Once A Hero (23 page)

And now, united by chance, yet other things conspired to keep us apart.

The realization that I wanted more than mere physical union with her set aside carnal desires. I wanted all that she was, which meant that physical concerns amounted to only a small portion of what I meant to explore. Once I knew her emotionally, spiritually, and intellectually, then the other would and could be important. Indulging sexual urges would have parted us once again, and I determined, at that moment, that nothing and no one would ever do that while I had breath in my lungs and blood in my veins.

I glanced over at her and smiled. "I'm thinking we are in serious trouble."

"More so than you know." She returned my smile, and my heart felt ready to burst. "Until this day I have been sleepwalking through my life. Now I am awake and alive."

Nervous, giddy laughter exploded from me. "Exactly."

Her smile shrank a bit into a satisfied smirk, then she bowed her head and extended her left hand forward. "It is my pleasure, Neal Roclawzi, to present to you the city of Cygestolia."

I have no doubt, given the way my heart beat in my chest and my smile peaked up near my eyes, that anything she had shown me would have been magnificent. The Sylvan metropolis exceeded that by a league or three. As ugly and forbidding as was Jammaq, so did Cygestolia feel sacred enough to have been the womb of the world itself.

The city stretched down and out through a wooded, serpentine valley. Flashing like a quicksilver ribbon, a crystalline stream bisected the valley north and south, yet pooled into an azure lake in the center. Islands studded the lake and provided enough ground to support huge, ancient trees. While I did see stones of all sizes, shapes, and hues throughout the landscape, none had been used as building material. They were decoration, and rare was the rock that was not home to moss or a flowering plant growing from a crevasse or recess.

In the coastal jungles of Najinda I had seen villages built on stilts and others constructed high in the jungle bowers. Until I saw Cygestolia, I had thought of the Najindese as living in the trees. I immediately realized I had been far too generous in my thoughts, for the Najindese lived among the trees.

The Elves lived in the trees and with the trees. A dark-green canopy covered entirely the city precincts on either wall of the valley. The canopy broke over the stream and around the lake, allowing for enough sunlight to strike the lake shore and promote some agriculture. The island-based trees all grew together to form a green mushroom structure over the center of the lake. Long branches on the central trees grew out like spokes from the island hub and joined with similar branches from the trees on the valley walls.

From where I stood everything seemed normally proportioned; then I noticed people walking along the branches, passing high above the lake's mirror surface, from the island outward and vice versa. At that point I realized I had misjudged the whole city, for it was much larger and more titanic than I had first imagined. Whereas among the Najindese a tree would house a single family, the entire population of Aurium could have taken refuge in just one of the Cygestolian giants.

Larissa gestured toward the city casually, as if dismissing the vision, though I caught the way pride in it lifted her chin. "It may look a thicket to you, Neal, but it is simple to navigate. Trees, as you can see, are grouped in districts, as befits good growth, and are named after their most prominent feature. Conussilva, for example, is located in the Seven Pines district."

"Pinusseptem. Aarundel told me." I smiled. "The city is gorgeous."

I followed one branch as it led back into the trunk. Side branches provided a screen of foliage, but I saw where an Elf entered through a hole in the bark. Above and below that level I saw other openings and spied Elves moving through the trees like a line of ants. If each tree housed only a dozen Elves, there had to be hundreds of thousands of them, and that seemed all the more remarkable because they all gathered in this one spot instead of, as Men and the Reithrese had done, spreading out over the face of the world.

Larissa tugged on the basket. "We should go on to Woodspire. Your arrival was not expected, but it was not unanticipated. We have lodging for you and even for the Dreel."

I looked around to see if Shijef had been following us, but I did not see him. As I turned back to face the city, a half-dozen hooded Sylvan warriors slipped from the brush before us. Larissa did not seem concerned and did not release the basket, so I let it go. The Elves bore longbows and two had arrows nocked. One of the Elves stepped forward as the others spread out in a semicircle behind him. His face hidden by the hood, the leader said something in Elven, and I recognized it as a challenge from the tone, though the words meant nothing to me.

