“How did your parents meet?”
“We’re not a large group of elves in Atana, a few thousand, the close family of Edan. Others not as closely related have broken off into other forests and started their own clans. Everyone knows each other in our clan. Mother and father were expected to choose each other from the time they were born. At first, they both rebelled against the idea that they’d been paired without their consent. But as they were thrown into contact with each other, they came to like each other and then to love each other.”
Erion paused again and Leilas let her imagination fill in the picture he was painting. It sounded to her to be a wonderful place, very different from the lonely castle of Dirth where she’d spent her childhood. She wondered if she would have grown to love the man her father had chosen for her had she not been a crafter.
“Soon we celebrate the longest day, which is coming soon, –this will be the first time I haven’t made it home for the celebration,” he added sadly. “It’s the ending of the spring and the beginning of the summer. The day begins with all of the elves heading for the gathering circle. Some bring food, some wine, and some instruments. By evening, all is ready and the meal is eaten. Then we all move to the circle and the dance begins. Edan and Tana begin the pattern then the elders and their partners join in the dance. Then each according to his age.” Erion smiled sheepishly. “I’m always last to join and always will be, until another is born. It’s been many generations since one has been born into the forest.”
“Perhaps your son will be the next,” said Leilas, wistfully. “I’ll never have the joy of having a son or daughter. Perhaps not even the joy of sharing my life with my soul-mate.”
“You can always take another crafter as a son or daughter,” replied Erion. “Many crafters do, to ease that emptiness.”
Leilas shook her head. “I’m not sure I’ll be around long enough to help another crafter or to raise them.” She paused then changed the subject. “Have you met anyone in your travels?”
Erion shook his head. “I’m afraid most of my wandering has been with Joshuas and he doesn’t tend to frequent places where elves might go. He tends to spend much of his time in taverns, or did. Although humans can be handsome, I think I must find my love among my own people.” Leilas found herself imagining who Erion’s life partner would be. Though she couldn’t quite make out a face, she was certain he wouldn’t find her among the forest elves.
They stopped briefly for a meal when it grew dark and then continued. They crested the top of the pass and started down before they stopped for the night. Choosing not to make a fire, for fear other darklings might be coming to look for their missing brethren, they wrapped themselves in their cloaks and tried to get some rest.
Jovan’s End broke into view as they rounded an outcropping in the road the next morning after they’d steadily descended for several hours. Leilas felt the elation of being among people again lift her, even as she knew they wouldn’t be especially welcomed here at the end of the trade route through Sylphia. The few people who were on the streets eyed them suspiciously as they walked through the town, which consisted of a street lined with buildings made of logs with front porches made of roughhewn timber. There was a center square that housed a pavilion. Across from the pavilion, was a large tavern and trading post. It was clear this was the hub of the city. Leilas and Erion let themselves be drawn to the noise inside. Dropping her hood back as they stepped inside, she and Erion were greeted by the enticing aroma of a myriad of herbs and spices mingled together in a spicy, sweet potpourri. The shelves of the trading post were filled with blankets, skins, knives, hatchets, flour, sugar, spices, breeches, shirts, meats, and cheeses. Everything a person might want or need who lived in this remote place. Off to the side of the store was a large room with tables and a large hearth. Taking her time, Leilas fingered the laces and the knives as she walked through to the eating area.
According to her map, which luckily the darklings hadn’t destroyed, they were a day’s journey from the Temple of Sylph. Leilas was still puzzled why the temple to the Sea crafter was across the tallest mountains of Sylphia from the sea. Perhaps when the temple had been built it had been near the sea. Maybe the land had shifted. Still, if that were the case, why hadn’t the people rebuilt the temple nearer to the sea?
Leilas mulled over the question while they waited for their food. There had to be more to this than appeared at first blush. But none of her dreams had dealt with Sylph and Solein hadn’t told her much about Jovan’s messenger. Perhaps that was why the temple was here. He was Jovan’s messenger and this was Jovan’s land. Not very likely, she told herself. There was something she’d missed.
