Finally, she exhausted herself and her crying ceased; she had nothing else to give. Thus drained, she climbed out of the bath, dried and dressed herself as quickly as she could, unlocked the
door and went back to her room, her eyes as red as ripe berries.
She fancied lying on the bed for a little while but before she could get there something rubbed against her ankles, something warm. Looking down she saw a small cat, black with a couple of white
splashes. It rubbed against her again and started to purr, a soothing contented purr.
Cheris gazed at it uncomprehendingly. It seemed to take her a while before she saw exactly what it was. For the first time in an age she smiled, only slightly but significantly. She knelt
alongside the cat and started to tickle it under the chin.
‘You are a little girl, I see, and a pretty one, too. What shall I call you? Not Cheris, that’s a horrible name; how about Marta? Or Rosamund? That’s it – Rosamund.
It’s a bit grand for a little scrap like you but you will grow into it. Are you hungry? In a minute or two I will see if there are any leftovers for you in the kitchens. There is just one
thing I want to do first.’
Cradling the wriggling creature in her left arm, she went over to her trunk which sat next to the bed. It had been mostly emptied but there was one thing still in there she wanted. She tipped it
open with her foot and, gently placing the cat on the bed, she lifted out a book.
‘No, Rosamund, he will not beat me, not while I still breathe.’
It was Anaya’s book,
Shtia Demontia Nenneven Azhatrneko
. She had not spared it a glance since taking it with her in the forest but now she sat on the bed, slowly opened its cover,
bound as it was in a vellum she was not familiar with, and with a sigh heavy enough to cause snow to fall down a mountain side started to read.
The keep held a small library high in the main tower. It was poorly lit and rarely used. Dust lay heavy on its shelves and until recently its floor had been little swept. The
arrival of Cedric had prompted the keep’s servants to make a half-hearted attempt up there and triangular piles of neatly swept dirt had been carefully deposited in the room’s darker
corners. Cedric was up there now. After sighting the painting he had wondered if anything helpful regarding elven lore might be found somewhere in the library’s recesses. Unsurprisingly, he
was to be disappointed and now sat shoulders hunched at a candlelit table absently turning the pages of a book he had no interest in whatsoever. Dominic had been shocked by what they had told him
about the portrait and the straits his sister might be in. So much so that he had despatched a messenger that very day with a letter to her, saying that help might still be available and to hang on
until either he or Terath could get to her. The messenger had a long and dangerous journey, through enemy territory, over rivers and then to Tanaren City and the sea, a service for which, if
discharged appropriately, he would be handsomely rewarded.
Cedric grumbled testily at himself. He was only, after all, putting off having to walk back down a lengthy flight of uneven stairs in faltering light to get back to his room. Eventually he
decided to face the inevitable and started to ease himself off the chair with his stick when the door creaked open and in walked Astania, the slight elf girl who had become something of a nurse to
him.
The last few weeks had been something of a culture shock to the girl. The youngest of her people to make the journey from her homeland, she was the only one to travel to Felmere at
Itheya’s request, primarily to assist Cedric. The wood and stone, the smells and sounds of the city and its castle had frightened her a little and, like Cheris, she was feeling rather alone
in a place she felt was curiously devoid of feeling. When she had first arrived she had donned the short tunic that was common garb back home, only to draw incredulous and/or lascivious stares from
everyone who saw her. She had changed back into her riding clothes and cloak very quickly after that and tended to flit around the castle so quickly and noiselessly that she was now referred to as
‘the ghost’ by some. Still, on the brighter side, her understanding of the humans’ language had improved exponentially and she felt a lot more confident in using this strange
tongue.
‘I have found you at last,’ she said in a voice as slight as her frame. ‘Do you need me to use some power on you? You normally require some aid in the evening when your joints
stiffen.’
‘Not just yet thank you,’ Cedric replied briskly. ‘I am feeling well at the moment.’
‘That is good,’ she said, and turned to leave.
