“Send the emissary,” Galladel replied absently, exhausted. “Go now. I have much to prepare.”
“There is one other matter,” Elbereth pressed.
The king gave him a sour look, as though he understood what was coming.
“Some of the People have requested Daoine Teague Feer,” Elbereth said.
“We have no time—” Galladel started to protest.
“We could not spend our time in any better pursuit,” the younger elf insisted. “Our People carry many wounds. They wear the blood of enemies and friends alike. They see the smoke of their burning forest and find goblins and orogs in every direction. Blood and arrows, yes, but battles are fought with emotion, my father. They are won by those willing to die if that must be, and by those eager to kill. Our spirits will carry us where your scrolls—” he waved a hand derisively at the stone table—“cannot!”
Galladel neither blinked nor made any move to reply.
“Daoine Teague Feer will lift those spirits,” Elbereth said more quietly, trying to bring the conversation back to a reasonable level.
“You are of noble blood,” answered Galladel, an unmistakable edge of anger and disappointment to his voice. “You perform the ceremony.” He looked back to his scrolls then, taking particular interest in one and purposely avoiding lifting his eyes his son’s way.
Elbereth waited a few moments, torn between what he knew was right and the fact that his actions would wound his father. Galladel’s invitation to perform Daoine Teague Feer was wrought of sarcasm, and if Elbereth went through with the ritual, his father certainly would not be pleased. But Elbereth, for all his loyalty to Galladel, had to follow his heart. He left the small cave to find his ceremonial robes and tell the others to find theirs.
“Aballister’s son?” Dorigen could hardly believe the news
“I fought him in the library,” Druzil rasped, not liking the taste of the bitter words, “as I showed you when we communicated from afar. He is a trickster—take heed! And he surrounds himself with powerful friends.”
“Does Aballister know of him?” Dorigen asked, wondering what intrigue might be swirling around her. Was Aballister perhaps in contact with the young priest in those fateful moments that lead to Barjin’s demise?
Druzil nodded, his tall, doglike ears flipping forward. “Aballister learned of Cadderly when the priest fought Barjin,” he explained. “Aballister was not pleased to find Cadderly in the library. He will be most upset to learn that the trickster now aids the elves.”
A hundred possibilities whirled through Dorigen’s mind then, of how she might gain the upper hand in the conflict against the elves, and in her own struggles within the hierarchy of Castle Trinity.
“You’re sure this Rufo is the fool Barjin spoke of?” she asked.
“I am,” Druzil lied, hoping that his guess was correct, but not daring to disappoint Dorigen when she was so excited. He studied her amber eyes, sparkling dots straddling the bridge of her disfigured nose.
“Go back to the elves,” Dorigen commanded. She had to lift her voice over Druzil’s whine to complete her orders. “Arrange a meeting with this Kierkan Rufo. If he was Barjin’s fool, then he will be mine as well.”
Druzil groaned, but flapped his wings and obediently started off.
“And Druzil,” Dorigen called, “I trust that you will make no contact with Aballister, or that, if you do, nothing of this will be mentioned.”
Druzil nodded. “What would be my gain?” he asked then continued on his way.
Dorigen considered the question carefully, and she knew that the best way to trust the imp was to keep him well advised. Indeed, what would be Druzil’s gain in telling Aballister of the latest events? Dorigen clapped her hands. Unlike the imp, she was not sorry that the young scholar and his friends had come to help the elves. With Ragnor and his huge force finding a foothold in the forest, and with her beside them, Dorigen believed Shilmista’s fate sealed anyway, and she resolved then to add to her personal gains at the expense of Aballister’s son.
“Tonight,” Elbereth whispered into the wounded maiden’s ear.
Shayleigh stirred and opened a tired eye.
Cadderly and Danica watched from across the cave, Cadderly still thinking that Shayleigh would have been better off left in the strange meditative state that passed for sleep among the elves. He had protested that the wounded elf needed her Reverie, but Elbereth had waved his doubts away, assuring Cadderly that Daoine Teague Feer would do much more to improve Shayleigh’s health and strength than any amount of meditation.
