Bearers Of The Black Staff Part 8

He began packing up their gear, burying the remains of their lunch, scuffing over the earth, and doing what he could to hide their pa.s.sing. He didn't think anyone would find the site, since it was well off the pathway and back in the rocks where no one was likely to venture by accident, but there was no point in taking chances.

"So we start with the Orullians?" Prue rose to help him, glancing down toward the Eldemere. "The rain is getting worse. I can't see an end to the storm driving it, either. Maybe we should make camp here."

"That wastes half a day we don't have," Pan replied, shouldering his pack. "I think we need to reach Arborlon as soon as possible. The things trying to break in from the outside world aren't going to wait on the weather."

She nodded, shouldering her own pack, and together they set out once more, regaining the path leading down and making their way toward the dark sweep of the storm.

"The Orullians will be more willing than anyone else to hear us out," Pan said finally. "Since they are cousins to the Belloruus family, they can get us an audience with the King and the High Council. If we deliver Sider's message to them, we will have done as much as we can."

"Do you think he'll be able to find us there? Sider, I mean? He said he would find us, but I don't see how he can do that. We aren't in Glensk Wood anymore, and no one knows where we've gone. Except for Aislinne."

Panterra shook his head. "I don't know. I keep saying that, don't I? I guess there's a lot we don't know, when you come right down to it."

Afternoon eased toward evening, and soon they had reached the edges of the storm; rain was falling all around them. They were wrapped in their all-weather cloaks as they pushed ahead, heads bent against wind and water, eyes blinking away both. The ground softened as they finished their descent and began to cross the valley floor into the Eldemere. Earth and gra.s.s replaced stone and crushed rock, but while their boots left clear tracks in the muddied ground they knew surface water would fill and smooth over their footprints by morning. Already sprawling ponds were collecting on the flats, connected by a network of streams that crisscrossed the valley like silver snakes.

Ahead, the country s.h.i.+mmered like a mirage.

"We better find somewhere to make camp," Panterra said finally, noting that the light was beginning to fail and the misty rain to thicken.

"There's that big chestnut," Prue suggested, and he knew at once the one she meant.

They made their way through the steadily falling rain, into the woods and around the lakes and waterways, angling slightly north above the largest of the meres, the name given to the lakes. The dampness was turning colder, and the air was filled with the smell of rain-soaked wood and gra.s.ses, rich and pungent. Panterra glanced back a final time to see if their tracks were visible, out of force of habit more than need, and he could see nothing of their pa.s.sage beneath the slick of rainwater. Satisfied, he put the matter from his mind and slogged on.

It took them another hour to reach their destination, a huge old shade tree with a thick, almost impenetrable canopy that even in a steady rain such as this one kept the earth around the trunk dry for twenty feet in all directions. Smaller trees cl.u.s.tered close about the larger, a brood nurtured by their mother, and while the storm raged without it was calm and dry within their shelter. Tired and cold, the boy and the girl moved over to the trunk and dropped their gear. Wordlessly, they separated, moving to opposite sides of the trunk where they stripped off their wet clothing, dried off as best they could, and put on the spare set of clothes they had packed before leaving.

"Can we have a fire?" Prue asked when they had rejoined each other. "It would help us to dry out and warm up. If you think we're safe now."

He did, so he agreed. He gathered stray wood from within the shelter of the grove, and then ranged a little farther out to add some more. He kindled the wood with his flint and soon had flames curling up from a small pile of shavings and mosses. The fire was cheerful and welcome in the darkness and damp, crackling in steady counterpoint to the patter of the rain. Prue set out food for them to eat, and soon they were consuming a meal they hadn't quite realized they were so hungry for.

Pan's thoughts drifted once more to home and the series of events that had led them to flee it, wondering how it was that circ.u.mstance and chance played so large a part in the twists and turns his life had taken. He didn't regret what had happened, though; he knew it was their good fortune to discover the danger because at least they were doing something about it where others might have done nothing. That they were fugitives was unfortunate, but not permanent; the situation would correct itself eventually when they were proven right. He had the confidence and faith of the young that there was time and s.p.a.ce enough for anything. You just had to be patient; you just had to believe.

"It isn't right that they can do this to us," Prue said softly, her eyes lowered as they cleaned the dishes. "Skeal Eile and his followers, chasing us away like this. You know it isn't."

"I know. And Eile doesn't seem the sort to let something like that bother him, either. What's right for him is whatever's necessary to keep him leader of the Children of the Hawk."

