by Greg Curtis
To make it worse it seemed that neither of them knew how to broach the matter, for fear of embarrassing the other, while Yorik's pitiful language skills added an extra barrier. Genivere spoke both perfect New Vinnish and trade as well as Elvish, but to know her heart truly, he knew he'd have to speak to her in her own tongue. That day would be a long way off. After two months of struggling with the elves' musical dialect, he was almost ready to admit defeat.
“Lying down already when you should be practising! I thought you paladins were supposed to be tough. This does not fill me with confidence!”
Yorik looked up to see the face of Master Ranger Ascollia staring back down at him, a typically wry grin on his face. At least he was one elf who never seemed to have any problems with him. If anything it was the other way around as Ascollia constantly told him off for doing and saying stupid things. But Yorik welcomed that. His humour had become more obvious as time had passed, and Yorik was well on the way to considering him a good friend. The creator knew he needed one.
“I thought you knew. We paladins are so gifted we don't need to practice!”
Yorik got to his feet knowing there would be a reason why Ascollia was coming to see him, and in this city it surely involved a lot of walking.
“I've seen your skill with the longbow. Trust the Lady, you need to practice!” They both laughed.
“True. Where am I needed now brother?”
It was odd how easily the word came from his lips. Once he would have reserved ‘brother' only for his comrades in arms in the Order, and yet, when he thought about it, he still was. It was just that the Order of the Lady had suddenly grown, so that now he had elven brothers and sisters.
Sisters! That was a shock.
Many of their clerics were women but the paladins admitted no women to their ranks. Even if the women could have carried the armour and borne the weapons the thought of women in combat was an anathema. It was far from chivalrous and no order, not even the unconventional Silver Order, could have accepted it. But the rangers freely accepted women among their number and that included the rangers of the Order. So now he had sisters on the field of battle. Using the title would remain an uncomfortable utterance for some time to come.
Of course it didn't stop there. There were many other titles for them to trip over. Elven wizards used the title of master, so he was getting used to the appellation while the elves in turn were learning to use 'father' and 'mother' for the senior clerics and 'commander' for the head paladins. Brother in the end, was one title he understood.
“At the Council Chambers. I believe the elders have some more questions for you.”
That caused Yorik's eyebrows to rise, not least because he didn't quite know who these elders might be. The elves used the term almost universally for master wizards, council members, leading scholars, master artisans and so on. But none of those would surely summon him, or at least not alone, and so he had to assume a few leaders of the Order were there as well. And they had more questions for him?
They hadn't so much as gone near him in a month and a half or more, making him wonder if anything he'd said that day had been of any interest at all to them. Not that he'd minded, having spent many long days doing little more than sleeping, training and recovering his fitness. Now all of a sudden they wanted to see him.
He started across the field, heading towards what he thought was the centre of the city – he kept getting turned around in Hammeral – Ascollia by his side. And with every step he wondered what further questions they could possibly have for him. He had told them everything he knew three or four times over and he'd assumed they'd accepted his report from the fact that they hadn't returned to ask any more questions.
On the way there he took his mind off his questions by asking about Ascollia's family instead. The ranger had a wife and two very young children, both of whom were precocious even by human standards, and forever getting themselves into trouble. So much so that Ascollia swore his silver hair was already turning white. The previous day they'd managed to break a window in a neighbour's house as a result of an ill thrown ball, and so Ascollia had spent an evening apologising and arranging with the glass smiths for a replacement as soon as possible, while his wife Leanelle had tried to explain to the children yet again, about playing safely.
It made for an enjoyable trip as he listened to the rest of Ascollia's latest tale of woe. Apparently the new window hadn't been quite to size and he'd had to spend yet more time apologising as the carpenters shaped the window to fit. Reading between the lines, Yorik would have guessed his neighbours wouldn't have been that upset. They had lived nearby for years, and surely knew the children's penchant for causing trouble. But Ascollia wasn't able to accept such a thing. To him his children's actions were entirely unforgivable and he was mortified by them, as he surely had been a hundred times before and would be a hundred times more.
Too soon though, they arrived at the Council Chambers and Yorik had to concentrate on weightier concerns.
The chambers were an architectural masterpiece, even for the elves. An impossible dream given form. It was a circular hall as large as any other he'd ever seen and as with everything the elves built, lavished with the artist's touch. But beyond that the building was unique in that it was completely suspended on ropes and branches between half a dozen of the great redwoods. It was actually possible to walk and even to ride, beneath the structure. Even when it held up to five hundred people, so he was told. But words didn't begin to explain the impossibility of it all.
