The Shadow Games: The Chronicles of Arianthem VI (13 page)

And Dallan looked up as well, astonished to see a tiny, wizened elven woman outlined in the cave entrance. She was old, but it was not just her physical appearance that gave the impression of age. Her brilliant green eyes, set off by the brilliant green robes she wore, had a wisdom and knowledge in them that bespoke centuries. Dallan knew the elven seer was old, as were many of Arianthem’s long-lived creatures, but something in this one hinted at an age surpassing all but the dragons. She made her way slowly down the steps, a gnarled wooden staff serving as her cane, her pace not dictated by age but by a deep inner calm that manifested itself in her every movement.

When she reached the bottom of the steps, Idonea bowed low and took her hand with fondness and respect.

“Cool in summer and warmth in winter,” Idonea said in elvish, a common greeting and parting for the wood elves.

“Hello, dragon’s daughter,” Y’arren said, her green eyes twinkling with warmth. The wood elves worshipped the dragons and particularly Talan, so the salutation was a great compliment. She moved to Dagna and took her hand. “And Elyara’s bard.”

Although Dagna’s full title was “Official Bard of the Imperial Realm,” this shorter version from the tiny elven matriarch gave her greater pleasure. She took the offered hand and pressed it to her chest in greeting. Y’arren then turned her attention to the two newcomers. Although she still stood on the second to bottom step, somewhat equalizing her height with Idonea and Dagna, the two Ha’kan towered over her. Dallan took matters into her own hands, and against all protocol, kneeled down so she was on the same level with the diminutive seer.

Y’arren smiled at the modest gesture. “You remind me a bit of my goddaughter.”

“Your goddaughter?” Dallan asked.

“Yes, Raine. She always kneels so she can look me in the eye.”

“Raine is your goddaughter?” Dallan exclaimed. “I am honored by any comparison.”

“As you should be, Princess of the Ha’kan,” Y’arren said, but then winked at her Royal Highness. “You and your future First General are welcome here.”

Rika, who had followed Dallan’s lead and also taken a knee, nodded at the acknowledgement. Y’arren was pleased by the humility and grace displayed by the Ha’kan; it meant Raine’s faith in them was justified. She doubted that the Emperor or even the Directorate of the Alfar would have kneeled before her.

Elyara took Y’arren’s arm and started back up the steps while the rest of the entourage fell in behind her. The air inside the cave was markedly cooler than that outside, and the dim light was provided by candles that scented the air pleasantly. Against the far wall, slightly behind a screen for privacy, a very old man lie in a cot covered with soft furs, sound asleep.

“And how is my master?” Idonea asked softly.

Dallan had glanced away from the sleeping man out of discretion, but now her eyes swiveled back to him. That meant that this was Isleif, the most powerful wizard Arianthem had ever known, and Skye’s great-grandfather. Dallan had seen him but twice: once when he had come to save Skye from a terrible illness, and once more recently when he had come to the Ha’kan council room after Skye’s abduction. In the former, Raine had created a physical bond with Skye to keep her from dying while Isleif leached the poison from her soul. In the latter, Isleif had come to stop Raine from recklessly pursuing Skye’s kidnapper, certain that the bond she had created would be used against her and lead her into a trap.

Y’arren patted Idonea on the arm. “He is much the same. Weak but feisty.”

“Your magic helps him,” Idonea said knowingly.

“Perhaps,” Y’arren said.

Dallan thought that was likely a very true statement, for magic surrounded and permeated the elven seer, flowing outward in an invisible mantle that covered everything for leagues. The Ha’kan were not good with magic, but even she could sense the power in the old matriarch. It was a sensation she had felt only around Talan, but where Talan’s magic flowed darkly, Y’arren was like a wellspring of light and warmth.

They sat down on benches that surrounded a stone fire pit where a bed of embers softly glowed. Elyara brought them water and Y’arren’s attendants brought tea. Rika made a note to ask what kind of tea she was served because not only was it flavorful, it was invigorating and relaxing at the same time.

“So I understand you are now a Baroness?” Y’arren said.

Idonea laughed. “Are you using your second sight or do you now have spies in the imperial court?

“We are not the Alfar,” Y’arren said, “so I have no spies. And I did not need any supernatural means. Raine was here with Feyden and Lorifal.”

