by Ellyn, Court
“Not the sprites, boy, calm down.” He sat cross-legged nearby, plaiting his black-and-silver beard. With a nod of his head, he pointed Kieryn in the right direction. Near the main road, the robes hung over a low branch and Lyrienn beat at them with a stick. Dust and horsehair puffed up from the rich pile and drifted away.
This was worse than sprites. “She came over here?” Kieryn squawked. Lyrienn couldn’t have missed him sleeping more than half-naked on the rock. Kelyn might’ve relished the idea, but Kieryn felt fire bloom in his face. Nyria and the other female dranithion were coming from Thyrra’s pool as well, their voices preceding them up the path. Pulling on his riding leathers, he accused, “Why didn’t you keep her away?”
“That modest are you? Hnh!”
Zellel’s sympathy was touching, indeed. Kieryn hurried up the path, fist clutching his dirty linen shirt as though it were Zellel’s throat. He awakened Diorval with a brisk pat and retrieved a clean shirt from his saddlebag. It was wrinkled, but the robe would cover it. Once the heat ebbed from his face, he approached Lyrienn beating away at the velvet.
“You don’t have to do that,” he said.
She shrugged mid-stroke. “No trouble. It’s what I do.”
“Hit things?”
She stopped to laugh. “No, for the Lady, I mean. I’m her companion, her caretaker. Her wardrobe, her food, her rooms, are all in my care. Of course, with me looking after her things, they’re never in so shameful a state.”
“Really? And how many ogres has Lady Aerdria fought lately?”
“True enough,” Lyrienn said and lifted Kieryn’s robe from the limb. “Arms,” she said and Kieryn obeyed. “You avedrin,” she added with a cluck of her tongue. “Seems you always need someone to look after you—fairies, us.”
“That’s nothing new,” he admitted.
Lyrienn lifted his arms out straight to smooth the rumples from his sleeves and sharply slapped at the pile to put it back in place, shoulder to ankle, clucking at him all the while. Tugging at the silver hem, she said, “These riding boots need a lick with a brush, too, but we haven’t time enough for that, Goddess help you. What will Aerdria think of you?”
“I hope she’s less critical than you are,” he complained. “Dusty and smelly and too tall.”
Lyrienn laughed and reached her arms around him to gather the wide woven belt about his waist. “You were a surprise, that’s all I’ll say.”
Over her head, Kieryn saw Nyria whispering to two comrades. They glanced quickly away, muffling laughter. Lyrienn went on criticizing, oblivious to the stares, or maybe Kieryn was wrong and they weren’t laughing at him. He noticed, however, that as the troop prepared to set out, Lyrienn didn’t offer to help Zellel into his old green robe.
What would Rhoslyn do if she saw the beautiful elf’s hands all over him? Would he remain merely ‘safe’ then?
~~~~
The flagstone road climbed higher and higher into a cluster of hills. Massive trees grew from the sides of rocky bluffs, angling for patches of sun, their roots splayed like hands. At last, Laniel reached the summit of a hillock and pointed. At first, Kieryn didn’t understand what he was looking at. On a hilltop, a vast wall surrounded trees that did not move with the wind, trees that glistened as if encased in glass. No, as if they were made of glass. Stone. The trees, taller and wider than any he had yet seen, were made of rare, costly stone. Jasper mottled brown, gold, and green shaped the trunks; malachite and carnelian, cut as thin as agates, the leaves. Arched windows and doors opened from the trunks, and Elarion walked along high balconies and bridges set upon curving boughs.
Jutting up through these stone trees, spiraling towers were capped with crystal domes that shone with a thousand delicate facets. Later, Kieryn learned that within these towers lived the Elarion responsible for weaving and maintaining the illusion that protected the Wood.
The Veil dimmed the clouds and laid a silver haze across the blue of the sky. Every once in a while, pulses of color raced over the city, resembling the Winter Glow that sometimes danced over the Silver Mountains, green and pink, but the Veil was nothing so random or natural.
