TWENTY-SIX      

PHRYNE AMARANTYNE HAD BEEN BACK IN ARBORLON for less than four hours when she got the summons from her grandmother. By then, if Xac Wen was to be believed, Arik Sarn had been gone from the city for twice that long, leaving behind two dead Home Guards and a lot of angry Elves. She had rushed back with the Orullians in tow to prevent just this sort of tragedy, convinced that her revelation about the Troll was no fantasy. She turned out to be right, but she arrived too late to make any difference.

What she had realized belatedly was this: If the Trolls were not bothering with finding a way into the valley, didn’t that suggest they already knew a way? But that seemed impossible, given that none of them had ever entered. Except, she corrected herself quickly, for Arik Sarn. He was inside because she and her friends had brought him inside. Put that together with the fact that he was drawing what appeared to be pictures of flowers but could just as easily have been maps, and you had the distinct possibility of a betrayal. After all, what they knew of the Troll was based on what Pan had told them and what little they had observed, which wasn’t really very much. Recognizing the possibility had opened the door to the chilling prospect that they had all missed seeing the truth of things—Arik Sarn was another of the enemy that would see them destroyed.

It was no comfort to anyone that Sider Ament had returned, as well, having discovered the truth through a set of circumstances he refused to talk about. Phryne could identify with him; they were bearers of the same message, both of them shocked by the revelation of the Troll’s true identity and purpose, both of them furious with themselves for not having recognized it sooner. Not that there was any real way they could have done so, but that didn’t make either of them feel any better.

The Gray Man had left again almost at once, tracking the deceiver north in an effort to catch him before he escaped the valley. He told Phryne he fully expected to fail, that his quarry would escape through one of the passes before anyone could catch up with him. Phryne was angry she had not thought before leaving Aphalion Pass to warn the Elven Hunters working on the defenses that the Troll might show up there, but she had been so anxious to reach her father and warn him that she hadn’t even considered the possibility. The Orullians told her not to dwell on it; they had all been fooled, all of them equally deceived, and there was nothing to be done about it now but to continue with their plans to defend the valley.

Even so, she thought about it constantly. She wondered how Panterra Qu was going to feel once he learned the truth. He was the one who had been most deceived, having supported Arik Siq as a friend, persuading the others he would be their friend, too. She did not like to think about what it might do to him if Prue Liss was harmed as a result of this treachery.

So receiving the summons was a welcome excuse to think of something besides the turmoil surrounding the Troll. One of the old men brought the invitation: not the same one as before, a different one, another whose name she should have known and could not remember. She took the letter he offered and waited for him to leave. But he shook his head and gestured for her to break the seal and read the contents in front of him. With a dismissive shrug, she did so.

The summons read as follows:

Please come at once to my cottage to speak with me on a matter of great importance.

The bearer of this letter will accompany you.

Tell no one. Come alone.

There was no salutation and no signature. There was no room for argument. Her grandmother’s imperious attitude was present in every word of her overbearing command. Phryne sighed in resignation, folded the letter up again, and tucked it into her tunic.

“Lead the way,” she advised the messenger.

They set off through the city, following the familiar roads and pathways that led to the outskirts and her grandmother’s isolated cottage. The day was overcast and gray, a hint of rain in the air, a whisper of cooling weather. She glanced toward the mountains once or twice where the trees cleared enough to allow her to do so, wondering if Sider Ament might have caught up to Arik Siq. She wanted to be back up at Aphalion Pass, standing with the Orullians at the barricades, watching for what was now an inevitable attack on the valley. But her father had forbidden it, intent on keeping her close to him until he knew more about what was going to happen.

As if being close would make a difference in the outcome of things, she thought darkly. As if much of anything they did down here in the city made a difference.

She wondered about Prue Liss, as well, but she could not bear thinking on the girl’s dangerous situation.

