by Ted Neill
“What did you do to us? How did you get us here?” Val asked.
“I cast a spell of sleep on you. I’m sorry but I had to once we were safe. Our home here is a secret and I could not risk you knowing the way.”
“But the . . .vaurgs . . . as you call them, why didn’t they catch up with us?”
“They cannot cross the Gillithwaine, our people’s power is too strong on this side of the river.”
You are still in danger as you will be as long as you are on this side of the Gillithwaine river.
Where had Haille heard that?
“So where does that leave us? Are we your prisoners?” Val asked.
“You are our guests, but that does not necessarily mean we know what to do with you. And we have yet to hear from all in your party,” the man said.
Haille was sure Gandolin meant Storn. He reached down to find the claw of the beast missing from his belt. He would not miss it but he did feel some debt to Storn. His mind raced with thoughts. Explanations for how they had come across the wounded creature, even allied with him, all felt awkward seeing how he had been the same imp to wound Veolin. Absorbed in his thinking, Haille took little notice of the elk stepping alongside them, his chin still dripping from the pool, the jays perched in his antlers. When his mouth moved and Haille heard a voice, he looked about the room for the speaker, unable to resolve the contradiction that presented itself to his eyes and ears.
The elk. The elk was speaking.
Again, he felt his friends draw close to one another. Katlyn gasped. Haille stood in dumbfounded silence, his jaw slack.
“I can vouch for my companions, they are honorable and good hearted,” the elk was saying.
“If I haven’t lived to see extraordinary things,” Cody said.
“And how may we address you, of the Stygorn I presume,” Gandolin said, his face empty of the surprise Haille and his friends were feeling.
“My name is Adamantus.”
“It has a name,” Cody said.
“He has a name,” Katlyn corrected. “And it was your voice I heard in the carnival tent. You asked me to help you.”
“I heard it, too. And it was you in the forest who told me to use my sword on the vines,” Haille added.
“Both true,” Adamantus said.
“But why not speak until now?” Val asked.
“Secrecy brings safety,” Gandolin answered for the elk. “But how did you come to be here on this continent so far from your home?”
“Men of the Servior took me from my place of hiding. A storm later provided me escape. The Servior’s ship was lost and I swam to shore, but I was weary, easy prey for trappers. I was traded amongst owners until these youths found me in a carnival and released me. I am in their debt. In serving that debt I learned that the same Servior who had interest in me had interest in them. So our lots were cast together. I have still to learn fates’ final plan, but I know their quest has become my own.”
“It is grand company you keep,” Gandolin said.
“And a powerful ally,” Seraphina added.
“Apparently,” Val said, swallowing.
“So what is this quest?” Seraphina asked.
The elk answered. He had listened and listened well. Adamantus told their story from the night they had escaped from the carnival, but he had pieced together more than that, including Haille’s identity and what led him to the font of Jasmeen in the first place. In a few minutes the elk relayed their journey to Morbright, the font, and back to the castle, his mother’s grave, and their discussion with Yana. Her words when she had met him, “He will reveal himself in time,” made better sense to Haille now.
How had Yana known?
Haille, Val, and Katlyn filled in gaps in turn but there were few. When they explained that their fears for Haille’s father’s safety rested upon nothing but an old woman’s dreams, the elves betrayed neither skepticism nor judgment. They only nodded as such a notion was as natural as clouds heralding rain. By the way the elk spoke of the vision, it seemed as bedrock a reason as any.
Which begged the question Val asked next: “We have revealed much to you now. You know our intentions. The way has been difficult for us. Will you help us in our quest? Will you help us to the southern borders of these woods?”
“You have shared much in good faith to us,” Gandolin said. “But we cannot promise yet. We must consult with the other elders. It has been long since we have had your kind here and never a descendent of Hillary Hillbourne,” he said, looking at Haille, the corners of his mouth drawing down in a frown.
“What does my ancestry matter?” Haille asked.
