by Jack Conner
“That’s the ancient language of the Elf-lands—Erethon,” Rolenya whispered to Baleron. “The holy place of our people.”
“What does it mean?”
“By the grace of Eviretha—the Omkar that created the first flowers, among many others. The people of Ivenien revere Eviretha, what you might call the goddess of nature. They are Toreshan—that is, forest-Elves—and adhere to the old ways of this world, as much as they can.”
Calendil said a few more words and sat, and then so did everyone else. He seemed to have heard his guests speaking, as he said, “Does it surprise you, Princess, that we rustic wood-Elves speak Lashan? I would remind you that my father, and many of our nobles, are from Erethon itself.”
Rolenya inclined her head. “Of course, I had only forgotten. Again, your city is half-legendary as it is. I’m surprised I remember as much about your people as I do. But it always intrigued and delighted me—but saddened me, as well.”
“Saddened? Why?”
“Because the tale has you sundered from us, completely. It is as if you dropped off the face of the earth.”
“So it is with each of the hidden cities. What there are left of them, that is.”
Baleron had little patience for such history, at least at the moment. “What of the dragon? Was it destroyed?”
Calendil sighed. “Alas, it has escaped—but still my people hunt for it. It eluded them, and they think it might have gone to ground in some cave or other.” His gaze strayed from them, seeing something far away, something only he could envision, and his face grew very solemn. “If it survives …”
Rolenya swallowed. “Yes. Your city will be hidden no longer.”
“If we are laid bare … exposed to our enemies … I fear we lack the strength to defend ourselves.”
“But you said you had many such outposts,” Baleron said. “That must mean you have thousands of Swan Riders.”
“Aye, thousands. But the Enemy has tens of thousands of more terrible things to send against us, and we are very far south, very close to the borders of Oslog, if the Enemy but knew. Our greatest ally has been secrecy, not might in arms, and though your sword-arm might be valiant, Prince Baleron, I doubt that even it will stem the dark tide, should it come.”
Baleron smiled grimly. “Perhaps if I had both arms in full I might be of more help, but as it is I believe you’re right.”
Calendil raised his goblet of wine. Its jewels glinted in the light. “To thwarting the Enemy!”
The Swan Knights all repeated the toast and drank. Soon dinner arrived, and they spoke of lesser matters. Calendil did not ask for their full story, not yet, and the dinner passed as if a dream to Baleron. Being surrounded by Elves, and in a place of their power, even this modest outpost, made him feel giddy and strange. Odd fancies swam through his head and made him lightheaded. Magic, he thought. Light and Grace. It was the Elves’ native state, yet they likely didn’t even feel it.
Rolenya seemed to sense his thoughts and laid a hand on his bare arm. Instantly he steadied, and the world stopped reeling about him. He nodded his thanks, but she did not smile back. Would they ever be at ease around each other again?
Finally, after dinner Calendil invited Baleron and Rolenya into his small study, together with two of his captains, and asked the prince and princess to relate the tale of the Book and the dragon, and what had brought them here. Haltingly at first, awkwardly taking turns when it was appropriate, Baleron and Rolenya spoke their piece. As he talked, Baleron thought of the Book waiting for them in their rooms, and momentarily he felt a swell of panic.
But no, surely it was safe here, if it was safe anywhere.
When he had finished, he added, “My friend—Tiron, the archer. He may have sacrificed his life for me to survive and to bring the Book to you. However, there may still exist the chance that he lived and made it out of the mountain alive. Is there any way your Riders could fly in that direction and see if there is any sign of him?”
“Sending Riders out from our realm in such a fashion could expose us,” Calendil said.
“So you refuse?”
“I did not say that.” He paused. “I will talk with my father about it when we go down to him.”
“So you will grant our request, then?” Rolenya said.
Calendil shared a look with his captains, and they nodded, as if confirming what they knew he would say. “Aye,” he said. “Your tidings are grave, and it would be folly not to bring them to the attention of the King, and to have him hear it from the source. What is more, my father is ancient, wise, and powerful. He has kept our realm in peace and plenty for thousands of years. If anyone can aid you in your quest, it is he.”
