“I’ll take the horses,” Ailith offered, as they came to a halt at the foot of the steps and dismounted.
Talesin turned, his pale gray eyes looking down at her with interest. No censure or condemnation, just that glint of curiosity.
“A King’s daughter dancing attendance on Elves?”
She looked up at him, into those ageless eyes and his impassive face. Somehow, she sensed she was being tested, assessed in some way.
“I dance attendance on no one,” she said, calmly. “I do a service for my companions. As they would do for me and have.”
His eyebrow lifted.
“Well, enough,” he said, with a nod and gestured. “If you wish, set them loose. There is a place for their tack that way.”
Those ancient eyes went to Elon and then Jareth, then the others. He turned and walked up the steps to the gallery.
“I think,” he said, “that we’ll talk. But first, you’ve had a long journey to come here. A place has been made for you. Relax, refresh yourselves, there are rooms above for you, Elon, Colath and Jalila. There is one on the next level for Jareth. I’ll wait and it will wait.”
It was simple Elven courtesy.
No one objected.
Elon, for one, was in need of what was offered.
It was what Geric should have offered and hadn’t. Food and drink. A bath and a bed if he chose to sleep a little. Fresh clothes.
Sighing, Elon relaxed.
With a slight incline of his head he followed the sweeping gesture of Talesin’s hand and went toward the stair and the quarters he knew awaited them above.
Unsaddling the horses, Ailith found a long low shed in which to store the tack. She laid them out neatly as Korin had shown her so many years ago, making sure the blankets got plenty of air. There was a brief pang at the memory. She set it aside. Smoke followed her and now waited patiently behind her.
For a moment she was grateful just for the time alone. So much had happened in so short a time. The horse came up to nuzzle at her hair as always and she leaned against him for a moment.
This place was so peaceful, so quiet. She gazed up at the thick canopy of leaves above her, seeing glimpses of the balconies with their draping vines and the birds that flitted happily from one tree to another. A sanctuary, a refuge from the world, that’s what this place was. Standing and leaning against the horse, her eyes on the glimpses of blue sky and green leaves, she drank in the serenity of it.
Was this what Aerilann was like? she wondered. Only many? That distant view hadn’t give her much detail.
Finally, she sighed, patted Smoke and walked toward the gallery.
Talesin waited for her.
There was no sign of age in his face as there was none in Elon’s, Colath’s, or Jalila’s, save that his seemed carved sharper, more finely honed. Like them, his face was still, almost expressionless, except for the eyes. Ancient eyes the color of fog but the expression in them wasn’t unkind. There was no tinge of gray in his hair, such as men would have. It was as fair as Colath’s, caught at the back in a clasp to hang down his back in a straight fall of silvery gold. He wore a robe the color of silver that fell straight to his feet, plain and unadorned.
She inclined her head a little, in respect.
Talesin stared gravely back, studying her.
After a moment, his eyes softened.
“A place has been made for you,” he said and his voice was gentle. “Follow the stairs to the top. You’ll know when to stop.”
“Thank you,” she said and did as she was told.
At each level there was a room but she ascended as he had instructed and found the one that was hers.
It was the last, the uppermost. The balcony here was narrower than the rest but it gave a clear view across the little vale. There were no walls as most knew them, only draperies of Elven-silk the same color as the leaves on the trees, so fine they were almost transparent. Where the sun shone past the leaves outside, the draperies glowed and the shadows of the leaves danced in an endlessly changing pattern.
Inside, a bath awaited, and food and drink had been laid out on a small table. Wisps of scented steam drifted over the surface of the bath water. The room was so clean, so fresh, she felt grimy even in the clothes they’d purchased only the previous day from a farmer’s wife. On the bed clean clothing had been laid out, an Elven-style robe of their fine silk in a pale blue-gray with an underdress of a darker blue.
