by David Pauly
'Very well,' said Creon after giving the matter some thought. 'But the comings and goings of Dwarves and especially Elves will reveal their aid to those conspirators we cannot yet find.'
'Not if you have some of the Dwarves and Elves here to set up temporary consulates while we are planning to build them both a new one,' said Alfrahil. 'Who would think anything odd in that?'
'What new consulates?' asked Mergin. 'We aren't building them new consulates.'
'As of today we are, both to reward the Dwarves and Elves for their efforts on our behalf and as a perfect cover for my father to stay here in the Astrology Tower, as the noise from new construction in the Citadel would be disruptive. This way he can stay here until it is safe for him to be seen in public again,' said Alfrahil.
'Mergin has taught you well, lad;' said the king, chuckling. 'I should have thought of it myself.'
'This way, who would notice various Dwarven and Elven messengers coming and going from the Citadel? And even if they did, it would be assumed that they were taking terms and contracts back and forth between here and their realms.'
Grimly, Mergin nodded his assent. 'I see you have given this much thought.'
'Why should that surprise you, Lord Mergin?' asked Alfrahil .
'It doesn't. But the last trade agreement, three years ago, caused much consternation amongst our merchants, if you recall,' stated Mergin.
'Indeed I do,' replied Alfrahil sardonically. 'And as our merchants seem to be the most likely suspects in this plot, let us put some wolves amongst the sheep, perhaps letting rumors fly that those merchants less cooperative with the King and his policies are less likely to be happy with the outcome of the agreement.'
Creon laughed richly and said, 'Yes, indeed, my son. You will make a fine King someday, when I am gone. Well, Lord Mergin, why don't you leave me and my son to our own devices as you get some well needed rest.'
'Yes, my Lord, I think that I shall turn in, but I shall rise at dawn and continue this investigation.' With a bow to the king and Alfrahil, Mergin took his leave.
'Well, my son,' said the king after Mergin had departed, 'you have certainly had a full day, but there is one last item I wish to discuss. A messenger arrived from Kozak early today bearing a message that Priscus, strongest of the Magi, would like to speak with either me or one of my two sons. As your brother is already under watch, sending him is out of the question. And I, of course, am needed here. Thus it would be best that you go to him. Perhaps Priscus has information that would help us, though I doubt he knows anything of our most recent troubles. Besides, if you leave the City and ride hard to Kozak, you may be in less danger than you seem to be in here in Eldora, as terrible as that is for me to say.'
Alfrahil pondered his father's words for a few moments before nodding. 'Yes, that is well, Father. Perhaps when I return, you and Mergin will have rounded up the guilty so that all of us may return to a regular life again. Besides, I have always wanted to meet the Magi. I have heard so many legends about those ancient Forest Spirits. It will be interesting to see the truth.'
The Magi were Forest Spirits who, according to myth, created the Emerald Vale in remote Kozak to preserve the wondrous creatures and plants that lived there and to use their magic to probe the future and the present for answers to questions addressed to them by pilgrims.
Chuckling darkly, Creon said, 'I do not think that you will be disappointed in meeting Priscus, my son. But tread lightly while in his realm and remember that he is both proud and ancient. To such as he, even Eldoran royalty are but upstarts. Do not let your temper get the better of you.'
'When have I ever?" asked Alfrahil.
Again Creon laughed. 'Perhaps you have not yet been sufficiently provoked.'
'Now I am more intrigued than ever father, very well. After breakfast tomorrow I shall assemble my guards and take five Shadows with me to ease your mind.'
'Very good, my son. Now go and rest, I have one last task to perform before I retire. I will see you upon your return.'
Alfrahil rose and, bowing, left his father alone in the meeting room with his thoughts.