“You two are new to this part of Sylphia, aren’t you?” A handsome, burly man in his mid-thirties, with blonde hair and a reddish-blonde beard sat down next to them uninvited. He looked over Leilas appreciatively, his eyes lingering on her breasts, and his mouth turning upward in an inviting grin. Leilas felt herself blush and she quickly became interested in the grain of the wood table top. She should have been more conscientious about her disguise. They’d met so few people here in Sylphia she had grown careless about hiding her identity.
“I’ve been here before,” replied Erion. “Though I doubt you would have been around at the time.” He took a sip of his beer sizing up their new tablemate. The man laughed amiably at Erion’s remark and Leilas relaxed a little. Maybe this time, it was just a man passing the time and not someone out to steal, kidnap or kill. “That could well be, my friend, although I’ve been here all my life.”
“Then you’re a trader,” said Leilas.
“I do some trading, as well as other things,” said the man, evasively, leaning closer to her.
Leilas’ senses went on high alert again, though she wasn’t sure if it was due to his reticence to answer the question or to his overt interest in her as a woman. “One of my duties lately is to check out unfamiliar people who come into town. Because you don’t just accidentally pass through Jovan’s End.
“Have there been many unfamiliar people pass through recently?” asked Erion
“Not many,” said the man. “But with the war and all, we’ve had more than usual. “Not many soldiers, but crafters and darklings, even a gnome or two.”
Leilas’ head jerked up at the mention of gnomes, her thoughts settling quickly on Garabaldi. Would he be here trying to keep her from finding the pieces of the staff? He’d seemed to be for her restoring the balance. Why would he be working against her now? Because of what had happened in Crysalis?
It might not even be him, she chided herself for jumping to conclusions. But she knew it was Garabaldi. She knew the minute this stranger mentioned it and she knew he’d mentioned it purposely.
“How about gaunts?” Have any of them been here?” Leilas knew the gaunt masters were Rengailai’s personal servants. If they’d been this way as well, she would know that Garabaldi wasn’t working on her behalf.
“Those half-demon creatures? They give me the willies,” replied the man. “Two came and two went, about a month ago.”
“You seem fairly free with the information, friend,” said Erion. “If what you say is happening, I would have expected you to be more cautious.”
“This is the way I see it, friend,” replied the man. “One, you are a light crafter and a light elf. In this part of the world, that means friend. Two, I haven’t told you anything except the movement of people through the town. Three, I have a knack for knowing if people are here for good or for ill. That is why I have the task of greeting visitors.”
“What happens if they’re here for ill?” asked Leilas. She’d heard of people who had certain gifts, such as divining people’s intentions or predicting when babies would be born or what the weather would be, people who were always right.
“I ask them politely to leave,” replied the man.
Leilas smiled to herself. She’d been on the receiving end of some of those polite invitations.
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��No need to worry about us,” said Erion. “We’re just passing through. We thought a good meal would be nice while we picked up some fresh supplies. We aren’t here looking for trouble.”
“I can see that. I can also see that you’ll probably find it before you reach your journey’s end, but not from me. Jovan’s End is honored to have an elf and a crafter from the land of Sky, visit our town.” The man rose to leave. “There are several out searching for whatever it is you’re seeking and their intentions aren’t as pure as yours.” He gave them a bow. “If you find you need help, just ask for Ro.”
“There may come a time when I’ll hold you to that,” replied Leilas. “I thank you for the offer.” Ro grinned and winked and then walked away.
“No one had even heard of these temples a few months ago,” said Erion. “Why all the interest now? And from what I can see,” he said, sipping his beer, “no one but you is going to be able to recover the pieces of the staff.”
“Obstacles aren’t always deterrents to those who want something badly enough. It seems word of the staff has leaked and people are interested in its power.”
“What power does this staff have, exactly?” asked Erion.