Sinking into the bath felt wonderful, the warm water fragrant with herbs while flower petals drifted on the surface. Soap was on the tiny table beside the bath. Not knowing when she might get the chance again, Ailith washed every inch, knowing it might be some time again before she could get this clean again. Scrubbing her scalp and washing her hair was an almost hedonistic experience.
There was a cloth to dry with and she did, wrapping it around herself while she picked gratefully at the food.
“Ala, Ailith.”
Jalila, her tall figure outlined by the light against the curtains.
“Ala, Jalila,” she said, both greeting and welcome.
The Elf brushed the drapery aside. “May I?”
Wrapping the drying cloth around herself more closely, Ailith nodded.
This was a Jalila she hadn’t seen before.
Although Jalila had always been neat, she’d always been attired in working clothes, the long, tunic-like shirt that Elves wore to work in and long loose leggings. Now she wore a robe like the one on the bed, in a deep green that suited her dramatic coloring, with a lighter colored one beneath.
Her rich dark hair was caught back more elaborately than usual, braided and clipped with beads in ways that enhanced the high curve of her cheekbones, the fine line of her jaw and mirrored the arch of her brow. The beads matched the amber highlights in her deep brown eyes.
“You don’t know our ways,” Jalila said. “This will be unfamiliar to you. If you would let me help?”
With a sigh of relief, Ailith nodded and smiled gratefully. “Thank you, Jalila.”
Allowing herself a small smile, Jalila said, “It would be my pleasure.”
Much more at ease after his bath, Elon descended the stairs. There was a deep-seated pleasure in feeling truly clean again, in wearing Elven-style robes. In a way, it was like being home again. He missed the peace of Aerilann but this was a welcome substitution.
Talesin awaited him at the bottom of the stair as if he had been expecting him to come down at just that moment, and alone.
Elf and wizard, perhaps he had.
“Walk with me, Elon of Aerilann. The others are still resting and refreshing themselves. You’ve had a hard journey and an even harder one lies ahead.”
Elon looked at him.
Meeting his glance, Talesin nodded. “Yes, I’m aware. I’ve taken myself out of the world somewhat but I’m still of it. There is a great darkness rising. I’ve felt it. We’ll talk more on it when the others come but I would speak to you first of something else.”
They walked in silence. Elon was content to wait on the other Elf’s pleasure.
Few of their people could awe him, it wasn’t their way, no skill or ability was greater than or lesser than another since all contributed to the betterment of the Enclave and their people as a whole. Each had an equal voice. One led, as he did in Aerilann, by the grant of all.
This one, this Elf, however, was different. It wasn’t only that he was wizard, that was simply another skill or talent. No. Nor was it the many years he’d lived, although that had somewhat to do with it. No. It was that inexpressible air of wisdom and knowledge, the product of the experiences gained over that millennium of life.
“Ailith of Riverford,” Talesin said, coming to a stop in a small glade. “Daughter of a lesser King. And Otherling.”
Going still, Elon eyed the other Elf cautiously.
With a shake of his head and a small intake of breath, Talesin said, “There’s nothing to fear from me on that.”
He held up
his hand for silence, looking out among the trees.
“It was madness but I couldn’t stop it.”
There was a deep and ancient sadness, a bitterness not common to their people in the Elven wizard.
“One voice wasn’t enough to drown out so many. So, I was overruled. Elon, they need not go mad, these Otherlings. It’s not intrinsic to their natures.”
Some weight, some burden Elon hadn’t known he carried, lifted from his shoulders. The risk of knowing Ailith might go mad, that he might set her loose upon the world to commit another Lothliann had weighed heavily on his mind. The image of those burned and shattered galleries haunted him. If others knew she lived, they would have urged him to kill her and he would have had to do it. Some few of their own folk, many among the Dwarves. He should have done it, rather than take that risk but he hadn’t, he couldn’t. As others hadn’t before. That weighed on him.
