Ravenshade Page 15

  “What am I doing all the way down here, if the threat is in the Fell-ruin?” asked Gorgon.

  You don’t really know—you have been driven south on an inexplicable impulse. You don’t know why Wrothgar’s forces are amassing in the Fell-ruins, either, but so they are. You’re a lost being, not truly aware of yourself or of your surroundings. It’s a miracle you weren’t discovered and taken as you passed through the Darkmere.

  Gorgon seemed reasonably impressed with this history. “Being frozen for such a long time would explain why I know so little of recent world affairs, and why I am hesitant when confronting strangers.”

  Kotos smiled to himself. Orrion would prove to be an odd mix of impressive physical presence and social awkwardness. The story that he had been damaged in battle, and had faced such terrible trials, added to his credibility. He would appear confused much of the time, would not like being surrounded by strange folk, and would not participate in songs or in tale-telling. Kotos would ensure that the right words were ready in Gorgon’s mind, and that Orrion would say them.

  They stopped only to tend to El-morah, to give him water and make certain he was still breathing. It is important that this man be alive when we arrive at the Citadel, said Kotos. I need to establish you, Orrion, as a person of very special and unique talents, and I need this man to demonstrate them. I have been preparing this deception for a while.

  “Well, you won’t need to worry about it much longer,” said Gorgon. “There is the gap in the hills that leads to the Citadel. We’re nearly there now.”

  When the sentinels first beheld the golden figure striding toward the Great Gates, they were surprised and awed. Here was a figure straight out of legend standing before them, speaking High-elven in a deep and resounding voice, asking to be admitted. He carried a man in his arms, and that man appeared to be on the verge of death. Because of their recent trials, the City was no longer quite as welcoming as it had once been, and an armed guard met the strange Elf at the gate, but this did not appear to dismay him.

  Orrion delivered El-morah into the arms of a tall, grey-eyed man named Visili, who bore him to the Healing Halls at once. There he would be tended and his body restored, but he could not be truly healed. Not yet.

  Rogond, Hallagond, and Galador were the first among the Company to learn of Orrion. The news of an Elf arriving in the City had excited all who heard, and it spread quickly. Soon there were many curious folk gathered outside the Hall of Council, where it was said that Lord Salastor and his councilors were meeting with the newcomer, no doubt to learn of his intentions. As the tale spread, it grew. The people, though they had become accustomed to the sight of Elves in the City, would never have seen anyone quite like Orrion. Not even Galador could match him in size, beauty, or power. The Èolar were larger and stronger in general than the Eádram, who, though tall enough, were inclined to be more lithe and lissome. Orrion looked like a vision from an ancient manuscript come to life.

  Despite Orrion’s tall stature and prideful demeanor, Gorgon Elfhunter was terrified. He was now surrounded by curious folk, any one of whom would most likely try to kill him were his true nature revealed. Gorgon did not like crowds of people except on a battlefield, and he was now in a frightful state of discomfort. He felt like a trapped animal. Despite all reassurance from Kotos, he wanted to bolt from the chamber where he now stood before the High Council. To Kotos’ displeasure and alarm, he began to sweat.

  Stop that at once! You must not allow them to see the sweat that runs from your brow…Elves do not sweat like that unless they are laboring hard in extreme heat! Cease your trembling! Look…look around you. These people are nothing compared with you. Can you not see how small and how weak they are? They are in absolute awe of you. Do not cringe before them—you are the mightiest being they have ever beheld. Stand tall and unafraid, for I am with you. You wield more power than all of them put together, so start acting like it!

  To his relief, Kotos convinced Gorgon to quell his fears for the moment. Orrion took a deep breath, lifted his head, and stopped sweating. He drew his right arm across his forehead, removing all trace of his fear, and looked into the eyes of Lord Salastor.

  Orrion told the Council all that he would tell them, speaking in High-elven. Gorgon had learned the tongue of the Èolar when he was very young, and now it served him well, for the words came forth with practiced ease. They came at the prompting of Kotos, for this first meeting must go according to plan, and they could not afford mistakes. At last he bowed before the Council, asking that he be allowed to rest. “My journey has been long and hard, and I am weary,” he said. “Please, might these questions be delayed until I have refreshed myself? I will enlighten thee when I am better able.”

