“Well, at least we don’t need to worry about boarders,” Avans said. Descending from the quarterdeck, he joined Elias amidships and clapped him lightly on the shoulder. “I doubt any of the pointy-ears are looking for a fight, but we’ll weigh anchor a safe clip from shore just in case. You and the girl can put ashore in the cutter, assuming she knows how to handle an oar.”
“The girl has a name,” Kyra announced sourly as she joined them at the bulwark. Glaring at Avans, she took Elias’ other side. “And yes, she knows how to handle an oar.”
Uncertain whether to laugh or sigh in exasperation, Elias settled for maintaining his blank expression. Avans, however, displayed none of the same reserve. Chuckling at his own innuendo, he clapped Elias a second time and strolled back toward the quarterdeck.
“Gods, what an obnoxious man,” Kyra grumbled. Her frown didn’t linger for long. Drumming her fingers against her arm, she cocked her head to study Elias thoughtfully. “Are you ready?”
“Yes,” he lied. Thinking better of it, he grinned sheepishly. “Well, probably not. But what choice do I have?”
“None,” she said. “Not unless you plan on turning around and sailing home.”
“You know I can’t do that.”
“Well? Then what are we waiting for?” There was a peculiar quality to Kyra’s voice that he might have mistaken for excitement had he not spotted the well-concealed trembling of her fingers. The realization that she was just as nervous as he was, perhaps more so, proved bizarrely comforting.
“Nothing,” he said, with as much confidence as he could muster. “Nothing at all.”
Chapter Five
By the time they reached the shore, Elias’ back ached so painfully that some part of him hoped, absurdly, that the elves might take him captive. That such a fate would almost certainly prove fatal was nearly inconsequential compared to the prospect of rowing all the way back to the Dark Dawn.
He’d made the mistake of changing into one of his finer suits, the shirt of which was now thoroughly soaked through with sweat. Even so, he refused to strip off the heavy, woolen jacket. The only thing worse than arriving damp and overheated was doing so disheveled as well.
Fortunately, he doubted the elves would notice much. Upon closer inspection, Eh’kaavi was more of a village than a proper town. The boats they’d spotted as they sailed near did not even have a proper dock; their owners had simply dragged the vessels onto the muddy beach. And, plainly wary of abandoning their livelihoods outright, the dozen or so bare-chested fisherelves watched his approach from the relative shelter of the nearest buildings.
Unwilling to stare outright, Elias turned to Kyra as she secured her oars. Though she’d done her fair share of rowing as well, the sleeveless blouse and simple trousers she wore were far cooler than his clothing and thus far, far dryer.
“You’re the expert,” he muttered. “Who should we ask to speak with?”
She fidgeted slightly and faced him while her eyes scanned the elves gathering at the edge of the village.
“It depends,” she answered quietly. “A town this size isn’t likely to have a primarch of its own. They might have a Gwydon—that’s a sort of high priest—or it might just be led by an informal elder or two.”
“There’s no ruler?” Elias asked, taken aback.
“Of course there is. He just might not be here.”
Biting back a grumble, Elias leaned into his oars only to strike mud. Glancing around, he was surprised to discover the shore only a few yards away. He stood cautiously, eyed the foaming water, and stepped out. The next small wave neared the top of his boots, but a few quick steps was all it took to escape the danger.
His back throbbed as he seized the cutter’s narrow bowsprit and pulled. For all the pain it caused him, however, he barely succeeded in dragging the vessel a few inches. Either he was far more exhausted than he’d anticipated, or the boat’s weight was far greater than the similarly sized vessels that dotted the shore.
“Elias!” Kyra murmured urgently.
He spun, thoughtlessly reaching for the sword at his hip. His reaction must have startled the approaching elves since they froze, one of the three hissing something unrecognizable.
“Easy,” Kyra said. Stepping lightly across the rowing benches, she jumped into the water and touched him lightly on the wrist. Then, shaking her head, she stepped between him and the elves. “At’kinch. Tilse kabsan no porut.”
