Now Lycaelon shook his head, the energy that his anger had generated running out of him like water from a cracked jar. 'But it is done. Our borders are our walls, as it was in the beginning. The proclamations will go out as soon as they can be enscribed.'
'This is… strange news, Lord Arch-Mage,' Anigrel said slowly. And important enough to report immediately, without waiting for the usual time.
'Strange indeed. But I will not let their blindness defeat me.' Lycaelon's voice hardened. 'You have taught me the value of perseverance, eh, my young friend? And now, Anigrel, I am tired. Bring me tea.'
Anigrel hurried to do as he was bid, his mind turning on what this meant to his own mission.
'There are no failures, only opportunities!'
And this would be a great opportunity indeed… for the Dark Lady.
FROM the habit of years, Idalia woke a little before dawn. She could feel the life of Sentarshadeen all around her, like a melody played just below the threshold of hearing, but mingled with it, terribly, was a wrongness, a discord—faint still, but holding within it the potential to grow stronger with time.
The drought had disturbed her ever since she'd seen the first signs of it as they rode toward Sentarshadeen. Drought and flood were both aspects of the balance of Nature, for Nature was not gentle with her creatures, and sometimes the ways she achieved her balance were necessarily harsh. But a natural drought was a thing that was long years in the making, a thing of scant rains, not no rain. The High Hills were a country of long dry summers, wet springs, and soaking autumn rains, and a dry summer could extend somewhat into either side of spring or autumn without overmuch harm. But there had been no rain this spring at all, and now none this autumn, and that was not natural.
And more troubling than that, rivers that should have run fast and deep into Elven lands, full with melted snow from the High Peaks, were dry as well.
Perhaps ending the drought would be a simple matter, requiring nothing more than a simple—though powerful—spell. The whole of Sentarshadeen would eagerly share the price, Idalia knew. She only hoped it would be that easy.
Best to find out for sure, then, instead of worrying about it.
She rose and dressed, some imp of perversity causing her to reject the sturdy silks and woolens her hosts had provided in favor of her own buck' skins. Let her be seen for what she was: human, and mortal, and Wildmage. Later she would wear the silks as a matter of courtesy, of thanking her hosts tacitly for providing them, but first impressions were important, especially here, and she meant them to think of her as she intended to be.
And Jermayan…
No. She would not think about Jermayan, ever again. And if the man had a scrap of good manners left to him, he'd arrange matters so their paths never crossed. It was for the best. The man was an Elven Knight. He was used to making hard choices. He'd just have to live with hers.
An unbidden thought intruded. I only hope that I can…
She shook it off, moved quietly across the main room, to look in on Kellen. He was sound asleep, tangled up in the blankets as though he'd lost a fight with them. She felt a fond smile cross her lips. Kellen slept like a hibernating bear; there was very little chance she'd wake him, no matter how much noise she made.
She quickly brewed her morning tea. She had no appetite herself, but she set out a plate of breakfast pastries for Kellen to find when he awoke. There'd been many visitors last night while Kellen had been out exploring, and at the moment, the larder was full enough to withstand even the onslaughts of a growing teenager's appetite.
Kellen… Idalia remembered her first experience in Elven lands and sighed. Last night, when Kellen had come back from the Palace, his eyes had been so full of stars it was the Gods' own mercy he'd made it home at all, and walked through the door instead of into it! The Elves were so beautiful, so kind, their protracted lives so seemingly perfect… it was easy to fall into the trap of thinking they were always right as well.
And they certainly think so, after all. It's easier to shift an overburdened mule than to get one of the Elvenborn to change his mind! 'Stubborn as an Elf' now there was a new maxim for the City fathers to din into younglings' heads! And it took you forever to notice, because, when one of the Elvenkind disagreed with you, all they ever did was smile and change the subject, and it could take a person forever to figure out that there'd been an argument… and you'd lost.
She would never lose her admiration for them, her respect for their wisdom and knowledge, and her affection for them—but jermayan had served her one good turn. She was no longer blind to their faults, either as individuals or as a race.
But all this cloud-gathering wasn't getting her anywhere, and the sun was almost up. Idalia finished her tea, washed out the cup, and left the tea-things out where Kellen would find them. Then she picked up her walking-staff, filled her pockets with charged keystones, and left their lodging.
