Sorrow's Peak (Serpent of Time Book 2) (36 page)

The bright sunlight, false as it was, produced blissful, balmy temperatures and a blinding brilliance one had to squint against until his eyes adjusted, and somewhere in the distance the hushed murmur of a peaceful sea danced across the gentle breeze to reach his ears, carrying with it the scent of cirielle blossoms.

The mages of Nua Duaan perfectly captured the atmosphere of Thulasaliir, but it was not home. The half-elf was fairly certain only a handful of the thousands of people who dwelt in the city below the city had actually ever been to Thulasaliir.

Nevertheless, the familiarity of it made him homesick in the worst way imaginable. It always did. Logren asked him once, during a binge of drinking, if he hadn’t ever considered joining forces with the Alvarii Underground, but the Alvarii would never accept him. The people of Til Harethi hadn’t either, and that was why he could never return to his home, even though he longed for it.

He was less-than-perfect in their eyes, a half-bred bastard tainted by foreign blood—a beast’s blood to make matters even more complicated. Jonolov Silver-Tongue would treat with him when the time came, answer Hodon’s call for an alliance if it served them, but he would not make the mistake of ever thinking he was truly welcome there.

He followed Gwendoliir through the bustling streets, only half-listening as the old seer explained the magic that made their city run to an astonished Lorelei. Hood drawn around his face, he barely lifted his gaze to the people they passed in the streets, though he could feel their disdain and astonishment at the sight of strangers. Outsiders were rarely welcome, but during his many visits to the place over the years, he’d never been made to wait outside the city walls as long as they’d been forced to linger beyond the walls. It was a slight he would not soon forget, but for Lorelei’s sake, and the sake of the alliance Hodon hoped to forge with the Alvarii, he would be pleasant and polite, but he would never let his guard down.

“This is nothing at all the way I imagined,” Lorelei marveled.

“I told you it was a sight to behold, my lady.”

“Yes, but I never dreamed…”

“It’s something, all right,” Finn muttered.

The little boy who’d led them into the city walked beside his master, clutching the old man’s hand as they continued the journey on foot to the seer’s residence. The collar he’d worn, simply for appearances while outside their city, had been removed, tucked into the satchel swinging from Gwendoliir’s arm and forgotten, and all traces of the stark seriousness the boy wore were gone. He was a child again, an apprenticed seer, yes, but a child, and all children were coddled and revered by the Alvarii.

Unless, of course, those children were half-bred bastards.

He doubted there were any of those running through the streets of Nua Duaan. In fact, he was relatively certain there weren’t any at all.

“We are nearly there,” the seer assured them. “I’ve no doubt you’re all hungry and exhausted, and though I was expecting you, I confess I’m ill-prepared to receive you this evening. I offer you resting quarters in my home, warm baths and will have my servants see you fed, but I’m afraid I am unable to sit down and hold a proper meeting with you all until tomorrow.”

Before anyone else could object, Brendolowyn spoke to the seer for the first time since they’d begun their journey through the streets of Nua Duaan. “I bring word from Dunvarak and seek audience with the King Under the City.”

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible tonight either, Brendolowyn Raven-Storm. His majesty is unable to grant you audience at this time, but has known about your coming and he’s promised to see you on the morrow as well.”

He didn’t know why that bothered him, but it did. Somewhere beneath the surface, he couldn’t help feeling the Alvarii of Nua Duaan were putting them off because they were hiding something, but he said nothing of his suspicions, only conceded with a single nod and continued to walk on Lorelei’s right until they arrived at the seer’s home.

Gwendoliir lived in a three story manor house that took up more than half the block upon which it was built. The gated garden encompassed the remainder of the land, making it one of the most glorious and enviable homes on the street. Round, stone towers flanked both sides, rising toward the clouds looming close to the wavering flags depicting the seer’s symbol: an eye centered in an open palm.

“The buildings here,” Lorelei marveled, “they remind me so much of home.”

Brendolowyn lowered a fond grin in her direction, but he knew such a statement would offend the Alvarii. Gwendoliir surprised him, however, by acknowledging her compliment with a polite bow of his head accompanied by a smile.