“Excellent!” said Baleron.
“I would not go that far,” Calendil said. “The King is likely to be … displeased that our security may be compromised. You may find him in a poor mood to ask favors. But, Princess, he is your mother’s brother, and I believe he will not forget that. Both have looked upon the Light of Erethon, and they have a bond we cannot understand.” He downed the last sip of wine in his glass and stood. “Rest now, cousin, and Baleron. We leave for Ivenien at first light.”
After dinner, Baleron and Rolenya retired to their suite. He was glad to see that she looked as uncomfortable as he felt; he wasn’t alone in his sensation of strangeness. Were they a couple once more, and would therefore share a bed, or … not?
“Well,” she said at last, “I suppose this is goodnight.” Her last words tilted up, as if to make it a partial question.
He started to bid her farewell, if only so that he could have more time to think on it, to sort out his feelings, but then he said instead, “Can you tell me now?”
“Tell you what?” But she did not meet his eyes as she said it.
“What you were doing all these years.”
“I told you, Baleron—study and research.”
“What could you have been studying with such diligence that you couldn’t have paid me a visit? You were clearly in Theslan more than once—but going out of your way to avoid me each time. You were given a steed, and wings—you could have come to me.”
She let out a breath and half turned away, her face bathed in the soft white light of glimmering stones set into the cavern wall. It twinkled on the tiny gems in her long black hair. “Baleron, I’ve told you all I could. There is no grand secret. I was studying—fervently, with every breath—on how to avert the Great Darkness that now looms over us. We managed to stave off the End Times for a few years, Baleron. We did that much. It was all worth it. We gave our peoples time to prepare … if only they would. Instead they’ve allowed petty politics and grudges to divide them. We must sew the patchwork back together or it will unravel completely.”
“Is that what you’ve been doing—sewing?”
“In a manner of speaking,” she said. “I’m the Queen’s daughter, Baleron. I’ve been sent as her ambassador … on more than one occasion.”
He didn’t have to ask if her trips had taken her to Havensrike. “So you were doing more than studying, then.”
“I used my trips as excuses to raid the libraries of wherever I went. I studied even harder when I was abroad.”
“Don’t give me that, Rolenya.”
Tears misted her eyes. “I’m not giving you anything, Bal. That is the truth.” She started to reach for his hand, then stopped herself.
“But not all of it,” he said.
“What do you mean?” But again she did not meet his eyes.
“You could have visited me anytime. You … chose not to. Oh sure, maybe you sent me letters, and maybe some were intercepted, but it seems to me that you could have simply delivered them in person. Meanwhile, I was bound to a rocky barony on the Oslog border and not free to travel. I had to govern my little realm-in-exile. I still will, should I survive to return—and Theslan hasn’t been infested by another wave of spiders. They are good people, the Theslans, even if they seem strange to me. Even if it will never feel lik
e home.” With more heat in his voice than he’d intended, he said, “Where were you?”
She looked hurt by his words—stung—but he imagined that he could see a spark of guilt in her eyes, too.
In a soft, sad voice, she said, “Forgive me, Baleron. I did not do it … or fail to do it … out of a lack of love.”
“I don’t see how you could have avoided me as well as you did otherwise.”
She started to speak, but he cut her off with his raised hand.
“No more,” he said. “You were just talking about how petty grudges are dividing people. Let us not add to it ourselves. Let us go to bed, each to our own, and rest while we may. Tomorrow we have to persuade a king who will have little cause to love our coming.”
And so it was. They gave each other an awkward embrace and retired to their separate rooms. Even so, it was a long time before Baleron found sleep.
Chapter 9
Wind whispered through Baleron’s hair, and he relished the feel of the morning sun on his face. His arms were about Rolenya, and she guided her Swan forwards. Calendil and his Swan Knights flanked them, the red-tinted light turning the wings of their steeds to copper. Because of the mountains, much still lay in shadow, but the mountains did not create a solid wall here, but spiked up in points in many places, allowing dawn light to filter in to what Calendil called the Vale of Bliss—that is, Ivenien.
