by C. Night
“Soti, it is my very great pleasure to meet you,” Cazing said, taking her hand and bowing low. His lips brushed her knuckles as he studied her face. “You are breathtaking, my dear,” he declared.
Soti smiled. “You flatter me, sir,” she said quietly in a musical voice.
“It’s not flattery if it’s true,” he countered.
Soti laughed, and it fell on Rhyen’s ears like the merry ringing of bells.
“My flowers,” Rode said cheerfully, “This is Rhyen Hyldhem.” The three women looked with polite interest at Rhyen. “He’s Cazing’s apprentice.” At that statement, the wives exchanged looks with each other, then stared at Rhyen, impressed. Rhyen swallowed, wondering if he should kiss their hands too. The decision was made for him when Renna stepped forward, her red pants rustling and her head held regally, and offered her hand out to him.
“You are the first apprentice of Cazing’s that we’ve ever known, Rhyen. It is our pleasure.”
“Thank you, my lady,” said Rhyen, hoping it was the right thing to say. He copied his master and bowed over each of their hands in turn, kissing their soft skin. He blushed deeply when he bent over Soti’s hand, and he felt he would die of shame. But the wives only smiled at him briefly, then politely looked away. Finally, the strange show of manners was completed, and at long last they sat down at the low table for supper.
There was such a feast of rich food displayed across the table, brought in by a seemingly endless line of servants, that Rhyen wasn’t sure where to start. Fortunately Olpha, who was seated directly across from him and had a kindly, compassionate look on her face, took pity on him and loaded his plate. He smiled and mumbled his thanks when she handed it back to him. He concentrated on only looking directly into her eyes, which, like Soti, bore strangely diamond pupils. He focused on eating after that, enjoying the strange food, some of which was so strongly spicy that his mouth burned, and he drained his goblet more than once. Strangely, there was no meat in any of the dishes. With every refill of the Melden drink, it got harder to remember to look only at the wives’ faces, and a few times he found himself staring, especially at Soti. Rhyen caught himself and shook his head, trying to clear his mind. He glanced guiltily around to see if anyone had noticed. Luckily, no one was paying attention to him, and so Rhyen suffered his embarrassment in peace.
Well, what am I supposed to do? Close my eyes? Rhyen thought mutinously. He still felt red, and his head was beginning to hurt. He reached for his goblet again, and suddenly remembered too late what Rode had said about the strong drink. Oh, gods, how much did I have?
Rhyen didn’t touch his drink again, and ate very little. The food really was too spicy for him to eat without a drink, but he dare not drink anymore. He felt sick already, and was certain his face was still flushed. Do not get sick in front of Soti, he warned himself threateningly.
Faadi, who Rhyen guessed was the head of the servants, brought him a tall tankard of water. “This should help,” she whispered in his ear and she leaned down, discreetly removing the Melden.
He looked up at her in dismay. “Is it that obvious?” The slur of his own words answered his question for him.
Faadi smiled. “I would just drink the water,” she replied gently. She had a strange accent he couldn’t place.
Rhyen nursed both his water and wounded pride, and eventually he felt better. The supper seemed to last a very long time, with much talking and laughter and course after course of spicy foods. Rhyen endured the rest of the meal without incident, but he grew increasingly uncomfortable. He wished it would be over. After what seemed like ages, he got his wish, and the three gorgeous women took their leave of the men. He watched them walk away with a twinge of regret. He sighed and comforted himself by remembering the dark red hair and fair skin of Soti. Wouldn’t she be enough? Why did Rode need three wives? His musings must have been plain on his face, because from the head of the table came a call.
“Is anything the matter, Rhyen?” asked Rode.
Rhyen’s head snapped up. “No, sorry.”
“What’s on your mind?” his host pressed. Cazing watched him, head tilted to one side.
Rhyen nervously licked his lips. When it was obvious that both men were waiting for an answer, he replied, “I was just wondering how you came to have three wives, sir. I didn’t know that was possible…” Rhyen trailed off, cursing himself for asking such a rude question.
