6 The Rosewood Staff

      “Drago?” Faraday placed a hand on his arm. “Do not blame Caelum too much.”

      “I do not blame him at all.”

      “Then do not blame yourself too much, either. Come, let us walk back to Leagh and Zared’s fire. We need to eat, and I think I can see Leagh dabbling in some pot or the other. And I sincerely hope she spent some of her princesshood attending lessons in the kitchens,” she added, almost in an undertone.

      Despite the emotion of the past hour, Drago’s sense of humour had not completely deserted him, and Faraday’s words made him grin. For someone who had lived on a diet of grass, grass and yet more grass for the past forty-odd years, Faraday should be the last person to criticise anyone’s culinary imagination.

      They walked slowly towards the campsite. Leagh was still obviously disturbed at the scene between Drago and his father, but she composed herself and then smiled and held out her hands as Drago and Faraday approached.

      “Drago, come and sit down. There is a pot of stew here. Not much, but it will warm you, at least.”

      Drago thanked Leagh as she passed him a bowl and then, as he sat, asked her to fetch Zared, DareWing, StarDrifter and Zenith. “And any other who commands within this force, Leagh. I need to talk, and they have done the honour of trusting me.”

      Leagh nodded, and walked off.

      “Are you sure you want to do this?” Faraday said.

      “Yes. They — all of you — deserve an explanation of what I did. And …”

      “Yes?”

      “You should never doubt Leagh’s talents, Faraday. This stew is right flavoursome given the restrictions of her kitchen.”

      The others arrived and grouped quietly about, taking places as they could about the fire. Zenith was one of the first to arrive, StarDrifter close behind. He sat down close beside Zenith, closer than need be. Zenith tensed slightly, then relaxed and smiled as StarDrifter murmured something to her. Zared sat with Leagh across the fire from Drago. DareWing and his two most senior Crest-Leaders were to his right. Herme sat between Leagh and Faraday, but Theod and Askam preferred to remain standing just behind the seated circle, several of their lieutenants still further behind them.

      Everyone studied Drago curiously. StarDrifter and Zared had known Drago previously, and, as Zenith had, they well noted the changes his experiences had wrought. A certain weariness from his struggle through the Star Gate and some pain from his wound remained, but his face was otherwise determined. The resentment and bitterness that had so characterised the old Drago had gone, and the lines they’d left in his face were now humorous and bold, and added character, rather than emphasising his previous dampening blanket of futility. His skin was still pale, but the tincture of his violet eyes and copper hair gave him vitality and the appearance of endless energy; his wounding seemed to have brought no lasting damage to body or spirit. His was the lean, thoughtful face of a man in the midst of contemplative mid-life, but there was something else … something in his eyes, or perhaps in the way he held his head, that hinted at far, far more.

      It was a face that not only projected a profound and reassuring calmness, but also invited a further exploration of the man it represented.

      For her part, Leagh thought his face and his overall demeanour extraordinarily sensual, and that surprised her, for she had never thought of Drago in that manner previously. Casting her eyes about those grouped around the fire, then back to Drago, Leagh thought he looked like a prince who had just woken from a very long enchanted sleep, and who yet did not know the talents or weaknesses of the court that surrounded him.

      Neither did they know him.

      There was wariness about this circle, and a little suspicion, but the general sense was of an overwhelming curiosity.

      “When I went beyond the Star Gate,” Drago began with no preamble, “I thought I had found all the love and all the meaning I had been searching for all my life. The Questors, as the five Demons called themselves, and the children and StarLaughter seemed so like me. All of us had been betrayed; all of us had seen our heritages stolen from us. It seemed so right to be with them. It seemed so right to aid each of them to regain their heritage as I needed to regain mine.”

      He smiled, but it was sad, and faded almost as soon as it had appeared. “They said they would give me back my Icarii power. Oh, Stars! To regain my power! To be like Caelum, and Zenith! To be an Enchanter again.”

      Everyone was quiet, watching.

      “But the longer I spent with them,” Drago continued, “the more I came to realise that their hatred and bitterness and their need for revenge had twisted them. Darkened them. StarLaughter, and the children — they were once so powerful, and so enchanted. Now …”

      Drago paused, and his hands trembled. He clasped them together. “Their thirst for revenge at all cost had made them nauseating. Worse, I realised that I was very much like them, and I could not bear that thought. I grew to despise myself.”

      “Drago,” StarDrifter said. “Do not so hate yourself. Few possess the courage to acknowledge their own shortcomings. It would have been easy for you to drift away among the Stars, regretting what you’d done but making no effort to right your wrongs. You had the courage to come back, and face the fruit of your sin.”

      “I had almost no choice, grandfather,” Drago said. “The Demons propelled me through the Star Gate. I could not have said no had I wished to.”