The Legend of Asahiel: Book 02 - The Obsidian Key (58 page)

It was a useless debate, Torin saw. As long as the Finlorians were happy with their chosen existence—and judging by Laressa, it seemed clear they were—then he had no business trying to interfere.

He nodded gently, then lowered his eyes so that they fixed upon the Sword. “A people’s choice, as you say. But as you know, those who find themselves in a position of authority have a responsibility to protect the lives of others as best they can. As Crag surely mentioned, that is why I’ve come to you.”

Laressa shook her head. “I know not what to tell you in regard to your quest. Crag mentioned the Illysp—a term I’ve never heard—and the Vandari, who are but legend. I gather this enemy of yours is something you unleashed with the reclamation of this Sword. I understand as well that you feel my Finlorian ancestors are somewhat to blame. But I know not what you expect my people to do about it.”

Torin gaped, then stiffened in denial. She had to be bluffing. He hadn’t come all this way only to fail now.

Before he could articulate a better reply, they were interrupted by the snort of surprise Crag gave as another—an elf—entered the room from behind the dwarf, an arrival marked otherwise by not the slightest whisper of sound.

“
Noi mi, Eolin,
” Laressa greeted. “
Grin mai derrota anh Crag.
”

“So I see,” the newcomer grumbled. “A blind gnome could follow the trail they left.” Tall and slender, he, too, wore a long and lightweight tunic of some shimmering weave, cinched at the waist with a silken rope. “
Hym na decress a’i?
”

“
Ti thar Asahiel, noi mi, ugremme ti terrec Thrak-Symbos.
”

Eolin’s bright eyes narrowed. “By whom?”

Laressa gestured smoothly in Torin’s direction. “Torin, by name. A ruler of one of the human kingdoms occupying the isle of Tritos.”

Eolin glanced back and forth between Torin and the Sword, with what looked to be a flurry of emotions vying for control. “Laressa, my sweet, perhaps our guests are ready for some fresh air.”

“
Deh ta?
”

“We shall talk later,” Eolin reassured her. Scowling at Crag, he added, “All of us. For now, I would speak with this Torin. Alone.”

Laressa looked as though she might refuse, then bowed her head instead. “As you will, my love.”

Without a word to anyone else, she rounded up the others. Torin stood, but remained behind as his companions were herded toward the exit, his feet kept rooted by Eolin’s glare. Laressa passed her husband the Sword on her way out.

At the chamber doorway, Saena turned back, a look of concern painting her features. But Crag put a rugged hand to her back, moving her along.

For several moments thereafter, Torin stood silent, taut with anticipation while Eolin studied the Sword as his wife had earlier. Finally, the young man could wait no longer.

“What is it you would say to me, sir?” he asked.

Eolin’s eyes lifted from the blade, his expression of awe becoming one of cruel mockery. “It is not what I have to say to you, but what you have to say to me.”

Torin frowned, uncertain of the game being played.

“You have come to beg my audience, have you not? For I am Eolin Solymir, keifer of Finloria.”

Torin was fast growing weary of the other’s smug smile. “It is not necessarily your people’s ruler with whom I came to confer.”

“No,” Eolin agreed. “You came to meet with the last of the Vandari.”

“H
OW DO YOU KNOW
I seek the Vandari?” Torin asked. Unless he was mistaken, neither Crag nor Laressa had had a chance to relay that information to the elf standing before him.

Eolin’s grim smirk tightened. “Because as keeper of their trust, I know full well the consequences befallen anyone fool enough to draw this key from the lock in which it was placed.” He hefted the Sword—the key—for emphasis.

“The Illysp,” Torin replied. His mind raced, struggling to keep step with that of the critical elf.

“A name you could not possibly know,” Eolin countered, “unless given you by another.”

“Darinor, scion of Algorath, gatekeeper of the Illysp seal. He told me—”

“He told you of the Vandari, they who created the seal and the only ones who might be able to do so again. He sent you to beg our aid in doing just that.”

Torin wanted badly to correct the elf, to say something that might put a crack in the other’s smug confidence. But, thus far, Eolin’s assumptions had been completely accurate.

“Do you wish to hear my story?” he asked instead.

“On how and why you stole this talisman? For what purpose? So you can offer up excuse as to your actions?”

Torin’s frown deepened.

“I care not whether you are an ignorant fool or a vain one. The truth will not change matters now, will it?”

“Perhaps not. But if we’re to agree on a course of action against this enemy, we must consider—”

“
We
?”

“Those of us who must unite in order to thwart the Illysp rising.”

“And pray tell,” Eolin urged, seeming amused, “why should that include me?”

Torin was dumbfounded. “Are you not sworn to uphold the integrity of the barrier constructed by those of your order?”

“I am sworn to no such thing,” Eolin claimed. “It was Algorath who agreed to keep watch over that which my forebears set in place. The Vandari have always served as keepers of the Swords. But that obligation ended when the last of the talismans was buried.”

“It has now been unearthed,” Torin reminded the other with a low growl.

