Darris, her blood father, gave her only a stiff nod. Griff’s mouth fell into a long oval, and his eyes widened to cow-like proportions. “What are you doing here, Marisole?”
Marisole took the seat beside Calistin, who eyed her gear critically. Ra-khir knew Renshai well enough to know they shunned ranged weapons as coward’s toys and would see the musical instrument as nothing more than hindrance. Calistin might take some interest in the combat knife, however, as it fell somewhere between dagger and sword for length.
Marisole looked placidly at her father, as if he had asked the stupidest question in the history of the world. Then, sighing, she unslung the gittern and played a few resounding notes before singing in a youthful, confident tone. Though clearly improvised on the spot, the crudeness of the words disappeared beneath the perfect harmonics of voice and instrument:
“The day has come for me to claim
My rightful place as Béarn’s bard’s heir.
As ingrained a part of the West’s kingdom
As the blue and the gold and the rearing bear.
The bard’s line is ineffably damned
To a curse inescapable and lifelong.
To acquire an unquenchable thirst for knowledge
And the ability to impart it only in song.
The bright part of this forever curse
Is to serve as guardian to the great high king.
I will proudly take my place
When the dirge to brave Bard Darris we sing.
Until that fateful day arrives
I must gain knowledge, talent, and loyalty
What better way to learn those things
Then guarding important royalty.
And so, I join the travelers six
By land or over ocean’s foam.
Faithful to Tem’aree’ay
I vow to bring her safely home.”
When she finished, Ra-khir found tears in his eyes. Marisole had a stunningly beautiful voice, haunted by a depthless sorrow that had plagued her bloodline for centuries. The words themselves meant little, the rhymes clunky, yet understanding came clearly through the melody and rhythm. Marisole had come of age as a bard, inflicted with their boundless curiosity, their limited ability to communicate combined with an almost magical talent for swaying emotion with music.
When Ra-khir had first met Darris, at the age of seventeen, the curse had already embraced him. Marisole was nineteen. Apparently, whatever triggered the curse in the bard’s heir had a timetable that had nothing to do with chronological age.
Ra-khir could not help pitying the girl. He had far more patience than most, but even he had found traveling with the bard’s heir tedious. Tae used to roll his eyes, and Kevral would grow violent waiting for Darris to make a point. Bards could speak in normal conversation; but, when it came to divulging information, the curse forced them to sing. Now, Marisole, too, had apparently fallen prey to that scourge.
To an adolescent princess, it had to feel like a prison. She had to have to known this day would come, had prepared for it, at least in a musical way. Now, she would have to learn how to guard the king, whether Griff or his descendant, with an enthusiasm that would likely shorten her own life. She needed to learn weapons’ skills with the proficiency of a man, a feat currently confined to Renshai and the bard, when female. Ra-khir masked a sniffle beneath a polite sneeze and unobtrusively brushed the tear from his eye.
Marisole played a few final notes as an ending, then placed the gittern on the table. Apparently, she anticipated the demand for further explanation.
King Griff’s mouth had fallen so far open it appeared as if he planned to swallow her. He spoke so softly Ra-khir could not hear him, but he could read the words easily from the king’s dry lips, “My daughters.”
Ra-khir had no trouble understanding Griff’s angst, either. Kevral had borne only sons, and Ra-khir appreciated that. His daughters would have had to undergo the same training as the boys; the Renshai made no clear distinctions. Ra-khir had always known Kevral would die by the sword, but that had not eased the agony when it happened. He had found it almost impossible to continue without her, certain his heart would never heal. He doubted he could have survived the grief over losing a daughter in battle.
Ra-khir wished he could reassure the king. Whatever else happened, he would dedicate himself to making certain Tem’aree’ay, Ivana, and Marisole returned safely to Béarn. However, now was not the time to make promises he might not be able to keep. He had a feeling Griff would do what any father might and forbid his daughters from going. If so, whatever Ra-khir had to say would only sound foolish and as if he intended to dispute the king’s decree.