The first time he'd seen it, he'd walked right around it at least a dozen times and then underneath it, trying to work out how such a massive structure could be held off the ground at all. The ropes that formed the lattice under its base were each as thick as a man's body, but against the sheer size of the Council Chamber itself, they were only strands of hair. And then, even if you could somehow work out how they could support the chamber, there was the very real question of how they'd gotten the building up onto the rope web in the first place, for it was as far as he could tell, one piece.
Of course that was an illusion. A mistake of time. He'd asked when he'd first seen it and been told the answer. He just wasn't quite sure he could believe it. The ropes had been placed first, woven into a web that lay on the ground, and the ends tied around the bases of the trees that were specifically grown for the task. Then, while the trees had grown and the ropes had little by little been raised up by them, the huge structure had been built on top of them. It had taken over a century to build the Council Chambers and another for it to be lifted twenty or thirty feet into the air.
A century to build a building? That was unheard of. And yet he could think of no other way it could have been done. And madness or not the results were amazing.
Being suspended off the ground by a lattice work of ropes was only the beginning of the artistry and the magic that had gone into it.
Whoever had built the chambers had gone to a lot of trouble to make them both beautiful and yet at the same time allowed them to merge almost seamlessly with the rest of the forest. Thus like all elven buildings they were made of beautifully carved and polished wood, except that the bottom ten feet or so were covered in bark, while the staircases leading down to the ground were shaped as roots. Higher up the polished wood sides began curving into an elongated twisting spire like that of a temple. But unlike any other spire he'd ever seen, this one had no cross, no elegantly designed symbol. Instead its point tapered and twisted as though it was a living tree, and right at the very top, impossible or otherwise, new branches and leaves sprouted.
According to Ascollia they were a symbol; a sign that this was an elven city and that the elves would always be there to protect the forests. Should those leaves ever brown or die, it would be a grave day for Hammeral. A sign that the end was nearing.
For all the world the chambers looked like the trunk of a gigantic tree. It was easily a hundred yards across and looked like some unimaginably large gardener had
somehow lifted it out of the ground and trimmed it into a twisted point at the top. He had then drilled a few windows in and twisted everything above the bottom missing twenty feet or so into a towering elegant spire.
While previously whenever he'd passed the chambers he had had to stop, overcome with awe by their design, this time he didn’t as he was more concerned with who waited inside for him than the building itself. A concern that was made worse by the sight of the guards at the entrances. Normally the chambers were deserted, freely available for anyone to walk through or under and enjoy. But guards on the gates meant one thing; Council was in session. Ascollia had been perfectly right when he said the elders wanted to speak with him. Apparently it was the Council elders.
Taking a deep breath to steady his nerves, Yorik approached the nearest entrance and the two guards with their silver halberds. It was a strange weapon for an elf to bear, but also rather intimidating.
“I am Yorik, son of Heric. Paladin of the Order of the Lady. I was sent for.”
It was apparently enough for the two guards as with a well practised flourish of their weapons they stepped aside, allowing him entry to the tunnel. But only him. Yorik turned back on the first step to see Ascollia standing patiently with the guards. He made no move to follow and Yorik realised that apparently his presence was not required inside.
Yorik nodded his good bye and started ascending the staircase in the tunnel, heading for the chamber itself high above. Even the staircase was a master work of carving. The stairs bent and flowed with the shape of the root – as if that was what it truly was – through which they rose. Yet never did they seem uneven or too wide. The light in the tunnel came from glass windows that had been carefully cut into the roof, which allowed him to see the blue sky above, while at night he guessed, the torches attached into the rounded walls would be lit.
It was a surprisingly long climb. From a distance, because of the sheer width of the chambers, the stair case looked to be only a single story high. But close up, once he'd realised he could easily ride underneath it with lance held upright, he knew that single staircase had to be at least three or four normal stories high.
At the top of the stairs he was met by the sight of two more guards. What exactly they were guarding against he couldn't begin to imagine, but it was obvious that whatever or whoever lay inside the chambers was very precious indeed to the elves.
Introducing himself once more, the guards immediately stood aside to let him through into an antechamber of some sort. A smaller rounded room that clearly served only as a waiting room for guests waiting to be shown in. All around the walls lay carved ornate benches and chairs which seemed to somehow grow out of them, almost as though the entire inside of the tree had been hollowed out and carved exactly as it looked. Perhaps it had. But who could carve such a thing?
The light in the antechamber came from a series of windows, each perhaps only three feet wide but at least sixteen high. They too continued the theme of the tree and the city. Many of them had stained and etched glass pictures in them of the tree itself in all its glory, towering above the other great trees in the forest as though they were but grass. The tree as it surely was meant to be.
