Dark Lord

Something like gratitude flashed through Taeauna's eyes before she nodded solemnly and replied, 'Magic is but a sword. The wielder does good or ill, not the blade, unless the blade is a shapechanged wizard or beast, free to think, and can work on the minds of those who bear it.'

Rod rolled his eyes. 'I never thought I'd end up thinking that I wrote too much about Falconfar. Right, tell me more about Galath. That's where we're going, isn't it?'

'Yes,' Taeauna said slowly, eyes almost imploring, 'because that's the land you've written most about, and so thought most about, wherefore, I'm hoping…'

'That this 'right place' that will bring back my memories is somewhere there.' Rod seemed to be doing a lot of nodding. 'Well, I hope so. I always liked Galath, and dreamed most about it, and wrote more about it than anywhere else in Falconfar. It was a little like England, to me.'

'England?'

'Well, not the real England, but how I imagined England in the time of knights and castles, when I was young and saw Robin Hood movies and-'

'Robbing…?'

'Never mind. Tell me about Galath. It's still all those happy folk on their sundappled farms, each village with its castle up on the hill, wherein dwell all those crusty old nobles with their soup-strainer mustaches and monocles and galloping hunts, right?'

Taeauna sighed. 'No longer, lord. Galath is too large and powerful for any of the Dooms to conquer; whenever one tries, the other two join forces to defeat him. All three have been harshly taught this lesson by the others, so they no longer try. Instead, stepping around each other save when their spies happen to come within dagger-reach, they have been busily plundering the many castles of the realm for magic, slaughtering nobles to do so.'

'Christ,' Rod snarled. 'Now I want to have a pen in my hand that can transform Falconfar!'

'More than that; the royal family is all but slain entire.'

'The Rothryns? 'All but?' So who's left?'

'Well, some are fled, or gone into hiding, but it's hard to hide from a Doom unless you truly go far and never return, abandoning all trace of heritage and privilege; most of those have been found and killed. Then, quite openly, Lordrake Rarcel and Lordrake Bellomir, the brothers of the king you knew, and all the princesses, then Queen-'

'The king I knew,' Rod said bitterly. 'So they got Arbrand, too.'

'Yes, lord. Last summer, in Terth Forest. Prince Keldur, soon after. So now.all the Rothryns have been murdered except King Devaer.'

'Oh,' Rod said. 'The youngest son, the one I cast as the weakling and wastrel.' He sighed, and then shrugged and said, 'Well, at least there still is a king.'

Taeauna nodded. 'The Mad King.'

CHAPTER FIVE

'Mad King?' Rod Everlar ran a hand over his eyes. He was tired, damn it, and this just about…

'So Galathans call him. Whether he's truly mad or not, no one knows but himself and the wizard who's enthralled his mind with spells, if he's not too far gone.'

Rod groaned. 'One of the Three?'

'Of course.'

'So, is he a stone-faced killer now, or a brawler who snarls royal commands? Or does he stagger about mumbling, trying to fight the spells?'

Taeauna sighed. 'You'd best hear it all, and properly. Hearken. Last of the Rothryns or not, Devaer has seen but ten-and-six summers. No one has ever observed him to gibber or drool and stagger, and he has no odd habits or pursuits. He seems older than his years, as if the crown about his brows has made him wise. He simply gives orders-coherently and with dignity-that are wild in the extreme. Commanding this noble house to make war on that one is a favorite, and has cost the realm the Sunders and the Hammerfells.'

Rod felt suddenly sick and empty. He'd loved both families. He'd dreamed of the Sunders as sneering, sophisticated beauties. The men he made purring, grudge-pursuing villains, and poured his own lust-fantasies into lush descriptions of the tall and dark-haired, cat-graceful, never-sated Sunder women. The Hammerfells had been his bulging-thewed, amiably roaring 'good old boys,' salt of the earth like that squire in Tom Jones; what was his name-again? Worthy? Big, brawling, lusty hard-drinking types, with necks and shoulders like prize bulls, and a laughing, bellowing love of battle.

'All dead?' he heard himself asking, without much hope.

'Perhaps not. Both families were wealthy and had holdings all across the North, and they fled in tattercloak haste after the dragon fell into the lake.'

'The dragon? I never put…Holdoncorp! Yes, they did, damn them. So, let's hear it: are dragons infesting the skies all across Falconfar?'

'No. At least, not yet. just the one appeared, by night, and was slain by a spell-lance that lit up the sky clear across Galath, but I'm sure you remember the legend-'

'That I wrote? Of course. 'Dragonfall dooms the realm.''

'Indeed. A lot of nobles saw it as a sign to be heeded, and fled the realm without delay. Thereby they managed to cling to their lives, at least for, a time. They were still galloping for the borders when King Devaer took to commanding one noble family to butcher another 'traitor' family, and then announcing that his appointed slayers were themselves traitors, and sending another family out to kill them in turn. Rumors of this or that wizard compelling him to do this are a dozen a day, but there's never been any agreement as to just which wizard.'

Rod groaned again, but Taeauna went right on.

'After his seventh naming of a new 'traitor house,' the nobles stopped heeding him and departed the court. Most of the courtiers and royal servants fled Galathgard on their heels, abandoning Devaer; the rest were devoured by all manner of monsters that started appearing in the castle thereafter.'

Rod winced. 'Is there anything left of Galath at all?'

'Of the countryside you remember? Much. Of the court and any true rule over the kingdom? Nothing. Several of my sisters dared to fly into the upper towers of the royal castle of Galathgard, earlier this season. They saw Devaer wandering alone there, shunned even by the prowling beasts, no doubt thanks to magic. Dark Helms and ever-more monsters are gathering there now; it's become a place no one who serves not that Doom…' Taeauna slapped the bedding in front of her, traced 'Arlaghaun' on their folds, and as swiftly raked that name away '…dares go.'

Feeling as angry as he could ever remember being, Rod snarled, 'Except us.'

And he reached out and put his arms around Taeauna.

She stiffened, and started to pull away, but he tightened his embrace, just holding her tightly in his arms, not moving his hands at all.

After a time, he started to hum, deep and low, as he remembered his father doing when comforting his mother; a gentle, endless, soothing tune, sad, slow and majestic rather than happy or bouncy.

And slowly, ever so slowly, he felt Taeauna relax against him. He dared to move one of his hands, then, lifting it-slowly-to stroke her hair, taking great care to keep away from the stumps of her severed wings. God, the muscles she had back there…

Slowly, and without a sound, she was yielding, sinking into his chest. They both reeked of sweat, they both had matted, tangled hair, and Rod was acutely aware that he was comforting a woman who was stone to his damp mud; she could literally tear him limb from limb, whenever she wanted to.

Taeauna sank her cheek into his shoulder, bending over to do so, and suddenly gave a great shudder, followed by a sigh that seemed longer than Rod could ever hold his breath, even long ago, as a strong young man, when he was training to be not a half-bad swimmer.

This time, when she pulled gently away, he let her go. She sat back, looking away from him, her eyes bright