by William King
‘I can remember when that place was only the size of a fishing village,’ said Karaya. ‘Now they say there are almost as many humans living there as there are elves in the city. It will not be long before we are outnumbered in our own land.’
‘The humans breed quickly.’
‘It is not just that. More and more of them come here every year, seeking to trade. They bring us their goods. They buy our wares and the goods our ships bring in from the far corners of the world.’
‘What could they sell us that we could possibly want?’ Tyrion asked.
‘They bring dwarf-made clockworks from the Worlds Edge Mountains. The dwarfs still refuse to trade with us directly. They bring gold and silver and gems that cannot be found here on Ulthuan. They bring ores and wool and tobacco. They bring preserved meats and grains and books of lore.’ She seemed to be working her way through a long list.
Tyrion laughed. ‘I believe you. I had not thought there were so many things they had that we could want.’
‘I can tell you come from the old kingdoms of Ulthuan, Prince Tyrion. No one from Lothern could possibly think that way.’
In the early dusk, the ship glided towards an enormous warehouse over which the Emeraldsea flag fluttered, propelled by a gentle magical breeze Lady Malene had conjured. The crew dropped anchor. Guards in house colours waved to the arriving sailors.
Gangplanks were run down from the side and longshoremen with hooked staves and hooked knives ran aboard when given permission. The ship’s captain bowed to Lady Malene. The horses of Korhien’s guard were raised from the hold using levered cranes and dropped kicking onto the pier. Their riders stood nearby waiting to gentle them with words and softly spoken charms. Korhien observed the whole operation with satisfaction. Tyrion noticed that others watched from nearby, and ran off when they saw him watching.
‘What was that about?’ he asked.
‘All of the houses spy on each other. The watchers saw Lady Malene and you and ran off to report to their masters.’
‘What possible consequence could our appearance here have?’ Tyrion asked.
‘Twins of the Blood of Aenarion? It could have incalculable consequences. Who knows what gifts you might possess or what importance you may have in the future?’ He seemed to be talking as much to himself as Tyrion and he looked very thoughtful. ‘Also Lady Malene and myself are both personages of some consequence in the city, believe it or not.’
Tyrion smiled at the big warrior. ‘That I can believe.’
He turned around looking for Karaya to say goodbye, but she was already gone, without taking leave, after the manner of elf maids and strangers they met a-journeying.
They took the road from the docks, joining the evening traffic making its way into the great city. They rode alongside wagons full of silk bales, and fish on ice, and piled high with fruit. They passed vendors selling everything from snacks to bits of jewellery.
The escort bantered with passing traders, purchasing bits of fruit to eat. A fresh-faced elf maid offered Tyrion a peach, causing the warriors to whistle knowingly. Tyrion accepted with all the good grace he could muster and fumbled for his purse.
‘A gift,’ said the girl, touching his hand gently. Tyrion was glad, for he had no money to offer her anyway.
The inner gates of the city lay ahead. Soldiers in the tabards of the Sea Guard of Lothern watched them enter. It was obvious from their manner that they knew most of the elves coming in, and were known by them in turn. Their easy manner altered perceptibly as the group rode up and Korhien’s white lionskin cloak became visible. They stood taller, looked sterner, and saluted smartly. The White Lion responded in kind.
It occurred to Tyrion then that there was being known and being known. The guards knew who Korhien was in a different way from the friendly manner in which they acknowledged the local traders.
The White Lion was obviously an elf of some consequence. It was only natural, he supposed; Korhien was one of the Phoenix King’s elite guard. It was more than that though – people looked at him with awe and his name was whispered among strangers as they passed along. It had never occurred to him that Korhien was famous.
He wondered if Malene or any of the others were too but got no hint of it from the demeanour of the people around them. He noticed that he was coming in for a lot of attention as well, then he realised it was his resemblance to that statue in the harbour that was the cause of the attention. He wondered if ever he would be judged here for himself.
