Fallen Embers (The Alterra Histories) (4 page)

The King and his personal retinue were taken immediately to lavish quarters reserved for visiting royalty, but Gaelen wouldn’t complain about the comfort of her own relatively austere accommodations. She would not remain in them, anyway. Tall trees were more to her liking, and she soon found one, perching high in the branches, observing the goings-on below. She would find many activities of interest here, and would want for nothing. The kitchens, staffed by dedicated and talented folk of various races, were open day and night.

There followed many days of debate, discussion, and kingly counsel, to which Gaelen was not privy—humble hunter-scouts were forbidden to listen in on matters of such importance. That suited her at first, as she was free to wander and amuse herself, but as the days wore on and the delights of Mountain-home became more familiar, she began to look for diversions. Gaelen had never liked being forbidden to do things, and since she had always enjoyed the challenge of disobedience, she decided to hone her skills in stealthy approaches to the secret council areas, catching glimpses of the great folk assembled there.

She beheld Magra the Mighty, a powerful, golden-haired Èolarin Elf, second-in-command of Ri-Elathan’s army. Beside him sat Alduinar, King of the Northmen, and Lord Airan of Tal-sithian, accompanied by their trusted advisors and battle tacticians. King Osgar of the Greatwood was there as well, but he had been seated as far away from the High King as would have been possible without deliberate insult.
I’m sure it’s not intentional,
thought Gaelen.
I’m sure they realize how important the Greatwood is to their efforts.
Still, it made her scowl on behalf of Wood-elves everywhere.

At the head of the council-table stood a beautiful, dark-haired lady of regal bearing.
Ah! That must be Lady Ordath,
thought Gaelen, as the Lady took her seat beside an immense, powerful Elf—undoubtedly the High King. Stern and keen-eyed, he attracted Gaelen’s attention from first sight. Untold years of strife and heavy responsibility were graven into his strong, grim face. He spoke rarely, preferring to listen to the debate around him with little change of expression. When he did speak, there were no arguments.

Only once did his expression change to any great extent, and that occurred the second time Gaelen observed him. A heated tactical discussion had occupied his attention as he sat, brooding and taking in all he heard. The first indication of any distraction came as his eyes flickered up and to the left, toward Gaelen, but only for a moment. His dark eyebrows lowered, and he closed his eyes as though concentrating. Then he lifted his chin from his right hand and drew himself to his full height, eyes searching in her direction. She held her breath, praying that he would not detect her concealment. How could it be so? She had been so careful to place herself where it would be extremely difficult to observe her, yet his eyes searched for her even now. They did not find her, but a slight smile softened them as he paused before returning his attention to the council. After that, Gaelen made no more such intrusions.

She did learn a few things from the Elves of Mountain-home. Apparently, this great meeting had been going on for quite some time already, as the participants forged weapons, discussed tactics, and made ready for war. They did not know when the armies would depart—apparently, that had not yet been decided—but, though Osgar and the Elves of the Greatwood were made welcome, they were considered minor players in the unfolding drama. Ri-Elathan accepted their pledge with solemn gratitude, and Osgar agreed to return to the Greatwood, where he would wait with his people until the High King summoned them.

This both saddened and annoyed Gaelen. It annoyed her that the high-and-mighty always seemed to discount her people, for she believed that an army of stalwart Wood-elves might well turn the tide of any battle. It saddened her because she realized that her stay in Mountain-home would be far briefer than she had hoped.

She especially enjoyed listening to and observing the Northmen, the tall Tuathar with their interesting ways and different speech. Then there was the Sanctuary, which she longed to explore. She would have preferred to remain in Mountain-home through the winter, but had been told that the Greatwood Elves would be departing much sooner.

Having abandoned the idea of observing the war-council, Gaelen had decided to explore other areas of the Sanctuary. This proved to be both intriguing and challenging. Her footfalls echoed through the stark, white halls; there were no natural sounds to mask them, and she abandoned the idea of trying to be stealthy. After all, she was a guest, and therefore welcome.

