Fire-heart (Tales of Alterra, the World that Is)

by C S Marks

  Rogond and Hallagond had been transformed into elegant beings who would not have been out of place sitting at the hand of King Hearndin or Lady Ordath. Combed and washed, dressed in fine clothes, and well rested, they truly did look like brothers. Rogond was taller and less weathered than Hallagond, who still sported a neatly trimmed beard, but they could not deny their kinship. Galador, needless to say, was immaculate.

  When Hallagond beheld Estle, her transformation amazed him. She was radiant—her freckled ivory skin glowed, her soft hair shone with the touch of scented oil. She was among the most beautiful women Hallagond had ever beheld.

  “Where is Gaelen?” asked Rogond, for he did not see her.

  “She was here a short while ago. She lingered rather long in the bath, and when I saw her last she was putting on her old clothing that she brought from the Greatwood,” said Nelwyn, who was attired in a simple wrap of off-white linen. “Perhaps she is still resting on the veranda...why not go and have a look?”

  She’s up to something, thought Rogond. He didn’t care for the thought of Gaelen attired in her old, drab hunting gear. He took notice of a fine-tailored black linen tunic that had been laid out for her, but she was nowhere to be seen.

  Galador, obviously vexed, declared that he had no intention of waiting around until Gaelen decided to appear. “If they summon us to the Council, I will go without her,” he said.

  “That will not be necessary,” said a cheerful voice from beyond the veranda. They all turned to observe Gaelen’s tousled head hanging downwards from the overhang, her cheeks rosy, her eyes bright. She turned a graceful somersault, gripping the roof support for a moment before dropping lightly down onto the polished hardwood floor. In her hand she held a long, green branch of copper-veined beech, no doubt akin to one of the most common and beloved trees in the Greatwood. She handed it to Nelwyn, who took it with wonder. “For you, my cousin, with promise of things to come!”

  “Exactly where have you been, my fine hunter-scout?” asked Rogond, who was intending to sound stern, but failed.

  Gaelen drew one of her long knives and began nonchalantly cleaning her nails with it, humming to herself. “Oh, nowhere in particular...I was just practicing the stealthy arts and suddenly found myself among very tall trees. Imagine my surprise!” She looked quite pleased with herself.

  “I suppose you think you’re frightfully cunning, don’t you?” said Galador. “May I remind you that we still do not know how these people will receive us? They won’t know what to think with you sneaking about all over the City. We need to earn their trust, not make them suspicious. Once again, you are thinking only of yourself.”

  “They did not take notice of me, Galador. Don’t be concerned.”

  “Hmmmph. So you say,” replied Galador, who was far from convinced.

  “Be as surly as you wish. Nothing could dampen my spirits right now,” said Gaelen, smiling and nearly bursting with suppressed energy. “I truly feel like myself for the first time in a long reckoning.”

  “Why does that statement fill me with foreboding?” said Hallagond, whereupon Gaelen startled Rogond by leaping into his arms.

  She flung her hand dramatically across her eyes. “Ah, proud Aridan! Lead, and I will follow. Bear me whither you will, to whatever destiny…so long as it is not back across that desert. I give my fate into your hands.” She went completely limp in his arms, and he struggled to manage her, sinking to one knee in the effort to avoid dropping her.

  “Ah, my brother…she has brought you to your knees,” said Hallagond. “Better it should be you than me. She has unbalanced you!”

  Rogond set Gaelen down, straightening and smiling at Hallagond. “You have no idea.”

  Nelwyn was already sitting beside Gaelen, her excitement evident. “Tell me of the trees!” she said, and for the next few minutes they spoke happily together in their own tongue.

  “Just like Elves, to speak of wondrous things in a tongue that only they can understand,” said Estle. She wanted to learn of the forest, as she had never been afforded the chance to walk among really tall trees.

  “We’re sorry, Estle. Come and join us,” said Nelwyn, offering a place on the floor beside her. “We shall speak with words known to all.”

  “Make sure they’re small words,” put in Hallagond.

