The Outstretched Shadow ou(tom-1

by Mercedes Lackey

  "When the sands run out, I will return," the Elf announced, bowing slightly. He upended the clock, turned, and left.

  Kellen watched the sands run for a moment, then looked around. As he'd suspected, another door led through to a bathing room, enough larger than the one in the guesthouse to contain a table and chair as well. And there he received another surprise.

  There was a suit of clothes waiting for him, neatly laid out over the chair, and a pair of soft ankle-boots set beneath it. He held up the tunic curiously. It would be a good—if loose—fit. And more, it was clearly designed to be a little loose.

  Just as well, Kellen thought. He wasn't sure he was cut out for the tight-fitting clothes he'd seen the Elven men wearing—it'd be too much like going naked, and he'd never cared for the tight-fitting fashions of the City, after all. And he was just as glad to be able to get out of the clothes he'd been wearing since—well, since he and Idalia had left the Wildwood, actually. If he hurried, he'd have time for a quick bath before his guide came back to conduct him down to dinner.

  Dinner.

  For the first time that day, his thoughts returned to Idalia. Would she worry when he didn't come home? He wondered if there was some way he could call the Elven servant back, maybe send her a message…

  But he couldn't think of any, just offhand. And knowing little more about his hosts than that their very long lives were hedged about by rigid etiquette and protocol, he didn't know what would offend them.

  Idalia knew the Elves far better than he did. He'd just have to hope she'd guess that wherever he was, he wasn't in any trouble.

  He set the plug in the tub, turned the taps, and began to undress as it filled.

  A short time later, damp, dressed, and smelling faintly of flowery Elven soap, Kellen stood watching the last of the sands run out. He'd folded his trail-clothes as neatly as possible and left them on the chair. He could come back for them later.

  Although, if these were the sort of things he was supposed to be wearing around here, he really didn't want those old clothes!

  KELLEN had been stuck with attending more than a few formal banquets at his father's house, and deep down inside, he'd been expecting and dreading that this would be more of the same: a lot of people he didn't know, a lot of boring conversation about things he didn't care about, and too much really unpleasant food to try to figure out how to eat while he worried about his table manners.

  Dinner at the Queen's Palace was nothing like that.

  There probably was a grand formal dining room for state occasions here somewhere, but Kellen didn't see it that night. The four of them (the Elf woman that Kellen supposed was Sandalon's nurse, Lairamo, ate with them) sat together at a comfortable unpretentious table in a room whose enormous, leaded-glass windows were open to the first breath of evening. The walls were inlaid wood, carved to mimic the living forest, and done with such attention to detail that it was hard to tell in the mellow, dusky twilight where the forest he could see outside the windows ended and the carved forest on the walls began. Lanterns hung from the carven tree branches, casting a soft golden light over the table.

  The tableware was simple as well, plain silver with sinuous curves— but jewel-encrusted gold would be vulgar, Kellen realized. The plates and cups they ate from were Elvenware, but a form of it that make the examples that he'd seen in the City—and the pieces in his and Idalia's house—look as if they were made out of mud. The pieces on the Queen's table were so light and glowing they looked almost ready to float away, and Kellen was nearly afraid to touch them.

  The food was wonderful as well—simple and fresh, with an emphasis on perfectly ripe vegetables and fruits, wonderful breads, savory meat. There were no cleverly disguised, complicated dishes, no culinary oddities. You didn't have to guess at what it was, or how to eat it, either. Kellen found himself starting to relax, as Ashaniel led the conversation into safe easy topics that centered around Sandalon's day and how he'd spent it. The Queen obviously adored her son, and Sandalon was both young enough to think everyone should find Kellen as fascinating as he did and naive enough to be unaware that describing someone in the manner of a new menagerie animal might be less than flattering. More than once, Kellen caught Ashaniel suppressing a fond parental smile.

  But the smiles quickly faded, and Kellen realized that Ashaniel had a lot more on her mind than being kind to her son's new friend. The Queen was worried about something—badly worried, if even Kellen could pick up on it—and doing her best to hide it.

  The last course was raspberries served in frozen cream, accompanied by tiny cups of a dark sweet wine for the adults, and a large mug of berry-cider for Sandalon. The child lingered over his drink, unwilling to finish it, until at last Ashaniel regarded him sternly.

  "It is time for you to seek your bed, my young son," she said in a voice that brooked no argument. "I do not think our friend Kellen plans to leave us soon, so you need not fear he will be gone before you wake again. And it is time for you to sleep."

  Sandalon looked just as rebellious as any other youngster at being told to go to bed, but he promptly drained his mug and got to his feet. It was obvious that however defiant he might feel, he would behave obediently. Everyone stood, and Sandalon bowed—first to his mother, then to Kellen—before allowing himself to be led off by his nurse.

  "Will you come and see me tomorrow?" Sandalon asked, stopping at the doorway and looking over his shoulder.

  Oh, bless the little fellow — Sandalon sounded positively mournful!

