The abbess was wrapped in a white robe. She sat on a rock, legs crossed in meditation. “I had to calm myself. I used to be a shield maiden not unlike those women. Is a garden still a garden in the desert?”
“I didn’t see you there, Abbess. Why would anyone have a garden in the desert?”
“Why indeed?”
I thought about it. “The wilderness is infinite, but a garden has boundaries, and nothing inside those boundaries is an accident. A garden is the work of an ordered mind. Someone always chooses to set it apart from the wilderness. Why can’t it choose the desert? It’s as likely a place as the bottom of the sea or the roof of the world.”
“And here your mother thought she’d failed to teach you anything about art. How is Tari, by the way? And call me Olympia—Abbess is just my job.”
“Mother is doing well. I must say, you’re a lot friendlier than when I was a lay nun.” She’d been like the mountain peak: visible but distant.
Olympia shrugged. “I didn’t want to favour you just because Tari and I are friends.”
“What’s so special about this garden? Does it carry the secrets of the temple in its geometry? Does it hold insights into forbidden fighting techniques?”
“I wanted something to look at. Keeps me mellow.” She got up and walked to the pond. The water remained liquid despite the cold. Olympia waved a hand and the water fell away, revealing a dark hole. “This is the secret of my island.”
CHAPTER 20: ANGROD
“Whoah,” I said.
We were back in the tub. Blood flowered in the water. Dagonet had a nosebleed, and so did I. “No! My precious bodily fluids!”
She pinched her nose. “Grow up, sir.”
“You realize, of course, that we have to get married now?” I held up my hands. “Just kidding! Please don’t stab me.”
“To finish my report, I was forced to take my time returning here. Almost the entire invasion force gave chase.”
I could halfway remember. Days spent being tired, hungry, and afraid. “I’m glad you made it. Why don’t you take it easy for the next few days?”
She shook her head. “I should get word back to Brandish. Our people need to know.”
“Excellent point. We’ll leave tomorrow.”
She looked at me. “Sir. You ought to stay and fight Hafgan. If you can end this war with a swing of your sword, think of the lives you’ll save.”
It was nearly dawn when I stepped out of the apartment. I was dressed for the hunt. Nobody would wonder if I saddled a horse and disappeared for the day. By the time they started looking, I’d be long gone.
Dagonet had slipped out in the night. She was headed for the nearest fairy ring. Neither of us knew how to activate those things but there was enough tourism that she could attach herself to a group of travellers. That, too, was my plan. In a hunting cloak I’d pass as any other capran. I walked quickly but silently down the hall.
Someone giggled. “Shh, someone will hear!”
“Nadine! I’ve waited so long.”
I peeked around the corner. It was Lister and one of the prettier maids. They embraced in one of the doorways.
“I’m supposed to be baking! Hee!”
“But I love you so much. Can’t you spare a moment for your husband?”
My sparring partner did say he was married, but he hadn’t told me his wife worked in the palace. Still hidden in shadow, I crept away.
I encountered no other obstacles on the way to the stables. I saddled a horse and left.
Dagonet lay in her makeshift hunting blind. She had a good view of the trail. Thanks to her water magic she didn’t need binoculars to see when a familiar rider came over the rise. Angrod, running out on the duel.
She wasn’t surprised. Fighting Hafgan was certain death and the caprans would probably invade no matter what. She couldn’t help but be disappointed in her boss, however. Her true master hadn’t said anything about killing him, but he hadn’t mentioned not killing him either. Elendil assassins were supposed to think for themselves.
She sighed. Angrod had until he reached the portal to change his mind. He could either turn back to die like a man, or continue and die like a coward, with hand on his mouth and a knife in his back. One way or another, he wasn’t going home.
I felt bad about breaking my promise to Arawn but he had set me up to get killed. Much as I appreciated him saving Heronimo’s life, that didn’t mean I owed him a life in return. Especially not mine!
I’d made good time. I’d reach the fairy ring early next morning. My mount Slippy was built like a warhorse, but, unusually, also made a fine riding horse. He had a gait that was comfortable, sustainable, and fast. You don’t know how much I appreciated that. Speaking as a long-distance riding veteran, saddle sores are a real pain. Capran horses weren’t much stronger or faster than regular horses. They were smarter, though. It was probably the centaur ancestry. More important, they were easier to maintain. Regular horses would die if you looked at them funny, but if you could take care of a dog, you could take care of a capran horse.
Last time I’d been in the Silver World Arawn had given me a gift of three horses. That gift had helped me established a herd in Corinthe that was a match for anything in the realm. Take that, Mithenian snobs!
And just like that, I was once again thinking about Arawn, and what I owed him. Damn damn damn.
The fire was a small one, just enough for light and a little warmth. I didn’t need it to cook, since I planned to drink my dinner. I’d liberated some sherry from the kitchen, and now I was liberating a bottle of its contents. Things were going well when something rustled in the darkness.