  “Why? Are you planning on joining us?” said Estle, nudging him in the ribs as she passed by. She then ignored him, sitting with Gaelen and Nelwyn, listening as they described the great forest that was their home, wishing in spite of herself that she could one day walk with them in a place where all was cool and shaded, bright waters flowed, and the blue skies were hidden by a stately vault of deep green.

  At last their thoughts turned back to their friend Fima. “We should go and see how he is getting on,” said Nelwyn. “I did not care for the thoughts I read on the faces of the healers when we left him.”

  Gaelen nodded. “One of us should always be with him; he must know that his friends are near.”

  Estle shook her head. “I can understand why you care for him, as he is very likeable, but I thought Elves and dwarves did not get on well. At least, that’s what I have been told.”

  “Fima is no ordinary dwarf,” replied Nelwyn. “Wait until the Council hears that he is Lore-master to Lady Ordath! They will never want him to leave.”

  “And you…are you, well…ordinary Elves?” asked Estle. Gaelen and Nelwyn began laughing good-naturedly.

  “Yes, on the whole I would say we are quite ordinary,” said Gaelen. “We are Wood-elves...that means our lands were never graced by an Asarla. Hence there are many who consider us less enlightened than the High-elves, or even the men of Tuathas. We dwell in and defend the forests of Alterra, which are much-beloved.”

  “Is Galador a Wood-elf?” asked Estle, for she didn’t really see much difference between them, but Nelwyn and Gaelen looked at her with wide eyes.

  “Good heavens, no, he is not!” said Nelwyn. “He is High-elven, of an ancient line of Eádram. He was born during the First Reckoning.”

  Estle sat with her mouth open for a moment, trying to imagine living for thousands of years. “You would think he might have had sufficient time to develop a sense of humor,” she said.

  “Truly,” agreed Gaelen, winking at Nelwyn.

  “Oh, he has a sense of humor,” said Nelwyn, who would love Galador until the End of Days. “You just need to look through the right glass to see it.”

  Nelwyn would go back and stay with Fima, leaving Rogond, Galador, Estle, Gaelen, and Hallagond to stand first before the High Council. If Bint Raed had recovered, she would stand with them; Nelwyn would send her. Gaelen wanted to go with Nelwyn, for she was very worried about Fima, but she had seen the enemy, and her tale needed to be told.

  The men sent to conduct the Company to the Council were tall and well made. They bowed courteously, speaking to Rogond in the common-tongue. “Please, our Ministers are most eager to hear your news, if you are ready to provide it.”

  Rogond bowed in return. “We are at the service of the Council, and stand ready to aid the people of Dûn Arian. Our news is of grave importance.”

  One of the men stepped out into the hallway, extending a beckoning arm, and the Company followed him to the Chamber of the High Council, taking note of the many wonders along the way.

  The city was filled with carvings, paintings, and great stone likenesses rendered by the most skilled artisans. A beautifully-appointed courtyard welcomed all visitors to the Council Halls, with wonderful, clear fountains and dark green ivy that made cool, living mats against the white stone walls. In the center of the courtyard stood a huge stone likeness of the great Tuathan scholar Salasin, the founder of the Citadel. By the time the likeness was made he had been an old man, yet still straight and strong, his renowned wisdom evident in his aged face. Yet his eyes seemed cold.

  Rogond looked into those cold stone eyes, reflecting that such a man might well deem written lore more worthy of saving than h
uman life. Fima is also a dedicated lore-master, but he would never choose parchments over the lives of his friends. I suppose we cannot fault Salasin too heavily, because he managed to safeguard not only the written lore of Tuathas, but the blood of her people as well. Rogond was excited to be meeting representatives of a heretofore unknown branch of the Tree of Men.

  The Hall of Council was simple and austere. No decorative objects distracted the eye, and no gurgling fountains drew the attention of the ear from matters at hand. The white walls and floor lightened the hall, which had no windows, though part of the roof was open to the sky. The High Council sat at the far end on a raised dais with a heavy, curved table before them. Papers and parchments, representing the day’s business, had nearly obscured the table-top, but all was put aside as the Company approached.