Baleron scanned the forest below him, but all he could see was greenery from distant mountain to distant mountain, cut with several glittering bands of water, and interrupted by a few great rocky mounds. It was no wonder no enemy had found this place in all these years, despite its relative nearness to the Black Land.
Then, as the Swans drew lower over the forest, it seemed a veil was lifted before Baleron’s eyes, and he gasped aloud in awe and delight. Slender towers and graceful domes arched from the forest, and wide lawns where graceful figures strolled or lounged. Many pointed up at the Swans overhead, smiles on their faces. Calendil and his men were clearly heroes of the city—and deservedly so.
“A spell …” Baleron said. “It must have lifted when we drew closer.”
“Spell?” said Rolenya. “Oh, I see. It must have been hidden from non-Elves. For myself, I could see it the whole time.”
Baleron shook his head. Elves.
Calendil brought them to a graceful white tower that in some strange way seemed to be part of the forest. It boasted many terraces, and on some of these trees and flowers erupted in colorful profusion, and many vines and other vegetation spanned the walls from terrace to terrace. There was even a waterfall cascading down the side of it, making the greenery glisten and shine. Calendil and his Swan Knights set down on three large terraces, and Rolenya followed suit. Handlers emerged to tend to the animals, and one approached Rolenya’s steed and held its reins while she slipped off gracefully. Baleron followed with less ease.
“Welcome to the Swan Tower, my lady,” said the Elf who had come to help. “Your face is not known to me.”
Rolenya started to answer, but Calendil approached, saying, “You have the honor of speaking to the daughter of Lady Vilana.”
The first Elf gasped. “The Princess of Larenthi!” He bowed to her. “My pardons, Your Majesty. We are honored by your presence.”
Her cheeks colored. She was ever modest, and such attention had always embarrassed her. Baleron had always found it one of her more endearing qualities.
“Thank you,” she said, “but there is no need to bow. I am not your princess, after all, only the princess of a distant country.”
“Not so distant—just on the other side of Havensrike, if you follow the northern route, or across Felgrad if you veer south—and Felgrad is a narrow land.”
“Is there a princess here?” Rolenya asked Calendil.
He smiled. “Indeed, I have two sisters, both older, and an older brother as well. I am the baby in the family.”
“I can relate to that,” Baleron said. “I was the youngest of many children.” And now they are all gone, all save the black sheep and the foreigner. It was probably a mercy that his parents hadn’t survived to see what had befallen their line.
“Please, follow me,” Calendil said, and he led them down from the tower while the Swans were guided to their roosts. Suddenly Baleron missed his own winged mount, the glarum Lunir. Lunir had been old and foul, a servant of the Enemy, but Baleron had cared for him. The glarum would not have been at home in this place of Elven splendor, however.
Baleron marveled at the city as Calendil led them through it. Horses awaited them at the bottom of the Swan Tower, and all three rode abreast, while a dozen soldiers rode behind them—whether to guard them or guard against them (at least, the newcomers), Baleron wasn’t certain. The shape of the city was roughly circular, with the wall of mountains serving as the border. Waterfalls ran down from several of the mountains, creating streams and rivers that cut through the forested hills and dales of Ivenien. Settlements lined the waterways, sometimes blending in with the greenery so cunningly that Baleron could barely see them—and he was certain he was missing many. Other habitats perched in the trees, or were the trees themselves.
As they went, the concentration of dwellings grew thicker, and there were roads and people going about their business. Some rode, some walked, and same scampered through the wooden limbs overhead. There seemed to be an entire portion of the life here that dwelt amid the bowers.
Buildings great and small massed in the city proper, all beautiful and elegant. Light and power radiated from some more than others, and despite whatever Rolenya had done to him last night, once more Baleron felt overwhelmed by the majesty of the Elves, and he had to blink and shake his head to focus.
