by Wendy Palmer
'They are young,’ said Mizzle, leaning over to speak in his ear. ‘The males wonder if this is a DarkElf and the female chides them.'
The female drew back on her bow. ‘Silence.'
'Lanerol says to let us pass,’ Trick said in Livanian.
'Lanerol says a lot of things,’ said the female, and the others laughed, nervous.
But they lowered the bows slightly. ‘It has been allowed,’ said the female, grudgingly. ‘Get off those horses.'
Mizzle obeyed, so Trick did.
The four LightElves surrounded them and they walked on. None of the LightElves tried to speak to Mizzle and all kept their bows with arrows nocked loosely.
'Remember,’ he said in her ear, speaking Bourchian. ‘They can do no worse than you have already let pass in me.'
The leader nudged him. ‘No muttering to it.'
He made a guess. ‘These idiots don't speak Bourchian.’ He got a harder nudge but no particular anger. He was right.
They came to a wide clearing. Various dwellings were built in, around and up the giant trees, joined by arching gossamer bridges and walkways. In the middle lay a great structure of marble.
'The meeting hall,’ said the LightElf female. ‘You will wait.'
Trick, with a single glance at Mizzle, went in first.
No ambush awaited.
They entered a small antechamber. The female opened the far door and went out.
Beyond Trick glimpsed a wide circular hall, with doors suggesting other chambers such as they stood in now and a broad spiral staircase leading to another level.
The other three LightElves waited, watching Mizzle.
'They haven't asked for our weapons,’ murmured Trick in fast Bourchian.
'Silence,’ said one of the LightElves. The door behind him opened. ‘Bring it,’ said the female shortly.
Older and plainly high-ranking LightElves waited in the hall. One stepped forward as soon as Mizzle approached them, splendid in robes of ermine and cloth-of-gold. She said something flat and fast as they approached. Trick assumed she was speaking Ancient, and even though it was the parent language of DarkElvish, he could only guess at one word. Kill.
'You are not the Light,’ said Mizzle, just as flatly, but in Livanian. ‘I ask you to speak the Ranger language for the benefit of my companion.'
This immediately set the LightElves on the back foot. Mizzle won on both counts when another LightElf answered in Livanian with, ‘No, I am Antonic, her viceroy.'
'I will speak only with the Light,’ said Mizzle.
'She is not available.'
Mizzle gave her human shrug. ‘I will wait.'
Antonic hesitated but the LightElf female spoke again in sharp Ancient.
Trick caught fiend. Again it seemed he could just concentrate and the understanding of the words would come to him, perhaps like Livanian had come to Mizzle. He remembered Jarrett's words. You think you know only a few words of DarkElvish, of Ancient? This was another gift from Jarrett.
Suddenly he did not want it and pushed the knowledge away.
He leant forward and spoke in Bourchian in Mizzle's ear. ‘They don't know where she is and they don't know what to do without her orders. That's why we haven't been disarmed yet. But they're too nervous of you to wait for her to show up.'
The female LightElf had gone on with pompous indignation. Trick was getting more words now as his ear adjusted to the cadence and the differences from DarkElvish. This LightElf challenged her about her claim to a LightElf father.
Mizzle replied, still insisting on Livanian. ‘I do not lie. My father is a LightElf.’ She glanced at Trick and nodded. ‘I have brought you the DarkStone.'
A great buzzing murmur rose from the small group. Antonic said in Livanian, ‘Show us.'
Mizzle duly produced the stone. It lay in her hand, quiescent. No red light marred its glossy black deepness. The LightElves stared at it in hushed awe.
A LightElf said something, in LightElvish, very quietly.
'Try,’ said Mizzle, and Trick knew what had been suggested.
Trick touched her arm and turned to the LightElves. ‘She has earned the right to be accepted as one of you.’ Mizzle slipped the stone back under her cloak and watched him with her expressionless silver eyes.
'The human lover,’ said Antonic. ‘We've heard about you.'
'Yes,’ said the female. ‘She won't lie, but you will for her.'
'Wrong on both counts,’ said Trick without anger. ‘She won't allow either. I say she has earned the right because she has righted wrongs in two nations by putting the true heirs on the throne.'