  Gaelen felt uncomfortable in this place, as there were no avenues of escape other than the front doors, and she had been required to go in without her weapons. Her nearly-new boots still creaked every now and then, a fact that drove her to distraction. It would be several more weeks until they were properly broken-in.

  Rogond looked into the incredulous faces of the Council, knowing that the sight of two Elves and two northmen standing before them was perhaps the last thing they had anticipated this day. But such wise, learned councilors would surely welcome them. Had not the people already done so? They would doubtless be thankful for the warning the Company had to give, though it would no doubt dismay them. Rogond approached them with confidence.

  The High Council included three women along with six men. They had always numbered nine, so that no vote could be evenly split down the middle. Salasin had declared that, since nine was the highest number that could be expressed by a single numeral, it symbolized the unity of purpose of the High Council.

  Although a Lord presided over them, his vote carried no more weight than any other. Decisions were made by the body as a whole, and while the Lord could overrule them, he rarely did so. He sat in the center of the group of nine, with four flanking him on either side.

  Estle, who had lived her entire life among sutherlings, had never viewed women in such positions of authority. She wondered whether a woman had ever sat in the center seat.

  Gaelen saw the situation somewhat differently as she looked into the eyes of the council-members. She faced a difficult task. These people would have trouble imagining the sort of evil they faced, and would no doubt underestimate the gravity of their predicament, as they would not have faced such a thing before. Gaelen knew, even from her limited experience, that weapons and warfare were not among the skills they valued. How long since they had truly defended the City? Salasin had ensured that it could be defended—the design of the gates and the outer walls made that clear—but Salasin understood the nature of the evil that had roamed Alterra. He had lived in a time when real enemies threatened, and real battles were joined. His descendants had been sheltered from such things. Gaelen stole a glance at Galador and Hallagond, and saw the same concern in their faces.

  The Company bowed before the Council, who rose from their seats and returned the gesture before making introductions. Rogond could hear the diversity of the people in their names. Some had Elvish roots; others suggested Tuathan, Ravani, or even Anori derivation. The councilors varied in age as well as in gender, but all were old enough to have acquired experience and skill.

  Apparently, each member governed a separate concern. For example, one was introduced as being responsible for waters and forests, another for creative pursuits, and a third for the healing arts. Gaelen was relieved to hear that at least they did have a Minister of Defense. She looked long and hard into his eyes. He had seen battle; of that there was no doubt, and she was encouraged. She wondered how long he had been in the Citadel, for she could hear in his speech that he had been born elsewhere. Other councilors were introduced as the Minister of Omens, the Minister of Farms and Fisheries, and the Minister of Lawful Affairs.

  Hallagond whispered to Estle aside. “Notice that they have no Minister of Trade, though they do have one who governs commerce within the City.”

  “How would traders ever find this place, and why would they choose to travel here?” replied Estle. “The citizens must make all these fine things from materials that are found here. What a jewel this place must be!”

  The Lord introduced himself last, giving his name as Salastor IV. Salastor I, one of the sons of Salasin, had ruled the City upon his father’s death. It was said that they were much alike, and Salastor’s name had been taken by three other Lords. Salastor IV was a noble man with heavily silvered dark hair and a neatly trimmed beard. He reminded Rogond of King Hearndin, only less careworn. His only badge of office was a seven-rayed silver star bound to his brow, signifying that he was also the city’s Chief Lore-master.

  Gaelen hung back behind Rogond and Galador with her arms folded and her chin lifted, her expression alert and watchful. She would say nothing unless requested, but she would carefully observe the Council that she might learn how best to address them.

  Rogond introduced himself and the others of the Company. “I am Rogond Thaylon, son of Diomar of Dûn Bennas, and this is my elder brother, Hallagond. This worthy woman is called Estle, and she hails from the eastern Ravi-shan, but her mother numbered among your citizens. She has seen the face of your enemy. This Elf is called Galador, originally of Eádros, and this is Gaelen Taldin of the Greatwood Realm, who has likewise looked upon the enemy that slowly approaches from the east. Three of our companions could not be here to stand before you. One is a dwarf, Fima of Cós-domhain, now Lore-master to Lady Ordath of Mountain-home. He lies in your Hall of Healing with one of your citizens, Bint Raed the weaver. Gaelen’s cousin Nelwyn, a Wood-elf of the Greatwood, watches over them.”

