“The—the kuaknom? They say they can take elves—”
Paks felt her face harden, saw the shock on Joriam’s at her expression. “I have been among the kuaknom, Joriam. It is a quick return, or none, from their realms.”
“Lady, my pardon. I did not know.”
“I was captive with the kuaknom for only a few days, and got more scars than in years of fighting in Aarenis. Scars of mind and body both.”
“I am sorry, Lady—”
“No matter. But I must talk to these others. I was called here for some reason—your folk hoped it was to heal your king, but perhaps it was to return the sword instead. I ask your silence on this, Joriam, until those you mentioned are gathered together before witnesses. In such a matter all must be done properly.”
“Yes, Lady. Will you speak with the Steward first? Or Sier Halveric?”
Paks thought. She did not know the ways of power at this court; the quarrel between Sier Halveric and Sier Belvarin had not escaped her, nor the vigilant authority of the king’s squires. And elves were involved, as well.
“I will speak to the king,” she said. “It is his right, to know first. After that, if he is able, he will call what witnesses are needed. But I insist that the elves, also, be here. Surely there is one—an ambassador, perhaps?”
Joriam looked worried. “Across Chaya, Lady, in their own Hall—they do not stay here any longer. But why—”
“Because you say the sword was hers. She was an elf. It is their right too, Joriam. She was one of theirs, and this was hers. Perhaps they have a claim to it.” Paks moved the tray and table away, and pushed herself up. She was still weary, but the bath and food had refreshed her. And the call that had brought her throbbed in her head.
Chapter Seventeen
By the time Paks had dressed in dry, clean clothes, it was full dark outside. Starlight and torchlight glittered together on the snowy courtyard. Joriam waited outside her door, and escorted her to the king’s chamber. Esceriel showed his surprise in raised eyebrows when he opened the door.
“Lady—I thought you were—pardon, you are welcome to enter—” But his voice still held questions.
Paks had put on her shining mail again, and belted on the mysterious sword. “The king?” she asked softly.
“He woke without pain, Lady, and ate with appetite. He has dozed off again—must you wake him?”
Paks met the eyes of both squires. “Let me explain, if you will.” They led the way to a window alcove, and stood near. “My call brought me here,” Paks began quietly. “I do not know the reason. When I found your king so ill, I hoped the call was for healing. As I found, and told you, it was not.” The squires stirred, but said nothing. Paks went on. “While I was setting my things aside to bathe, Joriam noticed what he thought was a treasure of this realm.”
“What! Old Joriam?”
Paks nodded. “Yes. If he is right, perhaps my call was to restore this treasure to Lyonya—perhaps it has some power to aid you that neither he nor I know of. Joriam named several others old enough to recognize it—if, in fact, that’s what it is. But I thought the king himself should decide how this would be investigated.”
Esceriel looked bewildered. “But—Lady—what would you be doing with a royal treasure of Lyonya? Surely Joriam didn’t suggest—I mean, you cannot be a thief—”
“No. But I would like to know myself where this thing has been since it left here—if it did—and how it came where I found it. But you have not asked what it is.”
“No.” Both squires shook their heads. “If you wished to tell us, you would.”
“Do you agree, though, that the king should know first?”
They looked at each other. “I suppose.” Esceriel looked doubtful. “He has been able to do no work for some weeks. The Council—”
Paks shook her head. “No, if this is what Joriam thinks, it is a relic of the royal house. And it involves elves—high elves—and the king must decide what to do.”
“Yes, I see. You’re right. But could it not wait until morning? If the king can sleep through the night, even once—”
Again Paks shook her head, and saw that both of them took the meaning of that refusal. Nonetheless she stated it. “I’m sorry—truly sorry. But as I told you, I was not sent to heal him. He may not live that long, and this, I judge, is urgent enough to disturb even the last of his rest. I will do what I can to ease him again later.”
They nodded shortly, and left her in the alcove, moving quietly to the bedside to wake the king. Finally Lieth beckoned, and again Paks approached the bed. The king’s face showed less strain than before, but his color was no better. His lips quirked in an attempt to smile.
