Sennovia: the fantasy fiction series by Australian author TS Clayton

The forest was quiet, painfully quiet, with a heaviness that seemed to descend with the fading light. Even the bird song had vanished, leaving only the summer mist lingering in the air, adding to the oppressiveness.

Shailen shivered and glanced around, a prickle of apprehension darting down his spine. Nothing moved and he released a slow breath, stepping out of the shadows and scanning the gully ahead. He was dressed in the mottled greens worn by the Sanctuary guard, the colors blending in with the woodland, yet still he felt exposed. The hush over the forest whispered a warning . . . a danger, but of what he was unsure.

Behind him, dappled in sunlight, was his scouting partner, Richald, and he noted the other man had stopped to listen also. They were alone in this sector of forest, on a simple reconnaissance to check and reset all the markers for the coming night. An encounter with the enemy was not expected yet it was impossible to predict the Drow. Drow . . . it was one word that summed up the entire war and inspired fear into the heart of all men.

"Nothing."

The word was muttered in disgust and Shailen shook off his unease, checking the shadows as he waited for Richald to finish setting the final marker. Slowly, he turned full circle, and for once wished that the silence was not so absolute, that something would relieve the tension permeating the atmosphere so he could work off his nervous energy. He flexed his fingers and exhaled, looking past the dimness to the beauty of spring re-growth. There had been a fire here last summer, but now the gully was diffused with sunlight as pollen particles hung in the air.

Shailen shook his head, turning away from the sight to concentrate on his assignment, reminding himself of why they were here. Something had set off the traps. His commander suspected a Drow hunting party; only he disagreed. His senses told him it was something different, but Shailen had no proof, and his commander was not interested in suspicions, just hard facts.

"Nothing."

Shailen cast his stray thoughts aside to look over his shoulder at Richald. Richald was scowling at the undergrowth, a thick lock of blond hair falling across Richald's eyes, and Shailen smiled, sympathizing with Richald's frustration. So far they had found no evidence of Drow activities anywhere.

Casting one final glance at the picturesque gully, Shailen turned and moved away as Richald swore, activating the small sensor. He knew his partner was not happy being out so far, but if they hurried they would still make it back to Sanctuary before the last seating for dinner. "Let's go," Shailen said, touching Richald on the shoulder as he walked past.

Richald was the same age, had gone to the same classes, had joined the Unit with him, shared the same taste in music, women and wine, yet that was where all similarities ended. Richald was typical of the solid looking westerner that made up the bulk of Sanctuary's Border Unit. Richald had the strong, dependable, no nonsense attitude that typified all who lived within Sanctuary's protected borders. Unlike me, Shailen mused, and he gave a wry smile of acknowledgement. Although he was born within the borders of Sanctuary, Shailen felt like an outsider. He flicked his gaze away from Richald to study the unnaturally tranquil forest. They were as opposite as night and day, and Shailen sometimes wondered what Richald saw when he looked at him.

"You know Sha, I say the Council of Elders has gotten it wrong. Again," Richald said as he hurried to catch up. "Like last time when they thought the Drow were breaking through our inner lines. You remember that? They sent us up into the hills and we expected to find those black skinned demons . . . no offense, Sha . . . but you know what I mean."

"None taken," Shailen said, used to Richald's views and hoping his partner refrained from launching into another speech about the state of the war. Or lack of it. He was sick of hearing the arguments.

"All we found was some old bones, a few broken markers and a disused camp site," Richald continued as he refastened his gloves and peered at Shailen. "You know what I think? I think those black devils have gone back into their mountain and are now laughing at us. Bright stars, Sha, but we haven't seen a Drow in three seasons."

Rolling his eyes, Shailen picked up the pace, setting them on the narrow track that led to Sanctuary. "Keep your voice down."

"I say we get a team together and sneak down into the mines and throw in one of those mind-seekers that the Dwarves use when clearing the shafts of Gully Gnomes. That would slow the Drow down, I'll wager. That would teach them a lesson."

"No doubt," Shailen said, knowing a glare would be wasted on his friend.

"What is it about the night, or dark, or wet holes that these demons like anyway? Maybe they are spawned from the black pits just like legends say. True devil spirits and all that." Frowning, Richald released a sharp breath then looked at Shailen thoughtfully. "I don't really think you need worry, as you don't look at all like a Drow. You're normal."

