“An elf? Are you sure?” asked Azarak. It was a foolish statement born of surprise; his chancellor wouldn’t have made the assertion if he wasn’t certain.
Toranim shrugged. “Why don’t you meet her? My experience with elves is no greater than yours. My assessment’s based on how she looks, and she could be a drawing from a book of fables come to life.”
For an elf - if she was an elf - to appear at this time…it couldn’t be a coincidence. It was said that at the beginnings and ends of eras, momentous events occurred - events that reformed the foundations of creation. Azarak felt a sickness in the pit of his stomach. Since being a boy, watching his father rule the city from his great throne, he had yearned to be a king. But he never wanted to be one during a time such as this. Far better to be a commoner living in blissful ignorance when the end came.
“Your Majesty, will you see her?”
There could be no question of his response. “Show her in.”
Toranim withdrew. He was scarcely gone long enough for Azarak to gather the shreds of his composure. When he returned, a slight form shadowed him. Facing the king, she bowed deeply.
From the little he could see of her, Eylene more closely resembled a child than a full-grown woman. She was slender and short, with the top of her head not reaching Toranim’s shoulders. She was dressed in a dark green cowled robe; with the hood up, her features were hidden in shadow. Azarak rubbed his eyes; there was something odd about her appearance. She seemed almost out-of-focus. Perhaps it was the dimness of the light or the tiredness of his vision.
“Am I speaking to Azarak, His Majesty King of Vantok?” She spoke the human language flawlessly, her pronunciation exact. Her voice was harsh, however - not at all what he would have expected for someone with such a delicate appearance.
“You are.” Azarak rose and executed a perfunctory bow. His posture bespoke his wariness.
“I am Eylene, scout of the Farthan. Please ask your chancellor to leave so we may speak freely.”
At a nod from his king, Toranim withdrew, closing the door behind him. It was against protocol but the situation could hardly be considered normal.
When they were alone, Eylene drew back her hood to reveal a countenance that matched Azarak’s expectations. Her features were refined, with high cheekbones and slender, pointed ears. Her upswept eyebrows and upturned nose framed emerald eyes. Her skin was more fair than portraits of her dead ancestors suggested and she had a full head of the most glorious red-gold tresses he had ever seen. Yet the more intently he stared at her, the more difficult it was to see her clearly. It was as if her face was constructed of vapors that solidified only when glimpsed in passing.
“You are welcome to the court of Vantok, Ambassador,” said Azarak formally, gesturing for her to sit opposite him. Once he had retaken his chair, she lowered herself gingerly onto her seat, crossing her legs beneath her to provide a natural boost. Azarak wondered if it might be uncomfortable for her, considering the smallness of her frame.
“I apologize if I have come at an inconvenient hour, Your Majesty, but the urgency of my mission does not allow for the luxury of observing the correct protocols. I have already traveled many leagues and have much farther to go before I can return to the Farthan.”
“Forgive me if I seem surprised, but to my knowledge it has been centuries since my race has had contact with yours. There are many among humankind who believe the elves to have died out generations ago. Your appearance here is most unexpected, the resurrection of a fairy tale.”
“I acknowledge that, King Azarak. The Farthan recognize that humans think our kind perished long ago. It is a belief we have encouraged because it allowed us to pursue our goals without outside interference. The time has come, however, when isolation may no longer be the most prudent course. The threat that rises endangers us all. Unity is the way to combat it.”
“I’m sorry, Ambassador, but you have me at a disadvantage.”
“Surely you have seen the signs? They are all around.”
“The unnatural heat…”
“It has parched fertile land and will continue to do so. It is evidence more conclusive than any that the eternal balance has been disturbed. You must see what that means.”
Azarak didn’t, although he was wise enough to know it wasn’t good.
When he failed to respond, Eylene spoke four words softly and distinctly. “The gods are dead.”
“Dead?” sputtered Azarak, disbelieving his ears.
