Farcarinon, who riddled with dragons and learned the secret of making the bargain that gained the great boons of peace and long life for our race. If you lose your way, ask any you meet the path to Morusil's house, and they will be happy to bring you to me.'
'Thank you,' Kellen said, getting to his feet. He was starting to get used to the Elves' ways of putting an end to a conversation by now, though he wasn't sure he was ever going to get used to their indirect way of asking- without-asking, and answering questions you hadn't asked. He bowed to Morusil, and stepped out onto the path again, continuing on his way.
The path led onward, toward the river, by a different route than he had followed yesterday. He saw no one else in the gardens as he passed them, but perhaps the folk who lived here were indoors—or perhaps they were elsewhere, working. He supposed that even Elves must work…
His conversation with Morusil, short and inconclusive though it had been, had certainly given him a lot to think about, even if he hadn't answered any of the questions Kellen had really wanted to ask. The Elves were a lot like the Wild Magic itself in that way, Kellen thought. But as far as he could tell, it seemed as if the Elves thought that the Wild Magic was actually the magic of the entire world, and that when he and Idalia— and the other Wildmages, who must be around somewhere, even though Kellen had never yet met one—were making their bargains and paying their prices, they were actually bargaining with and paying to the same force that was responsible for, well… everything, from twigs to unicorns.
Leaf and root, Morusil had said. World and magic, two sides of the same coin, indivisible. All part of the same thing, with the Wild Magic, the magic of balance and healing, to bind them both together.
And somehow, the Mages of Armethalieh had just managed to… forget… that, if they'd ever known it.
Why? How? When?
Kellen frowned. There was something on the tip of his mind, something he'd heard once, and almost remembered…
But the thought was gone before he could chase it to its source. He shrugged. He could ask Idalia about it tonight. Or he could ask some of the other Elves, assuming he could figure out how to do that without asking any questions. Hadn't Morusil said that anyone in Sentarshadeen would tell him about the Wild Magic? He thought he'd see if the old man had been right: he could stand to learn a lot more about it—and as soon as he could—if he was going to use it to help the Elves.
But right now there didn't seem to be anyone tracking him down with demands that he do something. Not even the Queen.
Maybe Elves, with their centuries of life ahead of them, rarely saw any reason to hurry.
If that was the case, he supposed he could afford the time for a leisurely amble along the byways of Sentarshadeen, retracing the paths he'd taken yesterday with Sandalon and learning new ones.
Besides, Idalia was probably looking into the situation already; he surely didn't know enough to determine what was causing this drought! He wouldn't even begin to know where to start, and as for actually doing anything about it—
I think I'd better leave that up to Idalia. If there was a place for him in the solution, she certainly wouldn't be slow in telling him about it! After all, she hadn't hesitated for a moment in getting him involved in everything he didn't actively and strongly object to.
And I did tell her that I had promised my help already. Given that, Idalia would probably send someone to fetch him the moment she had anything constructive he could do. I might as well enjoy my holiday while I've got it, Kellen decided, walking on.
Slowly the form of the Elven city began to take shape in his mind. It was a thing of gentle curves and meanders; where a human city would have broad straight avenues, imposing vistas, and large dignified public buildings, the Elven city seemed designed to present small quiet opportunities for reflection, and often Kellen saw no houses at all, though he was sure he must be in the middle of many of them.
But even in the middle of so much quiet beauty he saw evidence of the specter that hovered over Sentarshadeen. Fountains that should have been sparkling in the sun stood dry and empty; reflecting pools that once held water had been carefully filled with patterns of colored sand instead; tiny bridges arched over dry stopes instead of over trickling streams. Though these substitutions would hardly have been noticeable in a human garden, in an Elven one, the tiny imperfections among all that was perfect sounded a jarring note. Tumbled stone and tiled basins were meant for water. As they were, they did not fit. They were not—quite—harmonious enough. The more he saw of such substitutions, the more determined he was to restore Sentarshadeen to what it had been before.
He'd grown so used to the absence of water that when he heard the sound of running water coming from a house up ahead of him, it took him several minutes to believe his ears. Feeling faintly alarmed and very curious, Kellen hurried toward the sound.
There was a house set back away from the road. The path leading up to it was made of rough-surfaced tiles, each a different shape and color, with strong raised designs upon their surfaces. The house was tiled as well, its entire surface, even the roof, covered with an intricate mosaic of handmade tile, until it resembled some giant fantastic creature from one of Kellen's bestiaries—a manticore or a basilisk, perhaps, or even a sleeping dragon.
