The Gathering Storm - Elsewhere, Book 1

It was perhaps three hours later when yet another Elf arrived to escort them to their Royal audience. They were led through the city in a long and convoluted route which Marc was almost certain covered a greater distance than was necessary and was designed to impress them while making them lose their bearings. They passed through rooms both small and large, populated and empty. Some appeared to be common rooms, where groups of Elves sat talking or eating together, while others appeared to be meeting rooms and ceremonial halls. They crossed bridges from which they could see clusters of wooden tree-rooms high in the branches, reached by winding stairways within the trunks. Other rooms appeared to have been carved out from within the massive tree trunks, creating the appearance of a many storeyed building of individual dwellings, each with its own door and accessed by an external stairway.

Marc assumed that these smaller dwellings were allocated to lower ranking, unmarried Elves, while the clusters belonged to families and the upper echelons of Elven society – although he wasn’t quite sure whether Elven society had a class system such as that found among his own people.

Finally they arrived at a heavy wooden door guarded by two frowning Elves who appeared highly suspicious and disapproving of their presence in the forest. Marc was curious as to whether the door guard was normal or had been put on for their benefit. Inside, the candle-lit rooms appeared only marginally more opulent than their guest quarters.

On a large table in the middle of the room lay a tantalizingly aromatic meal of roasted birds, fresh-baked bread, vegetables and grains in rich sauces and flagons of deep red wine. By the window the King stood with his family, ready to greet them. Their escort chivvied them forwards to be presented and the men bowed low as they would be expected to do in the presence of their own monarch, while Eriika executed a graceful curtsey.

“Your Majesty, might I have the honour of presenting to you Ambassador Marc Dernish of Lytos Meer,” said Rolf, speaking just as their escort had been about to introduce them.

Tilarion coughed uncomfortably and their escort leaned forward to whisper an admonition; “Actually the proper form of address is ‘Your Grace’, and a respectful incline of the head is all the obeisance that is required.”

The Meerans straightened up, blushing slightly. Marc smiled diplomatically and broke the silence.

“My apologies, your Grace. My aide, Rolf Fendram, should have been better prepared for introductions. Errika Lamalle is also employed in the diplomatic service and the young man is my personal valet, Aubren. If you would excuse him, your Grace, he is unused to such exalted company and would be much more comfortable eating with your servants.”

Tilarion frowned slightly. “I have no servants. The Elves who attend my family have the same standing as teachers, musicians, cooks, administrators, and so forth. No one is looked down upon here.”

“Again, I apologise for my lack of understanding. But still, he would favour a simpler meal with some of your citizenry, if possible.”

“My people eat with their families or friends, or alone in their homes, but if your valet really would be uncomfortable here I can have food sent to your rooms for him,” said Tilarion, with only mild exasperation.

“Thank you, your Grace, that would be most kind,” replied Marc with a small incline of his head.

Tilarion nodded to their escort, who led Aubren back out of the apartment. Marc hoped he would be able to get the Elf talking and obtain some useful information. He turned back to the King, who had brought his wife and daughter forward to stand beside him.

“My wife, Queen Aeleessa, and daughter, the princess Lorissa,” said Tilarion, and the visitors nodded respectfully to each in turn.

“Now, shall we all take our seats before the food grows cold?”

Marc held up a hand for pause. “If it please your Grace, I have brought a gift for you. I believe you recently became a grandfather, or will do soon, and King Victor wished to send his congratulations with this small token.”

Eriika stepped forwards and held out the gilt edged, wooden box she had been carrying. Tilarion took it and lifted the latch to reveal a child sized golden cup fashioned with twin handles and embellished with rubies, nestling in rich folds of red velvet. Swallowing down his true feelings about the ridiculousness of presenting such an impractical gift to a baby, he pasted his most gracious smile onto his face.

“A rare and beautiful gift indeed. Please deliver my thanks to King Victor. Might I inquire how you came by this information?”

“I’m sorry, your Grace, it is not my place to ask the King such things. Possibly a Myrial traveller heard it from someone who had travelled north from here recently, and passed the news along as travellers are inclined to do for food or coin. Might I be permitted to know whether the happy event has occurred? Would it be possible to greet the Royal baby?”

“Babies,” corrected Lorissa without thinking. Mentally she kicked herself for not being more guarded. Marc noticed an almost imperceptible frown pass across Tilarion’s forehead. So, they were trying to keep secrets.

“Twins! My especial congratulations then! I wish we had known, so that two cups could have been sent. I will see to it that his Majesty is informed upon our return, so that the error can be remedied.”

“That’s really not necessary,” demurred Tilarion, again indicating the laden table. “Please, do be seated.”

They all took their places, Tilarion and Aeleessa at the ends of the oval table while Lorissa cautiously placed herself next to her Father. Eriika took the seat next to the princess, leaving the other side of the table for Marc and Rolf. The Meerans found it extraordinary that the Royal family, even when entertaining official guests, simply served themselves from the steaming platters of food, rather than having servants to do this for them. Marc, having already taken a herb stuffed breast of fowl, spooned a helping of a yellow grain jewelled with pomegranate seeds, nuts and raisins onto his dish.

