“So, you have recovered,” the woman said with a cool smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
Jahrra nodded, taking note of the small woven circlet perched atop her head.
“I believe my son has been by already to make his introductions.”
Jahrra sucked in a slight breath, studying the elvin woman’s features more thoroughly. Yes, she did resemble Keiron. Although, from what Jahrra could gather, all the elves had similar coloring, but this woman’s fine, elegant features had been reflected in her son. But unlike Keiron, this particular elf seemed colder and more distant. Jahrra swallowed, reminding herself not to be intimidated.
“Yes,” Jahrra finally managed. “Keiron just left. He came by to make sure I was doing well.”
“I am Marzi,” the woman said, her tone languid. “My husband has asked me to come fetch you and escort you to the fortress.”
“Oh!” Jahrra exclaimed, recalling the name Keiron had given her. “Your husband must be the steward!”
Marzi arched a pale eyebrow. “Yes, and as we speak, he is interrogating your dragon about what happened on the mountainside earlier today.”
Jahrra turned to fetch her boots, but left the door open.
“I’d like to know as well,” she shot over her shoulder.
“Then get your shoes on and gather up your limbit and follow us,” Marzi said, turning away from the door. “We’ll just be outside waiting for you.”
She turned away to give Jahrra a little privacy.
“What’s going on?” Dervit hissed, his eyes darting about nervously. He had half hidden himself behind the chair again.
Jahrra cast him a beseeching glance as she sat down on the edge of the bed.
“We’re going to the steward’s house to meet with Jaax. Keiron’s mother is waiting outside with,” Jahrra paused, yanking on her boot as she considered who the other elves might be. A steward was like a king, in a way, since he was responsible for the ruling of the city. So was Marzi like a queen? Jahrra shrugged and reached for her other shoe.
“I guess they are her attendants,” she finally said, standing back up and glancing at the limbit.
Dervit stepped cautiously out from behind the chair. Jahrra tried not to laugh.
“Marzi seems a little aloof, but I don’t think they’ll bite!” she said, walking toward the door.
Dervit followed close behind, trying to shake free of his nervousness. Once outside, Marzi stepped away from her companions and gestured for Jahrra and Dervit to follow her. Casting one last encouraging look at her limbit friend, Jahrra fell into step behind the elvin woman, and soon, they were all on their way.
The city of Cahrdyarein was far different from Lidien, Jahrra realized, as they left her small cabin and its neighbors behind. Everything seemed to be made of wood, a commodity that was quite plentiful given their surroundings, with the roofing of most dwellings being that of slate tiles piled atop one another. Some of the huts were larger than hers, some smaller. A few of them appeared to be built into the mountainside itself, and she couldn’t help but wonder if there were spacious caverns hidden behind the walls of those particular abodes.
The road they took was wide and unpaved and slightly muddy, what with the recent snowstorm and spring’s encroaching warmth. Fortunately, sidewalks fashioned from slabs of granite gave pedestrians a somewhat dry place to pass. Dervit, his cautious side slowly losing the battle against his curiosity, kept moving away from his tall friend, only to press himself close once again the moment he realized his error. Jahrra suspected this was a result of the attention they were gathering along the way. Although the elves of the city seemed rather preoccupied with their daily business, they did stop to watch the newcomers pass. Jahrra offered them a polite smile or a nod of the head every so often, and usually the gesture of greeting was returned.
Cahrdyarein, she soon learned, was almost entirely peopled by Resai, obviously descended from the fair elves of the colder regions of the world. Their nearly white hair and pale skin appeared almost ghostly, and their ice blue eyes seemed to pierce her soul. They wore the rustic garb of mountain dwellers, but everyone, from the lowliest milkmaid to the highly decorated soldier, still carried that air of haughty grace she’d first experienced with Marzi and her retinue.
