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 shores, 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 passed 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 grasses 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, assuming 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 clusters 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 friendship, 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 establishing 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 oneupmanship, 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 passed. 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.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” Prue said softly, as if reading his mind.

Beautiful, indeed, Panterra thought, and he gave her a smile of agreement.

There were no walls in Arborlon, once you got to the heights. The cottages and assembly halls, the amphitheater and the gardens, and even the royal palace and its grounds were open and accessible to all. Home Guard protected the Kings and Queens and their families, and Elven Hunters would defend against attacks when called upon, but the Elves were forest creatures and lived their lives in the open. Their dwellings reflected this. Though most were ground dwellings set within the forest and along the waterways, some were nestled high up in the trees and suspended by cables so that they appeared to be a part of their surroundings. The entire city blended into the woods, making each a part of the other, so that it had a natural feel unlike anything found in the villages of Men.

Panterra supposed that something of the reason he felt so comfortable among the Elves was his affinity for their way of life. Like them, he preferred living out in the open, part of nature and the larger world. He was at home in the woods, and he believed in practicing stewardship of the land. Elves embraced the world in a way Men had never learned to, and their magic, although mostly lost, had left them a legacy of trying to do whatever they could to keep all the living things around them healthy. The differences between Men and Elves were striking in many ways, but none more so than their differing approaches to maintenance of the territories they inhabited. Elves took a direct approach to caring for the land. Indeed, they were raised to believe it was a calling. Men practiced what was mostly a benign neglect, accepting the land as they found it but doing nothing much to preserve it. They lived on it, cultivated it, took what it had to offer, but did little to give anything back. It wasn’t a deliberate, mean-spirited approach; it was simply the way they had always lived.

Of course, there were no absolutes, so some—Panterra and Prue among them—took a more direct interest in the land and spent time and effort doing what they could to preserve and sometimes restore it. But the Elves were more committed to that way of life than Men, and the boy and the girl felt closer to them for being so.

“If you’re more than human, what else are you?” Xac asked suddenly, back again on that subject. “Why are you being so secret about it? Why can’t you tell me?”

“We’re Elves,” Pan declared without thinking.

The boy stopped where he was and stared at him. “No, you’re not. You don’t look anything like Elves.”

“We’re in disguise. The part that’s Elf is hidden on the inside. Isn’t that right, Prue?”

The girl gave him a look and then nodded. “We were born human, Xac, but we have Elf blood.”

Xac shook his head. “I don’t think so. I think you’re crazy.” He gave them a suspicious look. “How do I know you’re telling me the truth about the Orullians? Maybe you don’t even know them. Maybe you’re here to cause trouble.”

“Tasha and Tenerife,” Panterra said, giving the names of their friends. “Twins by birth, but they don’t look a thing like each other. They have a sister who is about your age. Her name is Darsha. Is that enough to persuade you to take us to them? If not, just leave us here. We can find someone else who’ll do the job.”

“We aren’t here to cause trouble,” Prue added. “Tasha and Tenerife are friends.”

Xac still looked doubtful. “Well, maybe.”

“Come on, let’s just go.” Pan was impatient. “You can ask them when we get there. They’ll tell you that we’ve got Elf blood.”

The boy hesitated, but then started off once more. They maneuvered their way through the city streets, a maze of crosshatch byways and paths, all of it designed to confuse if you were not a resident familiar with the terrain. But Xac knew his way and led them. A number of Elves greeted him with calls and waves, some directing questioning looks at his companions, but no one actually saying anything. They passed through the center of the city and angled south past the palace and its extensive grounds, all of it planted with lush grasses and rainbow-bright flower beds, all of it carefully tended. Panterra found himself smiling in response to how the smells and colors made him feel, wishing as he always did that this could be his home. Even though he was committed to staying and serving as a Tracker with Prue, Glensk Wood was not where he wanted to spend his life. Besides, reality did not require that you forgo your dreams, and dreams sometimes revealed paths that led to new realities.

“They’re up there,” Xac said suddenly, breaking into his thoughts.

He looked at where the boy was pointing. A cluster of Elves was constructing a stairway that ran from the ground through a series of platforms to a house settled high in a thick stand of spruce. The stairway was framed and anchored, and the men were now engaged in setting the treads in place, all except for the Elf standing at the foot of the steps, who was issuing directions.

