by J. C.
Leesil heard another to his right, and then again to the rear.
One came forward out of the shadows.
Leesil aimed the crossbow at its center mass, ready to fire and then drop it to pull his blades or stilettos. Figures took shape as they approached with quiet footsteps.
"I've got two," Magiere whispered behind him.
A rustle of brush pulled his glance. A fourth figure rose from behind the old log. The one in front stepped into plain sight.
Each tall and slender figure wore a wrap across the lower half of its face. They'd tied the trailing corners of their cloaks across their waists. All of their attire was a dark blend of gray and forest green. Two carried short bows with metal grips as bright as the arrowhead in the log.
Anmaglâhk.
Desperation filled Leesil. Four assassins had intercepted him and his companions before they'd finished one day's travel into this immense land. How could the Anmaglâhk have known, let alone found him so quickly?
He slowly twisted the ball of his foot on the earth, rooting himself for an ugly fight, one that he and Magiere probably couldn't win against four of them.
"Wynn!" he whispered. "Run!"
Leesil swung the crossbow one-handed, over Wynn's head to his right, and fired. The gray-green figure behind the log twisted away to the earth as the quarrel hissed by.
He released the crossbow from his right hand and snapped it like a whip. The hilt of the unclasped stiletto slid sharply across his palm. He snatched the blade's tip as it passed, his arm cocked back to throw.
"Léshil, stop!" A deep and lyrical voice spoke in clear Belaskian. "No harm will come to you and yours!"
Leesil halted in midthrow. The lead anmaglâhk raised empty gloved hands, palms out to him, and quickly spread them wide toward his companions.
"Bârtva'na!"
The one to Leesil's left cautiously lowered his bow, but kept his arrow drawn and ready. As the leader lifted one hand to his cowl, Leesil spotted Chap behind the elf. The dog crept in low and silent beneath the very tree the man had dropped from.
Leesil shook his head slightly, and Chap halted.
"We mean no threat to you," the leader said as he pulled back his cowl and, with one finger, lowered the wrap across his face.
Leesil sucked air through gritted teeth.
The man's narrow, deeply tanned face was unmistakable. His dark amber eyes were so slanted that their outer corners reached his temples. His nose was straight and sharp, like his cheekbones. He wore his thick, white-blond hair tied back at the nape of his neck, exposing his pointed ears. Everything about his appearance seemed elongated… and foreign.
"Sgäile," Leesil whispered.
Just last autumn, this one had come to Bela with an order to kill him, and then changed his mind. Sgäile was the one who'd first hinted that Leesil's mother might still be alive.
Before anyone spoke, Sgäile motioned to his companions. All removed their cowls and face wraps. Chap rushed in snarling, and Sgäile spun away, startled.
Chap circled around, placing himself between Sgäile and Leesil. Sgäile's companions' eyes went wide.
"He remembers you," Leesil spit out.
Sgäile glanced once at Leesil, then kept his amber eyes steadily on Chap.
Among Sgäile's companions were two men and one young woman with glowing white hair. She didn't linger as long as the others in studying Chap and turned her attention upon Leesil. While the others were still shocked by the dog's action, this female's feather eyebrows cinched together and open hatred wrinkled her angular features.
Leesil had never seen an elven woman besides his mother.
In spite of this one's expression, he couldn't take his eyes off of her. She didn't look anything like Nein'a. Her skin was darker and her features were almost gaunt in their narrow construction. He made out a prominent scar hiding beneath the feathering of her left eyebrow. Still, her white silky hair and peaked ears made his heart pound as he thought of his mother.
One of the men looked about middle-aged, perhaps even older than
Sgäile, though how many human years that meant was beyond Leesil to guess. Though taller than Leesil, he was the shortest of the males, with a rough complexion compared to the others.
The fourth was even taller than Sgäile and young. He looked no more than twenty by human standards and was the most stricken by Chap's savage entrance.
Light erupted behind Leesil.
Wynn stepped close beside him, her expression awash with fascination as she held up the crystal.
"What do you want?" Magiere demanded.
"Lower your weapons," Sgäile said, slow and soft. "Please, put them away."