To his amazement, both men started laughing. “It’s not possible in Conden, Rhyen,” Rode replied, “but I’m not Condenish, and my customs are not yours.”
He and Cazing smirked at each other, still chuckling. Rhyen was confused. “Well, if you’re not from Conden, where are you from?”
“South. From Wyda,” their host answered breezily.
Rhyen’s mouth dropped open. “Wyda?” he said weakly, “but then, you’re a…you’re not—”
Rode smiled lazily. “No, I’m not human, thank the gods. I’m an elf.”
Rhyen had heard stories his whole life about the elves, and now he was meeting one in person. “An elf!” he repeated, dumbstruck. And not just any elf. If Rode was from Wyda, he was a Sun elf, a High elf.
When, at the very beginning, the gods filled the earth with living creatures, the only people they made were humans, elves, gnomes, and dwarves. Of course, after tens of thousands of years, the races intermixed, creating many sub-species. The original four races migrated around the earth and evolved, adapting to their surroundings. Elves, for example, split into four main types: Wood elves, Water elves, Dark elves, and Sun elves. Sun elves remained in Wyda, where they were first created, and were generally considered to be of the original breed, hence the title High elves.
Elves lived very long lives—some legends even claimed they were immortal. The stories said they were a race chosen, in the first Age, by the gods to hold influence over beasts and plants. Humans were slower and weaker and did not originally have magical tendencies. The gods blessed them later with conscious wielding in order to defend themselves from the other races. But, like gnomes and dwarves, elves were inherently magical. They were said to have sway over all things that grow. The animals elves bred were supposed to be superior in strength and intelligence.
Rhyen thought of Cinnamon. Was she one of the famous elven horses? “You’re a horse trader!” he gasped.
“Ah, yes. So you’re wondering if your new horse is one of the legendary beasts of the elves.” Rode grinned and winked conspiringly at Rhyen. “Most of the horses I sell are descended from dams and sires that are true elven horses, but are mixed with the common stock. That way they are less expensive for me to get, but still command a higher price than your average steed.” Rode bellowed his booming laugh.
Cazing puffed a mouthful of smoke in Rode’s direction and looked decidedly grumpy. “I knew it, you liar, you told me Brefen was a thoroughbred!”
Rode shrugged. “You really thought a thoroughbred would go for ninety? You’re slipping, Cazing.”
The sorcerer gestured rudely at his friend. “No, I think you’re becoming more of a cheat as years go by.”
That reminded Rhyen about the legend that elves were immortal. Coupled with Cazing’s wielding status, and the fact that magic slows the aging process, Rhyen found himself guessing how long they had been friends. “How long have you two…” Rhyen trailed off. It was probably offensive to bring up their ages. But his master answered.
“How long have we known each other?” Cazing guessed. He looked at Rode and shrugged. “I don’t know, probably, oh, a hundred years?” Rode nodded in assent.
Rhyen was stunned. Cazing must be extremely powerful to have reached such an age. He looked no more than forty! Fifty, tops. And yet he was at least a hundred and something years old! Rhyen had heard of no such wielder. His master must have more magic than anyone else in all of Conden, or else he would have heard stories about it. Cazing was intensely private a
t the Academy, and so it made sense that his age remained a secret. In fact, his very wielding had remained a secret to Rhyen until this last night!
Rhyen stole a look at Rode. Now that he was thinking of it, Rhyen saw that his host looked ageless. There was a maturity that rested on his shoulders that Rhyen had, at first meeting, dismissed as middle-aged, but upon closer inspection he realized that Rode had no trace of wrinkles around his eyes or silver at his temples. He looked neither old nor young. It was very strange. Besides that, and his rather queer sort of air, there was nothing that suggested he wasn’t human. Rhyen even checked to see if he had pointed ears, but to his intense disappointment, Rode’s black hair fell over them, and he couldn’t tell. The wives’ ears had all been covered by their hair as well.