“Through no fault of mine,” Eolin snapped. “And as I will not be implicated in the Sword’s removal, nor will I accept the burden of responsibility you seem so eager to displace.”

“You are responsible for the lives of your people, are you not?”

“My people are safe enough,” the elf asserted. Before Torin could object, he added, “That was the response your people gave when we Vandari sought their aid during the original Illysp War. I see no reason to sally forth to your rescue now that the tables have turned.”

“That was different,” Torin stammered in protest.

“Indeed it was. For
my
people had not hunted
yours
to near extinction. And yet they were refused anyway.”

Torin recognized clearly now the morbid satisfaction that the elf was taking from all of this. It was a reaction he had not foreseen, and one he wasn’t sure how to combat.

“I’m told it was your people, the Finlorians, who first unleashed this scourge.”

“And we paid our price,” Eolin remarked bitterly. “Now, it seems, it is your turn.”

“How can that be your response?”

“You expect sympathy? I’ve watched my kind be butchered and harried for far too long to feel any pity for humans. Let mankind suffer the consequences of his own invasiveness—first, in having unleashed the Illysp, and second, in having eliminated those who might have been able to do something about it.”

Torin’s hands clenched into fists as he fought back the desperate fury rising within. It was not difficult to see the irony to which Eolin referred. But to take delight in it, to willfully stand back and watch a people fall victim to their own nearsightedness, was not something he was prepared to allow.

“Are you telling me you will do nothing to help?”

“What would you have me do? We are trapped, my people and I, here in this valley—by the armies of man. Were I to venture forth, I would be killed before given the chance to explain my purpose.”

Torin leapt at the opening. “Lorre has made an offer of reconciliation to your wife. You need not fear his reprisals.”

The elf’s hairless brow lifted in surprise, but fell just as swiftly, weighted with distrust. “Only a fool would take that butcher or any who serve him at their word. And even if the warlord’s offer were genuine, would he then send his armies to defend against the legions of huntsmen who would slay an elf merely for sport?” Eolin shook his head. “What you suggest is a preposterous risk no Finlorian would take.”

“Yet no greater than the risk taken by Algorath in defying the will of his order to come to your aid.”

Eolin scowled.

“Remember?” Torin pressed. “The Entients may have refused the Van
dari, but Algorath did not. He delivered to them the Sword—the very talisman you now hold—even wielding it in their behalf. In doing so he risked his life—against the Illysp and against his own brethren—and sacrificed forever his position in their order, sentencing himself and his progeny to eternal exile.”

“The Entients—”

“Are today as they were then,” Torin finished, “blinded by an agenda the rest of us cannot comprehend. Nor should we care to try. That is their business. Ours should be doing what we feel is right, for ourselves and for those we care about. Do not ignore, as they did, a danger so easily seen.”

Perhaps it was the Pendant, still hidden against his breast, that gave Torin the confidence to speak so boldly. Or perhaps it was the sheer magnitude of what was at stake. Either way, he was not about to relent.

“Let not the fate of your people—and mine—be determined by the many grudges you rightfully hold. What is past cannot be helped. So let us put that aside and give full attention to the future.”

Eolin gazed momentarily into the fires of the Sword. But as Torin braved a step toward him, the proud elf raised his bald head in continued defiance.

“The animosity that mankind has shown—to my race, as well as others—is not merely a thing of the past. My people have accepted that, even buried the arms we would use against him. But he has done nothing to earn our forgiveness. Nor is he entitled to the kind of sacrifice you would ask us to make.”

“Then consider not the faceless masses,” Torin urged, “only, repay the kindness that Algorath showed you.”

The elf’s brow smoothed, his expression becoming impassive—an indication, perhaps, that Torin’s words were making a difference. Nevertheless, the young king held his breath as he awaited the other’s response.

“All your fancy pleas cannot change the truth of things,” Eolin replied at last. “The Vandari and their powers are no more. What little knowledge I have would be of no use to you.”

Torin took another step forward. “Tell me.”

“And waste more time recounting what this Darinor has no doubt shared with you already?” The elf frowned reprovingly. “I know not how long you have traveled in search of my advice. Regardless, the best I can give is this: If you wish to defend your people, I would recommend you hurry home and do so.”

“R
AVENMOON LILY,”
L
ARESSA SAID,
stopping to point out yet another rare and spectacular bloom.

The one called Saena bent close with admiration. “Smells of lavender,” she said, smiling pleasantly. She stepped back then, affording her companions a better view. “But tell me, even with all of this around you, do you never feel trapped?”

Laressa withheld a sigh, already weary of the woman’s relentless questioning. “Shelter and clothing, food and medicines—whatever we need, the land provides. Why should we desire to venture forth beyond the walls of this valley?”

“I was raised the daughter of farmers,” Saena replied. “I know something about living off the land. But even the land has its limitations.”

“The land supports us as long as we support it,” Laressa argued. She gestured at the lush foliage surrounding her and her uninvited guests. “As you can see, this valley is well tended.”

“But as your numbers grow—”

“Every child born is but another caretaker, devoted to the health of that which sustains us.”

