“But—”

“There will be no trickery.” The eld issued another order.

One of his riders gripped Alexeika’s arm and pulled her off Sir Alard’s horse.  She twisted, kicking in midair, and landed on her feet with a stumble. Snarling something, she reached for her daggers.

“Alexeika, no!” Dain commanded.

She froze. Curly tendrils of her dark hair framed her face, and a long strand that had escaped her braid hung crookedly over one ear. “I’ll not be taken prisoner,” she said gruffly. “Never again will I be held against my will.” The eld leader swung his attention back to Dain. “You are both mixed-bloods. Is she your sister, Thiatereika?”

Again, a pang of regret stabbed through Dain. He was relieved that they knew him, even recognized him, but deeply saddened that Thia would never meet her mother’s people.

“Thiatereika is not with us,” Dain said formally. His throat felt like it had something wedged in it; he could not seem to make himself phrase his answer differently.

“Who is this maiden?” the eld leader asked suspiciously.  With a proud toss of her head, Alexeika walked up to stand at Dain’s stirrup. “I am Alexeika, daughter of Prince Ilymir Volvn. My mother was half-eldin and from—” “Both of you will come,” the eld leader said. As he lifted his hand, tiny flames ignited from the tips of his fingers and cast a faint, pearly glow of light.  “Your mixed blood will enable you to go across.”

“Sire!” Sir Terent called in alarm. “Don’t go off with them! They mean you no good—” “Sir Terent, hold your tongue!” Dain ordered furiously. “I will not hear you insult their hospitality.”

“Ain’t hospitality to part you from your protector and haul you off at spearpoint,” Sir Terent said stubbornly.

“I am in no danger,” Dain retorted. “They will treat me well. Bide here quietly until my return. I won’t be long.”

“I must go with you,” Sir Terent said stubbornly, coming forward.  The eld leader spoke a sharp command, and one of the riders bounded across Sir Terent’s path. Confronted by a huge, snarling beyar and a rider holding a javelin in readiness to throw, Sir Terent backed down.  “In Thod’s name, sire, take not this risk!” he pleaded one last time.  The eld leader was glaring at Dain; clearly the scant patience he’d possessed was gone. “They cannot enter our sacred groves,” he said in outrage. “They profane the very ground.”

“I give you my word they will not stir from this place,” Dain said, making sure he spoke loudly enough for Sir Terent and the others to hear him. “They will cause no trouble. You have my bond on this.”

The eld leader looked at Dain with open distrust, but after a moment his scrutiny swung away. He nodded, then wheeled his beyar around. “Very well.  Come.”

Alexeika stepped forward, her blue-gray eyes large and luminous.

Dain reached down to give her a hand so she could climb on Soleil behind him.  She hesitated, but he gave her a quick smile, and something softened in her eyes. She climbed up behind his saddle with quick agility, and in that momentary clasp of their hands, he sensed the excitement that pulsed inside her.  Dain felt the same way, for he was certain he was going to meet a part of his heritage and find out more about who he was. He would meet his family. There would be celebrations and long talks. And best of all, he would learn how to cure Pheresa.

The beyars padded silently over the crusted snow. Night fell over the forest, but the fairlight flickering from the eld riders’ fingers provided enough illumination to guide Dain through trees and brush nearly as choked and thick as that to be found in the Dark Forest. Gradually Dain grew conscious of something very strange. The trees around them were alive, for he could sense their low, dormant life force. But there seemed to be nothing else alive in this forest: no little animals hibernating in their burrows, no birds, no predators—nothing.  In all directions he sensed only a silent stillness that made the hair prickle beneath his mail coif. He stayed alert in the saddle, riding with one hand resting on his sword hilt. Beneath him, Soleil pranced along like a coiled spring, ready to bolt at the least provocation.

At last, they came to a stream, narrow and incredibly swift. The water rushed past a scrim of ice trying with little success to form along the edge of the bank. The riders around Dain parted to allow him to ride alongside their leader.  A narrow bridge spanned the stream. Access to it was guarded by a pair of life-sized, carved wooden beyars standing on their hind legs.  The leader dismounted with a gesture for Dain to do likewise. An eld rider hurried forward to take Soleil’s reins.

Dain watched him with a frown, but the eld’s hands were gentle with the nervous horse. He murmured softly to Soleil as the eld led the steed away.  “Come,” the leader said, then walked across the bridge, the sound of his footsteps masked by the rushing water.