The walk to her grandmother’s cottage took only twenty minutes, and when they arrived she was surprised to find her grandmother fully dressed and sitting in a rocker on the front porch. Her gray hair had been combed and pinned up, her makeup had been carefully applied, and her favorite shawl was wrapped around her thin shoulders. She even managed a small smile.

“Thank you, Gardwen, you may go,” she greeted the oldster, giving him a small wave of one bony hand. “Well done, my dear.” As soon as he turned his back, she shifted her attention to Phryne. “You are very prompt. I take that as a good sign.” She gestured toward the empty rocker pulled up beside her own. “Sit next to me, please.”

Phryne did as she was asked, curious to learn why she had been summoned.

“Your father faces the worst crisis in the history of the Elven nation since the time our people were brought into this valley by Kirisin Belloruus,” her grandmother said quietly, leaning back in her rocker and looking at her granddaughter with a hint of sadness in her eyes. “It is a terrible responsibility.”

“Father will know what to do,” Phryne said.

“No one knows what to do. It hasn’t become clear to anyone yet what is needed.” Mistral Belloruus was in no mood for platitudes. “Except perhaps to me, which is why I have summoned you. I am an old lady, Phryne. No, don’t say something foolish about how youthful I am or how I might live for many more years. Just listen to what I have to say. I am old. This is not a bad thing, but it does limit what I can do. I still think of myself as young in many ways—still remember being young, for that matter—but I am old. It is important to accept truths, even when they are inconvenient.”

She rocked back slightly and looked up at the sky. “So here we are, come to the end of an era and threatened by a grave danger. What are we to do? Most would say they don’t know. But I do, Phryne. I always have. Because of who I am. Because of my ancestry.”

Phryne had no idea what her grandmother was talking about, and she refused to sit by silently and wonder if an explanation was forthcoming. “What do you think we must do, Grandmother? If you know, then tell me. I am frightened for all of us. I’ve seen what’s out there. The Troll army is massive, and I don’t know that we have the strength to stop it if it wants to force its way into the valley. Not even if all the Races agree to stand together, which I don’t think they will.”

“Very perceptive of you,” her grandmother replied. “They won’t unite because they don’t know how. They will learn eventually, but it will take time. Meanwhile, something has to be done to give them that time. In the old days, it would have been the Knights of the Word that stood foremost. But now they forget their duty. Or at least the descendant of the Belloruus staff did, and paid the price for his foolishness. So there is only Sider Ament, and he is not strong enough alone.”

She shifted her eyes back to Phryne and leaned forward. “Help me to my feet, girl. I want to walk.”

Phryne rose and took her grandmother’s arm, helping her to stand. The old woman felt as light and fragile as fine crystal. But Phryne knew that perception was deceptive; Mistral Belloruus had steel running through the bones of her body.

“This way, down the steps,” her grandmother ordered, directing her with small gestures of her thin arms.

They descended, Phryne holding tightly to her grandmother, afraid with every step that she might fall. But the old woman’s movements were steady and direct, and she did not falter. They reached the moss-grown walkway and began easing down its spongy length into the gardens planted out back.

“This isn’t something I had planned to talk about so soon,” her grandmother said as they entered the gardens. “I wanted to wait awhile longer to give you a chance to demonstrate that you were ready, that you had listened to what I told you about growing up and making mature decisions. I wanted you to season a little more. But we don’t always get what we want in this life. In fact, we don’t get what we want most of the time. We get compromises and settlements, half measures and tamped-down dreams. We get half a loaf baked, half a glass filled. That’s what we have here.”

Phryne nodded, having no idea what she was talking about. “That might be so, but we don’t have to like it.”

“We shouldn’t have to accept it, either. Mostly, we don’t. We understand the odds are against us, but we still strive for something more. We make our best effort each time out because now and then we get exactly what we want.”

“Which is what we are going to do here?” Phryne guessed.

Her grandmother glanced at her. “In fact, it is. Both of us are going to make our best effort and hope it works out. Both of us, Phryne.” She paused. “You must be wondering what I am talking about.”