The elven woman stepped closer to him but didn't sheathe her stilettos. They were longer of blade than any Leesil had seen, perhaps a third the length of a sword. She gestured with one toward Magiere and Wynn.
"Lhâgshuilean… schi chér âyâg," she hissed, and then pointed the blade toward Leesil. "Ag'us so trú, mish meas—"
"Tosajij!" Sgäile returned sharply.
She never looked at him but hissed and fell silent, her eyes still locked on Leesil.
Leesil didn't understand what either had said. Except for one word so close to what he'd heard from a young anmaglâhk in Darmouth's crypt.
Trú… True… traitor. He'd never have trouble understanding that.
Sgäile's half hints were the reason he'd come here. The reason he'd dragged Magiere and Wynn and Chap halfway across the continent. He wanted answers, and he kept his stiletto at ready. His own anger sharpened, and he stepped closer.
"We're not putting anything away," he said right into Sgäile's face, "until you tell us why you've come… and where my mother is."
The younger male had circumvented Magiere, coming up near Sgäile. His expression changed to nearly visible surprise at either Leesil's words or his tone, possibly both. He wasn't carrying a bow, but a boning knife appeared in his hand. From behind Leesil. Wynn spoke out in a long string of Elvish.
All four anmaglâhk turned full attention upon the sage with guarded surprise.
"You speak our language," Sgäile replied in Belaskian. "Yet strangely."
"Bithâ," Wynn answered.
The young female hissed something in Sgäile's ear.
"Do not let your grief breach our ways," said the older male with the rough face.
He stood off to the left but clearly spoke to the woman. She turned on him, but fell silent.
Leesil wondered what grief the elder elf spoke of.
"Where did you learn our language?" Sgäile asked, refusing to speak to Wynn in his own tongue.
"On my own continent," she answered. "There are elves south of the Numan countries."
"Liar!" the female snapped. "Deceitful, like all humans."
These were the first non-Elvish words she'd spoken. Magiere had kept her eyes on the older Anmaglâhk to the left, but her attention shifted to the woman, and her voice crackled low like Chap's growl.
"How rich… coming from the likes of you."
She swung her falchion slowly around toward the woman. Sgäile raised an arm in front of his comrade, but it wasn't clear exactly who he protected or restrained.
Leesil was getting tired of all this. "You aren't going to keep us out of this forest. Where is my mother? Is she still alive?"
Sgäile's expression remained guarded, but a flicker of discomfort crossed his narrow face. "Cuirin'nên'a lives, I assure you."
Leesil quivered in sudden weakness, and the chest's rope halter seemed to bite deeper into his shoulders.
"We would never kill one of our own," Sgäile continued. "But she is a great distance off, and the forest will not long tolerate your companions… or perhaps even you. We were sent to guide and protect you."
"And we're supposed to trust you?" Magiere asked.
"No," Sgäile answered politely. "I offer guardianship… and the safe passage of Aoishenis-Ahâre himself." His gaze shifted back to Leesil. "Do
you ac-cept?
Leesil's anger got the better of him. "Not by every dead deity that I can—
"We accept your guardianship," Wynn cut in, "and that of your… greatgrandfather?"
Leesil turned bewildered outrage on Wynn. She remained calm and composed, facing only Sgäile as he returned a gracious nod.
"Wynn!" Magiere hissed. "What do you think you're doing?"
"What you brought me for," she answered flatly. "You do not understand what is happening, and there is no time to explain it all now."
"My caste is trusted by all of our clans," Sgäile added. "I will not allow harm upon you, so long as you are under my guardianship… and how else will you find Cuirin'nên'a but through us? She was once one of our caste."
Those last words taunted Leesil. Who else among the elves but the An-maglahk would know his mother's location? They had imprisoned her as a traitor, and it seemed this "great-grandfather" had authority over the whole caste.
"If she's still alive," Leesil asked bitterly, "did you leave her suffering in some cell all these years?"
The thought made him ill, for he blamed himself as much as the An-maglâhk—as much as Sgäile. Nein'a had twisted Leesil's life to a hidden purpose, but he was the one who'd abandoned his parents eight years ago.
