The Deed of Paksenarrion (161 page)

“Art thou a true elf?” asked the tavernkeeper in elven. “Art thou of the house of the leaf, or the house of the fountain?”

“I am not,” replied Paks, still in the same language. “Yet I have had friends of leaf and fountain, and have been graced by their wisdom and song. I am Paksenarrion Dorthansdotter, named elf-friend by Ardhiel. I have touched the elfane taig, and lain captive of the iynisin longer than I care to tell, and fought a daskdraudigs when my wounds were healed.”

“I have heard of such a Paksenarrion,” he said. “A servant of Gird Strongarm, so I’ve heard, and a friend of the Kuakgan of Brewersbridge, and of Kieri Phelan of Tsaia.”

“That is true.” Paks waited through another silence. Elves, she thought, could be just as slow as dwarves—but then they thought humans were hasty.

“And what do you search for here?” he asked finally. “You carry such magic with you as would satisfy most humans.”

Paks laughed easily. “I search for someone, not some thing. For someone who can identify what I carry, and tell me its tale. And not only me. I search, as you must realize, for the elves I thought to find in Chaya, the heart of Lyonya the Fair. For this, I was told, was a kingdom of men and elves together—”

“So it was, once, Paksenarrion,” said another voice, from near the dying fire. “Long years ago. But evil betrayed that dream—”

“And good may redeem it,” said Paks. She felt a nudge from within, and called light. In that sudden glare the room showed full of elves—many of them high elves, richly dressed. Her light glittered from jewels on fingers and belts and weapons, gleamed on the gold frame of a great-harp, the silver of buckles and mail. Around the walls ran a pattern of interlacement, set in gleaming tiles.

“You are a paladin, then.” The tavernkeeper’s voice was steady; she had not startled him, at least.

“Yes. And I have come to Chaya on quest, with a call from the gods I serve. This call sent me to find elves—elves who remember the better days, the days when King Falkieri had an elven wife, and two children—”

“Does anyone want those days remembered?” asked the elf in the corner. He sat in a carved chair that resembled a tangle of tree roots formed into a throne; his velvet tunic was embroidered heavily in gold and silver.

“The king does,” she answered. “He sent me to ask.”

“The king? The
human
king?”

“Yes. He knows he is dying; he wants to leave Lyonya in better hope than now seems likely.”

They looked at one another; Paks felt the intensity of those looks. “And on his deathbed he acquires wisdom that might have saved us had he found it earlier.” That was a part-elf, squatting on the hearth itself.

“Peace, Challm,” said the richly dressed elf. “Wisdom is always worth having, be it never so late. And for a human, whose soul lives after him, it is a priceless gift.” He stood. “Paksenarrion, you will not remember, but you have seen me before.”

Paks shuffled rapidly through her memories, but to no avail.

He smiled. “You were dying in the snow—you had taken such injuries from an evil power our best efforts were nearly too late and too little. And we did you a discourtesy, in casting a glamour on you that made you forget an errand—though I swear, lady, we took the scroll to Estil Halveric faster than you could have done.”

Paks felt her jaw drop. “You! You are one of the elves who found me after—”

“You freed the elfane taig. Yes. Kinsmen, this is an elf-friend indeed. I am glad to see you with such powers, Paksenarrion. From time to time we heard that things went hard with you.” She nodded, speechlessly. “You may withdraw your light if you wish; we have our own.” He was smiling now, and as Paks damped her light, the elflight, similar but with a more pearly glow, radiated from the air around her. It had no source she could see, and cast no shadows. “You asked my name that night,” he went on. “I judged you did not mean any discourtesy, though I was short with you. It went hard to admit that a mere human had done what many elves had tried and failed to do. But now—” He bowed. “Permit me to introduce myself. I am Amrothlin son of Flessinathlin, the lady who holds the heart of the Ladysforest, and brother of that queen you spoke of.”

“The queen who—”

“Who disappeared with her son, the prince. Yes. And if my eyes have not faded—which they have not—you bear at your side the very sword—”

Paks had, in the past few moments, forgotten the sword. Now she laid her hand on its hilt. “It is this, my lord, which—”

He nodded. “I know.” His eyes swept the room. “It is time, kindred—time and more than time. We are not hasty, we elves, but the time for mysteries is past, and the time of truth is at hand. I will take six of you: Berris, Gyorlan, Challm, Adreath, Signys, Preliath.” He came to Paks. “When does the king wish our presence?”