She noticed several gatherings of scholars as she passed by the entrances to their study-chambers, peeking in to listen briefly to their debate and discourse. Elves and Men argued and gesticulated over tables laden with bound manuscripts, scrolls, and half-filled ink bottles. Many wore the black robes characteristic of scholars, with hoods trimmed in velvet of a color indicating their status and major field of study. Gaelen had never seen anything like it.

In one such chamber, perhaps twenty learners sat before a raised dais, from which an aged dwarf expounded on the mysteries of the day. He did not notice Gaelen’s shaggy head poking around the doorway, or if he did, he did not acknowledge it. Several of the students, however, glared at her intrusion into their private enlightenment. Obviously, she did not belong. Gaelen retreated, but she would have liked to have heard what the dwarf had to say; it was the first time she had seen one in such a role.

She crept into one darkened space, drawn by the odor of what appeared to be a partially-dismantled corpse on a slab. Gaelen could read, and read well, but the words on the nearby parchment flummoxed her, as they were in a foreign tongue. The sketches, though, were clear—this was an examination of the inner workings of a human body. Gaelen paused long enough to draw a linen drape over what remained of the man’s face before backing away, wondering if he had a family. How would they view this violation of his most intimate space?

By far the most fascinating, and yet disturbing, sight came later. She caught a glimpse of a tall, statuesque figure gliding down the polished hallway in front of her, and recognized Lady Ordath. Her curiosity would not be denied, and she decided to engage in the ultimate game of stealth, following the faint sound of soft, slippered feet deep into the heart of the mountain.

At last she came to a granite chamber flickering with soft candle-light. A beautiful crystal vault lay silent and cold on a raised platform of stone, together with a single, carved oaken chair upholstered in thick black velvet. Ordath moved to each candle, replacing it with a new, tall one, renewing the faint golden light. Then she moved to the rectangular vault, placed a graceful hand on the surface, and walked completely around it before sitting in the black velvet chair.

Gaelen did not understand until she perceived the tall figure lying in the vault. It was an Elf, or seemed to be one, with long, silver-white hair. His body was flawless, without decay, as though he had simply gone to sleep. The eyes, however, were wide open. This wasn’t unusual, as Elves often “slept” with their eyes open, but even from a distance, Gaelen could tell that this one wasn’t breathing.
Dead, then? Dead but not decayed? There is some magic at work here.

Ordath placed her hand on the vault again, and Gaelen read the sorrow in her eyes. This was a very private meditation, one that must not suffer intrusion. Gaelen crept back into the shadows from whence she had come. Only much later would she realize that she had been one of the very few to set eyes on the empty, soulless body of the mighty Shandor, founder of Mountain-home, most forlorn of the ancient bringers of Light.

The following evening, all were invited to a feast in the house of Ordath, and it was to be a memorable event for Gaelen. She was seated with the other Wood-elves at a long table near the entrance to the Great Hall. Though far from the King’s table, she could still witness one of the mightiest assemblages of Elven and Mankind that had been seen since the First Reckoning. Lady Ordath presided over the gathering, together with Ri-Elathan and Alduinar. All were resplendent, but Gaelen’s gaze was particularly drawn to Ri-Elathan. Clad in sable and silver, he wore a simple crown of gold upon his dark hair. His keen grey eyes were as stern as ever, though he seemed relaxed, even smiling on occasion, usually when responding to Alduinar, a tall, bearded man of regal bearing who sat beside him.

The King’s eyes roamed the crowd, as though searching, and then they lit upon Gaelen and roamed no more. She quickly looked away, flushing. He surely knew that she had been the very one skulking near the secret war-council; his expression had been exactly the same, though he had not met her eyes then. At first she dared not look at him again, but in spite of herself she raised her chin and turned her gaze to his. For a moment each looked at the other without flinching. Then one of the courtiers passed in front of her, and the moment was broken. When the way had cleared, Ri-Elathan was otherwise engaged and paid her no more heed.

A few days later, Tarfion’s presence was requested as part of a royal hunting party. Ri-Elathan had arranged to ride out over the hills to the southwest, for he was weary of debates and tactics and wanted to feel the freedom of the open air. He specifically requested a small group to accompany him, including Osgar as representative of the Woodland. Osgar wanted Tarfion to go along as his personal guard.