“You wouldn’t remember, Elon,” Talesin said, “but during the wizard wars I knew one who was Otherling. He passed to the Summerlands after the war. You would only have been a child at the time. He was a man of great courage.”
This was news to Elon.
“Perhaps it would have been different if he hadn’t gone on but he did. After Caleah, though, he was forgotten. In the end it doesn’t matter,” Talesin said, sadly. “They won’t destroy her for what she is, they will destroy her for what she is not.”
Elon went cold. “I don’t understand.”
Gently, Talesin said, “Don’t you, Elon? How is it that you see her? She that looks so much like the race of men? She’s young in life but old in soul. Is it that you see her as part-Elven or not-Elven? How can you blame others if they think the same? They’ll see her as being not-them, not of them, not one, not the other. Not that she’s of all of us but that she’s not part of each of them. How will you convince others to see her as being not-different when you can’t see it yourself? To see her as she is, as being Elven, plus the others. Not what she isn’t but what in truth she is.”
That shook him. It also unsettled him more than a little. Was that what he saw when he looked at her? At Ailith. Was it true?
Elon feared it was.
Talesin gave him a moment to think on it.
“Elon, in all but appearance she is of our race. Perhaps even a purer form of it, in a way. We know this of Otherlings. They can’t lie. Our people don’t. It’s not that we can’t, we simply don’t. It’s alien to us, this concept of deception. You can’t lie, heart to heart, mind to mind, as we express our deepest emotions among ourselves. Touch to touch, no lie will hold. Our concept of Honor, even, is intrinsic to her in all ways. A vow is more binding on her even than on us, who hold our Honor so dear. If she pledges a thing she must honor it, whether she wills it or no. That we also know. Think on that.”
No, touch to touch, nothing could truly be hidden. Elon remembered well Ailith’s openness and trust when she laid her hand in his. She couldn’t lie but she could dissemble in her own way, as she had by allowing Tolan to believe the soul-eater had her in its grasp. Touch to touch, though, he’d seen her true spirit. She’d left heart and soul open to him.
He’d seen the truth of her, felt it when he Healed her and when she’d grieved.
Talesin’s dark eyes rested on him.
“It’s not to your discredit, Elon. It’s hard to look upon someone so clearly different and to see the similarities but not the differences. It’s to your great credit you trusted your instincts and held to your Honor in spite of all. That took great courage. It still does. To fly in the face of tradition and all you’ve been taught as true. It would seem there’s a reason you’ve been chosen to lead. And at this time more than any.”
“One more thing and then I’ll leave you for a time to your thoughts.”
“Ailith is the daughter of a King, born and raised to lead, not follow. Like us, she sees that as a duty, not a privilege. Witness her taking the horses, and her response to my challenge. She has wit and she’s quick. She has magic, although I sense she’s only just learning how much magic she has. I suspect I’ll learn more when we gather shortly. Magic is power, as I know well. She could have done many things – taken her chances and gone her own way or thrown herself on the not so tender mercies of this Council you helped create. She did neither. She came to you. What a risk that was for her, knowing what she was. She had to know the stories, they’re oft told. Yet she did. How is it she follows you?”
He paused again, looked at Elon.
“I would suggest you ask her.”
With that, Talesin walked away.
Was it true? As loath as Elon was to admit it, he feared it was.
He was as guilty of this as Colath had been of judging her not the daughter of a King. He hadn’t thought such of himself. It disturbed him in ways he couldn’t yet examine. As did those other questions. She couldn’t lie. Yet she had wit and intelligence enough to know how to dissemble. As he knew. Even so she’d told him that if he asked, she would tell him who had gifted her with her swords, and she’d meant it. Guileless, not for lack of wit but because it was her nature to be so, not her magic. There had never been time to consider why she’d come to him, only that she had. He’d wanted her to, even after he knew what she was. It had never truly been a consideration to turn her away, even when she offered. Why, in fact, had she come to him?
