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down his cheeks. Just when it seemed the demon would break him upon a wheel of
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sheer despair, the image shifted.
A man appeared, etched against the darkness. And bound to the Llondel's
intent, Telemark beheld the silver hair and the stern sad features of the
Stormwarden of Elrinfaer; but the sorcerer's wrists were fettered and his
powers dumb, and for that reason darkness closed over the world, never to be
lifted.
Savaged by an agony of loss, the forester cried out. And his scream drew fire.
Swept under by a red-gold flood of flame, Telemark flung his hands across his
face, but the blaze consumed his fingers, and his vision was not spared. The
conflagration raged and spun, fanning outward into a wheel of light. At the
center stood a man whose hair streamed over raggedly clothed shoulders like a
spill of raw gold. With a jolt of startled awe, Telemark recognized the fine
dark eyes of Kerainson
Jaric; and the Llon-del's image ceased.
Released, Telemark opened tear-soaked lashes and discov-ered he sat in the
wooden chair in his own cabin. His bow and his sword lay at his feet.
Shivering with reaction, and half stunned by disbelief, he glanced about and
saw that his be-longings had been straightened up, each item returned to its
place; the smashed jars of herbs stood restored on the shelves, the glass
miraculously repaired. Except for the charred ruin of the latch, the backlash
and the Llondel's intervention, it might all have been a dream....
Still caught in wonder, Telemark rose stiffly to his feet, and at his
movement, Jaric stirred on the cot in the corner. The forester crossed to the
boy's side in time to see the brown eyes open, restored to true awareness for
the first time since the injury. Telemark stared down at the boy upon the bed
with a mixture of awe and trepidation and tenderness. For incompre-hensible as
much of the Llondel's imaging had been, a portion of its message was plain;
with the Stormwarden of Elrinfaer entrapped, this boy represented the final
hope of the Llondelei to end the exile which began at the time of the Great
Fall.
Never would the demons permit Jaric to fall into the hands of the priests.
Haunted by the mystery of the fire image, Telemark watched the boy's recovery
carefully, uncertain what to expect. But Jane's initial reaction seemed
entirely ordinary.
Confronted by the strange confines of the cabin, his hands tightened on the
blanket and his pale brow creased in confusion as if seeking the reassurance
of something familiar. Quickly Telemark caught the boy's hand.
"Easy," he said softly. "You've had a tough time since I took you in. Can you
tell me how you feel?"
The words did nothing to reassure. Jaric's frown deepened, and he seemed to
struggle for speech. At last in a thin frightened voice, he admitted, "I can't
remember who I am."
Protege
Telemark gave Jaric's hand a squeeze of reassurance and re-flected that the
after effects of a head injury could occasionally prove merciful. This boy had
ridden into Seitforest harried by powers no mortal could support with grace;
he would recover his health more easily without recollection of his immediate
past.
"Don't fret." The forester tugged the blanket free of the boy's tense fingers.
"You suffered a terrible blow to the head, but time and rest will set
everything right, even your memory."
Jaric twisted his head on the pillow. "But I don't even know my name." His
gaze quartered the cabin again, as if he searched for something lost. "How did
I get here?"
Telemark sighed. "Your name, which you mentioned when delirious with fever, is
Kerainson Jaric. And I
picked you up off the ground in Seitforest after you were assaulted by
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bandits. They robbed you of everything, even your clothes, which ef-fectively
eliminates any further clues. Since no one seems to have searched for you
since, I suggest you winter with me while you recover. You'll be as safe here
as anywhere else, and I could use help with the traplines."
Jaric bit his lip, eyes widening to encompass the neat rows of snares which
hung from pegs on the far wall. "But I know nothing," he said softly. The
admission seemed wrung from the depths of his heart, and the anguish reflected
on his features moved the forester to pity.
Telemark framed the boy's face between his palms. "Don't worry. I'll teach
you. And in our spare time, you'll study swordplay. That way, when you recall
who you are, you'll not get your skull cracked again at the hands of the
lawless."
Jane's expression eased. Encouraged by the response Tele-mark winked, and was
rewarded for the first time by a smile.
For Telemark the following days became a time of discovery and revelation,
after so many weeks of caring for a comatose invalid. Though weak and unsure
of himself, Jaric applied himself to life with a feverish sense of
determination. Watching him re-weave the laces of an old snowshoe, the
forester sensed the boy lived in fear of incompetence. The harsh leather of
the thongs cut into the delicate skin of his fingers, but Jaric persisted
until his face became pinched with fatigue. Still he showed no sign of
quitting until the task was complete.
Telemark laid the pack strap he was mending across his chairback and crossed
the cabin to the boy's side. "No need to finish the whole task today." He ran
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