#
After a few moments, Creon rose, his weary mind demanding more answers prior to submitting to a restful sleep. The First District was awash with guardsmen and over thirty Shadows, but Creon, wary of the breaches in security, changed into the uniform of a common guardsman, with a large helmet to conceal his face. Bidding two Shadows to change into similar attire, Creon felt reasonably safe as he walked out into the dark First District. Oil lamps in great glass globes were placed at regular intervals, providing a flickering yellow light bright enough for Creon to see his way. Stopping at the edge of the battlements, he gazed down upon the lights below and across the City plain. The evening sounds of the City came up occasionally to him: faint laughter and the horses trotting upon the streets. A gentle waft of odors from a distant kitchen reminded him that there were benefits to being a simple citizen, free of the overwhelming burdens of leading the kingdom.
Creon pushed his tall frame back from the battlements and walked toward the Tower of Anicetus and its tall dark spire. Soaring above the highest point in the city, the bright white granite stones were muted as the moon had set early and the yellow lights of the lamps did not extend very far. Tonight of all nights he was weary and did not relish the climb ahead of him, but he knew there was no other way to speed his message as far and fast as it needed to go.
His Shadow escort opened the small iron door set into the north facing wall at the base of the tower. Passing into the marbled foyer, Creon removed his helmet, surprising the guards on duty, who jumped to attention.
'At ease, men,' he told them. 'Anything unusual to report?'
'No, your highness,' replied the guard on Creon's left. 'We relieved the day guards, and we shall be relieved shortly after midnight by the dawn watch.'
'Very well,' said Creon. Looking ahead, he saw the tower stairs, dark basalt set into a regular pattern, disappearing into the dark. Creon ordered one of the guards to bring him an oil lantern; then, gesturing to his Shadows to remain below, he mounted the stairs. Dust rose from beneath his feet in the feeble light. Every four flights there was a small rest area, with a bench and a covered pitcher of water, and Creon took advantage of each one. Even so, his legs were cramping by the time he reached the top of the tower and the black iron door that was locked fast against all save the King.
Removing a key of Platina from around his neck, Creon inserted it into the ancient lock and entered the room of the Acies. One chair there was, with windows all around the small room atop the tower. The King permitted no visitors here and had shown the room to each of his sons but once, upon the day that they reached the age of their majority. Even Mergin had never been permitted entrance.
Many months had elapsed since Creon's last visit. He sat in the chair and pondered the crystals before him. A collection of crystal pipes hung from the ceiling on a strong chain, crisscrossing and turning in dozens of different directions. The set was a rough cube about three feet on a side, but there was the odd pipe that protruded in an asymmetric fashion, as if brass instruments had been welded together by a drunken smith. Now the set was obscured by the feeble light of Creon's oil lamp, but he knew that in the daytime the crystals reflected and refracted sunlight, sending a rainbow cascade across the room.
At last he rose and opened all the windows in the small chamber. Creon knew that no matter his thoughts and his rightful claim to use the Acies, much depended upon the wind blowing through this tower top. He had no idea how and why the crystals functioned only when air blew through them. Many times, he had come to use the Acies, only to find that there was a breeze from the wrong quarter or too weak a wind to generate more than feeble sounds, washed-out colors and indistinct forms and figures. But when the wind was right, the pipes uttered different tones, some deep, others shrill, and emitted lights and colors that coalesced into a small sphere of light, two feet in diameter and centered four feet abov
e the floor. It was in that sphere that the visions appeared.
Tonight he was quite fortunate: the wind blew from many different directions, swirling around the tower and drawing images from all points of the compass, and from the past, present, and possibly even the future. The lost Acies under the river Aphon was reputed to have valves that enabled the user to control which images manifested themselves; from which different times could be discerned, but this set lacked any such mechanism, leaving Creon dependent upon the winds to direct the focus of the Acies. The Greater Elves had denied Creon's requests over the years to share the secrets of controlling the Acies, despite their mutual alliance. If the lost Acies were recovered, Creon would have a much more useful tool to see what far events transpired in Nostraterra.
