Avenger

huddling around campfires beneath the forest’s mighty boles, trying to keep dry and warm.

In the middle of the afternoon on the ninth day of their journey, Geran found that the endless woods around the elven road they followed had begun to take on a familiar character. The stirring of long-buried memories washed over him. He shortened his reins and brought his horse, a big gray gelding, to a stop on the snow-covered elven road, sitting motionless in the saddle as the wet snow floated down, sticking to his woolen cloak and the horse’s mane. The woods were still, and the snow muffled the hoofbeats of his companions’ horses, leaving no sound but the faint creaking of leather and the animals’ heavy breaths. Without even realizing it, he leaned forward, listening with all his might for something that stirred at the very edge of his awareness.

“What is it?” Hamil asked, reining in beside him. Sarth, a little way ahead of them both, glanced over his shoulder and halted as well.

Geran gazed at the snowy forest that surrounded them. He recognized this place. “I first met Alliere and Rhovann at this very spot,” he said. “A little more than seven years ago, I suppose. It was winter then too- Midwinter’s Eve-and I could hear the elves singing the Miiraeth len Fhierren.” He shook himself, raising a hand to brush the snow from his eyelashes and the memories from his sight. “It’s only a mile more to the city.”

“Good!” Hamil replied. “I’m more than ready for a hot meal and a warm bed tonight.”

“As am I,” Sarth said. The sorcerer had argued vehemently against completing Aesperus’s task, but once Geran made his decision, he’d grudgingly agreed to go with Geran and Hamil so that he could view the missing pages of the Infiernadex himself before the lich took possession of them. Geran had agreed that if the pages held some lore or ritual that seemed too dangerous to hand over, he’d destroy them rather than deal with the King in Copper-an alternative that he sincerely hoped he wouldn’t have to exercise. There was no telling how Aesperus might react to such a refusal.

Hamil tapped his heels to his mount’s flanks and started again, but Geran hesitated a moment. This was the point of no return; if he continued forward, he’d be in defiance of the coronal’s judgment. He was not quite ready to discount all his misgivings yet.

Sarth glanced around the woods to make sure of their privacy, and then spoke to Geran. “You need not go any farther,” he said. “Hamil and I can find the pages Aesperus requires. There is no need for you to risk the coronal’s displeasure.”

The swordmage shook his head. “It might take you months to win the trust of the right people, and we can’t afford much delay. I still have friends here-I think. But from this point forward, my name is Aram, and I’m only a Red Sail armsman here to guard Master Hamil from any trouble on the road.” He was dressed the part, with an armsman’s scale coat, the red surcoat with its yellow slash, a little pigment to darken the eyesockets and make them appear deeper than they were, and a thick goatee in the Vastar style. His elven sword was disguised in a false scabbard, its hilt of mithral wire covered with a simple leather wrap; it likely would have been better to leave the weapon in Lasparhall, but once upon a time it had been bestowed on Geran by Coronal Ilsevele herself, and if things went poorly, he hoped that it might serve to remind the elves of the service he’d rendered their queen in years gone by.

Hamil noticed that he was not following yet, and reined in again. He glanced at Sarth, and then twisted in the saddle to look back at the swordmage. “You’ve never spoken much of your years in Myth Drannor,” he said to Geran. “I think now might be time to tell your tale. What happened to you here?”

Geran sat his horse in silence for a moment, wrestling with the question of whether to answer. For many months he’d done his best to forget about the life he’d made for himself in the elf realm, unwilling to torment himself with the memories. But Hamil and Sarth certainly deserved to know whether their association with him entailed any risk in the City of Song. And it might be possible that he was finally ready to unburden himself of the tale, dragging it out from the dark recesses of his heart into daylight again.

He felt his companions waiting for his answer, and sighed. “I came here in Nightal of the Year of the Heretic’s Rampage,” he began. “It was a year and a half or so after the Company of the Dragon Shield parted ways and Hamil and I took over the Red Sail Coster. I’d been feeling restless in Tantras. I suppose my heart wasn’t in the merchant trade-I missed the Dragon Shields, and I felt like I was still searching for a cause worthy of my sword. Anyway, some Red Sail business brought me to Harrowdale, and while there I intervened in a fight between an elf-a bladesinger-and a band of Netherese assassins. The bladesinger was as good as anyone I’ve ever seen, but the odds were long, and the Netherese fought with dark spells and shadowy blades. I was a good swordsman at the time, better than most, but I was out of my depth in that fight, and I knew it. Still, I timed things well, and my appearance tipped the balance of the fight. The bladesinger and I killed or drove off the Netherese.