‘No, Astania, wait just a second. Please take a seat – there is something I want to say to you.’
Silently she did as he requested, her face curious.
‘I have wanted to apologise for a while. Because of me you have been torn from your people and forced to live among strangers, strangers of a completely different race. It must be very
difficult for you, so I just would like to say if there is anything I can do to help you here ... well, you only have to ask.’
‘I am fine,’ she replied, a little untruthfully. ‘It is not your fault you were unable to travel south with Terath. I believe it is a long journey, and difficult on
horseback.’
He gave a resigned sigh. ‘You speak truthfully, I fear. I was feeling rather unwell travelling through the pass and was dreading a further long journey.’ He held out a trembling arm.
‘As you can see, it is only getting worse and it could well be I have only one more journey left in me, the long road back to Tanaren, our capital, if indeed that route ever becomes clear of
enemies. At least, I can say proudly that I have helped to forge an alliance with your noble people, and that indeed all of the tribes of Seyavanion have joined our endeavours.’
‘Yes, Cedric, and I am pleased we are joined here south of the mountains. You are not quite correct, though – not all of the tribes are with us. Some would never fight for you, for
they dislike us almost as much as humans.’
Cedric raised an eyebrow. ‘I thought all the associates of the Morioka and the Ometahan had sent at least a few warriors.’
She faced him across the table, her sharp features exaggerated in the candlelight.’ Not every tribe are associated with us or Culleneron’s people. The very thought would fill them
with anger.’
Cedric’s curiosity was piqued. ‘Please, tell me more.’
‘Seyavanion is a large realm. As you know, our two tribes dominate the main forest and all other tribes have bonds, either weak or strong, with those tribes. But there are other parts of
the forest, its dark fringes. Where the mountains cut across the forest in the east there is a great valley. Its sides are sheer and impassable and within that valley much of the land is actually
beneath the level of the sea. It is cloaked in thick woodland and is permanently coated in mist that rises from the valley floor.’
Cedric leaned forward a little. ‘And tribes actually live there?’
Astania nodded. ‘As Terath has told me, these tribes had lived in this forest for many, many years before our arrival. We are a plains people and even now the forest is not a natural home
for us. When we first chose exile in Seyavanion the tribes that were there, the Obrosh and the Kesta, did not wish to accommodate us, though space was plentiful. They attacked us and were driven
off, and so moved their entire tribes into this valley. Since that time we have communicated little and it is probably fair to say we see humans more often than we see them.’
‘Fascinating!’ said Cedric. ‘In terms of culture, of way of life, are they very different to yourselves?’
‘I believe so, yes. They do not build dwellings as we do; they build temporary homes of wood and hide that they can pull down and move quickly. They have few horses, if any, but understand
the forest far better than we do. The trees are very tall in the valley and they climb them and can move through the boughs with little effort. There are also darker rumours about them, but I do
not know how true they might be.’
‘Go on,’ said Cedric. ‘By Artorus, I wish I was taking notes.’
‘Worry not, I can tell you again. Our word for blood is
vrno
and we call these people the Vrnaeltha, or just the Vrnae. The Blood Elves, they are called. It is said that, although
our religions were once the same, theirs has become debased and they now believe Zhun, our god, needs to be satiated with blood. They will take and drink blood from many animals for their rituals
and, if their need is dire, they will use their own blood if required. I do not know if people are killed in their ceremonies, but we fear that it might be the case. Rumours abound of their raiding
parties climbing the valley wall and stealing elves from our tribes to be killed on their altars. They may even take humans. There is said to be an underground pass leading to human lands from
Vrneskali, “Blood Valley”. They have little care for angering humans with such activities as that anger would be taken out on us, not them.’
‘Really, if they did not sound so intimidating, I would love to visit them.’
Astania eyes widened. ‘You would not! You really would not! We fear them and so should you. Some of the tales of them may be exaggerated but all rumours start from a kernel of truth, do
they not?’
Cedric grinned mischievously. ‘Well, perhaps not then; perhaps they are a little too fierce even for me.’