“What?” Elias asked before he could help himself. He never got an answer.
The elves relaxed visibly, one of the three even chuckling and jostling the one who’d hissed. “Sha’nijur?” asked the third, inclining his head.
“Lari,” Kyra agreed. “Sha’nijuri Kyra Hammond et Elias Ansiri.”
The elf who’d spoken nodded and gestured to the village’s sole multi-story structure. He spoke again, fast enough this time that Elias had no hope of catching it, much less comprehending, then led the elves forward. Elias tensed again but had no chance to reach for his sword before Kyra grasped his arm and dragged him away.
“Relax,” she growled. “You’ll only cause problems if you act like you’re expecting to be attacked. Come on. They’ll look after the boat.”
“Where are we going?” he asked. He already had some notion of what the answer might be, but even a pointless question helped distract him from the ever-present urge to reach for his sword.
“Don’t know,” Kyra admitted. At his look, she grinned and nodded toward the taller building. “Judging by the roof, I’d guess that’s a temple or shrine of some kind. I’m not sure who’s waiting for us, but I told them we were ambassadors and he said we’re expected.”
Elias merely grunted an acknowledgement and followed her up the worn, gently sloping trail toward the village. With every step they took, more onlookers seemed to gather and a great silence fell as they passed the first row of dwellings. The walls of the huts appeared to be fashioned from a mixture of mud and stone, and the faces of those they passed were no less diverse. Some of the elves wore their resentment openly, while others were so blank and unreadable they could have been masks. Here and there, however, a handful stared at them in undisguised curiosity. The latter came mostly from children, half-hidden behind parental legs and skirts.
“They don’t exactly look happy to see us,” Elias noted in a low tone as they neared the prospective temple and the crowds grew denser.
Kyra did not even pause. “Did you expect them to?” she whispered back. “We’re here to discuss avoiding a war, after all.”
He conceded the point with a shrug and then shrugged again to adjust his too-warm jacket as they reached the center of the village. Unlike the rest, the building before them had been constructed of wood. It was roughly a squat cube, aside from the thatched and slightly slanted roof and a series of outstretched, branchlike decorations at the four upright corners. Now that there was no longer a sea of faces between him and the walls, Elias noticed that the front of the building on either side of the overly large entrance had been painstakingly carved with images of a horned, vaguely humanoid figure.
“Looks like a temple to me,” he said.
Kyra glanced at him, frowning. But, before she had a chance to shush him, the structure’s doors swung outward. The interior was dark, lit by only a handful of candles from what Elias could see. But, as the figure within slowly emerged into the marginally brighter morning light, he found himself wishing he could have appreciated the sight in the clarity of midday.
The elven woman was slender, pale, and astonishingly young—if his admittedly imprecise measure of such things was accurate. She was dressed in a scandalously revealing silver robe, open to her navel and distractingly translucent save for a strip around her waist where it had been secured by a broad, golden belt of sorts. The entire outfit would have been indecent had it not been for the rest of her ensemble. The elf’s chest and arms were thickly slathered with black paint, solidly around her wrist
s and ribs and far more intricately the closer it grew to her collar. Paired with the way the unfamiliar sigils vanished beneath her long, equally shaded hair, the two aspects lent her an eerily arcane demeanor.
Kyra elbowed him hard in the side and Elias was about to growl a rebuke when he spotted the look in her eyes. Following her lead, he bowed. From the deep, almost gasping breath she took as they straightened, he expected her to speak first. Instead, the elf beat her to it.
“Bare lo Eh’kaavi,” she said in an unnervingly silky tone. “Ijal nos vevan?”
“Welcome and why are you here?” Kyra translated breathlessly.
“Well, uh…” Elias glanced at the waiting elf then back at Kyra. “Tell her?”
“Tell her what?” Kyra snapped.
Thoughts racing, Elias scrambled to find the right words. Once again, however, the elven woman preempted the both of them.
“I know your words,” the elf said, flashing a thin, indulgent smile. “A little. If you prefer?”