They rode beyond the inner walls. Immediately there was a sense of age and beauty. Lampposts lit by incandescent magic kept the night at bay. Long streets wound up tree-clad hills. Many flights of stairs ran up the steeper slopes. There were palaces with towers and spiked minarets. There were fountains everywhere. It seemed like a legion of sculptors had been kept busy for many ages of the world beautifying the city. There were statues of mages and warriors and kings, as well as people he did not recognise but guessed were lawmakers and orators and poets. He pointed out these wonders to his brother; stone worked to look life-like, auras of glamour and ancient warding sorceries protecting the work from the ravages of time and weather.
‘It’s amazing,’ he told Teclis, as they passed a row of towering warriors garbed like Korhien. ‘Just think of the work that went into this.’
‘Think of the ego and the pride,’ said his twin.
‘What do you mean?’
‘You don’t think these were put up just to beautify the streets, do you?’
‘What other purpose could they have?’
‘Your brother is right, doorkeeper,’ said Korhien riding up beside them. ‘These statues and fountains were all put up for political reasons. They represent the power and the wealth of the people who paid to have them created. They praise the ancestors of those people, or in many cases the living elves themselves.’
Tyrion laughed.
‘I am serious, doorkeeper. Politics is a serious business in Lothern, although you are right to laugh at it. Every one of the statues on the pedestals on the roof of that palace represents a glorious ancestor of the occupants. It reminds the mass of the citizens of the power and greatness of the family, just in case its members have not performed any worthy deeds lately.’
Teclis squinted at Korhien with something like respect. He obviously had never expected to hear such words coming from the White Lion’s mouth.
‘Not everyone who wields a blade is brainless, Prince Teclis,’ said Korhien with the elaborate courtesy with which he always treated Teclis and which Tyrion suspected concealed a genial contempt. ‘You will soon find that out in this place. You will need to, if you are to live and prosper here.’
‘I would settle just for living at the moment,’ said Teclis. ‘This odious beast has half-killed me on the ride.’
‘Not much further, prince,’ said Korhien. ‘Soon you will have a bed for the night. In the bosom of your loving family.’
There was a subtle irony in his tone that Tyrion could see Teclis appreciated.
‘Where do you come from, Lord Korhien?’ Teclis asked. There was an edge to his voice but he was curious too.
‘I was born in a barn in the mountains. My father was a freeholder. My mother was the local archery champion. No ancient high blood there, I am afraid. Well, no more than any other elf.’
‘You are allied to Emeraldsea though, aren’t you?’
‘I am allied to Lady Malene,’ said Korhien with a wink. ‘She is my only entanglement with House Emeraldsea. My loyalty is to the Phoenix King. As is only right for an elf of my position.’
Why was there tension between the two of them, Tyrion wondered? Perhaps his twin sensed a rival for his loyalty. Tyrion had never looked at the matter in that light before. Perhaps Teclis feared being abandoned in this vast city with its palm trees and roof gardens and endless streets full of echoing, half-empty palaces.
Now they were away from the gates, the crowd had thinned out and the streets seemed much emptier.
Some of the houses, not too far from the main thoroughfare, had patched and crumbling roofs. Some of the people who gazed at them out of half-shuttered windows had a lean and hungry look to them, although as far as Tyrion knew there was no hunger or famine in Ulthuan.
What then could they be? Were they diseased? Was it true that some of the human plagues could jump to elves? He had heard some of the mountain villagers claim such things, that humans should never have been allowed into Lothern, and should be sent packing back to their homelands.
For himself, Tyrion was curious to see one of the semi-legendary savages. He knew he would find the opportunity soon. They were mostly associated with the dark elves who kept them as slaves and occasionally allied with their daemon-worshipping medicine men. As he had seen, many of them lurked down by the harbour, living in the area of land set aside for them and quarantined from the rest of the city. He found himself unwholesomely curious about them.
They turned a corner and entered a massive plaza. On one side of the square was a huge mansion, made from green-tinged stone, topped with emerald towers. Flags with the emblem of a mighty elf warship on them fluttered above the entrance. Gigantic lanterns set atop corner towers lit the entire street with a green-tinted light.
