Which was what he was doing when he caught sight of Arik Sarn walking alone down a back road of the sleeping city shortly after midnight. He might have been out for a stroll, but Xac knew you didn’t carry a backpack and weapons when you were just taking the air. He might have been on his way to visit someone, but you didn’t often go visiting after midnight and you didn’t do it in a furtive way. Well, usually you didn’t. He was also alone, which meant that for some reason his Elven guards had failed in their duty to keep an eye on him at all times.
This was troubling to the boy, and he watched from the shadows as the Troll moved past, never once indicating that he knew the boy was there. But Xac knew that grown-ups were very good at pretending not to have noticed you when in fact they had. So he waited until the Troll was out of sight, ducked back behind the buildings, and moved through the trees along a little-used path that would bring him out where the road the Troll was following would converge with a larger one.
But Arik Sarn failed to appear. Xac waited until he was sure the Troll wasn’t coming, thought about it a moment, and then hurried off to the Carolan to have a look around. He went swiftly, angling away from where he was certain the Troll must have gone, small and silent as he sped through shadowed trees and down narrow lanes, avoiding houses and people, staying out of the light. When he reached the gardens and the bluff edge, he was winded and breathing heavily. Without showing himself, he dropped down while still out of sight, crawled into the flowering bushes, and lay flat against the ground, listening. He wanted to lift his head for a look, but his instincts warned him against it.
He waited a long time.
Then he heard the soft pad of footfalls from not very far away. They would start up and stop and then start up again. Someone was searching through the gardens and taking their time doing so, looking down every row carefully.
Searching for what?
For him?
He felt chills ripple down his spine at the possibility and inched closer to the bushes next to him, slowly wedging himself under them until they covered him completely. He tucked in his arms and legs. He tried to will himself to disappear.
He waited some more.
Suddenly the Troll appeared at the head of the row of bushes in which he hid, a long knife in one hand as he peered left and right, studying everything. Xac Wen quit breathing. He fought down the urge to jump up and run. He had been right not to risk showing himself, but maybe wrong in coming here at all.
After a long time, the Troll moved away.
Xac waited, still barely breathing, still pressing himself against the earth. He could almost feel the Troll’s eyes watching him, could imagine the big hands fastening on his shoulders and yanking him to his feet. He could imagine that and a whole lot more he didn’t want to dwell on.
When enough minutes had passed that he felt safe again, he cautiously inched out from under the bushes and began crawling toward the bluff edge. It took him a long time, and by the time he had completed his journey his clothes were torn and filthy.
From his hiding place at the Carolan’s rim, he could look down the switchback length of the Elfitch. Nothing looked out of place. The watch was on duty, the torches that lit the ramp were burning, and the ramp itself was otherwise deserted. He glanced from right to left along the edge of the bluff. Nothing in either direction.
He took a deep breath and wondered what he should do.
Then he caught sight of something moving. Below the Elfitch, not far from where the northern boundary of the tree line began, a solitary figure slid through the shadows.
It was the Troll.
Xac Wen watched him until he was out of sight, and then he got to his feet and stood looking down at the darkness, wondering whom he should tell.
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 val
ley, 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.”