“Is your husband not joining us, Princess?” he asked, making the question seem as innocuous as possible.

“I’m afraid not; he is otherwise engaged this evening,” she replied, unable to keep a nervous quaver out of her voice. Marc pounced on the weakness, hoping to gain more information.

“That is a shame. I was very much looking forward to meeting him. I modestly admit to having some skill with the bow and I hear he is an archer of unparalleled excellence.”

“Again, one wonders how,” observed Tilarion stiffly. Aeleessa held his gaze from the other end of the table, one eyebrow slightly raised, warning him to remain calm.

“Do your people hunt, ambassador? I would have thought the city too crowded,” she asked congenially.

“I grew up on a farm. My father taught me to shoot rabbits and wild fowl. King Victor has a keen interest in hunting though and raises deer on his lands at the summer palace outside Meer Armen.”

“He raises deer, just to shoot them? Is that not a trifle cruel?” asked Tilarion disparagingly. Aeleessa shot him another warning glance.

“Tell me about your father’s farm, Ambassador. Is it large?” she smiled.

“No, your Grace, I do not come from a rich family. It is a smallholding, producing enough for ourselves and a little besides for the market. Tell me, do your people farm? Or perhaps all your food is created by magic?”

Tilarion almost choked on his wine at this suggestion. He stifled his rather undignified laughter and answered as if talking to a small child.

“You clearly have very little idea about magic, or about the forest. She provides us with almost everything we need. The trees bear fruit and are populated with many kinds of birds. On the ground you find roots, berries, nuts and small animals. The plains and grasslands provide large beasts and the lake and rivers are teeming with fish. No magic is required to find food, only a little effort. The grains on this table are farmed by the Manguin folk across the lake. They take their surplus produce to market the same as your father does, both in their towns and here in the forest, where they can barter for what they need, produced by the Equiseen metal workers and by the Pixie artisans.”

Tilarion finished his lecture and continued eating, wondering how society functioned in Lytos Meer if they couldn’t even comprehend this simple idea.

“I see. But the Elves don’t do any farming, then?”

“We govern, teach, heal, study. We seek to expand our knowledge of the realm and to create beauty from it, through music and art. The Pixies are similarly devoted artisans and craftspeople, combining function with beauty in all the articles we use every day. Everybody works, everybody shares, everybody thrives, as equals. We call it community.”

Tilarion ripped a chunk of bread from a loaf and bit into it with vim. He was torn between a desire to educate this poor, misguided soul on how life should be lived for the benefit of all, and the knowledge that every word he said would be reported back to their seniors in Lytos Meer and, if possible, used against him.

“I see,” replied Marc, unable to resist the temptation to push the King just a little further. “But you are still King. That doesn’t sound very equal.”

“I am King which means the responsibility for the welfare of every person, tree and animal in this forest rests on my shoulders. The duties and obligations of government are a burden I accept willingly, as I’m sure does your King Victor, but they don’t leave much time for gathering berries. My family and I are cared for by others so that I can devote my energy to caring for them in return. Does such reciprocity surprise you? Surely it works much the same way in Lytos Meer; the Royal family are cared for by others and the King governs for their benefit?”

“Well, yes, but King Victor has never claimed to be my equal, nor me his,” qualified Marc. “The King and his family live in extravagant luxury compared with his subjects simply because he is King. The palace servants do their work because they are paid to do so in coin. The same is true of everyone in the Kingdom. Then they pay their taxes and buy goods at market. We call it ‘economy’.”

“A marvellous system, I’m sure. But such disparity in living standards would be unthinkable here. I am no better than the next Elf, so why should I be cosseted and pampered? It might surprise you to learn that before the twins were born my daughter taught in the schoolroom. Her husband is responsible for training the archers and has a seat on my council, while my queen is a skilled healer.”

“A healer, you say? But I thought you forest folk were all immortal, like the Roon of Lytos Bor.”

Tilarion gave a short grunt of a laugh. “Hardly. We ourselves do not age, but we share the forest with Pixies, Tree Sprites, Equiseen and the Manguin and as I said, our skills are shared.”

“You must forgive me, your Grace. Obviously my understanding of your people is sorely lacking. It certainly sounds like an enviable way to live.”

Marc spoke as a diplomat, but in fact there was a kernel of truth to his words. The more he learned about the forest, the more he found to admire in the simple sincerity and community of its people. Lorissa, who was fascinated by his descriptions of the far away city she had always feared, suddenly wished to know more of these foreigners, either to rationalise her fear or to overcome it.

“Is your city so very different to mine, ambassador?” she asked curiously.

“Yes, highness, very different. In appearance as much as anything. There are few trees in Lytos Meer. The buildings are of stone and are closely packed, especially in the poor districts.”

“Poor districts? What do you mean?” asked Lorissa, never having encountered poverty before.

“Well, I mentioned that people are paid in coin for their work. Some are paid more than others, depending on the status of their employment. Those who earn little can only afford to live in the cheaper areas of the city, where houses are small and not so well appointed. Those who have higher status can live better.”