“As soon as may be, my lord.”

“Then we shall come now. He made a gesture, and the elflight died. Paks blinked in the darkness, until her eyes adjusted to the red glow in the hearth. Then she turned, hearing the elves around her, and led the way back toward the palace.

They said nothing during that walk—nothing aloud, at least, though Paks surmised that their thoughts were full. At the palace gates, the guards’ eyes went wide when they saw Paks and the others. But clearly they had had their orders, for they swung the gates open and stood at attention. They came to the far side, to the doors of the palace. Lieth stood there, now formal in armor and surcoat of royal green and gold.

“Lady Paksenarrion? It will be in the Leaf Hall; Esceriel called too many lords to fit into the king’s own chamber.”

Paks introduced the elves with her, and Lieth bowed. “Be welcome, my lords and ladies, in the king’s hall. He will be with you shortly.” Lieth opened double doors into a long high room with panelled walls, now brightly lit by many candles. Paks estimated that some twenty men and women waited there. Fires blazed in both fireplaces, and at one end a long chair waited for the king. The elves moved into the room; Paks saw some faces light, and others freeze, to see them. She turned to Lieth.

“Will you need help to bring him down?”

“No, Lady. He insisted on donning his formal mail, and Esceriel and I, and two others of his squires, will bear his chair down. He asked that you stay here, until he comes.”

“Then I will do so.” Paks entered the room. Almost at once, Sier Halveric came to her.

“Well, lady paladin, you have tossed a torch into the oil barrel indeed. What is this, do you know?”

“My lord, I await the king’s command to speak of it.”

He eyed her shrewdly. “And think I should not ask, eh? Pardon, Lady. I’ve been on Council so long, and the king’s been ill so long, that I am too hasty. The king’s business has been our business these many months.”

“I hold no anger, Sier Halveric.”

He nodded. “I hope I am permitted to thank you for easing him. The word has gone that after your care he slept easily for the first time in months.”

“I grieve, my lord, that I was not given healing for him.” Paks wondered if she should say even this much; she knew that others were listening.

“I also.” He bowed and stepped back. Sier Belvarin stood nearby, frowning, and came forward as Halveric left.

“I wonder, Lady, that you would bring elves to the palace. Perhaps you do not know how we feel—”

“I do not know how you feel, Sier Belvarin,” said Paks, with an edge in her voice. “But I know this kingdom is both elven and human, and has been so since humans came here. Elves granted humans land-right here, but the precedence is theirs.” Belvarin reddened, and Paks went on. “Besides, I obeyed the king’s express command to bring them.”

“The king
wanted
elves?”

“Indeed yes,” said Paks, now with a smile. “I would bring no one here without his consent, human or other. He told me to find and bring them.”

Shaking his head, Belvarin melted back into the crowd. Paks watched him, uncertain. She felt no warning of evil, as she had in Phelan’s stronghold, but she knew something was wrong.

“Lords and ladies.” At the door, four squires carried the king’s chair; he was propped with pillows, gray-faced and gaunt. The speaker was a man in forest green whom Paks had not met. Everyone bowed, while the squires carried the chair forward. In courtesy, no one looked as the squires helped the king from the carrying chair to the one that awaited him. Then they took up their positions on either side of him.

“My lords—ladies—high elves of Lyonya and the elvenlands—” The king’s voice was thin but steady. He took a long breath and went on. “This day a paladin of Gird arrived in Chaya—here, in this palace—and because she is here, I called this assembly.” He took a sip from a silver goblet that Lieth held ready. “She bears with her what may be—
may
be, I say—a treasure of this house, lost since Falkieri’s queen and heir were killed over forty years ago. If it is so, it may have returned to our aid in this time of need. I called you here to witness the examination of this object, and hear what she knows of it.”

“In the middle of the
night
?” Paks did not know who that was—a tall dark woman on the far side of the room. But the king smiled.

“Yes, Jonnlith. You all know I have not long to live. The paladin Paksenarrion asked healing for me; it was not granted.” He lifted his hand to still the murmurs that ran around the room. “Enough, please. She eased my pain—more ease than I’ve had since last spring. If the gods have decided that my life is over, who am I—or who is she—to argue? I have no quarrel with her, only great thanks. But in what time is left me, I would learn what I can of this treasure. Paksenarrion, come forward.”

