Elfling (U.S. Edition)

by Corinna Turner

  He eyed me, the anger on his face bleaching into a sort of general unhappiness. “Serapia...”

  “Why do you presume to call me by my first name?” I snapped. “Do you really think we are friends? After what you did?”

  A flicker of pain and sadness crossed Ystevan’s face, but then it closed, becoming an unreadable mask.

  “Alms, alms, good sir.” An old woman was tugging at Lord Ystevan’s cloak. To my relief he ignored her entirely, clearly aware that to show coin in this quarter of the city was a very quick method of suicide.

  But the interruption helped my mind to move beyond the pain caused by his words. He didn’t understand—of course he didn’t understand, because I hadn’t told him everything—at least, I didn’t remember ever having done so. My urchinhood hadn’t seemed immediately relevant to my father’s healing—not to mention that discussion of it would all too easily lead to the revelation that I was to have been the sacrifice. Which had never seemed likely to make the he-elf love my father any more...

  Surely Lord Ystevan would never have said what he’d just said if he’d known all there was to know about me? Did I seem spoilt? Obstinate, maybe, to an infuriating degree, I was honest enough to concede that, but spoilt?

  Why was I so upset about what he thought, anyway? I barely knew the man…he-elf...did I? Not really. Perhaps I’d thought I did, perhaps I’d even thought we were friends, but if he could simply turn around and take from me all memories of himself, clearly I’d been wrong.

  “Alms, good sir?” the woman was persisting, so he simply turned away from her.

  I saw the old woman’s face as she straightened, set in hard lines and not nearly as old as her hunched position had suggested. I opened my mouth instantly to give warning, but the woman was too fast. She drew a cudgel from her skirts and brought it smashing down on Lord Ystevan’s head. The he-elf crumpled to the ground without a sound; apparently even elfin were not proof against such brutal force.

  I reached for my dagger beneath my cloak and would have stepped forward to defend the he-elf from any further attentions from the woman, but a sound made me turn.

  For just a split second my eyes focused on the fist that was rapidly approaching my face.

  ~+~

  CHAPTER 36

  THE FORT OF TORR ELKYN

  The Queen’s Hall lay at the very heart of the Fort, and there we started our tour. Things communal to the entire fort’s population, such as libraries and schoolchambers for the elflings, surrounded it, going out from it like ripples on a pond.

  Encircling this central section ran the ‘Ring’ passage, and from this radiated seven other main passages, going to the halls of the seven clans of Torr Elkyn. Each hall contained the private chambers of its members, along with those things communal to the clan, such as the laundry, the bath chambers, and the water closets.

  “Well, you’ve seen pretty much everything,” Ystevan told me, after showing me around the hall of Clan Elendal, the clan to which the queen belonged—the clan halls were all pretty much identical, apparently. “There are some store rooms, which really aren’t all that interesting, and the stables, where we are headed.”

  I pictured that fine stag standing in a stall letting me stroke its muzzle and stepped out eagerly to keep up with my long-legged guide.

  Soon we came from a long passage into a square chamber with wooden-doored stalls going back into the rock, but disappointingly, there wasn’t a deer in sight. A number of tall, long-limbed horses looked over the majority of the doors, a bullock over another, and from several more came bleats and grunts respectively.

  What did catch my attention was the filthy black horse that had just nickered at me from a nearby stall. The sound seemed one of great relief, as if the horse were saying, “Finally, a real person!”

  “Hellion!” I exclaimed, rushing over to him. He nickered at me again, plainly pleased to see me. He wasn’t wearing a head collar, though, so I stopped to pick up a lead rope, which I wrapped around his muzzle so I could control his head. Then I stroked his muddy, sweat-stained face in delight, gripping the rope firmly when he seemed to decide that a nip would show his affection best.

  “You seem to know that creature,” said a dry voice, and I looked over my shoulder to see an elfin groom flexing a hand accusingly at the horse. “He’s sent three of us for healing already and we still haven’t got him cleaned up.”

  I was caught between apology and defensiveness. “He’s just nervous, but I hope he hasn’t hurt anyone too badly.”

