Once A Hero (25 page)

Woodwrights shape both the flesh of the tree in which they live and wood that is used for furnishings. Because of this it is possible to find in a white-pine chamber a full set of redwood furnishings. Woods are even fitted together so that a cherry panel provides trim, or oak defines a doorway in a cedar home. And, again, woodwrights are not limited to simple concerns of functionality: ebony and cedar might easily be combined to create a tiger stalking through a room. All those decorations for which men use paint, woodwrights accomplish with a rainbow of woods.

Nowhere did I see metal worked into the wood for utilitarian or decorative purposes. Shelving and hinges were grown in. Except where a polished silver mirror hung in an alcove or an object of antiquity stood on a pedestal grown up out of the floor, all the metal I saw came in the form of jewelry on the Elves.

Interior lighting came from small alcoves and channels at the upper reaches of the walls, where luminous mosses glowed and splashed their light across the ceiling. In larger chambers the same mosses were grown behind thin veneers of wood to illuminate designs or just to provide more light. While I did not feel any heat from the light, the whole dwelling place felt warm.

Larissa led me to a grand chamber easily ten yards high and half again that wide. Vaulting arches linked fluted columns grown out of the walls, providing an illusory strength that made me comfortable. I knew that the whole tree was quite solid, but seeing features that I easily recognized both put me at ease and made me wonder, somehow, if they had been produced for my benefit. Given the way they would have to have been created, I decided they were not created for me alone.

That thought collided with another immediately. Larissa said I was the first Man to set foot in Cygestolia. I had no doubt she had told the truth, which meant her family had planned, at some point, to create a room that a Man would find familiar. The only reason to do that would be to welcome a Man into their home. This made them unlike most Elves, but I knew that from my association with both Aarundel and Larissa.

A trio of Elves waited in the room to greet me. Larissa set her basket down on an oaken table, then curtsied formally. She spoke to them in Elven first, then turned toward me and smiled. "These are my parents: Thralan Consilliarii and my lady-mother Ashenah. And that is my grandfather, Lomthelgar."

I bowed to Ashenah first, then to the two Sylvans. I took a chance and bowed to Lomthelgar first, then Larissa's father. The older Sylvan chuckled and commented in Elven, but I could not understand him. Thralan returned my bow formally, then smiled at me.

"The respect you have shown my father reflects well upon you."

"It is but a fraction of the respect I hold for Aarundel."

It took both of them a moment to decipher what I said. Their not being used to Mantongue was less a problem than my using the name Aarundel to refer to their son and grandson. Because of the magick inherent in names, and the magickal trouble that can be wrought if one knows a person's name, Elves who travel the world, or who traffick with people outside their own family, adopt a new name for their journeys and affairs. That much Aarundel had told me, but he had not revealed to me his true name. In fact, I did not even know his family name.

Aarundel's parents looked to be only slightly older than Larissa and her brother. Their flesh appeared as seamless as Larissa's, and neither her father's golden hair nor the jet-black of her mother showed any hints of white creeping in. Their age, which I put at five centuries, only revealed itself in their calm grace and formality.

I would not have known even where to begin to look for signs of physical aging were it not for the presence of Lomthelgar. His skin had started to take on the consistency of crystal-bark. The lines in his face gathered around the corners of his eyes and stacked up on his forehead, though an unruly mop of iron-gray hair half hid many of them. His dark eyes remained bright and watched me carefully, but I sensed no suspicion or distrust in his attention.

Thralan nodded easily after a moment. "Our son is quite impressed with you—as evidenced by his bringing you here. This room will be yours to use during your stay here. The daybed there in the corner should serve you well. Behind the screen is the lavabrium, where you may attend to your personal needs."

"Thank you."

Ashenah smiled graciously at me. "We will leave you now so you may sleep. We know how tiring travel can be."

"You are most kind."

As they left the room, the weight of weariness crushed down upon me. I dragged myself over to the daybed and tugged my boots off. I lay down for just a moment, because I fully intended to wash before sleeping, but found I could not rise again. Sleep came swiftly, and I surrendered to it heart and soul.

