‘Armentele is an occasion where we say farewell to the abundance of summer and autumn and prepare for the onset of winter. Fire is the symbol we use, the guardian against the frost and snows that await us,’ Terath said solemnly.
As he spoke, figures appeared on the great stone slab; they were carrying buckets or similar containers and were pouring some viscous-looking substance on to its surface. When that was done, other men put torches to it. Immediately the substance ignited, great sheets of flame roaring skywards from the rock, all at least ten feet tall. The flames themselves were a variety of colours; Morgan almost expected this by now. As well as the reds and blues there were greens and pale yellows, all the colours constantly shifting. There was little breeze in this dell, so the flames were not buffeted by wind, keeping their shape – high walls of incandescence, crackling and reverberating – the noise of the fires echoing against the cliffs behind them. Musicians started to play. Two girls strumming an instrument similar to a harp played a haunting introduction, before the drummers and flautists joined them. Shortly afterwards, the singing started; a choir had joined the musicians at the back of the ‘stage’ and their voices melded with the instruments to produce a song of great complexity, its cadences rising and falling in time with the rumbling falls and the swaying fingers of flame.
Food and drink was put out before the watchers. The meat was spicier than he had tasted before and the spiced berry drink went down a treat in the fresh air, despite the early hour. Cedric, who had spent a lot of his time indoors with Terath, seemed to be relishing the change of scene, smiling beatifically as he watched the performance.
And then the dancers arrived. Men and women in shimmering white robes appeared leaping through the walls of flame. The men would pick up the women, hoisting them high as they stretched languidly, moving and swaying their arms with a gentle grace. Their costumes reflected the colours surrounding them, so that it was something like watching a thousand shifting, moving rainbows against a background of frowning cliffs and dark imperturbable trees.
And then he saw Itheya. Given her status, it was no surprise to see her at the centre of the ensemble, moving or being lifted and carried from one dance partner to the next, her long ponytail almost dragging on the floor as she stretched her graceful limbs behind, in front of and through the fire. Like the other elves, she had an almost feline poise; it was almost like watching a ballet performed by hunting animals, lithe and hypnotic, sinuous and elegant. Like the remainder of the audience, Morgan found himself almost being drawn into the performance – the trees, the damp grass, the sound of the shallow river were all forgotten as the dancers wove their exquisite tapestry. Time passed unnoticed and the fitful sun was a distant memory as the swaying dancers twirled and spun rhythmically. Morgan yet again felt as if he was in a waking dream.
And then it was over. The audience got to their feet, raised their arms to the stage and called, ‘Satala, zana teripeto! Satala zana elethena! Satala za fimaremi!’ As they stood and watched, the fires died, the last of the musicians picked up their instruments and the choir solemnly ended their song. Within a minute the stage was empty.
‘It is always important with our people that the successor to the Mhezhen participates in all aspects of our society. With human lords, I believe this is seen as demeaning, but that is not the case here.’ Cenarazh was smiling, proud of his daughter’s performance.
Everyone was feasting now, the spiced meats, the fish flavoured with herbs and wild garlic, hard cheeses and flatbreads all washed down with the jenessa. Morgan had the elves figured as quiet respectful people, but that was hardly the case today – people were laughing and gossiping, some were dancing with each other, a crowd of young elf children had climbed on to the stage and were attempting their own imitation performance, watched and cheered by their families.
‘May I humbly ask where your son is today?’ Cedric enquired of Cenarazh.
‘Patrolling our border. Either he or Itheya usually lead these patrols. We have to be constantly watchful; we have humans to the west and tribes that have little love for us elsewhere. Our vigilance is necessary, if unfortunate.’
‘I have often wondered,’ said Cedric, ‘whether the outcome of the tragic wars between our peoples might have been different if your tribes had been more unified.’
Cenerazh smiled. ‘Our disunity has always been our greatest folly, one further compounded by our inability to learn from past mistakes. In my youth, I dreamed of uniting the tribes, moulding our people into a force again, but I soon learned it would be easier to touch the moon; I do not know what it is like in human society but with us every facial gesture is an imagined slight, every misplaced word an insult. The older one gets, the more wearisome it becomes.’
As he spoke, Itheya joined them. She still wore her white tunic and her thin torque, removed for her dance, was back around her neck. She greeted and kissed her father then came over to the humans and sat beside them.
‘Did you enjoy what you saw? Or did it send you back to your slumbers?’
Morgan realised from her excited face that she was actually seeking their approval. He realised that he still couldn’t work her out.
‘I found it utterly hypnotic,’ effused Cedric.
Her brow wrinkled. ‘Hypno...? It is not a word I know.’
‘He said he found it entrancing,’ said Morgan. ‘As did I.’
‘Thank you. I am not sure I believe you, but thank you anyway. I need to sit with Father now, to discuss the krasa. Enjoy the festivities; I will speak with you later.’
