The elderly elf's thin hands grasped Brigit's shoulders with surprising strength. "The eternal route to Evermeet is closed!"
Brigit's mind refused to consider the long-term problem to which her mentor referred. Instead, she tried to grapple with more immediate concerns-the loss of her friends, the destruction of her city, and the astounding and timely arrival of humans within Synnoria.
"Can you come to the atrium?" she asked. "The Serene Matriarch will be meeting the humans there. She-we-would like your presence."
Erashanoor blinked again, looking around as if he couldn't bear to leave the wreckage without cleaning up. "Humans? Yes-yes, of course!"
His voice grew firm, and he looked at Brigit sternly. "We cannot bear every outrage of this grievous day!"
She felt a measure of relief as he fished out his great pipe and tamped down a bowl of his herb. Finally he turned his back on the chaos and followed Brigit toward the atrium, the only part of the Palace of the Ages where the floor was clear enough for a gathering.
Alicia and her companions stood as spectators to a confrontation between two factions of the Llewyrr.
On the one side, albeit reluctantly, stood Brigit Cu'Lyrran and the surviving Sisters of Synnoria. They formed a pathetically small group, though Alicia was heartened to see that the brave Colleen had survived the fight. These Llewyrr had fought the Ityak-Ortheel and knew that without the intervention of the humans, the battle would have ended in unmitigated disaster.
On the other side stood the venerable Erashanoor and the Elders of the Llewyrr, each of whom had lived a minimum of six centuries, representing nearly three thousand years of tradition coupled with implacable prejudice. Yet these elves, like the fighters, still reeled emotionally from the shock of the Elf-Eater's rampage.
The Serene Matriarch of Synnoria, Ate'Niah, sat in an ornately carved wooden chair in the center of the sunlight-filled chamber. Her face was unlined, but still reflected the wisdom of many centuries of life. Silver hair coiled around her head, rising into a peak that bore a small tiara of diamond-studded platinum. Despite the perfection of her coiffure, however, the haste of the meeting was reflected in her muddy boots and the traces of soot that stained her pearl-colored gown.
"I must repeat, Matriarch," announced Erashanoor determinedly, "I protest most strongly the presence of humans here, in the heart of our most sacred chambers!" The elderly Llewyrr, keeper of the Elven Gate for all these long centuries, avoided looking at the visitors, as if their very sight was an affront to his sensibilities. Instead, his gaze came to rest on Brigit, and he glowered with unconcealed anger.
"It has been agreed that their presence will be tolerated," replied the Serene Matriarch Ate'Niah.
"Tolerated!" Alicia, who had been struggling to contain her anger and resentment at the elven arrogance, could no longer bear it. "If we hadn't arrived when we did, there'd be no chambers here at all, sacred or otherwise! A brave halfling died in that cause!" She glared at the withered form of the gatemaster, daring him to meet her gaze, but he did not.
A touch on Alicia's arm brought her attention around to Robyn. The queen stood beside her daughter, though the princess didn't know how long she had been there. Yet, with the touch on her arm, Alicia felt her tension and anger fade from burning flame to dull coal, like a well-banked fire that nestled a great deal of heat while showing little brightness.
"Serene Matriarch of Synnoria, I thank you for the opportunity to speak in these exalted chambers," Robyn began, bowing politely without seeming abject.
"I know who you are, High Queen Kendrick of Callidyrr," said the thin-faced elven matriarch known as Ate'Niah. Her voice was cool, carefully formal. "The mistress captain has informed me of your acquaintance in the recent past, and your contributions today are known to even the blindest of the Llewyrr."
Recent past! The words brought rueful smiles to Robyn's and Alicia's lips. Her adventures with Brigit had occurred twenty years ago, half of the queen's lifetime, yet the elf could refer to it as the 'recent past'!
"I am pleased that my friend Brigit recalls our alliance in a positive light. The courage of her and her comrades was instrumental in the triumph of King Kendrick and myself." Robyn's tone remained formal, but she smiled at the captain of the sister knights.
"Ah, yes… High King Kendrick. The extent of his rule was known to us, even isolated in Synnoria. His reign did not pass without merit."
