Mallenia’s young protégée Sha’taï was in the middle of the crowd, having chosen to remain with her maid.
The High King of the Dwarves had been invited but had not appeared. It was a shame but it would not spoil the day. It was the elves she was entering into a contract with, not the dwarves. The monarchs and notables stood together with their retainers in the front part of the temple, while three thousand other people gathered in the main body of the building, separated from the proceedings by a row of soldiers. Their reverent and respectful whisperings sounded like the breeze going through a field of corn.
“The temple’s full to bursting,” Rodario murmured. He had arranged to have every imaginable colour incorporated in his ceremonial garments, which swamped the skilful tailoring. “Your subjects are jostling each other out on the square. They’re queuing all the way into Highstead’s streets.”
“You don’t sound very happy about everybody coming along to watch.” Mallenia looked up at the smiling face of the Palandiell statue. The air was full of incense and smouldering herbs; the temple glowed in the sunshine that streamed through the high windows to focus on the form of the goddess.
“There are enough malcontents, you know. Not everyone agrees with this new development,” Rodario said quietly. His beard had been freshly trimmed and his eyes were emphasised with a little make-up. He was not capable of neglecting his appearance, given an occasion. “Before you transfer ownership, you ought to ask the elves—to be on the safe side—about what’s to happen to the local populace in the areas you’re giving away.”
“There are less than a million. There weren’t many people living there because it’s not particularly good agricultural land. Palandiell never blessed that region. We can easily make room for our people elsewhere in Gauragar and Idoslane,” she said with confidence. Her hair was heaped high on her head in a style that pulled slightly at the temples. “People will grow to understand that this is all for the good.”
“That’s one million disgruntled citizens, my queen,” he pointed out. “Sparks of discontent can travel quickly and far.”
In spite of herself Mallenia spun round to face him. “It’s a bit late now. The Naishïon’s delegation will be here soon.”
“Yes, but you could still put that question to them when they arrive. They must have a plan for the land they’re acquiring.” He touched her hand gently. “I just want to avoid the possibility that your own subjects might turn on you if they misinterpret your actions with this contract with the elves.”
Mallenia’s good mood was on the verge of tipping, and she was uncomfortable with how revealing the seamstress had made her new dress. And it was not right to be sitting with her back to her people.
She was about to reply when the five priestesses and five priests emerged from a side door and moved in a slow procession towards the statue of the goddess.
It was too late to discuss anything now. The ceremony had begun.
The ten holy figures in their embroidered green robes were offering songs of praise to Palandiell. Everyone joined in.
Mallenia stopped feeling ill at ease and entered into the spirit of the moment, a shiver going down her spine when the choral voices resonated in the temple’s high dome. Girdlegard is becoming more united than ever. It has taken two hundred and fifty cycles of gloom to get us to this point.
The fire on the altar was ignited with a holy spark from Vraccas’ forge. One donation after another was burned in sacrifice to the goddess, sending fragrant smoke rising to the round dome, where it escaped through concealed openings.
Fanfares sounded outside the temple, announcing the elves’ arrival. In they came, bowing low, wearing a preponderance of white and green, in honour of Palandiell.
The crowd drew respectfully apart and the new guests made their way to the wooden dais, strewing corn seeds on the earthen floor.
“Let’s hope it’s not weeds,” muttered Rodario, louder than he’d intended. One of the priests laughed.
“These are the seeds of the grain species that Sitalia blessed us with,” called the white-haired elf at the front of the procession in an authoritative voice. His appearance was spectacular and he had a golden strand of hair that reached almost down to his waist. “May the corn bear rich fruit that can ripen in harmony with that of the humans. May we all eat bread made from the same flour.” The first to walk through the ranks of local citizens, soldiers and courtiers, he bowed his head to the statue. “My name is Tehomín, I am here as my Naishïon’s representative.” The other elves moved up close behind him in an arrowhead formation. “The sun has never risen on an orbit more extraordinary and significant than this one, Queen Mallenia, ruler over Idoslane and Gauragar.”