Tasha Orullian was large by any standard, but for an Elf he was huge. The Elves were not a big people, few standing over six feet. But Tasha stood six-five out of his boots, which meant that wherever he went in the city of Arborlon, he stood out. Broad-shouldered and long-limbed, he was strong beyond any measure Panterra had been able to devise and hard as iron.

He glanced around as Xac approached with his companions and gave a yelp. “Xac Wen! What have you done, you scullion’s brat? Brought outsiders of obviously disreputable character into our midst? Have you lost your mind?”

The boy flushed bright red and before either Pan or Prue could say anything to discourage him, he had whirled on them, a razor-sharp long knife in hand, poised to fight. “It’s not my fault; they lied to me!” he screamed back at the other.

“Wait, hold on, you little madman!” Tasha threw up his arms in dismay as he walked quickly over to the boy and snatched the knife away. He was like a big cat, smooth and lithe and powerful. “Give me that before you hurt yourself. Must you take everything I say so literally?”

The boy, who clearly had no idea by now what was going on, glared at him. “They said they weren’t entirely human! They claimed they were Elves!”

Tasha gave Panterra and Prue a questioning look and then nodded soberly. “Yes,” he said, his dark face stern, “they are. I know they don’t look it, but deep down inside, where it matters, they are.”

“But they …”

“Welcome home, little Elves,” Tasha greeted Panterra and Prue, ignoring Xac’s protestations. “I’ve missed you.”

He reached out and gave each a bone-crushing hug, going only slightly easier on the girl than the boy. His chiseled features brightened with delight as he released them. “Hmm, you’ve still got some growing up to do, but you seem more mature otherwise. There’s a hint of intelligence in your otherwise dim-witted eyes. Been doing something important, have you? Is that why you’ve come?”

“Something like that,” Panterra answered. He glanced over at Xac. “We need to talk about it.”

Tasha Orullian untied the scarf that was holding back his long black hair and wiped the sweat from his face. “Building stairways to houses suspended in trees was getting boring anyway.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Tenerife!” he shouted. “Look who’s come to visit!”

A slightly smaller figure appeared through the door of the tree cottage and waved before starting down. With deceptive ease, he swung from one post to the next, one platform to the next, and vaulted the last ten feet to the ground unaided. “Panterra Qu!” he cried, coming over. “And little sister! What a nice surprise.”

He embraced them both, not so roughly, but every bit as enthusiastically, slapping both on the back in the bargain. Tenerife was a smaller version of his twin, lighter and shorter and less of a presence, but still unmistakable. Not so physically imposing, he was also not so rough-made, his features more finely wrought. Like his brother, he was dark-complected and wore his black hair long and tied back from his face.

“Good to see you, Tenerife,” Panterra greeted him.

“Come to the house,” Tasha invited, sweeping them up like leaves with his long arms outstretched. “We can have something to eat and drink while we talk. Xac Wen!” he shouted, noticing that the boy was trying to tag along. “That’s all for today. Go find a pack of wild dogs to play with. Go wrestle a Koden or something.”

The boy glared at him. “You wait until I grow up!” he shouted at Tasha Orullian.

“I should live so long!” the tall man shouted back, but grinned nevertheless. “He’s a handful now, that one,” he said to his guests as they walked away, leaving the boy standing at the foot of the stairs. “I can’t imagine what he’ll be like when he gets bigger.”

“The same, only more so,” Tenerife grunted. “Imagine that.”

They passed down several trails to a cottage nestled with a handful of others in a grove of towering oaks, seating themselves on benches at a table set to one side of the entry. Tasha excused himself to go inside and then returned almost immediately with tankards of ale and a platter of cheese, fruit, and bread.

“This will help us express ourselves more clearly,” he announced, distributing the tankards first. “Or at least we’ll think so.”

They ate and drank and talked of old times. The Orullians were the Elven equivalent of Trackers, although they served at the King’s pleasure and on behalf of the entire Elven nation rather than just the city of Arborlon. Panterra and Prue had met them more than three years ago, and the four had taken an instant liking to one another. The Orullian twins were fascinated by the then only twelve-year-old Prue, unable to believe that anyone could sense things unseen with such unerring accuracy and timing. They thought her better than what her people deserved and promptly declared her an honorary Elf. They made Panterra one, too, but mostly because it would have been rude to leave him out. Their standing with the brothers was what had prompted Pan to tell Xac that they were partly Elves. It seemed truer than not under the circumstances.

