“You’re good to go as of now,” Cosima rose. “And I don’t know if we’re likely to see you back here in Firheng again for a long time. I know you’ll have to be back in the Eastern Forest within a year and a half, as your ears start to grow back. I hope we’ll get a chance to see you pass through here. I’m sure you’ll have some interesting stories to tell,” he said as he walked towards the door and opened it.
“And you’ve got some friends here who will want to see you again,” he added. The commander held out his hand and shook Kestrel’s. “Go with the peace and protection of the gods.”
“Thank you, commander,” Kestrel replied as he felt the strong grip. “I look forward to seeing you again with some entertaining stories to tell.”
He turned to see Belinda, who was standing and facing him as he heard the door to Cosima’s office close behind him. “Oh Kestrel, come back to us safe and sound!” she said as she hugged him. “I want you to have dinner with Ranor and me.”
“I look forward to that,” Kestrel said gently. They pulled away from one another, and stared into each other’s eyes, then Kestrel stepped back. “Good bye, Belinda,” he said softly, as he left the room. His pack was in his room, ready to go; he soon picked it up, and put all his weaponry on, then left Firheng on his way back to Estone.
Chapter 30 — Jonson’s Needs
Kestrel stood on the road, looking at the walls of Estone not far away, as they glowed red in the sunset’s light. He’d taken three days to travel this far from Firheng, three days that he had spent scrubbing his mind of his feelings that he was once again an elf pretending to be a human. For the next several months, he knew he had to convince himself that he was a human — he needed to feel it in his heart and be able to convince everyone around him that there was nothing elvish about him. The words of the blacksmith in Green Water still replayed in his memory — “Are you a human or an elf?” Even when he looked and acted most human, the smith had found something about him that raised the seemingly preposterous question.
Those circumstances had been unusual though, and he didn’t expect to see another elf for many weeks or months to come. And starting with his passage through the walls of Estone, he would have to put his Elven identity as deeply under cover as possible. He took a deep breath, then resumed his journey towards Estone, and half an hour later he passed through the gate.
He needed to find a place to spend the night. He had spent the whole journey north thinking about that question more than any other. He wanted to go see Merilla first — first and foremost — to see what reception he would receive, and what feelings might be ready to flare up between them, if the gods were to capriciously decide their romantic timing was allowable now. But he knew that he was only going to be in Estone for one or two or three nights, until he had arrangements to sail away, and he would be treating Merilla in a manner that was callous if he simply visited her briefly to satisfy his own desires, then left.
There was a square near the docks, and he knew there were decent inns nearby. He would go there and book a room. He would book a room and think about Merilla, he knew, as he walked through the darkening streets of Estone, as the autumnal sun set, casting its last weak rays into the city. Then, after he had a room, he would eat dinner, and he would continue to think about Merilla. And after that, no matter what he did, whether he went to an armory and practiced, or sat in a tavern and drank, or walked around the streets near Daley’s shop, he would think about Merilla.
Minutes later he reached the square, and selected an inn, The Mermaid, where he got the last room available. He left his pack and his bow and his sword in his room, and went downstairs with his staff. He stood in the doorway and looked into the dining room, where a few men in red sat, then walked outside into the darkness, and began to walk towards the section of town where Daley’s millinery shop and Hammon’s leathermongery were located around the corner from one another.
When he arrived, both shops were dark, but the living quarters above each showed windows that glowed with light, and he stood on a far corner where he could stare at both sets of lights and both doorways and felt the turmoil in his heart as the minutes passed and he made no move to approach either home. He felt his feet grow cold as he stood motionless on the corner, then the cold began to seep through his cloak, and at last he left the corner and returned to his inn, where he sat alone at a table in the tavern, and drank an ale with his dinner, before he went to bed alone for the evening.
He laid in his bed with a dim lantern providing light, as he read the intricate directions from Silvan, information on how he was to pass his findings along to the elven forces. There were a number of locations along the border with Hydrotaz where he could secretly stash a message, and know that it would eventually be found and picked up by an elf courier.
His messages would have to be written in obscure codes, full of symbols and hidden meanings that he would need many days to memorize. Flowers, shapes, colors — they all had to be written into a message that seemed to describe something else. There were sequences of words that would trigger meanings — “a square of yellow roses” meant that life-threatening conditions were imminent, for example. “A triangle of three red pansies” meant that he expected he was going to die. There were few happy or positive meanings he could convey, he noted grimly as he turned down the wick to put out his bedroom light. Apparently, he wasn’t expected to uncover many happy outcomes, he thought as he drifted off to sleep.
The next morning Kestrel went to see Castona at his shop, where he was greeted with a combination of warmth and awe. “It’s the return of our champion!” one of Castona’s assistants shouted.
Castona poked his head out from a back room to see the reason for the shout, then grinned. “It’s not always good to have to need a champion, but if you’re going to have one, this is the best to have!” he said.
“Kestrel, what brings you through our door, and have you been to the palace to see the Doge?” the merchant asked.
“I just arrived in the city last night,” Kestrel replied. “I’d like to get a berth on a ship to take me to the Inland Seas kingdoms.
“Why do I need to see the Doge?” he asked.
“The Doge wants the prestige of having you seen in public with him, of course,” Castona explained. “Let me do some checking on the tides and departures this morning, while you go to the palace, flash your chest — funny, I wouldn’t have thought I’d ever say that to a man!” he laughed at his own joke, “and then go see the Doge. He’ll probably want to host a dinner or reception with you and invite all the noblemen he can.
“You should do this, Kestrel. The Doge has been very upset about your disappearance, and this will help quite a bit, especially with the restlessness that has been growing among the people,” Castona urged. “It won’t delay your departure by more than a day or so. And there have been some unusual occurrences around the city lately; your appearance will give people — including the Doge — some comfort.”
“Alright,” Kestrel agreed, willing to accept a reason to spend another night in Estone.
“Good!” Castona smiled. “And when you see the Doge, could you put in a good word for me? Let him know that I was the one who told you to go see him? I’d appreciate it.”
Kestrel laughed at the ulterior motive revealed. He clapped his trader acquaintance on the shoulder. “I’ll go to the palace right now, and demand to see the Doge. You go find a ship for me.” He stood up and left the shop, striding through the streets of the city on his way to the palace, dodging traffic and slipping down alleyways to avoid slow spots. Within several minutes he stood at the gates of the palace and approached a guard.
“I want to see the Doge. I am the People’s Champion,” Kestrel said. He saw the boredom on the faces of the guards, and responded by pulling his cape away, then lifting his shirt over his head.
“I want to see the Doge, and I understand he wants to see me,” Kestrel said, as the two guards looked at him closely, then whispered between themselves.
“Step inside the gate here, and we’ll have a guide sent to take you inside,” one of the guards said.
Kestrel entered the gate, then pulled his shirt back on and wrapped his cowl around him. Within minutes, a palace servant in a luxurious uniform arrived, and led Kestrel inside, to a luxurious sitting room. “Moresond will be here in a few minutes to meet with you,” the servant said.
Moresond was the herald of the palace, the man with the deep rich voice who had met Kestrel at the time he had been invested with his titles. It was a check on his authenticity, he realized, one that might not even require