Sgäile's features twisted in revulsion, and his eyes flashed with anger.
"I did not leave Cuirin'nên'a anywhere! She is safe and well—and that is all I may tell you. I am a messenger and your assigned guardian. Aoishenis-Ahâre"—he glanced at Wynn—"Most Aged Father will answer your questions."
Leesil turned to Magiere; her white skin glowed in the crystal's light.
"I don't think we have a choice," he said quietly.
Magiere let out a derisive snort. "They're only concerned for themselves and their own goals! Every one of them we've met… they're all butchers who use the truth like a lie. They'll twist you around, Leesil, until you wouldn't know your own choice from theirs… until it's too late!"
Leesil flinched at her thinly veiled reference. Brot'an had tricked him into murdering Darmouth to start a war among the Warlands' provinces. But he still saw no alternative.
"Then believe in guardianship," Wynn said. "They would put their lives at stake to fulfill it. If you cannot trust them, then trust what I tell you. The way of guardianship is an old tradition and a serious matter."
Chap had remained silent and still all this time. His eyes held uncertainty and the quiver of his jowls echoed Magiere's distrust. As he crept around next to Wynn, he huffed sharply once in agreement.
"All right then," Leesil said with restraint. "As Wynn said, we accept… for now."
Sgäile nodded. "We will set camp through those trees. I will bring food and fresh water."
Wynn appeared to sag at those words, letting out all her fatigue.
Leesil sheathed his stiletto but had to nudge Magiere. She glared at him before doing likewise with her falchion, and then took Wynn by the arm with a frown at Chap.
"You two better be right."
Chap huffed three times for "maybe."
Magiere stopped short and her jaw clenched. "Oh, that's comforting."
She moved on with Wynn after Sgäile.
Leesil fell silent. They'd just placed their lives in the hands of the An-maglâhk. He hoisted the pack Wynn left behind, retrieved the crossbow, and followed, his eyes on Sgäile's exposed back.
In a short time and distance, Magiere sat upon a toppled tree stump before a small fire. She settled Wynn on the ground in front of her and covered the sage with a blanket. Wynn leaned back to rest against Magiere's legs.
The four anmaglâhk didn't appear to carry anything besides their bows and stilettos. She watched two of them disassemble the bows, unstringing first and then pulling the wood arms out of the metal grips. They stored the parts behind their backs beneath their tied-up cloaks. While Magiere was distracted by this, one of them had struck a fire, though she wasn't certain how this was accomplished so quickly.
Chap settled beside Wynn, his eyes always upon the elves, who moved off to gather by a far oak and argue in low voices. Leesil piled their packs and saddlebags with the chest of skulls and paced about the fire before crouching on Wynn's other side.
"Can you hear what they're saying?" he whispered.
Wynn nodded. "Bits and pieces—enough to catch the essence of contention. Their dialect is strange… older, I think, than the one I know."
Although no food had been provided yet, the chance to rest in warmth had revived the young sage a bit.
"I cannot quite determine their hierarchy," Wynn said with a shake of her head. "Sgäile is the leader, but perhaps only based on the mission he was given. They do not seem to use rank titles that I can pick out. The rough-skinned man is clearly the eldest, though I would guess Sgäile is perhaps fifty to sixty years old."
"Sixty years?" Magiere said too loudly, then lowered her voice. "He doesn't look more than thirty."
She knew most people would find Sgäile strikingly handsome—although she'd die before admitting that aloud. His white-blond hair was thicker than that of most elves, and he wore it neatly tied back. His face was narrow and smooth, with skin slightly darker than Leesil's.
"They live longer than we do," Wynn replied. "One hundred and fifty is a common age. Some live to be two hundred."
Magiere glanced sidelong at Leesil, who watched the conclave of assassins with fixed interest. By how many years would Leesil outlive her?
"The others are questioning Sgäile," Wynn continued. "Especially the angry woman."
"What about?" Magiere asked.
"They are unsettled by the task they were given, though the elder male supports Sgäile's adherence to the custom of guardianship. It seems safe passage for humans is unprecedented. None of them have even seen a human set foot in these lands."