  “Nothing serious,” said the groom easily.

  “Where did you find him?”

  “I didn’t,” replied the groom. “A provider from Clan Tarabil brought the animal back with him from gathering this morning. Good job he was a Caller, or he’d never have got the nag here. The tack’s over there. It’s a bit of a mess, but nothing badly broken.”

  My saddlebags! I gasped and hurried to the jumble of reeking, muddied leather, unfastening the bags quickly. Everything remained in place, including the bundle containing my mother’s jewelry. I showed Ystevan the jewels, a necklace of emeralds and some fine rings.

  “I’m glad those aren’t lost,” I remarked, as he took them to look at and I went back to stroking Hellion, “but I'm even happier to have this friend returned.” I couldn’t help wondering if Ystevan would save his mount or his jewels first of all. He gave me an ironic look, clearly understanding my rather pointed remark, but I was busy looking the horse over.

  Hellion was completely filthy and bore some small scratches, as well as his legs being somewhat cracked from cold and mud, but he stood squarely on all four hooves. Relief and thankfulness filled me—a horse galloping blind across a mountainside in a storm could easily break a leg.

  I experienced a sudden pang of loneliness for Raven, whose absence was like having a part of me missing, and for my father, whom I’d recently had reason to believe I might also never see again. But I would see them again, and when I did, either Alliron or Ystevan was jolly well going to be with me!

  I scratched Hellion behind the ears, pleased by his display of affection. “You’re a good boy,” I told him. “It’s not your fault the lightning scared you. When God gets as angry as that there’s only two things to do, run or hide, and between us I think we covered both of them!” Hellion searched my hands for tasty offerings, and I took them away before he could realize that I had nothing.

  Several of the elfin grooms had just entered the stall again. They put a headcollar on the recalcitrant horse, and tied his head unceremoniously to the wall. Hellion rolled his eyes balefully, clearly waiting for them to come within range of his hooves.

  I bit my lip. “I've very sorry, I would help you if I wasn’t wearing this lovely dress. Perhaps I'd better go and change...”

  But the grooms poo-pooed this, and Ystevan led me away, laughing. “They’ll be fine.”

  It occurred to me that I still hadn’t seen his fine mount. “Where’s your stag?”

  Ystevan’s eyebrows rose. “You don’t think I'd keep him in here, do you? He runs free with his herd, when I don’t need him. Come here for a moment...” He lifted my hair carefully out of the way to fasten the emerald necklace around my neck. “Rather an erroneous statement of your power,” he remarked, giving me the rings to tuck in a pocket, “but still.”

  The passage we were in presently emerged from the mountainside. Looking back, it appeared to be nothing more than a cave from outside. The mountain towered above us, and I now knew that this was the fort itself. Or that the fort lay within it, which amounted to the same thing. The entrance was well below the snowline but still quite high up. I peered left and right, looking for the crack in which I had sought refuge, but I couldn’t see it.

  “By the way,” I asked Ystevan, who stood staring down into the forest and valley below us, “what’s a Caller?”

  He smiled. “This,” he said softly, as the soft thud of hoofbeats approached and a fine stag came bounding towards us, an
tlers raised high. It slowed and sniffed suspiciously, clearly smelling me, but Ystevan held out his hand and it continued up to him and touched its nose to it. I caught my breath in awe as the late afternoon sun shone off the gleaming russet coat, and Ystevan’s calming presence allowed me to run my hands over the live animal.

  “But you eat deer, don’t you?” I asked as we made our way back to Ystevan’s chambers for dinner.

  “Yes,” replied Ystevan, “but we never ever Call an animal when we are hunting. That would be a gross misuse of the power, for when we Call them they come to us in perfect trust.”

  ~+~

  “How did it go, child?” asked Haliath as we sat down to the light evening meal.

  “Not bad,” I said. “She won’t help me herself, but I'm allowed to ask other people to do it.”

  “Optimist,” muttered Ystevan dryly. “It was a great big No, and you know it.”

  “Which audience were you in?” I asked sweetly.

