The Elves of Cintra

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

ANGEL PEREZ had no idea where she was running to, only what she was running from—Erisha, lying on the ground, bleeding out her life, surrounded by a swarm of Feeders drawn to the smell and taste of her death, dark shadows that her companions could not see. The shouts of the Elven sentries spurred her on, a clear reminder of how horribly wrong things had gone. Still stunned by what had happened amid the tombs of the Gotrins, still wrestling with the inescapable implications of what it meant–implications that perhaps only she yet realized–she was reacting more to her emotions than to reason.

Simralin overtook her, long legs eating up the distance between them. "You don't know where you're going?" she shouted as she surged past. "Follow me!"

Ashenell was huge, and it all looked the same to Angel, clusters of stone markers and tombs, mausoleums and crypts, memorials to the dead amid a scattering of trees and flowering bushes, everything shrouded by cold white moonlight that flooded down out of a deep blue sky. She listened to the sound of her breathing and her footfalls as the cries of their pursuers slowly faded into the distance. She clutched her black staff and agonized in dismal silence over how sometimes even a Knight of the Word could do so little.

"Angel!"

She turned at the sound of her name and saw Kirisin desperately trying to catch up. She slowed and stopped. Ahead of her, Simralin glanced back, saw what was happening, and wheeled around, as well.

Kirisin came to a ragged halt in front of her. "Wait," he panted. "What about Ailie?"

There was blood on his hands and the front of his tunic. Erisha's blood, from his vain attempt to stop her bleeding. His eyes were empty and haunted, staring without really seeing, blinking rapidly, as if trying to adjust. He looked to be on the verge of collapse, chest heaving, face sweat–streaked and dusty, his body all bones and sinew seemingly in danger of flying apart, a ragged scarecrow cut down from its post in the field and set loose in the world, struggling to learn how to move.

"What about her, Angel?" He dropped to one knee, breathing hard. "We can't just leave her!"

Tears filled Angel's eyes, and she shook her head. Little Ailie, her self–appointed conscience, her companion and friend. Thinking of the tatterdemalion made her hurt in a way she thought she would never get past. "She's dead, Kirisin."

Simralin appeared beside her, confusion mirrored on her strong fea–tures as she looked from one to the other.

"Dead? How can you say that?" Kirisin was aghast.

Angel tightened her lips. "Because if she weren't dead, she would have warned us. That demon never would have gotten past her." "But we can't be sure!" Kirisin insisted.

From the way he said it, Angel knew that he needed to believe it. He needed to believe that he was right, that there was still some hope for Ailie. Perhaps it was because there was none at all for Erisha, and losing both would be too much for him to bear. But Angel was a vet–eran of the streets, and she had lost others she had cared about as much as Ailie. Losing Johnny had nearly finished her, but she had gotten past it. She would get past losing Ailie, too. She had to. The living could not bring back the dead. Memories of the dead were all they could hold on to.

She started to say this to Kirisin, but he was already looking back over his shoulder. "You could be wrong. What if you're wrong?"

She started to say that she wasn't and stopped herself What if she were? What if, despite what she knew in her heart, Ailie was still alive? It didn't feel to her as if that were possible, but she had been wrong be–fore.

She took a deep breath. "All right. I'll go back and look."

"No," Simralin said at once, stepping in front of her. "You are the last one who should go. They are probably already looking for you. I'll go. Another Elven Hunter won't draw any special attention."

She turned to Kirisin. "Take Angel to the house. Wait inside. Don't light any lamps. Don't do anything to draw attention. If you see anyone coming, get out of there. If we lose each other, we'll meet up at the north crossroads by Tower Rock." She reached out and hugged him to her. "Be careful, Little K."

Then she raced away, heading not directly back in the direction from which they had come but angling off to the right, choosing a roundabout approach that would allow her to slip out of Ashenell and come up on the searchers from the rear. Angel hoped they didn't know exactly who they were looking for, or Simralin would be in trouble.