Again Alicia flushed. Tristan had merely united the four kingdoms of the Ffolk, the first ruler to do so since Cymrych Hugh! "Not without merit" indeed! But she held her tongue, realizing that anger could only jeopardize their hopes.
"I extend our regret regarding his death," continued the matriarch. "The passing of even a short-lived human must be a thing of sorrow."
Robyn stiffened, and for a moment, Alicia wondered if the sublime arrogance of the Llewyrr would overcome even her mother's discipline. It did not.
"He.. King Tristan. . may be alive," replied the queen, her words ringing with hope in the vast chamber.
For a time, none of the elves made any reply. At first, Alicia wondered if they'd heard. Then she noticed a raised eyebrow on Erashanoor's creased forehead, a twist of the Matriarch's lips. Brigit alone gasped, and she did that silently.
"How do you know this? Is he a madman, to disappear from the world? Or is he a prisoner?" inquired Matriarch Ate'Niah.
"A prisoner," replied Robyn. "That is why we have come to you-to ask for help in his rescue."
"No!" declared Erashanoor, forcing himself to look at the companions for a moment before turning to the matriarch to plead his case. "It's a snare to trap us in human intrigues!"
"I was about to explain that we have no intention of 'ensnaring' you or even of asking Llewyrr to place themselves in danger," Robyn said, her tone low but icy-hard. The rebuke against the venerable Erashanoor was plain to all the Llewyrr. The matriarch's lips tightened in an expression that might have been grim amusement.
"Who holds King Kendrick, and where?" asked Brigit.
"The scrags-the sea trolls-have imprisoned him in the Coral Kingdom. Their ransom demands are impossible, leaving us no recourse but to abandon him or attempt his rescue."
"It would seem, then, that they have him beyond your reach," observed the sister knight grimly. "How did you hope that we could help?"
"There are tales. . perhaps little more than legends, though our bards and mages believe them to be grounded in the truth. . tales of elven ships that, at one time, could sail beneath the sea. If this is true and such magic can be employed to modify our vessels, we intend to mount an expedition to rescue him."
Robyn stated the plan bluntly, and then she waited. If the matriarch or Erashanoor had expected her to plead for help, they were surprised. The queen of Moonshae would make no further attempt to persuade.
It was the ancient gatekeeper who broke the silence, and his tone was the softest it had been during this council. Erashanoor almost looked sad; certainly his attitude was regretful. "Such knowledge was once the province of the elven seafarers, and perhaps two thousand years ago you would have found crafters among the Llewyrr who could help you. But such skills are long since lost to the elves of the Outer Lands."
"Outer Lands? You mean places like Synnoria?" inquired Alicia, her impatience forcing her into the conversation.
"All the elvenlands beyond Evermeet are the Outer Lands," explained the matriarch. "And I'm afraid that the gatemaster is correct. The only repository of such knowledge is in the vast libraries and troves of the eternal elvenhome."
Evermeet! To Alicia-to all the humans-the knowledge might as well have resided on the moon. That mystical isle was hidden somewhere in the mists of the Trackless Sea, reputedly death to any sailors who dared approach. The greatest navigators of humanity disagreed vehemently on its location or even its very existence.
Keane spoke softly, but his voice and his presence-he was the tallest person, man or elf, in the room-commanded the attention of the Synn
orian Elders. "It is said-also in legends, of course, though I have heard it from those who call it fact-that there are ways known to the elves, paths that lead to Evermeet from across the Realms. Is there such a way you could employ to aid us?"
There was no mistaking the pain that flashed across Erashanoor's face, and Alicia felt a surge of suspicion. Had the wizard guessed at the secret of the Llewyrr? As quickly as that, her suspicions were replaced by hope. Did that mean that there was a route to Evermeet? Could her father be saved?
"That route is closed," Brigit said, unable to conceal her grief. She turned and spoke to the Serene Matriarch, who gasped in shock at Brigit's words. "The Ityak-Ortheel corrupted the Fey-Alamtine-smashed the passage beyond recognition. Evermeet can no longer be reached through the Synnorian Gate."