“I see,” said Lorissa, although she didn’t really. “And does a diplomat have very high status?”

“Oh, I get by,” replied Marc modestly.

“And you, Aide Fendrum, is you status lower than that of the ambassador?”

“Yes, highness, a little lower,” smiled Rolf.

“And you, Aide Lamalle? Is your house smaller than the ambassador’s? Your clothes seem quite nice to me, the difference cannot be great.”

“I thank your highness, and no, the difference between our stations is not very great. A better illustration though would be to compare me with the Princess Annely and then with a washerwoman or a scullery maid. The princess lives a life of leisure in the palace, wearing fine gowns and eating the best food, surrounded by servants who see to her every need. I work in an office, my clothes are well made and serviceable and I live in an apartment in quite a good area of the city. The washerwoman works long hours of manual labour, lives in the slums and wears rough, plain dresses and clogs.”

Eriika spoke gently to Lorissa, showing all the necessary deference, but she was scornful of the so-called princess’s lack of education and understanding. Did her father teach her nothing? Not that the forest King seemed to know very much himself – how did his Kingdom function with no economy? What was there to show his status as King if he was paid no homage by his people and his family lived in the same way as his subjects? And what sort of Queen spent her days playing nurse to farmers and blacksmiths? They were a strange and foreign people; and hardly people at all, come to that, with their pointed ears and immunity to the passage of years.

Then there were the other creatures that lived in the forest – the horse people, the green tree-children and the other pointy-eared ones; the short Pixie folk. Eriika had had to suppress a shudder of revulsion as she rode through the forest earlier that day and it was almost as hard to sit and eat with these ones, although they looked almost normal. She had relished this assignment when it was given, thinking how it would advance her career to have such a mission in her file, now she couldn’t wait to go home to her beloved city and wash every trace of the forest off in her bathtub. Swallowing down her distaste with her roast fowl, she decided to try and make the most of the meal by following a suspicion she had developed.

“I suppose you must miss your husband very much,” she said sympathetically to the princess, her large, dark eyes filled with false compassion and adding a gentle squeeze of the hand to demonstrate her condolence.

“Yes, very much,” agreed Lorissa, then gasped and looked at her father in consternation, realising what she had admitted to.

“Prince Illion likes to travel around the villages occasionally, ensuring that the people are happy and contented and the mayors of each town are governing diligently and keeping the peace,” Tilarion improvised, hoping to salvage the situation and allay the Meerans’ obvious suspicions.

“Do many of your kind like to travel then?” pursued Eriika. “Are many away from home at the moment, Highness?”

Knowing Lorissa to be the weak link, Eriika addressed her remarks thus, but it was her father who answered.

“Distant travel is not popular among the Elves but I cannot speak for every race in my domain,” replied Tilarion stiffly. He bristled at the term ‘your kind’, feeling as if he was being regarded as some sort of lesser being. Aeleessa tried to steer the conversation away from dangerous topics and asked Marc whether he had any children, but Eriika was not to be deterred.

“I suppose the Carnival people travel a great deal, don’t they? Do they make much use of the gate? And do they travel inland? I must confess I have never seen a circus –might we request a demonstration?”

Tilarion maintained his composure with some difficulty and kept his answer brief. “I’m afraid they don’t provide me with a schedule; the Carnival is a self-governing entity. And no, they don’t travel inland or give request performances. I suggest you visit Lytos Bor when your schedule permits; I hear they have an excellent circus there.”

Marc, fearing the further deterioration of the situation if Eriika was allowed to continue her interrogation unchecked, intervened.

“I must apologise for my colleague’s bluntness, your Grace. It has been a long and tiring day. If you would excuse us, we will retire. The meal really was superb, thank you.”

He rose from the table, so Rolf and Eriika were obliged to do the same. Relieved, Tilarion, Aeleessa and Lorissa stood to bid them goodnight and watched them leave to be escorted back to their quarters. Once their footsteps could no longer be heard Lorissa threw herself into her father’s arms.

“I’m so sorry father!” she cried. “I nearly gave everything away! And I was trying so hard to be careful.”

“That woman was deceitful. She was trying to make you slip up,” comforted Tilarion, hoping no real harm had been done.

“They suspected that some of our people are absent,” mused Aeleessa. “I hope nothing has happened to them – that they haven’t been seen, or worse, caught.”

Once on their own, back in their guest quarters, Marc rounded on Eriika.

“What was that all about? Usually you can charm honey from bees; why did you have to rile them like that?”

“We’re here to gather information, aren’t we?” she retorted.

“Keep your voice down!” Marc whispered harshly. “We’re here to spy – that implies the covert gathering of information while appearing charming and amicable on the surface. Besides, you’re meant to be my aide; it’s not your place to drive the conversation.”

“My humblest apologies you ambassadorness,” mocked Eriika. “At the next meeting I’ll be sure to act all subservient and let you explain exactly how our government works to the nice forest creatures.”

“Oh, shut up! I didn’t give away any state secrets – what I said was no worse than your inventive bedtime story about the princess and the washerwoman.”