Ra-khir felt lightheaded and, only then, realized he was holding his breath. Griff currently walked a fine line. If he forbade Ivana from going, Tem’aree’ay seemed unlikely to accompany them, either. Without her, they had no hope of finding and convincing the elves. At some point, Griff would also have to accept Marisole’s god-granted position as the heir to the bard of Béarn and the dangers and responsibilities that came with the title. If he prohibited either daughter from going, then relented, he would appear hopelessly weak.
Ra-khir doubted the same options paraded through Griff’s head. Simply, instinctively neutral, Griff had the luxury of following his impulses. Those rarely, if ever, steered him wrong. Ra-khir had seen the childlike king agonize over decisions, but he never seemed to make a mistake.
The arrival of the North’s emissary put an end to those considerations. Valr Magnus stepped into the room, bowed dutifully to King Griff, then closed the door behind him. His sudden presence drew every eye, less because of his abrupt appearance than because he seemed to instantly fill the room. Large and well-muscled, he moved with a casual grace and seemed blissfully unaware of his remarkable good looks. Boyishly tousled hair fell in curls around chiseled, perfect features, his cheeks rugged and high-formed, his nose elegantly straight, and his honey-colored beard neatly trimmed.
Warmth suffused Ra-khir, and he suffered the image of Valr Magnus, huge and resplendent in his armor, thrusting a sword through Kevral’s body. He knew the moment all too well. It had haunted his waking hours for months and plagued his nightmares to this day. The Northman had planted a foot on her abdomen to tear the blade free, spraying Kevral’s lifeblood across the Fields of Wrath. So much had happened since that horrible day. Magnus had had no hand in the deceit that won him that battle; when he learned of it, he had acted in an honorable fashion. Ra-khir wanted to forgive him, needed to for his own usually scrupulous integrity, but he could not banish the anger from his shattered heart.
“I sincerely apologize for my tardiness,” Valr Magnus said in his Northern singsong. “I meant no disrespect, Your Majesty; but it was not fully decided until a moment ago who would represent us.”
Griff finally found his tongue and his normal expression. “No apology necessary, General. You haven’t missed anything.”
The words were true enough, at least in regard to the quest.
To Ra-khir’s surprise, Calistin demonstrated all of the enthusiasm his father lacked. “Valr!” The Renshai sprang from his seat and gave the huge Northman a brief but warm embrace. “I had no idea you were one of the choices.”
Laughing, Valr Magnus caught Calistin, adding a hearty pat across the back. “It’s mostly because of you that Erik picked me. When he thought Saviar was coming, he intended to send his son, Verdondi. But when he heard it was you, he demanded I go instead.”
Calistin stepped back, challenge clear in his tone. “Ah. So he thinks you can handle me?”
“No one can handle you,” Magnus assured him. “But at least I can stand you.”
Calistin laughed and sat down again, and Magnus chose the chair beside him.
Stunned by the exchange, Ra-khir forced himself not to stare. He had never seen Calistin exchange friendly ba
nter, let alone deliberately touch another human being. The grudging hugs he had managed to elicit as Calistin’s father had ended the day the boy had passed his tests of manhood.
When Valr Magnus sat, Griff made a gesture to indicate the others should remain seated when he rose. “It seems everyone is here.” He frowned. “Although, the Western representative is a member of my household, so I need to give the Western leaders the opportunity to add another.”
“Done,” Darris said, keeping his reply brief to avoid the need for song.
Ra-khir took that to mean the offer had been presented and declined; the Western leaders were content with Marisole serving as their delegate. Béarn was the high kingdom of the West and often stood in for the entire Westlands. Ra-khir knew Tae had also put his trust in the party as a whole, seeing no need to add anyone of Eastern background to the mix.
“Very well.” King Griff gestured his bard toward the door. “Then we can leave our duly chosen representatives to their mission.”