"You would think someone would notice that his moral compa.s.s is broken. Are his followers all blind?"

Panterra shrugged. "In a way, I think maybe they are. They want so hard to believe in what they've been taught that they find ways to rationalize things they wouldn't stand for otherwise. They need to keep their faith intact or risk losing it. No one likes letting go of what they have always believed, even when they know it's right to do so."

"But you think the Elves will see things differently." She made it a statement of fact.

"I think the Orullians will. I think some of their family will. If we convince even those few, we have a chance of convincing the others."

They talked some more about the future, agreeing that on their arrival later tomorrow they needed to sit the Orullian siblings down and tell them everything. No delays, no standing on ceremony, no equivocation-just lay it out there and let them ponder on it.

After a time, their eyes grew heavy and they curled up in their blankets. Because the skies were still overcast, the darkness was very nearly complete. The air remained chill and damp, and not even the dry ground beneath the chestnut could help with that. A s.h.i.+vering Prue hunched over to lie close against Pan, her small body knotted up. He took one end of his own blanket and wrapped them both.

"Thanks, Pan," she whispered.

He was reminded in that moment of how young she was. She might possess considerable talent and skill, but she was still only fifteen and barely more than a child.

He patted her hair gently, and then wrapped his arms about her, wanting her to be warm and safe. "Go to sleep," he whispered.

Then he fell asleep himself.

SKEAL EILE WALKED THROUGH THE VILLAGE of Glensk Wood in the darkness of the early morning, neither furtive nor fearful of discovery but confident, a man who knew his way and had tested his limits.

He was many things, was the Seraphic, but above all he was careful. He was ambitious, ruthless, and vengeful. He was fanatical in his commitment to the teachings of his sect and consumed by the struggle within himself to differentiate between what he knew was right and what he believed was necessary. But all of these were tempered by his caution. He had always understood how necessary it was to be cautious, how important never to act in haste. Others might act in the heat of the moment, might choose to disdain patience, might think that power alone was enough to protect against those who wished them harm, but he knew better.

Unfortunately, he had forgotten that lesson yesterday when he had sent his a.s.sa.s.sin to eliminate the boy and the girl who had brought their wild, desperate tales of creatures from the outer world. Such tales could only cause dissent among the faithful and foster cracks in the beliefs he had instilled in them, and that could never be allowed.

So he had acted in haste and been left to repent at leisure. The a.s.sa.s.sin had failed-disappeared without a trace-and the boy and the girl were gone. Now he had to set things right, though not in haste and not without caution. He had to set them right in deliberate and purposeful fas.h.i.+on, and he knew how to do that.

He had been the leader of the Children of the Hawk for a long time. He had been a Seraphic even longer, although no one knew of this but him. He had been born with the talent, his ability clear to him from early on. Devoted to the teachings of the sect, he had waited to be noticed so that his talent might be employed in their service. But time had come and gone, and no one bothered to approach him. So he took it upon himself to gain their attention. He began speaking at meetings, usually unbidden, often barely tolerated. But his oratory was powerful, and his fervor infectious. While the leader of the sect and his followers dallied, the faithful began to gravitate toward him.

Leaders are all the same, however; they might profess otherwise, but they do not wish to give up their positions or their power. His predecessor had tried to ease him aside and, failing that, to eliminate him. The a.s.sa.s.sins who served the sect were always waiting for an opportunity, like jackals prowling at the edge of the pack for the weak and the injured. His predecessor mistook him for a victim and sent an a.s.sa.s.sin to make an example of him. The attempt failed, and the man ended up a victim himself. It caused Skeal Eile a certain amount of regret because he was not a bad man, he told himself, only a committed one. He understood what so many others did not-that he had been born to lead the faithful and that obstacles to his leaders.h.i.+p needed to be removed. What was one life compared with the importance of the teachings of the sect?

So he became their leader, donning the mantle he had been born to wear. He was generous and helpful to all who embraced him; he was a teacher and a giver of hope. He possessed magic, but he kept that mostly to himself and only now and then revealed glimpses of his talent. His voice was strong and ubiquitous, and he was both expected and welcomed at all council meetings and gatherings. Even those who did not subscribe directly to the teachings of the sect respected his power and his ability. They might not accept him as their leader, but they understood that his dominance was unquestionable. In turn, he did not insist on their loyalty, only on their recognition of his place.

His influence began to reach beyond Glensk Wood to the surrounding villages, until soon he had solidified his place as Seraphic to the sect throughout the valley. It was enough for now, although his plans were grander and more far reaching and would in time elevate the place of the Children of the Hawk to one of unquestionable dominance.

