The mage woman broke her contact with Z'rcona's mind at last.
“Now you understand.”
“Yes, Your Divine Excellency.”
“Good. Now, elf child, I require your assistance.”
“What can I possibly do that you cannot?” “An excellent question. I am powerful, that is true, but even I cannot be everywhere at once. My plans operate under a timetable not entirely of my own choosing. Certain things are going to happen and when they do, I must be free to act. I cannot afford to be caught elsewhere doing other, less important things. That is why I have a number of operatives who exercise my will in the world and look after my interests. You are to be my latest such operative. Loyalty will be rewarded when I come into my ultimate power.”
“I understand, Mistress. How can I be of service?” “One of the other people I have in my service has taken it upon himself to do something very foolish. He is bent on fulfilling some insignificant personal vendetta, even though that violates my most fundamental rule: personal agendas have no place within my service. When I come into my full power, you will be in a position to deal with anyone you wish. Life or death, pleasure or torment for millions will be your choice. Until then, you are to take no vengeful action without my personal authorisation. As I say, however, this particular agent of mine has chosen to ignore that law. His foolish actions are a betrayal of the highest order, because he has attracted the attention of one of the major powers in modern Mythallen. If he is captured and made to talk, he could very well lead them to me. The world's forces are currently fighting their diverting little war with chaos creatures - a very diverting little war, if you take my meaning.”
“I think so,” Z'rcona answered. “You're saying that it's keeping their attention away from the real power you.”
“Precisely. I want them to keep on fighting this war - a war they can never win - but if this traitor leads them to me...”
“Then they would ignore the chaos creatures and focus on you,” Z'rcona finished the thought, “which would divert you away from your tasks, your timetable.”
“That's exactly right. You see? Now you’re co-operating and proving that I was right to choose you.”
“If you don't mind me asking, Excellency, why did you choose me?”
“You have the qualities I need and your family is important to me.”
“What do you know of my family?” Z'rcona frowned. She was very defensive about such things. “You have seen glimpses of a time beyond even the long memories of elves, when the world was divided. Towards the end, many deserted me and others stayed only because they feared me more than my enemy. Standing tall among all my allies was one great and powerful elven house that supported me because they shared my vision and believed in what I was trying to accomplish for the world. Your family has suffered in punishment since.”
“There are old stories told among the elves of my family, tales of a great past when we stood against the world and fought for it as it should be: our way. Many do not believe those stories, but I always have.”
“Then you have answered your own question. That is why you are here. With your help, your family will be great again, with you at the head of your house, answering to no-one but me. Together, you and I shall make the world show the proper respect and fear for your family, your house: The House of the Fountain.”
* * * * * Somewhere, deep in a nameless part of the wilderness, two figures were sitting on the hollow trunk of a fallen tree. The first was a tall, handsome man of indeterminate age. He was dressed in a white silk shirt, which billowed out of the sleeves of his red velvet jacket. A pair of blue-green silk breeches and purple hose covered his legs. His clashing ensemble was finished off with a pair of black shoes and a brown hat, which sported a bright orange feather. The second figure was the size and shape of a man, but seemed to be made of fire. Somehow, however, the wood around them seemed to be in no danger of burning. They made a curious pair, but then there was no-one around to see them.
The man of fire spoke first. “That was decidedly unpleasant, sir. Being invaded like that. I feel...used...violated.” “Oh don't be so oversensitive,” the other retorted. “You'll be fine and it was all in a good cause. With all the Life you and young Eilidh stripped away, the Great Fountain of Light is invisible again.” He grinned. “I imagine the Hand of Darkness will get a bit of a shock when they find out.”
“That's true, sir. They're bound to be upset.” “Understandably, but we really couldn't allow just anybody to get their hands on that power. That Life Eddy was attracting attention and I don't think we want `Her` to gain any more advantages than she's already got. That wouldn't be fair at all.”
“Shame about the bridge, though, sir. It was a rather nice piece of work.” “Yes, I know how you feel, but with that great lightshow gone, the Hand of Darkness armies might decide to do some exploring. I don't think our friends need an entire army chasing them. They've got enough problems already. No,” he sighed, regretfully, “the bridge had to go.”
“Anyway,” he continued a moment later, “what did you think to my performance?”
“Your performance, sir?”
“Yes, you know, `You shall not pass` and `Fly, you fools`.”
“Gandalf said it better.”
“Gandalf? That walking bag of bones?”
The man of fire gave his companion a curious look. “He may have been a bit wiry, sir, but I'd hardly call him a `walking bag of bones`.”
“Wiry? Hah! You've only seen the portraits. I met him in the flesh once and I'm telling you those artists used some considerable creativity in their work.”
“That may be true, but he still said it better.”
“Actually, he didn't really say the first bit at all - not exactly.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, it's true. He really said `you cannot pass`. He was misquoted, or rather the bards and storytellers thought `you shall not pass` sounded more dramatic.”
“It's not what he said, sir, it's the way he said it.”
“It ain’t what you do, it’s the way that you do it?”