Paks moved toward the king’s chair, aware of the eyes watching her, and bowed. She felt, rather than saw, that Amrothlin followed her closely.

“Show them the sword in its scabbard,” said the king quietly. Paks unbuckled the scabbard from her swordbelt, and held it flat on her arms before her. She saw nothing but interest on most faces, but a few suddenly seemed intent. Sier Halveric. An old man, somewhat stooped, in heavy woolens and a fur-collared cloak. And, of course, all the elves.

“How many think they can name this sword?” asked the king. The Halveric stepped forward.

“Sir king, by the jewel on the pommel, and the shape of the hilts, it is much like the sword that your elder brother Falkieri’s elven wife carried. That blade was rune-marked on the the spine; is this?”

“Wait,” said the king. “Anyone else?” A thin old man in blue shuffled forward, with a younger one supporting him.

“I saw that sword in her hand,” he quavered. “The day she left, sir king, when I led her horse out, and set the lad up behind her, it was belted to her waist. If I can look at the hilts—there was a mark, inside the curve, where the boy had made a scratch with something. She laughed about it, said it was his first mark.” He bent over the sword, and poked a bony finger into the place, searching with his fingernail. “Yes—there it is. Can you see it?”

Paks held the sword for the king to see, and he, too, found the scratch. “Thank you, Lord Hammarrin. Anyone else?”

Now the stooped old man came forward. His face was dark and weathered into a nest of deep cracks, but he moved more lightly than the other. He put out one gnarled hand, and touched the scabbard lightly. “I say it is the same, sir king. It—it feels the same, the way it always did. And the stone’s the same—” He touched that, too, with a wary finger. “I’ve seen this sword many a time—at least, this grip and hilts. But it wasn’t hers, as I remember, but the boy’s—”

“What!” One of the younger lords cried out.

“That’s right,” said Hammarrin, turning toward them again. “I remember she said something about giving it to him someday. But what does it matter?”

“Master Tekko,” said the king, “do you know what runes would be on that blade?”

The old huntsman’s face creased into a gap-toothed grin. “Me, my lord? Nay, the only runes I know are of track and trail. I can read red deer and wolf well enough. It had something on it, I know that, but not what.”

“My pardon, sir king,” said Amrothlin quietly. “May I speak?”

The king peered at him. “You are an elf, sir?”

“Yes.” The elf’s voice held none of the scorn that Paks knew it could convey. “That lady you speak of, the wife of your brother Falkieri, was my sister; this sword and its story are well-known to me.”

A scurry of sound like mice ran through the room. The king raised his hand again, and again took a sip of the cup Lieth held. “By your leave, sir elf, we will hear this tale.”

Amrothlin turned so that the rest of the room could see his face. “Sir king, in the days when the queen bore her first child she asked her family, in the Ladysforest, to forge him a weapon. She foresaw that his life would be full of danger, and wished him to have the protection of such blades as elves are skilled to make. And so the smiths labored, and after that the singers, to bind into this blade what spells would serve him best.”

“But
she
carried it,” blurted someone. Paks heard the hushing hisses.

“You’re right,” said Amrothlin. “So she did. She judged her son would grow to be a tall man, as most half-elven are, and the sword was made full-size. But—” He looked for a moment at the sword Paks held. “It is possible for such a blade, forged to serve one person in particular, to change size and shape somewhat with need. Until he grew to carry it, she kept it in a form she herself could use. It was safer so, she thought, than lying unused. Another thing—although it was made for him, and sealed to him at its making by elven magics, a more formal sealing was planned for that very trip. After that, it could be used by no one else, but until then, anyone might use it. Should evil handle it, it might be corrupted. So she thought to keep it safe for him, and bind her own mother-spells into it as well.”

“But how did it get to
her
?” asked Sier Halveric, looking hard at Paks.

“Please, Sier Halveric. Let me finish what I know. The runes on the blade are these: fire, treasure, ward, rejoice, mountain, royal.” As he spoke, he traced them on the air in elflight. Paks saw many of the watchers flinch. He turned to Paks. “Are these the runes?”