The Legend of Asahiel: Book 03 - The Divine Talisman (73 page)

His stomach churned, and his head began to reel.
Take it all
, he thought. He did not need happiness—not when it came with such torment. He did not need love—whatever that proved to be. Let it all vanish in a flaming vortex. Let his past be reduced to cold ashes and gray embers. He was an instrument of devastation, no more. A pitiless, feral craving.

There will be no second chance.

He didn’t need one. He didn’t want one. Not with Dyanne. Not with Annleia. Not for the life he had led. To the Abyss with who he had been. To the Abyss with who he might be. Let both burn for eternity with the specter of his broken dreams. There was nothing to hold back—and no reason to do so. All that mattered was feeding the fire. Though it blackened his heart…Though it ate his soul…

In the depths of a ravaged mind, he heard himself scream.

As suddenly as that, the Illysp were gone. The pillar of lightning withdrew, its connection severed. Torin, in a final furious burst, ignited the Orb itself. The Entients fell away as it melted into the ether—taking the gosswyn with it.

With nothing more to consume, he let the fire die. All at once, a crushing emptiness gripped him.

Which he felt hardly at all.

A
NNLEIA WAS THE ONLY ONE
to approach, pushing through the loosened ring of Entients to peer up at him with concern. “Are you…?” she began, but faltered at his expression. “Is it over?”

Though raw with expended emotion, Torin still felt the Sword’s power—
his
power—coursing through him in pulsing waves, begging release. He looked to Ravar. The Dragon God moaned gently—a sound that nevertheless rumbled across the sky. His great neck, hefted high, slid deeper into the frothy swells, until only His head remained above the waterline.

“You have fulfilled a greater promise than any of us in the beginning could have anticipated,” said Maventhrowe. “I do believe that Ravar shall return now to His rest, and we to our duties.”

Like that
, Torin thought. It felt to him like there should be more. For all that had just happened to conclude so abruptly…

“Is that all you would say to him?” Annleia asked.

“What more would you have of us?” growled Ranunculus.

Annleia frowned.

“An apology,” Htomah surmised. “Is that it?”

Torin felt Annleia’s gaze upon him. Her unnecessary worry confused him.

“They have served their purpose,” he said. “Let them go.”

“And we expect that you will continue to serve yours, wherever it leads you.” Maventhrowe smiled, adding, “No matter your future deeds, I suspect they shall bear watching.”

At this, the head Entient directed a knowing glance at Htomah. After, the group’s members began to turn away, one by one, each with a nod of farewell.

“You will not call upon me to relinquish the Sword?” Torin asked, all but daring them to do so.

Maventhrowe paused, showing again that steady, all-knowing smile. “I am not so foolish as that.”

“A prize it would be for your studies.”

“Indeed. Though we shall learn far more, I think, leaving it in your hands. Be mindful of its use, Sword-bearer. The greater the power, the greater the consequence.”

For a moment, it seemed the Entient meant to expound upon that warning. Instead, he turned to face Marisha, who stood silent within his shadow, clinging to Allion’s arm.

“You, child, have further questions.”

She tensed, blinking at him with doe eyes. “Questions?”

“As Algorath’s scion, you seek answers to a legacy you cannot yet fathom, answers that only we can provide.” He held forth his hand. “If you so desire, come with us, and I will grant that opportunity.”

The blinking stopped. Marisha stared, transfixed by the Entient’s gaze, clearly tempted by his offer. Beside her, Allion had gone rigid. Even at a distance, Torin sensed the hunter’s sudden, gripping fear.

“I…” She paused. Suddenly, she, too, had become aware of Allion’s distress, judging by the look she gave him. “How long would we—”

“There would be no
we
,” Maventhrowe explained gently. “Do you recall what Darinor told you of our ways? An unprecedented chance I offer you—requiring mutual sacrifice great and small—in the interest of expanded horizons. Some traditions, however, cannot be broken, as you would come to understand. If you are to let go these anchors,” he added, glancing at Allion, “better to do so now.”

“In that case,” Marisha replied, “I have all the answers I need.” She abandoned the Entient’s gaze to stare into Allion’s. “What more there is to know, he and I will learn together.”

If disappointed by her rebuff, Maventhrowe did nothing to show it. “May that be enough.” He bowed, then turned with his flock, leading them up the beach.

For a long moment, no one spoke, as if waiting for better privacy from the departing company. Finally, Allion bent to whisper to Marisha. Torin missed what was said, for Annleia chose that same moment to break her own silence.