His breath only slightly sweeter than when we left Aurium, Shijef awakened me. "They come." I heard no urgency in his voice, but his prodding me with Cleaveheart's hilt suggested trouble.

I shook my head to clear away the last of the sleep-dregs. "How did you get here?"

"Here you were, here I came. Climbed, did I." Suddenly self-conscious, he chewed at some sap matting fur between the pads of his left forepaw. "At the master's feet the slave is supposed to be. And bring things."

Concerned by the fact that in my half-awake state Dreel logic made sense, I sat up just in time for Ashenah and Lomthelgar to enter the room. The old Elf immediately dropped to his haunches to study the Dreel at eye level, while Ashenah looked at me above both of them. "You must prepare yourself. You are to appear before the Consilliarii." When I did not move immediately, she added, "My son needs you."

I vaulted over Shijef's shoulder and slipped behind the screen Thralan had indicated earlier. In the small cylindrical enclosure I found a pedestal topped with a basin of water, a larger wooden cistern suitable for bathing, and what looked to be an ingrown lidded bucket for collecting night soil. Lifting the lid, I saw the bucket had a bottom made of amber just as had the conveyance that brought us up from the ground. I made use of the device, then washed quickly in the basin.

Returning to my chamber, I found that Ashenah had gone away and the Dreel and Lomthelgar had reached enough of a rapprochement to allow the elder Elf an opportunity to pick through the luggage the Dreel had brought for me. Lomthelgar tossed me a blue tunic Aarundel had bought me in Polston and another pair of trousers.

"Appropriate."

I nodded and quickly dressed myself. "Why the urgency?"

"You are a Man." He shrugged. "And not a Man."

Lomthelgar's words came easily enough that I knew he could have spoken volumes, but preferred to keep his own counsel. "I'm ready. Are you leading the way?"

"Yes." He popped up to his feet and headed off into the corridor maze with a speed that belied what I would have expected from someone old enough to be Aarundel's grandfather. Lomthelgar had to be at least three quarters of a millennium old, yet he moved with the speed of someone much younger. Even knowing that Elves do not age as do Men, I did not expect to be led by an Elf who forced me to hurry.

Lomthelgar led me from Woodspire out along a huge branch to where it braided together with another tree. Elves shied from me as if I were a leper while we passed, but a certain number of them drifted in our wake as if unable to escape the current of our passage. I found it amusing, and I sensed the old Elf did as well. Shijef snarled, growled, and barked at those who followed us too closely, which put him in as happy a state as I had seen since he killed the Haladina in the forest

We went from one tree to another toward the center of Cygestolia. In no time we passed over the lake to the trees grown together on the islands. Once through the initial outer foliage screen I could see a massive bowl-shaped depression in the heart of one tree. Branches led up and out from around it, and we traveled along one toward it. Other branches had been woven together above and around the circle to provide for a spectator's gallery, which appeared to be slowly filling.

Below us Elves crowded the bowl and argued loudly. Had I seen stalls and wares, I would have thought myself looking at a marketplace. Without evidence of mercantilism, I was left only one other guess. "The legislatorium?"

Lomthelgar nodded. "It is good that you are such a quick thinker."

"Why?"

"My grandson has announced to the Consilliarii that he has chosen you to be his vindicator. He would have you stand with him during the nuptial ceremonies."

I frowned. "And that has inspired such a heated debate?"

"No. You see, Neal Roclawzi, the vindicator must dance with the vindicatrix—in this case Larissa. The dance would require you to touch her." The elder Elf looked down at the assembly. "The debate is over whether or not they should wait for the crime to occur, or should just kill you now."

Awakening alone for the second time in two days disappointed Gena. After Berengar had left them, she and Rik had made love. She had felt a desperate need to be with him and to share his strength. As always he had been kind and attentive and had focused far more on her needs than on meeting his own. Rik had purposely told her to lie back and ignore him, while making the latter half of that directive impossible.