“Now then,” Tasha said once they had finished eating and consumed a fair amount of smooth, sweet honey-lemon ale. “To business. You’ve come to visit us, of course. But you’ve come for another reason, as well. Tell us what it is, Pan.”

So Panterra related the events that had brought them to Arborlon for refuge and help.

“There, you see?” Tasha declared to his brother, gesturing angrily. “I told you these two did not belong with the sorry excuse for human beings who occupy Glensk Wood. They belong here, with us. We are their people in more ways than they are.”

Tenerife shrugged. “He’s right. We may not be your people in terms of flesh and blood, but we are more so in our hearts and souls. You should do as Aislinne says and stay with us. Forever, if need be.”

“I would like that,” Prue declared rather a bit too boldly, and then caught herself. “I mean,” she added quickly, “that it would be nice to live in such a beautiful place.”

“Of course it would be nice!” Tasha exclaimed. “It would be wonderful! That’s settled, then!”

“Not exactly,” Panterra said, holding up both hands. “Finding a new home isn’t why we came to you. We came to ask your help about the collapse of the protective wall. If it’s really failing, we need to prepare ourselves for the possibility that whatever’s out there is coming in here.”

“We need to prepare ourselves for the possibility that we might have to go out there,” Tenerife added pointedly. He looked at his brother. “We should tell all this to the High Council.”

Tasha nodded, saying nothing for a moment. “But do we want to tell them now or later.” He cocked one eyebrow at his brother. “Consider the circumstances. We know and trust Panterra and little sister, but the members of the High Council do not. They are humans, and many do not trust humans. Will they be believed or doubted? Will the High Council choose to act at once or will they debate the matter until the cows come home?”

“You think they will not be believed?”

“I think it is a distinct possibility.”

“Do we take it directly to the King, instead? He may dither on it as well, as he does with so much these days.”

Tasha shrugged. “That is the question, isn’t it.”

“Is Oparion Amarantyne still King?” Prue interjected.

The big man nodded slowly. “He is. But his Queen is new. And therein lies the problem.” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “After all these years, little sister, he remarried. Abruptly and foolishly, if you ask us. His Queen is young and beautiful and fickle. In spite of his years of experience and his keen mind, she plays him like a musical instrument. He would do anything for her; if not for his close friends and the members of the High Council, he would likely do things he would later regret. She has his ear on all matters, and it is her firm intention to guide him in his decision making until the day he dies.”

“At which time,” Tenerife cut in, “there is a widespread suspicion that she intends to carry on without him.”

Panterra and Prue exchanged a glance. “Is that possible?” the girl asked. “Will she be named Queen after him?”

“Another good question,” Tasha replied, rubbing his chin as if to extract an answer. “Will she succeed him? Or will Phryne?”

Phryne Amarantyne. The King’s daughter by his first wife was a formidable adversary. Panterra had met her only once, but that was enough. She was young but very tough. “I see the problem,” he acknowledged.

“Not entirely, you don’t,” Tasha said.

“But likely you will before long,” Tenerife added.

“So you don’t think we should take this before the Elven High Council?” Prue asked.

Tasha leaned back, exchanged a look with his brother, and shook his head. “Not yet, at least. If we take it before the High Council at this point, we risk losing all credibility if they fail to believe any part of your story. As well, the Queen will find out, and as I’ve said there are a number of reasons for all of us not to want that to happen. I think we should keep this quiet until we know more.”

“We need to make a trip up into the mountains and see what we can find out for ourselves about the passes,” Tenerife declared. “After we’ve done that, we can decide how to attack this.”

“But we’ll need the King’s permission to do that.” Tasha drummed his fingers on the table.

“Yes, of course. But maybe we can gain that permission quietly.”

“Without the Queen knowing what we’re doing?”

Tenerife stretched his lean body, extending his legs and looking skyward contemplatively. “Difficult, but not impossible.”

“The King will tell her.”

“Not if we can find a way to persuade him not to. Of course, we can’t just ask him outright. We might be his cousins, but he won’t stand for that sort of interference.”

They looked at one another in silence. Tasha drank some more ale and contemplated the tabletop. Tenerife kept looking up at the sky, and Prue stared down at her hands, folded in front of her. Panterra found himself wondering what they were getting themselves into.

“What we need is a bit of misdirection,” Tenerife said suddenly.

When he had finished explaining what it was that he meant, everyone was smiling.