Eylene nodded somberly. “Dead. There is no other explanation. The guiding hand they stretched toward us has been withdrawn, but not as a result of malice or neglect. Their awesome presence has vanished. Our mystics have confirmed this; in fact, it has been acknowledged for more than two decades. The precise date is known to those with a certain... sensitivity. Only now are we beginning to feel the effects.”
“There have been rumors among the priests of abandonment…”
“It is not abandonment. It is extinction. How or why this has happened is not divinable nor is it necessary to understand. Seek your prelate for insight into that - he knows the truth, though he may be reluctant to speak of it openly. The fact of their death, however, has grave implications.”
Azarak was reeling. Ferguson’s prediction of drought, famine, and disease now seemed trivial. The arrival in his palace of an ambassador from a race believed long dead making a pronouncement of the unthinkable was too much for him to process at the end of a long day. Oh, to have ruled during an uneventful time…
Eylene waited silently as the king absorbed her message, her head lowered so the slippery view of her face didn’t distract him.
Finally, Azarak spoke. His words were measured, diplomatic. He didn’t want to give offense. “You’ll appreciate, ambassador, if I don’t blindly accept your testimony about such a matter. What you suggest is…hard to believe. As you counsel, I must consult with my religious leaders about this subject. Prelate Ferguson…”
“… is fully aware of the situation. He does not preach the doctrine of ‘abandonment’ because he knows the truth is more drastic. But the urgency of my mission impels me to proceed whether you accept this conclusion or not. That will be for you to decide in the coming days. I am here to speak of practical matters; there is nothing any of us can do about the existence or non-existence of the gods. They are beyond us, as they always have been - living or dead.”
“Very well.” He was curious what else she might have to say. He couldn’t imagine it being more momentous.
“I am here to ask whether, should the need arise, Vantok would be willing to join its military might to ours. All is quiet at the moment, but if forces stir to the south...”
“War?”
Eylene nodded somberly. “Elves no longer possess the numbers to stand alone against any hostile element. We do not reproduce quickly or easily. We are long-lived but, despite that, we are a dying species. Humans, on the other hand, breed as freely as the mice in the fields. So I come to ask you, King Azarak, is Vantok’s army ready to stand against the fire? What force of arms could you bring to the field to join with ours?”
In the years since he had become king, Azarak had grown skilled in the arts of diplomacy. But Eylene’s blunt approach, not couched in the flowery language normally employed by ambassadors, left him uncertain of the best response. Evade or match her candor with his own? “You will appreciate, Ambassador, that I can’t possibly give you an answer now. At present, I don’t have an army mobilized - only a series of small, privately funded militias and the City Watch. It has been decades since Vantok required a standing army. Should the need arise, I have no doubt we could raise a sizable force in less than a season, but a military alliance of the sort you propose… you must understand that it would take more than a clandestine audience with a single representative of the Farthan to set things in motion. I must consult with my advisors and Vantok’s prelate. This issue must be debated and considered and scouts must be sent south to determine if the sit
uation is as dire as you say.”
She seemed satisfied with the response. “All this is anticipated, King Azarak. We would not expect you to take any of this on faith. We come to you now because, while the situation is grave, there is yet time. Years will elapse before the crisis will come. This is an exploratory contact. I will return to my tribe to inform them of our meeting. When the need arises for a formal alliance, I shall return.”
“Could you stay until the morrow and address my advisors? I can provide you with accommodations for the night.” If Eylene made an appearance in person, it would be considerably less difficult to convince the skeptics of her existence.
Eylene shook her head. “It would not be wise for my presence to excite speculation. It is up to you how and when you wish to disseminate what I have told you, and how closely you will examine these facts.”
“If we wanted to contact the Farthan, how would we do it? Where can we find you?”
“You cannot,” said Eylene. “We are hidden from your eyes. You are blind and deaf to us. We will be found when we wish it to be so but not beforehand. You may search the whole of the Deep South for us and not find a trace.”
