AN INVITATION
Once Laren entered the city gates with the Eletians,
she sent a guard up the Winding Way to inform the king of their
arrival. When they reached the castle, they were ushered into a
meeting chamber, which was warmed by blazing hearths at either end;
the table was set with an array of refreshments.
Zachary sat at the
head of the table in a smaller version of his throne, Lady Estora
to his right. Since autumn, he’d included her in his meetings and
audiences, and she took to her role as queen-intended naturally,
remaining serene and dignified, but unafraid to speak up when she
felt it necessary. Laren thought she’d probably learned well from
her mother, the lady of Coutre Province.
Zachary maintained
an air of respect toward her. It was difficult for Laren to
ascertain how well they were getting along on a personal level, for
he would not confide in her on this matter, but she hoped it was
quite well for the sake of their mutual happiness. In a state
marriage, however, personal compatibility certainly was not a
requirement.
Absent from the
chamber, Laren was pleased to note, was Lord Richmont Spane,
Estora’s cousin and self-appointed counselor. Laren tired of him
constantly whispering into Estora’s ear like a spider perched on
her shoulder. And there was that smug smile of his, as if he were
on a level with the king himself.
With Estora to be
queen, Clan Coutre was in ascendance, and Spane was in a greater
position of influence than ever. While his maneuvering for power
irritated Laren, it was not unexpected; for what other reason did
the aristocracy exist if not to seek greater authority and position
over others?
To Zachary’s left
sat the Eletians, with Graelalea sitting between her two
companions. Laren remembered Telagioth from the Eletians’ previous
visit—how could she forget his clear, cerulean blue eyes? The other
Eletian was introduced as Lhean, his hair pale gold like the cool
winter sun. The Eletians outshone everyone else in the room,
including Estora, who was considered the great beauty of the land.
Laren had to drag her gaze from them.
The king’s other two
primary advisors—Colin Dovekey and Castellan Sperren—also joined
them. Footmen moved unobtrusively from person to person with ewers
of wine and filed seamlessly out of the chamber when they finished.
Only one of the king’s Weapons stayed with them, silent and
statuelike, his black uniform allowing him to fade into the shadows
of the corner he stood in.
The Eletians
remained stoic while Laren spoke of their encounter in the woods
and the demise of the band of groundmites.
When she finished,
Zachary put his hand to his temple and bowed to the Eletians. “I
owe you a debt of gratitude,” he said, “for I’d be lost without the
captain.” There was a tremor in his voice and Laren warmed with
affection for him.
“We are pleased to
have been of aid,” Graelalea said. “Our meeting, however, was not
entirely chance. We were on our way here to speak to you, at the
behest of my brother, Ari-matiel Jametari.”
“I see,” Zachary
said, “and what did he—”
At that moment, the
chamber door opened and Lord Spane burst in. “Many pardons for
being late,” he said, giving Zachary a perfunctory bow. “I just
heard we have guests.”
Laren bridled her
annoyance at the intrusion.
“I am Lord Richmont
Spane,” he announced to the Eletians. “Counselor to Lady Estora. I
look after the interests of Coutre Province.”
Graelalea nodded in
return.
An awkward few
moments passed as an extra chair was brought in and Spane
insinuated himself at Estora’s right hand, forcing Colin to move
over. If Spane was the least bit impressed by the Eletians, he did
not show it, and if Zachary was at all perturbed by the
interruption, he hid it well.
When everyone was
settled, Zachary started again. “What did your brother wish for you
to speak to me about?”
“My brother,”
Graelalea replied, “wishes to inform you of his intention to go
ahead with sending an expedition into Kanmorhan Vane.”
Already Spane was
leaning toward Estora to whisper something to her.
“I thought it likely
he would,” Zachary said softly. “He seemed determined to proceed
when we spoke in the fall.”
Graelalea did not
respond. Laren remembered how she protested to her brother when he
mentioned the idea to Zachary. It would be, she said, a fatal
mission into a land that was a sad corpse of what it once was. The
expedition would be led, Jametari said, by his sister. When Laren
looked upon Graelalea now, she saw no fear in her. Only
calm.
“When will you go?”
Zachary asked.