The hunting party rode forth in the early morning, making its way down through the mountain-paths before turning southward, trampling the dew-spangled grass along steep, treacherous bluffs flanking the river Nachtan.

Clad in hunting attire of dull green and grey, Ri-Elathan rode at the fore with his standard-bearer. The banner that flew beside him was small, but beautiful—a silken blue-and-sable with silver stars and golden sun, spun of thread so fine that it rippled in the wind like water. It was an heirloom of Ri-Elathan’s house, having been made for his father, Ri-Aldamar. It had seen many such outings and was still in fine condition, for it was too small to be a battle-standard.

It would never be known what caused the banner to break free of its attachment and fly loose on the wind, to the chagrin of the standard-bearer and the dismay of Ri-Elathan. Higher and higher it drifted, straight for the bluffs and the wild water. Those who witnessed the events of the day might have assigned its escape to fate, for the banner had never before broken free.

Now it flew toward an irrecoverable doom, for if it went over the edge of the bluffs the wind would surely drop it into the river, never to be found. None of the company would be able to retrieve it, as it was being carried too swiftly and too high. Ri-Elathan’s eyes were grim, for the loss of this token grieved him beyond measure.

Unbeknownst to anyone, Gaelen had followed the hunting party at a distance, and she saw the banner twisting in the wind, sailing to its ruin over the bluff.
That’s the King’s banner—this cannot be a good thing,
she thought.
Whatever happens, someone must retrieve it!
She hesitated for only a moment, not really understanding why the banner was so important, yet certain that it was so. Then she spurred her mount forward with reckless determination, flying toward the edge. Her sudden appearance surprised everyone—her father cried out in fear, and the hunting party held its collective breath.

Her little mare raced along the cliff as Gaelen calculated the flight of her target, reaching back and pulling an arrow from her quiver. The banner sailed over the edge straight into the clutches of a down-draft, dropping suddenly toward the river. Gaelen grasped the mare’s mane with one hand and hooked her heel over the saddle bow, leaning out as far as she dared. One slip, and they would likely fall to their deaths. The little horse kept steady as Gaelen lunged out, snagged the banner with the tip of the arrow, and then pulled both it and herself back into the saddle. She wheeled around, cantering easily back toward the company, patting Angael’s neck with a trembling hand, knowing the chance she had taken. Her father rode out to meet her, intending to rebuke her in the strongest possible way, but the set of her jaw indicated that any rebuke would be useless, and he let her pass.

She rode past the astonished courtiers and huntsmen, and past the standard-bearer who had meant to intercept her. To the dismay and displeasure of her own King Osgar, she rode right up to the Ri-Elathan and stood before him, meeting his gaze as she gently and carefully folded the beautiful silk into a small, neat square. To the amazement of all assembled, Ri-Elathan dismounted and approached her as she held out his prized heirloom, still looking levelly at him. She did not drop her eyes when he took the banner, but as their hands touched, she trembled. For a moment, his hand lingered as he withdrew the silken square, his eyes never leaving hers. He bowed his head slightly in acknowledgment, and then spoke to her in a deep, powerful voice.

“That was an impressively reckless bit of riding, and I thank you for the return of my property. You are Gaelen of the Greatwood, are you not?”

How does he know my name?
She nodded once, still keeping her eyes fixed on his. His dark brows lowered at her and his gaze hardened. “Do you comprehend the risk you have just taken? Why did you risk your life for a square of silk? And by whose leave do you spy on secret councils and follow my hunting party unbidden?”

Her answer was interrupted by Tarfion, who rode up beside his wayward daughter while making apology to the King for her disrespect. Ri-Elathan waved him off, still never dropping his gaze from Gaelen’s. Tarfion lowered his eyes and backed away, muttering, “For the love of heaven, think before you speak…just this once!”

Ri-Elathan pretended not to hear, lifting his eyebrows at Gaelen in expectation of her reply.

“Yes, my name is Gaelen, and I am of the Greatwood. I knew full well the risk taken and deemed it acceptable…the fact that I’m still here lends credence to that opinion. And I would not risk my life for a square of silk, unless it was of great importance to the High King. I sensed your regret should it be lost.”