“The Powaii,” she said. “Did they…?”

Torin glared at Ravar, then shook his head.

“I still can’t believe you went in there without me.”

“Without
us
,” Crag corrected, drawing near. “Might have made a difference.”

As if the blood of the Powaii hadn’t been enough, Torin thought, but left it unsaid as Allion stepped close, Marisha still clinging to his arm.

“We would have joined you, as well,” his childhood friend offered. “I don’t know what all happened here, but…I should have known you would find a way.”

His grudging tone did not match the sympathy of his words. “We arrived late last night,” Marisha added for him, as if to soften the air. “But the Entients…they held us back.”

“Fed us some riddle about arriving too late,” Allion said, “or else too
soon
, depending on the outcome.”

Too late to be of any help against the portal, Torin supposed, or the basilisks, or the goblin horde—or all three, perhaps. Too soon? His gaze trailed after the Entients’ retreating forms. Too soon to work the Orb’s magic, most likely. Until he had shown them that he could summon the power of the Sword…

It caused him to wonder what other action the mystics might have taken, had circumstances unfolded differently. Of course, the same held true of the pair of former friends still standing before him. He shook away the thought. It didn’t matter. He never had to know.

“Will you be returning with us, then?” Marisha asked, with an uncertain glance at the rest of his company.

Torin considered, looking first at her, then at the lingering scowl upon Allion’s face. “I’m afraid I must travel first to Yawacor. I’ve still some debts to settle there.” He said this without so much as a glance in Annleia’s direction. Thankfully, she kept silent. “Should I return,” he went on, “I’ll expect to find Nevik sitting Krynwall’s throne—or if not, then yourself, perhaps.”

Allion snorted. “I’ve had my fill of regency. But we’ll appoint someone suitable, if that is your wish.”

Torin nodded curtly. Still gripping the Sword, he made no effort to extend a hand in parting. Nor did Allion, he noted.

“So this is farewell?” Marisha asked.

“I presume Vashen will escort you.” In this case, he
did
look back, seeking the warder general’s confirmation.

Vashen grunted. “If we’re truly finished here, me and mine will return to our people. May as well journey together.”

“And you with them, Craggenbrun,” Annleia said softly.

The Tuthari shifted in surprise. “Not a chance, Lei. I go with you to find your family. I owe that much and more—”

“You owe me nothing, dear friend. Neither are you beholden to my people.”

“You forget what I did, Lei. Your mother—”

“Forgave you almost immediately,” Annleia reassured him, with a quick glance at Torin. “She wished for you to be happy, to find a home among your own kind. That place is here.”

Crag regarded her sourly before shifting a glare to Torin. For a moment, his stern gaze slipped back and forth between the pair, as if wary of some subterfuge. “You’ll see to it that she finds the others?” he demanded finally.

“I will serve her wishes in all things,” Torin vowed.

That only caused the furrows in Crag’s brow to deepen. Torin had no desire to deceive the dwarf outright, but decided that he would do so, if it came to that.

Crag surprised him by accepting his answer. “You know I do the same, Lei.”

“I know. Which is why you will remain. I will miss you, though.”

She bent to embrace him. Crag gripped her in his powerful arms, though he continued to glare at Torin over her shoulder. Upon releasing her, he said, “I learn you let some ill befall her, you’d best run far and fast, flaming sword or no.”

“She came a long way, Crag. She’ll do fine.”

“Taking the slug again?” he grumbled at Annleia.

“It is why He waits.”

Crag’s face wrinkled again as he considered the floating leviathan, which groaned suddenly.

“He knows your thoughts,” Annleia cautioned, “and would choose not to suffer your threats.”

“Smarter than it looks, then.” He looked her in the eyes. “Safe voyage, Lei.”

“Be well, Craggenbrun.
Uum darrow mi.
Do not think this a forever good-bye.”

The Tuthari merely shook his head at that, then turned to the others. “While the day is fresh?”

Vashen stumped over to join him, her Hrothgari forming up behind. When she stood before Torin, she dipped a slight bow.

“
Graggen du mard
,” she said to him, then, to Annleia, “Keep each other well.”

“And you,” Annleia replied. “May all your morrows shine bright.”

Nods, grunts, a few lasting stares. That was all the more Torin had to suffer through before the dwarves took their leave, Allion and Marisha in tow. He wasn’t sure if it was the look he gave that kept all at a distance, the volatility of the blade in his hand, or something else altogether. But there were no real smiles, no handclasps, no embraces. They simply went on their way, as he preferred.