“Calm down, both of you,” cautioned Rolf. “It wouldn’t do to be overheard.” He nodded his head toward the door. “We all have our parts to play and we only have to bow and scrape for a couple more days, then we’ll have enough information for Nedrin and we can leave.”

“Hey, no bowing or scraping here,” Marc reminded him. “No servants, no social hierarchy, no priests, hardly any bureaucracy it would seem. Just peace and harmony for all.”

“I can’t tell whether you’re mocking them or jealous of them,” said Rolf.

Marc made a derisive noise. “Don’t be ridiculous. He just tried so hard to make it sound idyllic. Far fewer problems than Lytos Meer.”

“So do the Meeran villages. It stands to reason; a smaller populace has fewer problems to deal with.”

“That’s logical, I suppose. So tomorrow we talk peace and harmony, but keep our eyes and ears open, agreed?”

Rolf and Eriika nodded their assent and Eriika bid the two men goodnight and turned to go to her room. Rolf waited until Eriika had closed her door then spoke quietly.

“Is it just me or is she a bit off tonight?”

“A bit,” confirmed Marc. “I didn’t know she was a gate nut.”

“Is she? I don’t know that I got that from her.”

“Not overtly, but I have a feeling. We’re not even supposed to bring up the gate unless a meeting is going really well, but she went right for it. And this mission isn’t even about the gate – it’s about the Southerners in the city and whether there is a threat to Lytos Meer. We won’t be able to get anything useful from them if they clam up or send us packing. She needs to keep a lid on it.”

Rolf nodded his agreement. “But you know there’s nothing wrong with wanting the gate back, don’t you? That is the official position; that is how we came to be here, so we should have access, to go back if we should wish to.”

“Maybe that’s how you came to be here. I arrived because my parents didn’t have much else to do between harvest and planting.”

“Marc! You shouldn’t talk about your parents like that. Anyway, you know what I mean.”

“What, it’s true? And of course I know what you mean, but we’ve been here for countless generations. No one knows what’s through the gate - except the Carnival people. Why should we care? Kings like power and territory. There’s no way we can take on the Roon and all the Myrials so they look south. The plains are empty and the mountains inhospitable, so there’s only the forest and even that’s not really all that large. But oh, the mystery and temptation of a whole other realm of untold riches to conquer!”

“Well, yes. Don’t you think that’s tempting?”

“No, not particularly. We don’t even know there are riches. Perhaps our ancestors came through the gate because they were fleeing starvation, drought or plague.”

“My but you’re cheery. Of course there are riches. Otherwise why would they guard it so closely? And they’d hardly travel through themselves if there was plague. There must be a bountiful land on the other side.”

“Now who sounds like a gate nut? But you know, I don’t think they even think like that.”

“All men think like that, Marc.”

“That’s just it, Rolf. They aren’t men.”

Just then a window swung open and Aubren climbed through it, grinning. He was dressed in soft, dark clothes that allowed him great freedom of movement while enabling him to hide in the shadows, and had a leather bag slung across his back. He flopped down on a chair and sighed contentedly.

“Productive evening?” asked Marc.

“Oh, like you wouldn’t believe,” exulted Aubren. His brown eyes flashed excitedly in the candlelight. “I found an office, in which there was a desk, on which lay some very interesting papers, just left out where any curious person might see them. If they happened to be good at circumventing locked doors. Which I am.”

He sat forward and pulled a sheet of parchment out of his bag, his dark curls flopping over his face.

“You didn’t steal them, did you?!” exclaimed Marc. “They’ll be missed.”

“Don’t be an idiot. I made a copy. It’s a map of the realm with some routes drawn across it. And one of those routes goes right into Lytos Meer. There was also a list of names and numbers. If these are the names of all the local villages, and I think they are because ‘Theyos Raal’ and ‘Carnival’ are also listed, then almost three hundred people are missing. Well, people and creatures.”

“All heading for Lytos Meer?” asked Marc, suddenly alarmed that the four who were discovered could have been scouting ahead for an approaching army. But then why were they on a ship?

“No, you can see one route goes off to the north, past the mountains and on to Lake Lomoohr, while the other stops at the shore of the Daraeyi Sea to the east of the city. The one going into the city was a minor branch from that one; look you can tell because the line’s dotted. I think that those four were there to hire a ship or ships to take the rest of them from the shore to an unknown destination.”

“But where? And why?” asked Marc. “Why would half the forest suddenly go to the other end of the realm on a ship?”

“Sorry, that’s as far as I got with my theory,” said Aubren. “But surely that’ll be enough for the minister. We know they weren’t planning some sort of threat to the city.”

“Not quite. If all those numbers relate to families on a pleasure cruise, it means less, but if they’re an army....? All those fighting men gone from the forest, leaving it barely defended? That’s really quite something. Pay close attention to what you see tomorrow. Try to get them to show you round. I’ll try to distract the King with diplomatic talks.”

“That sounds like a plan. Best get some sleep then, gentlemen,” suggested Rolf.