As the night breezes coursed through the crystal pipes, Creon fixed his mind upon the small sphere of color that appeared below the set. When the images were clear, he focused upon them, unable to control the magic of the Crystals themselves, except that with great mental effort he could bid them show him specific places albeit briefly. Using the Crystals required tremendous strength and patience, as they would usually show random images of places and people near and far. However, when the wind was relatively constant Creon might stare at one small scene set in a forest somewhere for many minutes, and, just as his mind lost focus, the crystals would shift to show something very important. Creon suspected that the magic flowing through the crystals was somehow alive, perhaps even sentient, but again any questions directed at the Greater Elves were never answered.
As always when using the Acies, Creon marveled at the magic of the Elves, thanks to which he was able to see people and places farther than his fastest scouts could reach in months, to say nothing of events dredged from the past or from days not yet dawned. Tonight, the scenes flickered too fast for him to make sense of at first, but gradually he was able to focus his mind and slow the kaleidoscope of fragments into a cohesive whole. Yet though he desperately wanted answers about the attempt on his son's life, only one glimpse did the set give him: that of the preparations made before the attack, when the assassins practiced with their Elven weapons and Dwarven ladders on a deserted city street in a light too dim to allow him the chance to identify any of the men's features.
At last, he felt a sharp, stabbing pain in his mind and the beginning of a terrible headache—such was always the case when he wrestled for long with the Acies. Suddenly he heard a strange sound coming from the many windows, a mournful howl like he had never heard before. The breezes changed direction in sequence, from east to south to west to north to east again, proceeding in this clockwise order for a few moments.
All at once, a new and much larger sphere appeared beneath the set, tinged with blue. Creon had never seen before a vision associated with this blue coloring, and he hoped that finally he was gaining mental mastery over the set. But though he tried to glimpse into Shardan, the Acies instead took him with dizzying speed south over the sea to what could only have been Elvalon, that fabled city of the Greater Elves. There he saw Elves arrayed for battle, led by Aradia the legendary Elf queen who had left Nostraterra after the defeat of Magnar. She was speaking to a vast host of soldiers who stood at attention, her face resolute and angry. Behind the soldiers, Creon saw a harbor filled with an armada of ships ready for sailing.
A last plaintive sound came from the wind, and then the vision was gone.
'Was this some future moment, an Elven Army assembled and ready to depart to who knows where?' wondered Creon. 'If so, there could only be one possible destination for such an army: Nostraterra.'
Deeply troubled, Creon used the last of his mental strength and exercised the only specific command he was empowered to give this particular Acies, one that the Greater Elves had woven into its magic. His vision blurred, briefly, before clearing, and he beheld a familiar Elven face—that of one of the keepers of the Acies in Phoenicia, the last stronghold of the Greater Elves in Nostraterra, gateway to the Immortal Lands.
'King Creon, this is indeed an honor. How may we help you?'
Creon swiftly related all that had recently transpired in Eldora. He kept his voice even, his tone polite, though in truth it galled him deeply to be compelled by circumstances to approach the Greater Elves as if on bended knee, as though he were an ordinary supplicant and not the High King of Men.
'I would ask the aid of the Elves of Phoenicia in unmasking those behind this murderous plot and bringing them to justice,' he said. 'I would also request that Lord Celefin himself be informed of the situation and be consulted on our behalf, as befits two royal allies.'
'Verily, your highness. These are dire tidings. I will speak with Celefin when he is awake on the morrow. We shall respond as quickly as possible,' said the Elf.
'No,' said Creon. 'Have him speak to me personally, for there are matters I wish to discuss that are for no other ears but his.'
'It shall be done, King Creon. In two days' time, Lord Celefin of Phoenicia will sit here at this same time and respond to your request.'
Creon withdrew his contact, sagging physically and mentally in weariness. After a moment, he rose from the stiff-backed chair. It was nearly dawn. He must hurry back to the Astrology Tower if he did not wish the daylight to reveal him to any who might be watching this tower and questioning the strange play of lights that had come from within.
