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presence. Llondelei greeted him rejoicing, for their farseers predicted a
grant of new Sathid from the Vaere. In the roughest wilds in Keith-land,
hillfolk waylaid him with song and wreaths of firelilies.
He learned, then, that Corley's translation of a priestess's prophecy had been
deliberately understated. The faintest spark of amusement flashed in his eyes,
the first since the fall of Anskiere.
Winter spit sleet from the sky when Ivainson Jaric reached Cliffhaven. Set
ashore by a crotchety fisherman with a limp, the Firelord remembered another
fisherman who had died. He paid for his passage with an unsmiling face, then
delivered the burden of the Kielmark's sword in to the hands of Deison Corley.
Memories he could not shed stayed with him.
Corley stamped cold feet, discomforted by the brilliant but taciturn figure at
his side. 'Come in from the wind,' he invited.
Jaric declined with a faint shake of his head. He spoke his first and only
words since leaving the slagged crest of Shadowfane. 'Where is Taen?'
Corley raised tired eyes. 'Gone. She went south, to the Vaere, when Anskiere
-'
Jaric interrupted, gently, but unarguably firm. 'I know.'
So formidable was his conviction that the captain did not press the fact that
the wizards of Mhored Kara had not entirely succeeded in damping the backlash
incurred when his Firelord's powers were revoked. Several of their adepts had
died, and the Stormwarden's injuries had been severe enough to require
treatment on the isle of the Vaere. Corky shifted his weight, distressed by
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ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
the restless manner in which the Firelord regarded the sea. 'You'll find
Callinde warped to the south dock. My shipwrights kept her seaworthy.'
Jaric nodded; but his expression proved that his thoughts strayed elsewhere.
He touched the captain's hand in farewell, and turned to find his boat. Long
after nightfall, the sentries in Cliffhaven's beacon tower watched the distant
spark of his presence vanish beyond the horizon.
Ivainson sailed through the gales of late winter and beached on the Isle of
the Vaere. Snowflakes melted in sun-bleached hair as his scarred hands furled
sail. At length he looked up and met a watcher with fey black eyes. Tamlin
stood on the sand with his pipe, a cloud of smoke rings for company.
Jaric drew breath, troubled by the ache of old wounds. Speech came haltingly
after long weeks of silence. 'Your secret is secure from demons. Men can now
abandon sorcery and the Cycle of Fire.'
The creature, whose form was actually the projection of a sophisticated
machine, was not intimidated by crackling auras of power. Tamlin lifted his
pipe from his teeth and released an irreverent smoke ring. 'Firelord's son,
you're ignorant. Now, as never before, the strength of your mastery is
needed.'
Such was the perception of Ivainson's powers, the Vaere needed no words to
qualify; Corinne Dane's mission at last had been realized, an effective
defence for psionic aliens found in the person of the Firelord's heir. Jaric
must stay, and train others with talent to multiple mastery of Sathid. After
Keithland, Starhope and the other worlds enslaved by Gierj and Morrigierj
waited to be set free.
Jaric bent his head. He, who had desired nothing beyond the bounds of
Keithland, would reluctantly blaze the path toward the stars. The thought
caused him untold sorrow, until a shower of sand struck his ankles.
'Fish-brains! Beloved, you took forever to get here.' Two hands plunged
through the light of his presence, to lock with fierce strength around his
chest.
'Taen,' Jaric murmured; he turned and buried his face in black hair. Only the
Dreamweaver knew that he wept. She waited, patient in his embrace, as other
footsteps approached. The presence of a second sorcerer brushed her awareness.
She smiled then, but said nothing. When her Firelord looked up, he would find
the Stormwarden of Elrinfaer limping across sand to meet him.
Here ends The Cycle of Fire
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