When Tilarion awoke the following morning he found that his wife had already dressed and was sitting by the window on the deeply cushioned sill, brushing her hair. He admired the way the sun glinted off the soft, golden tresses as they fell in waves to her waist. She divided her hair in two and wound it in thick coils around her head like a coronet, pinning it in place with jewelled combs.

“You look beautiful,” he complimented her.

“Why, thank you and good morning.” She replied, smoothing down the front of her rose coloured gown as she stood to greet him with a kiss.

“Are we ready for today?” he asked. He had not slept well, concerns for the safety of his people burdening his mind and causing him to toss and turn until exhaustion overcame him in the early hours.

“We are,” she confirmed, her confidence easing his mind somewhat. “The Norns will be evenly spread around the hall, and will fill in the gaps in the crowd with illusory male Elves, so it will seem like no one is missing. In fact, it may boost their perception of our population to rather larger than it really is. I will bring them past the door to the hall as I take them on a tour of the city, so that they are convinced that all is business as usual here. I won’t let them enter or hear what is going on, then they can go home and tell their government that coming anywhere near us would be as futile as it has ever been.”

“It sounds foolproof. I’m still uneasy though. Why did they choose now to visit? How did they know those details about our family? I can’t stop turning it over in my head.”

“It is concerning, I admit,” mused Aeleessa. “I’ll see what I can get him to reveal today.”

“He’s a spy, darling. I’m sure he’s been trained to withstand much harsher questioning than yours.” Tilarion smiled and kissed her again before she left their apartments to occupy the Meerans’ morning out of the way.

An even larger crowd had gathered for the verdict than had been present for the hearing on the previous two days. Or at least that’s how it appeared until Tilarion remembered that many of those who appeared to be present were actually clever illusions. He took his seat and studied the faces of the many Elves around the hall, trying to figure out which ones were real and which were mere phantoms, but the Norns were too talented by far; he could not pick out a single one for certain. The jury was seated in their chairs to his left conversing quietly among themselves, as was everyone else, about the unexpected visitors who, it was now common knowledge, had arrived in the forest. There was silence as he stood to make his announcement.

“I want to thank you for taking the time to attend here this morning and especially wish to thank the jury for taking their duties so seriously. I am told you were awake for most of the night deliberating your decision, but that you have now come to a conclusion. Please reveal to me what you have decided.”

One of the jury members came forward and handed the King a folded piece of parchment. Tilarion opened it and, having read what was written, sighed with relief. He looked around the hall and then rested his gaze on Ronvin.

“The jury has heard all relevant evidence and testimony and has drawn their conclusions. Master Ronvin, you are hereby cleared of all charges. You will be reinstated as Keeper of Justice and to your seat on the council. I find that I must humbly ask you to pardon my behaviour. I allowed temper to cloud my thinking and rashness to govern my judgement. I was wrong to subject you to this ordeal. I wonder if you can find it in your heart to forgive me?”

Tilarion held Ronvin’s gaze and hoped that his old friend and advisor would see the sincerity of his words. Ronvin stood and held out his hands to the King, who stepped down from the dais and went over to him, offering his own hands in repentant acceptance of his mentor’s blessing. Thus handclasped, Ronvin smiled gently and gave his reply.

“Sire, I thank the jury for their verdict and accept your apology. I hold no grudge against your Grace and forgive willingly. I find however that I must decline the reinstatement, if you will allow me. I believe that the positions should remain with Master Roshen. I have held them for a long time; too long, perhaps. Some fresh ideas might be beneficial and Master Roshen is both wise and insightful.”

Tilarion, although relieved that his friend did not resent him, could not help feeling wounded that Ronvin no longer wished to help and advise him as he had always done.

“Please don’t feel you have to say that. I’ve relied on you my whole life. You’ve been at my side since my first day on the throne.”

“I’m not going anywhere, sire. If you need me I’ll always be ready to serve. But let someone else have a chance now. Someone with their eyes fixed on the future.”

Tilarion took a moment to absorb what Ronvin was telling him. He could see his point, and if Ronvin was tired and wished to have more time for his studies and to rest, who was he to deny him. He smiled at his old mentor.

“Very well, Master Ronvin. I accept your resignation and the appointment of Roshen to both positions becomes permanent. Theyos Raal thanks you for your many years of dedicated service.”

Tilarion embraced his friend warmly and the whole crowd of forest folk began to applaud. Ronvin blushed slightly, unused to celebrity and generally the seeker of a quiet, studious life. He inclined his head respectfully, in acceptance of their approbation, then whispered to Tilarion that proceedings were not yet concluded and nodded in Chelm’s direction. Tilarion frowned, recalling the jury decision printed neatly on the parchment he had left on his throne. He shook his head, sighing, and returned to the dais. Motioning for silence, he addressed the assembly.

“Ladies and gentlemen, there is still one verdict to be heard and it requires no less of our attention. Chelm, the jury’s verdict is equivocal in your case. They were unable to reach a majority decision either for or against you. I must therefore decide, and I feel unable to reinstate you to the council.”

Chelm leapt to her feet, her face livid. “But if they couldn’t find me guilty, I must be innocent! I must be reinstated!”

