David Policar 1991.
The leneral is still half-dressed in his ceremonial grey silk tunic and black cloak when I arrive in his chambers. I remain silent, despite my curiosity, as he removes them, tosses them onto his bed with a look of distaste, and dresses quickly in his now-familiar brown and green leathers. I am annoyed, having been summoned from my meditations, but impatient to hear news.
"You have spoken with your prisoner?"
He is hesitant. "Well, no. He is either a phenomenal actor or unfamiliar with any language spoken in the court. His language is unknown to us. This has made speech difficult at best.
"Of course, he may have been faking, to keep us from determining his national origin, but the leadrianio who captured him thinks otherwise. His clothing and his accent are both unusual, coming from no known region of Neuvomond. The dyes and fabrics of his clothes come from no plant or animal known to our manlehalieldor .
"He carried two unusual artifacts fashioned of a light, strong metal, like that produced by the Firefountain. One of these was a complicated device, with many small moving parts and a dial face covered by a thin crystal, the purpose of which is still unknown. The second holds several metal pellets which contain firepowder; the manlehalieldor believes it is designed to fire them like an arquebus, but self-contained and more efficient.
"Sirilisana Banleldorioin believes that the human is a spy in the employ of the Firefountain, sent in anticipation of an invading force. She suggests I refuse to allow the Firefountain emissaries to my coronation, and that I declare vandetta against them."
He is suddenly silent. I, too, remain silent, frozen by the implications. As the voice of the Aerie in Leadrian, it is my place to rule on his vandetta if he declares it. This was to be a minor mission! I am awhirl with confusion, and it is only Kiaee's calming song in my mind that restores my balance.
"A vandetta is a serious matter, high one. Have you called me here to hear one declared?"
He seems taken aback. "No, no... I will be taking the crown in a week, and have no desire to spend my days administrating the tedious affairs of war.
"But those cavedwellers can't play with my borders with impunity, either. I will be refusing the Firefountain entry into Leadrian for my coronation."
Relief challenges fear in my mind, and defeats it barely. This is a lesser slight, one justified if the prisoner is truly a spy, and possibly excusable if not. Still, his evident casualness is disturbing. Is this young heir qualified for kingship? That is my responsibility to determine, and although it is merely a formality I find myself considering the question seriously.
"But," he continues, "I still can't talk to the human. Which is the other reason I wanted to talk to you -- what languages do you speak?"
Undoubtedly, my surprise is visible. It is the question I had hoped not to be asked, but now there is no alternative.
"I am fluent in the Aerie tongue, of course. I am familiar with the Karaduran trade and court tongues, the pidgin of the Steppes, several of the dwarven Clanspeeches, many of the islander tradetongues... and high Elven."
His eyes widen in surprise, as well. A long silence ensues.
"Why do you conceal your knowledge of our tongue?" He speaks now in formal high Elvish, in a minor chord signifying official accusation.
"To better eavesdrop in your court, high one."
Clearly, he expects some prevarication, hesitation, or evasion. He stops short at my response, apparantly uncertain of how to deal with honesty, and I begin to understand the Aerie's insistance that its emissaries remain truthful at all times while perfoming their duties. He continues at last, still formally, in the Aerie tongue.
"Lying to my banleldorioin is a serious crime, observer, as is spying on the court of Leadrian."
"I have lied to none. I do not claim ignorance of elven. Like most, the Lady Sirrilisana assumes that an outsider must be ignorant of your tongue. And my task to observe you and your court, in accordance with the treaties between Leadrian and the Aerie. If I am a spy, it is by your own invitation."
In the silence that follows I taste conflict in his scent, and long for the empathic talents of full travellers. Without them, I must rely on guesswork.
Surprisingly, he laughs.
"You are correct, observer." He speaks again in formal Elvish. "One need not answer what one is not asked. I shall speak no more on the matter.
"After court meets tomorrow, you will join me outside the prisoner's cell. Perhaps your linguistic talents will be useful." The words are a dismissal. He leaves his chambers through the window, into the woods; I return to my own, and my meditations with Kiaee.
In the morning, I observe the leneral sitting stiffly in his highbacked wooden throne, once again garbed in the black cloak and grey tunic of his office, holding court. In the courthall below his balcony, two elves are presenting separate cases in their dispute, apparently over the ownership of a pig, or possibly a group of pigs. Their clipped, brisk elvish is difficult to understand, especially when both argue at once; they seem to be striving for disharmony in the chords they choose. Still, he is attentive as he tries to both understand their arguments and maintain order in his court.
The Lady Sirilissana enters the balcony and steps behind his throne, placing her hand lightly on his shoulder. He gestures for the commoners to wait and attends to his banleldorioin .
"There is news," she sings quietly. "The human has escaped."
Her voice is soft enough to be heard by no other elf in the room. However, it is not too soft a sound for ears that can sense the scurrying of the quietest prey through the softest grass, particularly when those ears belong to the official observer of the royal family. The Lady's elven is clearer than that of the commoners below, and understanding is not difficult. I remain silent, prefering that they believe their conversation private.
"His leadrian , Learit, claims she was rendered unconscious and alerted her captain when she awoke to find the prisoner missing. She shows no signs of being drugged or injured.
"The door to the cell is intact, and shows no obvious signs of tampering. There are signs of a battle near the cell-hole, but no clear tracks or identifying marks. The borderguard nearby reports seeing Cedric the huntsman heading into the woods at dawn, but nothing else. The firepowder device carried by the human seems to have disappeared from the alchemist's workshop.
"Have you any suggestions, leneral ?"
Her tone is mixed-- seeking his advice, but also challenging. It appears the young elf is being tested.
"Um... well, it could be -- that is, were the keys to his cell, or to the alchemical labs, stolen? Maybe he had an accomplice?"
"The keys were undisturbed."
"Oh. Has anyone reported fighting the human? Have... um, have any bodies been found?"
"No, leneral ."
"Well, then. I suppose we should get some trackers after him to see which way he went... Cedric, I guess."
"An excellent idea. I shall see to it immediately."
Sirilissana departs. The leneral continues to hear the commoners' petitions, but no longer attends to them quite so carefully. Within moments, he reaches a decision and sends them from the hall.
"I will hear no more petitions today," he tells the guards to either side of him. "You may go." They follow his regent out of the chamber, leaving the two of us alone.
"Siril brings interesting news," he says aloud, as if to an empty room. "I believe I shall retire to my study, to contemplate it." He exits the chamber stiffly, already removing his dark cloak. We meet again within minutes, outside the prisoner's cell -- he seems unsurprised to see me there, as I am unsurprised to see him in his leathers.
The odors of the cell are complicated, full of faint traces of the scents of those who have stayed over the years. Some recent markings I can identify -- Sirilissana's scent is strong and clear, as is the leneral 's. There is a human smell, overlaid with strange traces including the coal-and-sulphur smell I recognize, and an elven smell tasting of metal and leather; presumably these are the prisoner and the guard.
Two other odors contrast sharply with their background. The first is simply out of place, a smell of pine needles and animal fat, extremely faint but still noticable. The second is strong but elusive, incredibly ancient, reminiscent of thunderstorms and crashing tides, of hurricanes and floods. It frightens me.
"Well?" The leneral is impatient, seeking answers. I concentrate on the human scent, follow it through successive moments, as I would any other prey. It moves through the passage, onto the surface, and into a nearby tree. Here, also, is the trace of animal fat and pine, and other scents... a faint trace of elven blood, a brief battle.