The Halls of Stormweather s-1

by Philip Athans

  "A golden morning to you, Diurgo," she said in a choked voice. "When… when did you get back?"

  "Ten days ago."

  Ten days ago, and he hadn't once thought to inquire as to Larajin's well being or even to let her know of his return.

  Larajin intended to say no more to him, but curiosity burned inside her. "Was Lake Sember as beautiful as they say? Did you see its crystal towers?"

  Diurgo made a dismissive gesture with his hand. "I was forced to turn back before I could reach the lake. The elves would have killed me had I tried to continue."

  "You knew that before you set out."

  "Knowing and seeing are two different things."

  "Yes they are," Larajin said, seeing him even more clearly than before. Several months ago, in the flush of spring, she'd been caught up in his quest: a pilgrimage to famed Lake Sember, a body of water sacred to both Sune and the elf goddess Hanali, Sune's rival for worshipers of beauty. Larajin had stolen away from Stormweather Towers to follow Diurgo but had traveled only a short distance before agents sent by Master Thamalon the Elder had forced her to return to Stormweather Towers. She'd pleaded with Diurgo to persuade them to let her accompany him, but he'd refused to speak on her behalf, sharply reminding her that she was only a serving girl, and a hindrance to his quest. Now it seemed he'd given up his "holy pilgrimage" as soon as the path became too steep for him.

  Larajin stared at Diurgo, not bothering to hide the hurt she felt. "What do you want?" she asked.

  "I saw a faint pinkish aura around you just now as you were gazing into the pool," Diurgo said. "I'm certain it was a manifestation of the goddess. I thought I could help you to channel it into-"

  "A manifestation," Larajin spat back at him. "Like my rust-colored hair? Your lies worked on me once, Diurgo, but I'm not listening to them any more. You can find another naive young woman to conduct your 'holy revels' with."

  The young priest had the good grace, at least, to look uncomfortable. Even so, he persisted. "I'm not lying, Larajin. I saw the aura clearly."

  "Just as I see you clearly, Diurgo." Larajin folded her arms across her chest. "And I no longer like what I see."

  Haughty annoyance flashed across the young priest's face. He waved a finger at her. "You shouldn't talk that way to the son of a noble house, girl." Without another word, he splashed angrily away.

  Furious with herself, Larajin waded back to the edge of the main pool. Ignoring the towel Jeina offered, she jerked her slippers onto her feet, then picked up her cloak and strode out through the temple's main door.

  She'd gone nearly two blocks before she noticed that her arms and legs were no longer stinging. Stopping, she untied the bandage on her wrist, and found to her amazement that the bite there had completely healed.

  *****

  As she walked toward Kremlar's perfume shop, Larajin clutched her cloak tightly around herself. The sun was just rising over Selgaunt's eastern wall, and snow drifted down out of a leaden gray sky. Larajin pushed the thoughts of Diurgo out of her mind. Unlike him, she would complete her quest. Today, no matter what foul creatures lay in wait for her in the sewers, she would sneak into the Hunting Garden and rescue the injured tressym.

  She was nearly at the shop when someone hissed at her from an alley. Instantly on the alert, Larajin poised herself to run. When she saw the person who beckoned to her from the shadows, she faltered to a stop.

  It was as if Larajin were looking into a mirror. The woman was in her early twenties, and wore the turban, vest, and serving dress of the Uskevren household. She had the same height and slender build as Larajin, and the same angular features. She even stood with the same awkward posture, aping Larajin's surprise. Then she winked and pulled off the turban to reveal short, dark hair.

  "It's me: Tazi," the double said. "Pretty good disguise, don't you think?"

  "Mistress Thazienne," Larajin gulped. "Why are you dressed in a servant's uniform?"

  "Call me Tazi," the mistress said: a reprimand that had become automatic between them. She chuckled. "I was just having a little fun. Remember the day when I caught you in my room, dressed up in leather armor and posing in front of the mirror? You looked so much like me-aside from the clumsy way you held my sword-that it gave me an idea. I wanted to see if I could pass as you."