“Not so, Chelm. They did not find you either innocent or guilty, as there was an equal number of votes each way. It seems that your underhanded tactics and deceitfulness were enough to turn only half of the jury against you. I therefore judge that you will not be exiled, but neither will you take up your seat on the council as before. You are free to go in peace and if I were you, Chelm, I would spend the rest of my life trying to make amends. Rosa and Annaver will find out to whom the Pixies wish to give the remaining council seat. And with that, good people, this morning’s business is concluded. Thank you all for coming.”

Tilarion sat down again, glad that it was all over. Chelm was gaping at him as if lost for words. That exile would be considered as a punishment had not occurred to her and it hit her very hard that she might have been sent away from her home. Hatred, anger and bitterness boiled inside her, choking her and forcing scalding tears onto her cheeks.

“You’ll be sorry for this!” she screamed at him, before turning and fleeing the hall, venting her fury in language that made the more genteel onlookers blush. On her way out into the foyer she pushed past a small group of Manguin accompanied by the Queen, but she barely gave them a second glance. Tilarion did though and he wished Aeleessa had taken just a few more minutes to reach him.

Marc had expected to be meeting with Tilarion straight after breakfast, so he was surprised when Queen Aeleessa arrived at their quarters and announced that she would be taking all of them on a tour of the city. He was given assurances that he would be meeting with the King after lunch, that an unexpected and unavoidable matter had detained him that morning and he sent his regrets, but Marc had his suspicions that the delay had something to do with the papers Aubren had found the previous night.

“If you would be so kind as to follow me,” she said, “I will show you some more of our beautiful city.”

And beautiful it was. The graceful, sweeping architecture of the city was far more elegant than any of the buildings in Lytos Meer. The city seemed to grow directly out of the trees as if certain branches had been encouraged to grow into beams, crossbars and even roofs, interweaving twigs and leaves to form a tight thatch over the rooms, as required. Many of the walls seemed to be made of thick, varicoloured glass, fixed in large panes between the trunks and branches that formed the columnar frames of the rooms. Light permeated everything, giving the rooms an airy brightness. Often, windows were unglazed, allowing the warm forest air and freshening breezes to maintain a comfortable temperature in the citadel. Marc could not deny that he was impressed by everything he saw, from the orderly school room and large, well stocked library, where the learning of centuries lined the walls, to the brightly decorated and welcoming common areas where Elves congregated to talk, sing and recite poetry in a celebration of life that was uncommon in Lytos Meer. The achingly beautiful melodies floating through from the music practice rooms almost brought Eriika to tears. In the bakery, the smells of bread, cakes and pastries gave Aubren a ravenous hunger. Rolf wanted to visit the rooms where the Norns trained and practiced their arts, but they were told this would not be possible.

“I’m afraid outsiders are not permitted there,” apologised Aeleessa.

“And we can’t visit the Carnival either?” pressed Rolf.

“No, I’m sorry. As you know only races native to this realm, and those who serve at the Carnival, are allowed to cross the Bridge of Aught Else. Might I ask why you are so curious?”

“I’ve never seen magic before, that’s all,” he evaded. “I’ve always been rather sceptical of your supposedly wondrous powers.”

Aeleessa assumed he was trying to determine their limits, but she couldn’t resist giving just a small demonstration. Walking over to a vase of cut flowers, she lifted one out. The Meerans watched intently as she held the flower up to the nearest trunk and whispered something he couldn’t quite hear into the petals. Before their eyes roots started to grow from the stem directly into the branch, the stem thickening even as they blinked in disbelief, and branches sprouting from it and growing new buds. In a matter of moments there was a sturdy new rose bush growing directly out of the wall. Perhaps most enchanting of all was the fact that although the original bloom had been white, all the flowers on the new bush exactly matched the colour of Aeleessa’s gown. The Queen plucked a half open bud from its branch and slid the stem into her hair.

“Is your curiosity satisfied?” she inquired.

Rolf nodded mutely, staring in astonishment at the rose bush. Marc was the first to recover his wits and decided to angle for a more informative visit.

“Might we perhaps be permitted to pay our respects in the Royal nursery?” he asked. “King Victor would be most gratified to know that his greetings were delivered in person to the newest additions to your family. And of course the Queen and princess hanker for descriptions of the babies; they both adore children.”

This last was, of course, a slight deviation from the truth. While Queen Meliis and Princess Annely did, quite naturally, adore babies and children, they would have no interest whatever in hearing the descriptions of two Elven infants, ‘royal’ or not. In fact, if his King heard that he had been describing the creatures of the forest in all their pointy-eared glory to his cosseted, naive daughter, Marc would probably find himself without a job, if not without a head. He doubted that Annely even knew that the forest creatures were sentient, much less that they had a Royal family.

It was a common belief among less enlightened Meerans that the forest was populated by uncivilised barbarians and that they had been kept from their former ownership of the gate only by their numbers and the undisciplined savagery of their battle tactics. The remark had merely been a play on the pride Aeleessa doubtless felt in her grandchildren. For her part, Aeleessa was not keen to bring the Meerans near the babies, particularly in view of Lorissa’s fear that they would come to harm, but she could not think of a diplomatic reason to say no. She reasoned that her anxiety was surely irrational. After all, they were posing as ambassadors; they would hardly cause any deliberate harm.