Two more sets of double doors lay ahead of him, again with pairs of guards and their silver halberds keeping watch, and behind them he guessed was the chamber itself. But for once that wasn't what captured his notice. Instead, on one of the ornate benches beside the guards sat a group of elders, two of whom he knew well. One was Myral, master wizard and not so long ago a tree himself, while the other was Annalisse Brial Lon as she insisted on being called. The only elf he'd met so far who used her full name, even when having just been rescued from bandits. Both appeared to be waiting for him. Was he to be guided in? Or was this as far as he needed to go? Were these the elders that had summoned him?
Taking a deep breath, partly because of having climbed so many steps in full armour, Yorik walked over to them.
“Greetings Elders.”
He thought it best to be polite, especially when he had no idea what awaited him. These two might not be the leaders of his Chapter, those who would have the authority to send him on a mission, but then those same leaders, and their leaders in turn, the heads of the Order of the Lady itself, seemed to bow to them. It behoved him to do likewise.
“And greetings to you as well young Yorik. It seems you've become quite loose of tongue since first we met.”
Annalisse's sarcasm wasn't lost on him, nor the fact that she was obviously right and he had perhaps been rude to her when he'd first rescued her and her family. But there was a smile dancing in her eyes, and he knew she wasn't upset. At least not seriously so.
“My apologies Elder. My earlier behaviour was unacceptable and boorish and I deeply regret it.”
He could have made excuses but it would have been foolish. Elves generally didn't like them, and in any case, these two surely knew all that had befallen him. Everyone else seemed to. Even among the elves. This was a place where he had no secrets.
“And quite humble too, since you first disturbed my rest.”
Myral seemed to be enjoying the same joke as he also threw in his two coppers. But at least Yorik could understand him. The ancient wizard was becoming much more fluent in modern Elvish and his accent was at least a little less thick. Yorik bowed to him in apology as well, though in truth it hadn't been he who'd woken him and they both knew it. It must have been some sort of signal as both elves burst into laughter in front of him while he stood there wondering. These were elders? They acted sometimes more like children. In time though their hysterics passed.
“Well child? It is good to see you again, but I do think you're expected inside. Best not to keep the Council waiting. They're not so tolerant as us.”
“You didn't send for me?”
But of course she had already answered that question for him; he was just too slow to understand.
“Of course not. We're not on the Council. We're not even allowed in the Council chambers, so instead we sit outside and let our agents speak for us.”
And intimidate wounded paladins, Yorik thought but somehow he kept his mouth shut and didn't make that comment. Besides, he was curious.
“You're not allowed inside, even though you are both Elders?”
Somehow he couldn't bring himself to believe that the Council which was open to all elves would not allow two of their most respected elders inside, though there were many equally strange customs he was discovering during his time here.
“No child. Did your teachers tell you nothing of our customs? Not since the times of the first saplings have spirit magic users been allowed in the Council chambers. Our magic might give us an undue influence over the other elders. So instead we sit outside and wait while others speak for us. And sometimes, if we're lucky, we can hear a tiny portion of what goes on inside, and hope that our case is being heard.”
Reading between the lines Yorik would have said that the elder was a little frustrated by the situation. She had something to say and she wanted to say it. But he could understand the reason for the spellcasters' exclusion. Many human courts had similar rules for those whose magic encompassed the realm of thought. He just hadn't realised that either of these two were in that group. Annalisse was a foreteller so he'd been told and Myral seemed to be some sort of wizard of nature.
“Indeed I did not know that Elders and I thank you for the lesson. But I must go in now and leave you.”
He bowed once more to the two of them as he could see them about to burst into laughter once more at his display of manners, before walking quickly over to the guards and the huge double doors that surely led to the chambers themselves.
“I am Yorik, son of Heric. Paladin of the Order of the Lady. I was sent for.”
Yorik introduced himself again and as a reward watched the guards straighten their silver halberds and step aside allowing him entrance.
The huge double doors opened surprisingly easily at his touch, sugges
ting that the hinges had been well oiled, and he stepped through them into the chamber itself. Whereupon he stopped in awe at the back of the chamber.
Inside, the Council chamber was even larger than he'd expected; much larger. It had to be nearly a hundred paces across. The walls were formed from the perfect wood of the tree, and the ceiling spired upwards like that of a cathedral until it was lost in the darkness somewhere above the torches.
At the far end he could see the seats of the Council itself, surely twenty or thirty chairs laid out in a semi-circle facing him, and every one of them filled by an elder, all seemingly staring at him. In front of them, facing the elders, were another two rows of seats also arranged in a semi-circle. These were the seats for appellants and respected guests, and they too were full. But they were filled with a sea of gold, and he quickly realised that this was where the leaders of the Order both elven and human had been spending their days. And closer to him again were the seats for the audience, for like most human courts, public attendance was welcome at hearings so that all could hear the decisions. This audience though could number in the hundreds – perhaps a great many hundreds – and all in a tree trunk supported off the ground by gigantic ropes. It was almost too much for him to accept.