  It was not like the people of Dûn Arian to be inconsiderate, and they were chagrined. Of course, Orrion would be well cared for—the inquiries of the Council could wait. Lord Salastor himself apologized to Orrion for taxing him. “Take thy rest, Worthy Guest, and partake of our hospitality. Thou art welcome. Forgive us our curiosity at the expense of thy comfort. I humbly ask thy pardon…we shall continue our talks at a later time.” He bowed then to Orrion, as did all the Council of Nine.

  A warden stepped forward to conduct Orrion to his guest quarters. As Gorgon turned to leave, Kotos spoke to him. Be aware that some of those you know are present here, and do not be dismayed. Take no notice! Orrion scanned the crowd, his eyes lighting only for a moment on Rogond and Galador before moving on. They did not appear to know him. You see? I told you they would not. If you do exactly as I instruct, they never will. As he left the hall, one event stood out in Gorgon’s mind with more clarity than any other. It was the first time in his entire misbegotten existence that anyone had apologized to him for anything.

  Orrion soon found himself in a clean, white chamber with a soft bed, a tray of food, clear, cold water, and some sweet, red wine. Kotos advised him to leave the wine alone, as Gorgon would need his wits about him, and Kotos did not know how the wine would affect him.

  Orrion was hungry, and he started wolfing down the food until Kotos stayed him. Stop that! You need to begin to learn manners when it comes to eating and drinking. I would suggest that we begin at once. If anyone sees you gorging like a half-starved dog, there will be questions. Now, take the fork in your hand. Yes, that’s right…no, not like that! You appear to be ready to stab someone with it.

  Kotos sighed inwardly as Gorgon gripped the fork in his huge fist as though it were a weapon. How could he convey the lesson? One moment…step over to the mirror and look within. Kotos flowed into the glass, allowing the image of the old man to appear there. The old man held up a fork so that Gorgon could see.

  “Now,” said the old man, “you try.” Orrion held the fork in the same manner. “Well done. Now watch me and learn.” They practiced together, first with the fork, and then with the knife, until Kotos was satisfied.

  Gorgon, by now, had become impatient. “Get on with it, you old fool! I am famished from my journey, and I am weary of this,” he snarled.

  Kotos’ face grew dark and for a moment Gorgon was very nearly afraid of him. “If I hear any sort of discourtesy from you while you are here, you will regret it! I know it doesn’t come easily, but if you cannot think of a polite way to say something, don’t speak at all until I have enlightened you! Is that now very clear?”

  The image of the old man transformed into a sort of malevolent, swirling cloud of inky black and dark purple. Kotos left the mirror and flowed back into Orrion without another word, causing him to take a sharp breath. Being invaded by an angry Kotos was jarring to the system. Kotos calmed almost at once and sent forth soothing thoughts. There, now…of course you are hungry, my large friend. Let us practice eating in an appropriate manner, shall we? For the next hour, Orrion demonstrated passable, if inexpert, table manners.

  Afterward, he was weary and in need of rest. You should not sleep, said Kotos. You are an Elf, remember? They do not sleep except in very special circum
stances. Yet you may rest, and I shall keep the watch, for I require no rest at all. I will alert you if anyone comes. With these words Kotos flowed back into his amulet, leaving Gorgon’s exhausted mind in peace.

  In all his long years, the Elfhunter had never encountered anything quite so taxing as standing before that Council with very little idea of how to behave, surrounded by strange men, praying that they would not see through his disguise. He drew the heavy drapes across the windows, darkening the chamber, and then tried to rest on the soft bed. But he was unused to such things, and felt as if he was being suffocated, so at last he lay on the hard, polished floor with his knees drawn up before him. Though this would appear strange, Kotos was not concerned. The people of the Citadel were courteous, and would never enter Orrion’s chamber without his permission.

  Rogond and Galador had gone to the Healing Halls to look upon the man Orrion had found in the desert. At first, they did not know him. Though he had been made clean and the fever had left him, El-morah looked like someone else. His beard was untrimmed, his hair unkempt, and he was painfully thin, his skin burned by the sun. His eyes, cold and vacant, held none of their former warmth or good humor.