“Lady—I believe you must have some reason for waking me. I am in no pain, but—I feel no strength, either. What is it?”
“Sir king, your old servant Joriam recognized among my gear what he believes is a treasure of your house. If he is right, then the return of this treasure may be my reason here. And since it was elf-made, and belonged to the elven wife of your older brother, who was king many years ago, I believed you should know first, and decide how this is to be handled.”
His eyes gleamed. A faint flush of color stained his cheeks. “A treasure? Elf-made, and the elven queen’s? That would have to be—” He paused, obviously thinking. “Is it a ring, Lady, or a sword?”
“A sword,” said Paks. She did not take it out. He glanced at her side, and she drew her cloak back a little.
He nodded. “It might be—her sword had such a green jewel in the hilt. I remember that much, though I was only a boy when I saw it last. But how did you come by it?”
Paks repeated what she’d told Joriam. The king listened carefully. “I don’t see how it could be the same,” he said then. “How would such a treasure come to a Tsaian mercenary?”
“If I remember correctly,” said Paks, “it was a wedding gift to his wife from Aliam Halveric.”
“Halveric!” The king tried to push himself up. Lieth and Esceriel were quick to lift him and pack pillows behind him. “Could it be that the Halverics—no. I won’t believe that of them!” But his voice held a measure of doubt. Paks was appalled.
“Sir king, I’m sure it doesn’t mean that the Halveric stole it—or had anything to do with the attack. He isn’t old enough—”
“Falk’s blade! That’s right—he’s only a few years older than I am. He wasn’t even at court. Forget I said any such thing—please. It is my weakness, Lady, and the hour . . .” His voice trailed off. Then it strengthened again. “In fact, now I remember that we were pages together when it happened. Of course it couldn’t have been Aliam.”
“The Halverics, sir king, have always been loyal supporters of this house,” said Esceriel quietly.
“Yes, yes—I know. That’s why we were fostered as pages to the Halveric estates. I just—for a moment—”
“In such a surprise, sir king,” said Paks, “anything may come to mind. But, my lord, I think it is important to identify this sword certainly. I have not taken it from the sheath since Joriam spoke; no one here has seen its blade. Can you describe it?”
“Oh yes.” The king nodded. “The hilts—well, I could have seen that, since you’ve been wearing it. On the blade, as I recall, were runes. I don’t remember exactly which. Averrestinil—the queen that was—rarely drew it. And I was just a boy, and seldom at court anyway. The elves would know—if you want to drag them in—and Sier Halveric. Perhaps the old huntsman, if he’s still able to see. Averrestinil enjoyed hunting.”
“Sir king, the elves must be told. They, more than anyone, can confirm whether this sword is the same or another. I know it is of elven make, and magical, but nothing else.” Paks looked at the squires, to find both of them staring at her with glowing eyes. She looked back at the king. “I don’t know, my lord, what good this sword will do—if it is the one that was lost when the queen and prince were killed—”
“Perhaps it will proclaim the heir—the true h
eir—” began Lieth. “I have heard of such swords—they take light when drawn by the one who is to rule.”
Before she thought, Paks answered quickly, “It can’t be that. It lights up when I draw it—” Then she realized how they might take her words. It was too late. Lieth nodded, smiling, and when she looked, the king was smiling too.
“If so, then perhaps your call was to save Lyonya by taking the throne.”
“No, my lord!” Paks shrank from the idea. “I am a soldier—a warrior of Gird—not a ruler.”
“At any rate, I agree that the sword must be identified and tested. And even by elves.” He sighed. “Would that my cousin were still alive—he was regent for my niece before her death—and he was both cautious and wise with elves. I myself have had little to do with them.”
“Sir king, do you wish us to gather these people here, in your chamber?” Paks felt the need to push for some definite action that night.
“It must be done openly,” mused the king. “A thing of such importance must not be hidden. Yes—bring them here, but give audience to all the Siers, human and part-elven alike.”
“But my lord,” said Esceriel, with a worried frown. “You are not strong enough—”
The king managed a steadier smile. “Old friend, I will be as strong as I must—this grace the gods have given me so far. If this can leave my kingdom in better state—if it can prevent quarrels and bickering such as I hear through my doors daily—”
“We try, my lord—” said Esceriel.