‘You’re home,’ said Korhien. ‘This is the Emeraldsea Palace.’
Tyrion felt overwhelmed by awe. The building was on the scale that he had imagined a city would be built. It looked large enough to house the population of an elven town, and unlike many of the surrounding buildings it did not seem deserted. Small armies of people seemed to come and go from it. Korhien caught his look.
He rubbed thumb and forefinger together. ‘Lothern is built on the wealth of its merchants. House Emeraldsea is one of the wealthiest of the merchant houses.’
He rode closer and spoke so quietly that Tyrion was not sure he caught the actual words, ‘And the most hated.’
Tyrion knew better than to ask about that now. He resolved that he would have some questions for Korhien later.
CHAPTER TEN
When they passed through the great gates of the House they entered a different world. Green paper-lanterns hung everywhere, illuminating a courtyard that contained a pool the size of a small lake. In that pool were fountains carved in the shape of dolphins and sea-drakes and other legendary creatures of the ocean. Around the courtyard, the mansion rose a full five storeys high.
Retainers in the livery of the House went about their business. Richly dressed elves strolled around discussing tonnages and rates of interest and market prices. Even though the hour was getting late, they conducted business with the intensity of farmers haggling over sheep at a morning market.
Tyrion had no idea what was meant. For all he knew these serious-looking elves could be discussing magic spells. Some of them paid attention to him, particularly the women. They stared quite openly. He smiled and was smiled at in response. The male elves noticing this sometimes glared, sometimes smiled knowingly.
‘I see you are going to be popular,’ said Lady Malene, riding close to him.
‘What makes you think that?’ he asked, although he already knew the answer.
‘I think you’ll find out for yourself soon enough,’ she said. ‘For the moment, let me enjoy your country-born innocence. I am sure the ladies here will.’
He was conscious of the fact that elf girls in Cothique considered him good-looking, but there was very little to compare himself to: his father, Teclis and the uncouth villagers. But he lacked the sophistication and polish of these city-bred elves. He was not nearly so well-dressed or so well-groomed. It had never occurred to him that the mere fact that he looked different might be considered a point of attraction, not a strike against him. It was something to bear in mind.
Live and learn he told himself. If he was going to survive and thrive here, he was going to have to, and he saw no reason not to enjoy himself at the same time.
Retainers helped the riders dismount, and led away their horses to the stables. The warriors who had escorted them noticed acquaintances around them and shouted greetings and went their separate ways. Soon, only Tyrion and Teclis, and Lady Malene and Korhien were left, standing together in a small group near one of the fountains.
Korhien looked around at them. He smiled broadly. ‘I must go soon and present myself to Finubar. He will want to know I have returned.’ He leaned forward and kissed Malene. He stretched out his hand and clasped Tyrion’s arm just below the elbow. Tyrion returned the gesture. He was surprised. It was the grip that warriors used for comrades and for friends. He bowed to Teclis and then turned and strode away.
Tyrion paused for a moment and considered what had just been said. He had known Korhien was a White Lion, but it was one thing knowing that and another hearing him speak so casually of reporting to Finubar. Tyrion wondered what he was going to tell the Phoenix King about himself and Teclis.
From under the arched walkway at the west end of the palace, Tyrion noticed a small group of extremely well-dressed young elves were studying him. They wore the long loose robes favoured by the upper class at leisure, all trimmed with silk and gold.
They were attempting to look nonchalant but he sensed that they were more interested in him and his brother than they would have cared to admit. He smiled easily and waved at them. They did not wave back. He laughed, honestly not caring, and noticed that Lady Malene was watching him from the corner of her eye. A young elf girl in the tunic of a retainer approached. The girl looked at Tyrion as if seeing a god.
‘Yes, indeed,’ Malene said. ‘You will get on very well here.’
The girl whispered something to her. She looked suddenly a lot more serious. ‘Your grandfather will see you now,’ she said. ‘You would do well to watch your manners around him. He is not as tolerant as I am.’