It was the right thing for everyone, he knew. It was way the Hawk himself would have wanted it-the way he would expect to find things on his return. Disruption or denial of this truth was the great heresy of his time, and Skeal Eile could not abide it.

There had been some who had committed that heresy over the years, some who could not accept the truths embedded in the sect's teachings. Skeal Eile had dealt with each of them as need required. Some he had managed to convince of the error of their ways, and had turned them about. Some he had marginalized or simply destroyed by discovering their unpleasant secrets and revealing them to all. Some he had driven out through threats and intimidation.

Some he had been forced to eliminate in a more permanent fas.h.i.+on, their presence alone an abomination. These unfortunates had committed heresy that was beyond redemption, had spewed out poison that would infect others if left untreated. For those few, the a.s.sa.s.sins were required.

But even the a.s.sa.s.sins were not always sufficient to right matters. Witness their failure with the boy and the girl.

The mystery of that failure troubled him. He had heard that the two possessed special talent, although he had never witnessed it himself. He did not think they enjoyed the use of magic, as he did, but he could not be certain. Somehow they had managed to overcome and kill a skilled a.s.sa.s.sin, this boy and girl. He could not shake the feeling that Aislinne Kray was a part of what had happened, that somehow she had intervened in the matter. But even she was no match for a trained killer. Besides, she was mostly a bothersome presence. Her husband was the one that mattered, and he was firmly committed to the sect and its teachings and bonded to Skeal Eile, in particular. That didn't mean he didn't love his wife enough to turn it all around if something should happen to her. Pogue Kray knew it had happened to others who had defied the sect, and he had made it plain to the Seraphic that he would not allow it to happen to her. So the troublesome Aislinne had been tolerated up until now, although that might have to change.

This was not so when it came to Sider Ament, but Eile had never been able to get his hands on the Gray Man. A loner who seldom came down off the valley rim and never into open view, he was an elusive target. Someday, maybe. Eile looked forward to putting an end to that man. But for now he, too, had to be tolerated.

Not so the boy and the girl.

Yet he must be careful here. He must be creative in his efforts to resolve the matter. Something out of the ordinary was required if he didn't want to experience still another failure.

He was well back in the trees now, on the outskirts of the village. It was deeply wooded here, the path nearly nonexistent, the underbrush thick and tangled. He slipped through openings that few could find even in daylight, the way clear to him, as it would not be to others. Ahead, a small cabin appeared through the undergrowth, a dilapidated structure with a sagging porch and blacked-out windows that gave it the look of a dead thing. But there would be eyes watching. There always were.

Yet the eyes of the old man who met him at the door when he stepped up on the porch were as milky and blind as a cave bat's, staring blankly at a point some six inches over Skeal Eile's head.

"Who's that?" the old man asked in a whisper.

"Tell him I'm here," the Seraphic ordered, ignoring the question.

"Ah, it's you!" the old man exclaimed in delight. He cackled and turned away. "Always a pleasure to see you. Always a joy! I'll send him right out. Just one minute."

Off he went, back into the darkened interior of the cabin. Skeal Eile did not try to follow. He had never been inside the cabin and had no wish to enter it now. He had a strong suspicion that he wouldn't like it much in there. Not given what he knew of the occupants.

He waited a full five minutes for Bonnasaint to appear. By then, he was standing out in the tiny yard, studying the weeds and the bare ground and thinking of other things. The boy materialized silently, emerging from the darkness of the cabin interior, pausing momentarily in the doorway as if to take stock of things and then stepping down to confront the Seraphic.

"Your Eminence," the boy greeted, bowing deeply. "How may I help you?"

There wasn't a hint of irony in the other's voice, only a clear expression of abiding respect. Skeal Eile had always liked that about the boy. Even when they'd first met and the boy was only twelve, that respect was evident. Now Bonnasaint was more than twenty, and their relations.h.i.+p was unchanged. Skeal Eile still thought of him as a boy because he looked barely older than one, his skin fair and unblemished, his features fine, his face beardless, and his limbs slender and supple. There was nothing of the man physically evident in the boy, but get below the skin and you found a creature that was very, very old indeed.

"I require your services," the Seraphic said quietly, casting a quick glance at the cabin.

"He knows better than to listen in," Bonnasaint advised, offering up a dazzling smile.

"I trust no one, not your father, not even you."

"Not even me?" The smile disappeared. "I am hurt."