Dain walked between the carved beyars, and was startled to feel himself brushed by some essence of the animal, as though beyar spirit resided in these statues.  Warily, he quickened his stride across the bridge planks, with Alexeika hurrying at his heels, and joined the leader on the other side of the stream.  The moment his foot stepped off the bridge onto solid ground, the entire world changed with a suddenness that took him aback. Where before there had been nightfall, bone-numbing cold, and crunchy snow underfoot, now there was light as though a hundred lanterns had been lit at once. The warm breeze was fragrant with the scents of flowers and foliage. The trees towering around them were fully leafed in green, their canopies whispering and rustling softly.  The ground itself was carpeted with moss that released a pungent, almost spicy aroma when stepped on. A path edged with glowstones wended its way toward a collection of dwellings close by, and Dain could hear the sound of voices and laughter.

He glanced back across the bridge at the other side, but all lay shrouded in darkness, and he could see nothing now of the other riders or his horse.  Alexeika was gazing around in wonder. Meeting his eyes, she smiled with the delight of a child.

He felt himself relaxing in these gentle surroundings. This was all he could have imagined and more; once again he thought of his sister, and how wherever she’d been present, plants grew lush and flowers bloomed with an intensely sweet fragrance.

Their guide, however, looked as stern and unfriendly as ever. He gestured impatiently, and they followed him up the path to the village.  Tidy dwellings enclosed within blooming hedges circled a grassy clearing. In its center stood a tree growing straight and true. Although it was fully leafed, it cast no shade. The same gentle clear light seemed to shine everywhere. Eldin children were at play, running and chasing a ball made of leather, but at the sight of Dain and Alexeika they stopped their game and scattered for home.  That’s when Dain noticed an individual sitting on a wooden chair beneath the tree. The chair had sprouted leaves along its surface, as though the wood it was carved from remained alive and rooted. Robed in clothing of soft green, wearing shoes of supple leather, and holding a leafy staff in his hand, this individual had the distinctive eldin features. His face was unlined, but as Dain met his rain-colored eyes he knew instinctively that the eld was very old. His pointed ears were pierced by multiple gold rings, and in his white, constantly stirring hair he wore a gold diadem.

A few eldin, both male and female, stood near him. One of them held a small harp, although Dain had heard no singing. The pleasant expressions on their faces dropped away and hardened as they caught sight of Dain and Alexeika.  Their hostility was like a blow. Dain frowned, wondering what had happened to the famed gentleness and hospitality of the eld-folk. What had made them so tense and wary of strangers?

The guide gestured for Dain to stop, then walked forward alone to kneel before the old eld.

“Grandfather,” he said reverently, and kissed the hem of his garment.  The old eld leaned forward to place his hand benevolently on the younger one’s head. He asked a question in the eldin dialect that Dain did not understand.  Still kneeling, the young eld replied in kind.

Something familiar about the words flickered and shifted in Dain’s mind. He frowned, feeling he should be able to understand if only he concentrated a little harder.

Alexeika edged closer to him. “Do you know what he is saying?” she whispered.

“No.”

She frowned. “Did your lady mother teach you nothing when you were a child?”

He glared at her. “Did not yours?”

Her face puckered angrily as though she’d bitten into a sour grape, but before she could retort, the old eld was beckoning to Dain.

“Come forth,” he said in Netheran.

Not sure whether to be elated or nervous, Dain swallowed and walked up to him.  He bowed in the Mandrian way, then dropped to his knees, willing to humble himself if it would help.

“This is King Kaxiniz,” the younger eld announced. “Leader of the eight Tribes .

. . and father of she who was Nereisse.”

Dain looked up in startlement, realizing he was staring into the pale gray eyes of his own grandfather. At last, against all odds, he had found his true family.  Tangled emotions surged into Dain’s throat. For a moment he was too choked up to speak.

Kaxiniz stared at him and through him, offering no greeting. Dain met his regard steadily for a moment, then shifted his gaze to the younger eld, who had taken a place beside Kaxiniz’s chair as though he had the right to do so.  “You called his majesty ‘grandfather,’ ” Dain said in puzzlement. “Is he in truth your relation, or do you call him so as a title of respect?” The young eld’s amber eyes flashed proudly. “I am Potanderzin,” he stated.

“Grandson and heir to King Kaxiniz.”

Dain smiled in genuine pleasure. “Then we are cousins. I am glad to find family.”

Potanderzin stiffened. “We are not your family, mixed-blood!”