“When day balances
with night,” Graelalea said, “and no sooner. The equinox. We dare
not enter the forest while night still dominates.”
“I don’t
understand,” Spane said, his voice abrasive against the somber
mood. “Why would anyone go into that evil place?”
Laren supposed it
was a fair question, since he was not present to hear Jametari’s
reasoning, and Zachary had not discussed it with anyone beyond his
immediate advisors.
“Blackveil was once
Argenthyne,” Graelalea said, “and it is our prince’s desire that we
see what may remain of it that is good.”
“Argenthyne!” Spane
said in incredulity. “Why that’s a child’s tale ...” He trailed off
when Graelalea leveled her gaze at him. Maybe, as he looked into
her eyes, eyes that had witnessed the passage of centuries, he
recognized whom and what he addressed. He blinked rapidly and
looked away.
“Argenthyne is no
legend,” Graelalea said. This time no one countered her words. “My
brother,” she continued, turning her steady gaze on Zachary,
“expresses his hope you will not impede our passage through the
breach in the wall to reach the forest.”
Laren suspected the
Eletians would not be deterred one way or the other, and that
Jametari was simply conferring a courtesy by giving Zachary notice
of their intentions.
Zachary stroked his
mustache. “Is there anything else your brother wishes to
express?”
Graelalea did not
appear put off by his lack of affirmation. “Yes,” she said. “If you
wish to make this a joint expedition, that you choose worthy
individuals, and meet the tiendan at
the breach no later than the equinox. On our part, our number shall
be small—six of us—so that we may travel lightly and
swiftly.”
“It’s insane,” Spane
said. “Sire, surely you won’t even consider anything of the
sort.”
Zachary ignored him,
his countenance unchanged. Laren, however, knew his thoughts. When
Prince Jametari first told them of his desire to send an expedition
into Blackveil, Zachary later confided to her that the Eletians
would not go without Sacoridians along. Whoever went was not likely
to return, yet she understood why he must send his own people. He
needed to know what lay on the other side of the wall, too, to
learn what they faced should they be unable to repair the
breach.
She also knew he
wanted to keep an eye on the Eletians.
And now Zachary
would not have to force the issue. The Sacoridians had been
invited.
“I thank you for
bearing Prince Jametari’s message to us,” Zachary said. “I will
consider his words.”
Graelalea nodded as
though she expected no more.
“Have you
accommodation for the night?” Zachary inquired. “We would be
honored to house you.”
Lhean made what
looked like a warding gesture, sharp enough to catch everyone’s
attention.
“You have something
to say, Lhean?” Graelalea asked.
“Is this place not a
... What is the word these people use? For a house of the
dead?”
“Mausoleum,”
Telagioth supplied.
“Yes,” Lhean said.
“Mausoleum. They sleep upon their dead. I feel it, and I should not
like to pass a night here.”
Colin looked
mortified and Spane seemed about to burst out in indignation.
Estora laid a gentle hand on his wrist to quiet him. No reaction
came from the elderly Sperren, who dozed in his chair. Zachary
looked—amused?
“Lhean,” Graelalea
said. “We are guests, and we do not speak so in the house of our
host.”
Lhean did not look
shamed by the rebuke. He raised his chin, proud and
haughty.
“You must forgive my
cousin,” Graelalea said. “He is young and this is his first time
venturing among your kind.”
“Young” was a
deceptive concept in Eletian terms. Lhean could be hundreds of
years old. And yet there was a quality about him that suggested his
youth—a guilessness in his eyes. They lacked the deep knowledge and
timelessness Laren had observed in other Eletians, as she saw in
both Graelalea’s and Telagioth’s eyes.
“He only speaks
truth,” Zachary said.
“Your Highness—”
Colin began.
“Yes, Colin, we do
not speak carelessly of the tombs, but there is no reason to deny
what our guests already know exists.” Zachary smiled. “Though I
never quite thought of the castle as a mausoleum. Now that he
mentions it, however ...”
“We thank you,
Firebrand,” Graelalea said, “for your offer of accommodations, but
we shall begin our journey home.”
“Truly?” Zachary
asked, sounding genuinely disappointed. “May we offer anything
else? Provisions?”
A solemn expression
fell across Graelalea’s face. “There is. My brother has a request.