“One last thing.” He knew that after Eylene was gone, a hundred questions would occur to him and he would curse himself for having been too addle-brained to ask them. “You ask me to take much on faith. Is there nothing tangible you can provide? How am I to encourage others to believe in crib stories?”
“My presence should be sufficient to dispel the notion that elves are no more. I stand before you as evidence that though we rarely have congress with men, we are not extinct. And I do not suggest you place any faith in ‘crib stories,’ although there may be those among your advisors who will steer you toward old superstitions. Some humans yearn to return to the distant past, when select men used mystical portals to gain mastery over fire, air, water, and earth. But the gods stripped away those powers and to seek for them now is an act of desperation not sanity.”
Azarak was enough of a student of history to recognize that she spoke of wizards. But if the elves, who had been absent for mere centuries, were viewed as make-believe creatures, how much more was that true of wizards, who had died out nearly a millennium ago?
“Reject the counsel of those who would urge such things, no matter how highly placed or well-regarded they may be. Do not be distracted by their peculiar brand of madness. Seek solace in the strength of arms not the myth of magic.”
So saying, Eylene replaced her hood and, with a deep bow, took her leave. A waiting servant escorted her to the palace gates.
Moments later, Toranim returned. “Your Majesty?”
“Ah, my friend. Would that I’d been born in a different time. I’ve had the weight of the ages laid upon me. If only a fraction of what I’ve been told tonight is true, we face a crisis the likes of which this age has never seen.”
He conveyed the essential points from his conversations with Ferguson and Eylene. When he was done, Toranim’s face displayed frank incredulity.
“It’s clear we have to consider all this information carefully,” the chancellor began after a lengthy pause. “It would be foolish to dismiss any of it, no matter how farfetched it may seem. But the testimony of an elf must be investigated before credence can be leant to it... if that’s what she is. History tells us elves don’t see the world as we do. What to them may be concrete enemies could be nothing more to us than drafts and ill winds. Gathering an army is an expensive task.”
“If elves exist, an alliance could be invaluable. They could offer much.”
“But do elves exist? We must tread carefully. There’s cause to doubt her motives. She bears no credentials other than what our eyes could see. She came alone in the dead of the night. Because she looks like an elf and claims to be one doesn’t mean it’s so. Her unwillingness to remain even one day to address your advisors and face potentially hard questions creates uncertainty. Something is amiss here, Your Majesty.”
“Her words were… compelling. When the time is right, we must confront Ferguson with this information. I have the feeling he wasn’t forthcoming when I saw him earlier. He spins words like a spider spins webs, and his patterns are no less mesmerizing. He came with a warning but was evasive about particulars. I believe he may be open to the possibility that the gods have abandoned us.”
“Or died?”
Azarak nodded. “Eylene said as much, as if she knows him, or knew him. Abandonment or death - it amounts to the same thing. If they’ve rejected us, does it matter why?”
“I suppose not. Either would be devastating to the social order.”
“Not to mention the power of the priesthood. One can understand why a prelate would be reluctant to accept such an eventuality. Or, if he believes it, to publicly acknowledge it. ‘Seek your prelate for insight into that - he knows the truth.’”
“And therein may lie out greatest challenge,” mused Toranim. “Any advice Ferguson gives will be tainted by his desire to retain what he has. A change to the status quo could render him impotent in a new order.”
“Somehow, I think he’d find a path to power, no matter what the nature of the order.”
“Nevertheless, I urge caution in approaching him. I agree he must be consulted but only when we’re better prepared. We don’t want him as an adversary in this situation.”
“Agreed. What are my chances, do you think, of convincing my advisors of Eylene’s existence? Will they believe me or seek to have me replaced by my Crown Prince on the grounds I’ve taken leave of my senses?”
