Treasures of Fantasy - Margaret Weis [149]
“She must love you very much to give you her sword,” said Chloe.
Aylaen’s eyes filled with tears. “She used to love me. I have done a great wrong and I fear she is angry with me.”
“I make my father angry with me sometimes,” said Chloe. “But I know he loves me. Could I hold the sword?”
Aylaen rested the weapon on the silken coverlet. Chloe clasped her hand weakly over the hilt. Her small fingers tightened around it. She looked up at Skylan.
“If I die with a sword in my hand,” she said, “then Torval will have to let me into his Hall.”
Zahakis walked away, went over to stand in the shadows. Acronis’s lips trembled. He clenched his fist behind his back.
Skylan thought of the heroes gathered in Torval’s Hall. Heroes who had fought on despite their wounds, overcoming pain and fear, refusing to surrender, making Death come to take them by force.
“Yes,” said Skylan, “Torval will welcome you into his Hall.”
Chloe’s voice trembled. Skylan saw the shadow of fear in her eyes.
“Torval’s Hall is not dark, is it, Skylan? I won’t be alone in the dark.”
Skylan rested his hand on her hand that held fast to the sword.
“Torval’s Hall is lit with a thousand torches that blaze for all eternity. In the great fireplace burns a log taken from the Life Tree that fills the hall with warmth and light. There is music and song, dancing and feasting. The heroes tell the stories of their battles. The tables are laden with food and the flagons never run dry.”
“I would like to dance,” said Chloe. “I’ve never danced before.”
Her breath came short. She made a little grimace and gasped. Her hand clenched over the sword’s hilt. She would not give in. She fought on.
“You and I will lead the dance,” said Skylan.
“Will we? I would like that.” Chloe gave another little gasp and, after a struggle for breath, she suddenly sat up in the bed. She stared at something far away, a vision only she could see. Her eyes shone with light, and who was to say the light did not come from Torval’s Hall?
“A thousand torches blazing,” Chloe whispered. “Banishing the darkness. And I will lead the dance. . . .”
Her eyes closed. She sank back among the pillows. Yet her hand remained holding fast to the sword.
Skylan unclasped her fingers from the sword. Lifting the limp hand, he pressed it to his lips. Aylaen wept silently. Acronis picked up the sword and handed it to her.
“Thank you,” he said softly.
He sat down on the bed and gathered his daughter to him, holding her, wrapped in the coverlet. Burying his face in her hair, he gave a wrenching, shuddering sob and cradled her in his arms, rocking back and forth.
“You two should go,” said Zahakis. “No one will stop you.”
Skylan nodded, then glanced at Acronis and asked quietly, “What will become of him?”
“I don’t know,” said Zahakis. “I don’t know.”
An oil lamp flickered and went out. So they would all go out eventually. So will we all, Skylan thought.
Aylaen clasped hold of his hand and the two walked out together. They found Wulfe crouched behind a large vase. He jumped up and came pattering along after them.
The front entrance was locked. The rooms in this part of the villa opened onto the atrium. Skylan found a door that took them into the garden. He stood amidst the trees with their still leaves trying to decide which way to go. The night-blooming flowers filled the air with perfume. The day-blooming flowers had closed tight in slumber. A nightingale sang. Some small creature, fox or rabbit, hunter or hunted, made a rustling sound among the hedges. He had just decided which way to go when he saw Keeper.
The ogre was a dark hulking shape among the trees. Every so often, he would stop as though looking about. Skylan whistled softly. The ogre whistled back and began to walk in their direction.
“Wait, Skylan,” said Aylaen, clutching his hand, holding him back. “I have to tell you something.”
Skylan had been longing for her to talk to him. But now was not the time he would have chosen.
“If this