He wishes I return with something he found very precious here. A
treasure, if you will.”
A hush of expectancy
descended on the chamber as all waited to hear the request. What
treasure could he want? Laren inventoried in her mind all the
precious trappings of the castle she could think of—jewels,
weapons, art—and she saw that the others must be doing the same.
What did the Sacoridians possess that would be good enough for the
Eletian prince?
“My brother,”
Graelalea said, “requires many pounds of dark chocolate fudge and
Dragon Droppings. We must visit the Master of Chocolate. Would his
shop be open at this hour?”
Laren saw to it the
Eletians got their chocolate. She sent Fergal, who was eager for
even the most mundane of errands, ahead to alert Master Gruntler to
open his shop for special customers. Then she assigned Mara to
accompany them to Master Gruntler’s, thence to the city
gates.
By the time
everything was arranged and Laren reported back to Zachary, the
others had already dispersed. She found him in his private parlor
pouring himself brandy. Two of his Hillander terriers sprawled
before the fire and barely blinked at her entrance. Zachary poured
her a glass, too, which she accepted gratefully. She sank into an
overstuffed chair by the hearth, thinking it had turned out to be a
very long day.
Zachary dropped into
a chair opposite her. “Now tell me the truth. You are uninjured
from your battle with the groundmites?”
“I’m fine,” she
said. She’d have a massive bruise on her thigh from being clubbed,
and she ached, but that was nothing compared to what could have
been had the Eletians not rescued her. And, she thought, the
cordial Graelalea had given her seemed to have warded off at least
some of the pain.
Zachary nodded in
satisfaction. “So after you left, I listened to Colin and Sperren
explain why I should not trust the Eletians or join in on a
foolhardy expedition to Blackveil, and that I should forbid the
Eletians passage across our lands to reach the wall. They fear such
a venture would only mean certain death for those on the
expedition, and that it might stir up things in the forest that
might better be left sleeping.”
“What did Lady
Estora say?”
“Lord Spane
concurred with Colin and Sperren, but the lady spoke up on her own
behalf and said she’d support whatever decision I made. Her
pronouncement seemed to irritate Spane.” His eyes danced as he
sipped his brandy. “Tell me, what do you think?”
“I agree with the
others. An expedition into Blackveil will most likely fail. But I
sense the profound truth in the Eletians’ desire to investigate the
forest.”
“There can be
deception in truth.”
Laren smiled.
“Spoken like a true king.”
“I fear it is so,”
he replied. “All this politicking makes me cynical. I have found
all too often there is truth, and then there is truth.”
“Like the castle
being a mausoleum?” Laren spoke lightly, but Zachary’s response was
sober.
“To Eletians it is
truth, for even the living who inhabit the castle are mortal, and
therefore more or less dead. Our act of living is also the process
of dying.”
Laren set her brandy
aside with a clatter. “Then we should all just go to bed and leave
the wall untended, and let come what may.”
Now Zachary grinned.
“I said that’s how they regard us. I
for one believe I have a few good years left in me, and I don’t
think I should like to live an eternal life as the Eletians do.
Some might desire it, but not me.”
“Never to grow old
in appearance? Never to suffer the weakening of the body as it
ages?” Laren shrugged. “I guess the Eletians don’t know what they
are missing.”
“Perhaps not,”
Zachary said, and they laughed. When they subsided, he continued,
“You say there is profound truth in their desire to see what lies
beyond the D’Yer Wall. I wonder what the deeper truth is. What it
is they specifically seek.”
“Specifically?”
“Yes. Argenthyne was
important to their people. Jametari called it the jewel of Avrath
on Earth, remember?”
“Now that you
mention it, I remember something about it. What is
Avrath?”
“From what I can
fathom, it is a high spiritual place for the Eletians, as the
heavens are to us. Something is calling the Eletians back, drawing
them out of isolation no matter the cost.”
“If so,” Laren said,
“why would Jametari bother to invite us along?”
Zachary shrugged.
“To serve as bait? Witnesses? Or maybe it is his way of indicating
his interest in the old alliance, and we’re being tested to see if
we are worthy. Whatever the case, it is an invitation I cannot
ignore.”