Toranim considered. Without proof, making reference to “an elf” would be accompanied by political risks. Although Azarak was generally well-liked and respected by both the common people and the nobility, there were opportunists who would seize upon any chance to destabilize the throne. “Your Majesty, while I agree we must investigate the truth of Eylene’s claims, little benefit can be gained from speaking openly of her appearance. If necessary, we can cite anonymous intelligence. Stating we have a source within The Forbidden Lands would be credible; identifying that source to be an elf wouldn’t be. We can be vague without resorting to falsehoods.”
“And what of her comments about wizards? She stressed that point particularly, as if it was a consideration I might have been exposed to.”
“I must confess little knowledge of magic. In my studies, it fell under the rubric of ‘Legends of Antiquity’ rather than ‘History.’ If you want to discuss it with someone, Ferguson might be a source. It’s said he has a fondness for arcane matters. I can remember a time during your father’s reign when he requested a complete genealogy and list of binding restrictions on the ceremonial position of ‘The Wizard’s Bride’, of all things.”
“‘No matter how highly placed or well regarded,’ she said. Could she have been referring to Ferguson? What’s her relationship to him?”
“Clearly, Your Majesty, there are many things we don’t know.”
“Toranim, you’re masterful at stating the obvious.” Azarak’s tired smile belied the cutting nature of the words. “As a boy, I never liked doing research. Spending time bent over dusty, moldy books seemed like such a waste when I could be training with a sword or riding a horse. But these questions may find their answers only in the scrolls and tomes of antiquity. It appears I must surrender my long-held prejudice against studying and re-introduce myself to the palace librarian and his vast collection of manuscripts.”
CHAPTER EIGHT: A SECOND CHAMPION
The first day of Summer was special for Sorial, not only because it meant he was one year shy of his Majority but because it was the first night since coming to The Wayfarer’s Comfort when he would have a room to call his own. No more sleeping in mice-infested straw. No more being awakened in the middle of the night by restless horses or Visnisk’s rutting. An arrangement with Warburm had provided him with an upgrade in quarters in return for agreeing to stay on an extra year.
The innkeeper had come to see him yester
day, the day before the fourteenth birthday, stepping out of the hothouse of a tavern into the hotter realm of a sweltering midday sun. The only reasonably cool places in Vantok were deep cellars and the river. There was nothing to be done about the heat, though. One could complain but in the end it had to be endured. Life went on.
Warburm had begun his visit by commending Sorial on his industriousness and diligence. It would be difficult, he had asserted, to find a replacement for such a hard worker. Then came the offer: If Sorial agreed to stay for one year past his Maturity, he would be given a room in the inn and a full weekly day off starting immediately. One year from now, he would begin earning a regular wage and could keep a higher percentage of all tips.
Sorial had requested time to consider the proposition, but after only one more night of lying in his smelly, uncomfortable loft bed, he went to Warburm with his assent. Although his plans to depart Vantok hadn’t changed, he was willing to trade an additional year in the city for less immediate discomfort. Besides, it was unlikely he would have left Warburm’s employ upon turning fifteen. He needed to build a savings so he could afford to travel. His small stash of coins wouldn’t get him halfway to Basingham. His only other worldly possessions were his clothing and dagger.
Annie came to see him during the slow hours between lunch and supper. The streets were lightly traveled during the day, with most people finding places to avoid direct exposure to the broiling sun when it was at its highest. The marketplace was closed from mid-morning until late afternoon. The weather had altered the way people led their lives. Many napped during the height of the day and worked late into the night.
“Whew!” Annie exclaimed, wrinkling her nose at the smell - a common reaction among Sorial’s few visitors. Like everyone else, she was slick with sweat. The way her blouse clung to her chest left little to the imagination, but she didn’t pay it any attention. Modesty had never been one of her defining characteristics and in this weather it was less important. “Your room’s ready. Can’t say it’s cool or clean, but it’s a lot better’n out here. That was a smart move, Sor. Working for Warburm ain’t too bad. Plus, there’s plenty of fringe benefits to sleeping inside.” She winked at him.
The Last Whisper of the Gods Page 10