"So much corruption, such evil. . and our islands are so small," observed Ate'Niah after a somber pause.
"And shared by our peoples together," observed the queen of the Ffolk. "It is not unreasonable to believe that the forces sending the Elf-Eater against Synnoria are the same dark ones who hold my husband hostage."
"Quite possible, Noble Queen," replied the matriarch of Synnoria. "But alas, it does not change the fact that, so long as our path to Evermeet is closed, we cannot aid you in the rescue of your husband."
The hope that had blossomed in Alicia's mind wilted with this revelation, and despair threatened to claim her. Her father was lost, in truth. There would be, could be, no rescue.
"Evermeet is an island, correct?" asked Brandon, speaking for the first time. His voice was gruff, as if the words came forth only with difficulty. He, too, had been forced to unusual lengths of self-control to maintain his silence.
Erashanoor and the matriarch both nodded somberly, watching the Prince of Gnarhelm carefully. If the Llewyrr regarded the Ffolk with cautious hostility, the northmen they had considered blood enemies for many centuries.
"An island not impossibly far from here, from the Moonshaes." Brand turned to face his companions, his words warming to the topic. "Well, we could sail there! It can be no longer a journey than a dozen of my ancestors have made at some time or another!"
"Impossible!" snapped Erashanoor, appalled.
"It cannot be done. You would not survive to reach the island's shores!" confirmed Matriarch Ate'Niah.
"Begging your pardon, Your Royal Matronship, but I can take a ship a good many places others have said a ship was never meant to go!" Brandon pursued.
"You don't know what stands in your path," exclaimed Brigit, her eyes wide and her tone serious. She looked at Brandon with sympathy, but shook her head. "There are magical cyclones that rise from the sea, crushing ships into kindling. There are the Warders, great sea beasts who spend their lives ensuring that no vessel can approach the elvenhome."
"Sea beasts and cyclones!" Brandon laughed, although admittedly the sound was somewhat forced. "Nothing I haven't faced a dozen times before!" Alicia had to admire his bravado. As he spoke, she found herself believing him, wanting to sail with him against these foes.
"And even if you survive the barriers-an unlikely occurrence, assuredly," offered the matriarch, "you would be slain as soon as you stepped ashore. Humans are not welcome on Evermeet."
"Perhaps … but perhaps not," noted Robyn thoughtfully.
"What do you mean?" inquired Brigit, intrigued in spite of herself.
"Perhaps we could land safely if we had an escort… an elven escort!"
"Impossible!" shouted Erashanoor, his wrinkled visage flushing indignantly. "It is as I suspected. You seek to seduce us away from our valley! It won't be-"
"I'll go." Brigit's voice cut like a blade through the gatekeeper's ranting. Erashanoor stopped speaking but forgot to close his mouth in astonishment. "I will sail with you to Evermeet. Once there-if we get there-I will act as your agent, presenting your request for aid."
"If you don't believe we can get there, why do you volunteer to come along?" asked Alicia, unable to banish the challenge from her voice.
"Friendship," said Brigit bluntly. "And perhaps a measure of gratitude. . and respect."
Alicia regretted her tone, her face flushing with embarrassment at the sister knight's generous words. But her mother smoothly moved past the moment.
"I thank you, my old friend," Robyn said, stepping forward to clasp both of Brigit's outstretched hands.
And as quickly as that, the matter was settled.
"Enough of these distractions!" The voice of Talos, backed by thunder in his rage, echoed and resounded through the halls of his smoking realm.
Even Malar, mortal enemy of elvenkind, would have quailed before that anger, except for the fact that any such display of weakness in the face of a fellow god could have potentially disastrous consequences. So instead, the Beastlord pretended haughty indifference and turned a bored, deathlike eye toward his unholy ally.
"Very well," he agreed, his own voice a basso rumble that could be felt to the core of the plane around them. "Ityak-Ortheel was an amusing diversion, but the Synnorian Gate is still closed-and no doubt the Llewyrr have been driven deeper into their shell than ever. I am satisfied."
"Good-very good!" Talos grumbled, mollified.
