Guardians of the Lost (35 page)

T
he official title of the elf lord, Garwina of House Wyval, was the Shield of the Divine. He was either the most powerful elf in the land of Tromek or second most powerful, depending on who you asked. This morning, Garwina did as he did every morning; he knelt before the household shrine dedicated to his Honored Ancestor.

Every elven household, from the lavishly furnished palaces of the Divine to the most humble hut of his most humble subject, has such a shrine. In the Shield's palace, the shrine was huge, expensive, elaborate. An altar made of black lacquered wood inlaid with ivory and decorated with silver stood on a raised dais secreted in an alcove hung with beautiful silks. The silk, specially hand-woven and hand-dyed by Nimorean craftsmen, bore the emblem of the Shield's house—a wyvern holding a thistle—embroidered in thread spun of gold.

On the table were arranged the possessions of the Honored Ancestor: his flute, his set of carved alabaster wine goblets, a silver pitcher taken in a raid from the castle of a Vinnengaelean lord, and other trophies and mementos, including his shield and his swords. A chair that matched the table stood behind it. Here the Honored Ancestor came on an almost daily basis to speak to his grandson.

Kneeling on the edge of the dais, the Shield lit the candles and made his offering—sugared wafers filled with honey and nuts. A favorite of the Honored Ancestor, the wafers had been made by the hands of his own wife, not those of a servant.

The Honored Ancestor appeared, a ghostly figure that wavered in the chair like candle smoke on a breath of air. The ancestor had died in his two hundred and sixtieth year of wounds suffered in battle. He wore the memory of his armor, in order to appear more intimidating. The old elf's hair had been silver gray when he died, but he remembered it as the shining black of his youth. His face was thin and gaunt and pale, resembled the face of his grandson—a trait of the members of House Wyval. The natures of the two were also very much alike. Both were stern, implacable, proud and unyielding. Always before they had sided together.

They did not side together now.

The Honored Ancestor ignored the sugared wafers. His ghostly hand did not reach for his flute, as it so often did, for though he could not touch it, he could remember the feel. He did not glance at the swords, although the Shield had ordered them newly sharpened and polished. Keeping both arms folded across his chest, he glowered at his grandson.

“Will you listen to what I have to say?”

“I will listen, Grandfather,” said the Shield with a respectful bow.

“Listen but pay no heed,” the Honored Ancestor said, sneering.

The Shield was annoyed. “Grandfather—”

“Enough! Hear me out. I have important information. This Dagnarus who now proclaims himself King of Dunkarga is in truth Dagnarus, son of old King Tamaros.”

The Shield's expression hardened. “You think to make sport of me, Grandfather. That Dagnarus died in the fall of Old Vinnengael—”

“He did not die,” said the Honored Ancestor. “He extended his life through the power of Void magic. He survived on lives he stole from others and thus he continues to survive. He is an abomination, a thing of evil. And this is the creature with whom you would ally yourself. Bad enough that he is a human. He is a human who uses magic to sustain his accursed life.”

“He is also a human who has a chance of conquering New Vinnengael, of making himself King, of extending his control throughout the lands of the humans. He is the human who has promised me that if he is successful he will restore to the elves all the land now currently in dispute with the Empire.
All the land
, Grandfather! There is not a single elven House that would not be in my debt, for almost every one of them has some claim to some parcel along the border.”

The Shield rose to his feet, began to pace, although he knew that this would highly annoy his Grandfather, who could pace only in memory. Unlike many of the dead, who were quite content to be dead, the Shield's Honored Ancestor was bitterly jealous of the living.

“The Divine himself is entitled to some five hundred acres of land south of MyrLlineth. He will be forced to come to me to beg for his land. He will be forced to humble himself before me, abase himself. Every elf in Tromek will see who is the true power in the nation. Does that mean nothing to you, Grandfather? That at last our House will receive the honor we are due?”

“And what is to be the cost of this magnanimity, Grandson?”

