The Heir Of Westfall [The Alurian Chronicles Book 1]

by Christopher W. Wilcox, Sr.

  Storm was having trouble with the illusion, especially when the glamour showed they were about to ride right into a tree not really there. Rory dismounted, tied his scarf over Storm's eyes, and began to walk, leading the horse. Storm was content to follow in this manner. As he walked, he had more opportunity to look around. He could easily discern the real forest under the illusion now, and only Swiftstalker's warning stopped him from calling out to the elven archer he saw poised high in one of the trees. The way the arrow tracked his progress made Rory very nervous.

  The deeper they progressed into the Great Forest, the warmer it felt. Perhaps it was from the exercise of walking and leading his horse, but soon Rory was too warm for the heavy fur cloak. Calling out to Swiftstalker to wait a moment, he shed the heavy cloak, rolled it tightly, and fastened it behind his saddle on Storm's back. Catching back up to Swiftstalker, he found the elven lord standing beside his horse, his own heavy cloak already fastened behind the saddle.

  "Tie your horse to this branch, Rory. Storm cannot follow us through the Veil. Do not worry about him. He will be cared for and you will see him soon. We must travel the rest of the way on foot. It's not very far; perhaps a mile or two. Because your weapons are elven made, they will pass through the Veil. Had they been of human make, they would not and you would have had to leave them here with Storm."

  As they started to walk along a barely discernible path, Rory was aware of a faint sparkle that seemed to hang in the air everywhere. It was not very heavy, nor even really very tangible, yet it was there. His ears detected a faint susurration of sound yet he could not clearly hear what it was. After about a quarter of an hour, the path reached a fork. The sound was gone, as was the sparkle in the air.

  Swiftstalker asked, “How do you feel?"

  "Fine. Is it my imagination or is it much warmer? Are we near the Veil you spoke of?” Rory asked with a faint hint of trepidation in his voice.

  "We have already passed through the Veil. In fact, we have been walking through it for the past ten minutes or so."

  "That must have been the sparkle I saw!"

  "You could see the Veil?"

  "It is not that I could see it directly, but I did see a faint sparkle in the air from the corner of my eyes. I also heard a very faint sound but I never did hear it clearly enough to make it out. Why do you ask?"

  "Not all of us can see the Veil itself, nor hear the whisper of the life force that powers it. I know it is there because I have been told by others where it is, yet I do not see the Veil or hear its voice. I bow to your abilities, Rory, for they are rare even among us.” Suiting actions to words, Swiftstalker bent his head in a gesture of homage that Rory found disconcerting. Once he straightened back up, he said, “To answer your other question, yes it is indeed much warmer inside the Veil. It is always summer here, which means these heavy clothes are completely unsuited for us. How would you like a nice hot bath and some fresh clothes to start out?"

  Swiftstalker led Rory along the left-hand path and around some huge hedges to find a series of three large pools of water. Heavy clouds of steam rose from the first pool and from the small waterfall that fell from one edge of that one into the second. A second waterfall from this middle pool fed the still lower third one. Swiftstalker walked to the highest steam-enshrouded pool and sat on a small rock bench to remove his boots. “Don't be shy, Rory. Believe me, this will ease away any aches from the road as well as the grime from three days atop a horse.” Swiftstalker pulled off his heavy doublet and undertunic, revealing the mail shirt Rory had glimpsed long ago in the aftermath of their encounter with the road bandits. Seeing Rory's look, Swiftstalker said, “It is mithrail silver, Rory. It is incredibly strong, yet light as silk.” He handed the shirt to Rory.

  Expecting the usual thirty or more pounds from a normal mail shirt, Rory was amazed at the absence of any real weight from the mail in his hands. He stared at it, noting the myriad of interlocking rings of shiny silver. From its weight, it would seem the mail could be penetrated by a floating feather, yet he knew this shirt had stopped at least three arrows from the bandit's longbows. Feeling the weight of his own heavy mail, he envied the elven lord this fabulous armor,

  "Are you going to stand there or join me in the pool?” Rory looked up to see Swiftstalker gracefully gliding across the pool in a breaststroke until he reached a niche carved in the side of the pool. Obviously designed for a lounging bather to relax, the niche featured a submerged seat of rock with a slanted backrest.

