Silme stopped, shaking her head vigorously. "Bramin was a good child until the gibes of neighbors poisoned him. Our offspring would fare no better. This world is unprepared for crossbreeds of any type. I'm sorry, Allerum." Resigned, Silme turned and walked solemnly toward camp.
"Wait!" Larson's screamed order stopped Silme in her tracks. "Denying love won't make it go away. You can't turn it off and on like a light switch!" Afraid to speak too boldly and anger Silme, Larson pursed his lips and kept the remainder of his thoughts hidden. How can you condemn the citizenry of Forste -Mar for their treatment of Bramin when your own prejudice transcends bve? Desperately, he continued, "By his appearance, Brendor's a half-breed of Scandinavian and some darker race. And Gaelinar's a goo: a full-bred foreigner."
"Light's witch?" Silme seemed confused by Larson's tirade. She folded her arms across her chest and did not bother to face him. "They're both human. And Gaelinar can silence teasing."
"So can we." Larson's voice cracked as he sought to make his point before he lost Silme forever. "We can protect our children."
Silme pursed her lips and said nothing. Nor did she move when Larson came up behind her and made his final plea. "I'm good enough for your god, Silme. Why else would Freyr have chosen me to save him?"
The sorceress turned slowly. "And once we free Vidarr, every human in Midgard would respect us and our offspring."
Larson stared, not daring to believe the uncertainty which softened Silme's tone. He met her gaze. Warmth replaced the menacing coldness which had marred the beauty of her eyes. He caught her to his chest. Her presence drove aside all memory of the biting winds. She returned his embrace wholeheartedly, without trace of her former reluctance. Her slim hands sent shivers of desire through him, inducing his mind to conjure a third world between the archaic fantasy of Midgard and his nightmares of Vietnam. It encompassed only Silme and himself, a slim shadow of reality which would hazard no intruders.
Wind ruffled the foliage which defined the clearing, but Larson remained blind and deaf to everything except Silme. He wound his fingers in the soft waves of her hair, savoring her beauty now promised to him by love. Silme's hesitation changed his existence as suddenly as had death. Since his enlistment, the bliss of sleep melting to reality each morning filled his mind with dread. But from now, the rising sun must reawaken euphoric memories of Silme. And even after the initial intensity of their relationship faded, Silme's fierce loyalty to causes would bind them for as long as an elf and a sorceress might live.
Thrilled to the elation of love long denied, Larson pressed his lips to Silme's and explored her mouth with his tongue. He desired to know her like a treasured story which, read a thousand times, would never lose its magic. He studied her with his eyes, hands, and mind, dreading at any moment that she might stiffen and grow cold to him. But it never came. Silme's answering warmth intensified their kiss until Larson withdrew for fear of losing control of his passion so close to camp and driving Silme away with boldness. She loves me! Joy exploded within him.
Gradually, Larson's narrow ribbon of world expanded, and realization crowded him. He recalled Silme's earlier reluctance and her words which seemed so simple yet nearly formed an impenetrable wall between them. Someday, I want to have children. The accusation in her voice triggered memories, plunging Larson deeper into his flawed mental tapestry. Poised at the edge of sanity, he brushed aside the plaintive visages of slant-eyed orphans. The effort flung him further into his past to an age when he welcomed rather than feared the night. Though discomforting, his vision held none of the terror usually inherent in flashback. Soft and vague as a whisper, he revived the porcelain doll features of his young brother, Timmy, as they sat before the headstone of their father's grave. The haze of gathering night hid the tears in the child's eyes, but his voice emerged as a quavering whine. "Why? Why did he have to die? Why would he go to heaven and leave us?" His plea faded in the stillness.
In his memory, Al Larson scuffed his shoe in the dust, fighting his own sorrow for an answer. "He loved us, Timmy. God took him:" God and his drunk driver. Larson's present thoughts twisted the past. ": Dad didn't want to leave us. No one chooses to die." No one but an enlistee. Again, the Larson in Midgard amended his imaginings. This observation opened other channels of memory. He recalled the day he left for boot camp, plagued by doubts yet morbidly excited by the glamour of espionage and the challege of matching wits with other men. While in a zone of peace, distant dangers enticed him. But this thrill shattered before the hollow glare of betrayal he found in Timmy's eyes. Larson realized suddenly his brother had never said "good-bye."
A tear formed in Larson's eye, blurring his image of Timmy. Joy fled before an onrush of resolve. Lost in the promise of passion, I dared to believe I could raise a child. I cannot subject some kid to my insanity or the consequences of flashback. Every person I care for becomes a weapon for my enemies. A child will not join my life until I learn to control my thoughts. And I can't allow myself to love Silme until we vanquish Bramin.
Larson dropped his hands to his sides, and his index finger traced a gem in Valvitnir's hilt. Vidarr's voice crashed into his mind. You hypocrite! Now who thinks of controlling love? Are you selfish or merely stupid? Anger speared through the pathways of Larson's mind, and he winced beneath the onslaught of emotion. Denying love won't protect you from grief And fatherhood is more than ancestry. You already have a child; Brendor cares deeply for you. Does the camaraderie you shared in Forste -Mar mean nothing to you? If you reject Brendor like you did Timmy, you'll destroy his trust completely .
" Allerum?" Silme caught Larson's arm.
Larson shoved the sword hilt aside; and Vidarr's presence fled his mind, leaving ghostly echoes in its wake. I never abandoned Timmy! I did what I had to do. Do you think I wanted to go to war? He battered aside the nagging memory of his brother's face, replaced it with others: his sister Pam, Ti Sun, Brendor. Each had experienced the greatest trauma chance could perpetrate upon a child, the loss of a parent. Like Timmy, all three returned to life with a resilience Larson could scarcely comprehend, innocents caught in a world without mercy. They came to me with trust and hope. And I betrayed them all! "Damn it, I do love Brendor. He needs me. He shall become our first child."
Silme seized Larson's hands and chided gently. "Of course we will raise Brendor. Did you think I'd abandon a partially trained apprentice who knows just enough of magic to endanger himself?"
Not realizing he had spoken aloud, Larson shied. Relaxing, he smiled. Again he pulled Silme to him, content with the pressure of her body against his. His thoughts remained in a lazy stupor of complacence. Stolen in death from a world at war, Freyr seemed to have given him everything: life in a new world, a woman more beautiful than a fairy-tale princess, and a child who, if a bit inept, reminded him of himself in youth and might one day inherit great power.
Silme continued speaking softly in his ear. "Naturally, I still think it best to leave Brendor safely in a town until our conflict with Bramin is completed. A battlefield is no place for a boy."
Larson agreed. Before he could reply, Gaelinar's gruff baritone interrupted their embrace. " Allerum. Time for your lesson."
Muttering blasphemies from his own world, Larson released Silme. He knew from past experience it was as unhealthy to ignore Gaelinar as a rearing cobra. For several seconds, the elf stood, touching only Silme's fingertips. "See you at breakfast?"
"Of course," she replied as if that had always been her habit. Hand in hand, they returned to camp.
Sunlight spilled through the clouds, coloring the river Sylg like gilt. But Larson was too preoccupied to notice. Feet soaked by dew, he followed Gaelinar's instructions with a renewed enthusiasm which pleased his teacher. "Good, Allerum. You've learned to treat your sword as a friend rather than an obstacle. Again."