Entering her chambers, Valea went to a basin and washed water over her face. The cool liquid brought her senses nearer to normalcy. She had seen Shade, yes, but only a memory of him. This Tylan, this variation of the faceless warlock, was as dead as the elves.
But what was the secret behind the ghosts she had encountered and the memory she had lived through? For that matter, how had Valea actually made contact with the vision? She had wanted to comfort the dying figure-a foolish notion in retrospect-but that alone should not have enabled her to experience Galani’s past. Never in her father’s records had there been any comment on such an experience.
But never had there been recorded a vision that included the appearance of Shade.
With her mother abruptly departed, Valea could not immediately look into the episode, as she first hoped. Running the Manor demanded her attention. There were overseers, of course, but they still had to have approval on certain matters. There was also correspondence to receive, for her parents kept in touch with friends and allies throughout the continent. One scroll spoke of bustling activity in those lands in the northwest held by the drake confederation, a loose-knit realm populated by the survivors of several clans whose masters had perished. An unmarked drake named Sssaleese commanded them, but his hold was said to be precarious at this time.
Valea put the scroll aside. Her father investigated other rumors near that vicinity. Had he been alone, she would have worried more, but Darkhorse carried him and together they were a team unbeatable.
The day passed much too swiftly and by the end of it Valea found herself worn out. She was rarely left in charge by herself, her brother generally taking that role when their parents were away. There had scarce been a moment when thoughts of her encounter had not been on her mind, but the duties of the Manor had prevented the sorceress from ever thinking them through. Only when she sat down to eat her supper in her room, her view from the terrace the sweeping, green lands protected by the barrier, did Valea finally begin sorting through matters.
It had taken only the touch of her fingers for her to enter the memory. Logic dictated that she should be able to do the same next time. The only question remained when that next time might be. The ghosts of the Manor did not necessarily come at her beck and call. It might be days, months, or even years before she had such luck again.
And yet . . . that night found Valea once more ensconced near the staircase, this time her garments warmer and her determination a hundredfold stronger.
Every creak of the building, every whisper of the wind, sent her sitting up straight, certain that the apparitions had returned. Each time, though, Valea faced only disappointment. The hours of darkness moved on in quick order, morning rapidly approaching.
Bleary-eyed, she abandoned her post just before the first gray light of predawn. That the visions might materialize during the daytime Valea had already taken into account, but she had felt certain that her best chance would be at night. Her assumptions now shattered, the young sorceress pushed back her unkempt hair and retired to her quarters for a few hours respite. The Manor could run itself for awhile.
Unbidden came images of Kyl, his exotic, inhuman features twisted into mirth. What a sight she would have been to him now, so disheveled. Biting her lower lip in bitterness, Valea threw herself onto the plush, down bed and buried herself in one of the pillows. Perhaps when she woke she would be able to make some sense of her foolishness . . .
The hand slapped her harshly across her face. Stunned, Valea could do nothing but stand where she was and try to understand what had just happened.
“I warned you about saying such things again! If you must repeat their prattle over and over, cousin, you might as well just go back to the forest where you belong!”
Her cheek still screaming from pain, Valea watched Arak stalk away, the elf in a mood so foul he looked ready to kill. Valea-or rather Galani-shivered uncontrollably, something for which the young enchantress could not blame her. Then, tears pouring, the female elf turned and ran through the marble and wood halls, past a dark, empty ballroom and along corridors lit only by dying torches. If the Manor reflected its inhabitants, it certainly now reflected the mood of Galani’s cousin.
Out of the Manor and into the moonlit garden they ran. Valea stared at the looming maze, now seeming to call to her. Her elven host heeded that call, darting in among the high hedges without any care.
Valea felt each scratch as Galani ran relentlessly through the dark passages. The elf’s eyesight was better than her own, but even Galani’s eyes revealed little more than hulking shadows and twisting limbs.
Finally running out of breath, the sorceress’s host collapsed onto the soft ground near a bench. Valea gasped along with her, finding it impossible to tell who was more exhausted. The tears continued to rain down.
Caught up in Galani’s distress, Valea could not tell how long they lay there. The crying might have gone on, but a pair of hands suddenly took hold of the elf’s arms, guiding her up gently.
Gloved hands.
Even in such dark, it was impossible not to recognize the ethereal figure.
“You’re injured,” commented Shade almost blandly. “Your cousin had no such right.”
Curiously, the fear that Valea had sensed in Galani earlier had vanished. The enchantress sensed some lengthy passage of time since her last visitation, but how much, she could not say. Now the elf looked at the murky form as if having found her champion. Galani’s changing mood affected Valea’s own. For all the evil he had performed, Shade had also done much good. He was as revered as he was reviled. If the present scene was any indication, Tylan was an agent of light . . . and someone who had already touched Galani’s heart.
“Tylan . . .” murmured the elf. “It’s been so long.”
“I had . . . matters to attend to.”
With a suddenness that caught both Shade and Valea unaware, Galani buried her face in the voluminous robes of the warlock. Shade hesitated for a moment, then put his arms around her as one might do for a child.
“What is he
She remained silent for a time, then answered, “You mean the Wyr Stone? It is a dangerous artifact. I warned him of that when he first asked me of it. It all but destroyed the Garoot. He plays with powerful forces . . . but the rewards will benefit all elves if he succeeds.”
“At the cost of his own life? Our people have no desire to rule the land! They are satisfied with their privacy!”
He carefully pushed her from him. The blurred face fascinated Valea as much as it did the elf. A light seemed to radiate from it, allowing one to see the vague details, but never the complete picture. To Valea’s mind, Shade had once been a pleasant-looking male. Not so perfect as Kyl, but better still in other ways.
But Galani entertained similar notions. Before Shade could speak, a slim, golden-clad arm reached up to his murky visage. Perfectly-formed fingers stroked his cheek.
Shade pulled away, but not immediately. “You know the news I brought your cousin. The Dragon Kings have declared among themselves that the elves must be brought to destruction. They distrust your magic. You’re the strongest race other than them at the moment-”
“But what of your people? The humans? Surely they-”
A harsh laugh escaped the warlock. “My people? Galani, the Dragon Kings are much more my people than the humans are!”
Valea did not understand his comment and certainly her host did not. The sorceress wished that she could do more than observe, but this was after all a memory, a playing of events long past. She could no more truly interact with it than she could with the characters in a book. The last time had clearly been a fluke.
“The Wyr Stone . . .” Galani’s voice went cold. “How I wish he had never found that abomination!”
“But it is the key to your people’s salvation. You may trust me on that.”
Again emotions that reminded Valea too much of her feelings toward Kyl surfaced. Galani took one of the gloved hands in her own. “I trust you, Tylan. At times I trust you more than I do my cousin these day.” She suddenly took his other hand. “Dance with me.”