  Larajin blushed, embarrassed to be reminded of her transgression. She'd always admired Mistress Thazienne for her boldness, and when Larajin had set out after Diurgo, she'd pictured herself an adventurer like the young mistress. In the wake of her one adventure's disastrous ending, Larajin was even more aware of the vast gulf that separated the two of them. Thazienne, she was certain, wouldn't have even blinked at the malformed rats in the sewer.

  Which reminded Larajin of the injured tressym.

  "I have to go," she said, glancing up the street in the direction of Kremlar's perfume shop.

  Thazienne's playful expression instantly sobered. She caught Larajin's arm. "Not that way," she said. "There's three elven gentlemen just up the street that I don't think you want to meet-much as they'd like to make your acquaintance."

  Larajin's eyes widened. "Is one of them a wild elf?"

  Thazienne's eyebrows raised in surprise. "You've run into them before?" she asked. "They look like pretty tough customers. They nearly succeeded in grabbing me-and I'm a pretty slippery eel. What do they want with you?"

  "I don't know," Larajin said with a shiver. "Maybe they're members of a rival house who want to kidnap an Uskevren servant."

  Thazienne shook her head slowly, her green eyes sparkling. "I don't think so," she said. "I understand a bit of the elven tongue-enough to have overheard one of them say, 'Is it her?' and the other answer, 'She's the one. I could smell it.' It's you they're after, Larajin."

  Larajin glanced around fearfully. "Where are they now?"

  "I pretended to run away, but then I followed them. They're lying in wait outside your friend's perfume shop."

  Larajin didn't know which surprised her more: the fact that the young mistress knew about Kremlar, or that the wild elves knew her movements.

  "You shouldn't go back to Stormweather Towers either," Thazienne advised. "Is there some other place else you could lie low?"

  Larajin thought for a moment, then nodded. "I could go to Habrith's," she said. "Or do you think they'll be waiting for me there, too?"

  A strange look crossed Thazienne's face; it was almost as though she knew something Larajin didn't. "Habrith's bakery should be safe enough," she said. "Go there now. I'll distract the elves and lead them back to Stormweather Towers, so they'll think you're there."

  Larajin felt a rush of relief. "That's very kind of you, Mistress Thazienne."

  "Think nothing of it-I haven't had this much fun in tendays," Thazienne said. She winked. "And for gods' sake, call me Tazi, would you?"

  *****

  Larajin peeked out the window of Habrith's shop at the busy intersection. Wagons rumbled past, shoppers hunched along through the snow, and nobles in all their finery rolled past in glass-enclosed carriages, high above the dung-splattered slush in the street. She saw Kremlar stride past under a multicolored snow parasol, followed by a servant of the Soargyl family who was laden with boxes of Kremlar's perfume samples. But there were no other figures she recognized-and she was especially relieved to note there were no green-cloaked elves in sight.

  "I don't understand any of it, Habrith," Larajin said, letting the curtain fall. "I'm not my parents' daughter, and now there are elves trying to kidnap me. Wild elves."

  Habrith must have heard the faint note of disgust in Larajin's voice. "Elves have their place in the world, just as humans and dwarves do," she gently chided. She waved away a customer who had come to buy bread and hung a "Closed" sign on the shop door.

  Larajin wasn't listening. "What are they doing in Selgaunt, anyway? Wild elves are too simple and shy to cope with city life. That's why they hide in the forest. They have no use for money, the elder master says. Nothing to spend it on.
Why would they want to ransom me?"

  "It's not ransom money they're interested in."

  The certainty of Habrith's tone caught Larajin's attention. She stared at Habrith. The baker was in her late sixties-older than Larajin's mother-but though her face was wrinkled, her hair was still a rich nut brown. She wore it in a simple braid down her back. Her clothes were fashionable, but a little on the plain side. In a city where even peasants decorated their bodies with enough adornments to attract a flock of greedy crows, Habrith's only adornment was a silver crescent moon pendant, worn on a leather thong around her neck.

