Stardeep (36 page)

Raidon listened as the star elf told him how to use his mother’s forget-me-not, and was astounded. It possessed

abilities deeper than he had imagined. Yet as she spoke, the latger part of him was more interested in Delphe than in her message.

For she was a star elf, and unlike Kiril, not hardened and molded by a decade of self-effacing hate. He imagined she might be something like his mother…

He imagined her then, someone not unlike Delphe, but with darker hair and moonlight shining on it, standing in a grove of sighing ttees in Sildeyuir. From musicians unseen came elven songs, and wafting on the warm air the scent of sweet elven wine. She who the Edgewarden had named Erunyauve. What was her story?

Delphe paused, said, “Are you listening, Raidon? To strengthen the boundary layer at the Well’s bottom requires concentration and focus.”

Raidon gave a slight smile, saying, “I was distracted, but please proceed. I have understood all you have so far explained. You were describing how, when imagining the three-dimensional likeness of the Sign, your mind can call forth the amulet’s full powers.”

“Yes, that’s right,” replied Delphe, somewhat mollified.

The image he’d constructed of Erunyauve returned. On her chest lay the amulet she’d given Raidon. She smiled, and in that expression he saw a promise. She would explain her departure when their joyful reunion occurred, soon now. Having visited Sildeyuir, he wanted to return to where starry skies glistened and day’s harsh light never burned. A place where he could discover the truth of his origin.

In Sildeyuir, he would learn Erunyauve’s true reason for leaving him, and her supernatural percipience in gifting him with the one object required to stem a primeval threat. To see so far into the future, she must command a considerable talent. But what a lonely power, too. If one saw the future so clearly, would destiny seem too rigid a road, a fate so

certain that neither luck nor intervention could hope to alter fortune or misfortune alike? Perhaps such a choice faced Telarian…

Raidon swept speculation about Erunyauve from his mind, and concentrated exclusively on Delphe’s lilting voice.

Kiril watched Angul flickering, dimming with each heartbeat. Without her touch to enliven the half-soul, the Blade Cerulean’s fires would fail. All her personal angst and troubles, tied directly to the blade, would cease, or at least no longer continue to grow. She could finally get on with het life. An image of her enchanted whisky flask appeared in her mind’s eye. “No, I wouldn’t…” She hoped she wouldn’t.

Was Angul so much to give up? He was not Nangulis, after all—he was only a distorted image of Nangulis’s overriding conviction, purpose, and duty as a Keeper. Angul, for all his power to destroy aberrations, was also a self-proclaimed justicar of all that was right, rather than a solver of problems. As Kiril had learned early in her career as Angul’s wielder, such certitude can quickly lend itself to right’s opposite. She’d cursed the blade enough, blaming Angul for her long exile from Stardeep and her lapse as a Keeper of the Cerulean Sign. The blade was anathema to her. Her chance to forget required only that she turn away.

The memory of Nangulis kneeling before her, his palm on her face, flashed before her. The warmth of his hand still haunted her cheek, he had touched her so recently; or his shade had. Did it matter? More importantly, could she truly live without him? Could she gainsay Angul, the last remnant of the love of someone who meant more to her than her own miserable life?

Leave him, she commanded herself. If she touched the guttering blade, she would be lost—the only opportunity

she’d ever have to be shut of Angul’s temerity was now before her. Who knows what future pain she might inflict upon herself and others as a thrall to the blade’s righteousness?

No, better to walk away from the lip, bid him…

Good-bye.

“Farewell, Nangulis…” Her head fell as she imagined the rest of the day, the rest of the month, and the remainder of the year. She attempted to picture the test of her life, however long it might stretch into the gray, lonely future.

A desolate cry broke from Kiril Duskmourn. She sprang forward, reaching for the Blade Cerulean’s hilt. With a tug, the blade was free from the stone. Fire bloomed, sky blue and joyous. Angul burned anew and gladly in her loving grip. Angul’s clarity of reason fell across her like a warm blanket. It was like… coming home.

“Angul,” she whispered, her face transfigured. “I missed you.