The Elves of Cintra (15 page)

“Simralin,” he greeted. He was a tall, slender man in his middle years, his Elven features pronounced, his voice unexpectedly soft. “You are to come inside now. Please bring your guests with you.”

He limped badly from an accident he had suffered several years ago that had left one leg shorter than the other. But he was still a commanding presence, a calming influence wherever he went, and still so identified with his office that there had never been any real consideration given to replacing him, even after his injury had hampered his movement.

He glanced at Kirisin. “What brings you here, young Belloruus. Shouldn’t you be sleeping so that you can rise early to tend to your duties as a Chosen?”

“I was hoping I might speak to the Council, as well,” Kirisin ventured. “I know something of the reason that the outsiders are here.”

“This is true,” Simralin affirmed. “His presence would be helpful.”

“That may be so,” acknowledged Ortish, giving Kirisin a quick smile. “But the High Council has asked that no one be present save you and your guests. That decision is firm.”

“But they need to know—” Kirisin started.

The Captain of the Home Guard put up his hand to silence him. “The King himself has given the order. Neither of us is in a position to overrule him. Perhaps after the Council hears what Simralin’s guests have to say, they will arrange for you to speak later.”

The King himself.
Kirisin felt a flush creep up his neck and into his cheeks. The King was making sure he didn’t interfere with things, that he kept what he knew to himself. That was how it felt, and that was what he believed.

“Patience, Little K,” his sister said softly.

She beckoned to the Knight of the Word and the tatterdemalion, and the three of them followed Maurin Ortish into the Council chambers. As the doors closed behind them, a pair of Home Guards took up watch. Kirisin stood where he was, consumed by frustration, thinking how unfair this was, how wrong. He was tempted just to barge right in and insist that he be allowed to speak. But doing so would remove any chance of persuading the Council members that what he had to say was credible. Simralin was right. He had to be patient.

But for how long?

He was still thinking about it when the outer doors of the building opened and Erisha pushed through.

“There you are!” she snapped, her irritation apparent. She stalked up to him, breathing hard, her face flushed. She had been running. “What are you doing here? I’ve been waiting for you to come find me!”

He was surprised by her anger, but he faced her down without flinching. “I thought maybe Simralin could get me into the chambers so I could speak before the High Council. She couldn’t. Your father made sure I was kept out.”

“I could have told you that if you had bothered to include me in your plans! I asked the same thing of him several hours ago when I overheard him talking with Maurin Ortish about shutting the doors to everyone except your sister and the two she brought into the city. He told me to stay out of things that didn’t concern me. He dismissed me out of hand, like a child!” She grabbed his arm. “I thought you’d come to the house, not here! Come on!”

He allowed her to drag him toward the door. “Where are we going?”

She gave him a look. “Outside.”

Her eyes flicked momentarily to the guards, and he understood that she didn’t want to say anything that might be overheard.

When they were through the doors and some distance away from the building, she quit pulling on him and waited for him to fall into step beside her. The night air was cool and sweet and smelled of the jasmine that bloomed at the perimeter of the Council buildings.

“We’re not going to sit around waiting on my father, no matter what he thinks!” She knotted her fists and looked at him. “What is going on, Kirisin? Why did Simralin bring a human into the city? Has she lost her mind? My father is furious!”

“Don’t blame Simralin,” he replied quickly. “She knew what she was doing. The tatterdemalion, Ailie, already knew where the city was and how to find the Elves, so what difference did it make? And the human, Angel Perez, is a Knight of the Word. You can’t keep creatures of magic out. If Simralin hadn’t brought them in like they asked, they would have come anyway. Then there really would have been trouble.”

Erisha stalked on, not speaking for a moment. “I suppose. But what are they doing here? What does this have to do with us?”

Kirisin took a quick look around. “The Knight says that the Elves are in danger from demons. She says the Elves have to leave the Cintra and go to a safer place, that we have to use the Loden to do so. Everything the Ellcrys already told us, she’s telling us again!”

He waited for her response, but the silence stretched on between them. “Why is my father resisting this advice?” she asked softly, almost to herself. She brushed absently at her dark hair, her face troubled. “I don’t understand.”

Kirisin shook his head. “I don’t know. I still think he’s hiding something. What do you think he will say to the members of the High Council when the Knight and the tatterdemalion tell them why they are here?”

“I don’t know,” Erisha answered. She took his arm roughly and pulled him ahead. “But we’re going to find out.”

NINE

E
RISHA DRAGGED
K
IRISIN
along at such a rapid pace that he found himself practically running to keep up with her. He had never seen her so determined, and he knew better than to question her until he had some idea of where they were going. They were coming up on the Belloruus family home, which sat back from the High Council buildings at a distance of perhaps a hundred yards. The windows of the home were dark and the grounds empty of everything but shadows. It appeared that this was Erisha’s destination.

A member of the Home Guard materialized out of thin air, took note of who they were, nodded to Erisha in polite acknowledgment, and then vanished again.

“What are you doing?” Kirisin demanded. “You let that guard see me! He’ll tell your father I was here!”

“I’ll tell him myself,” she snapped. “Stop worrying, Kirisin. I don’t have to answer to my father for everything!”

Kirisin made no response. This was a different Erisha than from even as little as forty-eight hours ago, no longer tentative and afraid, no longer caught up in the ritual of being her father’s obedient daughter. Instead she had developed a strength and determination that suggested there wasn’t anything she wouldn’t do to assert her independence. It was a complete turnaround, and he wasn’t sure what to make of it.