“Hello, the fire!”
“Welcome!” I said. “Come have a drink.”
“Decent of you.” He stepped into the light and I stared at the most goatlike capran yet.
Most caprans were built much the same as the other races, being just different enough to make it interesting. This one, however, seemed two-thirds goat and one-third man. He was hairy. All caprans are, but he had enough to make a decent fur coat. Not that anyone would want to skin him, considering he carried a poleaxe over one shoulder. There was a bindle tied to it but he could slip that free in a second.
“You look like someone I know, but you aren’t him,” he said. While I’d been looking at him he’d been looking at me. His eyes were yellow with horizontal pupils.
“I have one of those faces,” I said.
“You sure it isn’t that ring? It keeps whispering in my ear. Pushy piece of jewellery!”
What did I have to lose? I slipped off the ring and dropped the disguise.
He got a good look at me. “Son, you got a condition. Are you an alien from outer space?”
“What? No! Everybody looks like this where I come from.”
“No horns, no beard. How’s that working out for you?”
I handed him the bottle and he brought it to his lips. He had a snout, like a real goat, and two pairs of horns. One pair corkscrewed from the sides of his head, the other curved up and back.
“Lying down must be hard for you.” I said. “I’m Angrod, by the way.”
“I dig a couple holes before I bed down.” One leg was longer. The knees and ankles were in different places. One foot was manlike, with callused toes and yellow nails. The other was a cloven hoof. “Call me Pan. Or Pannomios, Panagreus, or Pan Haliplanktos, if you’re, you know, not into brevity.” He took a drink. “Live as long as I do, you’ll go through a wagonload of names.”
“I know what you mean. I’ve been Roddy, Angrod, and Lord Veneanar. Some people even want to call me King. Ha! Ha! Ha!”
“You have a kind of sick desperation in your laugh.”
“It’s just… I never asked to be a prince. Don’t know much about being one.”
“I never asked to be made what I am either, just like nobody asked to be born. Some days I don’t know whether to eat meat or eat grass. It’s a great way to get fibre, but then my poop comes in
little balls.”
“You can always pretend you’re a gumball machine.”
We hadn’t made a dent in our bottles when he opened his bindle and produced a pouch of skunkweed. It was a huge pouch and went a long way toward explaining his odour. “My own special blend,” he said. “If this don’t make you mellow, nothing will.”
I jumped when he pulled an axe, but then I saw it was part smoking pipe, part throwing weapon. He packed the bowl. His fingers were skilful and quick, though he only had four on each hand. His left hand was made that way, but his right had the stump of a little finger.
I passed him a stick from the fire. He passed the burning end over the pipe, making small circles and drawing on the mouthpiece. He tamped the herb down and lit it again. “No more drinking from here on, ‘kay? Alcohol with weed can be dangerous.” He took a couple of puffs and passed me the pipe. I took a pull.
A little while later, it hit me. “Whoah.”
He laughed. “It’s strong, isn’t it? Like the essence of life itself!”
I took another puff, passed it back. “I could get used to it.”
“It is not for the weak. You could live ten thousand years and it would still surprise you.”
I coughed and accepted the pipe. “I’ll have to ask how you manage.”
He grinned, letting the smoke stream from his mouth and into his nostrils. “I take it one day at a time.”
We passed the pipe that way, back and forth, bantering all the way. I remember we said a lot of profound things, but I can’t recall what they were exactly. Probably for the best. We also spent long minutes staring at the fire.
Finally I told him, “I’m so hungry I could eat my horse.”
He shook his head. “I knew his ancestors. Why don’t you try that cottage?”
“What cottage?”
He pointed. There was a little house nearby, and its windows spilled golden light into the darkness. I don’t know how I missed it. “Go on,” Pan said. “Don’t mind me.”
I got up and stumbled toward the cottage. What a snug little thing. I checked it for anything strange, of course. No, it didn’t look like bears lived in it. The door was normal-sized. And no, nothing seemed made of gingerbread. I would have loved to find a gingerbread house, or maybe a marzipan manse.
“Hello?” Nobody answered when I knocked. “Hello?” I pushed open the door.
I was suddenly in a familiar restroom. The walls were red and it could only be the one in the Royal Palace, back in Brandish. The cottage door had disappeared. Well. I was nothing if not adaptable. Since I was already there, I took a moment to use the facilities. I prayed I wasn’t actually peeing on somebody’s chair.
I went to the sinks. The washroom attendant turned the tap for me. “Towel, sir?”
“Sure, why n—Dinny?” It was Dinendal, my childhood friend. My dead childhood friend. And yet he stood before me in servant’s livery. “How are you alive?” I asked. “Didn’t Heronimo flatten your skull?”
“I don’t have any recollection of that.” But he was grinning. “Well, why shouldn’t I remember? Just because I lost my brains doesn’t mean I lost my wits.”