  In fact, he seemed to be in a constant state of bewilderment, muttering words that made no sense as though he had lost his reason. Kotos had damaged him, and now he wandered the empty halls of his memory in search of anything he could grab on to. He did not recognize Rogond or Galador.

  When Gaelen and Nelwyn appeared, the mystery was solved. When Gaelen had been poisoned by Sajid the Spider, El-morah had aided her. She had been aware of very few sights or sounds on that terrible night, but she had taken note of any and all unfamiliar scents, El-morah’s among them. They were forever etched in her memory. She knew him almost at once, crying out in dismay. He had been a staunch friend of the Company, and now he was far from home, without his family, apparently suffering some terrible form of madness. Whatever could have happened to drive him here?

  The healers spread their hands, saying there was nothing more they could do. El-morah’s condition was not of the body, and his madness was not a thing they could heal. Afflictions of the mind were still a great mystery for the most part.

  Gaelen sorrowed for El-morah. He had aided them all, he had been their friend, and he was lost. Now there was nothing to do but wait and hope that he could find healing within himself, but the healers were not encouraging. El-morah was not caring for himself, he would not eat without considerable coaxing and he drank very little water. Estle and Hallagond had both known El-morah, and they, too, were dismayed.

  “El-morah is not the only recent arrival with an affliction of the mind,” said Galador. “Orrion seemed very odd to me…backward…almost fearful. What would he have to fear here in Dûn Arian?”

  “I understand your feeling,” said Rogond. “I saw fear in him, too. Yet the citizens did not seem disquieted.”

  “They are not familiar with the nature of Elves,” said Galador. “It is not in the manner of High-elves, particularly Èolar, to show such trepidation. Yet perhaps when we learn more of his history we will understand.”

  “And when will we learn of it?” asked Gaelen, who had not as yet seen Orrion. Her curiosity was high.

  “Soon,” said Galador. “Orrion’s discomfort in large groups was not lost on Lord Salastor. He has arranged for him to meet with the Council in private within the next few days. Rogond has suggested that perhaps some members of the Company might be present at the meeting, to which Salastor has agreed.”

  “Well, if only a few of us will be chosen, Galador should be among them,” said Gaelen. “After all, he will know one of his own. He should be able to discern whether the history given is plausible.”

  “It seems you do not trust Orrion already,” said Rogond. “You have never even laid eyes on him. Why do you already not trust him? Is it because Galador considers him odd?”

  Gaelen thought for a moment, wondering about the answer to Rogond’s question herself, but in the end she simply shook her head. I cannot say…because I don’t know. One thing was certain—her curiosity would not allow her any peace until she had satisfied it.

  “I will go to Lord Salastor and suggest that all three of the Elves be invited to attend the next council with Orrion. After all, he will no doubt be much more comfortable in the presence of his own kind,” said Rogond.

  “We still have the question of what to do about our friend El-morah,” said Gaelen. “Fima, are there any helpful writings to be found in the City’s vast library?”

  “Perhaps if you surround him with things that are familiar, his memory may return,” said Fima, who had already been looking into the matter. “Hallagond, Galador, why don’t you set about finding some brewed kaffa? Perhaps the taste and aroma will remind El-morah of home.”

  Finding all the ingredients for a pot of kaffa proved to be more difficult than expected. Estle, who was something of a connoisseur, wrinkled her nose when she tasted it. “This is nothing like the kaffa he is accustomed to,” she said. “He will never accept it…it is appalling by comparison!”

  “It is all appalling in my opinion,” said Nelwyn, who had never acquired a taste for kaffa.

  “Still, I see no harm in trying,” said Galador. “He will be none the worse for it.”

  Estle took one look at the multicolored film of oil swirling on the surface of the dark brown liquid, and shook her head. “He will think you are trying to poison him if he tastes this.”

  “Is it really that bad?” asked Gaelen, sniffing at the pot. “Smells like kaffa to me…though it is quite different from that of the oasis. Let us see what will happen. Just to be safe, let me add some honey to help conceal the difference. He will surely like it then!”