“Let us give thanks to Palandiell for it,” she responded, gesturing to the elf to stand next to her. “The terror-times are past. Friendship blossoms where once enmity held sway.” As she saw Rodario open his mouth—no doubt to ask about the fate of the displaced humans—she flashed him a warning with her eyes. This is my business.
Tehomín came over to stand at her side. “I assure you that we shall care for the land that we are receiving from you and from Gauragar,” he said quietly. “It will flourish under our guardianship and bring plentiful harvests. It will take time, but time is what we have in abundance.”
Mallenia indicated the priest should resume his rituals. New hymns were struck up and the ceremony continued until they thought that the goddess was satisfied and would give her blessing.
Two chairs were brought in and placed at the foot of the statue: one for the queen of Idoslane and one for the elf. Servants provided ink and quills and the documents, when signed, would formalise the previously-agreed oral contract.
She read out the text: “I, Mallenia of Ido, ruler over the land and the peoples of Idoslane and Gauragar, hereby covenant in trust to the elves possession of the land that lies in the north of Gauragar as shown in the maps. No money or donations in kind are asked for in return. This settlement has immediate validity and is permanent and irrevocable.”
Leaning forward, she picked up the quill and dipped it into the inkwell, ready to write her signature.
“If any here wish to object, let them speak now or forever hold their peace.” A deep voice echoed through the temple.
Audible gasps were heard from the audience. For the second time, a gap opened up in the throng and the soldiers were thrust aside.
An armoured dwarf with a stylised crown on his helmet stepped up, his nail-studded boots clattering on the wooden planking, the dais creaking under his tread. In his right hand he bore the crow’s beak, which was enough to tell even the most unworldly of the spectators exactly who it was that was threatening to disrupt the harmonious occasion.
No one dared challenge the High King of the dwarves who had achieved such a dramatic entrance.
Mallenia was at a loss. She glanced at Rodario, who made a gesture implying she should stay calm, then she turned to see how Tehomín was reacting. The elf raised his eyebrows, right up almost to his hairline.
“By Vraccas: I wish to object. And in the strongest terms,” Boïndil went on, coming to a stop three paces from the table and slamming the end of the crow’s beak shaft down on the wooden planking, causing the sound to reverberate round the temple like distant thunder. “That’s if anyone were to ask my opinion.”
The blonde queen sighed. “So you have taken up my invitation,” she said, speaking in formal tones. Friendship was not on the cards. “However, you were asked to attend a ceremony and a celebration, not a debate. I must ask you,” she said, keeping her annoyance in check as far as possible, “to take your place with the other Council members. Or to leave, of course, should you prefer to do that.”
Rodario nodded in her direction, as if he were directing from the wings at the theatre. He would not step in at this point.
“It may be your land, Queen. But the contract makes the Fifthlings close neighbours of the elves,” he said, choosing his words wi
th care. “That is why I consider it appropriate for my opinion to be taken into consideration. The Naishïon will doubtless want everything clarified before the elves move in.” He looked at Tehomín. “Is that not the case?”
The elf beckoned one of his escort over and a swift murmured exchange in elvish flowed before he nodded.
“I should like to offer regrets in the name of our supreme ruler, the Naishïon,” Tehomín said. “We would of course have spoken with you and the Fifthlings, High King Blindil.” He placed his hand solemnly over his heart. “I beg you to accept our apologies, friend dwarf.”
“Ask the queen to tell you how to say my name correctly, or I’ll be calling you Tüdelün.” Boïndil was not impressed. He nodded up at the statue. “Palandiell and Vraccas fought side by side against Tion. They were allies. I want to make sure that we have true allies in our union.”
“His name is Boïndil,” Rodario prompted in a whisper, looking mortified. “He is Boïndil Doubleblade of the clan of Axe Swingers, King of the Secondlings and High King of all the dwarf tribes.”