“You can be forgiven for your ignorance,” Seraphina said. “But that might not absolve you. You should know the truth: Hillary Hillbourne was once a friend of our people, but then after arriving with his band of refugees from the south, he proceeded to persecute us.”
“Persecute?” Haille said.
“The blood of many innocents stain his hands and soul,” Veolin sneered.
Haille felt unsteady as if the flagstones beneath him were tipping like the deck of a ship at sea.
“He knew magic existed, didn’t he?” Katlyn said. “That was why he banned it, banned books, belief, and practice. He wanted it for himself.”
“When founding a kingdom out of nothing, it can help to have powers of the other world. But he held onto those powers in secret and was threatened by anyone else who might use them,” Gandolin said.
“He was a practitioner of magic?” Haille asked.
“Indeed. We taught him,” Gandolin said.
Haille noticed Katlyn rubbing the bracelet on her arm through her shirtsleeve. The magic bracelet that grew with her, the dragon engraved upon it. He remembered the magic of the font that had saved her from her mortal wound, and the fire that had flickered from Sade’s fingers, the fire Haille himself had forced his will upon in the instance he needed to.
Orens protendus filgrant aurorus . . .
“Prince Haille?” Veolin asked.
Haille came to himself. “I’m sorry, it’s a great deal to take in.”
“It is. We bid you rest now,” Seraphina said. “Eat. The long night is over. Grant us your patience. We will have an answer for you this time tomorrow.”
Chapter 15
In the Home of Sandolin Blythewood
Gandolin, Seraphina, and Veolin left by a passageway on the far side of the chamber. Haille was wondering what they were to do next when a fourth elf emerged from the same passage. He was lean like the others with long golden hair fashioned into a thick braid that hung midway down his back. Like Gandolin he was dressed in the colors of the forest, greens and tawny red-browns. His face was open and inviting as he crossed the room and made an individual bow to each of them.
“I am Sandolin Blythewood. The elders have asked me to see to your needs. If you please, you can follow me and we will make sure you are well fed.”
“Happy to,” Cody said, patting his stomach.
Sandolin gestured for them to turn. Behind them stood a set of double doors carved out of bright, blond wood. The relief on their panels depicted sun, moon, and stars cycling over a forest of slender, elegant trees. Sandolin put his hand to the doors but before opening them he spoke, “You are the first visitors in a long while. Please excuse the curiosity of our people.”
None of them knew what to say but he must have taken their silence as understanding for he gave the doors a push. They parted to reveal a crowd of elves, old, young, and in-between. Some wearing the same green and browns, others draped in brighter colors, vermillion, lavenders, and primrose. As the doors spread so did the crowd, creating a pathway through down which Sandolin led them as if by formal procession. Curiosity dominated both sides, Haille and the others staring at the crowd that studied them back. He noted smiling faces, others wary, still others frozen in disbelief. The children, like the adults, displayed all variety: some cowered behind their parents’ legs, others leaned outward and stretc
hed tentative fingers to touch their garments or their hands. Katlyn shook the hand of one child and immediately more hands reached out for her. When she was on the verge of being overwhelmed, Sandolin stepped between her and the crowd and in a gentle voice said, “There will be time enough for visiting, our guests must recover their strength and rest.”
Haille offered a few sheepish waves but he was lost as to how to conduct himself. The distant cold formality of royalty did not feel appropriate, especially if his own ancestor had betrayed these people. How he wanted to talk to Katlyn. She had been right. There had been something wrong all along, secrets meant to be hidden in those occult sections of the library. But he knew he would have to wait.
Sandolin led them up a set of stone stairs into a plaza of covered booths, their canvases as brilliant and varied as the elves’ dress. Elves milled about with baskets, boxes, and wheelbarrows. Their worlds were different but Haille knew a market when he saw one. Sandolin led them around the edge and even in that cursory walk Haille glimpsed fruits and tubers for sale that were familiar yet strange. Other booths traded in powders and dyes of hues he had never seen. One offered cups of an amber drink and the very sight of it reminded him how long it had been since he had had a decent drink of water, or anything for that matter.