  Habrith's philosophy-"simplest is best, and all ingredients in balance"-was reflected in her shop. She was known throughout the city for her bread. While other street bakers and household cooks, including Larajin's mother, cut and shaped their bread in intricate patterns, Habrith's product was simple, square loaves, shaped like the pans they'd baked in. But the tastes… that was where Habrith excelled. She made loaves using ingredients even Larajin's mother hadn't heard of.

  Shonri and Habrith had been rivals, back before Larajin was born, and for a time there had been a war of loaves in the Uskevren household. Over the intervening years they'd developed a close bond, based on their shared love of their craft. Habrith, who seemed to embrace Larajin's own thoughts on the foolishness of fashion, had become like an aunt to the girl.

  Now Larajin wondered how much Habrith really knew about her. The baker hadn't seemed one bit surprised when Larajin had told her that Shonri and Thalit weren't her parents.

  Habrith seemed to have heard Larajin's thoughts. "I know who your mother is," she said.

  "You do?" Larajin asked, startled.

  Habrith nodded. "I've been waiting for the right moment to tell you. Now it seems that moment has been forced upon us. I just hope you're prepared to listen."

  "I am," Larajin said, jumping down off the counter she'd perched upon. "Tell me!"

  Habrith thoughtfully fingered the pendant at her throat. "You asked about wild elves. That's a subject I know a thing or two about. I was the one who set up the trading mission that your mother spoke of. Thamalon Uskevren hoped the fruits and nuts that grew wild in the Tangled Trees could turn a profit, and that this would encourage the preservation of that forest."

  "What have the Tangled Trees got to do with me?" Larajin asked. "Aside from the fact that a Daleswoman gave birth to me there."

  "Your mother wasn't a Daleswoman," Habrith said. "She was a wild elf."

  For a moment, Larajin sat in stunned silence. Larajin refused to believe it. Her mother couldn't have been one of those tattooed, wild creatures. She shook her head. "My mother can't have been an elf," she said. "I'm human."

  "Half-human," Habrith said.

  "But my ears aren't-" Larajin's eyes widened as she remembered her reflection in the pool in Sune's Temple. She'd seen her own face-but with an elf's delicately pointed ears.

  "So that was what the goddess was trying to tell me," Larajin said in a whisper. She stared at her fine-boned, slender fingers as if seeing them clearly for the first time, then ran them over her narrow face and pointed chin.

  Habrith looked intently into Larajin's eyes. "The goddess?" she prompted.

  It was all the encouragement Larajin needed. She told Habrith about what had happened in the Temple of Sune: about her wounds magically healing and the reflection she'd seen in the pool. She told Habrith about the rat bites, and the sewer, and her encounter with the tressym. She also told Habrith about the Hulorn's strange appearance and the magical appearance of Sune's Kisses, whose fragrance the wild elves seemed particularly interested in. When she finished, Habrith was quivering with excitement.

  "Do you know the elvish word for that plant?" Habrith asked.

  Larajin shook her head mutely.

  Habrith spoke two words in a fluid language, then translated. "The name for it in the Common tongue is Hanali's Heart. It's also sacred to the elven goddess of beauty: Hanali Celanil. The gold flecks on the leaves are her symbol. The fragrance is said to emanate from priests of Hanali when they are working their magic."

  "I'm no priest," Larajin protested, "and I worship in Sune's Temple."

  "Sune and Hanali are rivals for mortals' love and affection, but they share one thing: the sacred pool of Evergold. While the goddesses might quarrel over whether humans or elves are more beautiful and often try to steal each other's worshipers-especially if they are half elven-they are on friendly terms with one another. It is possible for a mortal to worship them both-and to be blessed by both."

  Larajin's head was spinning. "You're saying… that I'm blessed? By an elven goddess?"

  Habrith nodded. "And by a human goddess. That brings us back to another point: your human father."

  "Who… was he?"

  "Who is he, you mean," Habrith corrected. "None other than your master: Thamalon Uskevren the Elder."

  Larajin sagged, and caught herself against the counter. "My master?" she whispered. Habrith's words made sense. No wonder Thamalon the Elder had been so incensed at the thought of any romance between Tal and Larajin. Tal was her brother-or half-brother, at any rate, as was the younger Thamalon. Mistress Thazienne was Larajin's half sister. No wonder they resembled one another!