CHAPTER TWELVE: WARNINGS
Just after daybreak, Alfrahil assembled his guards, led by Caelus, in the courtyard of the Citadel with sixty Citadel guards and thirty knights of Kelsea, along with five Shadows. The knights were legendary cavalry, from the duchy of Kelsea, one of the six royal principalities that comprised the interior of Eldora. Alfrahil rode forth in full ceremonial armor, with a large plumed helmet that hid much of his face. His escort was likewise accoutered, while the Shadows wore their traditional camouflage garb. It was a short ride to the Healer Hall, down through the ruined Second District to the Third, where the horses were stabled at a messenger stable while Alfrahil and his Shadows entered the hall.
Clanking into the hall in royal regalia and dress mail, Alfrahil felt ridiculous in this outfit. Moreover, as he entered the hall, he strode into the common ward and saw the hurtful, angry glances of the families of the wounded. It did not take all of Alfrahil's political acumen to realize that these common folk thought he was posturing in his dress armor, only pretending to care for the wounded while looking princely for political reasons. Nothing could have been further from the truth, but Alfrahil knew that he must continue this charade no matter how uncomfortable.
Findalas quickly appeared, wiping the last crumbs from her morning breakfast from her face. She appeared stunned by his appearance.
'My prince, how can I be of service?' she asked, with a hint of anger in her voice and dark red splotches on her face, as if affronted by the bald-faced political nature of Alfrahil's garb.
'You can show me to my friend Biramin's room, Healer Findalas, and then Captain Alcar's room,' said Alfrahil emotionlessly.
Findalas flushed even more darkly before saying through clenched teeth, 'Certainly, my Lord. I think you know the way.'
Sending two Shadows ahead, and leaving the other three on the lower level, Alfrahil clanked up the stairs to the private ward on the second floor. Oil lamps in globes were in the stairway provided light, and Alfrahil saw a broom closet offset into the stairwell wall on the first landing above the main floor. Opening the closet door, Alfrahil told his two Shadows to proceed upstairs without him. Reaching up and pulling the oil lamp out of its bracket, Alfrahil propelled Findalas none too gently into the closet. Before she could voice any objection, he placed his mail clad fingers against her mouth as gently as he could.
'Findalas please do not be angry with me. I am here for three reasons today. First, to see to my friends, the next second to continue a complex subterfuge created by Lord Mergin, and the third to see you again. This ludicrous outfit has its purpose. This is not political posturing, but a disgui
se.'
Confused and still angry, Findalas replied, 'You wanted to see me again. Why?'
Suddenly awkward, Alfrahil stuttered, 'Because you are beautiful and kind and an accomplished healer, I would like to see you again under less formal circumstances.'
Blushing even in the yellow light of the lamp, Findalas was momentarily speechless, but then found her voice. 'Perhaps I can come visit you in the Citadel tomorrow if you like?'
'That will not be possible, for I will be abroad tomorrow and the next few weeks, but as soon as I return, I would like it above all things. Now, however, I need your help. I will see my friends in this ludicrous getup, but then I must descend these stairs and change out of this armor into the clothing of a leper. Do you have such clothes?'
'Yes, lord,' said Findalas. 'But why…?'
'I need to get out of Titania unseen and unsuspected. If I ride out plainly, I will simply be a target again. A guardsman of my build will come here to put on my armor and leave the Healer Hall in my place, and I will sneak out with my Shadows through the tradesman entrance at the back of the hall.'
To this, Findalas readily agreed. They left the closet and hastened to Biramin's room. Alfrahil opened the door quietly and saw Biramin fast asleep, with Wynhyrra sleeping in a neighboring cot. Not wanting to wake his friend, Alfrahil withdrew and whispered to Findalas once the door was closed, 'How is he?'
'Better, Lord. He is mending well and will be fit to return to duty in a month or so.'
'Very well. Let me see Alcar and I will be away on my mission.' Not saying anything else, Alfrahil lumbered toward Alcar's room for several steps before he realized Findalas was not keeping pace with him any longer. Turning, he glanced back quizzically and saw Findalas standing there with a stricken expression on her face. When their gazes met, she shook her head softly. Realizing that Alcar was dead, Alfrahil tried his best to maintain his composure, and succeeded after a few moments of shaking in despair.