“Tonight?” Shayleigh echoed, her voice melodic even through her drowsiness and pain.
“Tonight we gather strength from the stars,” Elbereth replied.
Shayleigh was up in a moment, to Cadderly’s surprise. Just the mention of Daoine Teague Feer seemed to pump new vitality into the elf maiden. Elbereth bade Danica to help Shayleigh dress, and he and Cadderly exited the cave.
“Do we get to watch this celebration?” Cadderly asked. “Or would you prefer privacy?”
Elbereth’s answer surprised him.
“You have become a part of our struggle,” the elf prince replied. “You have earned the right to partake of this ritual. The choice is yours.”
Cadderly understood the honor that had just been given him and his companions, and he was truly overwhelmed and amazed. “Forgive my arguments against disturbing Shayleigh,” he said.
Elbereth nodded. “Your concern for my friend did not escape me.” Elbereth glanced back at the cave, his expression grim. “Our enemies have found a powerful ally,” he said. “This wizard must not be allowed to appear on any other battlefield.”
Cadderly understood the proud elf’s meaning and intentions, and he was not the least bit surprised by Elbereth’s ensuing vow.
“When the celebration is complete and the People are prepared to take up the fight, I will hunt the wizard, whose head shall avenge Ralmarith’s death, and Shayleigh’s wounds.
“Go now and find Kierkan Rufo,” Elbereth instructed. “Daoine Teague Feer will begin atop the hill as soon as the others are gathered.”
Cadderly, Danica, and Rufo sat to the side of the gathered elves, talking quietly among themselves. Cadderly told them of Elbereth’s vow to go after the wizard, and again was not surprised when Danica vowed that she would hunt beside the elf.
More and more elves gathered atop the hill until nearly all the camp was there—the guards had decided to rotate their watch so that all might enjoy the celebration for at least a while—with the notable exception of King Galladel. Elbereth gave apologies for his father, explaining that the king had many duties to attend to and would come out later if he found the time. Whispers around Cadderly and Danica told them the elves doubted the truth of that explanation and hinted that the king hadn’t come out because he thought the whole thing a waste of time.
As soon as the ceremony began, any doubts those whispers had placed in the young scholar’s mind washed away.
All the elves rose up and formed a circle atop the hill. Hands were offered to the visitors. Rufo declined immediately, seeming uncomfortable. Danica looked to Cadderly with a wishful smile, and he nodded for her to go, but said that he would rather watch the beginning, at least, from the side. He took out his writing kit and his light tube, and smoothed a sheet of parchment in front of him, determined to prepare a firsthand account of the rarely seen ritual. He took care, though, to shield the light. Somehow it didn’t seem fitting, magical though it was, to intrude on the starlight of the enchanted forest.
The elven song began slowly, almost as a spoken chant. The elves, and Danica, lifted bowls to the sky and began to walk the circle. Their walk became a dance, their chant a melodic song. Though he couldn’t understand all of the words, the emotions evoked by the song affected Cadderly as much as any of the elves. Sad and sweet at the same time, and edged by the experiences of centuries long past, the Song of Shilmista offered the elven experience more fully
than any book ever could. Cadderly came to understand that the elves were a people of feeling, a race of aesthetics, spiritual and at one with their natural surroundings, even more so than the humans who dedicated their lives as woodland priests. Cadderly thought of the three druids who had come to the Edificant Library not so long ago, particularly Newander, who had died at Barjin’s hands.
He thought of Pikel, who longed to be a druid, and knew then, with a touch of sadness, that the dwarf, however unlike his gruff and pragmatic kin, could never achieve that spiritual calling.
The song went on for a long while and ended gently, becoming a walk and a chant then fading away as subtly as the setting moon. The elves and Danica still stood holding their bowls to the sky, and Cadderly wished he had joined them from the start. He diligently kept to his recording, though when he looked at the parchment he wondered whether his god would have preferred him to write about Daoine Teague Feer or experience it.