  Larajin understood, now, why she had never been turned out of her servant's position, despite Mister Cale's unfavorable reports. Why the master had sent agents after her to fetch her back after she followed Dirugo.

  Even so, Larajin was hard pressed to believe that the elder master was her father. Thamalon Uskevren was a solemn, respected man of noble birth and impeccable character who loved and respected his wife. What would have possessed him to sleep with a barbarian elf maiden?

  "Your mother was a beautiful woman," Habrith said. "As beautiful as you have yet to become, once you find your way. She was well respected by her people, even though she accepted a human's seed inside her."

  "Is that why I was given up by the elves?" Larajin asked. "Because I was half human?"

  Habrith shook her head. "You weren't given up," she said. "Thamalon took you. Now the wild elves want you back."

  "Back?" Larajin croaked. "Back where? And why?"

  "In the Tangled Trees," Habrith answered. " 'Why' is the question I'm trying to find an answer for."

  Larajin looked at Habrith with fresh eyes. The grandmotherly woman was more than she seemed. She knew things a mere baker should not.

  Habrith nodded, and tapped the crescent moon that hung against her throat. "I have friends. I ask questions and hear things. The answer shouldn't be long in coming."

  Larajin realized she was supposed to understand what Habrith was hinting at-the crescent moon represented something. But she had no idea what.

  Habrith's hand dropped away from her throat. She rummaged behind the counter, pulling out a change of clothes, which she thrust at Larajin.

  "Take your uniform off," she said, "and put these on. That should keep them guessing. Wait here, and open the door for no one. I'll have a word with these fellows who have been bothering you, then I'll come right back."

  Larajin held the clothes in her hands. "But-"

  Habrith pressed a finger to Larajin's lips. Then she smiled. "We'll speak more when I get back," she said. "Be sure to lock the door behind me."

  *****

  After changing into the clothes Habrith had given her and waiting a few moments to ensure the baker wouldn't see her leave the store, Larajin made her way through the sewers to the Hunting Garden. She didn't see any malformed rats, this time. The only thing that slowed her down was an overactive imagination. Every splash behind her sounded like the footsteps of the green-cloaked elf. She whirled around more than once, a knife from Habrith's bakery in her fist, to confront what had proved to be only a shadow.

  Inside the garden, she hurried to the spot where she'd last seen the tressym. It mewed in response to her call- but so faintly that Larajin barely heard its cry.

  The winged cat lay at the base of the tr
ee, barely looking up when Larajin stroked its fur. It looked even more bedraggled than it had two days ago, its fur wet and matted and its wing feathers shredded. A large lump over the broken portion of its wing was oozing pus.

  "Oh, kitt," Larajin said, tears welling in her eyes. "I should have come back sooner. I'm so sorry."

  She touched a hand to the lump on the tressym's wing. It was hot under her fingertips, despite the fact that the creature was shivering. The tressym growled softly but made no other protest.

  Larajin wanted to pick the wounded creature up and carry it back to the temple, but she was afraid that if she moved the tressym, it would die.

  She did the only thing she could: she prayed. First to Sune, then to Hanali. She begged whichever of the goddesses was listening to save the tressym, to prevent this beautiful creature from dying.

  Larajin caught a whiff of something sweet: Sune's Kisses. Or, as she knew it now, Hanali's Heart. The flower was nowhere to be seen. The Hunting Garden was shrouded with snow. Yet the scent grew steadily, as if dozens of the tiny mouth-shaped flowers were suddenly blooming.

  The tressym began to purr. Larajin looked down in alarm, mindful of the old wives' tales that spoke of cats purring just before they died. She was surprised to see that the tressym's fur looked a little less matted, that the lump on its wing was a little smaller.

  Most surprising of all, her hand that lay over the lump had a rosy red glow. It pulsed out from her fingers and into the tressym, beating with the steady rhythm of Larajin's own heart.

  She swallowed down her wonder. If this was magic-if she really were channeling the power of the goddesses-she didn't want to lose it. She concentrated on the wounded tressym, putting every ounce of her will into her desire for it to be whole and well.