  There was a sudden wariness in the air, and Kellen realized both women were looking at him intently, though he didn't know why.

  "I will," Kellen promised. "Or you can come and see me. I had a good time today with you!"

  Sandalon beamed, and the momentary tension Kellen had sensed disappeared. "I will!" the boy promised. "Thank you!"

  "He is very young," the Queen said apologetically, when Lairamo had led her son away. "And—often lonely."

  Now what was that all about? Kellen wondered. Surely they weren't afraid that I'd reject the kid? He'd spent far too many lonely hours as a child himself to do anything of the sort! And how he would have loved having an older boy to look up to and have as a mentor!

  "I suppose I should be getting home," Kellen said when Ashaniel didn't say anything more.

  "Stay a while, if you would. I would talk with you for a few moments," she said.

  The bald statement rather startled Kellen—it was the first time today an Elf had ever been that direct. Perhaps because she was the Queen, she felt she could afford to go straight to the heart of the matter.

  She gestured to Kellen to follow her, and led him out of the dining salon through another door than the one Sandalon and his nurse had used.

  As far as Kellen could tell after all the twists and turns, the room they ended up in was directly beneath the glass room Sandalon had brought him to earlier. Here lamps were lit against the darkness, and a small fire burned in an elegant stove made of the same translucent Elvenware they'd eaten their dinners from. It was built to suggest a phoenix rising from flames, and the flickering of the real flames within gave the tile flames an eerie semblance of life.

  The room was small and intimate, a room for private councils. Ashaniel motioned for Kellen to close the door behind them, and sank gracefully down into one of the chairs, gesturing to Kellen to take the other. There was a small table between them, with a tall green and silver decanter and two cups. She poured them both full and handed one to him.

  Kellen sipped cautiously, tasting apricots and cinnamon, but no alcohol.

  "I beg that you will forgive my rudeness, but I am desperate," Ashaniel said. "You have named yourself Kellen Tavadon. I have heard of another who once bore the name Tavadon, who has lately been a guest in our lands."

  Ashaniel waited, looking at him.

  Elves don't ask questions. He didn't know where the unexpected intuition came from, but Kellen suddenly realized it was true. He hadn't heard a di
rect question from anyone here today but Sandalon—and hadn't Idalia said that children were exempt from the Elven code of etiquette?

  "You mean my sister Idalia." He hoped she meant Idalia. It was all so difficult trying to maneuver around this Elven reticence—

  Well, Idalia had said that humans weren't expected to know the rules. He took his courage in both hands and plunged in. "Your Majesty— Ashaniel—I'm sorry. I'll be happy to tell you just about anything I know, but you're just going to have to ask me. I don't want to be rude, but—" He gestured helplessly. "I'm not very bright, I'm afraid, and I just can't manage to make out what you want to know if you won't ask me directly."

  "It was I who did not wish to offend," Ashaniel said, looking uneasy, yet relieved. "I do not wish you to feel unwelcome here, or to hold yourself treated as a criminal or one without family."

  "I won't," Kellen assured her. "But I know… I think I know there's some kind of trouble here. There are things you want to know. And everything will go a lot faster if you just ask."

  " 'Ask.'" Ashaniel set her cup back on the table, regarding him gravely. She folded her hands in her lap, as if preparing herself to play a difficult game. Perhaps, for an Elf, it was. Perhaps, because they lived for such a very long time, speaking directly and asking questions was as difficult as mastering an auctioneer's rapid-fire patter.

  "Is your sister Idalia with you?" the Queen asked.

  "Yes," Kellen answered. "We both had to flee the Wildwood; we left just ahead of a Scouring Hunt. She's staying with me at the guest house."

  "Is it true that she has come here at last to live?" Ashaniel seemed to be choosing her words as if this were a riddle game that required absolute precision.

  "Yes. I mean, I think—" But he got no further.

  "Holy Stars be thanked!" Ashaniel gasped, bending forward and covering her face with her hands. He could see the golden leaves in her dark hair tremble with the force of her suppressed emotion.

  Kellen would have been less shocked to see a stone statue get up and walk—after all, in Armethalieh, he'd seen that happen many times. Ashaniel had seemed so remote, so untouched. He'd seen at dinner that she was worried, but this was more than worry. Under that serene exterior had been nothing less than panic. Maybe there still was—but for some reason, these people thought that Idalia held an answer to their problem. The only answer, perhaps.

  "We are in desperate trouble, Kellen," Ashaniel said simply, raising her head and composing her features once more. "I do not know what to do. My husband, Andoreniel Caerthalien, has been away for moonturns, searching for a solution to our plight, but this very day I have had a message from him: he has found no answer."

  She rose to her feet, and turned away to gaze out through the darkened windows.

  "You have seen the state of the land as you rode through it on your way here. The land is starved for water. There has been no rain. The drought has gone on since the spring, and nothing we can do will break it. Our magics are very small: long, long ago, we surrendered all our part in the Great Magics to the Gods of Leaf and Star in exchange for long life and peace, and now, what power we retain is not enough to save the land we hold and love."