“Precisely, and Gandalf definitely said it better.” “Oh.” Kismet looked crestfallen. “Mind you,” he considered, after a pause, “he did have a Balrog on his tail at the time,” he pointed out, brightening up again. “I dare say that would bring out my emotive streak, too.”
“Balrog, shmalrog,” muttered the flaming man, dismissively. “I ate a Balrog once.”
“I remember. You had gas for weeks afterwards, and that's quite a serious condition in a fire dragon, for other people at least. One good release and `whoosh` half a forest goes up in flames.”
“That was an accident,” protested his flaming companion. “I'm sure the elves would be delighted to hear that. If you just explained that you didn't mean to burn down their sacred wood, I'm sure they'd understand perfectly.” “No need to be sarcastic, sir,” said the fiery individual, sullenly. “Anyway, my point was that if a mere Balrog was enough to make Gandalf emote, don't you think I should have had a similar effect on you? After all, I wasn't exactly myself at the time and fire dragons are generally considered fairly dangerous.”
“You? Dangerous?” He stifled a laugh. “To yourself maybe, and the occasional tree.”
“Eilidh and the others seemed quite nervous.” The fire-man sounded hurt. Kismet waved that aside. “They're young and inexperienced; easily impressed. I know you better, and to be brutally honest, as dragons go, you're not exactly premier league.” The man grew mistyeyed as he reminisced. “Now Smaug, on the other hand, ah now there was a dragon of the old school. People knew where they stood with Smaug. Why, compared to him, you're nothing but an overgrown toad.”
“Overgrown toad!” The second figure roared in anger, standing up and shifting to his fire dragon shape before unleashing a powerful jet of searing flame as bright and hot as the sun, directly at Kismet. When he'd finished, Kismet was still sat there, unhurt and unharmed, though his clothes had turned
to ashes.
“That's exactly what I mean,” he said. “Sink me but that was childish! You wouldn't catch Smaug throwing a tantrum just because Gandalf told him a few home truths.”
“Do we have to keep talking about Smaug, sir?” The fire dragon asked, sullenly.
“You were the one who brought it up. `Gandalf said it better` indeed! Humph.”
“I'm sorry I mentioned it, sir.”
“Yes, so you should be. I say, have you any idea how much fashionable clothes like these cost? They're not cheap, I can tell you!”
“What difference?” wondered the dragon. “You can just snap your fingers and create some new ones.”
Kismet did just that, though he was still smouldering slightly for effect. “That's not the point,” he insisted, indignantly. “It's the principle of the thing.”
There followed a period of silence, during which the fire dragon shifted to his `man of fire` form and asked, in a grave tone. “Sir, do you really think they will do it?”
“Rescue Princess Mystaya? Of course they will!”
“I was talking about the wider issues, sir. You know `Her`?”
“Oh `Her` well that's a different question entirely.” “And what would your answer be?” the fire man pressed. “Can they do what needs to be done?”
Kismet let out a slow breath, all traces of humour gone. “They're the only ones who can, my fine fiery friend. That's all I can say. If theycan't do it, nobody can, that's simply the way it works.”
“Hmmm, it sounds to me like they're still going to need help, sir, wouldn't you say?”
“Oh without question,” Kismet agreed. “I'll have to keep on giving a helping hand from time to time, just likeI promised Eilidh.” “Isn't that going to be a bit difficult, sir? Considering you're supposed to be dead, I mean. If you suddenly appear to them, they're going to start asking a lot of awkward questions. Questions they're not ready to hear the answers toyet.”
“Ah. Yes, I see what you mean. Perhaps I did get a little carried away with the drama of it all," Kismet admitted, grudgingly. “Still, there are other things I can do behind the scenes, as it were. Just like I did in Shakaran Borderlands, stirring up those centaurs so that Loric fellow would fall foul of that convenient dragon trap at just the right time to set everything in motion. Had to think on my feet for that one," he added, proudly. "Anyway, I have every confidence that they will, in time, uncover and piece together the clues. Then they'll realise or at least guess that I'm not dead after all. Then I can return to them without it coming as too much of a shock. Maybe it's better this way.”
“And in the meantime, sir?”
“In the meantime, I'll just have to get someone else to help them out for a bit.”
“Not `him`, sir. Please tell me you're not going to send `him`.”
“Why ever not?”
“He is completely mad, you know.”
“Now you're being rude again.”
“Am I, sir?”
“Come on, I know what this is about. You just don't get along.”
“Do you blame me after last time?”
“That was an accident, just like your encounter with the elven forest.”
“You just had to bring that up again, didn't you, sir?”
“Oh do stop sulking. If the wind changes your face will stick in that ghastly expression. Now come on.” He rose to his feet and dusted down his new clothes. “We're going then are we, sir?” “Of course, no time to sit around and chat. There are places out there where the sky is burning and sea’s asleep and the rivers dream; people made of smoke and cities made of song. Somewhere there’s trouble, somewhere there's violence. Somewhere there's burnt toast and somewhere else the tea's getting cold. Come on, my friend. We've got work to do.”
“Nice speech, sir.”
“Oh, did you like it?”
“Yes, sir. It was very moving.”
“Well thank you. For a moment there I thought you were going to say `Merlyn said it better`.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it, sir.”