Laniel led the troop on to the gate. Every color of the sunset was represented in the sandstone that shaped the wall. Kieryn had never seen a wall of greater height or breadth, though Bramoran’s outer curtain came close. The blocks had been smoothed until they became one, unblemished, unscalable, but along the upper rim ran a frieze carved with dragons in flight. Coiling dragons were also molded into the silver doors of the northern gate. The Elarion on watch called down, “Slanta, Dranithion! Slanta, Zellel!” A portcullis rumbled upward, and the silver doors swung open.
“Dismount, boy,” Zellel ordered, sliding off his mule.
“Stay close to me,” Laniel whispered as Kieryn dropped down beside him. “Ignore the stares as best you can. Curiosity is to be expected. It’s no different than humans would react should an Elari appear among them.”
“Really?” Kieryn said, eyes glaring sarcasm. “I know what humans would do. Let’s hope the reaction is quite different.”
The city’s inhabitants flocked to the main thoroughfare. Kieryn felt like a pig up for auction under hundreds of sharp, Elaran eyes. Diorval’s lead rope began to feel like a mother’s hand, something familiar if not comforting, that assured him he might get through this without being torn to bits. He met as many appraising glares as his timidity allowed and warned himself not to duck his chin, but not lift it too high either.
He was able to hide somewhat behind a shield of objective observation. As the crowd parted to let the party pass, it occurred to him that not one Elari had distinctly brown or red hair, and of the glowering eyes, not one was brown or green. Instead, their hair was either some shade of blond, from towheaded to sunshine gold, or a strange shade that humans had no name for: in the shadows of the Wood, Nyria’s hair and Iryan’s had looked shadow black, but in the sunlight, that black broke into shades of indigo and violet and steel. The eyes he met ranged from gray to lavender to blue. Fewer were filled with hostility than Kieryn expected. Children laughed and clapped as though the avedrin were as strange a spectacle as somersaulting bears; maidens smiled and whispered; older warriors hailed Zellel by name. But there were the few who spit as the avedrin passed.
A market lined the thoroughfare, though the vending stalls were hard to make out among the shifting, muttering crowd. Fat tree-towers rose above the market; malachite leaves, tinkling in a breeze, shaded the street from the hot westering sun and cast green light over the Elarion emerging onto balconies. They peered and waved at their kindred. Kieryn decided that with a city this crowded, several families had to share each tree. Wondering how they could be happy piled up like this, Kieryn asked, “Why don’t families spread out into the Wood?”
“Live outside the Wall?” Laniel replied, incredulous. “There are only dangers out there, and us Guardians. We’ve given up our freedom in exchange for survival. But don’t worry about us, we’re comfortable enough. Many of us, though, remember when Avidanyth stretched from the Drakhan Mountains to Galvalia. One could walk for days without touching the ground. We had many cities then. But they don’t belong to us anymore.”
Kieryn couldn’t bring himself to ask which cities Laniel referred to. He supposed human conquerors would’ve pulled down the tree-towers to make way for their heavy basalt fortresses, but he thought of Bramoran’s circular outer wall and its carvings, dim and forgotten along the battlements. He had asked about the carvings once, on one of the many trips he’d taken to Bramoran with Kelyn and Da. But Da looked at the frieze as if he’d never noticed it before and answered, “I don’t know, son. Don’t dawdle, we’re late.”
The thoroughfare brought the party to the Alvávidan, as Laniel referred to the river. The Lady’s Isle, rocky and rugged, reared up from turbulent white water. Shaped like a tear drop, the broader end of the island split the waters, while the narrow tip jutted out past a pair of roaring falls. Lush gardens grew at the
foot of a gleaming white palace. Towers spiraled like the horns of unicorns with bridges strung between them, as delicate as lace. Upon the pinnacles of each tower fluttered a white banner bearing Thyrra at her crescent.
The primary bridge to the Isle was wide enough to accommodate twenty warhorses abreast, though it appeared too delicate to support the weight of a butterfly and trembled in the thunder of the falls. Two rows of warriors lined the balusters, long spears upright. The red keldjeq coiled upon their sword arms.
Beyond the bridge, a silver gate opened to admit them into a courtyard. Paved in immaculate white marble, the courtyard was shaped like a crescent moon and embraced the front façade of the palace. At the cusps of the crescent, water spouted from the palace and tumbled into a pair of silver basins. A second pair of fountains flanked the path to the main entrance. White light bounced off the stone, off the water, and dazzled the eyes. Obsequious youths flocked to take equipment from the dranithion and assume charge of the avedrin’s animals.