Larissa laughed and let the basket swing innocently in her right hand as she approached the leader. "Who am I? I would have thought the answer to that question would be obvious to you."

The leader nodded toward Larissa and allowed her to approach him as he turned and challenged me again. "What Man dares enter Cygestolia?"

I smiled, perhaps too broadly—like a newbeard-boy trying to impress his first love—and let a growl enter my voice. "I am Neal Roclawzi, Leader of the Steel Pack, Killer of Tashayul, Bearer of Divisator and named Custos Sylvanii by Aarundel Imperator. I have come as his guest for his marriage."

"Beneath the grime you are hard to recognize." The leader bowed his head. "You may pass, Neal Roclawzi."

Larissa, having reached the leader's side, frowned impatiently. "So formal? That's hardly like you." She reached up and tugged down his hood. Fine black hair framed a face I thought I recognized. "He is a guest, treat him as such."

I squinted at the Elven leader. "Imperator Finndali?"

He nodded and Larissa laughed. "Yes, Neal, this Sylvan warrior suddenly struck dumb is Finndali. Imperator and"—her eyes flashed dangerously at me—"he who is my husband."

Though they arrived back in Aurdon near midnight, the Fisher estate appeared as active and alive as if it were midday. This struck Genevera as odd until Berengar pointed out that farmers had begun to bring in shipments of winter wheat that required warehousing, resale, and shipment to points downriver. "Commerce seldom allows one time to rest."

Gena nodded. "An idle merchant is a starving merchant."

"Bravo!" Berengar helped her down from Spirit. "You are recovered from the ordeal?"

"I am, my lord, thank you." She half curtsied to him. "Shall we take the gunne to Durriken?"

Berengar frowned for a moment. "I am certain Durriken would prefer, at this hour, after this absence, to greet you in private. I must report to my father and uncles what we have seen and done. If you wish, we can delay his examination of the weapon until morning."

"Can we afford the delay?"

"You are correct, of course. It might be unwise to take that liberty. An hour, then?" Berengar smiled encouragingly as they mounted the steps to the mansion entrance. "That would allow me to escape my kin after a short time, which I would prefer to do. Awakening them will not put them in a good humor, and I doubt the news will improve their disposition."

"An hour, then." Gena turned and worked her way through the building's maze of corridors to the door of her chamber. She knocked lightly, first twice, then once, then three times, in a signal pattern that Durriken had taught her. She waited a heartbeat or two after the end of the knocking, then opened the door.

Durriken sat in the bed, one candle burning, with a flashdrake propped on a sheet-shrouded knee and pointed at the door. As she entered, he tipped the weapon toward the ceiling. "It is good that you knocked, for I had fallen asleep waiting for you."

"I know better than to surprise you in your sleep."

"Especially here in Aurdon, for there are many, many surprises about." He set the flashdrake down on the bedside table and folded the sheet back on her half of the bed. "Was your ride of interest?"

"I believe you would consider it 'remarkable.' " Gena swung the door shut, then crossed to one of the chairs and leaned heavily on it. "Count Berengar will be here within the hour to show you a longgunne taken from a Haladin raider."

"Are you hurt?" Rik stood and swirled the sheet around himself, looping it around his body and up over his right shoulder. "One raider implies many more."

"A dozen, and, no, I am not hurt, though I am still a bit tired." She came around and sat down. She said nothing as Rik poured her a cup of wine, then pulled a chair up and sat facing her with their knees touching. Gena obligingly drank, then set the cup down on the table. "I cast spells in haste and suffered for it."

"From the beginning, Gena."

She sat back and drank again, then told Rik all about the journey and the ambush. She sensed an irritation in Rik whenever she mentioned Berengar, but she knew him better than to imagine it to be jealousy. Rik managed to remain near neutral as she described the elaborate lengths to which the Count had gone to keep the goal of their expedition secret. His attitude definitely soured as she described the ambush.