Saena swept their surroundings with a wondering gaze. “You make it sound so easy.”

Laressa smiled. Though irritated at being asked to keep these others occupied while her husband questioned Torin privately within, she did feel a certain sense of gratification at their continued appreciation for her homeland. She had been suspicious of it, at first, but was fast coming to believe their interest genuine.

“Nothing worthwhile comes easy. But when you follow your passion, it often seems that way.”

She turned down another trail, her movements a whisper as she passed through the undergrowth. The three women behind her followed respectfully, strolling along as gently as they could. The pair farther back—the Southlanders—had said not a word since emerging from Laressa’s home. Saena, on the other hand—her father’s messenger—seemed unable to sate her curiosity.

“Why do your people continue to hide from us? Can they not tell we pose them no threat?”

“You must understand what a shock it is for Crag to have brought you here,” Laressa replied, glancing back at the surly dwarf who kept watch from the rear of their party. “It was his people, the Tuthari, who helped us to locate this valley. Aside from them, you are the first outsiders to visit Aefengaard since we settled it.”

“Crag did everything possible to hide from us the route that brought us here,” Saena assured her.

“So he told me. And I believe him. Nevertheless, my husband and I will have a fair amount of explaining to do on his behalf—especially once our people learn that you are emissaries sent by my father.”

“Just her,” came the reminder from the smaller of the two Southlanders.

Laressa paused again, this time to study Saena intently. “Indeed. The greatest surprise of all, I must say—that my father should entrust the safety of his messenger to a band of Southland strangers.”

A confused look came over Saena’s face. “He didn’t. One of his most trusted lieutenants came as my guide.”

Laressa turned a questioning gaze to Crag, coming up from behind the others.

“Left him bound at the cave mouth behind the Veil,” the dwarf responded.

“And why is that?” Laressa asked him.

“Man could barely stand, much less hike any farther. Dolt was wounded back in the mountains, and refused treatment.”

Laressa frowned. “Why did you not mention this earlier?”

“Ya hadn’t finished scolding me ’bout these others I told ya was waiting outside.”

Laressa’s frown deepened. She started to say something more, but decided it would only prolong the argument. Instead, she spun about, setting course through the forest garden.

“Where are we going?” Saena asked, hurrying to keep pace.

“To help this man, of course. We can’t just leave him to die.”

“His choice,” Crag huffed. “Not mine. Man has the head of a mule.”

Laressa glared back at him. “Most do.”

Though pained by the sound of whipping vines and tearing leaves resulting from the movements of those who followed, she continued to push ahead quickly. No good could come from any of this, she was certain. She was happy for Crag, hopeful that the bargain her friend had struck would indeed lead him back to Tritos and the kin he believed still resided there. And indeed, should the danger this Torin spoke of prove real, then the dwarf had done the right thing in trying to help.

But at what cost? It was not logic she wrestled with, but a feeling, deep in her heart and lungs. After twenty years, her people’s haven had been breached by the outside world. As innocent as that might seem, she could not help but fear this intrusion to be the beginning of a larger series of events set to change her life forever. Even the greatest catastrophe grew from the smallest of seeds—like pebbles before a rockslide or raindrops before a flood.

She did her best to shake the feeling. Hopefully, Eolin would be able to tell the outsider what he needed to know and send him swiftly on his way. Hopefully, this unexpected visit need not have any effect upon her people after today. Though easier to hope than to believe, perhaps her worry was unfounded.

The roar of the Veil grew louder as they made their way up the path alongside the mountain precipice. Laressa seldom traveled the route. In all the years, she had found little cause to visit the caves serving as threshold to Aefengaard. Though it provided a decent view of the dell below, there were other trails leading up into the encircling bluffs that were just as wonderful. Her daughter was more the hiker than she, and more adventuresome. While Laressa was not as old as she sometimes felt, she had already seen more than her fill.

As they neared the stretch of waters that poured over the cave mouth and gave the falls their name, Crag hustled forward, taking the lead. It hadn’t yet occurred to Laressa that this man they were about to visit might be dangerous—left bound and on the verge of death. No doubt her Tuthari friend was merely being cautious.

Then the dwarf halted abruptly, stooping to inspect a small depression in the rocky trail. The mark didn’t seem like much to Laressa, but, whatever it was, Crag didn’t like it. He half turned, muttering beneath his breath, though she couldn’t hear him over the falls. Before she could ask him what was wrong, he drew his axe and dashed ahead.

The water-slicked path had become narrow and treacherous, but that didn’t stop Laressa and the others from rushing after. A moment later, they stood together just inside the cave, where Crag glanced about in confusion. From what Laressa could see, mist alone filled the empty tunnel.

The dread feeling that had been bothering her tightened, constricting in her chest. Something was wrong. Braced upon his axe, Crag knelt to one side of the tunnel wall, there to inspect what appeared to be a set of torn bindings. She saw then that there was blood on the ropes and on the rocks upon which they lay.

The Tuthari reached down to pick up something else, and Laressa and the others leaned close to view what he had found.

A bloody quarrel.