“But we are allies,” Tehomín insisted, the gold strand glowing in the sunlight as he looked at the dwarf. “Are those your only …”
“What happens to the people living in the territories you’re taking over?” the dwarf interrupted brusquely, placing his be-ringed hands ostentatiously on the head of the crow’s beak. There seemed no need for urgency in his eyes, and he remained dignified and unruffled. “All I have heard so far is about a gift of land but there is no mention of the population being given away. Or, for that matter, the people’s assets, goods and chattels. Can you elucidate?” He gestured over his shoulder with his thumb. “We’re really keen to hear what you have to say on this issue.”
It could be his words. Mallenia glanced at Rodario and tried to work out whether he had had previous knowledge of the High King’s sudden appearance.
Tehomín smiled at the dwarf more amicably and courteously than anyone in Girdlegard had ever seen an elf smile before. “You’re ruining my surprise.”
“Because you’re going to throw everyone out?”
“No, because we intend to compensate all the inhabitants for the loss of their property, whether it is a simple farmer or an aristocrat with a large estate.”
“Very decent.” Boïndil gestured at the document. “And that’s included in the contract?”
“Of course, High King.” Tehomín placed two fingers on the paper. “Third line down. Perhaps you’d like me to read it out?”
“Please do.” The dwarf took on a more relaxed posture. “And don’t forget the wage-earners with no land who depend on farm work for their livelihood.”
All he needs now is his tankard of beer. Mallenia was incensed by the way the High King was behaving. But at the same time, she wondered why it had not occurred to her to ask these same questions. And that is exactly what she read in the faces of so many of those gathered in the temple. The dwarf had showed her up horribly.
Tehomín had regained his composure. He was obviously enjoying the confrontation. He shot a look at Mallenia, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “The elves hereby swear that they will always prove true allies of the peoples of Girdlegard and will, with them, combat evil in all its forms. They will stand shoulder to shoulder with dwarves and humans and all those who serve what is good and right.” He slipped down to the next paragraph. “We will cultivate and care for the land we are given by Queen Mallenia, from the smallest plant to the largest animal.” He looked at the dwarf. “And here’s the bit you were asking about: Every man, every woman, every child—anyone who depends on the land for their livelihood in the north of Gauragar—will receive compensation. The land is to be cleared of its inhabitants by spring of the coming cycle.” Tehomín sat upright. “Are these terms acceptable to you, Queen Mallenia of Ido?”
She nodded.
“And to you, High King?”
“Write in that you’ll contribute fifty barrels of black beer as a welcome gift for your new neighbours,” Boïndil said, pointing at the contract. “And that’s to make up for getting my name wrong.”
Rodario burst out laughing, and restrained hilarity broke the tension in the temple.
Mallenia twitched, her muscles tensing. As she saw it, the dwarf had upstaged her, threatening her authority. He was taking over the ceremony and behaving as if he could influence whether or not she chose to donate her own land.
Rodario moved quickly to her side and restrained her gently when she attempted to rise. Tehomín was laughing too. “Boïndil Doubleblade of the clan of the Axe Swingers, King of the Secondlings and High King of all the dwarf tribes, you are a true ruler in all senses of the word and a unique character. It will be an honour for us to have the Fifthlings as neighbours and to contribute fifty barrels of black beer to the occasion.”
Boïndil nodded and shouldered the crow’s beak. “Fine. Then I’ve no more objections.” He didn’t move away, waiting to watch her sign. When neither Mallenia nor the elf made a move, he motioned them to pick up their quills. The priests raised their voices in song while the parties to the contract signed their names. The ceremonial atmosphere returned.
Boïndil stayed to witness the signatures, his beard-clad face showing no emotion. Mallenia reckoned he was concerned about more than just the present issue of the fate of the humans in the new territories. She also knew better than to ask.
She and Tehomín stood up and shook hands. Then the elf walked along the row of monarchs and bowed to each in turn. To Boïndil as well, though he was met with only a grim-faced nod. Protocol dictated that Mallenia and Tehomín should appear in front of the temple to announce the beginning of this new era to the throng. They left the marble building together and waited on the topmost step.