Two Moon Guardians, in dark blue cloaks, glistening plate armor, and silver helms, swung open the silver doors. Laniel’s party came into a broad corridor that peeked in a simple arched vault. The walls were surprisingly bare, unadorned by banners or sconces. The nakedness of the white stone spoke of a simple elegance beyond compare. And it was not empty nakedness. The silver veins meandering through the stone added layers of depth and texture that begged to be touched, though Kieryn did not dare extend his hands to indulge himself.
Soft light emanated from orbs hovering overhead, like a series of Thyrras suspended against the sky. Upon closer inspection, Kieryn discovered that neither chain nor rope held the orbs aloft, as if tiny moons had been brought down from the sky for the Lady’s convenience.
At the end of the corridor, a pair of doors stood open in invitation. Dozens of Elarion milled about a circular room. Their conversation ceased when they saw who accompanied their brethren. They parted to form an aisle. At the farthest end of the aisle, one remained unmoving.
The woman was the image of a goddess. Fluttering layers of silver gossamer draped her willowy body; silver crescent-moon brooches clasped the gown at each shoulder. A silver circlet graced her brow and disappeared into her hair, which was the strange, elvish black. It cascaded all the way to her ankles, and she wore it simply, brushed to a sleek shine, and pulled back in a silver clasp at her nape. Her skin was like the whitest of pearls but alive with a delicate shimmering flush.
Laniel’s troop and all the court might as well have been puffs of air, for the Lady regarded Kieryn alone. She smiled with blatant affection, and her eyes—translucent lavender—welled with joy. Her happiness proved contagious, and Kieryn found himself smiling back at her.
On the Lady’s right hovered a pair of fairy-lights, Saffron’s deep gold and the sunnier yellow of Yarrow, Zellel’s guardian. Higher, drifting about the domed ceiling, a sea of fairies blinked in and out.
Laniel and his party descended to a knee before the dais and bowed their heads. Zellel caught Kieryn by the arm and kept him on his feet. Merely bow your head, lad. We’re not her subjects.
Kieryn obeyed, feeling wretched that this brief gesture was to be the extent of the homage he paid this beguiling being.
“Rise, friends,” Aerdria said to the dranithion. “You have my thanks, Captain, for being so prompt.” She held out a hand to Kieryn. Face warming, he clasped her slender white fingers. “Saffron has told me much about you. Eagerly have I awaited the day that your path would lead you to my door. And so, at long last, I bid you welcome, nephew.”
The wave of surprise rocked the court. Zellel grunted. The Elarion shifted uneasily and broke into slithering whispers: “This is a son of Ilswythe?”
“She claimed him.”
“I can’t believe it.”
He could only imagine what the Elarion whispered in their own tongue. Laniel was grinning broadly and would surely have laughed aloud had he been anywhere less formal. “I should’ve realized,” he said, adding to Kieryn’s puzzlement.
It was Aerdria who laughed, a sound deep and sweet. “You do not believe me.”
Kieryn stammered for the right words. “I would believe anything you told me, Great Lady, only that you give me an explanation.”
“That is a request fairly asked and gladly granted,” she replied. “But let us talk of these matters in a more comfortable setting.” She dismissed her court, most of whom scattered to spread the news. To Laniel, she said, “Captain, I ask that you and yours rest under my roof for a few nights, whereupon you will escort these fine avedrin safely back to our border.”
Laniel bowed. “As you wish, my Lady.”
Aerdria stepped down from the dais and led Zellel and Kieryn to one of six side doors branching from the hall. There, one of the Moon Guard opened the door for her and bowed. When she had passed through, the dardra straightened, and Kieryn saw the blue brow- and chin marks of the captain. His shoulders were capped with shiny steel guards, as were his forearms and shins. His features resembled Laniel’s, but his hair was almost white, and there was neither humor nor warmth in the gray eyes. They took a slow measure of the newcomer, and Kieryn thought if hatred were a spear, he would be bleeding to death.
“Son of Ilswythe,” the captain said. “I am Lothiar, son of Danyth and Le’avhan. I see nothing of your forebears in you. Be grateful, and don’t ever get in my way.”
