The Lord of Illusion - 3 (36 page)

“Thank the Lord,” murmured Lady Cassandra. “We did the right thing.”

Camille knew the angels. The scepters told her their names. “King Dremen. Queen Sarsha. Welcome to our world.” She bowed her head, the tornado of power following her movements, a glowing crown all her own.

The king raised his pale brows, throwing a glance at his wife. Queen Sarsha nodded regally at the humans, but quickly turned her attention to the five elven lords.

“So,” she said, her voice rippling like clear water over crystal stone. “Our errant lordlings have finally been returned to us.” She stepped away from her husband, the folds of her gown moving with a life of their own. “We have missed you sorely, my little mad elflings.”

Roden curled his long graceful fingers into fists. “We won’t go back.”

King Dremen spoke then, his voice like thunder from a cloudless sky. “You will not be difficult, will you?” He smiled, and his beauty made Camille want to weep at the sight of it. “You have harmed this world so badly, that I am sure the council will not blame me for snuffing you out of existence, right here, right now. If not for my queen’s pity of your demented state, I would have done so already.”

Roden cringed, his bravado disappearing as swiftly as it had come. With nary a glance at his fellows, he strode into the portal. Lan’dor sheathed his silver sword and followed, La’laylia and Annanor right behind him.

Breden stood with arms crossed, his foot tapping a mad rhythm against the smoking scale of a fallen dragon. “You cannot make me go. I like it here.”

Queen Sarsha’s sensuous mouth fell in a frown. “My poor Breden. Look at what this primitive world has done to you. Come, my dear one. I have hot chavi waiting for you, and freshly baked nardo. And sweet music to soothe your nerves, and caring hands to tend you.”

“Peace is boring.”

“Perhaps. But now that we know of your illness, I think you will find Elfhame more to your liking.”

Breden huffed, but allowed the lady to lead him into the portal. She watched him disappear behind an enormous scarlet flower, and shook her head before turning back around.

A half circle of dragon-steeds awaited her, like a band of hungry hounds. Three of the beasts still lay upon the ground. Unmoving. Unbreathing. The king and queen approached them first, their sadness nearly palpable.

“Ador,” said the queen, bending to stroke a smooth black scale. “The memories of the mad elflings have told me your fate. Have shown me you stood as leader against them, to find your way home. And now it shall never be.” Her voice hitched, and she bowed her head. “We cannot even ask for your forgiveness.”

Camille glanced at the man who held the black scepter, for he made a choking sound. As if he just now realized the fate of the dragon and grieved for his death. Indeed, she felt an odd sort of twist in her chest when the queen approached another fallen dragon. This one with golden scales, blackened about the edges from something other than battle.

“Grimor’ee,” breathed Queen Sarsha, stroking the fine scales of the beast’s snout, “Tender one. Whose heart allowed you to love a human and weaken the enchantment upon you. Look how your scales have blackened from illness—Dremen! He still breathes!”

The King of Elfhame quickly strode forward, glorious and lithe, and placed his hand upon his wife’s shoulder. They both glowed as softly bright as the moon, and the queen’s hand sparkled with a power that encompassed the beast, changing the blackened scales to a newly burnished gold.

The dragon opened one eye, and Camille thought his jaw curved in a smile. When the beast rose to his feet, she wondered why her lips curved in a reflection of that smile. Wondered at the way the dragon turned to stare at her.

“She is the one,” said the queen.

The beast bowed his head. “Yes. She captured my soul… but she does not know me now. She is fey from the scepters. No human can endure what she has—aah, how I had hoped to bid her a fond farewell.”

Queen Sarsha’s clear crystal eyes fixed upon Camille, who did not particularly like such attention.

“The key—” began the queen, but she did not finish, for the woman who held the lavender scepter quickly spoke up.

“There is another,” she said, “Midaz. Perhaps he breathes as well?”

The queen stared at the woman for a moment, understanding flashing within her gaze, then strode over to the dragon who had such decayed scales that Camille could not tell what their original color had been.

“He has been suffering from breaking the enchantment much longer,” said the queen.

“Too long,” echoed the king, who joined her side. “He was near death before the battle. Perhaps it is a mercy he took a killing blow.”

At his words, the lady with the lavender eyes moaned, tears flowing down her cheeks, her fingers tightening around the scepter she held. She shook with silent sobs, and the half-breed with gray-black hair and bloody face gently stroked her arm while she mourned.

The king of Elfhame raised his voice. “My faithful dragon-steeds.”

As one, the beasts bowed their heads to the king.

“You shall be rewarded for your deeds this day. And the sacrifices of those who have fallen shall be remembered for all time in songs from the king’s bard at my very table. Go home, brave knights, and take your brethren, so we may build them shrines of crystal and sori’eth. We shall follow soon.”

A round of sighs shook the dragons from snout to tail, and they beat their wings, clasping Ador and Midaz in their great claws before launching at the portal. Camille blinked, for surely they could not fit their massive girths into the opening. But the moment their scaled snouts touched the glowing doorway, they disappeared, and she could see them flying in the skies of Elfhame, above azure lakes and crimson mountains.

The king turned toward the small group of humans, his wife laying a gentle hand upon his arm. “I believe you have suffered much under the madness of our kind, and we ask your forgiveness. Had we known such an illness afflicted some of our people…”

“But we have had peace for time beyond remembering,” continued the queen. “We grew complacent. The barrier between our worlds has been closed for so long we forgot you even existed… until our mad elflings breached it.”

“We thank you for returning our people,” said the king. “And will be vigilant in protecting the portal until the end of our days. We cannot make recompense for the damage our kind has done you, without changing your world even more than it already has been.” He raised a hand toward them. “But this much, at least, I can do.”