I was torn. On one hand we’d been like brothers. On the other hand he’d grown up to be a mass-murdering assassin. He’d killed Heronimo’s entire village and had tried to do the same to me and my friends.
“Are you really him?” I asked. “Because I’m more than a little high. Heh. A high elf. I mean, an elf’s mind can go strange places. Maybe I swallowed too much sherry or huffed too much herb. Maybe there’s more of the chemical than the physical about you, whatever you are!”
“Your hands are dripping.”
“Then give me that towel, you figment!” I snatched it from him. It was soft like only the best cotton.
“Nothing but the finest for my household.” Instead of servant’s clothes he now wore fine red robes. “In this reality you never existed, and so I became king.”
He led me to where the Royal Ball was taking place. I remembered why I’d come here and helped myself to the banquet. It may have been a dream, but the potato salad was real enough.
“I don’t understand,” I said. “Shouldn’t there be two of you? And if I was never born here, how do you know me?”
“And I thought you went to school. A man may exist in an infinite number of universes but on some level he remains the same person. That’s how I know you, even if we never met.”
We walked around the room, stopping now and then so Dinendal could speak with guests. He laughed and shook people’s hands but his eyes never changed. I held onto my plate and nobody noticed me.
“Am I actually here?” I asked. “Am I crashing your party, or am I making a fool of myself in the woods?”
“You’d be a fool no matter where you were. Perhaps you are dreaming me, and perhaps I am dreaming you. Why would I be doing that, when I never knew you? Maybe I wanted to imagine how someone with all of my advantages could still be a loser. How, despite being a warrior, a wizard, and a prince, he could still end up a miserable failure.”
“Ouch.”
“You were never born, buddy-boy, so your aunt adopted me instead of making me the stable boy. I inherited the Veneanar estates. And I didn’t need some sad old man to tell me I was destined for greatness. I always knew I was special.” He began to pace around the room. The lights dimmed and the partygoers faded into the walls. “Did you know that Rosemary was my ancestor too? You and I were cousins! My claim to the throne was as strong as yours, Roddy, and as soon as I discovered that I knew I couldn’t rest until I was king.”
It seemed as though a battle raged outside the palace. The clash of arms was heard in every hall.
“The caprans invaded ten years ago,” he said. “They killed elves, dwarves, and many, many halflings. Vergath was burned, Mithish was torn down, and Pithe wiped off the map. The important thing is that I won. I crushed the caprans. I drove them to their deaths, rode upon their horses, revelled in their women.” He grinned. “I single-handedly revived the slave trade. I think I still have Tamril in a dungeon somewhere. How’s she doing, I wonder? It’s been a while.”
I stared, open-mouthed. “And people let you?”
He sneered. “Everyone loves a winner, Angrod. You’d know that if you weren’t a fucking loser. I was the hero Brandish needed. I became the king it deserved. I have put down dwarven uprisings. I have defeated human invasions. I have fought a hundred battles in defence of my title.” He pointed at his crown. “I earned this hunk of metal. And it’s everything I hoped it would be. Look around, baby. I can point to a man and have his head. I can point to a woman and have her in bed. It’s good to be the king!”
He laughed and he laughed.
CHAPTER 21: ANGROD
Dinendal’s reign was the best thing to happen to elves. Living standards had improved for everyone due to harsh new taxes on other races. Pride and patriotic feeling were higher than ever, thanks to his military victories. There was even talk of retaking the fourth continent.
Dinendal told me other things, too. Mina was in the Northlands, slave to some barbaric chieftain. Heronimo was dead, though in this world he’d never had any quarrel with Dinendal.
“This crazy human attacked a friend of mine. Big mistake. I never saw a body with so many stab wounds.”
House Elanesse was no more, its wealth confiscated by the crown. Findecano would have challenged Dinendal to a duel but he and his wife had apparently killed themselves in a lover’s quarrel. Meerwen had disappeared. Valandil had been caught trying to revive a petrified dragon. He had been executed for treason and the dragon turned to gravel.
“It’s not like I singled them out because they were your friends. They all stood against me at one time or another.”
“ENOUGH OF THIS HUMBUGGERY.”
“Did you say that?” I asked.
The dragon crashed through the skylight. Glass everywhere! I found my feet. Leaped clear of the glittering death. Dinendal somersau
lted away. The dragon slammed into the ground, claws digging into the marble floor. “YOU ARE EMBARRASSING US.”
“Me?” I said. It caught me in a grip of steel.
“Guards! Guards!” Dinendal had drawn his swords. He sliced the air, gathering fire. He hurled a bolt of power but the dragon shielded me with a wing.
“TIME TO GO.”
“What’re you—no!”
It leaped into the air. I threw my arms over my eyes and screamed. We crashed through more glass and flew into the night.
Dragons are the fastest things in the air. They don’t fly so much as force the wind out of their way. They form an energy field from nose to tail and go through the air like a gunshot. They don’t even flap their wings.
Iron Elf - A Race Reborn (Book 2) Page 14