned himself to a night away from Moreen, and he
was therefore pleasantly surprised when she appeared in the company of Nuse and
Perklet and half a dozen elves. The three humans had shed their disguises and
looked as human as Birch and Hoil.

Birch immediately folded her in a gentle embrace and
breathed in her presence.

“Hoil told them where we were, um, staying, and they came to
escort us to you here,” Nuse said. Then, when their elven escort was gone, he
added, “Maran passed on word for us to be at an inn run by his friends after we
shed our ears, so to speak, so it all looked perfectly legitimate. That elf
friend of yours sure is something.”

“Why thank you, Nuse of the Blue Facet,” Maran said. They
glanced around, but the elf was still invisible. Then he seemed to materialize
out of the nearest wall, and he smiled mirthlessly at the reactions of Nuse,
Perklet, and Moreen, who hadn’t yet experienced his abilities. “You’re
something of a marvel yourself, I’m told.”

Nuse recovered his composure and bowed half-mockingly. Maran
turned to Birch. There was something of a haunted look in the elf’s normally
expressionless eyes.

“Did you have a productive evening with the prince?” he
asked.

“We did, and the prince is remarkably fluent in the human
tongue,” Birch said. “I didn’t see a hint of his understanding while we were in
the throne room, but it made conversation much easier without Hoil having to
translate every word.”

“I wouldn’t mind backing him at a
Dividha
table, with
expression control like that,” Hoil said.

“So you spoke with the king?” Nuse asked. “And?”

Quickly, they filled in Nuse and the others on what had
happened in the palace. They did not, however, reveal that Rill was Maran’s
son. Birch and Hoil had already spoken privately and decided that knowledge was
too dangerous to be revealed, even to their companions, unless absolutely necessary.

“After the audience, we received a tour of the palace and
then had dinner with the young prince,” Birch said. “I’m not convinced one way
or the other about whether there is demonic involvement in your brother’s
death, but my instincts tell me no.”

“What did he say about it?” Maran asked. “I’ve done some
questioning myself, and I’d like to know what Rill knows, or at least what he
told you.”

“Your brother was found with something called a
deikel
knife lodged in the back of his neck,” Birch said,
his voice low, but emotionless. “It was done execution-style and deliberately
left so the knife would be found, or so they’ve surmised. The guards outside
his room were found dead but without a mark on their bodies. From what they’ve
discovered, it seems the Do were responsible.”

“Those are the so-called dark elves, right?” Nuse asked.
“The whole shadow thing you told us about, Maran?”

“Yes.”

“But aren’t your friends, and you yourself, Do?” Perklet
asked softly in confusion.

“Much as not all paladins are members of the Green Facet, so
not all elves of a sect hold the same beliefs,” Maran replied softly, his face
dark. “The Do with whom I associate would never take part in such a plot. Ours
is a community devoted to upholding and protecting the elven throne, for all
that our support would be rejected if it was ever discovered,” he said. Then
added almost too softly to be heard, “Or so I thought.”

“So these were renegades?” Hoil asked.

“You would be more accurate to consider
us
the
renegades,” Maran corrected him. “Meaning my associates. A typical Do elf
resents the rest of elven society as much as he yearns to be a part of it,
which makes him hate it all the more. We are a more enlightened group who
realize the necessity of balance and harmony between the light and dark.
Despite the blindness of our society, our presence serves a greater good that…”

Maran abruptly stopped speaking and snapped his jaw shut. He
looked furious with himself for some reason and stared through the wall at
something only he could see.

“Ahem,” Birch said. “Anyway, while we can only speculate on
the motives of the murders, there’s so far nothing that supports our fears of
demonic involvement.”

Hoil nodded in support of his brother’s assessment.

“Maran, you said you had more information,” Hoil said. When
the elf didn’t immediately reply, Hoil glanced over and saw Maran was still
staring fiercely at nothing.

“Maran!”

The one-eared elf’s head whipped around at the sound of his
name, and he stared stone-like at Hoil.

“You said you had more information,” Hoil repeated. “Will
you tell us now?”

Maran stared at him in silence a moment longer before
nodding.

“Forgive me,” he said softly. “As you no doubt realized, I
left to meet with my father while you were busy with dinner. It wasn’t so much
my conversation with my father that was telling, but rather with someone else
after that…”

- 2 -