Read Online Final Gate by Richard Baker - Free Book Online Page A

Then he brushed his hands together and stood, looking out at the night. Ilsevele had trusted him with the trouble in her heart, but he hadn’t shared anything in return, had he? She was right to be angry with him. He didn’t think that Ilsevele would be awed by his story, or that she would tell anyone else if he asked her not to. It just seemed simpler, easier, to approach this new life of his without any of the encumbrances of the old one.
    “Ah, damn it,” he muttered softly. When it came down to it, refusing to speak openly was almost as bad as lying, and he hated falsehoods. Especially ones devised for his own comfort and convenience. She’d said it well enough, hadn’t she? It was dangerous to want to be someone other than who you were.
    He checked on the sentries, making sure that the small campsite was secure. Then he went in search of Ilsevele. He found her sitting by a still pool in what had once been the garden of the old manor. She did not look up as he approached. Without invitation, he sat down next to her and began to speak. “My name is Fflar Starbrow Melruth,” he said. “I was born in Myth Drannor in the Year of the Turning Leaf, a little less than eight hundred years ago.”
    “I served in the Akh Velar, the city’s guard. When I was eighty, I married Sorenna Alydyrrin, and a few years later, she bore me a son, whom we named Arafel. I loved them more than all the stars in the sky.”
    “You are the Fflar of whom the legends speak?” Ilsevele asked softly.
    “I don’t know of any legends. But I was captain of the Akh Velar in Myth Drannor’s final days, and I carried Keryvian in many battles that last summer. I died on a summer afternoon, fighting the nycaloth lord Aulmpiter.
    “After that … I walked in Arvandor for a time, though I do not now remember much of the Elvenhome. Your father called me back a few months ago, hoping that I could lead his Crusade to victory over the daemonfey.”
    Ilsevele stared at him. “My father raised you from the dead?” She grappled with the thought. “But … why? The Seldarine do not give away that magic lightly. How could my father have even known you would be willing to return?”
    “Elkhazel Miritar—your grandfather, I suppose—was a good friend in my first life I think he must have filled Seiveril’s ears with wild tales about me when your father was a young fellow.” Fflar permitted himself a small smile. “So now I am here.”
    Ilsevele studied him closely, her brow knit. “But you’re so young,” she managed. “You’re not much older than I am.”
    “I was a little more than one hundred and thirty when I died.”
    She shook her head. “Of course,” she murmured. “Of course. But …”
    He patted her knee and stood up. “You asked. That’s all I have to say. I can’t make any more sense of it than you can, though I guess that I must have wanted to come back, or your father could not have called me out of Arvandor.”
    Ilsevele managed to shake off her amazement long enough to speak. “Starbrow—Fflar—”
    “Starbrow is fine, if you’re used to it.”
    “Starbrow, then—What became of your family?”
    He hesitated, his heart aching. Strange, that such an innocuous question could hurt so much! “I don’t know for certain. Sorenna escaped Myth Drannor with my son before the city fell. I know she lived for a time in Semberholme. But she is gone now, too. I hope that Arafel lived a long and happy life somewhere.” He tried to laugh without bitterness, and almost succeeded. “I may have grandchildren or great-grandchildren around who are older than I am. That would be hard to explain, wouldn’t it?”
    “I don’t know what to say,” Ilsevele managed.
    “Nor do I,” Fflar answered truthfully. He could see the questions gathering in her face, but he could feel fresh hurt welling up in his heart. He had no more answers. With an effort he found a small smile for Ilsevele. “I suppose we should rest. We have a hard day’s