Elbereth, splendid in his purple robes, moved to the closest elf and took the bowl. He began a quiet chant to the heavens, to the millions of stars that dotted the night sky, then he reached into the bowl and threw its contents heavenward.
The glitter of stardust filled the air, descending over the targeted elf. His eyes sparkled, his rich golden hair seemed to shine more brightly, and when the stardust settled, he stood perfectly still, glowing with inner contentment.
Cadderly could hardly find the words to describe the transformation. He sat dumbfounded as Elbereth moved around the ring, repeating the ceremony. Most dramatic was the change that came over Shayleigh. Before the stardust descended over her, she had hardly been able to stand and had seemed more concerned with keeping her balance than in the precise movements of the dance.
Cadderly had seen many healers at work in the Edificant Library, experienced clerics with powerful spells, but he didn’t think any of them could match the healing that took place in Shayleigh. Her dazzling smile returned, and even the blood washed from her hair. Her burned face regained the tanned, creamy complexion of her fey kin.
Elbereth went to Danica last, and though the stardust did not affect her as it had affected the elves, the woman seemed comforted and pleased. She stared at the elf prince with sincere, unblinking admiration.
A twinge of jealousy shot through Cadderly, but he found that he could not sustain it. Unexpectedly, Elbereth took a bowl from another elf and came over to him. Cadderly looked to where Rufo had been seated, excited, but the man was gone.
“You wished to record the ceremony,” the elf prince said, towering over Cadderly, “and watch from afar, that you might better understand it.”
“That was my mistake,” Cadderly admitted.
“Stand, Sha’Quessir,” Elbereth bade, using the Elvish word for “elf friend,” and Cadderly slowly rose to his feet.
Elbereth looked around to his People, all nodding, and to Danica, who smiled with anticipation. The prince began the chant and sprinkled the stardust.
From inside the shower, the view was even more glorious. Cadderly saw a million stars reflected a million times. They reached out to him, communicated to him a sense of universal harmony. He thought, for that too-short moment, that he saw the world as an elf saw it, and when it was over he found himself looking at Elbereth in the same appreciative way that Danica had.
Never again would Cadderly feel jealousy toward his wonderful new friend, he vowed, and his sudden determination to save Shilmista was no less than that of any elf in the forest.
Kierkan Rufo wandered down the side of Daoine Dun, secure that no goblins would stray too near the enchanted mound that night. The elven celebration had meant little to him. Like King Galladel, he considered it a waste of time. All Rufo wanted was to be out of the forest and back to the security of the Edificant Library. He was never a warrior by choice, and had no intention of dying to save someone else’s homeland.
He thought himself incredibly stupid then, for giving in to his guilt and offering, even begging, to go along with Cadderly.
“Greetings, Kierkan Rufo,” said a raspy voice behind him.
Rufo spun to see a grotesque, dog-faced and bat-winged imp staring at him from a perch on a branch just a few feet away. Instinctively, the tall man backed away and looked for an escape route, but the imp stopped him short.
“If you try to flee or call out, I will kill you,” the creature promised. It looped its barbed tail, dripping venom, over its shoulder in prominent display.
Rufo steadied himself and tried to appear unafraid. “Who are you?” he demanded. “And how do you know my name?”
“I am Druzil. A mutual friend once told me your name,” the imp replied. “I never forget names, you see. They are so important in choosing future allies.”
“Enough of your riddles!” snapped Rufo.
“As you wish,” said the imp. “My mistress wishes to meet with you—to the benefit of both.”
“The wizard that’s taken the field against the elves?” Rufo reasoned. “If she wishes parley with—”
“She wishes to meet with you,” Druzil interrupted, “and only you. If you do not agree, I am instructed to kill you, but you shall agree, shan’t you? What have you to lose? My mistress will not harm you in any way, but the gains.…” He let the implication hang, a teasing glimmer in his rodentlike, black eyes.
“How do you know my name?” Rufo asked again, intrigued, but not yet convinced of anything.
“Meet with my mistress and find out,” the imp replied. “Tomorrow night, soon after sunset, I will come for you. You need not pack, for you will be returned to the elves’ camp long before dawn. Are we agreed?”