The half-breeds who had defended those in the star-circle closed their eyes as the sparkle of power surrounded them. It grew to include the lady with the lavender eyes, and the man with the black, who both looked as if they no longer had the strength to even hold up their scepters. Within a heartbeat, all their injuries disappeared, although oddly enough, the damage to their clothing remained.

The king continued to speak as if he had not just performed a miracle. “But I think some good may have come of this, for I see our blood within each of you. The gifts you inherit from our race—that of strength and grace and wit and beauty, and whatever mundane creations already forged from magic—will forever be with you. Even when we close the doorway.”

Camille could not believe the temerity of the black-eyed man when he spoke up. That wash of healing power had put the strength back in his limbs and a determination in his refined features.

“It will be over then,” he demanded. “England shall be free.”

The king frowned. “Yes, but… I owe you an honest answer. The scepters are the most powerful talismans of our magic, and as such, they carry within them the ability to… evolve. I can feel their connection to your world, and your people, and this concerns me. You must know they are the only way to breech the barriers between worlds, or we would have fetched our mad elflings sooner. Although we will guard them more closely to prevent any more incursions from our world, we cannot know if the scepters will sever their connection with you.”

“What does that mean?” growled the man with the green blemish upon his face.

The queen faced him, her lovely eyes searching the warrior’s features. “It means that although that mark of yours shall fade, a bit of our magic may still leak into your world. We shall try, but we do not know if the scepters will close the doorway completely.”

The woman with the blue-faceted eyes quickly spoke up. “Thank you for your honesty. Now we may be vigilant in watching for any sign of magic… and take the necessary precautions.”

The queen gave one regal nod. “You may release your burdens, now.”

“No!” blurted Camille, who could not be sure if that protest had come from her, or the seven who crowded her head.

“What will happen to the key?” demanded the man with the golden eyes.

“Do not fear, our magic will keep the star bonded—ah, you mean the girl.” Queen Sarsha stepped closer to the circle of humans, her gaze fixed upon Camille. “Grimor’ee was right. The girl is fey, and once we sever the scepters’ connection to her…”

“They have been in my head,” continued the man. “I know what she must be going through.”

“But you did not give up your heart and soul to the scepters.”

“I will not lose her.”

“No, Lord of Illusion, perhaps you will not. For there is more that binds you together than you know.” She shook her pale hair, dazzling flashes of silver in the movement. “We cannot be sure what may happen to her. Ahh, my heart aches at the sacrifices you have all made for your people, but it seems she had the strength to make the most difficult sacrifice of all. Can you do the same?”

He stared at Camille, this man with a face more handsome than King Dremen’s, and she frowned in confusion, for she thought she should know him. But the voices in her head drowned out her own. They wanted to go home. They rejoiced at the thought.

They wanted her to go with them.

But she could not look away from those golden eyes. They held her more surely spellbound than the ring of scepters around her. She did not know what it meant when they filled with tears as he continued to gaze at her, his face taut with indecision. And then one tear escaped the rim of his dark lashes and slid down his sculpted cheek unheeded, and he tightened his jaw, and loosed his hold on the golden scepter. It hung suspended in midair, as did the rest of the scepters, as one by one, the half-breeds released them.

The king and queen of Elfhame joined their magic with the swirling power of the scepters, and Camille felt their souls for a brief moment.

Like diving into a pool of crystalline water. Clean and true and glorious.

And far too brilliant for her mind to encompass.

Camille’s legs gave way beneath her, and she collapsed to the snowy ground.

The scepters snapped together just above her head, forming the star once again. They began to spin, copying the movements of the tornado of power they had formed, and rose in a wild dance, as if they sought to join the true stars in the heavens. But at a motion from the king and queen, they settled above the two crowned heads, a whirl of color and brilliance.

Camille felt a strong pair of arms pull her closely to a warm chest, and she did not need to look at him to guess who held her. She continued to watch the star and the two elven, for her heart and soul went with them. The king and queen of Elfhame turned one last time, waved a farewell at the half-breeds, the gesture conveying a respect and gratitude more surely communicated than any words could have done.

And then they stepped beyond the threshold.

The star winked at her.
Come. Come.

But the man with the golden eyes held her firmly, whispering her name over and over.

And the doorway to Elfhame shivered to a close.

The pillars flanking the sides of it withered to small crystal boulders, and a dry spring appeared, furrows branching from it which suggested streams had once flowed across the small meadow. The blackness that had surrounded them abruptly lifted, and a silence descended on an ordinary forest of tall evergreens.

“They are gone,” whispered the black-eyed man, as if he could not quite believe it.

“We have done it,” echoed the lady at his side. “The magic is gone.”

The younger man who resembled her so strongly nodded his head. “I do not hear the music anymore. But my body recalls the moves. Perhaps I can learn to dance with swords without the magic.”

A tall woman patted the hilt of her sword. “I relish the challenge of wielding an ordinary blade for once.”

“As do I,” echoed the man who had once possessed a green mark upon his face.

The lady who leaned against him smiled. “I, for one, feel free in the knowledge that I will never be asked to wield magic again. The power of the storm calls to me no longer.”

“I have not wielded a scepter long enough to notice the lack,” said the man with eyes the color of new earth. “But I once shared the bed of an elven lady. I doubt another will suffice.”

“You would be surprised,” said the scarred-faced man, hugging his lady tightly. She looked up at him, a smile tugging the corners of her mouth.

The redheaded girl shrugged. “Dorian, you can still feel the forest, can’t you?”