The party continued to head west around the base of what remained of the mountain peak, the main road cutting between houses as well as buildings for commerce. As they spiraled ever upward, Jahrra took note of the usual businesses: a tavern or two sporting rooms upstairs for those wishing to stay the night, a bakery displaying pastries and loaves on trays set before dust-free windows, a general grocery advertising foodstuffs as well as small household items such as candles and cook pots. There was even a bookshop, Jahrra noted with delight, the wooden sign above the door featuring brightly painted tomes. The distinct clink of a blacksmith working hot metal over an anvil, and the impatient whinnies of stabled horses mixed with the general murmur of people crowded into the limited space a city provided.
A few restaurants dotted the road ahead, and the scents wafting from their doors and windows had Jahrra’s stomach growling. When they’d climbed high enough to see over the great wall circling the city, Jahrra found herself pausing to take in the view. For miles upon miles, beyond the point that she could see, the Hruhnan Mountains dominated the landscape, their peaks painted in colors of gold, violet and tarnished copper.
Jahrra and her companions swept around a final turn, and the landscape abruptly changed. The roadway ended before a huge sheet of granite, and the forest became more dense, several young firs and cedars creeping away from the older trees dominating the northeastern side of the city. A massive house, built of pine logs and stone, sat perched on a natural shelf of land. The building stretched away from a granite monolith large enough to be a castle itself, and a sturdy wooden terrace added an impressive flair to the building’s facade.
As they moved closer, Jahrra picked up the familiar sound of rushing water, and she glanced upward. A towering waterfall, white with froth, streamed from a drop a hundred feet or so above, only to crash down against another massive sheet of granite. The water fanned out over the granite’s face, making it gleam like polished silver in the late afternoon sunlight.
“Wow,” Dervit exclaimed beside her.
Jahrra could only nod.
“This way,” Marzi said with a lilting tone to her voice.
They headed straight toward the building, their shoes crunching against the pea gravel spread before a wide staircase. Two armed guards standing on either side of the stairs bowed slightly, then grabbed the handles of the double doors, pulling them open with gusto. A wave of warmth and active conversation hit Jahrra as she stepped inside the wide open space. The first floor stretched twenty or more feet straight up to the ceiling, and about halfway up, a wide wooden walkway wrapped all the way around the interior. Chandeliers fashioned from the antlers of the great hoofed mammals familiar to this part of the world hung from the ceiling, and diamond paned windows ran alongside the rectangular loft.
The elves led Jahrra and Dervit beyond the edge of the wooden entrance hall and through a stone archway. The space only grew larger after that, and Jahrra realized the wooden fortress hid the opening to an extensive cave. Several alcoves along the walls had been converted into sitting areas for people to rest and discuss important stately matters. Affixed to the rough, uneven walls were several candelabra, the white candles clutched in their iron hands cold and unlit. Perhaps it was the lack of firelight, then, that made Jahrra take note of how surprisingly bright the chamber was without the aid of candles and torches. Only when she turned around to glance behind her did she notice the enormous, many-faceted window set in a circular cavity carved from the cavern roof. Waning afternoon light poured through the clear glass like pale streamers unfurling at a celebration banquet, brightening what would have been an otherwise dark and dank interior.
“Ah, and here is the girl and the limbit now!” a boisterous voi
ce called out across the large space.
Jahrra spun around, seeking out the source of the imperious tone. About a hundred feet away, a throne of sorts sat perched atop a dais carved from a cluster of stalagmites. An elf bedecked in stately robes and glittering jewels stood there, too far away for Jahrra to make out his features. But she didn’t need to. Surely this was the regent, Morivan Fairlein. Keiron’s father. And beside him, like a great statue carved from jade, reposed a Tanaan dragon.
“Jaax!” Jahrra cried out.
She started toward them at a fast pace, eager to make sure her guardian was unharmed.
A shout of alarm filled the cavern as the guards, discreetly placed throughout the small crowd, leapt forward to block their sovereign from her approach. When she realized that her actions had caused such a stir, Jahrra skidded to a stop with a good twenty feet still separating her and the Tanaan dragon. She sent a questioning glance in her guardian’s direction. The look he shot her way was hard and unreadable. He gave the slightest shake of his head, and Jahrra bit her lip. From that expression alone, she knew to be very careful with her actions and her words.