"You are never hurt. You are as cold and hard as the stones of the mountains. That is why you are my favorite."

"It has been a while since you came to see me, Eminence. I thought that perhaps I had fallen from favor."

"I only come to you when I have a problem lesser men cannot solve. I have one now."

The dazzling smile returned. The boyish face brightened. "Please enlighten me."

Skeal Eile stepped close to him. "A boy and a girl. I want them to disappear."

ELEVEN.

PANTERRA AND PRUE WOKE TO A MORNING FROSTY with cold, the ground crystalline white and the lakes of the Eldemere shedding mist and dampness in the soft glow of the sun's first light. The echo of birdcalls was sharp and ghostly, sounding out of the silence in forlorn reverberation across the wider expanse of the lakes before disappearing into the dark maze of the surrounding woods. Mist clung in thick blankets to the mountaintops. The air was sharp and clear, and you could see the details of clefts in the rocks of snow-cropped defiles that were miles away.

The boy and the girl didn't bother with breakfast, not yet awake enough to need or enjoy food. Instead, they packed up their gear and set out walking among the meres, gathering their still sleep-fogged thoughts for the trek ahead.

The sun rose, the air warmed, and the morning changed its look and feel as first light turned to full sunrise and the silence of sleep gave way to the noises of waking. Breezes gusted across the meres and through the leaves of the trees in steady rustlings, the still waters of the meres began to lap against the sh.o.r.es, and the birdcalls were joined by animal scurrying and voices, distant and indistinct, suddenly become audible.

"Elves," Panterra observed, referring to the voices, the first word either of them had spoken since waking.

Prue nodded agreement, but didn't reply.

They walked on, traversing the whole of the Eldemere, stopping once at midday, when hunger got the better of them, to eat a lunch of bread, cheese, dried fruits, and cold water before continuing on. They pa.s.sed no one on the way, although they were now well into the territory of the Elves and could expect an encounter at any point.

But it was not until they reached the far eastern edge of the meres and came in sight of the forested bluff on which Arborlon had been settled that they saw their first Elf. A boy who was a little younger than Prue stepped out of the trees as they neared the switchbacked road leading up to the bluff and stared at them.

"Good day," Prue greeted him, giving a smile that would have melted ice.

The boy frowned, his already slanted brows slanting further, his narrow features narrowing further. "This is Elf country," he declared, as if in rebuke to their presence.

"Good. Then we are in the right place."

"Humans aren't welcome."

"We aren't entirely human."

"You look human to me."

"Well, you aren't very old and you haven't see all that much of the world, so you wouldn't know." She gave him a fresh smile for good measure. "What's your name?"

"Xac," he said, his look indicating that he was still wary of any trick they might be planning.

"I'm Prue," she answered. "Do you know the Orullian family?"

The boy nodded, confused now. "What do you mean, you aren't entirely human? I've never heard of that."

"See, now you've learned something new. Your education is improved. Can you take us where we need to go? That way, people will know we are being carefully watched and won't make any trouble."

"I don't know," Xac answered, still suspicious. "If you're not entirely human, what are you, then?"

Prue thought about it a moment. "Tell you what. Come with us to the Orullians and you can find out from them."

The boy studied her carefully for a few long moments. "All right," he said finally.

So with the boy Xac leading the way, they crossed out of the Eldemere and through hills covered in tall gra.s.ses and scattered clumps of rock to the road leading up to the bluff. They began to see other Elves in the trees and on the hills around them, coming and going about their business. Most spared them a glance and not much more, a.s.suming they were with the boy, which was what Prue had intended. Visitors in the company of one of their own did not draw as much attention. Panterra, watching Prue continue her conversation with Xac, could not help but admire her way with people. She had an uncanny ability to win them over, all without any hint of her intentions. Only fifteen, and already she was more practiced at it than most of the adults he knew. Maybe, he decided, it was because she was more grown-up than so many of those same adults.

They climbed the switchbacks that led to the top of the bluffs, angling up steep stairs embedded amid rugged cl.u.s.ters of rocks and thick stands of trees and warded by stone walls and iron gates. The Elves called it the Elfitch, and it was intended to form a series of protective barriers against anyone trying to ascend the heights without permission. Ordinarily, this wasn't a problem. Sentries kept watch over visitors from posts overlooking the western approach, and if anything dangerous appeared an armed force of Elven Hunters would respond in moments. Panterra couldn't say when that had last happened-quite possibly not in his lifetime. But the argument went that the Elfitch was always meant to be a deterrent rather than a defense.