Guards with long shields surrounded them, to protect them from any attack by a marksman. Before the ceremony, all the neighbouring houses had been thoroughly searched and soldiers had been posted on the roofs, to observe the crowd and note any strange behaviour. It was thus extremely unlikely that anyone would attempt an assassination. When the crowd recognised them the level of noise increased. Mallenia smiled—until she realised they weren’t cheering, but booing. Surely not?
“I bet you wish you’d put those questions out here where the people could hear you,” Boïndil said, his watchful eyes roving over the crowd.
Rodario took her by the arm. “You haven’t got enough people to protect you. Let’s get going.”
Tehomín had grasped the situation and raised his arms to address the mob.
“Listen to me,” he cried, waving the signed agreement in the air. “Listen to what has been agreed to the benefit of Girdlegard!”
Boïndil jumped up onto the pedestal of one of the columns in order to be seen. He brandished his crow’s beak.
“Will you quieten down, for Vraccas’ sake!” he thundered over the heads of the crowd. “Listen to what he’s got to say before you bleat like silly sheep.”
And, amazingly, silence fell.
“We don’t trust these elves,” a bold voice called out near the front. “Why are they turning up now? Where were they in previous cycles when we could have done with their support?”
Mallenia recognised the protestor. “Come here, you. Let everyone hear what you have to say.”
The man pushed his way to the dais and took two steps towards the queen before being stopped by one of the guards. He repeated his question and the spectators murmured in agreement.
“It’s like the old tales,” he added. “When the Eoîl Atár overran our land.”
Mallenia’s lips narrowed. I hadn’t thought of that. Another circumstance she found surprising.
At this point Tehomín did something that almost caused Boïndil to lose his grip on the pillar: he knelt down in front of the disaffected man, the strand of gold-wrapped hair clinking against the marble.
“I beg your forgiveness if the Eoîl Atár harmed your forebears. The Eoîl Atár were dazzled fa
natics. They were mad. They considered themselves purity incarnate, yet their inmost beings were darker than Tion.” Tehomín stretched out his arms. “This will never happen again. This elf empire stands for integrity.”
The man cast a sceptical glance his way.
“That’s only words,” he responded. “We could believe them or we could not. They sound good, but elves have always had silver tongues.”
Mallenia felt a touch on her hand.
Sha’taï had crept up to her and was pressing herself against her. “Don’t be frightened. It will all come right.”
The queen noted the conviction in the girl’s voice and looked at her young ward in astonishment. She realised the childish confidence was taking her over, too.
“Do you need proof?” Taking a dagger from one of the guards, Tehomín handed it hilt-first to the man. “Kill me; I swear there will be no retribution from any elf.”
It had gone so quiet in the square that the wings of the doves overhead could be heard in flight.
The man looked bewildered. He slowly took hold of the dagger and kept his eyes on Tehomín. The elf remained kneeling.
“Today is a moment of history that will never be forgotten.” He spoke without fear. “Test us.”
Mallenia did not dare move. Boïndil’s gaze flicked to and fro from the elf to the man and back again.
The arm with the dagger reached out and the blade tip shot at the elf’s heart, only to halt as the steel pierced the fabric. It had been enough to reach the skin, as was evident from the spreading stain.
The man dropped the dagger in shock and took several steps backwards down the stairs.
“I thought … he would dodge the blow,” he stammered.
Tehomín gritted his teeth. “Thank you for sparing my life.” He got to his feet, paying no attention to the wound. “Are you convinced now?”
The man nodded and slunk back into the crowd, as if he were expecting to be pursued. What a gesture! “You have seen that the elves have become your friends. The gods have formed a new union between us, indestructible, no matter what Tion and Samusin plan against us,” cried Mallenia, inspired. She took Dirisa’s hand. “Let us all show solidarity!”