  Rory placed the mail shirt on the pile of Swiftstalker's clothes and began to take off his own heavy clothing. He was grateful for the chance to remove the heavy doublet in the steamy moist air of the top pool. He quickly shed his garments, folding them neatly into a pile, and placed his sword and dagger atop it. He walked over, stepped into the pool, and almost jumped back out. The water was near scalding! He eased his way into the water and swam over to a niche near Swiftstalker.

  "There is a hot spring here and it has kept this pool at this temperature for almost one thousand years. The second pool is cooler, while the third is almost chill in comparison. Whenever you come here, you can use any one of the three that suits your mood and your need. By your hand, you will find a basket of sweet sand mixed with some herbs. Use that to scrub your skin and wash your hair. Once we have washed and soaked enough road weariness from our bones, we'll move down to the middle pool."

  After scrubbing away three days worth of grime, Rory felt clean. He'd washed his hair three times with the sweet sand, diving under the water to rinse it free each time. He had really come to enjoy a good bath back in Westfell, but this natural pool was far superior to the duke's copper tubs. He lay back against the niche wall and truly relaxed.

  "Don't go to sleep! Why don't we move down a level where we can see without all this steam?” Swiftstalker said.

  They climbed out of the pool and started to walk toward the lower pool when Rory noticed their belongings were no longer where they had left them. “Swiftstalker, someone had taken our clothes and weapons!"

  Swiftstalker chuckled. “The clothes have been taken to be cleaned and readied for use whenever we go outside the Veil where it is still winter. Our weapons have been taken to our hiakehla since they are unnecessary within the Veil."

  "What's a hiakehla?"

  "That's our word for our houses. They are a bit different from what you are used to. First of all, our homes are up in the trees off the ground. More importantly, we don't build a house; it is actually a part of the tree itself, grown to meet our specific needs."

  "That's interesting but what am I supposed to wear?"

  "If you look on the bench at the next pool, you will find a set of clothes more suitable for wear here. In fact, we need to get a move on so let's just dry off and get dressed. Once you are settled in the hiakehla, I need to report our arrival to your father."

  Rory picked up a towel from the stack and dried himself off. “So who took our clothes and weapons?"

  "We have a nice relationship with the several of the other Fair Folk. The pixies and nymphs provide us with basic services, much as they did your grandfather at the Tower of the Pact. In exchange, we protect them and the Great Forest from incursions by humans.” Swiftstalker gestured at the stone bench. “They also make superb clothes."

  Empty only moments before, a set of clothing now lay neatly folded on the stone bench. First was a pair of dark green silk pants, loose in the legs, and cinched with a matching silken cord at the waist. A matching dark green silk shirt, embroidered with a silver motif of snarling wolves, came next. The shirt wrapped around the body and was held closed by a wide silver sash, with loose sleeves trimmed with a thick silver band at the cuff. Rory stepped into the pants and tied the cord. The pants fit him perfectly, as did the shirt when he put it on. He slipped his feet into a pair of soft slippers of matching dark green. There was even a silver clasp to hold back his long black hair.

  "Now you look like one of us! You have no doubt noticed you
r clothes have been designed to honor Westfell. Come on, let's get you to settled in so I can make my report."

  They left the area of the pools and followed the path deeper into the elven homes. Swiftstalker pointed to a small obelisk, about two feet in height, along the path. “These markers tell you which direction things are."

  "How? There's no writing of any kind on it."

  "Extend your senses, Rory. Look beyond the surface."

  Rory relaxed his mind and opened his senses much like he had in the forest to see past the glamour around the Veil. Suddenly the stone obelisk seemed to glow with meanings. The side facing toward the pool shimmered with an image of the pools; the opposite side seemed to glow with the images of food and shelter. “I see it!"