Ecstasy had boiled up and over in her, leaving her flushed and exhausted. She remembered sleepily having told Rik that she would reciprocate in the morning. He had laughed and hugged her, and she realized now that he had known how truly tired she was. A glance over at the window showed her the sun already positioned for midmorning.

Groaning, she closed her eyes again, then pulled Rik's pillow to her. She crushed it to her chest, jamming her nose down into it to drink in his scent. Her groan shifted to a sigh and ended with a little laugh. "Good hunting, my hero, and hurry back," she whispered, "for I am in your debt and wish to discharge it promptly."

A timid knock at the door made Gena pull the sheet up around herself. "Come."

The seamstress's apprentice Phaelis pushed the door open with a hip as she hefted two steaming buckets of water into the room. "Begging your pardon, m'lady, but the count was hoping you would be joining him for a noontide audience with the Fisher Elders?"

Gena recalled Berengar saying he thought the entire Fisher family council would want to hear her story. "It would be my pleasure."

"I will inform the count of that, then. And would you be wanting some breakfast, yes?"

"I would."

Phaelis disappeared back out the door, having left the buckets in the middle of the floor, but Gena only laughed to herself. While waking up alone was not how she would have preferred to start the day, the residue of the previous night's lovemaking had left her in a giddy, goofy mood that had been utterly alien to her life within Cygestolia—and comfortably familiar since her association with Durriken. She knew many reactionary Elves would have thought her conduct demeaning to all the sylvanesti, and that just made it that much more attractive.

Gena labored under no illusions that Rik was somehow her vitamora. Finding a True Love was considered more of a miracle than anything else, and finding it among Men all but impossible. Having seen her grandparents together, she suspected that having a vitamora could come close to providing mood elevation on an almost constant basis. While she assumed she would find that almost intolerable, the closeness of her grandparents was something she very much hoped she would one day experience.

She also realized the chances of her dream coming true were small, so she took her pleasure where she could find it. Because of their long lives and the very real possibility of alienation between partners, Elven marriages were more for alliances between families than any enshrinement of sentiment. Liaisons between people who found themselves infatuated with each other were not forbidden, and with children coming by choice and not by accident, carnal pleasures became a gift to be shared, not property with restrictions placed upon it.

Gena knew her relationship with Rik would not last forever. At the very least she would outlive him by centuries, and that very fact frightened many sylvanesti away from even considering a human as lover. They saw as a tragedy the investment of emotions in any relationship that might be terminated after only twenty or thirty years. Gena knew, and Rik had reinforced the idea over and over again, that perspective might not make twenty years or twenty minutes seem very long, but existing in that place and that time could make it seem like forever. With Rik she had enjoyed enough "forever" moments to make the inevitable loss more than worth it.

Phaelis returned, rolling the bathing cask into the room. She wormed it between the two buckets without causing them to spill, then set it up in the corner. Emptying the two buckets into it, she nodded and headed out for more water. She came back quickly enough with more, and after a half-dozen more trips had filled the cask to a suitable bathing depth.

Genevera slipped into the bath and allowed the woman to wash her back. As Phaelis did this, she nattered on about all sorts of court gossip, including the latest news about Lady Martina. Gena made all the properly attentive noises, which kept Phaelis talking. Though Gena did not really know any of the people being talked about, she found it fascinating that news of liaisons that would have been treated matter-of-factly among her people were scandal-fodder among Men.

It is not surprising that some of us find them so venial, so easy to dismiss.

As Gena dressed, Phaelis went off and prepared her a breakfast. She brought back a small loaf of fresh bread, some cheese, and two apples that had been put up before the winter. The first apple proved a bit mealy, so Gena followed it with most of the bread. The second apple tasted better, and she used a bit of the cheese as spice for it.

Wearing black breeches and an emerald-green tunic belted at her waist, Gena followed the servant sent for her by Count Berengar. The man led her through the mansion's hallways and to a large room nearly twice as long as it was wide. The ceiling, which had frescoes decorating it, rose up to the height of fifteen feet or so. False arches and marble pillars marked off the side walls in six separate groups, with paintings depicting mythological battles framed within the sections.