"Thanks." Shailen said in disgust, turning away. Normal . . . that hurt, especially as he knew Richald meant no insult. The saddest thing was that Richald's comments mirrored the attitude of most who lived within Sanctuary. Shailen was viewed as a half-blood, even by those who had raised him, trained him and sheltered him. Yet he was not even a true half-blood for his skin was paler and his eyes were green instead of the Drow eerie yellow. "Your assurances make me feel a lot better."

"I'm sorry, I just don't think of you as Drow."

"That's because I am not Drow," Shailen corrected a little more harshly than he intended. "I'm Sanctuary born. Like my mother."

"I know. Your mother looks so . . . so ordinary, I suppose people just hate differences. Especially since the war."

Grinding his teeth, Shailen focused on the woods around them, not trusting himself to answer. This type of prejudice infuriated him because he knew Sanctuary had originally been built to protect and shelter all those of mixed heritage. All who were considered outcast. Yet, in his own home he was barely tolerated, and Shailen sometimes played with the idea of leaving, of doing what his mother had done and escape the confines of the city.

He closed his eyes, thinking of his mother. I am not like her. He would not run away from his problems, would not run from his responsibilities and would not leave Debrea, his beautiful betrothed, as his father had left his mother. Lifting his lashes, Shailen found a smile, knowing Debrea loved him and saw beyond his heritage. She was his sanity.

"Sha?"

Glancing back, Shailen saw Richald's troubled look, and he sighed. "I'm sorry, Rich. I should not have yelled."

Richald's grin returned swiftly, his eyes lighting up. "I'm glad you are my scouting partner," he said. "With your special talents in tracking I at least have a better chance than most of surviving the war."

It was meant as an apology, and Shailen closed his mouth.

"I have an advantage."

"Will you shut up," Shailen hissed, swiveling to glare at Richald. He came nose to nose with the other man and his senses became acutely aware of Richald's tangy scent of panic and dilated pupils as his partner stared at him, shocked by the confrontation. Fear. Shailen could taste the emotion coursing off Richald in waves, and he stepped back, not wanting to acknowledge the fact that even his best friend and partner of five seasons was scared of him. "I am just like you," Shailen said softly, urgently as he cast his eyes down, not wanting to read Richald's unguarded rush of relief. It was bad enough he could sense Richald's discomfort about his strange abilities without seeing Richald's expression. "My grandsire was part Sun Elf and part Drow. He was despised by the Sun Elves, so he found a home in Sanctuary. My mother worked as a Healer–"

"Sha," Richald interrupted, reaching out to touch his shoulder. "I didn't mean to imply anything."

Sidestepping the outstretched hand, Shailen shook his head, finding he was more upset than he should be by Richald's blunt words. "I am told my father was a Southerner. A pure-born Southerner, so that makes me more of a southerner than a Drow."

"A Southerner?" Richald smiled. "I didn't know that. When did he die?"

"I don't know," Shailen said on a sharp breath. "I never knew him," he added with as much dignity as possible. "I have no family."

"That's untrue."

"I just want to be normal," Shailen said. "I don't want to be thought of as the Drow spy many say I am. I don't want to be your partner just because I have some weak Drow gifts. I just want to be accepted for me. I want to live a peaceful, quiet life with no surprises. I want––"

"Sha, what's wrong?" Richald asked. "I've never seen you this upset before."

"It's the injustice of––"

"They are not going to let you bond with Debrea. Are they?" Richald said with sudden insight. "That's why you are so upset, isn't it?"

Stopping mid-sentence as the question caught him off balance, Shailen blinked at Richald. This was one topic he did not even want to acknowledge, although Richald was right, this was probably the source of his current frustrations. Debrea . . . who was expecting their first child. After the birth it was tradition to hold a bonding ceremony. Only Debrea's family opposed their union and Shailen was worried that the Sanctuary Council of Elders would deny him Debrea's hand because of his mixed heritage. For the first time in years, Shailen wished his mother were still living in Sanctuary, because for all her eccentric ways, his mother could still force the council to see reason.

"I will back your bonding to Debrea."