“Would it surprise you to learn that much of our city was designed by many of the same architects who built Rivenn more than an age ago?” His eyes seemed to light up in anticipation of her wonder. “At least those the resistance was able to liberate and draw below ground to join our kingdom below the cities of this land.”

Lorelei wasn’t abashed. If that was the seer’s intention, he failed. Brendolowyn watched her expression, filled with marvel and delight, which she then turned to share with Finn.

“The palace where I grew up was built by the Alvarii,” she told the U’lfer, who couldn’t care less either way, but nodded in silent placation and offered a weak smile to appease her. “Most of Rivenn, actually, but the palace is a beautiful and magical place.”

“And an impostor sits upon its throne,” Gwendoliir lamented.

At last, he’d managed to sadden her, and satisfied with the dwindling light of her excitement, he proceeded to lead them inside the manor house, where he turned their care over to the servants and then politely excused himself with promises to give them his full attention on the morrow.

“A word, if I might, Fehrestellje.” Bren reached for the sleeve of the man’s robes to detain him. His use of the Alvarii word for seer gave the old elf pause.

Lorelei and Finn were already being ushered up the winding staircase by the servants, one of those servants stopping to impatiently wait for the mage to join them. Gwendoliir exchanged wary glances with the servant before turning his impertinent gaze toward his guest.

“It’s all right, Marandelle,” the seer nodded, a tense, brisk movement. “Wait for us here and you can show him to his room once we’ve finished.”

“As you wish, my lord,” Marandelle conceded, stepping out of the way so they could pass.

Withdrawing his sleeve from Bren’s grip with a quick jerk, Gwendoliir gestured a curt nod toward the long hallway leading to his study. Brendolowyn followed him, one step behind so as not to step on his robes, but remaining close enough to ensure the seer knew he wasn’t about to be put off or intimidated.

Gwendoliir pushed through a set of ornately carved, double doors into a study filled with motes of gleaming dust dancing through the fading, false light of the setting sun streaming through windows showing the garden behind the house.

The curtains swayed in the warm breeze, drawing in fresh air laden with the heavy perfume of cirielle blossoms mingling with the salt of the sea beyond the garden. The heavy homesickness he didn’t want to give into overwhelmed him for a moment, the combination of those smells warming a part of his heart he did not often lend memory to if he could help it. The only thing missing was the tinkling of shell chimes hanging beyond those curtains, the silhouette of his mother in her garden snipping herbs for drying in the rafters.

Gwendoliir leaned past him, closed the doors and took three steps back to regard him with furrowed brow. The flowing length of his silver hair was drawn back, the top corded and braided. The circlet he wore, a delicate platinum and yellow-gold band with a brilliant blue azurite pendant dangling over the unseeing eye to pronounce his abilities as a seer, perched just below the pronounced peak of his hairline. He was old, even for an Alvarii, and his experience and history with the world made his delicate features appear sharp to a point bordering on bitter.

“I’ve already made it perfectly clear I haven’t the time to meet with you and your companions this evening, Brendolowyn Raven-Storm, and yet you attempt to detain me from my duties despite that admission. What is this about?”

“I meant no disrespect, Fehrestellje, but I do feel I must press upon you the urgency of our visitation. As one who’s seen, surely you do understand time is of the essence…”

“As one who has seen the outcomes of this world, I know far more than you about the essence of time, and you have plenty of it, I assure you.”

The curtness of his admonition was like a slap in the face, and Brendolowyn found himself taking a step back. Before his stammering response reached his lips, the seer went on.

“We are well aware of the troops marching south, even as we speak.”

Brendolowyn did his best not to let on how much that admission startled him. Troops, marching toward Dunvarak even as he stood there, so far away from home and unable to aid his people when the drums of war sounded. It was Hodon’s hope the call for aid would reach the Alvarii with time to spare, that they had several weeks, if not months to prepare for the inevitable coming of human forces from the north.