Time soon to be upon his.

Annleia stepped up to his elbow as he watched the others depart. “You do not truly mean to accompany me, do you.”

A statement, not a question. “You said before that you would be better off alone. The reasons you gave…nothing has changed.”

When she did not reply, he turned to face her. The deep stare that awaited him was as compelling as any he had ever received—enough to cause the barest flutter in his chest. Perhaps he was wrong. Perhaps she hoped that he would argue for her to change her mind. If so, she was going to have to speak the words. She knew well enough that he had nowhere else to go, nowhere else he would rather be. She had spurned his offer once already. He wasn’t going to beg.

“Take the Sword, at least,” he urged.

Annleia’s incredulous chirp was part laugh, part grunt. “The Sword could belong now to no one but you.”

“You are the last of the Vandari,” he reminded her, as he presented her the blade.

She pushed it away, her eyes never leaving his. “I am a link only, between the old and the new. Their secrets, their responsibilities, are yours.”

“Secrets can be passed on. I can tell you—”

“You could
tell
me,” she agreed, “but we spoke of this before, remember?
Knowing how magic works is not the same as being able to summon it. And the need would have to be dire indeed before I would even attempt to wrangle such power.”

His gaze slipped to the glowing blade. She was right, of course, more so than she knew. Better that she keep to her mother’s wellstone, its energies drawn from an external source. Better that she never expose herself as the Sword required, or experience its full, devouring nature. He winced to even imagine it. Kindled by her love, her hate…Feasting upon her every shame, her every desire…

“Remember the Entient’s warning,” she said, her soft voice cutting into his thoughts. “Remember also what I told you of passion and patience. Destroyers each, if you do not keep them in balance.”

“In that case, you may not wish to keep Him waiting much longer.” His eyes shifted to indicate Ravar’s titanic presence, waiting patiently to bear her home.

Still she hesitated. “I must know first that we will see each other again.”

Had he felt any less numb inside, Torin might have laughed. Was this parting not
her
decision? He almost pitied her her conflict of emotions.

Almost.

“I’ll not try to predict the future,” he said. “Nor will I stand here and make promises I do not know I can keep.”

“Then promise me this, at least. Promise me that you will not let the past prevent you from seeking future joys. Life is full of glorious horizons. Often, the best are saved for last.”

Torin nodded mechanically, while gnawing irritably at her words. On what grounds did people so often assume the future would be better than the past? Was it merely an excuse to press on when the best, it seemed, had already gone by?

“Come,” he said. “Let’s not let Crag think that something is amiss.”

He began his march without waiting for her reply, but found her falling into step quickly enough. Neither spoke a word as they navigated the rock-strewn terrain, though he felt her gaze lingering upon him more than once. As they neared the tideline, he veered north, angling behind a jutting rock formation that would help to hide them from the view of their departing companions. Ravar, attuned to his every thought, snaked slowly in that direction.

You do mean to bear her safely
,
do you not?
Torin asked the leviathan.

See to your own course
,
Asahiel
,
before you think to question mine.

“Will you give me no clue as to where I might find you?” Annleia asked, coming to a stop on the reef beside a shallow tide pool.

“You found me before. Should the need arise, I’m sure you can do so again.”

That elicited another squeak of protest. Her eyes sparked, then softened. With no more warning than that, she stepped close and wrapped her arms around him.

He still held the Sword, and so squeezed her briefly with his one free arm. Annleia hung on. For a long moment, she held him tight, as if genuinely reluctant to release him. When at last she pulled away, she did so slowly, staring into his eyes with that conflicted sense of longing.

Torin did not know what else he might say, and so reached forth to brush her cheek. Annleia clutched his hand momentarily, her emerald orbs shimmering, then spun away in a swish of red-gold hair.

Without turning back, she splashed a trail across the reef toward the waiting Dragon God. Torin himself turned to make sure that Crag and the others were out of sight, then watched her scale the leviathan’s ravaged hide. Much of the clinging sea-growth had been broken away during His assault, but enough remained in patches to provide food and shelter for her voyage. If Ravar had truly agreed to this, Torin assured himself, then nowhere else in all the world would she be as safe.

It occurred to him then that a farewell to the Dragon God might be in order, no matter their actual feelings toward each other. Easier said than done.

Your Entients wished me peace at journey’s end
, Ravar offered helpfully.