The whispered words hit him squarely and Shailen lifted his eyes to look at Richald. This was unexpected and he gave a small smile. "Debrea's brother, Karl, is being . . ." he searched for the word to describe the obstinate man.

"Difficult?" Richald offered, his smile knowing. "I've scouted with him a few times and I can tell you that Karl was born irritable."

Shailen suppressed a small smile and nodded, stilling abruptly when his senses were swept with the disturbing presence of movement off to his right. Without thinking he shoved Richald aside and lifted his bow, seeing three Drow materialize as if by magic out of the low scrub. Cursing under his breath about his carelessness, Shailen loaded an arrow, finding his palms were sweating, his fingers trembling more from annoyance and self-anger than fear. He aimed at the closest Drow, loosing the arrow and watching the dark skinned hunter stagger backward to fall into the undergrowth.

"Behind you, Sha!"

Hearing Richald's call, Shailen thrust his bow aside and drew his sword, dropping into a crouch when one of the Drow swiftly approached and gave him a smug smile. In hand-to-hand combat not many were equal to the task of matching a Drow's speed, dexterity and viciousness, for the dark Elves skill surpassed all. Acknowledging that winning was an impossible task, Shailen tried not to think the worst even as he heard Richald cry out. Anger never helped, and Shailen focused on his training, slowing his breathing as he concentrated on the Drow before him, letting his own senses anticipate what this creature would do.

Shailen stepped back and gritted his teeth, just managing to avoid the first lethal stroke and ignoring the soft laughter that feathered over him as his opponent slid closer. The Drow was tall, with flawless skin the color of night––the total embodiment of evil. Haughty satisfaction was reflected in the yellow gaze, and Shailen saw those eyes darken in speculation as the hunter lifted a blade, a cuxsia, and held it so easily in long fingers, molding it to his hand, making it a part of his arm.

He looked at the blade, then back into those yellow eyes, swallowing, his gaze narrowing as fear spiked through him. The curved cuxsia gleamed in the light and Shailen tried to dismiss his panic, refusing to believe that such a blade had a will of its own, a consciousness, an identity that complemented each Drow. It was impossible . . . He blinked, sweat beading on his upper lip, not liking the amusement reflected in the Drow's expression. This elf was Death incarnate. A hunter from a magical race, a powerful race wrapped in death . . . his heritage.

Jumping back, Shailen tried to avoid the cuxsia, matching stroke for stroke, knowing this hunter was playing with him. Knowing that even if he succeeded in killing this Drow, then another would be there waiting to take him down. It was hopeless . . . a trap, and his heart skipped a beat when suddenly new intruders broke into the fray. More Elves appeared, and Shailen momentarily panicked, receiving a glancing blow across the forehead before one of the intruders expertly killed the Drow before him. Dazed, Shailen gasped, realizing he was seeing Sun Elves.

He was shoved aside as Elf met Elf; dark met light, the dance between the two as deadly as it was beautiful. The sun and the moon warring for supremacy . . . only this Sun Elf was magnificent, like nothing he had seen before. Long blonde, braided hair, beads dangling from hips, leathers the color of summer––leathers marked with the classical insignia of the Fe-le-drea.

Shailen blinked and stared amazed. Fe-le-drea. The elite of all Sun Elves, legendary warriors who stood between hope and despair. Seeing them now was like being in the presence of Elven royalty.

He watched, fascinated, while his rescuer skillfully cut down the last Drow hunter then turned to check on him. Shailen's mind was in a fog of confusion and then he remembered Richald. He rolled to his feet and searched for his partner, seeing one of his rescuers was already kneeling by Richald's side.

"I am sorry," the Elf whispered to Richald.

The musical lilt carried genuine sadness and Shailen crouched down next to his partner, seeing the short dagger that was lodged in his friend's shoulder. He winced as the Elf pulled the dagger free, gripping Richald's hand in support. The Elf threw the dagger aside and pressed a handful of thick grass into the wound.

"He will have a fever. It is the way with all Drow blades," the Elf stated.

"This is my fault," Shailen whispered, knowing that if he had not allowed himself to get distracted by personal issues he would have sensed the danger sooner and saved Richald this injury.