  "Should you ever find yourself lost, all you need to do is find one of these markers. If you know where you want to be, just think about it and the marker will glow with the direction you need. If you can't find a marker, just stop where you are and ask for help aloud. One of the Folk will help you find your way. Let me show you.” Swiftstalker faced the marker and in a clear voice said, “Assistance, please."

  A small pixie appeared atop the stone. “Welcome back, Lord Swiftstalker. How may I be of assistance to you?"

  "Where is Prince Brightblade?"

  "Your brother is in the Heart of the Veil at the present time."

  "Would you see when it would be convenient for me to call upon him?"

  The pixie vanished. Rory turned an astonished look on Swiftstalker. “Brother?"

  "I told you to call me uncle, didn't I? Is it my fault you never took me seriously?” Swiftstalker said, a mischievous grin on his face.

  The pixie reappeared. “Prince Brightblade asks that you call on him in one hour at his hiakehla, Lord Swiftstalker. And may I say it is nice to see Lord Rorrick among us."

  Rory said, “Thank you,” just as the pixie winked out once again. He turned back to face Swiftstalker. “So why didn't you say you were his brother before?"

  "We are brothers in that we have the same mother. His father is Alaric, our king, while my own sire was just one of the elven warriors who caught Mother's eye before she became involved with the king. He and I have always been close, despite the difference in our ages and positions."

  "There can't be that great a difference in your ages."

  "Just shy of fifty years, which isn't that long for one of us."

  "What! Just how old are you?"

  "I'm just shy of two hundred and twenty years old, Rory, and your father just turned one hundred and seventy. I was sure you understood that we live a very, very long time compared to humans."

  Rory was nonplussed to discover his father was actually much older than his grandfather! To give himself time to adjust to the idea, he asked, “What's the Heart of the Veil?"

  "As the name implies, it is the center of the Veil, as well as what powers it. It is an area reserved for our greatest magic works. Surrounded by a separate veil of its own, the Heart is only accessible to those with the ability to penetrate its barriers. Your father is one of those who can pass while I am not. Now, before you stands my hiakehla."

  Rory looked up at the vast tree before him. The tree was clearly far larger than any found outside of the Great Forest. It soared upward for several hundred feet. Its base was easily forty feet across, and a large spiral staircase wound around the trunk up to an opening about thirty feet off the ground. Once they reached the doorway, Swiftstalker laid his hand against the door and it opened. They walked in to the main room, which encompassed the entire diameter of the trunk. There was another stairway wrapped around the inside of the trunk that led up to the next level. This level was furnished with comfortable seating spaces and tables. Next to the doorway was a rack holding their swords and daggers. Their heavy wolf cloaks also hung from pegs near the door. Swiftstalker said, “Elona, this is Rory. He will be staying here. Rory, place your hand against that smooth spot next to the doorway so Elona can learn your touch. That will permit you to pass through the door whenever you wish to enter or leave the hiakehla."

  Rory did as Swiftstalker requested and for a moment, he had the fleeting sense that another hand was touching his own from inside the wood of the tree. It was just a flicker and then it was gone.

  Swiftstalker led the way upstairs. “This next level is my room and yours is the level above it. I figured that made more sense since I may be coming in late and I wouldn't want to disturb you. There are bathing rooms off each bedroom. If you get hungry but don't feel like going out, all you have to do is ask Elona and she will have something delivered to you."

  Rory was impressed by the bedroom, with its massive platform bed dominating the chamber. There were several trunks around the edge of the circular chamber, one containing the gear he had left on his horse. The others contained more of the silken clothing similar to what he was wearing, changing only in the blending of the colors, as well as other pairs of matching slippers.

  "Why don't you get a bit of rest while I go meet with your father? If you get bored, feel free to wander about within the Veil. Introduce yourself to anyone you meet and get to know us. I will probably be out late as I have some other stops to make and some personal business to attend to, so I will see you in the morning.” With a quick wave of his hand, Swiftstalker left the room and bounded down the stairs.