  The he-elf just snorted and speared a piece of cold venison.

  Haliath looked from him to me and said no more on the matter. “Alvi is going home tomorrow,” she told her son.

  Ystevan made a non-committal noise.

  “It’s a long walk,” Alvidra added pointedly.

  Ystevan raised his eyebrows. “You’d better set off nice and early, then.”

  Alvidra seemed to find this statement immensely frustrating and almost threw down her fork on her plate to fix her mother with a look of appeal.

  Haliath sighed. “Calm down, Alvi. But, Ystevan, must your tease your sister so?”

  Ystevan turned a guileless look to his mother that did not quite conceal the mischief in his eyes. “But she’s so teaseable, mother, even you must admit it.” Haliath sighed, but her face grew rather firm, so Ystevan smiled at Alvidra. “Would you like me to Call a deer to take you home to Avragrain?”

  “That would be nice,” said Alvidra rather stiffly.

  How much did my presence have to do with the she-elf’s bad mood?

  “A fine, fiery stag, perhaps,” added Ystevan, apparently quite unable to help himself.

  “Mother!” wailed Alvidra in protest.

  “The calmest, gentlest hind in the herd,” Ystevan said, apparently relenting. “Which will carry you all the way there at the gentlest of ambles, without running off once. We certainly don’t want anything befalling you just at the moment,” he added significantly.

  Alvidra looked pleased and smug, and Haliath beamed, and I suddenly understood that there was a lot more to Alvidra’s moodiness than I’d realized.

  ~+~

  CHAPTER 37

  OF CURSES AND CREATION

  I clawed my way back to full consciousness to find myself lying on wooden floorboards, my hands bound in front of me. Loud voices filled the room with strident argument. I eased my eyes open just a crack.

  “I tell you the money’s ‘ere, right in this’un.” That was a stocky man who brandished a small box at three other men and the woman from the alley. “I saw ‘im count it in with me own two eyes and I saw ‘im seal it a’fore me two eyes.”

  “Then let’s see it!” screeched the woman avidly.

  The man placed the box firmly in the centre of the table, pointing to the wax sealing it closed. “I tell ye, ‘e sealed it a’fore me eyes so ye’d know it were all there, and most particular ‘e was that t’lanky man’s throat was to be slit the moment we ‘ad ‘im out of sight. A’fore all else…”

  “I say,” said one of the other men, “we see t’money with our own two eyes a’fore we do t’throat slitting. I ain’t ‘anging for money I never seen…”

  “Aye!” shouted the others.

  The leader’s fists clenched in frustration. “It’s there, I tell ye, right in there. We dun wanna cross a man like that, I tell ye. We must slit t’throat right quick, at once, then we can count out our coin to our ‘eart’s content.”

  I bit my lip and wondered how long the argument would go on for. The leader would scarcely wish his cronies to get their hands on their share before the deed was done, or they’d all be off to spend it and he’d be left to do the hanging job himself.

  The corner of the room in which I lay was shadowed and twisting my head cautiously, I could see Ystevan’s slumped form beside me. Strands of escaped hair fell across his face, and he was clearly still unconscious. His hands had also been bound in front of him. Our kidnappers were far too busy arguing to be paying any attention, so slowly, carefully, I rolled onto my side and began to pick awkwardly at the knots that bound the he-elf’s hands.

  Raven chattered soft inquiry from my bodice.

  “Stay there, Raven,” I murmured, unheard over the din of voices. I could manage the knots myself, and I didn’t want Raven to be seen.

  “What ‘bout t’filly, anyways?” one of the men was demanding. “Worth a pretty penny, doncha think?”

  “We’ll take ‘er to ‘im, stupid,” said the leader. “Surely ‘e’ll pay for t’infurmation an we might get ‘er back to sell, after.”

  “Sell!” scoffed the woman. “Ransom, doncha mean. Seen ‘er clothes? Tha’s a fine filly, that un.”

  “Ransom, sell,” said the leader impatiently, “but we take ‘er to ‘im first an collect twice, now let’s do t’lanky fellow.”