"Nonsense," Richald wheezed, his eyes over-bright as he tried to sit up.

"Nay," the Elf said, restraining him. "We have been tracking these Drow for two days. It is we who should thank you for detaining them."

Lifting his eyes, Shailen looked into the face of such compassion, getting startled all over again when he realized the beautiful creature before him was not male, but female. "You are––"

"Fe-le-drea." Her mouth curved up into an amused grin. "And yes, I am female," she said, reaching forward to grip his chin with firm fingers to study his face. Her eyes narrowed and her grip gentled before she released him. "Not everything is as it seems, I see. I sense even you have some Sun Elf in your blood."

Surprised, Shailen blushed. Mostly he was despised for his skin color and black hair. No one had ever complimented him on his Sun Elf heritage.

"Do not let the darkness block out your brightness."

"How do you know?"

"I do not judge the heart of a man, only his deeds. Once I judged . . ." she trailed off, her eyes losing focus briefly, reflecting some terrible memory, before she sucked in a breath and stood.

Curious, Shailen hastily got to his feet, noting how she spoke to her two companions in the lyrical language of the Sun folk. He did not understand a word, but he watched the other Fe-le-drea vanish into the surrounding woodland without a word.

"We go to Sanctuary."

"Sanctuary?" Shailen repeated, lost. He stared as she searched the dead Drow, tossing items carelessly aside and examining other things before stowing them in her pack. Then she gave him a speculative look and pointed to Richald.

"Help your friend. We do not have much time."

Thrown off balance by her brisk manner, Shailen re-sheathed his sword and helped Richald up. His friend winced, Richald's face ashen, skin hot; and Shailen frowned. He reached up and touched Richald's brow. "Can you walk?" he asked, glancing around and knowing it would soon be dark. "Rich––"

"Don't say it," Richald hissed in pain, as he started to move. "Just get me home."

Nodding, Shailen wrapped an arm around Richald's waist, his eyes traitorously going to the tall female. To be Fe-le-drea . . . he tried to imagine it, wondering how this beautiful woman had become one of the elite protectors when it was said that only seasoned male warriors were chosen to serve the Elven Throne. Puzzled, he caught sight of the Drow weapon which hung from her hip and his jaw dropped in astonishment. She carries a cuxsia?

"Come, my young friend," she said as she gestured for him to hurry. "The forest whispers trouble. Karczag is concerned and I promised to bring his scouts home safely."

Faltering as she spoke Karczag's name so boldly, Shailen stilled before his mind filled with more questions. Karczag had asked the Fe-le-drea to watch over Sanctuary scouts? Why? Picking up the pace, Shailen watched how she walked with perfect grace. He readjusted Richald's weight, hearing his friend's labored breaths. If Sanctuary's ruling council had sanctioned this, then he wanted to know why.

Frowning, he chewed on his lower lip and centered his gaze on the Elf's back as she preceded him. Maybe he could get some answers before they returned to Sanctuary.

Two hours later, Shailen was no wiser to the workings of the Elf's mind, nor Karczag's involvement. Instead he was given little time to speculate as he was met at the city gates by the guard. They helped him get Richald into the infirmary and under the care of the Unit's Healer and only then did he sit back, feeling numb from cold and exhaustion. He was very aware of the few suspicious glances and mutterings he was treated to, and for the most part, he ignored the comments. No outward accusations were made––yet––but he still had to report to his commander.

He left Richald when his partner dropped into a natural sleep, and went outside, seeing no evidence of the three Sun Elves. Sighing, Shailen assumed they had either faded back into the forest or gone to see Lord Karczag. It was unlikely he would see the female Elf again, and unlikely he would get any answers to his questions.

Making his way over to the Unit Office, Shailen glanced up at the moon, a shudder running through him as a dark cloud obscured its brightness and lengthened the shadows.

"I'm sure you have a valid explanation for what happened out there tonight," the commander barked as he paced from behind his large desk.

Covering his wince, Shailen nodded.

"You were supposed to mark the area and return. Not engage the Drow or involve yourself with the damn Sun Elves!"

"Sir––"

"Have I given you permission to speak?"

Closing his mouth, Shailen stood a little straighter. In actual fact he knew the commander was not interested in the truth, just in proving he was a liability.