She led him to the same side door she had brought him through the night before when they were searching the Elven histories for mention of the Elfstones. Without pausing, she yanked it open and pulled him after her.

“Did you find him?” a voice demanded angrily.

It came from somewhere back in the darkness, and Kirisin jumped and was ready to bolt until he recognized the voice as Culph’s.

“He was trying to get into the Council chambers with help from his sister,” Erisha answered. She continued pulling Kirisin forward. “Hurry up! We haven’t much time.”

They picked their way through the house without using lights, Kirisin following his cousin blindly. He could just make out Culph’s bent shape as the old man led the way through the gloom, a spectral figure muttering to himself.

“Culph was there when Maurin Ortish came to tell my father of the arrival of the Knight and the tatterdemalion,” Erisha whispered. “He overheard everything, including their reason for coming to Arborlon. So he took a chance and tried to persuade my father that it was time to tell the members of the High Council about the Ellcrys. He kept what he knew about you to himself, but made a strong argument about me. My father refused to listen. So Culph found me. He said we wouldn’t be allowed into the Council chambers, but there was another way.”

“Another way?” Kirisin peered at her through the darkness. “What way is that?”

“An underground tunnel connects the house to the chambers,” Culph answered from out of the darkness. “It’s been there for centuries. Mostly it was used as a way to allow the Kings and Queens to enter the chambers without being seen.” He chuckled drily. “But it gives those of us who know about it a way in, too.”

“The tunnel ends at a concealed door that opens into the chambers through a section of the wall,” Erisha picked up. “But just before you go through, there is a small viewing area that allows anyone using the tunnel a way to peek into the chambers first to see who is there. It looks out from right behind and to one side of the dais on which the King sits and around which the High Council gathers. If we can get to it without being caught, we can overhear everything that’s said.”

They continued on through the darkness to the meeting rooms at the back of the house and entered a small chamber off the entry that ended at a windowless alcove. Culph, still leading, stepped into the shelter of blank walls so deeply recessed they were barely visible in a faint wash of torchlight that seeped through a pair of narrow windows from the outside. He fumbled about for a moment, and Kirisin heard a catch release. Then the rear section of the alcove wall swung open, and Culph stepped through into the darkness beyond. He beckoned them to follow, closing the hidden door behind them.

A moment later, the old man had a smokeless torch lit, and they were descending a set of narrow steps into an even deeper gloom. At the bottom of the stairs, they found the tunnel and moved into it, the torch providing sufficient light to guide the way. The passageway wound on through the darkness, a rough-hewn corridor shored up by wooden beams and finished with plank flooring raised off the earth. The walls and ceiling were mostly dirt and roots. The tunnel looked as if it had been there a long time, but someone had kept the roots cut back and the spiderwebs swept away. When Kirisin touched the earthen walls, he found them hard and dry and smooth. The air was close and stale, but breathable. Even so, it reminded him of the crypts at Ashenell, and he was anxious to get clear.

The tunnel ended at a second set of steps leading up. Culph turned and put a finger to his lips in warning. They climbed the stairs silently, and as they neared the top a sliver of light became visible in the distance. Culph extinguished the smokeless torch, and they ascended the last several steps in darkness and crept forward toward the light. The outlines of a door grew faintly visible; to one side, cut horizontally in the wall, was a narrow slit.

When they reached the slit, they could just see through to where the members of the High Council were seated in chairs at the foot of a dais. The King sat atop the dais, the back and right side of his tall frame just visible. Simralin stood at the foot of the dais, facing the King and the Council. Maurin Ortish had positioned himself off to one side, dark face impassive. Angel Perez and Ailie were waiting back near the chamber entry in the company of a pair of Home Guards.

The King was speaking.

“T
HERE IS NO PRECEDENT
for what you have done, Simralin,” Arissen Belloruus was saying. “You know that outsiders—and humans, in particular—are not allowed inside our home city.
Never
allowed inside. You know why this is so: our survival depends to a very great extent on being able to maintain the secrecy of our existence. If there are no exceptions, there is no risk.”

He paused for effect, and then made an expansive gesture toward Angel and Ailie. “But we have never had a Knight of the Word or a tatterdemalion seek admission. Faerie creatures and others who serve the Word are rumored to share our concerns for the well-being of the land and her creatures. They do not come to us as enemies; they come as friends. Bringing them here, in this instance, must have seemed to you to be the right thing to do. Circumstances sometimes force us to make exceptions to the rules. I am inclined to think that this is the case here. Your decision is judged a reasonable one, Simralin, and your actions appropriate.”

He paused, waiting for her response, his gaze steady.

“Thank you, High Lord,” she acknowledged.

He nodded. “You are dismissed, Simralin. Wait outside.”

Angel, who was watching closely, realized at once from the flicker of surprise that crossed the Tracker’s smooth face that this was not what she was expecting. Having been invited in at the beginning of things, she was expecting to be allowed to remain until the end. But this Elven King, this Arissen Belloruus, was used to controlling things, to making sure that those around him were never entirely certain of where they stood. She had seen it in the faces of the Council members when she had entered the room—in their furtive glances and their unmistakable deference. This was a strong king—as he would be quick to remind those who came before him. Dismissing Simralin so abruptly was an obvious example.

The Tracker bowed without a word and went out through the Council chamber doors. She did not look back.

The King turned his attention to Angel and Ailie. “Come,” he directed, gesturing for them to rise and approach.