Calendil led them straight to the Palace, a grand and lovely building whose lower floor was open to the elements. Trees and grass crept inside, and several deer darted out of the way of the incoming horses even as Calendil drew to a halt, and the others did likewise. Still Elves went about the business of the state, coming and going from staircases that curled upward. Many trees thrust through the roof and into the floor above. Calendil bade his soldiers find their usual dwellings, and he beckoned Baleron and Rolenya to follow him as he took a curling stairway and vanished upward. Prince and princess allowed him to lead the way through high, clear halls adorned with murals of deeds long past—great battles, romances and scenes from sagas that Baleron didn’t even know.
He wondered if Rolenya did. She certainly seemed more … Elvish than when she had lived in Havensrike. The years away had changed her, and he wasn’t certain yet whether that was in a good way or a bad.
A grand stairway led up to the third level, directly into the hall leading to the Throne Room. Guards snapped to attention at the appearance of their prince—or one of their princes—and they opened the doors for him and his guests. He ushered Baleron and Rolenya into a mighty, high-pillared throne room bathed in light. Trees and plants grew here, too, and flowering vines curled around the grand yet amazingly graceful pillars. The throne occupied a dais toward the rear of the room, and there was a small but effective-looking flurry of activity around it.
The figure occupying the seat of office glanced up as Calendil approached, and a smile lit his face.
“My son! We are happy that you’ve graced us with your presence at last. Too long have you loitered on the border looking for trouble.”
The King rose to his feet, and he was tall and fair, with gems shining in his silver crown, and a long green cape depending from his shoulders. His yellow hair cascaded over it, and it too glittered with jewels.
Calendil bowed, and Baleron and Rolenya followed his example, but to a lesser extent. Both were royalty in their own right and should not fully bow to any foreign power, even a friendly one. But respect must be showed.
“Father, may I present to you Baleron Grothgar, Prince of Havensrike, and Rolenya Cystalheart, Princess of Larenthi. Prince, Princess, please meet my father, King Alathon of Ivenien, Lord of t
he Vale of Bliss.”
Surprise showed on the King’s face, but not unhappily. Smiling, he dismissed his courtiers, then beckoned Baleron and Rolenya closer.
“Tell me, how did a mortal prince and immortal princess—my own niece! It is good to see you, really and truly—but how did you two come to this fair land?”
Baleron started to pat his side, where he held the Book, meaning to thump it with his hook, but Calendil spoke first:
“They come on the winds of a storm,” Calendil said, “pursued by a dread worm and bearing a dark tome of ancient necromancy. I sense only goodwill in their hearts, but they have exposed Ivenien to great peril.”
“A dragon?” gasped Alathon. “Did it see the hidden city?”
“I cannot guess what the eyes of a dragon might have perceived, Father, but at the very least it saw my knights and I, and it might have guessed that meant a hidden population of Elves in the area. We drove him off, and my knights are hunting for him even now. We will catch and kill him if we can, Father, and so end the threat he poses.”
“See that you do, son. Everything may depend on it. You have any and all resources necessary at your disposal to see the job done.”
“I thank you, Father. My knights should be sufficient … if only the worm can be found.”
King Alathon frowned. Slowly, his attention returned to Baleron and Rolenya. “I do not mean to cast blame, but I hope you can understand that I mislike the manner of your appearance into my realm.”
“We understand, Your Majesty,” Rolenya said. “I doubt we would like it much either, if our situations were reversed.”
He paused, studying her. “Rolenya … yes, you are just as beautiful as I had heard. You see, you may have heard little from Ivenien, but Ivenien keeps its ears open—and its eyes, as well.” He did not say what he meant by this but continued smoothly. “You are kin to me, did you know that? Your grandfather—my father—led our House from Erethon—that is, the Elf-lands,” he added for Baleron’s benefit. “The great King Galathon, son of Galathal. That makes us both, Rolenya, of the House of Galathon.”