"I want a full report on my desk in the morning," the commander carried on, tapping his desk with a finger. "You can have leave tonight until first light, as I believe congratulations are in order."

Startled, Shailen kept completely still, his thoughts whirling in disarray and shock until he was dismissed from the commander's presence. Congratulations? Had Debrea birthed their child? But it was too soon. Hurrying out of the barracks, he turned toward home, praying that Debrea's family had not managed to convince her that bonding with him was a bad idea. If she refused him now he did not know what he would do.

Navigating the dark streets, Shailen went straight to their small stone cottage, not surprised to find Debrea's mother waiting for him at the door. The older woman admitted him, her face disapproving, as she reluctantly welcomed him into the warmth of his own house.

"Bad news heralds you like the cold wind that heralds winter."

Unsurprised by the less than warm greeting, Shailen said nothing, placing his weapons beside the front door. "How is Debrea?"

"How do you think?" Debrea's mother snapped, before relenting and offering him her hand. "It has been hard for her."

Puzzled by her gesture, Shailen accepted the hand, and was immediately hit by her anxiety and fear. It held him immobile for a long moment until he managed to shield the rush of emotions, and then he was releasing her cold hand and stepping back, covering his discomfort. Fear . . . but of what? Him? He did not know what to think and was saved from answering awkward questions when the Healer walked into the room. "Liani," he burst out, still rattled by Debrea's mother.

"Good. You're home," Liani said, walking up to him and cupping his cheek.

Her eyes narrowed in assessment and Shailen felt the subtle touches of her Healing Gift feather over him, working on calming the tension hat surrounded him. He released a deep breath and managed a weak smile. "What are you doing here?" he asked, then frowned. Liani was one of Sanctuary's most senior Healers and for her to attend Debrea . . . "Is Debrea alright?"

"Fine," Liani said, her voice gentle as she caressed his cheek. "You have grown since I last saw you. Matured."

"Huh," he scoffed. "I am the same as when you last visited."

"No." She shook her head and led him gently away from Debrea's mother. "I think it is your eyes."

"What about my eyes?" Shailen asked suspiciously, seeing the twinkle in Liani's pale gaze. She was always teasing him, comforting him and teaching him. It was a trait he remembered from his earliest years.

"Your expression reminds me of your father."

"Stars! Liani––"

"And your smile is like your mother's. Full of mischief."

"Please stop. Bright heavens, Liani."

Lifting a finger she touched his lips to halt his words. "No bad thoughts tonight, dear one, for you will need all your strength."

"For what?" he asked, taking her hand and removing her cool fingers from his face.

"Later. First come see your son and your lovely soon-to-be wife."

"Son," Shailen breathed, delighted, before he started to move toward the bedroom. "It's too early. A son?"

"Relax. All went well."

Entering the bedroom at the back of the cottage, Shailen first saw his son wrapped in a blanket, and then lifted his gaze to meet Debrea's dark eyes. "He is . . . how are you?" he asked as he sat on the side of the bed and hesitated before touching his son's face. The babe's skin was paler than his own and he sighed in relief. Maybe his son would escape the bigotry.

"I am happy," Debrea said, entwining her fingers with his. "And you?"

He said nothing at first, noticing how Liani moved to stand on the other side of the bed. Liani looked anxious, as did Debrea, and Shailen moved his gaze between the two women in suspicion. "I am tired and a little concerned. He is early."

"Only by a few weeks," Liani assured, her eyes on the child.

"But still––" Shailen stopped, his frown growing.

"Sha, your mother is back," Debrea said in a rush.

A little astonished, yet not surprised, he closed his eyes. What had he wished for earlier? No . . . "Did she upset you? Is that why our son is early?"

"No," Debrea shook her head, sitting up and casting a quick glance at Liani before squeezing his fingers tighter. "She is not well."

Shailen gave a mirthless laugh. "What an understatement," he said, casting an unhappy look at the Healer. "She left seven years ago without even saying goodbye. She is no longer part of my life. Of our life. So I don't want to hear about her return."

"I know you have not always understood your mother, but she loves you dearly," Liani said. "Regardless of what others say, or what she has even said herself. Remember she was once a respected Healer in Sanctuary. She was . . . is my friend."