"Have the humans replied to Sinioth's demands?" inquired Malar, none too eager to dwell on the previous topic of conversation. Talos shook his head, and the ground rumbled beneath him.
"The king of the Ffolk. .?" Malar mused. "Should he be put to death?"
"Not yet!" Talos commanded without hesitation. "We hold a vital trump, my ally. We should not be hasty to discard it!"
"Very well," agreed the Beastlord, phrasing the central question. "What do we do now?"
"We have the glass… in the hands of our young tool," Talos noted.
"Proven doubly useful," Malar agreed.
"So we wait," said Talos, his voice low, almost bored. "Then later, after the humans have had time to grasp their impotence, we will send them his other hand."
The other god smiled. The plan had an appealing ring.
PART II: EVERMEET
8
The Third Princess of Moonshae
Brandon's eyes swept the horizon with obvious eagerness as the party drew near Corwell on the return from Synnoria. Alicia attributed the northman's eagerness to his love for the sea, assuming that the week-long trek into the highlands had been a hard separation for the sailor.
Of course, the princess herself looked ahead with growing eagerness as their horses alternately cantered, trotted, and walked along the King's Road of Corwell. The solid bulk of Caer Corwell, atop its rocky knoll, would be a clear sign of their homecoming, looming before them for the last six hours of the ride. At the same time, Alicia reminded herself, pastoral Lowhill would come into sight, a clear reminder of their mission's grim cost.
Brigit accompanied the human riders. Her lieutenant, Colleen, had pleaded with her to come as well, but Brigit had agreed that she would be the only elf to accompany the party. This much she was willing to compromise with her mentor, Erashanoor. Despite the fact that a departure from Synnoria-not to mention a sea voyage! — loomed as a major trauma to the Llewyrr, the elf had completed her preparations in the hour following the council in ruined Argen-Tellirynd.
The matriarch had prevailed on the battle-weary companions to spend one night in the elven vale, which they had done gratefully. The hypnotic splendor of the place Robyn recalled from twenty years before remained absent-a fact that was hardly surprising, considering the chaos that had just wracked the valley.
By the following dawn, propelled by unspoken urgency, they were saddled and ready to ride. Deirdre, they discovered as they prepared to depart, was nowhere to be found. She had apparently teleported back to Caer Corwell without any farewells.
The morning of the last day had broken a few hours ago with the promise of Corwellian hearths before nightfall. The absence of Pawldo was a persistent cloud, hovering over members of the party at different times but affecting them all deeply.
Brandon rode beside Alicia. He had been silent for much of this day. Now, however, the other companions had trailed out before them, and they could talk privately. It was the moment he had awaited.
"We're well along the path to your father," he declared. "I know that-you have to trust me, Princess!"
"We're not even started yet, really," she replied. "It seems like an impossible dream-that somewhere at the end of this, we'll sail under the ocean and rescue him."
"But I know that this is a dream you'll not abandon, and because of that, neither will I!"
She felt a deep sense of relief to have his help in this quest. At the same time, his presence caused a real ambivalence in her feelings. What would be the cost-in his own mind, and to her own sense of debt and honor-of his courage and sacrifice? Certainly she knew that he didn't help her out of any such selfish motives, but could she separate those issues in her own mind, her own heart?
"When we find your father, will you allow me to ask him for your hand?" pressed Brandon.
"I … I don't know!" Alicia replied, suddenly afraid. "I can't decide that-I can't even think about it-now! You have to understand that!"
Unconsciously Alicia picked up the pace so that she and Brandon drew closer to Hanrald and Brigit, who rode in tandem before them. Their nearness, more than Alicia's reluctance, brought Brandon's conversation to a halt.
The two knights, human man and elven woman, were engaged in serious discussion. Though Hanrald loomed over Brigit on foot, the difference was somewhat lessened on horseback. The earl's war-horse was a heavy steed, capable of charging with the knight in plate armor and the horse fully barded in chain. Yet Brigit had selected for her mount an exceptionally long-legged young mare-naturally of purest white. The horse scampered with such a bounce in her gait that she seemed to float above the road.
"The chain armor has its place for scouting and speed," Brigit was saying as Alicia and Brandon drew even with them.
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