Ravenshade Page 16

  He was anxious about the impending council, but Kotos reassured him. You need not fear so long as you allow me to direct you. I have spoken before assemblies far mightier than this! If I could beguile the Kings of Tuathas and Tal-elathas, if I could deceive my brothers Baelta and Shandor, do you not think me up to the task of dealing with a worm like Salastor? He is not even worthy of notice, much less concern. Be not dismayed.

  “It’s not Salastor I’m worried about,” whispered Gorgon, but Kotos ignored him.

  Orrion was magnificent in his new clothing, and even Gorgon had to admit that the feel of the soft velvet against his skin was…enticing. He had shuddered with pleasure as he first slipped on the rich, slate grey tunic and the dark grey velvet breeches. There was a sleeveless jerkin made of soft grey leather that went over the tunic, and a fine belt of black leather.

  Gorgon had a bit of difficulty with the fit of both the tunic and the belt at first, because the dimensions of Orrion were more slender than those of Gorgon, whose actual physical form had not changed. It was an interesting illusion, for the Citadel’s tailors had measured Gorgon ere they began their task, but when they read the numbers they made no sense. Assuming that they had erred in the measuring, they cut the garments down accordingly, resulting in a rather tight fit. Gorgon drove new holes into the belt to almost the very tip; it was conventional to leave a long tail that was knotted and looped over. Belts most often wore out near the buckle, and this long tail could then be used as the belt was repaired. Items in Alterra were made to last. Fortunately, the tunic was put together with lacing and could be let out. The sleeves were made very loose for freedom of movement. So long as Gorgon wore the leather jerkin, his secret was safe.

  He grumbled at the thought of trying to wield a weapon in such restrictive gear, until Lord Kotos pointed out that should he find himself doing battle, it would not matter what happened to his clothing.

  You will no doubt tear these fine things to shreds moving in them, but you will not care and neither will anyone else. Let them think they have made mistakes in tailoring. It is of no consequence.

  Orrion stood before the High Council on the following day. The nine ministers were present, as were Rogond, Galador, Nelwyn, Gaelen, and Fima. They were seated in the gallery where they could hear the proceedings, but Orrion would not actually stand before them. Orrion stood in the doorway, his eyes sweeping the chamber, and the sight of Gaelen both aroused his wrath and took his courage. His lip curled into a snarl before he could stop himself.

  Kotos took hold in less than a heartbeat. Master yourself at once! Let your face be impassive, and let us hope that no one took notice of that snarl. This is only your first test, Elfhunter. Remember the creature that lures its prey? You are luring her now…luring them all to death. Let that gladden and strengthen your heart. Now master yourself, and stand before them. Remember that you are Orrion of the Èolar, and they are beneath you—all of them! Gorgon took a deep breath, and his face relaxed. Remember, said Kotos, she will not know you. You neither look, nor sound, nor smell as you did before. You can face her unafraid.

  When Orrion bowed before the Council, he was introduced to everyone present, including the Company. Kotos met the eyes of each person as each name was given, and he did not allow any trace of Gorgon to appear in his gaze.

  Gaelen looked into his eyes, and was mesmerized. When she first beheld him she felt every hair on the back of her neck stand erect, and a cold vapor creep into her heart. Such feelings in the past had been associated with Gorgon, yet these were not the eyes of the Elfhunter. The longer she looked into them, the warmer and more peaceful she became. Orrion’s eyes were beautiful, and deep, and very, very comforting. Gaelen was reminded of a dark grey evening sky that is heavy with rain…rain that would soon fall in her beloved forest, where all was familiar. She could almost smell the rain and the trees. Her mind strayed now, strayed homeward to the Greatwood. The tension left her body, and she sighed. Kotos was satisfied, and moved on to Nelwyn.

  Gorgon was relieved and very impressed at Kotos’ handling of Gaelen. If he could beguile the Vixen, he could do anything. Gorgon drew taller as confidence swelled within him, even as Kotos spoke words of warning.

