by Terry Brooks
She had almost reached her little cottage, walking down the familiar path that led to her doorstep, when she saw someone sitting on the steps of her porch. She slowed, trying unsuccessfully to make out who it was. She had almost decided to turn back, to circle around and come in from behind. But the figure on the porch—with eyes as keen as her own—had already seen her, risen, and was waiting. She had no choice but to continue on the path if she did not want to look foolish or frightened, and so she did.
As she approached, she took a quick inventory of her visitor, whose features she could better discern now. A young man, close to her own age. Tall and lean beneath loose-fitting forest clothing, sporting a shock of unruly hair cut short and so blond it was almost white. No visible weapons save a long knife strapped to his waist. Skin burned brown by long hours in the sun, brilliant blue eyes that didn’t look as if they missed much. The promise of a nice smile revealed in a faint twisting at the corners of his mouth.
She had never seen him before and had no idea who he was. But she found herself intrigued.
“Hello, Aphen,” he greeted. “I’m told you need a bodyguard. I would like you to consider me.”
She stopped right in front of him. “Who are you?”
“You don’t remember?” His smile faded a bit. “We trained together as Trackers. I’m Cymrian.”
A faint memory came to her. He had been two years older than she but a few younger in terms of maturity. They had been barely more than children when they started their instruction together.
“Arlingfant asked me to speak with you. Coming here and waiting was her suggestion.” He paused. “Just so you know, it was because she asked. Not because … of anything else.”
“Then she must have faith in you.”
“My sister is a Chosen, too. They work together in the gardens, know each other pretty well. Will you consider me?”
She gave him a measured look. “Why would you want to do this?”
He shifted his feet to reset his stance. “I’m looking for something to do. This seemed like a good fit for me.”
“Do you have any experience?”
“As a Tracker. I’m good at that. But I have other skills. I can protect you.”
She almost laughed out loud. He was a far cry from what the Ard Rhys wanted for her, but closer to what she wanted for herself. She didn’t much care if he could protect her or not as long as he was able to keep out of her way. A Tracker could do that. A Tracker could disappear right in front of you. But was he capable?
She glanced down at the long knife. “Are you any good with that?”
He shrugged. “I’m good with any weapon.”
“Can you put it in that tree over there?” She pointed to a slender alder situated about twenty yards away.
“Where would you like it?”
That stopped her. “In that bole about halfway up the trunk. Do you see it?”
He moved so fast that she had barely finished asking the question before the knife was out of its sheath and in his hand. His arm swept up in an underhand throw and the long knife struck the center of the bole with a dull thump.
She nodded slowly. “All right. The job is yours. Just stay out of my way and do what I ask. For now, that means shadowing me wherever I go without letting me see you. Keep me safe from whatever you decide threatens. Can you do that?”
He nodded silently. She extended her hand, and he took it. “I’m sorry I didn’t remember you.”
He smiled faintly, took back his hand, and walked over to the tree to retrieve his knife. Once he had it, he kept going until he disappeared into the trees.
There was something about him, she thought. She sensed it, but couldn’t give it a name.
She was still standing there staring off into space when Arlingfant came out of the house. “Did you give him the job?”
Aphen nodded. “He was your choice?”
“Don’t you think it was a good one? Did you remember him?”
“Not sure yet about the first, no to the second.”
They walked into the house and sat at the table off the small kitchen. Arlingfant looked amused. “He didn’t think you would. I thought of him after you left me. He’s changed since you knew him. He killed a man not too long ago. An Elf. He was in training to join the Home Guard—a natural, given his skill level. But he got on another trainee’s bad side, and when the instructor wasn’t looking the trainee tried to cripple him during an exercise. Cymrian reacted instinctively and killed him. His sister told me. But, you know. Once you’ve killed another Elf, you can’t be in the Home Guard.”
Aphenglow understood. There were certain prohibitions that could not be violated. Killing another Elf in service to the King was one.
“But why does he want to work for me?” she asked.
Her sister grinned. “Don’t you know?”
Aphen gave her a perplexed look. “No, I don’t know.”
The grin broadened. “Well, you’ll figure it out.” Arlingfant rose. “Let’s fix ourselves something to eat and then we can talk some more. How does a vegetable stew sound?”
It sounded wonderful. Aphenglow followed her into the kitchen, and for the time being pushed thoughts of Cymrian from her mind.
13
APHENGLOW SPENT THE BALANCE OF THE FOLLOWING DAY working in the underground storerooms that housed the Elven histories and related archives, continuing her search for information on the missing Elfstones. In particular, she was hunting for more information on Aleia and the rest of the Omarosian family and the connection between the two. She wanted to be certain she hadn’t missed anything here before turning her attention to the Chosen histories.
She found exactly nothing she didn’t already know. Except for one thing.