'Livania and Ardmore.’ The female shook her head. ‘Human concerns, not ours. Surely not altruistic acts anyway.'
'Now, Tyndalle,’ said Antonic. ‘Harsh. The fingerless one has done such. It is possible.'
'Yes, Tyndalle,’ mimicked Trick, ignoring the reference to Jarrett, though it did bode well for the LightElves’ open-mindedness to reformation. ‘Very harsh. I told her the LightElves were not so different from her mother's people.'
That gave even Tyndalle pause. Faces grew variously angry or ashamed. Trick went on regardless. ‘She has done other things—freed a boy from slavery, defeated a marauding Giant and an evil Wizard. If you want things of your own concern, she helped the Dryads in the drowned valley. There is one more thing. One of you has a daughter who recently went visiting in Livania.'
Silence. They all looked at one another. ‘One of you has this daughter,’ repeated Trick.
'I do,’ said Tyndalle.
'I'm glad it's you,’ said Trick. ‘Go get her.'
Tyndalle hesitated but Antonic nodded at her and she went. When her young and pretty daughter joined them in the hall, she was frightened and already denying any involvement.
'Stop,’ said Trick. ‘Did this DarkElf save your life when you were stupid enough to go into the forest with a strange human?'
Mizzle examined her fingers where the tiniest scars marred each fingertip.
The young LightElf struggled with herself and with Trick's nasty wording of the question. Eventually, very reluctantly, she said, ‘Yes.'
'Thank you,’ said Trick. ‘That's all.'
The girl hurried away, head bowed. Tyndalle and Antonic conferred with the other senior LightElves. Antonic turned back. ‘We cannot make a decision without the Light,’ he said.
'Cowards,’ said Trick. He was careful enough to say it in Bourchian.
'But we will not harm you while you wait,’ said Antonic, ignoring the interruption.
Mizzle nodded and glanced at Trick. That was her invitation, again, to leave.
He shook his head.
One of the LightElves who had escorted them ran into the hall, panting and with gold hair falling loose. He still had his bow. ‘Lords, DarkElves are attacking.'
Trick took a shocked breath. He had thought Mizzle had finished them in the drowned valley. Not all of them, it seemed. Mizzle stayed impassive and he wondered if she had expected it.
'How did they get so far in with no warning?’ Antonic was plainly very alarmed.
'Sir, all the sentries and patrols were called in close to watch this DarkElf.'
'I knew it,’ cried Tyndalle. ‘You are a distraction and nothing more.'
'I can hardly be blamed for your own stupidity,’ Mizzle said.
'Give us the DarkStone, then,’ said Antonic. ‘So the two stones can be used to counter this threat.'
'I will hand it to none but the Light.'
Perhaps they would have pushed her then except the sounds of fighting grew loud from the east.
'Wait here,’ said Antonic. The LightElf elders drew long slim swords and ran for one of the far doors.
Mizzle and Trick were left alone. ‘You did well,’ she said. ‘Now you must stay here while I find my mother. She will not be with the others.'
As Mizzle slipped out the same door they had come in by, Trick sat down on the floor, with his back against one of the
curved walls in the shadow of the stairway and his knees bent. He drew his sword, the iron-touched LightElf blade, and waited.
The sounds of fighting faded away again and the hall was eerily quiet. Trick let himself relax. Surely the DarkElves could not be a substantial force after the disasters Mizzle had visited on them. Mizzle would find her mother, that violet-eyed creature who had seduced a LightElf, and all would be well.
As if his thoughts had summoned her, she stepped into the hall, the DarkElf he had faced in Lithia's dungeons, Mizzle's mother. She glanced around the hall. He froze but her gaze skittered over him without interest.
Trick heard someone call out. ‘Jacoby!’ He turned to see a LightElf, tall and scarred and with an eye patch, walking towards the DarkElf.
Mizzle's father.
'Kintore,’ answered Jacoby.
Just as Jacoby had almost reached Kintore, a door opened, almost hitting Kintore—and hiding Jacoby and whoever who had opened the door from his view.
Trick saw a LightElf female with a naked blade lean from the antechamber and take Jacoby by the shoulder. As Kintore started around the door, Jacoby said softly in DarkElvish, ‘I know you.'