"Berengar should have been more watchful."

Gena shrugged. "This is true, but we were to link up with Waldo and his people at the camp. When we arrived, it appeared that Haladina had departed quickly when they discovered Waldo's men in the area."

"Only to double back and ambush you."

"Which is not Berengar's fault." Gena took Rik's hands in her own. "He was as much at risk as the rest of us—more, since they devoted nearly half their force to killing him."

"That does put a different complexion on things." Rik sat back, slipping his hands from her grasp. His left arm went around his chest and his right hand cupped his chin. "There is more going on here in Aurdon than Berengar has told us, I think. I had thought him the person orchestrating things, but this indicates he is but a pawn and expendable."

"What do you mean?"

Rik leaned forward again and dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "I went about in Aurdon today, into the lower rings. I wandered and listened a great deal. It seems, from what I heard bandied about among those who are not Fishers or Riverens, the battling between the two clans is cyclical. It usually begins as some sort of trade war, with each side undercutting the other until one begins to bleed gold. At that point the tactics escalate into sabotage. That means anything from arson to thievery. Everyone knows who is doing it and why it is being done, and the families are scrupulous in seeing to it that no one gets hurt physically."

Gena made no attempt to conceal her surprise. "I thought Men set great store in the saying, 'Cut off the head and the snake dies.' "

"Oh, we do, but both families greatly fear Neal's intervention. Berengar didn't tell us the half of the difficulties assassins have had over the years. Each one of the cycles eventually rises to the point where someone tries to kill someone else. The would-be murderer always runs afoul of his own plans, and Neal is always implicated. I think, now, that they look for Neal a bit too hard, hence they see his ghost in everything. If a bird flew over and a feather fell from a wing and caused the murderer to die of a sneezing fit, someone would note that some story had Neal possessing or shooting or admiring a bird like that."

"They find obscure facts to justify their fears."

"So it seems. These cycles tend to run one per generation and a half. In that time, enough people forget the consequences of the last one, and enough new people have come of age to imagine they can be just that one step smarter than any of their ancestors."

Gena frowned. "Do you think that is what Berengar is doing?"

"I don't know. I thought it possible, but two factors play against it. The first is the fact that he could have died in the ambush. He is no fool, and if he were as ambitious as those before him, he would never have put himself in the sort of danger he faced today. Moreover, he never would have allowed you, his key to success, to be risked."

Rik narrowed his eyes. "That line of thinking, of course, is new. What had made me think Berengar is being truthful is that the Riverens really are trading with the Haladina. There is a small Haladin section of town, and trade there is brisk. The Riverens hit upon a strategy that works perfectly for both the Haladina and themselves. The Riverens brought a number of Haladin artisans into the city and set them to the task of creating Haladin fabrics and jewelry with new fibers and materials. Whereas the Haladina had never seen silk before, their people are working with it now. As a result you can purchase a silk cloak woven and colored in traditional Haladin ways."

Gena smiled. "They have created a unique item that the Haladina themselves cannot produce on their own."

"And which Centisian artisans cannot easily match. The Riverens then gave a great deal of these products to their trading partners up and down the river. Because the items were rare and bestowed as gifts, they had an added value. They became very fashionable and highly sought after. The Riverens started selling these new wares and have a very hungry audience waiting for them.

"The net result is that the Riverens are slowly outstripping the Fishers. While the families were equal and united, Neal's vow helped maintain the balance. The alliance with the Haladina has given the Riverens an advantage. If the Riverens were to tell their trading partners that they will get no more Haladin wares unless they stop trading with the Fishers, the Fishers would be badly hurt."

"Why haven't the Riverens done this already?"

Rik spread both of his hands wide and shrugged. "I don't know. I believe Neal may be part of it—a couple of the Riveren elders are real metaphysicians, and they are arguing that cutting the Fishers off from trade would kill them, unleashing Neal's wrath upon the family. I suspect the Riverens will slowly start to cut off trade in small towns first and see what happens."