  The ones to fear are the Wood-elf and the dwarf. They will be the most difficult to deceive. I see, now, why you feared her. She has fallen to my suggestions this time, but I would advise you to stay as far from her as you may. She has insight that the others do not possess. Beware, also, of the Minister of Omens, for the same reason. Now turn your attention to your task, and do not relax your vigilance.

  Gorgon stood before the Council of Nine and proceeded, with the aid of Lord Kotos, to enlighten them as to the history of Orrion High-elven. He conducted himself well under Kotos’ direction, answering any and all questions with the readiness of a person who desires to be completely open and honest. He admitted that there was still much that had befallen since the Second Uprising that remained unclear in his mind, and that he still could not remember the lay of things in the North. Yet the sight of the Elves had aided him already, and he welcomed Gaelen, Nelwyn, and Galador, for surely now his memories would return. He described the massing of dark forces in the Fell-ruin, showing just the right amount of dread to be convincing. Yet he seemed to grow weary again, and Salastor called a halt to the proceedings.

  “We will adjourn until tomorrow, if all will agree,” he said. “Our guest should be allowed to rest and refresh himself.” He turned to Orrion. “Please avail yourself of whatever comforts you desire. Our City is yours.” He and Orrion bowed to each other, and Orrion took his leave.

  There was very little discussion among the Council-members, for they did not exactly know what to make of Orrion and what he had revealed. The thought of Wrothgar amassing an army was disquieting, but most on the Council felt that Dûn Arian was too far away to be threatened by affairs in the North. After all, there was nothing to suggest that Wrothgar even knew of the Silver Fortress. But Salastor had heard Rogond’s words earlier, and he knew that if the survivors of the Scourge ranged through the southlands, word would spread quickly northward, and he could no longer be certain that the Shadowmancer had not set his black gaze on Dûn Arian. Maji, the Minister of Omens, would no doubt hold some insight. Salastor resolved that he would go and consult with her privately in the very near future.

  It was Nelwyn who first thought of asking Orrion if there was anything he could do for El-morah. It would do no harm to ask him, as he had mentioned that he had some talent for healing afflictions of the mind. Elves, who do not suffer pestilence, still may fall victim to forces that unbalance them, such as grief, rage, and despair. Even the Asari may suffer such affliction—Shandor was so consumed by grief that he was driven to place his spirit within the Stone of Léir. He had since become so embittered and withdrawn that it was no longer safe to look within.

  Kotos smiled to himself, as he had planted this seed and it had taken root as expected. “Of course, I will aid you if I can,” said Orrion. “Take me to your friend and I will minister as I am able.” Nelwyn then conducted him to the Healing Halls.

  El-morah sat in a chair by the window, gazing with empty eyes into the sun-washed courtyard, and took little notice of his visitors. Orrion knelt before him, grasped his jaw with a strong right hand, and turned it so that their eyes would meet.

  Kotos flowed forth again into El-morah’s unguarded mind, for it was Kotos who had taken those defenses away, and it was he who had bewildered El-morah so completely as to close the doors of his memory and his reason. Now Kotos roamed those empty halls, calling out to his host with soothing words. What Kotos had done, he could undo.

  Gaelen sat atop the western battlement overlooking the sea, a pensive expression on her face and trouble on her mind. She did not notice Rogond, as she was inclined to be less perceptive when she was brooding about something, and he startled her. She tried to conceal her surprise with a warm smile. “What is your desire, my love? Is there something you need?
”

  Rogond smiled back at her. “I just wanted to sit with you awhile. I sense you are conflicted about Orrion, and I wanted to hear your concerns.”

  “I am conflicted,” said Gaelen with a sigh. “When Orrion entered the room today, and I first beheld him, all the hair on my neck stood straight up. I felt cold, as though in the presence of evil. Yet when he looked at me, all my fears seemed to…melt away. I don’t understand. I have learned to trust the hairs on my neck over the eyes of a stranger, High-elven or not.”

  She was shivering, and Rogond placed his arm about her. Had the mere memory of Orrion brought this chill upon her?