Phryne grinned in spite of herself. “I’m afraid I am.”

“Then I better get to the point and tell you. Lovely flowers, aren’t they? On a day like this, with so much to think about, I find it comforting to come out into the garden to do my thinking. Sitting among all this beauty and those sweet smells and bright colors gives me peace. Over here, Phryne.”

She directed her granddaughter to a wooden bench settled among a stand of daffodils in full bloom. Phryne helped her find her seat on the bench and then sat next to her.

“Now then,” Mistral Belloruus began, and her brow furrowed. “You must be extremely frustrated and disappointed with the way things have been going since it was discovered the protective walls were down. You angered your father by going up to Aphalion on a pretense and then leaving the valley in direct disobedience of his orders. You failed your friends from Glensk Wood. One of them may pay the price for that failure. You helped bring an enemy into our city and then watched him slip away. You discovered that your stepmother is every bit as bad as you had suspected even though too many others see her as an angel. Important events take place elsewhere, but your father keeps you close to home because he fears for your life. Most distressing of all, your role as Princess of the Elven people has made it impossible for you to do much of anything about this.”

She paused. “Have I missed anything?”

Phryne was beet red. “I think you’ve covered it all, Grandmother.”

“I don’t do this to embarrass you or to add further pain to your life, although I imagine I’ve done both. I do it to make certain you have a context in which to appreciate the rest of what I have to say. Because, child, how upset you are with all that has happened and how much you want to do something about it is important.” She paused. “You would like to do something about all this unpleasantness, wouldn’t you? I’m not wrong in thinking that you would, am I?”

Phryne didn’t hesitate. “If you can show me a way to right any of those wrongs, to change for the better any of those mistakes and failings, I won’t hesitate to do what’s needed.”

Her grandmother considered her carefully. “Very well, Phryne. I take you at your word. There was a young man who felt exactly as you do once upon a time, and he said much the same thing as you are saying. He even made a vow to help the Elven people when all was said and done. I would hope I could count on you for that, too.”

“Grandmother, you have my word that …”

Mistral Belloruus brushed away the rest of what Phryne was going to say with a quick gesture. “I know that,” she said quickly. “You needn’t speak the words to me. You need only speak the words to yourself, in the privacy of your thoughts.”

Phryne shook her head in dismay, her frustration growing. “What is all this about? Can’t you just tell me?”

Her grandmother’s thin face tightened. “The young are so impatient! Oh, very well. When Kirisin Belloruus and his sister Simralin came into this valley, they carried with them, inside the Elfstone known as the Loden, virtually the whole of the Elven nation, together with the city of Arborlon. The Loden had been used before to transport the Elven people when extreme danger threatened, but not for centuries. It was used by Kirisin because otherwise the entire population would have been wiped out by a demon-led army that had surrounded and trapped it. You’ve heard the story.”

“I have,” Phryne acknowledged. “The Loden is sealed away in the archives of the palace. Only my father knows where.”

Her grandmother gave her a brief smile. “There were three other Elfstones besides the Loden—another form of magic from the old world of Faerie, recovered from the crypts of Ashenell. Three blue Elfstones, which were called the seeking-Stones, one each for the heart, mind, and body of the user. They could defend the user and those he or she warded, and they could find that which was hidden or even lost. Kirisin Belloruus and his sister carried those Elfstones into the valley, too.”

She paused. “They were passed down through the Belloruus family from generation to generation, always with two provisos attached. First, the recipient had to agree to keep the Stones safely hidden until they were needed again. Second, the recipient had to swear to uphold a promise made by Kirisin Belloruus to the spirits of the dead that bestowed on him the gift of the Stones. That promise was to keep alive and foster the use of Elven magic as a part of the Elven culture. This manifested itself mainly in the ways the Elves sought to heal and nurture the land and in not forsaking the use of magic as they had during the time of the rise of Mankind. Kirisin and his sister did their best to comply, and some others of future generations did the same. Not all, unfortunately. Nor have the Belloruus family members continued to serve as Kings and Queens, which would have made Kirisin’s promise easier to keep. But that is as it is.”