Rhyen glanced sideways at his master. Cazing and Rode were leaning back comfortably on their cushions, smoking again. They looked as if they could lounge there and talk forever. Rhyen watched as the servants cleared the table. He thought of Soti. It was no wonder he had been so taken with her beauty. Elves were supposed to be the fairest creatures of all. The wives had seemed ageless as well, though while in their presence he had not even thought to consider it. At the memory, Rhyen felt himself go red. He must have looked like a great fool to the wives, and to his host and new master as well. He bypassed the temptation to remember Soti in her revealing clothes and instead tuned in to the conversation, which had taken a serious turn.
“The garrisons are getting restless,” Rode was saying. “Nothing has happened yet to end the treaty, but nerves are running ragged in towns with Zirites.”
“So I’ve heard. I gather it’s the same across the border?” Cazing questioned.
Rode shook his head. “That’s the strange thing. It’s not. My friends in Zirith tell me it is perfectly peaceful at the Condenish garrisons. I hope we’re not on the brink of war, because if we are, it’ll be a surprise to Conden.”
“Conden and Zirith are always on the edge of war. As long as the treaty holds, they can be as unfriendly as they like towards each other. You can’t expect a friendship to come out of an uneasy truce.”
Rhyen frowned. Cazing was referring to the Great War. A thousand years ago, the countries of Conden and Zirith had been one and the same. It was the mighty empire of Thronder, and the seat of power was Pero, a city high in the mountains. According to history, in that day magic wielders were common, and there were many sorcerers. Their power was made stronger by the Pankara Stone, a massive monument that the gods left the world when they closed the gateway to heaven. The Stone amplified magical gifts, and strengthened the abilities of individual wielders. Then the dark sorcerer Taida broke the Pankara Stone, and with it half of Pero. With the loss of the Stone, wielding abilities were weakened, and many lesser wielders lost their power altogether. Then it was discovered that the emperor’s only child had been killed in the tragedy, as were his appointed successors, leaving none to succeed him on the throne. Distant cousins of the emperor tried to claim his crown, and fought each other for the rule of Thronder. The battle was between two who were equally matched, and when neither could best the other, the empire was torn asunder into the two kingdoms of Zirith and Conden. Ever since, the countries had warred with each other, until a few hundred years ago when the Great War was ended by peace treaty. Following the truce, each country was allowed ten garrisons in the other to enforce the conditions of the treaty, which included territory and trade restrictions. Condenish soldiers had been stationed in Zirith just the same as the Zirites held garrisons in Conden. Since being signed, the treaty had remained in effect, although tensions between the countries remained shaky.
Rhyen was used to talk about the Zirites overstepping the bounds of the treaty. There was a garrison on the edge of his hometown, Yla. Even though they were technically allies, the Condenish people did not like the Zirites. It was the same way across the border, he had heard. Conden and Zirith, just like their founders, were equally matched in size, population, and prosperity, and so the surrounding countries, including the other human Elemental kingdoms, watched with bated breath, hoping the treaty would hold, praying against war lest they be forced to choose sides. For Conden and Zirith were both too large and too strong to even pretend that if they went to war, the rest of the world wouldn’t be forced to follow.
“I tell you, Cazing, war is brewing. The towns surrounding the Zirith garrisons are preparing themselves. Conden may be playing fair, but the Zirites are beginning to break the peace. It’s only a matter of time.”
Cazing pulled on his pipe for a long moment. Rode watched him intently. When the sorcerer said nothing, Rode asked, “When it comes to it, Cazing, you will step in, won’t you?”
Rhyen looked at Cazing. One man, no matter how powerful, surely couldn’t stop a war. But the look on both men’s faces—Rode eager, Cazing reluctant—suggested something. Rhyen just didn’t know what.
Finally, Cazing replied in a quiet, firm voice. “If it comes to it, I will have no choice.”