“Afterward I spoke at length with the fellow I’d aided. He was a sun elf named Daried Selsherryn, a master bladesinger of Myth Drannor. He told me that he thought I had potential, especially since I’d had a little arcane study during my time with the Dragon Shields. Daried offered to teach me more of his art by way of thanking me for my help.” Geran smiled as he recalled the evening. “I thought I’d pretty much figured out everything I needed to know about sword play, and I was a little offended by the idea that I might not measure up. But I’d sensed the magic Daried and his Netherese foes wielded against each other-I’ve always had a knack for it, I guess-and I was intrigued despite myself. Besides, I’d wanted to see Myth Drannor since I was a young lad. When I finished up with my Red Sail business, I sent a note back to Hamil explaining I might be a tenday or two late-”

“Five years late, as it turned out,” Hamil muttered.

“-and I rode west into the forest, with nothing more than a vague notion of studying a few days with Daried and taking in the sights. Of course, the forest is a dark and wild place in its eastern marches, and I lost my mount to a hungry bulette. I finally arrived on foot, cold and hungry from days of walking.

“Here, on this very spot, I stopped to listen to the sound of elven singing that I could hear through the trees.” Geran nodded at the small clearing around them. “And while I was standing here listening, I met the most beautiful woman I’d ever laid eyes on-Alliere Morwain, of House Morwain. She and Rhovann Disarnnyl, who was courting her, were out for a sleigh ride in the snowy woods. Alliere took pity on my weatherbeaten state and offered me the hospitality of her family’s home. She showed me around the city, and of course, I’d never seen anything like it. I found Daried again soon enough, and within three days learned that I didn’t know a thing about sword play or magic.”

“Did Daried teach you your swordmagic, then?” Sarth asked.

Geran nodded. “I studied under him every day for months. In the evenings, I explored the city at Alliere’s side, listening to the master bards reciting in the lanternlit glens, dancing on the tavern greens, watching plays and wandering through the shops of the city’s merchants. When I’d learned enough swordmagic to regain some of my self-confidence and enough Elvish to avoid embarrassing myself, I went to the court of the coronal and offered her my sword. She accepted, and I became a member of the Coronal Guard. They don’t choose many folk of other races, but Daried and Alliere spoke well of me, and I come from a noble line-such as it is. My experience of the lands outside the forest made me useful as a scout and spy, so I often went abroad when the guards found something that needed doing outside Myth Drannor. And during those days, I fell in love with Alliere.” Geran paused, lost in the memories.

“I think I finally understand why you stayed so long,” said Hamil.

Geran shrugged. “Myth Drannor is a strangely timeless place. Time doesn’t touch the elves the same way it does the rest of us, of course, but there’s something more to it than that. It’s like living in a waking dream. The lords are so splendid, the ladies so fair, the songs so beautiful … there are days of toil and grief, but they’re few and far between. The longer you remain, the more deeply you lose yourself in the dream. And I was lost here for years.”

“How did it end?” Sarth asked quietly.

Geran’s mouth tightened with old pain. “A duel,” he said. “Rhovann and I grew into rivals for Alliere’s affections. She cared more for me, I think, but they’d known each other since before I’d even been born, and their families desired a marriage between them. Perhaps she didn’t really know her own heart. In any event, Rhovann became jealous of me, and I of course didn’t like him much either. Whether he truly loved Alliere or simply regarded her as something that belonged to him, I couldn’t say, but he never missed a chance to let me know what he thought of me. I challenged him to meet me in a tournament, and he agreed.

“It was supposed to be a contest of skill, but from the first we meant to hurt each other. I got the better of Rhovann and struck his wand from his hand, but he wouldn’t yield.” Geran closed his eyes, remembering the frost- covered leaves under his feet, the clash and thunder of spells striking spell-shields and steel gleaming in his hand.