And enjoy them they did. They ate and drank till they were fit to burst and then, as the sun receded over the lands of the humans, they joined the slow torch-lit procession back to the island and Zamezhenka. The singing and music accompanied them all the way and, after attending the feast that continued on the third floor, Morgan retired to his room with a feeling of tired elation. He was beginning to feel that he would be quite happy to stay here and never go back to the Seven Rivers – to war, cruelty and death, blood and loss. As he shut his eyes to sleep, he saw his wife’s face for the first time in years, only briefly, but it jolted him like a kick from a horse. He sat upright in the bed, sweating, but could only see the light of the glowstones and hear the sounds of muted passion coming from Itheya’s room. She had obviously found some company for the night.
‘Ah, Lis,’ he whispered softly, ‘where are you now, I wonder? The Gods watch over you, always.’
With that he lay back on the bed and, with the wish that Itheya would just get on with it, finish with the fellow and give him some quiet so he could rest properly, he drifted off into a slumber full of dreams, but little peace.
39
The two-masted ship bobbed at anchor as it was slowly enveloped by mist. Within the narrow confines of its cabin were sitting Ceriana, Wulfthram, Ulian, Alys, Willem and Haelward. Ceriana had forbidden Ebba from coming and, for the first time she could remember, she had no handmaiden but she was coping manfully with the loss. She rather enjoyed the independence, in fact, and having her husband to help dress her had provided some of the more comedic moments of the past few days.
They were aboard the Arnberg, a caravel sporting two lateen sails and one of the fastest vessels in the Baron’s small navy. Built for speed, it had little room for luxury, hence the single cabin with its solitary bench-cum-bed used by Wulfthram and his wife, who had spent the nights on board clinging to him, desperately trying not to fall off. The weather had been cold, with a persistent fine rain that had only ceased with the arrival of the mist, so the other four voyagers had been allowed to sleep in the cabin, too. This in itself was something of a triumph of ergonomics as there was barely enough room for a man to stand and walk five full paces without bumping into the low-hanging lantern or the creaking timbers of walls and door. The captain and crew, who were also few in number, slept outside, finding shelter where they could.
Not that Willem was complaining. For the first time he could sleep with
Alys in his arms, her hard little head on his shoulder and her soft breath caressing his ear and cheek. He had told her of Cedric’s proposal to pay for his education personally; she was thrilled but also concerned – how could such a great debt ever be repaid? He told her to speak to Cedric about it; the man had an amazing ability to allay any fears about any subject and Willem had never seen him lose an argument, even against his fellow professors.
Now, however, they were all awake, sitting around a low table that held Cedric’s books. Night was approaching and there were no crying gulls or cursing sailor to break the sounds of the soft waves, the groaning of the ship’s beams or the sigh of the slightest breeze coming in through the cabin’s tiny half-open window.
‘Now,’ said Wulfthram, ‘tomorrow when this mist clears we will arrive at Oxhagen. I will send my men out to ask around for someone who knows the location of this tower. As you know, the fishermen who fled to Osperitsan refused to return with us.’
‘That augurs well,’ said Haelward.
‘Whether they were too afeard to return or just did not want to risk losing the foothold they had gained for themselves, I do not know,’ said Wulfthram. ‘Anyway when a guide has been secured, I, Haelward, Ulian and my men Strogar and Derkss will take the stone to the tower; the others will remain here with the ship’s crew.’
‘Nice try,’ said Ceriana, ‘but do you really think I am going to remain here?’ She held out the stone. It had been enclosed in a silver fitting and chain which she proceeded to put around her neck.
‘I could take it from you by force.’
‘In front of all these people? With me all screaming and helpless?’
He sighed, smiling ever so slightly. ‘Very well. I cannot stop you from coming, but do not go anywhere on your own. We have come here to protect you, after all.’
‘I can accept that,’ she said. ‘Being surrounded by strong muscular warriors has its compensations.’
‘And by me,’ said Ulian.
‘Of course, every expedition needs its brains.’
‘Speaking of which,’ said Ulian, ‘I have been searching these books, the ones Willem brought here, for some reference to the “guardians” your fisherman referred to in the tunnels.’
‘And?’ said Wulfthram.
‘Well, I have found something.’
‘Yes?’
‘It isn’t good.’
‘Just tell us.’ The Baron sounded exasperated.
‘The Wych folk, the elves, that hid this stone in these tunnels, if that is what they did, must have been desperate to protect their secrets. Let us try and imagine what it must have been like nearly eight hundred years ago. They had just been utterly defeated by the humans; thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands, of them had been killed or enslaved over the previous century. And the humans were coming; maybe they were only days away. These ruins and the others on the coast were once called the City of Light. At its peak it had hundreds of tall white spires each connected by elevated walkways over which were strung a series of delicate silver chains that held dozens of tiny silver crystals. These glittered by day or night and could be seen by sailors many miles from shore – that was how the city got its name. But, even as the refugees fled here, the city was declining, many spires were in ruins and its population had shrunk to about half of what it had been at its zenith. At this time the headland extended further into the sea and it had a wide shallow harbour. This would have been full of ships, each of them packed full of elves desperate to flee and start a new life on distant shores. Imagine now that the ships had nearly all gone, that only a few were left, but still the refugees kept pouring in. What were they to do? Not everyone would get a ship and what of the city’s many secrets and treasures? Some tribes resigned themselves to their fate and fled to the Aelthenwood, where they would eventually settle, but still many more remained. Some terrible decisions needed to be made.’