"Liani, you and Sariah have been a haven for me and Debrea. True friends to my mother, even though she never deserved it. But please don't excuse what she did." Shailen glanced away, willing Liani to drop the subject.

"I don't excuse it. I am only trying to make you understand."

"Understand what?" He asked in annoyance. "That she loved a man who abandoned her, more than she loved a son who begged her to stay?"

"Kellen did not abandon her."

Shaken by Liani's soft words, Shailen sucked in a deep breath. Rarely did anyone speak his father's name, and hearing it from Liani's lips was like a betrayal. He glared at the Healer. "Everyone has a choice. Even my father had a choice," he cut back, angered. "He chose to leave, and my mother chose to follow him."

"How little you comprehend," Liani said. "Your mother went to North Ridge for other reasons."

"She went because she is obsessed," Shailen said harshly, not wanting to see reason, or even discuss his mother. Nor did he want to forgive her. "Liani . . . I just want to see Debrea and my son. So can we forget about my mother for at least this night?"

"No." Liani shook her head. "Because by morning your mother will be dead."

Taken back, Shailen tried to stand, an icy dread chilling him. "Dead?" he repeated, then glanced down as his movement disturbed the sleeping babe. The newborn's lashes lifted and he saw how his son's eyes had a golden hue to them, so similar to a Drow––and Shailen closed his own eyes, dismayed. Was his son doomed to live as he had lived? Gently he reached over to stroke the babe's smooth cheek.

"She and five others went to North Ridge a year ago," Liani said, moving around the bed toward him and lifting a hand to halt his protests. "You have to hear this," she admonished. "What you may not know, or rather, may not have been told, is that the inner caverns deep inside North Ridge were fractured last summer after an earthquake. These caverns have never been accessible––until now. Dwarven miners managed to penetrate the lower levels of Darktower and discover her hidden secrets."

"But why––" Shailen stopped, licking his lips. He was not interested in northern politics, or in the Northland's dark history. It had no relevance in his life, or in the lives of those he loved. "It is not my concern."

"It is everyone's concern," Liani said. "We are at war with the Drow because of North Ridge. Because of Lichien. Or have you conveniently forgotten that minor fact?"

Releasing a tense breath, Shailen scowled at her, feeling Debrea reach over to squeeze his hand in support. Rumors and myths––he hated them all.

"Please listen to Liani," Debrea said softly.

Looking down at his betrothed's small hand in his, Shailen begrudgingly nodded. "How do you know this?" he asked, unable to keep the suspicion from his tone. "Regardless of how the war originated, the north has nothing to do with us. The Drow would have attacked Sanctuary regardless. The dispute between our two lands is centuries old. As for Lichien, or this Dark Queen the Council speaks of––there is no proof either exist. If they did, they died when the mountain collapsed."

"So the story goes," Liani said. "But what if it were fact?"

Shailen stared at the Healer. "Rumors," he cut back. "You are talking rumors. The records all state that it was the Dwarven nations whom the Hoindrites Black Guard warred against––not Sanctuary." He lifted a finger to silence both Liani and Debrea when they started to protest. "This is a northern dispute, and my mother's reasons for going north were not for Sanctuary's benefit."

"I thought you were more intelligent than that," Liani said.

Shaking his head, Shailen refused to be drawn into an argument. "I know Sanctuary's history," he said. "We have our own dispute with the Drow without adding the confusion of northern politics into the mix."

"Then if you know so much, explain to me why the Dwarves fear the Dark Queen and believe she exists?" Liani pushed.

Watching Liani carefully, Shailen looked from her to Debrea, perplexed. What did any of this have to do with him? This irrational debate was only more proof that his mother's madness was contagious. "If––Liani––if she ever existed," Shailen corrected in annoyance.

"Fact," Liani returned, just as strong. "Evil brings evil. Even if the Dark Queen is dead, what of Lichien? This affects us all, not just the Northland."

"Lichien is the monster from childhood tales, used to scare unruly children." Shailen held her eyes for a long moment and then sighed and looked down at his wife and son. "Why are you doing this?"

"Because Sanctuary's history books only reflect one viewpoint," Liani said. "A safe viewpoint."

Shailen lifted a brow in disbelief.