  “My love,” he said, “I would sooner trust the hairs on your neck as well. There is little doubt that this Orrion is strange. Why is he here? Why would he undertake such a hard journey without cause?”

  “Why, indeed?” said Gaelen. “How does he even know of Dûn Arian? I know Salastor asked him, and he answered, but his explanation seemed…well…odd! Do you take my meaning?”

  “I do, and I agree. He said that he did not know that the City existed, but was simply drawn here by forces he did not understand. Now that he is here he seems happy about it, and what evil could he possibly do? He is only one soul now among many.”

  “There is something else,” said Gaelen, who was still shivering a little. “I have not told anyone, because I have not been certain, but I believe that Gorgon has roused himself. A number of days ago I felt it…he dropped his guard for awhile, and then the veil was drawn back over him. I have sensed him but little ever since. A moment here, a moment there…nothing definite, and nothing that will tell me what he is up to. And now, this Elf appears.”

  Rogond did not comprehend how Orrion and Gorgon could possibly have anything to do with one another. “I admit, Orrion is mysterious and not entirely convincing, but whatever could a High-elf have to do with Gorgon Elfhunter? Surely, if he had even been near Gorgon you would sense it, would you not?”

  Gaelen was rapidly becoming frustrated. “I have no idea whatsoever! I have only vague feelings and misgivings. Why the sight of a handsome Èolarin Elf—speaking lovely, courteous words in a tongue that would choke an Ulca—should fill me with mistrust, I cannot imagine. But remember, beloved, Gorgon speaks High-elven…he speaks it well. And, there is something else. I spoke with Bint Raed yesterday, and she told me a most baffling tale.”

  Gaelen then related the incident involving the measurements taken by the City’s tailors, which would indicate that Orrion was much stouter than he appeared. “His tunic appeared to be a little snug to me. Bint Raed can’t explain it, either. It’s as though…as though Orrion is a different being when you actually put your hands on him.”

  Rogond looked wide-eyed at her. “What are you saying? If you’re suggesting what I think you are, we had better see that you are examined by the healers at once. Your imagination is running away with you. I would suggest putting any such thoughts from your mind.”

  He was now becoming quite concerned for her, as Gaelen was not prone to such wild flights of fancy. If she voiced these opinions to anyone else in the City, they would think she had lost her reason. He reached up to try to stroke her hair, but she pulled away.

  “Just keep both eyes open, that’s all I ask,” she said. “I will be watching our high-and-mighty visitor very, very closely. I had better start seeing some indication that all is as he claims it to be.” She rose to her feet. “I’m going to the horse-yards to clear my head. I will find you later.”

  Rogond watched her go, knowing he had offended her. Her instincts are the best predictor of trouble that I have ever known, yet I discounted them. I will, indeed, keep both of my eyes open.

  The healing of El-morah was one of the strangest events Nelwyn had ever witnessed. Orrion never let go of him, as El-morah’s expression turned from vacant, to wondering, to pained, to agonized, and finally to awareness, just before his eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed onto the floor.

  Kotos had roamed through his mind, opening doors as he did so. El-morah’s memories came back in a rush, from his childhood, when he had escaped the Plague, and then to young manhood, when he was trained as an assassin. His many exploits played through his awareness, and many of those memories were painful, causing him to cry out and struggle as Orrion, with the aid of Nelwyn, held him fast.

  Then there were images of happier times with Mohani, and his two sons and two daughters. The return of those memories filled his eyes with tears of longing. Finally, Kotos implanted a false memory that would explain why El-morah had fled the oasis. It would seem that his past had caught up with him, and that assassins had been sent to silence him, for El-morah knew things that could never be revealed. This was El-morah’s greatest fear—Kotos was certain of it.

  The assassins had killed your entire family, and set the oasis aflame in a fruitless search for you. Your wounded heart had not allowed these images to remain, and instead you believed that, if you could only get far enough away, your family would be saved. You have obviously been deluding yourself, mad with grief, guilt, and despair…

  El-morah was a strong-willed man, but he was no match for Kotos in his weakened state. After all, the damage had been done by Kotos in the first place, and only he could undo it. By placing the false memories, Kotos believed that he had concealed his tracks and explained El-morah’s presence. Yet he had not taken into account El-morah’s perceptive nature, nor the depth of his devotion to his family.