  It sounded to Kellen as if she were talking about a pact of the Wild Magic—paying a price in exchange for a boon. Did that mean Elves had been human once? Did it mean humans had made a bargain like that with the Gods—or that they'd had a chance to make a bargain and hadn't, and so kept their ability to do magic?

  But Ashaniel was still speaking.

  "I do mean save it, for I fear, Kellen, that the land is dying, and if it dies, there will be no reviving it. We have only just been able to keep the forest and fields near Sentarshadeen and our own herds and flocks alive by carrying water from the five springs to the fields, and to the roots of each tree in the Flower Forest, but if a wildfire should start in the arid lands beyond our home forest, there will be no stopping it before all—the woods, the home forest, our city—is destroyed."

  She was right, Kellen knew, nodding in agreement. Back in the Wild-wood, he'd seen the damage a flash-fire could cause even in a normal well-watered forest. And no matter how much water the Elves had carried to their home woods, if Sentarshadeen was surrounded by a million acres of burning forest, it just wouldn't make any difference. And winter was coming, and winter meant storms. He thought of the dryad's lightning-struck tree back in the Wildwood, and what would have happened if the Wild-wood had been as tinder-dry as the country he and Idalia had ridden through for the last sennight. And even without a lightning storm, high wind could bring disaster, if it carried a spark from a cook-fire or lantern into dry grass.

  "I can only hope—when Idalia hears of how it stands with Sentar-shadeen—that she can—that she will—help us," Ashaniel finished brokenly.

  "I can't promise that she can help," Kellen said carefully. "I can promise that I'll talk to her and tell her what's going on. And that we'll try."

  He thought back on Idalia's careful nurturing of the Wildwood, of all the things they'd done there, and not always because it was a part of a price. He couldn't imagine Idalia not wanting to help, even if she weren't living here. And she was living here—they both were.

  And that might make things even worse.

  If some of the drought-dry woods were on the other side of the border—the side of the border claimed by Armethalieh…

  Was the High Council foolish enough—mad enough—to try to bum them out if they knew they were here? Did they know about the drought?

  "We'll do everything we can," Kellen said simply. "So tell me as much as you can about the situation, would you? Just when did you know there was something wrong?"

  The Queen leaned forward earnestly, and began.

  A servant escorted Kellen to the door of the House of Leaf and Star, and bowed politely as he left. On consideration, Kellen wasn't entirely certain it had been a servant—Queens ought to have servants, but Ashaniel wasn't anything like Kellen had expected a Queen to be, except that he was already sure he was half in love with her. Certainly Sentarshadeen was nothing like Armethalieh at all.

  Though the sun was long set by now, the way before him was not dark. Lanterns and torches were placed at frequent intervals along the path to light his way—though Kellen was relieved to see, after his conversation with the Queen, that all of them were completely enclosed, to keep any stray spark from flying out. Then again—these were Elves, who seemed constitutionally incapable of doing anything without thinking about it for a very long time. Maybe they'd always done things this way.

  More lanterns stretched off into the distance, dwindling into sparks that seemed to hang suspended in space like a cloud of multicolored fireflies. For one dizzying moment the meadow before him seemed to change places with the heavens above, and Kellen could imagine himself walking through a field of softly glowing stars, shining not with the cold blue-white radiance of the night sky, but in all the pale beautiful colors of spring.

  Many of the lanterns that he saw had walls of colored glass—blue and pink and green and yellow, and even, here and there, a surprising pale violet. Some were even inset with mirrors, so they sparkled and flashed like fireworks as he passed them, while others were filled with reservoirs of perfumed oil, making the night smell as sweet as a garden at noon. No two of the Elven lanterns were alike, Kellen discovered. Some were topped with whirligigs that flashed and spun from the heat within; others had softly chiming bells attached. Every lantern he saw was different, each one a work of high art, worthy to grace a museum or a palace.

  He retraced his steps toward the former guesthouse, taking his time. If Sentarshadeen had been beautiful by day, it was completely enchanting by night. It was difficult to believe that none of this was accomplished by magic, but he saw—and sensed—no hint of magic at all.

  It was very strange. Armethalieh was a city filled with magic—yet it was entirely ordinary, even prosaic—and the High Council toiled day and night to keep it that way. Sentarshade
en had very little magic about it, yet it was the most magical city Kellen had ever seen, a place of enchantment and wonder.

  Several times as he made his way home Kellen saw Elves tending the lanterns nearest their doors. Apparently it was each householder's responsibility to take care of the lanterns nearest their own homes, and he hoped someone was doing it at his and Idalia's house.

  When he reached home at last, he was pleased to see that they had: two large golden lanterns in the shape of summer squash hung outside their door, glowing a deep rich gold. Light spilled through the windows of the common room, and through the clear glass panels inset into the door.

  Kellen opened the door and stepped inside.