Then the LightElf ran her through and was gone.
Trick clasped his hands over his mouth to stop himself crying out as her body hit the floor. Kintore ran to her side, dragging her out of the doorway and looking through the chamber. The door to the outside was also open and there was no sign of Jacoby's assailant.
'Coby,’ said Kintore. He held his hands over the gaping wound, stemming the gush of bright blood. ‘What happened?’ Trick flinched. Kintore spoke Bourchian and he could not help but eavesdrop.
'I knew him,’ she repeated blankly. Then she focussed on Kintore. Her face, twisted in pain, immediately relaxed into a smile. ‘I must speak with you, Tore.'
'Lie still,’ said Kintore. His hands were red.
'I must tell you this,’ she said. ‘The Dark knew I had been with a LightElf but I had not enough information. I only had the iron.’ She raised her hand, two fingers missing.
'I expected it,’ said Kintore. ‘It ended the way it had to. I was angry at first but no more.'
'I found other means, do you understand?'
'I know, wife of the Dark,’ said Kintore desperately. ‘It gave our daughter the best chance to be thought his daughter, I know.'
'You do not understand,’ said Jacoby. Her voice was still strong but her face was absolutely ashen. ‘I gave birth to twins, Tore. One died.'
In the shadows of the stairwell, Trick froze again, halfway to his feet. Kintore rocked back and crouched forward again. ‘Which was his and which was mine?’ he asked hoarsely.
'The boy was bigger, but because conceived first or because male, I do not know. Both were dark-haired.'
'Mizzle has silver eyes,’ said Kintore.
'As does my grandmother,’ said Jacoby, blood slipping through her sudden bitter smile.
Kintore bowed his head. ‘Does she know?'
'I taught her as I had learnt from you,’ she said simply. ‘I was angry with the Dark so I encouraged her to take the DarkStone and go to her true father.'
Kintore ran bloody hands through his hair uncaringly. ‘I will not tell her,’ he said then. ‘She is yours and mine. I love you, Jacoby.'
Trick had forgotten to breath. He did not want to know this. The door near him opened and Mizzle stepped through. Only his grab for her stopped Kintore having his throat laid open without ever noticing the threat. With one hand on her arm and one hand on the hilt of one of her unsheathed swords, Trick said, ‘I saw who did it, and it wasn't him and it wasn't part of the battle.'
Mizzle shook him off and went to her mother's other side, laying her swords beside her. ‘Mother,’ she said, voice mostly steady and emotionless.
'Daughter,’ said Jacoby, reaching up a weak and shaking hand. The caress left red streaks on Mizzle's cheek.
'Do I use the DarkStone?'
'You know better,’ said Jacoby. She turned back to Kintore. ‘I regret nothing but that I did not say yes.’ Her brilliant violet eyes closed and the hall fell silent like a tomb as her harsh breathing failed. Kintore leant forward until his forehead rested against hers. Mizzle stood, collected her swords, and walked back to Trick.
'Someone dies for this,’ she said.
Trick poked at the ground with his sword. ‘Mizzle—’ He stopped. He couldn't tell her, not if Jacoby and Kintore had decided not to.
Tyndalle and Antonic and the other elders came back into the hall. Their robes were pristine and Trick doubted they had used the swords. Their archers had done their deadly work for them. He checked them over carefully but Jacoby's killer was not among them.
'The DarkElves have been destroyed,’ said Tyndalle. ‘So much for your plan.'
Antonic looked at Kintore, tearstained and shaking, laying his cloak over Jacoby's still body. He jumped to the right conclusion. ‘Is Kintore OneEyed your father?'
Mizzle did not answer but Kintore stood and answered clearly. ‘She is my daughter.'
The LightElves dissolved into acrimony. Trick leant in to Mizzle. ‘Why would those last remnants of your pursuit throw themselves to death like that?'
She took a breath, and another, and lifted her gaze from the body of her mother. ‘If they return as failures, they die anyway.'
'They didn't have to return.'
'Where would they go?’ she asked. She seemed to shake herself and focus on him properly. ‘You are right. In previous wars, deserters from both sides have made their way south and west. I believe this group continued to the end because the Dark was with them.'