“Father!” a familiar voice echoed across the cavern. “This is the young woman we rescued from the Tyrant’s soldiers this very morning. Tell your guards to return to their posts!”
Keiron strode purposefully through the stone archway, this time outfitted in leather armor, a pale blue cape unfurling behind him. He looked like the avenging soul of a warrior slain in battle, come to wreak havoc upon those who dared stand in his way. Jahrra’s unease lessened. For some reason, Keiron’s presence soothed her.
“Guards! Stand down!” Keiron repeated, his pale eyes flashing with anger. “This is the human girl promised in the prophecy. Lower your weapons now!”
The elves obeyed Keiron without even glancing at the steward. They lowered their lances and stepped back, giving Jahrra room to move away. She turned and blinked at Keiron, but he only nodded for her to continue toward Jaax, his expression still stern.
Jahrra straightened her spine, offered him a gesture of thanks, then continued on toward the throne, at a much slower pace this time. With as much grace as she could muster, Jahrra gave Morivan a slight bow and introduced herself.
He clapped his hands together and displayed a sardonic smile.
“So the rumors are true!” he barked, seemingly unaffected by the episode with Keiron and his guards.
Jahrra stilled at his words, then cast Jaax a slightly horrified look. Rumors? Was he referring to the lies Shiroxx had spread before they left Lidien? But her guardian had no answers for her. He simply glared at the regent, a low burning anger smoldering deep within his eyes.
“Rumors, Sire?” Jahrra knew the title ought to be reserved for true royalty, but she was getting the impression that flattery would work best with this elf, even if it was undeserved.
“Yes!” he exclaimed, the gems sewn into his mantle flashing as he cast out an arm. “That you stir up trouble wherever you go!”
Jahrra had not expected such a ridiculous response, so she blinked at him in bewilderment. He guffawed, a startling sound that bounced around the stone chamber like an errant bat. Jahrra’s hands tightened into fists. His behavior was starting to resemble the obnoxious, grating tone of his voice. She had been in his presence for less than ten minutes, and already she did not like him.
Leaving the regent to his derided humor, Jahrra turned to Jaax once more.
“Are you okay?” she asked quietly. “Did the Tyrant’s soldiers hurt you?”
To her relief, Jaax actually smirked, taking away some of that dangerous tension he’d been exuding.
“Some of their arrows pierced my wings, but nothing worse than that.”
She opened her mouth to say more, but Jaax growled under his breath, “Later.”
“Though I cannot say I’m a bit surprised,” the regent was saying, oblivious to the quiet conversation taking place beside him. “After all, now that the word is out you’ve been born and are of age, everyone in the employ of the Crimson King will be looking for you.”
Jahrra blanched. She knew all of this, of course, but to have the regent so blatantly state it as if he were discussing something as commonplace as an unfortunate spell of dry weather, only scraped at her nerves.
“Oh, and how charming!” he continued, casting his glance past Jahrra to fall upon Dervit, standing still and quiet at the end of the chamber. “You have a pet wildling to accompany you on your journey. Almost as interesting as keeping company with dragons.”
Jahrra bristled. She couldn’t help it. The regent’s tone had been light, friendly, but the insult was there all the same.
“Father!” Keiron growled again.
With his ostentatious parent taking center stage, Jahrra had almost forgotten about Keiron. She glanced back to see him moving forward to stand on the steward’s other side.
“You provide our guests with great insult,” he hissed into his father’s ear. “Introduce yourself to Lady Jahrra and then invite them to stay for dinner, where hopefully, the conversation will be much more civilized.”
That Keiron was horrified by his father’s behavior was unquestionable. As much as Jahrra was intrigued by the young elf, and growing more intrigued by the minute, a dinner with his father was not in the least bit appealing. Even if it meant spending more time with his son.
“Yes, do forgive me. I did forget to introduce myself,” he drawled, in a more subdued tone.