“I know. I know, and I also know why they come. It will be well worth a day or so less life, Esceriel, to leave my kingdom with hope and peace.” He drew a deep breath, that suddenly seemed to hurt, for he stiffened. Paks laid her hand on his, and he smiled again. “No, Lady—I need no more of your strength for the moment. I will save mine for what I must say when they come. Lieth, mix me a warming draught, and call Master Oscarlit. Esceriel, summon these: all the Siers in Chaya, and the kyllan-siers of those who are not here. Also the ranking elf—I don’t know who that is, worse luck, but you can find out easily enough.”
“I don’t know if the elf will come—” said Esceriel.
“They will come if I summon them,” said Paks. “May I, sir king?”
“Yes—do. Assemble them, if you will, in the Leaf Hall. If so many come that would be crowded here, you will carry me down.”
“My lord—”
“Enough, Esceriel. I know I will die soon; I will die happier if this is behind me. Ward of Falk, Esceriel—be on your way.”
“My lord and king.” With a deep bow, and a flashing glance at Paks, Esceriel swept from the room. Lieth, having set some drink to warm on the hearth, bowed also and withdrew to find the surgeon. The king beckoned Paks to bend close.
“Esceriel, Lady, loves me too well. He is my son—a bastard, alas, of a human mother with more taig-sense than I—and the only son of mine to reach manhood. This he suspects, but does not know—and has never reached for power for himself. I love him well, Lady, and if you have comfort for him, I pray you give it.”
Paks felt tears stinging her eyes. “Sir king, what comfort the High Lord permits, I will give. And now I’d best go, and seek the elves.” His eyes sagged shut as she turned away.
* * *
Finding the elves in Chaya was not as easy as she had hoped, or as hard as she had feared. No one in the palace seemed to know just where they might be—"They’re uncanny, Lady, and wander about—” She had feared they might all be withdrawn into elvenlands, where she had no entry. But after a cold, miserable trek through the streets of Chaya, she heard a few words of elven outside a tavern. She looked up. The sign, lit by a gleam of light from within, was a harp with a wreath of ivy, and beneath it was the elven rune for song. Paks shoved the door open and entered. Light seemed to fail as she came in, shifting in an instant from clear white to the dim reddish glow of a dying fire. Paks felt her bones tingle with magic. She looked around.
“You come late, traveler.” The tavernkeeper loomed nearby, tall and stout.
“I am looking for someone,” said Paks, in elven. Silence followed. She heard the faint rustle of clothing in one corner, the resumption of breath, where all had stopped for an instant.
“Art thou a true elf?” asked the tavernkeeper in elven. “Art thou of the house of the leaf, or the house of the fountain?”
“I am not,” replied Paks, still in the same language. “Yet I have had friends of leaf and fountain, and have been graced by their wisdom and song. I am Paksenarrion Dorthansdotter, named elf-friend by Ardhiel. I have touched the elfane taig, and lain captive of the iynisin longer than I care to tell, and fought a daskdraudigs when my wounds were healed.”
“I have heard of such a Paksenarrion,” he said. “A servant of Gird Strongarm, so I’ve heard, and a friend of the Kuakgan of Brewersbridge, and of Kieri Phelan of Tsaia.”
“That is true.” Paks waited through another silence. Elves, she thought, could be just as slow as dwarves—but then they thought humans were hasty.
“And what do you search for here?” he asked finally. “You carry such magic with you as would satisfy most humans.”
Paks laughed easily. “I search for someone, not some thing. For someone who can identify what I carry, and tell me its tale. And not only me. I search, as you must realize, for the elves I thought to find in Chaya, the heart of Lyonya the Fair. For this, I was told, was a kingdom of men and elves together—”
“So it was, once, Paksenarrion,” said another voice, from near the dying fire. “Long years ago. But evil betrayed that dream—”
“And good may redeem it,” said Paks. She felt a nudge from within, and called light. In that sudden glare the room showed full of elves—many of them high elves, richly dressed. Her light glittered from jewels on fingers and belts and weapons, gleamed on the gold frame of a great-harp, the silver of buckles and mail. Around the walls ran a pattern of interlacement, set in gleaming tiles.