"Lichien is more than a conjured fantasy. Your mother knew this and she wanted to learn the truth about what happened at North Ridge twenty-two years ago when the Brethren and Dwarves combined forces to fight that evil," Liani said, taking a deep breath.

"By the Gods, Liani! Stop this," Shailen said, staring at her incredulously. "I can't believe my mother has infected you with this madness. What is so hard in admitting that she left Sanctuary to chase a dream?" he asked. "I don't have a problem with that."

"Surely you don't believe that lie?" Liani asked.

"I have never heard anything that has led me to believe otherwise."

"Sha!" Debrea gasped horrified, glaring at him in disapproval. "You know better. Even without your Gift of Empathy I could sense your mother's pain."

Shailen held up a hand. "Fine," he said, not wanting to argue. "But why resurrect the past now?" he asked, looking at Liani.

"Because all those who have entered North Ridge since the earthquake have either died or vanished."

Looking at Liani, Shailen frowned. None of it made sense and the reason behind Liani's insistence on discussing this topic, still evaded him. "Yet my mother is here in Sanctuary?" he asked. The last thing he wanted was to have Debrea, or himself, pulled into one of his mother's crazy schemes.

"Yes."

"And?" he prompted.

"Karczag requested that she be brought here."

Shailen looked to the ceiling, and gave a mocking smile. "That explains everything. Lord Karczag is a rule unto himself."

"How can you say that?" Debrea asked, chastising him. "Especially after all that Lord Karczag has done for us over the years."

"Lord Karczag's motives are as murky as Sethesthovaln's water supply," Shailen said, disgruntled.

"He is one of the Brethren," Liani whispered.

"Oh please," Shailen said in disgust. "That is an empty title."

"Listen to me," Liani insisted, stepping closer and keeping her voice low. "Your mother and Lord Karczag may have disagreed, but she still respected who, and what, he was."

Shailen stared at the Healer, then glanced around the room, wondering how much more convoluted and confused his life could get in a single day. First the Drow attack, then meeting the Fe-le-drea, Richald's wounding, his commander's fairness in granting him twelve hours leave, his son's birth, his mother's return, then being told that history as he knew it was fiction. "Liani, I just want to see Debrea and my son. Is that too much to ask?"

"You must go to your mother," Debrea said.

Shailen closed his eyes again, knowing where this argument would lead. "So this is all about my mother?" he asked. "You want me to believe that she went to North Ridge on Lord Karczag's request? Why would she work with him when she denounced him?"

Liani eyed him sadly. "There are only five Brethren left to us since one vanished at North Ridge last summer. That is the real reason why your mother went north. And yes, she had Lord Karczag's sanction. Despite their arguments of the past she understood the importance of the Brethren in the Four Lands," she said. "Why else do you think the Fe-le-drea are in Sanctuary?"

Shailen sucked in a breath, remembering what the female Elf had said . . . not everything is as it seems––we do not have much time . . . "Fe-le-drea?" This was getting complicated. "Why all the secrets?" he asked.

"Because the truth is still too dangerous," Liani said. "I only know this because I have sat in on a few Council sessions as Head Healer for Sanctuary."

Digesting that, Shailen cast Liani a look of speculation. "But why tell me this now? Why not six months ago––a year ago? Seven years ago?" Shailen asked, getting the distinct, unsettling impression that Debrea had also known the truth and not told him.

"Because your mother forced the Council's hand," Liani said. "She wanted you left out of it."

Rubbing a hand over his face, Shailen squeezed his eyes shut for an instant, tiredness affecting his thinking before he looked down at Debrea's earnest face. He glanced back up at Liani. "So the Fe-le-drea I met in the forest this afternoon, was not a chance encounter?" The implications were frightening, especially as he remembered his commander's face and then the fear in Debrea's mother when he had entered the house. Coming to a decision, he bent down and kissed his son, then kissed Debrea on the forehead, before moving to the door. "Then let's get this over with."

"Sha––"

Turning back at Debrea's call, Shailen waited as she beseeched him with her eyes. "Don't judge your mother too harshly. Please?"

Feeling deceived by those he loved and trusted, Shailen nodded once and then preceded Liani from the room. It was a cold, dark night, heralding a storm.