  The false memory might not outlast either of those qualities, but it seemed to have taken hold for the time being, and Kotos returned to Orrion, satisfied that he had done what was necessary.

  Orrion lifted El-morah and carried him to his bed, instructing Nelwyn to bring water and to summon the healers. At first they wondered whether El-morah would die, for his strength had been almost completely spent in his encounter with Kotos, but after a few hours they managed to revive him. To the delight of Nelwyn and the satisfaction of Kotos, he sat up and looked around as though he had just awakened from a dream. Nelwyn was the only person in the room that he recognized, but he knew her at once.

  “Nelwyn? What is this place, and how did you come to be here?”

  “You crossed the desert to the southern realm of Dûn Arian. I do not know why, but you are very far from home, I fear. Yet I am overjoyed that you know me! You have not been yourself, not at all. Orrion has healed you.”

  She indicated Orrion, whose face assumed a warm expression of genuine concern.

  El-morah’s face went pale. “Oh…Nelwyn, they are all dead! Everyone I loved is gone. My home no longer exists, and I am still alive. I do not know if I can bear it!”

  His eyes were wild, and Nelwyn grew alarmed. The healers made him drink an elixir to aid him, and it soon took effect. El-morah would sleep for a while, but the healers warned that he should never, ever be left alone. Men had taken their lives with far less cause.

  Nelwyn turned then to Orrion. “What you did was extraordinary,” she said. “Yet I wonder whether he was better off without his memories. I fear they have only begun to torment him. Is there nothing you can do to aid him?” Tears came to her eyes at the thought of the terrible fate that had befallen Mohani and the children, and she could not imagine El-morah’s despair.

  “I will see what may be done to aid him,” said Orrion. “But now I am very weary and I must take rest. I will try to aid your friend as I can.”

  “Of course,” said Nelwyn. “Forgive me. You have a precious gift. Battles such as the one you just fought must be very taxing to the spirit. Please take rest, but take also my gratitude. He is a good man, and you have restored him.”

  “No thanks are needed,” said Orrion. “Soon I may be able not just to restore his memory, but to truly heal his heart. That, I fear, will be a much harder task. His friends, yourself included, are perhaps better suited.” He smiled a gentle—almost angelic—smile.

  Nelwyn had not often beheld such warmth and sincerity, and her
heart was won for the moment. Yet after Orrion had left her, and she kept watch over El-morah, there was a nagging concern that would not abate. Something about the exchange between Orrion and her friend had disturbed her. While El-morah had been very expressive, Orrion’s face had remained the same throughout the entire ordeal. It was impassive, yet a little incredulous, as if he did not really comprehend what was going on. It puzzled Nelwyn, also, that despite the intensity of the struggle, she had not seen Orrion once grasp anything with his left hand.

  Word of the healing spread throughout the City, and the healers, anxious to give due credit, had proclaimed Orrion to be something of a miracle worker. Orrion seemed uncomfortable with the praise and gratitude heaped upon him, standing with his eyes downcast and his back to the wall so that he could not be surrounded. This was genuine, for Gorgon had received very little encouragement in his life, and despite instruction from Kotos, he had difficulty accepting it. His awkwardness was mistaken for humility, further endearing him to the people of the Citadel.

  When the Company heard of the incident, they came at once to see the result for themselves. They stood in El-morah’s chamber and looked into the eyes of their friend, who had shaved and dressed. Except for the profound guilt and grief in his eyes, he appeared as a careworn version of the man they had known.

  Nelwyn had told everyone of the fate of his family, and Estle had been most grieved by this news, for she had known Mohani well. They had spent time together as friends, and Estle had cared for the children on occasion. Therefore, when she beheld El-morah she had gone to him, at first placing a tentative hand upon his arm, tears welling in her eyes, and then taking him in her embrace as they both wept.