“You are a paladin, then.” The tavernkeeper’s voice was steady; she had not startled him, at least.
“Yes. And I have come to Chaya on quest, with a call from the gods I serve. This call sent me to find elves—elves who remember the better days, the days when King Falkieri had an elven wife, and two children—”
“Does anyone want those days remembered?” asked the elf in the corner. He sat in a carved chair that resembled a tangle of tree roots formed into a throne; his velvet tunic was embroidered heavily in gold and silver.
“The king does,” she answered. “He sent me to ask.”
“The king? The human king?”
“Yes. He knows he is dying; he wants to leave Lyonya in better hope than now seems likely.”
They looked at one another; Paks felt the intensity of those looks. “And on his deathbed he acquires wisdom that might have saved us had he found it earlier.” That was a part-elf, squatting on the hearth itself.
“Peace, Challm,” said the richly dressed elf. “Wisdom is always worth having, be it never so late. And for a human, whose soul lives after him, it is a priceless gift.” He stood. “Paksenarrion, you will not remember, but you have seen me before.”
Paks shuffled rapidly through her memories, but to no avail.
He smiled. “You were dying in the snow—you had taken such injuries from an evil power our best efforts were nearly too late and too little. And we did you a discourtesy, in casting a glamour on you that made you forget an errand—though I swear, lady, we took the scroll to Estil Halveric faster than you could have done.”
Paks felt her jaw drop. “You! You are one of the elves who found me after—”
“You freed the elfane taig. Yes. Kinsmen, this is an elf-friend indeed. I am glad to see you with such powers, Paksenarrion. From time to time we heard that things went hard with you.” She nodded, speechlessly. “You may withdraw your light if you wish; we have our own.” He was smiling now, and as Paks damped her light, the elflight, similar but with a more pearly g
low, radiated from the air around her. It had no source she could see, and cast no shadows. “You asked my name that night,” he went on. “I judged you did not mean any discourtesy, though I was short with you. It went hard to admit that a mere human had done what many elves had tried and failed to do. But now—” He bowed. “Permit me to introduce myself. I am Amrothlin son of Flessinathlin, the lady who holds the heart of the Ladysforest, and brother of that queen you spoke of.”
“The queen who—”
“Who disappeared with her son, the prince. Yes. And if my eyes have not faded—which they have not—you bear at your side the very sword—”
Paks had, in the past few moments, forgotten the sword. Now she laid her hand on its hilt. “It is this, my lord, which—”
He nodded. “I know.” His eyes swept the room. “It is time, kindred—time and more than time. We are not hasty, we elves, but the time for mysteries is past, and the time of truth is at hand. I will take six of you: Berris, Gyorlan, Challm, Adreath, Signys, Preliath.” He came to Paks. “When does the king wish our presence?”
“As soon as may be, my lord.”
“Then we shall come now. He made a gesture, and the elflight died. Paks blinked in the darkness, until her eyes adjusted to the red glow in the hearth. Then she turned, hearing the elves around her, and led the way back toward the palace.
They said nothing during that walk—nothing aloud, at least, though Paks surmised that their thoughts were full. At the palace gates, the guards’ eyes went wide when they saw Paks and the others. But clearly they had had their orders, for they swung the gates open and stood at attention. They came to the far side, to the doors of the palace. Lieth stood there, now formal in armor and surcoat of royal green and gold.
“Lady Paksenarrion? It will be in the Leaf Hall; Esceriel called too many lords to fit into the king’s own chamber.”
Paks introduced the elves with her, and Lieth bowed. “Be welcome, my lords and ladies, in the king’s hall. He will be with you shortly.” Lieth opened double doors into a long high room with panelled walls, now brightly lit by many candles. Paks estimated that some twenty men and women waited there. Fires blazed in both fireplaces, and at one end a long chair waited for the king. The elves moved into the room; Paks saw some faces light, and others freeze, to see them. She turned to Lieth.
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