Not unlike the realm of the vaurgs, the contours of the elves’ domain were determined by trees: lines of trunks that demarcated boundaries between plazas, chambers, and walkways. Except here the forest was neither oppressive nor dark. Sunlight filtered down through a canopy of needles and leaves, the wind whispered in a welcome voice—a great contrast to the cacophonous din of the dark forest.
As intriguing as it all was, Haille was glad to move away from the market to the smaller, more private plaza separated by a set of curving stone stairs. This plaza too was paved in smooth gray stones, green with moss, that the elk’s hooves clicked across. A table awaited them, set with platters of bread, fruits, and sweating pitchers of the same amber juice Haille had seen in the market. The table sat in the shade of a serpentine stone wall carved in stunning detail. On these panels a woman did battle with a series of fell-looking opponents, mostly men but one woman. Haille thought it notable for all of the figures appeared to be humans, not elves. He wanted to ask more, especially about the woman who was carved in heroic proportions and with stunning features, but Sandolin was deep into explaining the offerings on the table.
“. . . bread, fresh from our granaries. It might not exactly be what you are accustomed to but enjoyable still I hope. We have jams and jellies, yams that will taste familiar to you even if they are purple and not orange and I’d encourage you to drink the pine nectar, it will quench the most stubborn thirst.”
Val thanked him for all of them. Cody was already taking bites of the offered bread. Katlyn poured herself a cup of pine nectar and sipped it.
“It’s a bit like pine tea, but sweeter. It’s delightful,” she added, pouring a goblet for Haille. Val offered his cup, but the captain’s eyes remained on Sandolin’s receding figure as he stepped over a channel of flowing water and descended the steps. As in the chamber where they had awoken, water coursed around the edges of the space dropping over small falls. The jays fluttered in the shallow water throwing up dazzling fans of droplets. When Sandolin was gone, Val turned to the elk.
“I dare say you have some explaining to do, elk . . . or should I say Adamantus?”
“In time. This may not be the most opportune place,” the elk said, glancing in the direction of the steps where Sandolin had disappeared. “The forest has ears.”
“And elk voices and elves’ food. Our hosts are generous,” Cody said, changing the subject.
“I wonder to what extent we are truly guests or prisoners,” Val said, spreading jam on some of the flatbread left out for them.
“It seems all will be decided by tomorrow,” Adamantus said.
“That does not mean we can’t keep an eye peeled for ways out of here in the meantime,” Val said. “That goes for all of you.” He swept a finger across the table at all of them. “Prince Haille, do I have your attention?”
Haille snapped his head up. He had been thinking of Veolin, the way her hips tapered to her waist and that blue fire in her eyes. “Yes, yes, sir.”
Sandolin reappeared when they had finished and offered them his own house to rest in for the day. “It will keep you away from curious onlookers—save for my own children—but otherwise you will find rest and privacy.”
Val accepted on their behalf but not before he met Adamantus’ gaze and the elk offered a small nod. They got up slowly from the table, Haille only belatedly realizing how tired and stiff he was. Sandolin led them on a short walk over paths of pine needles crushed by the passage of many feet. At times it felt as if they were simply on a walk through a deep forest, except occasionally the path would open to a clearing where water splashed in a fountain and children—elflings Sandolin called them—played. In other clearings, grass grew knee high and ponies were corralled. At one point the path passed right through the base of a massive tree. The inside was cool, the walls blond and smooth to the touch. Upon emerging on the far side they found themselves in a grassy yard ringed by bobbing wildflowers. At first Haille noticed no structure until a door swung open on the tree across the meadow. This tree was even larger than the one they had passed through and carved out of its bole was a house, with three stories of rooms, windows, even a chimney out the side that puffed clouds of white smoke.