“I permit the troops of King Dagnarus to enter the Tromek Portal and I grant them safe passage through it. Have no fear, Grandfather. The humans will not remain on elven land. Once his troops are through the Portal, they travel south to capture New Vinnengael. The city will fall like rotten fruit to his plucking, for the eyes of the fool humans are turned to the west in terror of an invasion from Karnu. They will not be expecting an attack from the north.”

“And you believe this man who has given his soul over to the evil magicks of the Void. That makes you more the fool. Dagnarus brought about the downfall of House Mabreton—”

“Of course I do not believe him. I have made my plans and if this is the same Dagnarus, as you insist, then he also brought about the downfall of House Kinnoth,” the Shield observed coldly. The Houses of Kinnoth and Wyval had long been enemies.

“Bah!” The Honored Ancestor was not to be placated. “Kinnoth brought about their own downfall. Because of this Dagnarus, the House of the Divine came to power.”

“Because of me, the Divine will lose it,” said the Shield. “As to the Void magic…” He shrugged his shoulders. “I seem to recall that in the Battle of Tinnafah, you called upon the Wyred to use their magic—”

“I did not!” the Honored Ancestor stated furiously. “I would never be so dishonorable as to fall back on the use of magic in battle. The Wyred acted entirely on their own.”

“Be honest with me, at least, Grandfather,” the Shield returned coldly. “We elves have played this game for centuries. We do not admit to the use of magic, yet somehow the Wyred always seem to be in the right place at the right time to turn the tide of battle. I mention my plan for the use of magic to a certain member of my household, who mentions it to a certain member of his household, who sees to it that the Wyred find out about it. The next day I find a raven's feather lying on the path where I take my morning walk and I know that all is arranged. I have nothing to do with it. The magic does not touch me. In this instance, I rely on humans for the Void magic, not the Wyred. I see no difference.”

“No, you do not. The Father and Mother help you,” the Ancestor returned bitterly. “And your humans had better help you. I will not. For the last time, will you take heed of my words and disavow this evil man, break any and all ties to him?”

“I honor your memory, Grandfather,” said the Shield evenly. “But you are dead and I am alive. You had your chance for glory. Now it is my turn.”

“I will not be back!” the Honored Ancestor threatened.

The Shield silently bowed.

“The water of the snows of the mountains runs in your veins. Look to see me no more.” The Honored Ancestor vanished.

“Good riddance,” the Shield muttered, turning on his heel. “Meddlesome old fart.”

Picking up the sugared wafers, he ate them himself.

 

After his midday meal, the Shield of the Divine took a digestive stroll in his garden at the hour of midday. He had a busy schedule this afternoon, for he had letters to write. Because elven missives
are always written in the forms of elaborate poetry, his task looked to stretch forward well into the hours of evening. He did not have to compose the poems himself, praised be the ancestors. The Shield had not been blessed with a mind for words. He hired elven scribes, who are trained from childhood for such tasks.

He was about to summon the House poets when a servant came to stand at the end of the walkway, bowing and remaining in a prostrate position until the Shield should deign to acknowledge him. The servant was the Shield's own personal servant, a man who ranked as high in the small world of the Shield's household staff as the Shield ranked in his larger world. This servant was known as the Keeper of the Keys, for he kept in his possession all the keys to all the locks in the elven household, thus making him a very powerful individual.

Few elven rooms have locks on the doors. Few elven rooms have doors, for the elves prefer to live their lives in their gardens, which are elaborately constructed with many private alcoves and grottos, hedges, stands of trees and banks of flowers. The Keeper held the key to the chests containing the scrolls of the history of the family, the key to chests containing the family's wealth, the key to the cask containing jewels, the key to the cavern where the Shield kept his wine. In addition, the Keeper of the Keys was responsible for hiring all the other servants of the household, for knowing which ones were spies and for what Houses. He was responsible for the Shield's personal comfort and his business dealings, for arranging the Shield's daily schedule and for the planning of any trips the Shield might make.

Knowing that the Keeper of the Keys would not have interrupted unless the matter was of urgency, the Shield motioned the Keeper to come forward.