Silence. Outside a thin sliver of moonlight broke through the mist and shone a sickly yellow on Ulian’s pale face.
‘It is not clear what exactly happened in these books, but by piecing the fragments of information that we have, comparing and cross-referencing them, I can only conclude that, though the women and children were excluded, lots were drawn for the men to determine who would leave and who would remain. Those that remained were charged with protecting the treasures of the city. Treasures that presumably included the very stone the Lady Baroness is now wearing.’
There were goblets of weak ale on the small, book-covered table. Ulian took a long draught for his dry throat and continued.
‘I discovered an account written by an elf called Senathion. It is in the ancient Elvish tongue, but I have managed to translate it, well most of it. I have transcribed it here. He held up a scroll, written in his firm bold hand, and began to read:
‘The scouts have returned and they are barely two days distant. The city will burn, this much we know. There are not enough of us to even defend the citadel. The last ships have left; at least I know my beloved Erethe is safe along with the child she carries, one I will never see. Dureke, our leader, has called a meeting – we will know our fate when it is over.’
Ulian paused and looked at his attentive audience. The sea was calm, the ship barely moving. ‘He carries on after this meeting; he says:
‘We are charged to protect the artefacts of our people. The humans see these objects of gold, ones that our finest craftsmen have taken years to create, and they hack out the gems and melt the gold into ingots, to present to their emperor, who by now must be sitting on a pile of them a mile high. We will not let this happen here.
‘Some of the catacombs will be guarded with traps and poison. For others there are creatures that can lie dormant for centuries, only waking when the doors are breached. The draigolitha [er, that is the dragonstones] we will guard ourselves. We then asked Dureke how they would be guarded after we die? Then, finally, our doom was outlined to us.
Dureke knows of a magic that will keep us forever vigilant, beyond death; we will trade our souls to do our duty for eternity. For that we have to take our own lives, with a knife of silver after drinking a bitter brew Dureke will prepare for us. After death he will make us the guardians, commanders of ice and frost, eternal enemies of the humans. We can be fooled, however – xhikon will hide living blood from us, the herb culestrak we will find repellent and the blue fire of Istraek will mark an enemy as friend – but what human will know any of this?’
Ulian stopped reading. ‘Xhikon is dull iron; it is in that amulet the black priest gave to your Ladyship. I can only assume it is what they used to hide themselves and steal the stone. I do not know of this herb or the fire. Anyway the elf’s account is nearly finished:
‘We have made our final prayers and shortly will descend below the earth one last time. I have written this for our people to remember our sacrifice and to record the names of those who will still be watching long after the Empire of the humans has been cast to the four winds.’
Ulian put the scroll down. ‘He then names every elf who presumably took part in this ritual. There are over a hundred of them.’
‘It is ironic – don’t you think?’ said Haelward, ‘– that they took their own lives and were subjected to some unholy ritual so they could guard this stone for ever, and the first bunch of humans that try to take it stroll in and out without so much as a second thought.’
‘But they knew what to do,’ said Ulian. ‘They have access to many elven writings and must have discovered it there somehow.’
‘That’s as maybe,’ said Willem nervously, ‘but these guardians are awake now, and alert.’
‘But we have an amulet of dull iron and the stone they were guarding. It is obvious. I should go alone into this place as I am the only one guaranteed to be protected.’ Ceriana’s jaw was set firm, aware of the arguments that would follow.
‘I seem to recall,’ said Wulfthram, ‘when you first arrived in my home, you got lost walking from your rooms to th
e great hall. How then do you think you will fare in a labyrinth?’
Her resolve was punctured immediately; she hated to admit it but he had a point.
‘I will go with you if no one else. I am your husband and could do no less.’
‘And I too,’ said Ulian. ‘The Wych folk used to put signs on their streets and temples so they could be navigated easily. When the wars started, they changed them into forms and letters they thought humans would not understand. I, however, have deciphered a few and Cedric many more, I have written them all down here; after all, would it not be too fanciful to think they may have done the same with the tunnels?’
‘Very well,’ Ceriana sighed. ‘So much for my moment of heroism. Anyway, we can’t go anywhere with this fog sitting around us. Can someone close the window, please? There is something about it that unnerves me.’
Willem, who was nearest, complied. ‘I am sure the fog will be gone soon,’ he said.
But it wasn’t gone by the morning. As everyone was slowly stirring, Wulfthram opened the cabin door to find he could barely see the ship’s prow. It had got thicker if anything.
‘It’s a right one this, my Lord,’ said the ship’s captain, all wrapped up in a thick coat and gloves. ‘We get them now and then around the coast here, but this is as thick as any I have seen before. Some of the boys are offering prayers to Hytha, hoping he will disperse it so we can get moving.’
The Forgotten War Page 56