There was a silence for some time. It seemed that all three were lost in thought. Rhyen was wondering what Rode thought Cazing could possibly do to prevent war. He almost thought that the two men must have been being dramatic. If war really was coming, it wouldn’t be for some time, and it certainly wouldn’t be stopped by one man, sorcerer or no. He looked at the faces of his companions with interest, trying to puzzle what they must have been thinking. Rode’s face was a contradiction of emotions. Rhyen thought he looked wistfully hardened. He is ready for a war, Rhyen guessed, but he looks like he regrets his preparedness. Cazing looked as though he was troubled, but only vaguely so, as if this current matter was trivial compared to his other thoughts. He refilled and relit his pipe. After the first puff of smoke, he was himself again.
“Rode, have you heard anything about this new mine in Wyda? Somewhere near Kintin?” he asked suddenly, eyes shrewd. “Something about an underground lake. The sand from its shores is supposed to make golden glass?”
Rode leaned forward, eyes bright, face eager. “I have! It’s bringing a fortune to the glass blowers in Kintin. Not only is it golden, but also damn near indestructible. More like a metal than glass! Light, too, barely weighs anything at all.”
“Are you considering getting in on it?”
Rode shrugged. “I don’t know anything about glass blowing, but I had been considering putting a team together and sending them south…but I would need a partner first,” he added slyly.
“Cheers,” Cazing said, smiling. “Last time we went in together, we came out very rich men.”
“You mean we came out richer men!”
“That I do, my old friend, that I do. So tell me, what’s this venture you have in mind?”
The two friends began concocting plans and scheming ways to make profit out of the situation. Rhyen could tell that they both were shrewd businessmen, and at any other time he would have been fascinated with their strategy. However, he listened with fading concentration. It was very warm in the tent, and he was extremely comfortable, lounging against the cushions. His head throbbed slightly, not in pain but more of the dull ache that comes with lack of sleep and perhaps too much to drink. Rhyen blinked frequently to keep awake. Gradually his head nodded back onto the pillows, and he gave in to the soft, irresistible lure of sleep.
Chapter 5
Rhyen woke suddenly the next morning. He was sprawled belly-down in the pile of cushions on which he had fallen asleep, his head turned to the side. Gingerly he sat up and took his bearings. The side of his face felt tingly. He explored it gently with his fingers and felt tiny grooves pressed into his skin. Yawning and bleary eyed, he held up the pillow that had cradled his head through the night. It was an expensive looking velveteen square with the fabric sewn in ridges across the surface. That explains my face. Weighing the cushion, he vaguely guessed that it probably took several hundred feathers to fill, such was its plumpness. Rhyen stagge
red to his feet and, leaving the fine slippers neatly by the table, retraced his steps from last night until he was at the entrance of the tent. The cloth hung so evenly he couldn’t find the flap. He pushed at the cloth until eventually his hand wound up outside, and from there he parted the material until he stumbled outdoors.
He had expected bright sunlight. Now that he was moving he felt very refreshed, and so guessed that many hours had passed since he had fallen asleep. But he saw that the sun had not yet risen, although the air was grey rather than black and so dawn must be close. Rhyen wondered idly where his boots had been placed—or his backpack, for that matter. He walked a few hundred feet to his right, where he heard the babbling of a stream. He picked his way carefully so he wouldn’t dash he feet against any stones. Sure enough he found a chipper, chilly little brook, curving its way through great white stones. He splashed water on his face and ran his fingers through his blond mane. A very faint pink glow in the east suggested a half hour, maybe a whole hour, until dawn.
Rhyen glanced back at the palatial tent. There were no lights shining through the cloth, no signs that anyone else was awake. He shrugged out of his clothes and, gasping at the coolness of the water, took a quick bath in the stream. He guiltily thought that if he should meet Soti again this morning, he would at least look presentably clean.
After he finished dressing and dropped his shirt over his head, Rhyen took his time strolling up to the tent. Water dripped from his hair down the back of his neck. It was a warm morning, even though the sun was not yet up, and the cold water had felt nice, once he got used to it. Rhyen rolled up his shirtsleeves. Today is my first morning out of the Academy, away from Ikha. It would have been a lot more satisfying if he couldn’t see Ikha, which he of course could, as it was only a few miles behind him. The sun was just peeking from behind the horizon. Rhyen stood there a while, watching the rising sun glint off the ruddy brick of the buildings.