“The twins’ nursery is within the Royal apartments. If you’ll follow me, we’ll pass the Great Hall on the way. Since the morning’s business should be concluded by now, perhaps the King will be able to join us for lunch before your meeting, Ambassador.

“Delighted to,” replied Marc cordially as he fell into step beside the Queen.

Marc was nonplussed when an elderly Pixie shoved past him, emitting a string of epithets he would more normally associate with the patrons of a harbourside tavern. He watched her storm away down the corridor, casting sidelong glances at Aeleessa to gauge her reaction. The Queen’s expression of shock at the outburst was mingled with something else. She was looking past him into the hall where her husband sat on his throne and he suspected that her reaction was one of chagrin. So, she had been told to bring them to the hall, but he wasn’t supposed to see that. Perhaps they were early? But why in particular was he to see the throne room? Not just to admire the vaulted ceiling and soaring stained glass windows, surely.

Marc looked intently through the doors. It was crowded, certainly. Elves, Pixies, Manguin and Equiseen, but more Elves than anything else. No children, but plenty of adults; men and women. Ah, that was it. Plenty of adult male Elves were gathered in the hall, not marching north in an army. Marc started counting them, but stopped once he passed one hundred, since that was more than he had been expecting anyway. Something wasn’t right, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. He looked at one group of Elves and observed men and women talking animatedly together, dressed in similar fashion but not identically. So far, so good. He tried to lip read but was too far away. He studied them more closely and almost immediately it occurred to him what was wrong. The women carried on a normal conversation with each other, moving their heads and hands expressively as they spoke. At first glance it appeared that the men beside them were doing the same thing, but as he continued to watch he could see that the angle of their heads, the timing of their speech, their facial expressions and hand movements were identical. He looked at another group several metres away and observed the same thing; different from the previous group, but the same as each other, men only. He glanced at Rolf and Eriika, who both nodded. They had spotted it too. It might have fooled an untrained eye, but he and his team spent their lives analysing the minutia of situations, teasing out the secrets, the things they weren’t meant to know. At least half of the male Elves in the room were a mere illusion. Marc covered his excitement at the import of this discovery and turned to Aeleessa.

“Your husband seems to still be busy,” he noted. “Shall we continue on to the nursery without him and allow him to finish and catch up with us for lunch?”

The Queen seemed only too grateful to agree and led them away quickly along the hall.

They clucked and cooed appropriately over the sleeping prince and princess for several minutes, while Lorissa hovered protectively nearby, then King Tilarion joined them, glossing over Chelm’s outburst as ‘one of those times when you can’t make everybody happy’.

The atmosphere was only slightly strained over lunch, while everyone pretended that nothing was wrong and everyone pretended that everyone else didn’t know that they were pretending. Tilarion invited Marc to retire with him to his office that afternoon, where they discussed nothing of any importance, cleverly disguised as important matters of state with overcomplicated diplomatic language. Rolf, Eriika and Aubren stayed in their quarters, packing for their journey home.

“I think we should just have left after lunch,” grumbled Rolf. “Our discoveries here are too important for delay; we must get back to Lytos Meer as soon as possible.”

“Of course, but it’s a full day’s ride to the Plains Lake. Camping is bad enough; camping without water doesn’t bear thinking about. We’ll leave in the morning and make good enough time. We’ll be home before you know it. If you want the evening to be more productive, start drafting your report.”

They retired early that night and rose at dawn. They asked the ‘attendant’ at their door to have their horses sent for and to send word of their imminent departure to the King.

“Is it just me or do they seem rather over-eager to leave?” asked Tilarion as he and Aeleessa waved them off from the top of the central staircase.

“Would you rather they stayed longer?” she retorted in disbelief.

“Of course not. It just makes me suspicious, that’s all.”

“Everything about Meerans makes you suspicious. But not without cause, I’ll grant you. I think we should start preparing, just in case.”

“Agreed,” confirmed Tilarion, smiling benignly and waving.

On the forest floor, the four Meerans were once again subject to the curious and often anxious stares of the people they passed as they were led to where the Equiseen had penned their horses. The animals had been stripped of their tack and given food and water in a large, fenced paddock which looked to have been purpose built. A number of Equiseen villagers looked on with undisguised disgust as they caught in their mounts and replaced the saddles and bridles, ready for their trip home. As Marc was tightening the girth on his horse’s saddle a small Equiseen child ran near him and tripped over a stone on the ground. Instinctively, Marc reached down to help the child to his feet.

“It’s alright,” he said, soothingly. “I don’t think you’re hurt.” He saw fear in the child’s eyes and wanted to reassure him. “You know, I have a daughter about your age. She’s four and she loves to sing and eat apple cakes. How about you?”