While searching the writings peripheral to the Elven histories, she found herself sidetracked by references to various maps of the times in which the writings were recorded. Wondering how much of the Faerie world might have been mapped in the earliest of times—particularly the time of Aleia Omarosian—she left her place among the writing archives and moved over to where the maps were stored. She searched them front-to-back without success, but then found a further reference to an ancient file that seemed to be missing. This, in turn, led her to another room entirely, where piles of old maps were bundled in stacks, and she spent the next three hours scouring these.
In the end, she found something unexpected.
Something that might prove even more useful than the diary.
It was a map, crudely rendered and enigmatically labeled, of the world as it existed in the period during which Aleia Omarosian and her immediate family had lived. Aphenglow was able to identify the time period for three reasons. First, the Elven home city of Arborlon was clearly labeled, although it was located in a different place than where it was now; second, the city of Parsoprey—on the other side of the Dragon’s Teeth Mountains—to which Aleia had gone to visit her grandparents, was also identified.
But third and most important, Rajancroft—the home city of the Darkling boy who had stolen the Elfstones after being rejected by Aleia—was labeled, as well.
Even though two of the cities were gone completely and the third moved to a new location, it should be possible to determine approximately where each had once been on the present-day map by using the mountains as a measuring stick.
Which meant it might be possible to find the ruins of Rajancroft and perhaps even the location of the missing Elfstones.
That effort would be aided immeasurably if she could persuade her grandfather and the High Council to allow the Druids to use the seeking-Stones.
She sat quietly for a time after that, speculating on how she might make this happen. She must be strong, but not too aggressive, in presenting her cause. She could afford to press, but not antagonize. There was bound to be resistance, but she had to find a way to overcome it. She had to turn that resistance into support, however grudgingly given. All sorts of approaches suggested themselves, but no
ne of them seemed quite right.
And admittedly, it was still a gamble. As she had speculated before, surely someone over the centuries had tried to use the blue Elfstones to find their mates and failed. There was no reason to think that she and her fellow Druids would be any more successful.
The most difficult part of this business was not being able to be candid about what she was doing or why. Elves in general did not like obfuscation and deceit, and by keeping from them the whole of what she knew of the Druid mission she was perilously close to crossing that line. But she had been told her parameters when she’d suggested this, so she couldn’t very well complain about it now.
She left the palace shortly after, deciding to go early for her dinner with Jera and Ellich. Perhaps getting out of the storerooms for a bit would help clear her mind. As she left the palace and started down the road leading to her aunt and uncle’s home, Cymrian appeared from nowhere and fell in beside her.
“Any problems?” he said, his eyes shifting here and there as he walked next to her.
“Where have you been?” she asked, a bit disgruntled that she hadn’t seen him before this.
“Close by.”
“All day? I never saw you once.”
“That’s the point, isn’t it? If you could see me, so could someone else. I couldn’t come inside the palace, but I figured you were safe enough there.”
“I’m safe enough anywhere.”
“Are you?”
She gave him a look, but said nothing. “Where will you go now?”
She hesitated before telling him, finally deciding there was no reason not to. “To my aunt and uncle’s for dinner. Jera and Ellich.”
He nodded. “Good people. Say hello for me.”
Then he drifted away, peeling off into the woods and disappearing in the same way he had the day before. She stopped to watch him go, intrigued in spite of herself. She found him inexplicably interesting and couldn’t provide a reason for it.
She enjoyed the remainder of the afternoon in the company of her aunt and uncle, and when Arlingfant arrived later on, the four shared the evening meal and several hours of reminiscence and laughter. It was the most relaxed she had felt in days, and when she arrived home that night she went straight to bed and fell immediately asleep.
The following morning, she appeared before the King and the High Council to make her request.
She rose early, but not early enough to catch Arlingfant, who had already gone off to the Gardens of Life to celebrate the sunrise with the Ellcrys and the other Chosen. Ellich had told her the night before—taking her aside for a moment’s private conversation—that arrangements had been made for her to appear in the Council chambers at midmorning. She had been calm about it when told, but felt nervous now that the audience was almost at hand. She gave more thought to what she would say, knowing even as she did so that the direction the appeal would take would ultimately depend on the reaction of the King and members of the High Council to the idea of allowing the Druids to use the Elfstones.
When she walked out the door on her way to the Council chambers, she found Cymrian waiting. She realized she had never mentioned him to her aunt and uncle, even after promising herself she would do so. Her unhappiness at having let that slide kept her from saying anything rude. Instead, she smiled disarmingly.
“Keeping close watch over me?”
“Keeping you in sight.”
“I have to appear before the High Council.”
“I know. I’ll be with you.”
“They won’t let you in. The audience is closed.”
He nodded. “Maybe. Maybe not.”
They walked on as she pondered this equivocation, wondering what he meant. Surely they wouldn’t allow him into a closed Council session. Not with his violent history. In point of fact, she didn’t want him there anyway. What she had to say wasn’t meant for his ears. The fewer people who knew about her plans for the Elfstones, the better.