He blinked. ‘He's dead, then?'
'He surely cannot be or the LightElves would be celebrating more than this.'
The LightElves went suddenly quiet as a long high note shone around the hall. Antonic said, ‘The Light comes now.'
Kintore rose and hurried from the hall, bearing Jacoby's body. Down the stairs came a tall and ageless LightElf female, dressed in plain blue and white and holding a stone, pure white.
'An honour,’ murmured Antonic, as he and all the LightElves bowed, a susurration that left Trick and Mizzle standing alone and obvious. ‘She brings the LightStone.'
Trick stood as a statue for a long moment as he watched the Light come down the stairs. He felt his fingers twitch out—not-friend-. His voice tight, he said in Mizzle's ear, ‘That's her.'
Mizzle still held her two curved blades. He half-expected her to fly across the room at her mother's killer, but she held them yet loose and merely watched the Light approach her.
The tall Elf stopped before her, not too close but smiling. ‘They say you will give the DarkStone to me.'
'To the Light,’ said Mizzle. ‘I did not bring it here to have the DarkElves destroyed.'
'What did you think we would use it for?’ asked the Light. ‘It will make the LightElves very powerful.'
Mizzle raised one sword until it was between them. The elders rushed forward and Trick raised his own sword. The Light waved them back, watching Mizzle.
'Why did you kill my mother?’ asked Mizzle.
The Light's eyes narrowed. ‘She was killed as we defended our home. You understand that.'
'No,’ said Trick without looking away from the swords of the other LightElves. ‘You personally killed her because she recognised you. You didn't check for witnesses.'
The white LightStone lit with a soft blue light. Mizzle dropped her other sword and drew out the DarkStone. ‘He is under my protection,’ she said simply. ‘You may not harm him.'
Trick tensed but did not dare look away from the LightElves edging in on him. He had not released he was at particular risk.
'Take hold of iron,’ she said. Trick was already holding the hilt of his iron sword. He had no other iron.
The two stones glowed fiercely while everyone stood frozen. Then Mizzle said, ‘Yes, my mother did know you.’ And the Light was thrown backwards and down, the
LightStone skittering out of her hand. The DarkStone went incandescent and when sight came back it was not a LightElf lying there, but a fingerless DarkElf.
'I am not surprised,’ said Mizzle. From the noise that rose in the hall, the LightElves were. Trick thought he was surprised, but found he had been half-expecting Jarrett to show his face again.
Jarrett rose slowly to his feet. ‘You're very good with that DarkStone.'
'It helps to be angry. Stay back,’ she commanded as the LightElves began to cautiously approach again. ‘He is by no means powerless.'
'Where is our Light?’ cried out Tyndalle.
'Dead,’ said Mizzle, her gaze not wavering from Jarrett. ‘As is the Dark. He took on both their forms and travelled by the There to maintain his presence in both places.'
'But only one thing—’ Antonic stuttered to a stop. A gust of wind seemed to blow through the hall, and then the LightElves were sprinting for the exits, dignity lost and forgotten.
'What—'
She cut him off. ‘You go too, Trick.'
'No,’ he said, standing there, holding the iron-flawed LightElf sword, lost.
Mizzle gave a faintly annoyed shake of her head but her attention relinquished him to his own devices. ‘What flaw would my mother have seen, to recognise the Light and the Dark as one and the same?'
Jarrett smiled, cruelty in his eyes. ‘I simply could not risk it. She was wife to the Dark and sees more than others who have not had such intimate contact. If I had known you would make it this far and force me to switch between Dark and Light, I would not have brought her. She was supposed to die with the rest of them by LightElf arrow. I ordered them to attack and took on the Light's form, but saw her slipping towards the hall.'
'She had not picked the substitution yet. You did not need to do it.'
Trick, listening, watching, took a long step sideways, going for the LightStone lost somewhere behind Jarrett.
Mizzle did not try to stop him but he saw her shift her position so Jarrett's gaze was drawn with her away from him.
He was grateful, for the DarkElf's eyes burned as he had never seen.
Jarrett laughed. ‘Probably not.'
Trick expected rage from Mizzle, but she just went on in that same calm mild manner. ‘Did you take on their aspects as soon as you found the Hand?'