“I’m five,” retorted the Equiseen child. “I’m training to hunt and to fight so I can join the guard one day and battle Meerans and Haraquin, just like my father!” And with that he kicked Marc smartly on the shin and ran back to his mother who scowled in Marc’s direction.

Marc yelped in pain, drawing Rolf’s attention.

“What happened?” he asked, watching Marc hopping around, holding his bruised leg.

“That foal just kicked me with his hoof – he could have broken my leg!” gasped Marc from between gritted teeth, wincing in pain.

An Equiseen man turned sharply towards Marc, an expression of incredulous indignation on his face. Marc tried to backtrack.

“I said he nearly broke my shin, but on second thought it’s probably just a bruise. He’s only small; no permanent damage done.” He attempted a congenial smile, which, due to the pain he was in, resulted in an oddly contorted expression that did nothing to ease the Equiseen’s ire. He decided it would be prudent not to mention the fact that the boy had also basically declared his intent to kill him when he grew up.

“You called him a foal!” growled the man, drawing the attention of several other villagers nearby, who looked vastly insulted.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I intended no offense. I wasn’t advised of the proper word for your young.”

“We call them children as, I imagine, do you. Do we look like mute animals to you?”

“No, of course not. Please accept my humblest apologies; it was an honest mistake.”

Marc’s eyes reflected the sincerity of his words and he hoped his ignorance would not result in any violence towards himself or his friends before they left. Thankfully, the Equiseen man appeared to be in a forgiving mood.

“You should leave,” he growled. “I advise you to ride quickly, before news of this insult ripples through the whole forest like the breeze before a storm.”

Marc and the others didn’t need to be told twice. They quickly mounted and cantered away, relieved to be finally on their way home.

The stern Equiseen turned to the Elven escort, who was trying quite unsuccessfully not to laugh.

“What is so funny, Martus? Does this insult seem witty to you?”

“Of course not, Redevir. But did you see the looks on their faces as they rode away? They thought they were about to be lynched! I hope the injured one had clean britches in his pack! I think he might need to change.”

Martus turned and headed back to Theyos Raal, laughing quietly. Redevir thought about it for a moment, his face gradually broadening into a wide grin, then suddenly he roared with laughter. He turned towards his village, still grinning and letting out an occasional guffaw, startling the unfortunate people he passed.

They were no more than an hour’s ride into the Plains when they were startled by the appearance of a Pixie not far ahead of them. She appeared to have been waiting for them behind a bush, and by the look of her had spent the night sleeping under it. She waved to them as they neared her and Marc was surprised to discover that he recognised her. Her hair was grey and her face lined with age as well as a pronounced scowl. They reined in their horses.

“Aren’t you the one who stormed out of the hall yesterday?” asked Marc. “The one who was threatening the King? What do you want with us?”

“I want to make good on my threat!” declared the Pixie aggressively, as if daring anyone to stop her. Marc looked around them for any sign that it might be some sort of trap, but there was next to no cover for miles in any direction.

“Would you like to expand on that a little, mistress....?” inquired Rolf, fishing for her name.

“Chelm,” supplied the Pixie. “I’ve had it with them. For centuries I’ve served my people on the council, represented their interests as best as I could – and what do I get in return? Thanks? Recognition? Gratitude? No – I get derision, insults, accusations. I get put on trial, removed from the council, imprisoned! They deserve everything they get. I warned them you would come, told them they’d be leaving the forest open to attack, but they wouldn’t listen.”

“I see. So, what would you like us to do?” asked Eriika.

“Take me with you to Lytos Meer and put me on a ship to Lytos Bor. In return for my passage I’ll tell you everything you could possibly want to know about the forest. Including where nearly three hundred of its residents are right now.”

“Well, well, we are an angry little Pixie, aren’t we?” mocked Aubren. He couldn’t abide traitors and this one was particularly unattractive. She had no noble, self-sacrificing ideal that had convinced her to turn her coat. It was pure revenge, stark and ugly.

“Don’t insult me, boy. I was advising Kings when your Great-great- grandfather was suckling at his mother’s breast,” snapped Chelm. “Well, do you agree, or don’t you?”

Marc pretended to consider her offer for a long moment before nodding his head.

“Alright then, I agree. You can ride behind Eriika and your bag can go on one of our pack horses. I assume you do have luggage.”

“It’s under the bush,” said Chelm. “I’ll get it.” She went back to the bush and pulled out two bags and a bed roll. Rolf dismounted and tied them onto the backs of their other two horses, distributing the weight evenly, then he helped Chelm up onto Eriika’s horse. Chelm had never ridden before and sat stiffly behind the saddle, clinging to Eriika’s waist.

“If you can’t relax, you’re going to be very sore by tonight,” she advised the small woman. “Rolf, I think you should let her sit on her bed roll. It will cushion the bumps a bit.”

After a bit of reorganisation they were ready to set off again. Chelm bounced nervously along, clutching the back of Eriika’s saddle with her hands and the horse’s rump with her legs. The horse snickered and tossed his head, sensing the tension in his additional burden.

“This is going to be an interesting trip,” mused Marc. “And what will Minister Nedrin think when he hears – and sees – our report!”