Phryne waited for more, and when her grandmother stayed silent, she threw up her hands in exasperation. “I thought you were going to tell me what this meeting was all about! I don’t know anything more than when I came here!”

She was aware suddenly of the dark look her grandmother was giving her. “What is it, Grandmother? What am I missing?”

“Enough so that this conversation becomes necessary,” her grandmother replied coldly, wrapping her shawl tighter about her. “But here is a quick summary for you. The blue Elfstones are not missing. I have them tucked away in my cottage. They were given to the Belloruus family; they belong to us and so I’ve kept them. Your father doesn’t know. No one knows except you and me. It was my intention to give them to your mother as Queen, but then she died. So I left them where they were and waited for the next member of the family to come of age.”

Her thin hands closed over her granddaughter’s. “That would be you, Phryne. But events have conspired against me, and waiting for you to come of age is no longer possible. So I intend to give you the Elfstones now.”

IT WAS ALREADY DARK when Skeal Eile saw her approaching, coming down the pathway that led to the outbuildings of the healing center where he had been waiting patiently for several hours. She was in the company of an old woman, a tottering ancient wrapped in shawls and scarves, bent from the weight of her years. It was the same old lady that had appeared to Xac Wen on another visit, the same old lady that was Bonnasaint in disguise. But only the assassin and the Seraphic knew that.

Arborlon was quiet, its citizens retired mostly, gone to their homes, their day’s work done. Skeal Eile had entered the city with Bonnasaint shortly after sunset. No one had noticed them; some time back the Seraphic had acquired the skill to render himself and those with him invisible. It wasn’t so much that no one saw them; it was more that no one noticed. They would look away or look down. They would suddenly find themselves thinking of something else. They would discover a task that needed doing, and it would require their complete attention. But they would not look at him or anyone with him, and if they happened to catch a glimpse of something they would not remember it later.

So entry into the heavily guarded city was no challenge, and finding the healing center even less so. Skeal Eile had been here before on many occasions. His efforts on behalf of the Children of the Hawk had not stopped at the boundaries of the territories occupied by Men but had extended well beyond, although few knew it. He had his followers among the Elven people, too, those who believed in the teachings and found comfort in the power of the Seraphics.

She was one of these.

She was heavily wrapped in a hooded cloak, her head and face covered against what small lamplight burned through the darkness. The moon was down and clouds masked the stars, so the skies were black. But she was taking no chances. She could not afford to be revealed or to have to offer explanations for what she was doing out alone at night. Most especially, she did not want to be caught in his company.

He stepped out of the shadows as she came up to his hiding place, bowing gracefully. “My Queen,” he greeted. “How kind of you to meet with me on such short notice.”

Isoeld Severine did not look pleased. She lifted her beautiful face to the light and scowled. “I trust this is important. I risk much in coming to you like this.”

“You won’t be disappointed, I promise.”

She took his arm and pushed him back into the shadows. “Must the hag stay with us?” she whispered, bending close.

Skeal Eile leaned past her and gestured Bonnasaint away. The assassin melted into the night. The Seraphic waited a moment more and then turned back to her. “So now we are alone.” He gave her his most endearing smile. “You are well, I hope?”

“Well enough. Come to the point.”

“As you wish. I’ve come to make you an offer, one that I think will benefit us both, one that I’ve been contemplating for some time. It involves your husband.”

She rolled her eyes. “Haven’t we had this discussion already? There is nothing left to say.”

“Only in the abstract, when discussing a future in which he would not be present. We have never conceived of a means by which that future might come about.”

“Yes, and for good reason. My husband is a member of a long-lived family, and he shows no signs of slowing down. I will be old and gray and you will be dust in the earth before he dies.”