  “Money first…”

  The conversation was, to my relief, becoming distinctly circular. The last knot came undone and I tucked the loose ends out of sight. The he-elf would surely discover the looseness of his ropes as soon as he woke up, even if I couldn’t indicate it to him in some way.

  When he woke up. I stared at him in anxious frustration. The hair fluttered slightly as he breathed, but he wasn’t so much as stirring.

  “Ystevan,” I whispered, as loudly as I dared, tapping the backs of his hands with my fingers. “Ystevan, wake up!” Wake up and get us out of this! I feared I’d boasted to Sir Allen prematurely. Even if I risked Raven’s discovery by getting her to chew through my own bonds, there was no way I could fight off four men and one woman whilst carrying an unconscious he-elf.

  “Let’s slit ‘is g’dame throat!” the leader was yelling.

  “Money first!” roared the others.

  I trembled in fear lest the leader lose patience and decide to do the deed himself. Then Ystevan’s head moved slightly and a moan crept from his lips. Hastily I raised my bound hands and clapped them over his mouth, hoping the movement would go unnoticed.

  He froze, instantly silenced. His eyes opened, gleaming through his hair for a long moment as he presumably took stock. I took my hands away and opened my own mouth to whisper that his hands were free.

  Before I could get the words out he raised his still rope-wrapped wrists up behind his head and brought them forward, the rope sliced through. Oh, I thought, in fleeting chagrin, and I was lying here wondering how I could free my own hands!

  He reached out more discreetly, hooking a single strand of my own bindings with a finger and yanking. My wrists felt like they almost came off, but the rope snapped like cotton, and I quickly and surreptitiously shook my hands free.

  Stealthily I rolled to my feet, mirroring Ystevan, who paused to snatch up his cane from nearby. He leant on it as he weaved into an upright position as though his balance was decidedly off. How badly was he hurt and how well would he be able to fight?

  Over by the table the four men were still arguing vehemently, but unobserved by them, the woman was running her fingernail through the wax seal, breaking it. Ystevan’s eyes alighted on the same sight and he swung around, grabbing me and folding me to his chest—in one single, frantic leap, he bore us through the open window.

  For a split second, over his shoulder, I saw the woman’s hand on the box lid, poised to open it, then we were plummeting towards the cobbles below and the scene was whipped from my sight.

  Uh-oh, we’d leapt from the ATTIC window...

  Ystevan landed on his feet, knees bending to take our weight. And somehow, we were safe
ly down.

  Then the screaming began. It was the most terrible screaming I had ever heard. It curdled the blood in my veins to ice and drove shards of terror into my heart. Raven shrieked and scrabbled to bury herself yet more deeply in my clothing. I pressed my ear to Ystevan’s chest, clinging tightly and covering my other ear with my hand. It didn’t do any good. The screaming was ten times worse than the screams of the man I’d once seen burned at the stake, and it seemed to hammer through me. There was no escaping it.

  Finally, there was silence. Slowly, trembling, I eased my grip on the he-elf, relinquishing the rapid but reassuring pounding of his heart under my ear and looking up at him. His face was dead white in the gathering twilight.

  “What was that?” I whispered.

  “A…curse, for want of a better human word,” he replied, his voice almost inaudible. “A curse I would not wish to try and counter whilst awake, let alone unconscious.”

  In other words, if that box had been opened whilst we were in the room, we would have shared the screamers’ fate. I shuddered involuntarily. “Are you...going back in?”

  He made to shake his head and staggered slightly. “No,” he said firmly. “I have no need to see. Let’s get out of here.”

  One arm still around me, he set off, leaning heavily on his stick for once and weaving slightly; I suspected the arm was not there entirely for my own comfort and support. I didn’t query his desire to be gone without delay, though, and I let him lean on me as much as necessary, but for all his lofty height he seemed not at all heavy by human standards.

  “That was a trap, wasn’t it?” I said under my breath as we walked. Or staggered, in his case.

  “Yes,” he answered, trying not to nod. “Perhaps if I hadn’t been distracted I wouldn’t have... I don’t know. It was only because I do not expect that from human women, you understand.”