Read Online Bastion of Darkness by R. A. Salvatore - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: R. A. Salvatore
Ads: Link
heart and hopes could go out with the ranger. She would not try to dissuade him, though, he realized with some surprise.
“I’ll say not a thin’ to me Father, nor to any other rangers,” Belexus explained, trying to offer some comfort, at least. “Nor will Arien Silverleaf know o’ me going. The task is for meself, and for none other.”
“Seeming a bit foolish to me for ye to be off on such a quest without a one to help ye,” Brielle said dryly. “Ye might trip in a hole and lay out with yer leg broken until the cold steals yer life.”
Belexus smiled at her concern, and understood that it was not without basis. Yet there was only one whom he could have trusted to go with him, only one who had been close enough to him to stand beside him through such a dangerous quest, and that one, Andovar, was dead. “I’ll not trip,” he said with a casual chuckle, but it was obviously a strained laugh.
Brielle nodded and moved closer. “Arien would go beside ye,” she said. “The eldar of Lochsilinilume would see the quest as a way he could help in these times dark, a way he might be mending his own heart for the death o’ Sylvia.”
The words almost convinced the usually stubborn Belexus to run off and ask Arien. He had seen Arien’s face, seen the grief, as profound as his own, when the elf lord had learned that his dearest daughter, Sylvia, his only child, had been killed and taken by the flood of the great river, had followed the same cold trail as Andovar. If the quest for the sword would bring to Arien the same hope of inner peace that it promised to Belexus, then how could he deny the elf lord that chance?
He had to deny it, he reminded himself, because if Arien went along, then so too would many elves, refusing to allow their eldar to walk off into such extreme danger without them. Then so, too, would Ryell, Arien’s closest friend. And if the dragon wakened in all its terrible wrath, could all the elves of Lochsilinilume, could all the rangers of Avalon, could all the army of Calva, hope to contain its power? How many then would be devoured, and likely in a futile quest? If that chilling scenario ever came to pass, Belexus hoped that he would be among the first to die, for surely, if he lived to see the fall of those who accompanied him on this quest that he viewed as his own, his grief would multiply a hundredtimes over, and his life, and death, would forever be without hope.
“I go alone, because I must,” he said quietly into the witch’s face, for Brielle had moved very close to him, was standing right before him, her warm breath tickling his neck.
Her reply was a kiss, a long and sweet kiss, a passionate kiss, for luck and farewell.
It surprised Belexus, but only for a moment, and then he let his sword fall to the ground and wrapped his powerful arms about Brielle’s lithe form, hugging her close, kissing her all the while, not letting go, wanting to never, ever let her go. They made love that morning for the first—and, they both feared, for the last—time, a joining that had been long anticipated by Belexus, and long feared by Brielle. When Belexus had come to her after the battle with the wraith, with Andovar dead and his own grievous wounds threatening to take him, Brielle had saved him with sympathetic magical healing—as intimate a bond as this lovemaking. She had gone into Belexus’ soul to find his emotional hurts and take them from him, to restore to him hope that he could better fight against his physical wounds. She had gone in there, to that private place, and had seen clearly his feelings for her.
She had been surprised, though she had truly suspected all along that the prince of rangers loved her. But the depth of that love was amazing to her, for he loved her as deeply as Jeffrey DelGiudice had loved her. And what had surprised her even more was her own private response. Yes, she did love Belexus, but that realization carried with it more than a little guilt, for though
“I’ll say not a thin’ to me Father, nor to any other rangers,” Belexus explained, trying to offer some comfort, at least. “Nor will Arien Silverleaf know o’ me going. The task is for meself, and for none other.”
“Seeming a bit foolish to me for ye to be off on such a quest without a one to help ye,” Brielle said dryly. “Ye might trip in a hole and lay out with yer leg broken until the cold steals yer life.”
Belexus smiled at her concern, and understood that it was not without basis. Yet there was only one whom he could have trusted to go with him, only one who had been close enough to him to stand beside him through such a dangerous quest, and that one, Andovar, was dead. “I’ll not trip,” he said with a casual chuckle, but it was obviously a strained laugh.
Brielle nodded and moved closer. “Arien would go beside ye,” she said. “The eldar of Lochsilinilume would see the quest as a way he could help in these times dark, a way he might be mending his own heart for the death o’ Sylvia.”
The words almost convinced the usually stubborn Belexus to run off and ask Arien. He had seen Arien’s face, seen the grief, as profound as his own, when the elf lord had learned that his dearest daughter, Sylvia, his only child, had been killed and taken by the flood of the great river, had followed the same cold trail as Andovar. If the quest for the sword would bring to Arien the same hope of inner peace that it promised to Belexus, then how could he deny the elf lord that chance?
He had to deny it, he reminded himself, because if Arien went along, then so too would many elves, refusing to allow their eldar to walk off into such extreme danger without them. Then so, too, would Ryell, Arien’s closest friend. And if the dragon wakened in all its terrible wrath, could all the elves of Lochsilinilume, could all the rangers of Avalon, could all the army of Calva, hope to contain its power? How many then would be devoured, and likely in a futile quest? If that chilling scenario ever came to pass, Belexus hoped that he would be among the first to die, for surely, if he lived to see the fall of those who accompanied him on this quest that he viewed as his own, his grief would multiply a hundredtimes over, and his life, and death, would forever be without hope.
“I go alone, because I must,” he said quietly into the witch’s face, for Brielle had moved very close to him, was standing right before him, her warm breath tickling his neck.
Her reply was a kiss, a long and sweet kiss, a passionate kiss, for luck and farewell.
It surprised Belexus, but only for a moment, and then he let his sword fall to the ground and wrapped his powerful arms about Brielle’s lithe form, hugging her close, kissing her all the while, not letting go, wanting to never, ever let her go. They made love that morning for the first—and, they both feared, for the last—time, a joining that had been long anticipated by Belexus, and long feared by Brielle. When Belexus had come to her after the battle with the wraith, with Andovar dead and his own grievous wounds threatening to take him, Brielle had saved him with sympathetic magical healing—as intimate a bond as this lovemaking. She had gone into Belexus’ soul to find his emotional hurts and take them from him, to restore to him hope that he could better fight against his physical wounds. She had gone in there, to that private place, and had seen clearly his feelings for her.
She had been surprised, though she had truly suspected all along that the prince of rangers loved her. But the depth of that love was amazing to her, for he loved her as deeply as Jeffrey DelGiudice had loved her. And what had surprised her even more was her own private response. Yes, she did love Belexus, but that realization carried with it more than a little guilt, for though
Similar Books