Too confounded to reply, Kieryn sidled through the door after Lady Aerdria.
“Watch yourself, Captain,” Zellel warned, but Lothiar dealt him the deepest insult of all by turning away and ignoring the threat.
He gestured for two dardrion to follow the avedrin and keep an eye on their Lady, then called to his sister. From the safety of the corridor, Kieryn watched Lothiar argue with Lyrienn and finally direct her through a door across the Moon Hall.
“That is Laniel’s brother?” Kieryn asked, horrified.
Zellel grabbed his arm and ushered him rapidly after the Lady. “Keep moving! He’s not captain of the Dardrion because he’s passive, as you can damn well see. Do as he says and keep away from him.”
~~~~
23
“I had a sister. Amanthia,” said Aerdria. She had led her guests to their suite, two sleeping chambers joined by an airy parlor high over the gardens and the noise of the falls. When the Elarion had readied the suite for the avedrin, they must’ve taken human ways into account, for here there were no hovering orbs or other magical devices boasting of Elaran ingenuity. Candles in bronze sconces provided ample light; simple leather and wooden furniture made for warm, sophisticated comfort. The one embellishment were the agates shaping the lampshades and alternating with the glass in the windowpanes. Thin, polished cuts of red and gold stone sent shards of colored light skittering across the walls. Sitting across from the avedrin in her resplendent silver gown, Aerdria seemed at odds with the earthy hues of the room.
As soon as she’d begun her tale, the parlor door opened and an elf maiden entered with a crystal tray. She set it upon a table, and poured golden liqueur into three crystal goblets.
“Andyr-nut mead,” Zellel told Kieryn. “An Elaran concoction of deceptive potency. Drink it slowly. It’ll go to your head.”
Aerdria asked their server, “Where is Lyrienn?”
“Retired to bed, Lady,” she replied. “Captain Lothiar said the journey was difficult for her.”
“Difficult for Lyrienn?” Aerdria asked incredulously. “The naenion must have given her quite a scare. Poor dear.”
Kieryn and Zellel exchanged troubled looks. Silently, Kieryn asked, Should we tell her?
Tell her what? Zellel sipped in resolute silence.
What Lothiar said to me. About his argument with Lyrienn. She might be in danger.
Zellel snorted aloud. Lothiar has never harmed his family. But avedrin, that’s another story. Let it go.
Aerdria dismissed the maiden with her thanks and said, “Now where were we? Amanthia, yes.” A melanch
oly smile lingered on her face. “I had hoped to see her in you, but she is gone. Too many centuries, too many generations. Your eyes maybe. I don’t remember. She was much younger than I and had a rover’s spirit. While I served Dorelia in Dan Ora’as—” She paused, recognizing Kieryn’s puzzlement at the mention of new names. “You’ve been with Zellel too short a time, it seems, to have learned of the early days. But we’ll come back to that. I’ll tell you of your family first.”
“Tell me everything.”
Aerdria laughed, pleased. “Wasn’t that your request, Zellel, when you first came to us?”
He grunted and sipped. Half his mead was already gone.
Aerdria resumed, “Dan Ora’as was our first city, far to the south. My predecessor, Lady Dorelia founded it.”
“Wait, is the nation of Dorél named for her?” asked Kieryn.
“Indeed. We lived in her grand city until we were forced to abandon it. It must be nothing but ruins now. Ah, well. In those days, Amanthia joined the migrations of our kind into the north of the world. Eventually, she came into Avidanyth—the Wood that is the Home of Avë,” she translated, “and she helped supervise the building of Linndun.”
“Beautiful Home?” Kieryn supplied.
“Yes,” Aerdria confirmed, smiling. “In the Wood, far longer than in Dorél, humans and Elarion lived in peace. We set our stone circles on hilltops and studied the heavens and passed our knowledge to our duínovan friends. Or course, all the stars here were different from those we knew, all the rhythms of the seasons, too, and Amanthia devoted herself to their study. She was eventually made a high-priestess in human terms, and oversaw the readings gathered at the greatest of our stone circles. It used to stand near the Alvávidan, in a place the humans simply called ‘Elves’ Meadow.’ Can you translate that one for me, Kieryn?”