Advancing to the correct distance, the Keeper bowed and stated, “The Lady Godelieve has arrived, my lord. The Lady Godelieve knows how valuable is the time of Your Lordship and she knows that she is unworthy of taking up even a second, but she begs that you will overlook her unworthiness and grant her the favor of an audience. The matter is of the utmost importance or she would
never dream of insinuating her insignificant self into your presence.”

Insignificant self! The Shield smiled. The Lady Godelieve was one of the most beautiful and alluring women he had ever known. She was mysterious as she was beautiful, for she artfully avoided all discussion regarding her past. He knew very little about her, only that she was a member of House Mabreton, a House whose war with House Kinnoth following the fall of Old Vinnengael had effectively ruined both families. Mabreton had won, but the war had been costly in both lives and finances and, two hundred years later, Mabreton was still a House in ruins.

House Kinnoth was in worse condition, for one of its members had conspired with the elf who had then been Shield to murder two noble lords of House Mabreton and then participated in the seduction of a lady of that House by this very Prince Dagnarus, of whom the Ancestor had been speaking. This elf lord, whose name was Silwyth, and all members of House Kinnoth were cast out in disgrace. All titles, lands, and charters were stripped by the new Shield of the Divine (the aforesaid ancestor of this very Shield). The head of House Kinnoth “requested death,” as was customary. The family name was removed from the roles of the Tromek.

Considered accursed, House Kinnoth had no protection under elven law. They were not permitted at either the court of the Divine or the Shield of the Divine. Denoted by the family tattoo that was ritually inscribed around the eyes, those members of House Kinnoth who ventured into other parts of the elven realm were shunned, thrown out of shops, refused admittance to taverns. Any who dared venture onto the lands of House Mabreton would be slain on sight. Thus would their punishment continue until some member of their House performed an act of either great heroism or great compassion. Then their case would be taken under advisement by the Divine, who might, in recognition, restore House Kinnoth to their rightful place in elven society.

As much as the members of House Mabreton hated those of House Kinnoth, they hated the members of the Divine's House of Trovale almost as much, for they blamed the Divine for their financial
ruin. They were firm in their belief that much of their wealth had ended up in the coffers of the Divine.

According to Lady Godelieve (her name meant “beloved of the god” in elven), the Mabretons' plan was to bring about the downfall of the Divine, to recover what had been stolen. To further their plan, the Mabretons had joined forces with the human now calling himself King Dagnarus. The beautiful Lady Godelieve was the Mabretons' secret ambassador to Dagnarus. Acting in that capacity, she had come to enlist the Shield of the Divine on the side of the Mabretons.

“Where is the lady?” the Shield asked.

“In the tenth garden, my lord,” the Keeper replied. “I know that she stands high your favor. She has been offered refreshment, which she declined, saying that she never takes food in the heat of the day.”

“Escort her into my presence at once,” said the Shield. “No, wait. Take her to the Island. I will meet her there.”

The Keeper nodded and bowed his departure.

The most secluded area in the Shield's extensive land holdings was a large pool of crystal blue water surrounded by weeping willow trees. A barge moored in the center of the pool was known as “the Island.” A wonder of craftsmanship, the barge was a floating patio, covered by a silken canopy to protect the occupants from the sun. A drawbridge extended from the shore to the barge. When the Shield and his guests had crossed the bridge, the bridge was raised. Guards stood at the bridge and around the pool. No one was permitted to cross on pain of death, thus providing the Shield and his party absolute privacy, something rare in large elven households, where eavesdropping is considered an art form.

The Shield reached the barge first. Seated beneath the silken canopy, he admired the beauty of the day and looked forward to admiring the beauty of Lady Godelieve. The Shield did not wait long. The Keeper of the Keys appeared, escorting the lady. She wore silken robes that were plain, not extravagant. As a member of an impoverished House, she knew her place, knew that to wear rich clothing would be seen as an attempt to rise above her station. Yet, such was her beauty that she might have dressed in sackcloth and
been the most admired woman in the nation. Her complexion was flawless, pale with lips touched with carnelian. Dark rainbows shimmered in her long black hair. Her almond-shaped eyes were wide and entrancing, held secrets within their depths. Sorrowful secrets, or so the Shield guessed, for the Lady Godelieve never smiled.