“Well, I don’t need you to accompany me,” she said finally. “There’s no need for it. I’ll be safe enough.”
“Will you?”
She looked over at him to see if he was joking. He didn’t appear to be. “In the presence of the members of the High Council and my grandfather? Who would dare to harm me?” she demanded, suddenly angry.
He shrugged. “The same people who would dare to try to kill you in your own house?”
She stopped short. “How did you know …?”
“Your sister told me. Did you think I would be doing this if I didn’t believe the threat was real? She had to tell me why you needed a protector or what was the point of asking for one? You should be a little more forthcoming with me. I’m your friend. You should act like you trust me.”
She immediately bristled. “I trust you! I just don’t think you need to be a part of everything I do!”
“Or perhaps part of anything. If you want me to be of any use, you have to think of me as your shadow. I have to be there all the time, not just when you think it is convenient.” He paused speculatively. “Or would you like me to go?”
She almost told him she would like exactly that. But then she would be back to looking for another bodyguard if she were to keep her promise to the Ard Rhys. So she bit back the first words that came to mind and simply shook her head.
“I apologize. I admit I am not comfortable with this. I am used to looking after myself. It feels awkward having someone do it for me.”
He looked off for a minute. “We both went through the same training when we were schooling to be Trackers, and I remember how much better you were than I was at almost everything. You probably think you still are.” He looked back again. “But you’re not. You have the use of Druid magic, which I don’t. But when it comes to hand-to-hand combat, I am more experienced. I want you to trust me on this and let me do my very best to keep you safe. Will you agree to that and let me do my job?”
They faced each other wordlessly for a minute, and then Aphenglow nodded. “Do what you think is necessary. I won’t argue with you anymore unless I find what you are doing personally invasive.”
He stared at her. “I’m not sure what that means, but I think I can accept it as a condition. May I accompany you to your audience with the King?”
She gave him a small nod. “You may.”
They continued on, not saying anything now, just walking together. Aphenglow wasn’t sure she had resolved how she felt about having Cymrian as her shadow, but was satisfied that she had backed him off sufficiently that he would be careful about how far he encroached on her personal life. She would have a talk with Arlingfant later on about the quality of her choice.
They reached the Council Hall and were met by Home Guards at the entry doors. They identified themselves, and to Aphenglow’s surprise they were both admitted. She had been certain the guards would turn Cymrian away, but they hadn’t even tried. Inside, standing in the hallway that encircled the chamber, he turned to her again.
“I won’t go any farther than this,” he told her. “I know you want privacy in this matter, and I can do my job from out here. I just wanted to be close enough to reach you if you should need me. I will be waiting right outside the chamber doors.”
She left him there, moving over to where the Captain of the Home Guard, a man she didn’t know personally but could identify from his insignia, was waiting.
“Will you tell the King I am here?”
“Sian Aresh,” he introduced himself, bowing slightly. “The King already knows. Come with me.”
He turned around, knocked once loudly, released the heavy latches, and pushed the doors open. When he stepped through, she took a deep, steadying breath and followed him in.
It had been a long time since she had been in the chambers of the Elven High Council. Years. She had been a little girl then, trotting after her grandfather as he led her to this sanctuary where no one could enter uninvited. He had made it a special treat, a journey into a room where all the major decisi
ons governing the Elven people were made, where laws were debated and passed, where honor was bestowed on those who had earned it and punishment visited on those who had transgressed. There had been such a mystery to it, and at the time it had seemed a huge, forbidding place. There had been no one but the two of them, and her grandfather, still fit and spry at eighty, had played leapfrog with her before the King’s throne.
She had been so happy that day. It had been such fun.
It didn’t feel as if anything of that time remained as she stood just inside the doors and looked down the Council table past the stern faces of the members of the High Council to the careworn face of her aged grandfather. Emperowen Elessedil had been King a long time. He had come to the throne in his twenties, well before the time he was expected to rule, made King by fate when his parents had died in an accident. He had been King now for the better part of eighty years, and his age was catching up with him. He no longer played games with granddaughters and grandsons, no longer even smiled. In the twilight years when peace and contentment were expected, he was struggling with illness and the pressing demands of a transfer of power in which he no longer had faith.
His heir apparent sat next to him. Phaedon Elessedil, his only son and Afrengill Elessedil’s older brother, was a moody, passionate man whose character and disposition were ill suited to what was expected of a ruler of the Elven people. He was not well liked and certainly not loved, and those who supported him did so out of fear or ambition. He was a poor choice to lead his people, but by chance of birth and rule of law the issue was settled. The best his father could do at this point in his life was to prolong the inevitable, although he probably continued to have hope things would somehow work out.
Aphenglow knew most of this from talks with her sister and the few visits she had paid to her grandfather in the time she had served with the Druid order. Because of her diminished status, she could say little about her grandfather’s decision to allow Phaedon to succeed him on the throne. But she knew it was a mistake the Elves would live to regret, even though the mistake was not of their doing.