“But you would like him dead, wouldn’t you?”

“You already know the answer to that question.”

“Let me be direct. When we spoke before, there was always the problem of how to make his death look accidental, how to avoid suspicion falling on you. As well, there was the problem of his daughter, who is next in line for the throne.”

“Sweet little Phryne,” Isoeld sneered. Her features were no longer quite so beautiful. “I despise the very air she breathes. But I am finally on the verge of winning her over. She speaks civilly to me now and seems persuaded by my words. I may yet find a way to make use of her.”

Skeal Eile nodded. “Perhaps you won’t need to. What if we could solve both problems at once? What if we could eliminate father and daughter in one stroke and make you Queen of the Elven people under circumstances where no one would question your right to rule?”

She stared at him wordlessly for a moment.

“What would you say to that?” he pressed.

“You could do this?” she asked quietly.

“I think so. Would you like to hear how?”

She considered. “What would you want in return? You worship the ground I walk on, I know. But I suspect that alone is not enough to satisfy you should I become Queen.”

A birdcall sounded in the dark, and Skeal Eile pressed himself against the Queen, flattening her close to the wall of the outbuilding, deep in the shadows. On the roadway at the head of the path, a solitary figure walked past without slowing or looking and then was gone.

Isoeld pushed him away. “That had better not be what it will take to satisfy you, Seraphic. Though it might prove amusing.”

“What I want, my Queen, is your support. My order requires respect from more than the handful of communities in which it is already given. I am expanding its reach into those villages that still do not believe, but it goes too slowly. If the ruler of the Elves were to become an openly admitted member of the sect and urge her people to join with her, that would give me purchase that I could exploit. If their ruler were to acknowledge the value of my order and embrace my teachings, that would give me a way to expand my influence. If I were invited to visit regularly and to speak at a forum provided and endorsed by their Queen, I would gain immeasurable stature.”

She gave him a look. “It is one thing to be seen embracing your teachings and your sect. It is another to give you free and open access to my lands. If I open that door, I am inviting the wolf to come in among the sheep. You will devour them all eventually, and where will I be then?”

He smiled. “Better off than you are now.”

There was a long silence as they faced each other down.

“Let me clarify,” the Seraphic said finally. “What I want has nothing to do with encroaching on your territory. What I want is sufficient prestige to allow me to overshadow those others who claim the title of Seraphic. If I were to become the voice of the Elven people, acknowledged as such by their Queen, I would gain immense influence throughout the villages of Men. That would be enough for me to assume the mantle of supreme leader. Besides, gaining credence for my sect with a majority of the Elves seems unlikely in any case, don’t you think?”

He could tell from her face that she wasn’t sure. “Are you really so frightened of my influence?” he challenged. “Cannot a Queen find ways to keep her people in line? Cannot a Queen manage to consolidate her power and cement her rule? Can she not put an end to any influence a Seraphic of the Children of the Hawk might wield if bounds once set are overstepped? I would think so, my lady.”

“What of this Troll army that threatens us? What difference if I am Queen and you are acknowledged leader of the Children of the Hawk if this horde overruns us?”

Skeal Eile shook his head. “The inevitable is upon us, my Queen. The world is changing even as we speak, the old one fading and a new one arising. Whether we defeat this army and live to fight another day or are driven from our valley into the larger world, our peoples must still have leaders of vision and ability. Would you not rather be one of those than just another follower? Who better to lead your people? Not the King, surely. Not his child daughter. No, my Queen, whatever fate awaits us all, it would be better met if you and I were in power.”

“I cannot argue that,” she said. She thought about it again, and he remained silent now as she did so. “You would keep your distance from my people save when you were invited to visit? You ask only my verbal support of your position? Do I understand you correctly?”

“You do,” he acknowledged, thinking that she was a bigger fool than he had imagined.

She nodded slowly. “I do want to be Queen,” she said. “You can make this happen?”

He smiled. “Let me tell you how.”