Thoughtfully, he walked back toward the vale. As he neared he could see the others gathered and waiting.
Jareth had found his favorite seat. He was perched on the rail, his back to one of the colonnades rather than a wall. For a wonder, he looked neater than was usual. It was somewhat strange seeing him in Elven robes.
He was talking to Colath, who had also changed into more comfortable clothing.
They both looked up as Jalila descended the stair. It had been some time since Elon had seen Jalila in anything other than a Hunter’s working clothes. It was a welcome change.
Behind her was Ailith. She paused for a moment on the next to last step to respond to something Colath said.
Ailith, in Elven robes. It gave Elon pause.
Despite her smaller stature, they suited her.
She stood, slender and straight, the cloth draping a form more curved than that of most Elven women, a slender golden chain encircling her waist.
Stopping still, Elon simply observed.
Her sun-streaked chestnut hair wasn’t tied back as was her wont but caught up at the sides in narrow beaded braids Elven-style. Jalila’s work, no doubt. The rest spilled down her back in waves, glinting gold and red in the setting sunlight. Elon could see the strong fine lines of Ailith’s features and the curve of her ears, more finely shaped than those of the race of men. The blue of the dress brought out the blue in her eyes so sharply they were striking even at this distance.
In her stillness, though, she was Elven and even more so in spirit.
“It’s amazing,” said a voice from beside him, “how many similarities there are when you look.”
Talesin, walking past him and up the steps.
“Coming?”
Descending the stairs to the broad stone gallery, Ailith understood something of Jareth’s wonder at Aerilann. If this was anything like an Elven Enclave, then she shared that wonder. What must it be like then, to be in Aerilann itself, or any Elven Enclave?
Everything here was so open, so green and alive.
It was something of a shock to see both Colath and Jareth in the same sort of Elven-style robes and yet Colath wore them with the familiarity and comfort with which he wore his working clothes. He, too, wore green but of a paler shade than that of Jalila’s. Like Talesin, his eyes were light in color but where Talesin’s were the color of fog, Colath’s were the shade of sea-foam.
Those Elven-style robes even suited Jareth, who didn’t wear them so comfortably. They set his gangly form to better effect and made the most of his broad shoulders. The color suited him as well, a shade of brown like Marakisian coffee with cream, n
early the same color as Jalila’s skin. Fondly, she thought even he couldn’t make those robes match his usual dishevelment.
As she descended the stairs, both looked up, Jareth startled while Colath looked approving.
“Ala, Elon,” Colath called, “we were wondering where you were. Come look at our Ailith, she’s become one of us.”
“So I see,” Elon said, joining them. “It suits her well.”
If Elon had looked striking in simple traveling clothes in Riverford’s Great Hall, he was even more so now. The very simplicity of the robes, a long outer jacket open down the front over an inner robe Jalila had said could be left uncinched or not as the wearer chose, suited him very well. His outer robe was the color of pewter, the inner one the color of old silver and was cinched at the waist with a belt to match the outer robe. It made much of his broad swordsman’s shoulders.
With a lift of her brow that would have done any of their people proud, Ailith responded with a small smile, “I’ve always been told I clean up well.”
There was a strange look in Elon’s eyes, something different but there was no time for her to look more closely.
“Very well,” Jareth said. “You look every inch a King’s daughter, as well as an Elven equal among equals.”
He pointedly didn’t look at Colath.
Bowing gravely, Colath said, “I’ve stood corrected many times on this count but never so much as at this moment.”
Ailith’s mouth twitched. “I didn’t take offense then but I’ll take the compliment now. Be careful, Colath, that you’re not taking Gwillim’s example to much to heart. I won’t know what to do if this keeps up.”
“I assume,” Talesin said, “there is a reason you have come to me. Other than that Ailith is Otherling.”
Ailith went still. She glanced quickly at Elon in question.
He nodded in response to her look. “He knows.”
The Coming Storm Page 31