“We recognize the desperation of your call for aid, and as I said, these matters will be addressed by King Jonolov on the morrow, when he has time to consider them. At the moment there are far more pressing matters that concern him, so yours will simply have to wait.”

He didn’t dare ask what matters could possibly be more pressing than impending war. He knew war was not their concern, even though the people of Dunvarak faced the same enemy that enslaved the Leithen Alvarii population and drove those strong enough to escape the collar below ground. But Brendolowyn’s concerns were far more pressing, for what did war matter if the cycle of time could not be broken?

“And the Tid Ormen?” The haughtiness of his own tone surprised even him, but the startling expression his question wrought form the old seer’s face was reward enough. “Is that of so little concern it does not warrant immediate attention, Lord Seer?”

“So your seer told the girl everything, then?”

“No,” he shook his head. “Not everything. Very little beyond the fact that it is her task to summon and slay the time serpent if this world is to move forward again. Yovenna departed before she was able to further illuminate and prepare the Light of Madra for her task. Surely, you’ve seen enough yourself to know that is the very reason she’s come all this way to see you. The guardian at Great Sorrow’s Peak is a trifle by comparison.”

“A trifle?” Derisive laughter scuffed through the tightness of Gwendoliir’s throat. “I’d hardly call what the three of you must face there a trifle, but you are right in your assumption that it does not even begin to compare to the Tid Ormen.”

“Then you see my need for urgent counsel. There is not much time to waste—”

“Time is never wasted here, of that I can assure you. This matter does deserve our focused consideration, but I am afraid my answer remains the same. There are other circumstances that require our attention at the moment, and the earliest we can make time to address the concerns of the U’lfer is tomorrow. The longer you withhold me from my duties, the more time it will require before I can meet with you in any capacity you would find helpful. Now, if that is all I will see you back to Marandelle and ask that you take advantage of my hospitality before I’m forced to reconsider the extension of it.”

Thoughts stifled by the seer’s abruptness, he was unable to protest any further and found himself following through the halls until he was reunited with the servant tasked with showing him to his room. He followed Marandelle up the winding staircase, glancing back over his shoulder only long enough to see the flourish of Gwendoliir’s robes flowing through the open door just before it closed behind him with a rattling severity that made Bren wonder inwardly if the things he’d said hadn’t quickened the pace of the seer’s step just a little.

Arriving outside the doors to the room he’d been given, he hesitated on the threshold and looked over his shoulder again, into the hallway. “If I might inquire, where can I find my companions?”

Marandelle seemed put out by the question, answering with an exaggerated sigh. “Their rooms are at the end of this hall, one on each side, though as the others were already informed, Master Gwendoliir would be most aggrieved to learn the three of you have taken advantage of his hospitality and wandered the grounds without proper escort.”

A snide grin tugged at his lips. “Is your master hiding something he doesn’t wish for us to see?”

Flabbergasted, Marandelle gasped and took a step toward the open door. “Of course he isn’t hiding anything, and your insinuation that he would have anything at all to hide from the likes of a bristalv, is most egregious.”

It had been a long time since he’d been put in his place by that insult. Bristalv, less than elf—an inconsequential nobody unworthy of Alvariin’s love.

“It would do you well to remember while you are here that we welcomed you as guests into Nua Duaan, but a welcome can be withdrawn as easily as it was extended.”

Lingering in the hallway, stiff shoulders making him seem far taller than he actually was, Brendolowyn felt the dormant wolf beneath his skin stir, its awareness bristling dangerously close to the surface. In fact, the wolf felt so close it was a small miracle it did not come bursting through to tear into the smug, arrogant Alvarii standing just inches away from him.

Marandelle must have felt the surge of Brendolowyn’s beast, for he took a wavering step further into the room, his eyes flashing wide in unspoken dismay.

“I’ll take that under advisement, as I sit in the company of my traveling companions, as well as I’ll consider reporting your insolence to a guest in your master’s home when next I see him.” Brendolowyn hadn’t thought it possible for the man’s eyes to grow any larger, but they did. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to wash the dust of a long road from my skin. I do hope there is enough water for a proper bath.”