They walked over to the bank of a deep, wide river, whereupon the man of fire extinguished his flames and grew and morphed his body into that of sea serpent.
“By the way,” Kismet said, conversationally, climbing onto his back. “Did you ever hear the conspiracy theories regarding the whole Bilbo Baggins/Smaug/Gandalf thing?” he asked.
“I don't believe so, sir.” “Well some say the whole thing was staged. I mean, think about it - a hobbit just happens to wander into the lair of a dragon that could have toasted him before he could blink and of all the treasure he could have come home with, he finds that particular ring. What are the odds on that?”
“Hmmm,” the fire dragon mused. “That’s not exactly the way I remember it, sir,” the fire dragon objected.
“Ah, that’s because you’ve only read the book. I was there!”
“If you say so, sir.” As they sped away down river, towards open water, Kismet leaned closer and whispered, conspiratorially, “You know, I wouldn't be surprised if the whole Ring Quest was a Gandalf-staged self-promoting publicity stunt. It would be just like His Boniness to do something like that. And he did get promoted to White Wizard...”
* * * * * Z'rcona mulled over Her Divine Excellency’s words for a while, taking her time. At last she said, “You have my pledge of loyalty, Great One. I will do as you ask.” If this ancient and powerful woman could restore the dark elves of the House of the Fountain to their rightful place in the world with Z'rcona herself ruling them all, she would do whatever it took. “Now, about this traitor - you want me to eliminate him, I presume?”
“Yes, but in a very particular way.” She held out her hand and a small glowing spherical object appeared. “This magical orb will teleport any individual here to me. All of my major operatives carry one so that I can reach them wherever they are. It's not the most efficient tracking method, but anything more powerful might be traced.”
“I take it the traitor has `misplaced` his.”
The woman gave a half smile. “Apparently so, which is why you are to plant this replacement on his person, so I can teleport him back here and deal with him. Hence I need your skills as a thief.”
“You want me to unpick his pocket? That's a new one, but I can't see it being a problem.”
“Good. You must beware though, because he is a sorcerer of some note, besides having other powers with which I rewarded him for his previous good service.”
“Ah, that does complicate things a little. I can still do it, but in case things go wrong, do you need him alive, necessarily?” “No, I don't much c are whether he comes to me alive or dead, but if he's dead, he must be in more-or-less one piece so I can resurrect him and punish him properly before I let him die again...several times. Hence I'm counting on your precise ranger's skills to assassinate him cleanly, if necessary. One last thing: don't do this alone. Put together a small team from my camp here. Just a handful of people with varied skills to back you up.”
“Alright. I'll do that and be on my way just as soon as you tell me where I'm going.” Her Divine Excellency gave her a map, saying, “Your target has gone to ground in a small village that cut itself off from the outside world millennia ago. There is a magical passage from one of Mythallen's major cities, but that is not marked on your map because I cannot allow you to use it. I’ve had reports of some kind of disturbance in the area that I don’t want you getting caught up in. Otherwise, your route is your own choice.”
Without further comment, the dark elf Z'rcona left Niltsiar's presence and went to gather her team together. On her way out, she glanced at the map to commit to memory the name of her destination.
It read, `MARINA FELLS`.
Chapter 16
As he walked, Phaer discovered that the village of Marina Fells was well-named, built as it was around misty, grassy mountains and a large lake, linked to a trio of major rivers. A small picturesque waterfall caught the sun in just the right way to
create its own perpetual miniature rainbow. Phaer allowed the sight to embed itself in the core of his being and began to walk closer to the lake, intending to wash in the cool, crystal blue water. At that moment, however, he noticed, standing by the lake, an old man with a long white beard, wearing golden robes. Phaer didn't have time to wonder where he'd come from before he saw the great arc of a serpentine body emerge from the water behind him. Phaer ran down the steep slope towards the man, waving his arms wildly to attract attention.
“Grandfather!” Phaer called out, again and again, using the traditional elven mode of address for an elder. “Sonny!” The man called back, finally noticing the ranger a few steps short of touching distance. “Sonny, is that you? Sonny? How come you've got pointed ears, sonny? Wait a minute, you're not my grandson - you're an impostor! Ha! I may be old, but you can't fool me, boy!” He wagged his finger, sternly.
The creature in the lake, whatever it was, had partially surfaced more than once during Phaer's brief run down the hill, and he didn't need any stubbornness fromthis man. “I know I'm not your grandson. It's just an expression.”
“An expression of what?”
“I don't know. Respect, I suppose.”
“Oh, well, respect is good. Quite refreshing, too, in young people today.”
“You think so? Perhaps we could discuss it as we make our way back to the village.”
“Back to the village?”
“Yes, back to the village, as in `away from here`.”
“No.”
The monster in the lake, flicked a massive tail, splashing water over them both. The old man didn't appear to notice.
“What do you mean `no`? Why not?”
“I'm not going anywhere without my hat!”
“Well where did you last see-?” Phaer began, and then stopped and said incredulously, “It's on your head!” Although he could have sworn it wasn’t there a moment ago.
“It is?”
Chosen (Majaos Book 1) Page 18