“She needed a tincture,” Elyara explained. “She was poisoned by one of her assassins.”

“Is she all right?” Dallan exclaimed.

“Oh yes,” Elyara said, and Y’arren chuckled. “She had little more than an upset stomach. The extract she asked for was to detect future poisonings, and I think it was more for Lorifal and Feyden’s sake than hers.”

“Relax, Princess of the Ha’kan,” Y’arren said, “it is not Raine’s destiny to be slain by an assassin.”

Dallan found the words curious, and to what they alluded, even more so. “You speak of that prophecy.”

“Yes. ‘The Dragon’s Lover, felled by the closest of allies, carries into death without dying that which saves all worlds.’”

“It seems very obscure,” Rika said doubtfully, then regretted her doubt when those brilliant green eyes slid her way. But there was no rebuke in that gaze.

“Most prophecies are obscure. Words are inadequate to describe events that are seen but not understood.”

“There is a fourth line, is there not?” Dallan asked.

“Yes,” Y’arren said, nodding, “but it has thus far proven too difficult to translate.”

“Well, Kiren is hard at work on the translation,” Idonea said. “She is a brilliant little scholar and is consumed by the task.”

“Ah yes,” Y’arren said, “Maeva’s treasure that owns her.”

Idonea smiled at the apt characterization. “She has ended up being a welcome surprise.”

“Strange, the allies that fate brings you.”

Something in Y’arren’s tone caught Idonea’s attention. Idonea suspected that Kiren, like Raine, was part Arlanian. But where Raine’s mother had been Arlanian, Kiren’s blood had to be from an ancestor centuries ago. Both were impossible because Arlanians were incapable of reproducing outside their race. But Raine had proven a unique exception, a result of a most unlikely pairing, so perhaps it was possible that the less unlikely pairing of a human and an Arlanian had produced a child in the distant past. Kiren could be a descendant of that union, for she possessed many of the hallmarks of the tragic race: beauty, sexual desirability, gentleness, artistic talent and musical ability. The seeds of Idonea’s suspicion had been planted when she observed her mother forced to restrain Raine upon first sight of the girl, whose impulse upon recognizing another Arlanian would have been to protect her at all costs.

Now, gazing at Y’arren, Idonea felt a growing confirmation of her speculation.

“And so the Baroness of Fireside and the Lady Storr brought a charm to negotiations that the Alfar lacked?” Y’arren asked.

“Something like that,” Idonea replied.

“Although that Alfar Ambassador is a wily one,” Dagna chimed in. “I would not want to be her enemy.”

Y’arren merely smiled, then turned her attention to the Ha’kan. “And now I sense a burning question from you.”

Dallan swallowed hard. “Have you sensed anything of Skye?”

“Very little,” Y’arren admitted. “She is hidden well. But a short time ago I felt a stirring from the west, as did Isleif.”

“The vial glowed,” Idonea confirmed. “It was brief, but the orientation was to the west.”

“Then she is here in imperial lands,” Rika said.

“Perhaps,” Idonea said, “she could be in dwarven territory or Alfar. The location was very imprecise.”

“But she is not in the land of the Ha’kan,” Y’arren said, “nor that of the Tavinter.”

“So we have only cut the world in half,” Dallan said grimly. “And that is only if she has not been moved.”

“I do not think Ingrid will move her,” a gruff voice said from behind the screen. Isleif emerged and an attendant moved swiftly to his side to assist him. She helped the frail old man to the stone bench next to Idonea, who shifted over to provide him room and gave him a peck on the cheek once he was seated. He rearranged his robes as he continued speaking. “I’m not even sure how Ingrid is keeping Skye in check.”

“What do you mean?” Dallan asked.

“Skye is untrained, but the power in her blood runs deep. From what you’ve told me,” he said, patting Idonea’s hand, “she may be able to do things that no one else can.” Isleif grew thoughtful. “Which means that somehow Ingrid has gotten her to hide her power, and to remain passively by her side.”

“Skye would never do such a thing!” Dallan exclaimed.

“Ingrid can be quite persuasive,” Isleif said with fond remembrance, and Idonea swatted him lightly.

“You old lecher.”

“You should talk, my dear. You have had as poor as judgment as me at times.”

“That’s true,” Idonea said without an ounce of regret, “although I do believe my mother has us both beat.”

“Ah, yes,” Isleif said, “that will go down as the worst decision of all time.”

