Death of a Darklord

A soft sound behind him made him whirl, his heart pounding in his throat. It was Elaine. She held her white cloak tight about her. There were still bloodstains here and there on the fur.

She was the last person Jonathan wished to see.

She stood there, face uncertain, as if she knew she was not welcome. The hurt in her green-blue eyes cut him like a knife. He did not want to hurt her. For her, he had betrayed everything he thought he believed. He had saved her life, but had he endangered something more precious? And whose fault was that? His? No one's?

He extended a hand to her. She smiled and came to him, taking it. He drew her into the circle of his arm and his cloak, as he had when she was small.

With a sigh, she settled against him. It was the same sound she'd made when she was ten, the first time Jonathan had ever held a child and told the lies that all parents tell, that the world is fair, and adult arms can protect them from all harm. Her hair was soft against his face and smelled of herbs and. . her. The warm scent of a child. No mere perfume could ever disguise it from him.

"Was it real?" she asked, softly.

"Was what real?"

"The elf, he brought those two men back from the dead. I saw it, but I still don't believe it."

"I wouldn't have believed it either, had I not witnessed it myself."

"Thordin and Gersalius said no cleric should have been able to raise the dead in Kartakass. Why is that?"

"I don't know."

"Did you know Gersalius was an outlander, like Thordin?" she asked.

"No, I didn't." Jonathan wondered what else he didn't know about the wizard.

"Could the elf heal Calum?"

Jonathan sat very still. He had been so busy worrying about magic and the state of souls, the matter of Calum had slipped his mind. It was Elaine, the corrupted magic-wielder, who had thought of Calum and his pain. Jonathan was ashamed of both his for-getfulness and his suspicions.

"I don't know. Thordin has spoken of them healing wounds, injuries, but not disease, not old age."

"But perhaps Calum would not mind being old so much if he were not in such pain." She looked up at him, her head still on his shoulder, a mere rolling of eyes. It was an old gesture; for a moment, the little girl looked out at him. Then she straightened, not pulling away, but looking directly at him. Her eyes were honest and unrelenting.

"Do you hate me?" She did not turn away after she had asked it, but met his gaze. Whatever his response, Jonathan would have to speak it into those familiar blue-green eyes.

"I could never hate you, Elaine. You know that."

She searched his face as if looking for some clue. "I know you hate magic and all who practice it. Now I am a mage, or learning to become one. You hate that I have magic in me." The last was statement, pure fact.

Jonathan had to look away from her searching eyes. He stared into the flames.

Her fingertips touched his bearded chin and turned his face back to her. "Tell me true, no half-truths."

"You are as dear to me as flesh of my flesh."

"That is not the question I asked." She was relentless. Tereza was the bravest woman he had ever known, but even she might not have pushed the question. Tereza might never have asked at all; most people wouldn't. They would fear the answer too much.

"I wish you were not a mage, Elaine."

"I know that," she said. Small frown lines formed between her eyes. "Do you hate it? Do you wish me to leave?" It was her turn to face away. She huddled against him, but would not meet his eyes. "I wasn't going to ask that, but I couldn't stand to watch you hate me, Jonathan." She looked up suddenly, the pain in her eyes so raw it made him gasp.

"I would rather go away than watch you grow to fear me."

"Fear you? I don't. ."

"I saw the look on Tereza's face in the shed that night. I saw your face after my vision." She shook her head. "You were both afraid of me."

"Of your new powers, perhaps, but not of you." He hugged her to him, chin resting in her yellow hair. "Never of you."

"I know you're lying." Her voice was choked with tears. "I can read your thoughts like words on a page."

He pushed away from her, half-tumbling before the fire. His heart choked in his throat. His lips formed the word, and said it soundlessly, a silent hiss: "Witch."

Tears shimmered in her eyes like water at the brim of a glass. She widened her eyes, fighting so no tear would fall. "I have my answer." She stood, hugging her cloak to her as if it could protect from more than cold. "When we come back from Cortton, I will pack my things and go with Gersalius. We can go back to his home. I don't think he will mind that I can read his thoughts."

She turned and walked slowly back to her tent. Her spine was rigid, movements confident, proud, stiff with pain.

He wanted to call her back, to say he was sorry, and he was. He was sorry, so terribly sorry, but he had fought magic all his life. He could not change now. If she had not confronted him, they could have pretended. He could have pretended, but if she could read his thoughts … it was hopeless.

He sat up, folding his cloak closer about him. Tereza came to stand beside him. "What did you and Elaine talk of?" She knelt to warm her hands before the fire.

Jonathan did not answer right away. He didn't want to tell his wife what a fool he was, though if anyone knew his frailties, it was Tereza. The wonder was that she stayed with him.

"Talk to me, Jonathan. She was crying when she left."

"She asked me if I hated her for being a mage."

"And you said yes?" Her voice was outraged.

He looked up at her, anger flaring through him. "Of course not!"

"Then what happened?" Her face was already angry, frowning and suspicious.

"She read my thoughts. I can lie in words. I can lie even with eyes and gestures-but thoughts, Tereza.. who can lie with thoughts?"

She stood up so abruptly her cloak trailed into the fire, sending sparks whirling skyward. She stalked around the fire like a caged beast, every movement etched with anger.

"And what did she say after she read your thoughts?"

"She said …" He could not say it. To say it out loud to Tereza would make it real. If he told anyone else, Elaine would leave, and he wouldn't have a chance to apologize, to beg her not to go.

"Jonathan," she stood across the fire, hands on hips. The flames bathed her face in strong shadows, leaping light. "What did she say?"

"I'll make it all right. I'll talk to her."

"Jonathan. ." Tereza let her hands fall to her sides, cloak swinging closed. She stood there like a pillar of flame. "She's going away, isn't she?"

Jonathan wanted to look away, to not see the accusation in her eyes, but he forced himself not to move, not to blink, not to flinch. He would always remember the disappointment on Tereza's face. The contempt.

"I told her she was as dear to me as a daughter."

"But you couldn't hide your hatred of her magic." She bit off each word, spitting it at him. He had never seen her so enraged, not at him. It frightened him.

"She knew I hated the magic. That wasn't what bothered her the most," he said.

"What then?"

"It is the fact that we fear her powers. That is what she ca

"We?"

"She said you were afraid of her after the night in the shed."

Tereza glanced away, then back. The righteous anger slipped away from her face. "She's right."

"I know," he said softly.

They stared at each other over the crackling fire. A branch broke with a sharp sound, settling farther into the fire. Sparks spilled upward into the dark. The sound of the flame was loud like voices whispering in the other room.

"What are we to do, Jonathan?"

He shook his head. "Perhaps, we can ask the wizard for help."