As if forgetting to give us your name was the most insulting part of this introduction, Jahrra groused to herself.
“I am Morivan Fairlein. Regent, and therefore ruling sovereign, of Cahrdyarein.”
The cavern grew suddenly calm, the hushed tones of those conversing within the alcoves the only sound carrying out into the wide open space.
“My darling,” Marzi queried from across the cavern, “shall we retire upstairs to the dining chamber with our guests?”
The cold, elegant elvin woman had extricated herself from her entourage and now stood between the dais and the entrance hall.
Before Morivan could comment on his wife’s suggestion, Jaax stood and refolded his wings, making himself appear larger for a moment. A gesture, Jahrra was certain, meant to intimidate those currently in attendance.
“We thank you for your invitation,” he said, in a tone he often reserved for only the most tedious of Coalition meetings. “But my ward and I must check in on our injured companion, as well as discuss plans regarding our respite here in Cahrdyarein. Perhaps, we can join you another night?”
He gave the regent a sickly sweet smile before moving forward.
“Jahrra, Dervit,” he said, calling them both to his side.
Jahrra was careful to give the regent, and his wife and son, a bow before making her escape. She couldn’t wait to get back out into the open air. As beautiful as the lodge and adjoining cavern were, the pompousness of its ruler was suffocating. Still, none of them spoke until they were well away from the fortress.
“What happened in there?” Jahrra asked, careful to pitch her voice low so those busy closing up shop or heading home for the evening didn’t hear her.
Deep twilight had settled in, and although the activity had lessened, there were still plenty of people milling about. Lanterns that Jahrra hadn’t noticed on the walk up to the regent’s domain hung from the cross posts of buildings like tiny, suspended stars, and the doors to the taverns were flung open, firelight, music and raucous laughter spilling forth onto the street.
When there was no one nearby save for Dervit to hear him, Jaax answered Jahrra’s question. “We will discuss it when we get back to your cabin.”
He glanced over his shoulder and scanned her from head to toe. His voice softened when he asked carefully, “You are unhurt?”
Jahrra nodded. “Everything is sound, save for my pride. Apparently, I suffered from a combination of over exertion and altitude sickness.”
Jaax arched a scaly brow.
“That would explain your unconscious state when I landed.”
The darkness deepened as they wound their way down the mountain, and by the time they reached the cluster of cabins reserved for visitors, full night had descended. Jahrra sighed with weariness and pushed open the door to her cottage.
“Leave the door open, Jahrra,” Jaax said from behind her. “I’ll have to speak to you from out here. But first, let me fetch Ellyesce.”
Jahrra nodded, wondering where their friend had been all this time and hoping his wound was healing well. She crossed the room and took off her boots while Dervit, who had not spoken since they left the regent’s home, added a few logs to the fire. Immediately, the dry wood caught as flames leapt and brightened the room. Jahrra took it upon herself to find a lantern, lighting it with some matches on the windowsill. When she turned back around, Ellyesce was standing in the doorway. He had shed his cloak and the shirt he’d been wearing earlier. Now, he donned a looser white tunic over a pair of deerskin pants, and he walked with a limp.
“Ellyesce!” Jahrra cried, genuinely glad to see him.
He gave her a soft smile, his handsome features showing through the pain etched in his face.
“Glad to see my sacrifice was worth it.”
Jahrra bit her lip and felt her heart drop. Dervit had said the wound wasn’t serious, but she still felt guilty he’d received it because of her.
“I’m sorry, Ellyesce. I shouldn’t have slowed on the road like that.”
The elf held up a hand. “It’s nothing to worry over. After all,” he added with a sharp grin, “it’s not the first time I’ve felt the sting of one of the Tyrant’s arrows.”
Jahrra’s own smile faltered. Just how many times had this elf been injured in his lifetime? Probably more times than you’d like to think about, she realized. Although Jahrra didn’t know how old Ellyesce was, she knew he had lived for a very long time.
The Ascending Page 13