  Rory wandered around the room, spotting a small doorway that led to the bathing room. It held the usual amenities but seeing the cramped tub he understood why the large pools would be popular. The tub here was barely large enough to sit it but not for soaking away muscle tension. He wandered back into the bedroom and stretched out on the bed. As he let himself relax, he began to sense the presence of another being in the room. Without moving, he slowly scanned the room until he pinpointed the source of that feeling. It was if he could see into the wood of the wall by the door, and within that space, he saw the faint outline of a woman.

  "You must be Elona,” he said quietly.

  She just stepped out of the wall. Her hair, a wild mass of curls and ringlets, was the same green as the leaves of the tree, and her skin was the color of the pale wood beneath the bark of it. Her clothing, what little there was of it, was the same color as the bark itself. Her eyes were the same lustrous green as her hair. Her voice, when she spoke, reminded Rory of a breeze whispering in the leaves of a tree. “Yes, I am Elona. How did you know I was there?"

  "I could see you in the wood. You must be a wood nymph."

  "The proper name is a hamadryad, and yes, that is what I am. This is my tree."

  "A very nice tree, it is, too. I thank you for allowing me to stay here.” Rory bowed.

  "Do you know you are the first to see me when I was not permitting it? The Gift is strong within you."

  "I know nothing of any Gift. What do you mean?"

  "You can see the Forces of Life more clearly than others."

  "Is that why I could see the Veil?"

  "Yes, because the Veil is a manifestation of those forces. Is there anything you would like? Something to eat or drink?"

  When Rory admitted that he would enjoy both, a large bowl of steaming stew and a foamy mug of ale appeared on the table beside his bed. “Please extend my thanks for this food and drink, Elona."

  A small pixie appeared near the food for a moment, and said, “You are most welcome, Lord Rorrick,” and then disappeared once more.

  When Rory looked up, it was to find that Elona had left, merging back into her tree once more, to give him some privacy to eat. He enjoyed the savory stew, filled with a variety of vegetables and meat he was unfamiliar with, and seasoned with unusual spices. The frothy ale was surprisingly light in taste, with a slight hint of hazelnut.

  After he finished eating, Rory realized he was not tired and really wanted to walk around. He went down the stairs to the sitting room and said, “Elona, I am going out to explore for a while.” The door slid open and he descended the stairs, looking around at the glade. He could see a
couple of other hiakehlas in the distance, noticeable by the circular stairways around their trunks. Even though he knew they must have windows, he could not see any, evidence of the careful planning of each hiakehla to ensure the privacy of those who dwelt within them.

  He started to wander the paths at random, finding a clearing filled with large tables where groups of elves were dining. They waved to invite him to join them but he politely bowed and motioned he was merely taking a stroll. The paths were bordered by many different kinds of plants and flowers, many of which he had never seen before. He found secluded bowers, vast fields of wildflowers as well as carefully tended beds of more familiar flowers. There were trellises of climbing roses and ivy that arched over the paths. Periodically, he would find some incredible statuary along the paths in isolated spots along with a stone bench, as if set there to afford a place for contemplation.

  He would encounter others along the path, all garbed in the flowing silks of the elves. Some wore somber tones while others sparked like jewels. The eleven women wore flowing robes, which he later learned they called kaftans. These were embroidered or even painted in fantastic scenes or panoramas ranging from snowy mountains in blues, grays, and whites, to phenomenal sunsets with blazing reds, oranges, and pinks.

  As a group, elves were tall and lithe in build, with a variety of skin tones and hair colors that ran the rainbow. When he thought about it, he realized many of the elves had changed their hair colors to harmonize with their chosen clothing as if it was merely one more accessory. After walking amid all this colorful plumage, he was startled when he rounded one corner and found an elven male clad in plain dark brown leather standing in front of him, a bared sword in his hand.

  "Good evening,” Rory said.

  "You must be Rorrick, the prince's son. I am Winterstar, head of the Forest Rangers. I heard you and Swiftstalker had come in from outside today."

  "If I may ask, why are you carrying a bared sword?"