Wynn cocked her head, still listening. "They are hesitant to question what this Most Aged Father has asked of them… but they are to take Leesil to him."
"I knew it," Magiere whispered. "Leesil, they're up to more than taking you to your mother."
He didn't answer. He didn't even look at her.
"I do not think Sgäile is lying to us," Wynn argued. "And this patriarch of their caste may have been the one to order Nein'a's imprisonment. If so, he is the one we need to see."
She tilted her head up to look at Magiere.
"The elder and the woman do not wish you or me to be taken farther. They do not want"—she stopped, eyes widening—"any 'weakbloods' in their homeland."
Wynn fell silent for a moment, listening.
"Sgäile refuses. He gave his word to Most Aged Father to offer guardianship to all with Leesil and deliver us to a place called Crijeâiche… 'Origin
Heart'… I think." Then she sucked in a long breath of air. "Oh, Leesil, you are considered dangerous, even by Sgäile… a criminal."
Magiere tensed. They'd had more than one run-in with these murdering elves in gray, who always found some way to put Leesil under suspicion.
The elves' debate ended as Sgäile stood up. He and the younger male disappeared into the forest. Magiere watched the two who stayed behind. They remained at a distance, and the woman turned her back, leaving only the elder man gazing stoically at the invaders gathered about the fire.
Sgäile returned sooner than Magiere would've guessed. He was alone and carried a bunched cloth of lightweight tan fabric. He approached and opened the cloth for Leesil. Within were more bisselberries mixed with bits of strangely wrinkled gray lumps.
"This will keep you until Osha returns from the stream." He turned toward Chap. "He will bring fish to roast."
Sgäile neither spoke nor looked at Magiere or Wynn. Leesil didn't appear to notice and took the offered food. He poked suspiciously at one gray lump.
"Muhkgean," Sgäile explained, then paused thoughtfully. "The heads of flower-mushrooms."
With a grimace, Leesil took a few berries and held the rest out to Magiere an
d Wynn.
Wynn snatched one mushroom head, popped it in her mouth, and chewed quickly with a deep sigh of satisfaction. Magiere took only berries.
"Osha… is this the young man's name?" Wynn asked.
Sgäile didn't answer.
"It means… 'Sudden Breeze,' " Wynn explained with her mouth still full. "A good name."
She yawned and drooped so heavily that Magiere had to separate her knees so Wynn leaned against the stump.
Sgäile remained silent. Regardless of this guardianship oath he'd taken, it was clear to Magiere that he was no more comfortable with the arrangement than his comrades were. Magiere placed a hand on Wynn's soft hair, thinking the sage grew weary beyond good sense.
"Soon as you've had some fish, you're going to sleep."
"Mmm-hmm," was all that came from Wynn, and she popped a peeled berry and another mushroom together into her mouth.
"Where did you find these?" Leesil asked, picking up the cloth of the berries and mushrooms. "We saw nothing like them in the forest."
Sgäile's thin white eyebrows arched. "The forest provides."
Leesil again offered the cloth bundle to Magiere. She shook her head. She wasn't about to touch one of the wrinkled gray lumps, and peeling berries seemed like too much trouble. And she didn't feel hungry.
This made no sense, considering she'd gone without food for as long as the others. Strangely, she wasn't even tired.
Sgäile walked back out into the forest, only to return moments later carrying six sharpened and forked sticks. He stuck three into the earth around the fire, so their forked ends slanted upward above the low flames.
Osha melted out of the trees. He carried three large trout hooked by their gills upon his fingers. He half-smiled at Sgäile and dropped to his knees by the fire.
The two elves' flurry of busy preparation was almost more than Magiere could follow. Three more sticks appeared, pointed on both ends. Osha skewered each fish from mouth to tail, then balanced the ends in the forked sticks Sgäile had planted. Soon, the trout began to sizzle above the flames.
Wynn murmured sleepily, closing her eyes, '"Am'alhtahk âr tú, Osha. "
Osha jerked his head up to look at her, studying Wynn's round face and wispy brown hair, but his expression held no malice. He went back to fanning the fire, then he sprinkled some powdered spice over the fish and a savory smell filled the air.