Dallan did not know what they were talking about, and Rika’s words did not help.

“That sorceress is attractive,” she mused.

“Enough,” Dallan said, surprising even herself. “Skye would never leave us.”

“Of course not,” Rika said, indignant. “I was just saying that Ingrid, if I remember her rightly from the Academy, was bewitching. Perhaps she has befuddled Skye’s senses, made her forget who she is or some nonsense.”

Rika’s words trailed off and the silence was substantial as Isleif looked at the Ha’kan warrior. He turned to Y’arren thoughtfully.

“The words of the future First General are hardly nonsense. That would explain a great deal. If Skye does not know who she is, then she would not display her power or try to escape.”

“And that may be why we cannot sense her,” Y’arren contemplated, “there is no part of her that we would sense.”

“Would such a thing be permanent?” Dallan asked apprehensively.

“Most spells of forgetting are temporary,” Idonea answered, “but this would have to be something greater. Skye is resistant to illusion magic, so an attempt to influence her mind would be difficult to initiate let alone maintain.”

“But Ingrid is very powerful,” Dallan said, “she could cast such a spell.”

“I don’t think so,” Isleif said. “Ingrid is capable of such a spell, but I think Skye would resist.”

“But for the gods such a thing would be play,” Y’arren said.

The cave again grew silent at the elven seer’s quiet words.

“Yes,” Isleif said, “the gods do complicate things.”

An attendant offered Dallan a second cup of tea and Dallan gratefully accepted. She sipped the hot tea, gazing into the glowing embers. The subject at hand had exhausted itself and the group was quiet for a while. Dallan’s thoughts flitted about, batted to-and-fro by the gods, sorcerers, and wizards. “Can I ask you a question?” she said, turning to the gray-haired wizard.

“Of course.”

“Why didn’t you help Skye during the Tavinter war against the Ha’kan?”

The question would have been insulting had it not been asked in such a straightforward and heartfelt manner. It was almost as if Dallan were so conflicted about battling the Tavinter, she held it against Isleif for not having helped them. But Isleif’s shrewd look said he understood all, and his response conveyed he understood more than Dallan did herself.

“She did not need it.”

“That’s true,” Rika muttered, and Isleif smiled.

“As painful as those years were for Skye, they shaped her into the person she is. And perhaps you seek her so desperately now because you have already felt that loss.”

Dallan stroked her chin, absorbed in the wizard’s words. Perhaps that was true. Perhaps that was why she had asked the question, that the current situation had rekindled all the pain of that past separation. Rika put her arm on Dallan’s shoulder.

“We will find her.”

“You will find her,” Isleif said with emphasis, “and when you do, I need you to pass on a word for me.”

“A word?” Dallan said. Isleif’s certitude filled her with hope.

“Yes,” Isleif said, “a single word. Skye will know what do with it.”

“Very well, what is this word?”

Isleif’s eyes seemed to glow for a moment. “Ephemeral.”

Both Idonea and Y’arren nodded in agreement, and Dallan carefully repeated the word.

“Ephemeral.”

“Yes,” Isleif said. “When the time is right, Skye will know what to do with it.”

Chapter 17

V
olva lay draped on her gilded couch, the morning sun creating little patterns of gold dust upon her skin. Drakar stood before the open window, naked, and Volva admired the hard outlines of his body. It brought her more pleasure to know that his appearance was only a minor illusion, that his human manifestation mirrored his dragon form. It did not occur to her that the artifice in her own manifestation could be considered a liability, so great was her self-absorption and narcissism. She was not introspective enough to apply the standards for others to herself, or even to consider they might apply.

A knock on the door prompted Drakar to don the golden robe draped over the chair, the one that Volva so loved to see him in because it set off his dark good looks. He sprawled into the chair next to the bed. Volva did not rise but merely pulled the silken sheet over her body, barely high enough to cover her breasts. It was hardly a modest gesture for the minor concealment merely fueled the imagination. And the young man who entered fell right into her trap as his eyes were glued to the near exposure of the breasts.

“Yes?” Volva said.

The man took a knee, trying to keep his eyes downcast so he could concentrate.

“It was as you said. Talan went to Dreki’s Ridge where many dragon’s congregate.”

“And—?”

The man struggled for words. Bad news was not well-accepted by his mistress.