“Yes, thank you!” Elias said. He bowed again since it seemed the right thing to do. “My name is Elias and this is Kyra. We’ve come from Islesmark to serve as ambassadors.”
The elf’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly. It wasn’t quite a frown, but the sight was enough to make his heart skip a beat.
“Ambassadors?” she said.
“Sha’nijur,” Kyra supplied.
The elf’s half-frown vanished at once. “Ah, thank you,” she said. “I do not know this word. Ambassadors, yes.”
She was silent for a moment. Then, all at once, she stiffened and looked around. It was as if she had taken note of the crowd for the very first time.
“Are you—we can speak alone?” she asked, stumbling over the words for a second. “It is better, yes?”
Elias shared a look with Kyra then nodded slowly. “Yes,” he agreed. “That would be better.”
The elf waved them forward with a small gesture and they stepped forward. They’d scarcely moved, however, when several of the nearby elves cried out in alarm and rushed forward to intercept them. Their leader barked a command and the would-be guards froze. They did not fall silent. Instead, they held their ground and gestured wildly, protesting all the while.
It took prolonged, deliberate effort for Elias not to reach for his sword.
“Apologies,” the elven woman said, studying him. “They see your sword. It worries them. Please remove? They do not harm you here.”
He turned to Kyra, already knowing what her answer would be but hoping for a different one, regardless. She nodded. And so, reluctantly, he unbuckled the scabbard from his waist and gently placed the sheathed blade on the ground near his feet.
“Thank you,” the elf said. From her smile, she was as relieved as Elias was uneasy. Again, she waved them forward. This time, when they followed her, there were no protests save a few wary scowls.
She led them through the masterfully decorated doors. Despite Elias’ earlier inspection, he found the temple’s interior lit by a far greater number of candles than he’d observed beforehand. The singular room was still fairly dark, but there were also a number of thin windows chiseled from the far wall. Motes of dust swam through the columns of light in an unexpectedly dizzying fashion.
The floor consisted of packed dirt with a few small, circular rugs arrayed near the room’s center. The elf lowered herself onto one of them and indicated the others with a wave of her hand. Elias would have preferred to remain standing, if only for the sake of his suit, but it seemed rude to refuse and so he followed Kyra’s example and settled on the cleanest looking of the seats.
“Again, apology,” the elf said. “I offer you wine, but it is morning. Morning-drinks offend the elders. Also, I think you would not accept?”
It was a frank admission and one that Elias found strangely comforting. He did his best to offer a reassuring smile and shook his head.
“Good,” the elf said. “Another time, yes? For now, names. You are Kyra and E… Elias? I am Rhona, Gwydas lo Eh’kaavi.”
“A Gwydas?” Kyra exclaimed. The excitement in her voice was palpable enough that Elias looked over in alarm. “I thought elves—sorry, I thought your people would only follow a Gwydon. I’ve never heard of a woman leading a town like this one. Did they make an exception or is it—”
“Kyra!” Elias interrupted, aghast.
She faltered, meeting his eyes and reddening with sudden self-awareness. Rhona, however, did not appear to share his consternation. On the contrary, she laughed.
“So many questions!” the elf said. Despite her slight difficulties with the language, her teasing tone was easy to detect. “I forget sometimes. Your people are young and must say questions as a child.”
Kyra reddened further, prompting another laugh from Rhona.
“Do not fear or give apology,” she said. “A Gwydas teaches, always. That is why my people follow me. If more lived here, perhaps they follow a Gwydon. They choose my father many years ago. Now, he is with the gods and my people follow me.”
“I… I see,” Kyra said, recovering. Her face was still bright with blushing but her smile recovered quickly. “Have you been a Gwydas for long?”
“Not very long for my people,” Rhona said. Reclining slightly, she stared up at the high ceiling. “When Falass burns—you say, ah, midsummer, yes?—I am Gwydas for thirty-four years.”
Elias stared at her in open-mouthed shock. To his eyes, the elf could not have been a day over twenty. And even if she had been blessed with a particularly young face, the litheness of her body, so poorly hidden by her clothing, made such a claim impossible to believe.