  “Why have you come?” asked the tall, grey-bearded Minister of Lawful Affairs. “We have been told that you bear news of great value. Is that the only purpose of your errand here?”

  “It is,” said Rogond, “though Bint Raed wanted to return to her home, and Estle wanted to see the land of her mother’s kin. But our urgency lies in the news we bring. Will you hear it now?”

  Salastor nodded, his expression somber. “Tell your tale, man of Dûn Bennas. We cannot help but take said tale to heart, when such a rare and distinguished Company stands before us. Never before have the Elàni set foot within our walls, nor have we set eyes upon dwarven-folk. Tonight we will try to find ways to welcome you properly, but first you must tell us of the urgent matter that brings you into our presence.” He leaned forward expectantly, as all eyes and ears fixed on Rogond.

  In an earnest voice that rang with the clarity of his Elven upbringing, Rogond spoke of the Company’s journey, and told the Council of the Scourge. When he had finished, he surveyed the faces of the councilors. What he saw did not comfort him, though he had expected them to have some difficulty grasping both the reality and the enormity of their peril.

  He saw perhaps two who might have believed him—the Minister of Defense and the Minister of Omens. She, in particular, seemed ill-at-ease, and Rogond wondered whether she might possess the gift of premonition. It might not have been the first time she had considered the likelihood of such a threat.

  The other seven councilors were looking at the Company with various expressions of polite dismissal and disbelief. It was obvious from their demeanor that they wondered whether Rogond had spent too much time wandering under the desert sun.

  “Forgive me,” said the Minister of Commerce, “but how would such a large force survive such a crossing? The lands to the east are nearly impossible to navigate even with the lightest of burdens. How would such a great army make its way here? Never has any done so since the City was founded nearly five hundred years ago. We are not aware of advancements in the world outside that would make this burden any easier. Why, and how, could this happen now?”

  “I wonder how such a force would find its way here from so far to the east,” Salastor mused. “It’s unlikely
they would even know that we exist, much less be able to find the hidden way. Our citizens are sworn to never reveal the City to any outsiders.”

  “Yet we are outsiders, and we are here,” said Hallagond.

  “You are here because one of our citizens led you here,” Salastor replied. “She must think you trustworthy. She knows also that if we do not find you so, you will not be allowed to leave.”

  Salastor took notice of the spark that kindled in Gaelen’s eyes as he spoke these words. She would brook no restriction of her freedom, or stand for any interference with events leading to the downfall of Gorgon Elfhunter. She kept silent, waiting.

  Estle stepped forward, bowing before Salastor. “I have seen the enemy,” she said, “and although I don’t know what guides them, or how they are managing the crossing, I know they are on their way here. The enemy encampment is vast; for all we know, there are pockets of it all the way back to some great inland water source. They are moving slowly, but they are moving, and theirs is a savagery that you cannot imagine! Never have I seen such cruelty and disregard for life. Please, take heed of Rogond’s warning.”

  “What do the Elves have to say?” asked the Minister of Lawful Affairs. “It is said that they do not deceive. What is their stance in this matter?”

  Galador bowed, addressing them in a deep, soft voice. “Rogond has spoken true, but I don’t believe he has adequately conveyed the dire nature of your peril.”

  “You have seen this army, Gaelen Taldin,” said Salastor. “Speak, if you would enlighten us.”

  Gaelen did not bow before him, as she was still unsettled at the prospect of being confined to the Citadel. Yet she looked directly into the eyes of the Lord, and spoke what was in her heart. “First, let it be said that Elves are capable of deceit, though perhaps not so easily as men, and you must not think otherwise. Second, the Company has spoken only truth. Debate and doubt our words at your peril, for you will waste valuable time.”