Darris rose dutifully but with obvious reluctance. Ra-khir understood his dilemma. The bardic curse plagued him with curiosity about the meeting he would miss but also obligated him to remain with Griff and keep him safe. They all watched the king and his escort leave and waited until the door clicked closed to speak.
Accustomed to command, General Valr Magnus took over the meeting, which, for reasons he could not explain, irked Ra-khir. “I believe we all know one another.” He looked at each of them in turn.
Nods traversed the group.
“Do we know where we’re going? Where we can find the elves?”
All attention shifted naturally to Tem’aree’ay, who studied Valr Magnus with patient, gemstone eyes. The silence that followed clearly did not bother her as much as it did the humans.
Knowing the answer, and feeling obligated to decrease the tension, Ra-khir answered. “Last we knew they lived on an island off the southern coast of the Western Plains.”
The focus still remained on Tem’aree’ay.
Ra-khir continued, “However, the last time we sent an envoy there, we found no sign of them. We’re not sure if they abandoned the island or hid themselves; but, unless Lady Tem’aree’ay has other ideas, it seems like the only logical place to start.” Though he prodded gently by using her name, Ra-khir did not train his gaze on their only elf. It seemed rude to join the staring.
Finally, Tem’aree’ay seemed to realize she needed to say something. “I accompanied the previous envoy and did not see my people. Elves don’t build permanent structures, though, and we can live in almost any environment. We leave little trace, even without using magic. My people could be hiding on the island, or even in Béarn’s castle gardens, and no one might see them.”
Those words did not bode well for their mission. Ra-khir frowned. “So they could be . . . anywhere.” He hoped Tem’aree’ay would put their minds at ease with some indication she had narrowed down the possibilities, that she had some inside information as to their location.
But Tem’aree’ay only confirmed the impression with a nod.
In his usual tactless manner, Calistin said the words that had to be on every mind. “What’s the point of this? Wandering around aimlessly and hoping the elves take enough pity on us to come out of hiding?”
Tem’aree’ay sighed. Shrugged. Having dashed all hope, she finally added, “Some places are more likely than others; and, as I understand it, we need the elves desperately enough to make this trip necessary, if not worthwhile. Despite what I said about hiding in the castle garden, they wouldn’t actually relocate near an established human city or town.”
That information, though spare, gave Ra-khir an idea. “So, someplace humans would consider . . . uninhabitable?”
Tem’aree’ay seemed to read his mind. “Inhospitable, maybe, but not uninhabitable. Even elves wouldn’t consider the Western Plains, for example. The only water there is salty, and it’s wide open. Elves prefer cold to heat, forest to barren land, and we would never consider living underground.” She shivered at the very thought.
Ra-khir managed a smile. Humans might share the elves’ aversion to darkness, but they nearly always chose warm over cold and farmland over forest. Apparently, the Kjempemagiska agreed. One of their largest miscalculations was assuming the Northlands were too cold for human habitation. Still, Tem’aree’ay’s qualifications did not seem terribly helpful. It still left scattered pieces of the entire continent open for exploration, let alone islands and atolls.
They might search for years without finding any more elves, especially if the elves did not want finding. With a population of only two hundred, a number that could only shrink over time, the elves did not require a lot of territory in which to hide. Still, a fruitless quest seemed more inviting to Ra-khir than the frustrating tedium of mediating between Paradisians and Renshai.
Darby cleared his throat gently. Thus far, he had not spoken, but the ensuing silence goaded even him. “I suppose if we started on Elves’ Island, came to shore on the Western Plains, and worked our way outward in back-and-forth semicircles, we might just uncover signs of elves within a . . . few years.” He spoke in even tones, with no hint of sarcasm.
Tem’aree’ay bobbed her head agreeably, as if he had made a cogent point.
For an instant, no one moved or spoke. The genius of the comment struck Ra-khir, and a new respect grew for his young apprentice. Darby had made several important points in a single statement, without presumption or insult. First, he had outlined the futility of the mission in its current form to the humans. He had also exposed the communication gap. To Tem’aree’ay, such a quest seemed reasonable because a few years, or even decades, meant little to her. Her mind grasped the quest as something to accomplish, and the idea of time constraints did not play into her logic.