Astania, still unused to human irony, nodded. ‘They say there are monsters in their forest, monsters they hunt and slay, or even use as beasts of burden or of war. Terath could tell you
much more than I, of course. Other things said about them are that they wear the bones of animals as adornment, that they wear little or no clothing, and that their hair is the darkest black, like
ours, but their eyes are yellow or even red. I do not know if I believe all of this, though’
‘Intriguing,’ said Cedric. ‘They sound like the lowest form of savage, like the primitive human tribes of the far north, beyond even the Red Mountains.’
‘But to say that would be a mistake,’ Astania said earnestly. ‘They have their own songs and poems. They write nothing down and can remember their history back thousands of
years. Just because they do not follow our ideas of a civilised people, it does not mean that they are not, just that they are different. ‘
‘Very different,’ said Cedric. ‘We have no records of these people at all.’
‘You would not – they have never made themselves known to you.’
‘And the Aelthenwood is the only place they exist?’
‘No, I believe there are similar peoples in the Siovania, the forests to the far north where more of our people fled after the war with the humans. There is a mountain range, maybe even
these Red Mountains of which you speak, and there are high forests isolated by these mountains. There, too, the Vrnae exist it is said, forgotten by all but the wise among us.’
‘Then I am fortunate to be in the company of the wise here.’
She snorted, an elven trait signifying polite disagreement.
‘Terath is the wise one; I merely learn from him.’
‘And one day you will replace him.’
‘No, Dirthen is older than I – I will merely assist. I am promised to Dirthen. A child born to us both will have a good chance of having our
haraska
and of eventually being
our new loremaster.’
‘You will have a child with him?’
‘Yes.’
‘It is just that Itheya seemed to regard the possibility of becoming pregnant as extremely unlikely, no matter how many ... um ... dalliances she might have.’
‘That is because she has not undergone
meliatele
.’
‘
Meliatele
?’
‘Yes. When a woman is ready to conceive she approaches the loremaster for permission. If he is agreeable, she will become one of the handful of people to attend
meliatele
. She, her
husband and the others selected will journey to a high place in the mountains and spend a week undergoing the festival rites. When she returns there is a good chance she will already be with
child.’
‘What? You are saying that, unless she undergoes this festival rite, she will never have children? That the loremaster dictates who can and cannot breed?’
‘No, it is just that without going to
meliatele
the chances of having a child are very small; it is seen as something miraculous when this happens. The women that do attend it,
though, have a very good chance of having their child, or even of having two children.’
‘Then how often is this festival held?’
‘Twice a year in spring and early autumn.’
‘So, if your people need more children, why not hold it more often? What exactly happens in this festival?’
‘I am not allowed to say. But I can tell you that a woman has to drink an elixir and that its ingredients are rare enough to restrict the amount of times the festival is held and the
number of people we allow to attend.’
‘And if these ingredients disappear?’
‘Then I fear for us. Our hold in this world, as you can see, is tenuous.’
‘I do. Then war and battle are enterprises that cannot be undertaken lightly.’
‘You are correct’
‘I wonder now why you agreed to join us so readily here.’
‘I believe it was a close vote. For me the chance to regain our lost artefacts, and the history that goes with them, made it an easy decision.’
Cedric coughed uncertainly. ‘I do wonder as to how many more the Grand Duke is prepared to release to you.’
‘You said there would be more.’
‘I did and I meant it. I still do. He, though, like most men is covetous and the sight of gold makes him more covetous still. I swear to you, though, that I will do everything in my power
to see you get many more of the pieces we discovered.’
‘Then I believe you – all our people see you as a man of honour.’
‘I am flattered. Now I have spent enough time here, I fancy an early night. I would be grateful if you could assist me down the stairs... Oh and the healing you offered earlier, that
sounds like a fine idea right now...’
He continued to talk as he shuffled slowly down the cracked steps, the light from the torches throwing out great shadows behind them.