  “Honey? Not in kaffa, you don’t,” said Estle. “We prefer cane sugar if anything at all. El-morah doesn’t take either. We’ll just have to offer it as it is. Ugh!”

  “All right,” said Galador, frowning. “I will take it to him. I surely don’t want Estle’s attitude to influence him.”

  “Why not? The objective is to surround him with things that are familiar,” said Gaelen. “Surly Estle with her nose in the air is no doubt very familiar.” She smiled and raised both eyebrows at Estle, awaiting the reply that would surely come.

  “Alas that El-morah has not known you longer, Gaelen, or your lame attempts at insult would also be familiar,” said Estle. “I fear he is unaccustomed to those of such little wit.”

  “Then perhaps you should not be present after all,” said Gaelen. “Ah, but your familiar attitude will most likely make up for lack of wit. You can come, then.” She bowed and extended her arm in mock invitation, earning her a scowl from Estle, as well as one from Rogond. This was no time for games.

  As predicted, El-morah did not react well to the offer of kaffa, throwing it at Galador and claiming that he was being poisoned. Estle sniffed and looked over at Gaelen. “I told you so.”

  “We did accomplish one thing at least,” said Galador as he wiped his face with a cloth. “That’s the most life I’ve seen in him since he came. At least he was not in a stupor when he threw the pot at my head.”

  “No,” said Nelwyn sadly. “But he still does not know his friends. What else can we do to awaken him?”

  “I don’t know,” said Estle. “But don’t despair. He was aware that the kaffa you tried to tempt him with was bad…at least he was aware of something. It’s a beginning.”

  Kotos roused Gorgon as the moon was just about to set over the quiet waters of the harbor. Awake, Orrion High-elven, for the darkness of night is peaking, and it is time for you to go abroad into the City. There are no guards at your door. Awake, for we have another errand. The City is sleeping. Awake!

  Gorgon stretched and shook himself, his dusty black armor shifting with a dull, muffled “clunk.”

  We should find a way to conceal your armor, for you must remove it. There is a large trunk in the corner of the room…is there a key? Does it lock
?

  Gorgon moved to open the trunk, which was empty. A brass key lay in a small wooden tray beneath the lid.

  When you take your armor off, it will appear black as it does in reality, said Kotos. No one must be allowed to view it. Take it off and stow it in the trunk under lock and key.

  Gorgon now stood naked in the waning moonlight that filtered through a gap in the heavy drapes. His clean, polished skin was a deep blue-grey. Ulcas are not truly black or brown unless they are dirty, which they always seem to be. Gorgon’s clean body was the color of fine slate. Were it not so scarred it would have held a sort of savage, powerful beauty. Under the influence of the amulet, it was spectacular.

  Orrion was taller even than Rogond, with immense, broad shoulders, a deep chest, lean, well-muscled midsection, and long, powerful legs. He was sinewy, smooth-skinned, masculine perfection. His long, golden hair flowed like liquid silk, framing a face that was chiseled of marble by a master’s hand. His eyes—grey, brooding storm clouds—were fathomless.

  They very considerately provided you with a robe, said Kotos. Now cover yourself, and let us go forth.

  Kotos directed Orrion to the public bath house, a beautiful structure of salmon-pink marble with a lovely pool of warm water within. The scent of flowers and citrus fruits hung in the air.

  Bathe yourself in the water. You must do so each night, for otherwise your own scent will return. You must rub your flesh with the oil scented with sage and oranges each time you emerge…your own scent will mingle with the myriad others that steeped in the bath water. Do this, and you will remain hidden.

  Gorgon was not pleased about this, but he had come to accept the wisdom of it. He knew that, should Gaelen catch a whiff of him as he truly was, he would be undone.

  The people of Dûn Arian were most obliging in providing fine new clothing for Orrion, though the garments had to be specially made. Artisans were hard at work, altering and fashioning a tunic, breeches, and cloak that would be worthy of their noble guest. Gorgon stayed in his chambers until they were ready, venturing forth only by night, stalking through the clean, paved streets like a huge mountain-cat on the prowl. Each day he would eat and rest, and each night he would bathe. Yet he spent very little time interacting with anyone, and so his confidence had not improved.