‘Welcome to my home,’ said Lord Emeraldsea. He did not look very welcoming, Tyrion thought. He looked as if he were inspecting a couple of very dubious cargoes he was considering investing in.
‘Thank you for having us here,’ said Tyrion, with all the politeness he could manage. Teclis murmured something inaudible.
Lord Emeraldsea sat at a huge desk piled high with documents awaiting his inspection and signature. His study was on the topmost floor of the house. Out of his window, he had a fine view of the harbour below. His balcony held a bronze telescope on a metal tripod. Tyrion guessed he took a proprietorial interest in the ships arriving in the harbour.
Lord Emeraldsea was tall and thin and quite the oldest elf that Tyrion could ever remember seeing. Blue veins were visible in the ancient hands that toyed with a small set of scales. His hair was the colour of spun silver, his eyes cold and grey as the northern sea before a storm.
It took Tyrion a moment to accept the fact that this was his grandfather. In the elf’s manner there was no real suggestion of any familial relationship. There was distance, the implication of hostility, perhaps a suggestion of contempt or dislike.
Lord Emeraldsea rose from his hard wooden chair, walked round the desk and stood before them. He walked with a very straight back and the same air of command Tyrion had noticed in Captain Joyelle. There was something in Lord Emeraldsea’s manner suggestive of the sea. He was very tall, taller even than Tyrion. For the first time in a very long time, Tyrion experienced the sensation of being looked down upon. Cold eyes measured him, calculated his worth and placed it on the scales at the back of his grandfather’s mind.
‘You do look like him,’ he said, and Tyrion had no doubt as to who he was. ‘You look a little like my poor daughter too. I am pleased to see that you have grown up into such a fine figure of an elf.’
He strode over to Teclis and loomed over him. ‘I wish I could say the same for you.’
‘Why don’t you try, out of politeness,’ said Teclis with poisonous sweetness.
Lord Emeraldsea looked taken aback. Tyrion could tell he was not used to being mocked. His smile was wintery and not without humour. Like many people before him he w
as being forced to reassess his opinion of the sickly young elf standing before him. The two of them locked gazes and the air fairly crackled between them. Here were two elves of very different ages and enormously strong wills.
‘You look like my daughter,’ Lord Emeraldsea said. ‘And like your father. But you seem somewhat... firmer of character.’
Tyrion wondered what his grandfather meant by that. In any case, Lord Emeraldsea did not seem displeased to discover that Teclis was not some sort of feeble half-wit. ‘I like that, lad, but don’t push my goodwill too far.’
‘I am a prince,’ said Teclis.
Lord Emeraldsea’s stare was cold, a captain looking at a disrespectful cabin boy. ‘That remains to be determined. We will know soon enough if you are blessed or cursed by the Blood of Aenarion.’
There was a strong emotion in his voice when he said that that Tyrion did not recognise at all. He followed the old elf’s gaze to the wall behind him and saw that he was looking at a portrait of their mother. He looked back at Lord Emeraldsea’s lined face and he knew then the emotion was grief. Lord Emeraldsea caught Tyrion’s glance and for a moment there was flicker of genuine emotion between them.
‘It’s an ill thing for a parent to outlive a child,’ Lord Emeraldsea said. Tyrion could see that took Teclis off guard. His mouth shut just as he was about to say something sardonic again. Perhaps he understood that their appearance here must be difficult for their grandfather.
‘My other daughter tells me that you have a gift for sorcery. Let us hope you live long enough to enjoy the use of it.’
Tyrion wondered if there was threat implicit in his grandfather’s words. Perhaps it was only a warning. They were in a place now inhabited by elves that would kill you if you provoked them. Tyrion was grateful for one thing. No one would ever call his brother out to duel because of rudeness. There would be no honour in it. Perhaps the old elf was merely making a reference to Teclis’s sickliness.
Lord Emeraldsea returned to his desk and sat down. He lifted a quill, sharpened the end with a small knife, dipped it in his inkwell and made an inscription on one of his scrolls, as if acknowledging the delivery of a cargo with a receipt.