Rufo hesitated, looking at the poison-tipped tail. To his horror, Druzil gave a flap of leathery wings, and before Rufo could even react, landed upon his shoulder. Rufo nodded weakly, having little choice but to agree with the poisonous stinger so close to his exposed neck.
Druzil eyed him for a while then grabbed him by the front of his tunic and tossed out a threatening snarl. The imp locked Rufo’s stare with his own, purposely keeping the man’s gaze high.
“If you don’t come along tomorrow, or if you tell anyone of this meeting, you will become my mistress’s primary target,” Druzil warned. “Do not doubt that she will see to your death before your friends can find her, Kierkan Rufo!” The imp laughed its wicked, rasping laugh then was gone, fading away to nothing.
Rufo stood there, alone on the trail, for some time. He considered going immediately to tell Elbereth and the others, to surround himself with the elven host, but Rufo feared magic-users and had no desire to cross an imp, a creature that no doubt had allies on the dreaded lower planes. The priest went to his cave instead of the elves’ camp and tried to lose himself in sleep.
He twisted and turned on his blankets, never noticing the tiny amulet that Druzil had pinned to an inside fold of his tan tunic.
TEN
BETRAYED
The elves’ camp was astir the next morning, the revitalized elves eager to engage their enemies. Cadderly, Danica, and Rufo tried their best to keep out of the way as the fair folk rushed about, resupplying their patrol groups with rope and arrows.
“I’m going with Elbereth on his hunt,” Danica informed her two friends. “Wizards aren’t as much of a threat to one of my training.”
“You don’t even know if Elbereth is going at all,” Cadderly retorted. The elf prince and his father were engaged in a terrible argument, in the cave right in front of them.
“Elbereth will go, as he promised,” remarked Shayleigh, who, looking much better than she had before Daoine Teague Feer, approached the trio. “Just as he went in to King Galladel to argue the value of last night’s celebration. The whispers say the king was not pleased that Elbereth presided over Daoine Teague Feer.”
As if to accentuate the maiden’s point, several loud shouts echoed out of the cave. Shayleigh shook her head and walked away. She couldn’t go out on patrol quite yet, but those tending her agreed that sh
e would not be much longer in healing.
Cadderly considered the noise from the cave in light of Shayleigh’s words. He knew Danica wouldn’t listen to him. The monk was as headstrong as he.
“If you’re going then so am I,” the young scholar said.
Danica scowled at him. “You’re not trained in stealth,” she said. “You’ll hinder us at least, even endanger us.”
“Priests have measures to counter a wizard’s powers,” Kierkan Rufo reminded her.
Danica balked. “You intend to go as well?”
“Not I,” Rufo assured her. “I didn’t come here to do battle, and the elves will be better for it if I don’t.”
His admission did little to diminish Danica’s scowl. Her continued dislike of the man was obvious.
“I will do what I must,” said Cadderly. “By word of Dean Thobicus, I am the leader of our party. If you choose to go with Elbereth, I will not stop you, but I must go beside you.”
“I am not of your order,” she reminded Cadderly, “nor am I bound to the commands of your library’s dean.”
“To disobey Dean Thobicus could prevent you from ever returning there,” Cadderly warned, “which would prevent you from resuming your studies of Penpahg D’Ahn.”
Danica’s glower intensified, but she gave no retort.
Elbereth came out of Galladel’s chambers then, his face flushed with anger. He mellowed when he saw Danica and the others, and came straight over to join them.
“Your father is not pleased with you,” Danica remarked.
“He never is,” said Elbereth, managing a weak smile, “but we share respect, and do not doubt our love.”
“Will you to join a patrol, then?” Danica asked.
“I will scout alone,” the elf prince replied, looking to the dark forest spread below them. “I must find and destroy the wizard before more harm is done.”
“You will not be alone,” said Danica.
Elbereth understood her intent as soon as he looked into her brown, almond-shaped eyes. He did not appear pleased.
In Sylvan Shadows Page 11