“You’re thirty-four?” he demanded.
It was Kyra’s turn to look at him in outraged chastisement. And yet, once again, Rhona’s eyes merely twinkled with thinly veiled amusement.
“Thirty-four? No,” she said, grinning. “I am thirty-four years Gwydas. I do not take my seat before my thirty year. Even this is very young. Many youngest and wisest Gwydons do not sit before forty.”
Elias nearly choked on his own saliva. He had no reason to believe Rhona was lying and though he’d heard stories that many elves lived and fought well into their second century, to stare such evidence in the face was staggering. However alluring that face might be.
“Enough of this,” Rhona said softly, averting her gaze in what might have been embarrassment. “Years are nothing. We all seem children to the gods and elders. You come here, Sha’nijur, to speak, yes? Why?”
Elias swallowed hard and glanced at Kyra from the corner of his eye. She was staring back at him, but he couldn’t begin to guess at what she was thinking. And since she didn’t volunteer that information, the duty fell to him.
“This year, several human towns have been burned by elves. Dozens—hundreds have been killed,” he said. “Governor-General Offert believes—er, you know who the Governor-General is, right? What he does?”
Rhona nodded. “Your people follow this primarch, yes? I know.”
“That’s… yes, that’s basically it. He fears that the… that your people are preparing for war. He sent us to speak to you. To negotiate.”
“Negotiate? I do not know this word.”
Elias understood but couldn’t help the chill that accompanied her literal, unintended meaning. He turned to Kyra who drummed her fingers thoughtfully on her knee.
“Eh’kats?” she guessed.
Rhona nodded and flashed a brief, lopsided smile. “I think, yes,” she said. “Eh’kats. You speak to stop, er, prevent this war, yes?”
“Yes,” Elias said. “That’s right.”
“Eh’kats,” Rhona repeated. Shoulders hunched, she leaned forward and examined her own folded legs. Smoothing the folds of her silver robe, she was silent for a long time before continuing. “It is good that you come,” she said at last. “Many are wrong. The gods do not love blood. But I do not understand. Why do you come here, to Eh’kaavi? We have no army
, no primarch, no Gwydon. We cannot start a war—or prevent one.”
It was Elias’ turn to fall silent as he chose his words with care. The longer he sat, however, the more significant the moment seemed to become. Everything—his life, Islesmark, and countless thousands of lives—might well rest on how convincing he could be.
“Elias?” Kyra whispered.
“The seas aren’t safe,” he explained. Straightening, he gestured toward the open door at his back, in what he thought was the direction of the sea. “We have no army, either, just sailors and Sha’nijur. We came here, hoping to find a guide. Someone who could lead us safely to your primarch and explain to your people why we are here.”
He held his breath. Fortunately, Rhona did not keep him waiting for long.
“Kaba,” she whispered. Taking a deep, shaky breath, she stared at him squarely and unblinkingly. “You wish a guide? I lead you to the primarch and prevent war?”
“Yes,” he said.
“You ask me to leave? My people must have a Gwydas. Bial wei’no atk’linain! I cannot do this thing to them!”
There was a peculiar desperation to the elf’s voice that would have been disheartening under different circumstances. At present, however, Elias recognized it all too well.
“Rhona,” he said softly. “We need a guide. Eh’kaavi is the closest elven town to Islesmark by sea. If there is a war, this is the first place my people will attack.”
Rhona’s eyes turned wild. And in that single glance, Elias spotted the weight of decades of labor.
“You threaten them?” she hissed. “You threaten my people?”
“No,” he insisted, just as softly. “I’m trying to protect them. Just like you.”
The brilliant savagery drained from Rhona’s face in an instant as her shoulders slumped. Slowly, almost mournfully, she gazed around at the candlelit room. The light outside had brightened somewhat and Elias could begin to make out the details of the interior walls. To his surprise, he found that many of them had been carved in a similar fashion to the external ones, with an assortment of humanoid figures.
Ambassador (Conqueror of Isles Book 1) Page 4