Even now, there would be eyes on them ascending the roadway. But since Xac was accompanying them and they only numbered two, there was little reason for concern.

When they reached the top of the Elfitch and turned onto the Carolan heights, they began to see a larger number of Elves going about their business. Now heads began to turn and gazes to focus. The presence of humans in Arborlon was rare, the result of isolating themselves from the other Races. Lizards and Spiders were frequent visitors, smaller in population and eager to make alliances. Elves were more willing to accommodate them than Men. Men couldn't seem to help wanting to attach conditions to their friends.h.i.+p, while Elves simply asked that you honor their ways and respect their place in the world. Men were the most numerous of the peoples residing in the valley, yet the most difficult to be around. Panterra found that both strange and unfortunate, but that was the way of things.

Some of it, he knew, had to do with the practices of the Children of the Hawk. But much of it was tied to a history that over the centuries had shaped the thinking of the Race of Men to such an extent that it was virtually impossible to change. Because Mankind had always been the dominant Race, the reasoning went, it was predestined that it always should be. Other Races were inferior, not of the same intelligence and ability or of the same high moral makeup or possessed of humans' innate appreciation of life's purpose. The excuses went on and on, and Panterra had heard them all, most often from members of the sect, but sometimes from those who ought to know better. It was the sort of thinking generated by hidden fears and doubts, by a nagging sense that maybe you weren't as special as you had been told and would like to think.

Neither Pan nor Prue-for they had discussed it many times when they were alone in the high country-had any use for that sort of rationalization. Nor was either particularly concerned with Man's insistence on establis.h.i.+ng some order of dominance among the Races. It was enough if you knew where you stood with any individual from any Race, and the pecking order would have to sort itself out over time and through trial by fire. Everyone was trying to do the best they could, and success was predicated on things like determination and strength of character and even luck. It had always been so, and they kept clear of those who thought otherwise.

Of course, the Elves were not immune to this sort of oneupmans.h.i.+p, but they were less vocal about it and less inclined to make it known at every opportunity. Some among them believed that theirs was the dominant Race and always had been. They were the oldest of the Races and the most talented. They had been given the gift of magic, and they had used it to great effect until they had lost it through neglect and indecision. That their numbers were less than those of humans because they procreated so much more slowly was of little consequence in the larger scheme of things. What mattered was that they alone had found ways to survive since the time of Faerie. Some even believed that it had been a mistake to come out of hiding during the Great Wars, that if they had stayed hidden the other Races-Man, in particular-would have destroyed themselves, and the Elves would have been the better for it.

The upshot of all this was that neither Men nor Elves had a whole lot of use for the other and kept apart to the extent that it was possible, each casting a wary eye for the other to cause trouble. Only a handful of individuals within each Race understood that they were all rowing in the same boat and all likely to stand or fall on how willing they were to unite in the face of dangers that eclipsed their own petty squabbles.

But that sort of danger hadn't appeared until now, Panterra knew. So a testing of each Race was close at hand.

Pan flashed momentarily on all of this in response to the looks cast at him by some of the Elves they pa.s.sed. He knew that his worldview wasn't particularly sophisticated or experienced. He was not schooled in reading and writing, and he owned no books himself. He had learned to read signs rather than books because teaching himself to be a Tracker was what really mattered to him. He was ignorant of many things, but he was not stupid. He was a keen observer, and he was well traveled throughout the valleys, so he understood a few things about the way the Races related to one another and had thought at length about what that meant. What you knew about people mostly came from coming in contact with them, he reasoned. If your instincts and your senses didn't lie to you, if your reasoning was sound, then you could draw your own conclusions about the human condition. All you needed to do was to pay attention to what was going on around you. That was what he had done.

His thoughts on the matter were only momentary and then they were gone as swiftly as they had come, and he moved on to what was always a fresh appreciation of the place to which they had journeyed.

Arborlon was an impressive city by any measure, the more so for being the largest and oldest of the centers of habitation in the safehold. Arborlon had been built in a time before Mankind itself was born, in the time of Faerie and magic, before humans and all their offspring. Built and rebuilt over the centuries, encapsulated by the magic of the Loden Elfstone so that it and its inhabitants might be preserved against the greatest of evils and moved when moving was the only option available, it was the only city of its kind still in existence. There were rumors of others, of cities vast and wondrous, all reduced to ruins and rubble, empty of life, testaments to what had come and gone in other times. But Arborlon was the real thing, a city of the most distant past, built by the oldest of Races, alive and well after all this time.