Kaxiniz held up his hand, and Potanderzin subsided with a glare.  The king of the eldin turned his pale gaze back on Dain and said, “You have invoked the old favors owed to Solder the First. What would you ask of us?” Dain blinked at the direct question. He was still trying to adjust to the fact that he possessed both a grandfather and a cousin, and possibly numerous other relatives as well. He wanted to meet them all, to be welcomed. However, plainly he was not going to be accepted here. It saddened him to discover that the eldin were in their own way as bigoted as humans.

“Ask your favor!” Kaxiniz said impatiently. “Let us settle all debts and be done with them.”

Dain frowned, certain he faced a trap of some kind. Solder had been the first king of Nether; for a debt to have lasted over the course of several centuries, Dain realized, it must be great indeed. He had no intention of squandering it through ignorance.

“Perhaps I will not ask my favor now,” Dain said, and saw the old king’s eyes narrow.

“What, then, do you want?”

“I am Nereisse’s son,” Dain said in appeal.

Kaxiniz’s eyes were like river pebbles. “So it has been said. What proof have you?”

Dain slid a finger inside the neck of his hauberk and pulled out his bard crystal pendant. As he held it up, the multifaceted glass caught the special light of this place and flashed to life in a rainbow of colors and hues that it had never reflected before. The breeze stirred it, and the crystal began to sing with a purity that took Dain’s breath away. Before he realized it, he was singing with it, his voice blending in perfect harmony.  Potanderzin caught his breath audibly, and Kaxiniz closed his eyes. No one else present moved or spoke until the song ended.

Trembling a little with emotions he could not name, Dain closed his hand around the crystal. It felt strangely warm and alive against his palm, more so than ever before. He drew in several deep breaths to steady himself.  “I am Faldain,” he whispered.

When Kaxiniz opened his eyes, tears shimmered in them. “I heard Nereisse’s voice in your song.”

Dain bowed his head, missing the mother he had never known.

“And the voice of someone else. Who?”

“Thiatereika,” Dain said hoarsely, and cleared his throat. “My sister.”

Kaxiniz’s gaze shifted to Alexeika, who stood behind Dain. “Not this maiden?”

“No,” Dain answered. “Thiatereika is dead.”

Murmurs came from the onlookers, and Kaxiniz’s hands clenched hard in his lap.

His expression, however, did not change. “Killed by men?” he asked harshly.  “No, by dwarves. My—Tobeszijian left Thia and me in the guardianship of Jorb the Swordmaker. We grew up in Nold, and might be there still except for a war that broke out among the clans. Jorb died in one of the attacks, and so did Thia.” “How were you spared?” Potanderzin asked.

Hearing criticism and an unspoken accusation of cowardice in his voice, Dain frowned and rose to his feet to face his cousin. He was a full head taller than Potanderzin, with twice the muscles and breadth of shoulder. He was getting tired of being judged and found lacking by someone he could break in half.  “I was away, buying ore for the forge,” he replied, his voice quiet but brittle.

“Be assured I took vengeance on those who slew her. They live no more.” “Ah, the man-taint covers you well,” Kaxiniz said. “Why come you here to boast of killing and death?”

“I come here to ask for your help in saving someone’s life.”

“Whose?”

“Lady Pheresa du Lindier,” Dain replied. “She is of Mandria.” The eldin all stared at him, and no one spoke. Dain struggled on with his explanation.

“By accident she drank eld-poison which was intended for me. She lies near death, and has been kept alive only through a spell. It cannot hold her much longer. I came here for the cure.”

Kaxiniz’s brows drew together. “You come invoking the old favors for this?” Dain did not understand his anger. “I need your help. I don’t know where else to turn.”

“Nereisse died because of eld-poison meant for you,” the old one said. “Why do you come before me with this tale told anew? To wound my heart? To stir up old grief? She was my only daughter. With the greatest misgivings did I bestow her hand in marriage to a man-king. I did it only because Tobeszijian had eldin blood in his veins. And see what became of her! See!” He flung out his hand as he spoke, and a small vapor formed in the air. For a moment it roiled upon itself, then it cleared to show Dain an image of a woman lying in bed, writhing in fevered delirium. He stared at her, realizing this slender, beautiful woman who looked so much like Thia was the mother he’d never known.

Unable to stop himself, he took at step toward the image, and it vanished with a small pop.

“She died because of you!” Kaxiniz said. “Died to save her child from poison.”