A comely woman—or rather she-elf as Sandolin explained—with hair the color of mahogany wood and an apron around her waist, met them at the door. Two elflings, a girl and boy, the likeness of both their parents, peered from behind her. Sandolin introduced his wife Maylief, and his offspring Gavin, his son, and Roslyn, his daughter. More cups of pine nectar waited on the table inside the hallowed out room that was the kitchen. Val and Cody made polite conversation with Maylief while Sandolin showed Haille and Katlyn to their rooms. They were across the hall from one another and once Sandolin had left to tend to Val and Cody, Haille crossed the corridor. There was so much he wanted to speak to Katlyn about but when he knocked at her door there was no answer. He dared to open it a crack and caught sight of her face down on her bed, snoring softly.
It has been a long road.
He returned to his room, marveling at the construction, the thoroughness of the tunneling, and the novelty of being in a “living” house. He was admiring the window when there was a flash of blue followed by a tap-tap-tap. He turned down the latch and pushed the pane open so that Cyan could flutter in. The jay made a circuit of the room, tweeting a sharp little melody, and alighted briefly on Haille’s outstretched hand before returning to the sill where he hopped in an impatient circle then fluttered away again.
Haille knew the jays well enough to recognize when he was supposed to follow. Val’s question came back to him. Were they guests or prisoners? He still did not know himself and imagined it might have some bearing on his freedom of movement. He caught sight of Cyan again, waiting on a mossy branch a stone’s throw away from the window. Perhaps ignorance could be his cover.
He pushed open the second pane, threw his leg over the sill, and stepped out into the bed of pine needles that covered the ground. Smoke drifted out of the stove-pipe chimney built into the side of the tree. Haille could still hear Val, Cody, and Maylief’s voices from an open window a few steps away. Cyan dipped down from his branch and disappeared into a break in the trees. With a quick glance over his shoulder to make sure he was not spotted, Haille hastened across the clearing and into the trees.
Sapphire whistled at him from farther down the path. The boughs to either side of him sparkled with amber sap crystals. The wind pulsed overhead moving the tops of the trees and creating a constant swelling of sound that reminded Haille of the ocean. He came close to Sapphire only to have the jay leap off her branch and shoot down the tunnel of green. Haille rounded a bend and came upon Azure next. The birds continued to l
eapfrog one another in such fashion, leading Haille farther down the path and into the forest. The trees changed around him. The boughs grew thicker. These trees appeared even older as the beards of moss that hung from the branches were longer and at some points reached the ground. The jays continued to dip and weave as the trail switch-backed down a rocky hillside. Haille clambered over outcroppings and slipped between narrow crevices. Eventually the jays grew quiet and led in closer intervals, all three appearing together now, leading Haille to believe he was close to whatever it was they wanted him to see. They gathered, hopping, on a flat stone that overlooked a drop into a lower section of the forest. By instinct, Haille stretched out flat and crawled to the edge on his belly.
He could hear water falling somewhere close and just below him was a clearing perched on the cliffside where half a dozen figures in robes stood equidistant from one another. They formed a semicircle about a fire burning in a brazier that rested upon a stone carved with glyphs and runes. The figures were motionless until Haille saw a rusted iron gate swing open and six more figures in similar dark robes filed out. They were identical to the first group except in the center of the line, stout and stumbling and generally ungraceful, was Storn.
He looked as he had before, though perhaps after seeing the fair countenances of the elves, his smashed face, overlapping teeth, and beady eyes were even more repulsive. Yet, there was a naked fear, a vulnerability that even the hideousness of his features could not hide. He cradled his severed stump, wrapped in linen bandages, to his chest. He had to take three or four steps for every one that those escorting him did, so he was hunched over and breathing hard when they came to the stone and burning fire.
The orange light fell on faces that Haille knew to be those of elves, but there were none he recognized. Two tended to the fire, heaping on more wood and stoking the coals, a flurry of sparks dancing in an updraft. Storn was looking left to right, likely as ignorant of the ceremony unfolding around him as Haille was. The two elves closest to the fire withdrew to their places, the flames higher now, the cracks and pops audible even over the constant breeze in the trees. Another figure stepped forward. This one removed her hood and Haille recognized Veolin. Even with her face half-covered with bandages, he knew the contours of her profile.