Calistin stared, as if he thought all of them had gone mad.
Apparently also able to infer the purpose of Darby’s comment, Valr Magnus said carefully, “True enough. But we have weeks, months at most. We’ll have to greatly narrow our search.” He directed his question to Tem’aree’ay. “Do you think we could pick out the two or three most likely places and concentrate on those? We may not find the elves; but, at least, we will have made the best faith effort given the constraints of time.”
Tem’aree’ay cocked her head, clearly considering the point. By now, she must have some experience with human urgency. She might not fully understand it, but she should know of its existence and have some insight into its purpose. “Weeks or months?”
“Yes,” Valr Magnus confirmed, pinching his honey-colored beard. “Enemies rarely offer a time schedule; but, it does us no good to recruit elves after we’ve already lost the war. In fact, were it not for the fact that we don’t know from which direction the next attack will come, I’d insist that this many of our best warriors . . .” He made a gesture that encompassed every member of the group. “. . . remain in Béarn. Currently, Tem’aree’ay, you’re all the reliable magic we have, and our world needs you more than anyone.”
Though he despised agreeing with his wife’s killer, Ra-khir nodded enthusiastically for the sake of the world. He felt certain Griff had already made clear how important Tem’aree’ay was to the continent as well as to this mission. “We’re on a deadline, and we can’t afford to fail. Please, Tem’aree’ay, help us narrow down our options.”
Tem’aree’ay lowered her head, appearing as weary as an elderly human. She dropped any pretenses. “I’ve been praying daily to Frey, our creator, god of elves and sunshine; but he gives me no answers. It’s said that when the elves lived on Alfheim, he walked freely among us, even joining our play. Since the Ragnarok, when our world, Alfheim, burned and some of us escaped to Midgard, we have seen too little of him. He did come to take the svartalf to Svartalfheim. At the time, the lysalf chose to stay on Midgard, hopeful for a new camaraderie with humans, our lives woven together. Iv
ana put an end to that. The elves worried her affliction was an omen, that the gods had punished us for becoming too interrelated.”
Ra-khir finally understood. “You’re worried they might be right, that Frey has abandoned you and Ivana because she wasn’t meant to exist.”
The smile that nearly always graced Tem’aree’ay’s features disappeared, making her look strange and unwelcoming. For the first time, Ra-khir could see her as something not at all human. “My daughter is not a mistake, not some divine form of punishment.” She spoke with the leaden emphasis reserved for those who need to convince themselves as much as anyone else. “Even if Frey, himself, abandons me, I will never believe it. I’m more concerned that the lysalf may have left Midgard entirely. They could have convinced Frey to take them to live with the svartalf.”
Ra-khir bit his lower lip hard enough to hurt. He had never considered the possibility the elves had left their world entirely. If so, they could not be found, could not be coaxed. A single elf did not have the power to travel between worlds. It had taken a jovinay arythanik, the shared spell of dozens of elves, to transport Ra-khir and his companions between worlds when they had sought to end the infertility plague. Suddenly, Tem’aree’ay’s reluctance to lead this mission became abundantly clear. If the elves had left Midgard, she would never see any of them again. And she would have to accept something no mother ever could: her child really was anathema, damned by her creator.
Now, the need to find the elves became even more necessary to Ra-khir. He could not allow Tem’aree’ay to lose faith in her daughter and her deity, could not accept that her people had forsaken her to such an extreme they chose to leave the world itself rather than risk bringing another Ivana into it. He tried to reassure. “My lady, I’ve been told that, on Midgard, gods rarely interact with mortals and only in the most dire of circumstances. Unlike Alfheim, our world requires neutrality to exist. That’s why it’s critical the right king or queen sits upon the throne of Béarn. Passing the Pica Test is impossibly grueling in order to assure that only a pure and worthy bastion of balance rules the West.”
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