Leilas watched the girl place their plates in front of them and leave before she answered. “I only get small glimpses of it in my visions. I haven’t seen its use. Perhaps those who are looking for it know more about it. What I was told to do was collect the pieces.”
“Do you think it’s possible they’ve sent someone else on a similar quest?”
Leilas considered the question before she answered, swirling her fork in her food, absently. Garabaldi had been to the Crystal Caves and it sounded as if he was on his way to the Temple of Sylph. But he hadn’t collected the piece of the staff that was in Anhj’s cave. If someone who wasn’t the chosen tried to take the pieces of the staff, they would die. If Garabaldi ever stood on the crystal platform he would know that. “I think the dark crafters know only one person can assemble the staff. Perhaps they are hoping to take it once it’s assembled.”
“That doesn’t explain why they’re here or why some have come and gone,” argued Erion.
“They don’t know how many pieces we have and are following us?” Leilas knew that wasn’t right as soon as she said it. They weren’t following. They’d arrived before them. Someone knew of the existence of the temples and was visiting them. “Maybe their interest in the temples has nothing to do with us,” she said with a shrug.
Erion looked at her skeptically. “It might not have to do with collecting the pieces of the staff but it has something to do with us and with your visions of Ceryk. It’s too much of a coincidence to be a coincidence.”
Leilas looked down into her plate and frowned. She hadn’t believed Garabaldi to be working against her. Though his magic had been dark, it had been pure. Why was he now traveling with gaunts and doing Rengailai’s bidding? What had happened to him since their meeting in Crysalis?
“I suppose we aren’t going to figure it out sitting here,” she said, picking up her fork and beginning to eat. “So, let’s not worry about it until it becomes a problem.”
Erion smiled as he began to eat. “Excellent advice, my lady, especially for someone who isn’t an elf.”
They were on their way the next morning, having spent a comfortable night in a warm bed. Leilas’ dreams hadn’t been troubled, nor had they revealed anything new. For the first time since she’d left Dirth, Leilas wondered if it might be helpful to look into the mists. Jayram’s eyes staring at her came back to haunt her. He’d used the mists to find her. Would she risk his detection if she looked into the mists? Could she risk his detection?
Deciding that divining the mists might not be wise, she adjusted her pack and fell into step with Erion. They entered the woods that crept up to the edge of Jovan’s End and soon were deep in the shadows. Unlike the forest of Crogmanland, this forest was filled with birds singing, animals scurrying and the fresh smell of pine. Leilas felt the peace of this place calm and rejuvenate her. No wonder they called it Jovan’s land. It was what a forest should be, but wasn’t in most of Preterlandis.
Erion was going from plant to plant and tree to tree in delight. He’d almost forgotten there was a war going on or that they had a job to do. Leilas let him spend time marveling at the forest. She found herself wishing they didn’t have to leave. Still, she knew they did and slowly, she began leading the bewitched elf through the woods toward their destination. The idea crossed her mind to leave her friend in this paradise while she retrieved the piece of the staff from the temple then find him again when she returned. Glancing at Erion, she wondered if he’d allow it.
According to the map, the temple was only an hour or so away and Erion couldn’t help her once she was inside. She began to move in the direction of the temple without urging Erion to follow. Soon, he was out of sight and she plunged on through the woods alone. Unlike the temple of Crog, the entrance to the Temple of Sylph wasn’t hidden. It rose up out of the forest majestically. Oak columns adorned the large portico, each intricately carved with creatures of the sea. The doors were made of yellow pine and gleamed of gold in the light. The temple was large, as large as the main house in Menas.
Approaching cautiously, Leilas searched for the dark crafters Ro had said came this way. The temple appeared to have been undisturbed for many years. Not for the first time, Leilas wondered when the people of Preterlandis had stopped honoring the crafters who’d been in the beginning. Stepping up to the doors, she studied them carefully, looking for traps. But the doors appeared to be harmless. The runes carved into the doors were words of welcome.
It had been a temple, after all, thought Leilas. Was a temple, she corrected herself. It was for people to use. Taking a breath to prepare herself, she pushed open the door and stepped inside.
She had expected to see a mirror of Crog’s and Ahnj’s temple, but her assumption had been wrong. There was no platform with a seeing stone. There wasn’t even a platform. Instead, the room seemed to focus on a circular floor in the center of the building. The floor was an intricate mosaic made from chips of wood. Light and dark pieces had been placed to form a picture of a sea dragon surrounded by sea elves playing in its wake. Seated on the sea dragon was a crafter that Leilas assumed had to be Sylph. As she studied the mosaic, she wondered if the sea dragon that had followed their ship on the trip to Crogmanland could have been sent by Sylph to protect her.
Now that she was in the temple, Leilas wasn’t sure what she was supposed to do. There wasn’t a stone to activate. There wasn’t a platform leg to hide the piece of the crafter’s staff. The only similarity to the other temples was the carvings on the wall.
Hoping the carvings held the secret Leilas began to slowly circle the room, studying the reliefs. They showed Sylph moving among the people of Preterlandis, sometimes healing, often portrayed whispering to the people. But, if there was a secret hidden in the pictures, Leilas couldn’t find it.
The noise was almost indiscernible, but Leilas heard it. Her hand slipped to her axe. The wind from outside wafted into the temple. She knew she’d closed the door. Turning, she saw the dark crafters slipping into the temple. Once they knew they’d been discovered, they discarded any pretense of sneaking and rushed inside. Leilas swung her axe and ran to meet them. As the first joined her in battle, the ones behind began to chant. She recognized the spell, if she didn’t do something to counteract it, it would immobilize her. But she needed her hands to be able to deflect it. Hacking at the crafter in front of her, she knocked him to the floor then began the counter-spell. Another crafter took his stance in front of her. She rolled to her left and continued to chant. A sword crashed down next to her head, she rolled again and concentrated on her spell. Now, she wished that she’d brought Erion with her, now when it was too late. She finished the counter-spell and lunged for her axe. The crafter placed his foot on it and raised his sword to strike a fatal blow. Leilas grabbed her knife and stabbed it hard in the
man’s thigh. He grunted in pain and brought his sword down. Leilas rolled to her feet. She felt the blade scrape along her back as she rolled. Not even stopping to think, she plunged the knife into his abdomen and pulled upward. The crafters in the door had begun to chant again. Leilas quickly spoke a spell of protection against magic and ran forward, axe in hand. The blade was flashing back and forth and soon there was only one crafter left standing.
Leilas held her axe at the ready, facing Garabaldi. He made no move to attack. Instead, he held his hands in the air in surrender. “I won’t hurt you Chidra,” he said, not moving from the door. “Unfortunately, the others didn’t feel as I do.”
“What are you doing here, Garabaldi?” asked Leilas, relaxing her grip on her axe. “I thought you’d be back in Crysalis with your people.”
“Unfortunately, the gaunt masters had other plans for me,” said Garabaldi, sadly. “They’ve been instructed to find the staff and turn it over to the new master. They have determined I’m the best man or gnome for the job.”
“You know you can’t retrieve the pieces of the staff,” said Leilas.
“I told them that,” said Garabaldi, amiably. “They weren’t inclined to listen. And once they discovered that you had visited me in Crysalis, they decided I was the best one to send to intercept you.”
“Because I would trust you,” finished Leilas.
“Exactly,” said Garabaldi.
“Why are you telling me this?” asked Leilas.
“You’d be able to discover it on your own, I know that. Besides, I don’t necessarily have the same objectives as my superiors.”
Leilas wasn’t sure what to think. Garabaldi was being honest with her, and yet he was working against her. He was the enemy, and yet he didn’t feel like the enemy. She could probe his mind, but he would know that she would try that and would do his best to misdirect her. Sighing, she began to clean her axe. Garabaldi relaxed and lowered his arms.
First Comes The One Who Wanders Page 53