Then the boy turned to her. "That demon. It knew — "

"Those demons," she interrupted quickly. "There were two. But not now. After we reach your house. We can talk then."

They set out once more, Kirisin leading the way. Angel stayed close to him, warding him like a protective shield. He was still in danger, more so perhaps than she was. She was still working through what had happened back there, why the demons had concentrated on killing Er–isha, why they hadn't tried instead to kill her. She was the one who pre–sented the greatest danger to them, especially with Ailie gone. If she were really gone. If.

But she knew. She knew it the same way she knew that Johnny was gone when he didn't come back that night so many years ago.

They cleared Ashenell shortly afterward and made their way through a stretch of cottages and gardens along winding paths that took them close to the surrounding wilderness. There was no indication of anything out of the ordinary. No lights burned in the houses; no one walked the paths. Once, a dog barked. Once, an owl flew close. Noth–ing else. Here, at least, the Elves still slept.

When they reached Kirisin's home, they paused to make certain that no one was waiting in the shadows, then slipped through the door and closed and locked it behind them. Kirisin led her into the kitchen, which was set at the rear of the home, and without asking poured her a glass of ale. After pouring one for himself; he led her back through the house to a place near one of the front windows where they could sit and talk while keeping watch.

Kirisin tried to speak first, struggling to find the words. "Angel, I don't know …"

Angel seized his wrists and squeezed them.

"Let me tell you what I know before you say anything. It isn't everything, but we can make a start." She leaned forward, keeping her voice lowered. "There were two demons waiting for us. I detected them when we came out of the underground, but I was confused because I wasn't expecting any and then I couldn't figure out why they seemed to be on both sides of me. The one that attacked us was the one that tracked Ailie and me north on our journey to find you. The other, the one that stayed hidden, must have been the demon Ailie sensed in the chambers of the High Council. Somehow, they found each other and learned what we were doing."

Kirisin tried to interrupt, but Angel squeezed his wrists anew, harder this time. "Wait. Let me finish. Just listen." She relaxed her grip but did not release it. "Those demons were waiting for us. They knew how to find us and they were waiting. That was a carefully planned at–tack, Kirisin. They knew exactly what they were doing. They were on top of us the minute we emerged from underground. Killing Erisha wasn't an accident. She was their victim all along. She was the one who was meant to die."

Their eyes locked. "I know this," she said, "because of how quickly her killer got to her and away again, even with your sister's dagger in its eye. No hesitation in its choice of victims. No interest in anyone else, not until it had made certain of Erisha. That demon has tracked me a thousand miles. It has tried twice to kill me. It was that determination that brought it all the way into the Cintra. But something happened to change its focus. That other demon, the one disguised as an Elf, some–how managed to influence the one tracking me. It has a different plan, a more complicated one, one that doesn't appear to be focused on killing me. What do you think that plan might be?"

She nodded at him, telling him it was all right to speak now. Kirisin hesitated, then said, "To stop us from finding the Loden?"

"Then why not kill you both? Why kill only Erisha? You were the one who stirred things up before Ailie and I got here. You seem the more de–termined. Why was the attack made on Erisha rather than on you?"

Kirisin stared at her. "I don't know."

"I don't know, either, but I don't like it. Erisha is dead, and you still have the Elfstones. You can still use them to try to find the Loden and do what you set out to do. Attacking us in the graveyard seems almost pointless."

She saw the look reflected in his eyes and grabbed his wrist once more. "But it wasn't. It wasn't pointless. There was a reason for it. We just have to figure out what it was."

Kirisin shook his head in disbelief "I don't understand any of this. Why kill anyone? Why not just steal the Elfstones so that none of us could use them?"

There was movement in the shadows at the edge of the trees near the front of the house, and Angel held up her hand in warning. Seconds later, Simralin slipped from the darkness and trotted across the lawn, then onto the porch, crouching low in the gloom of the overhang.

Kirisin moved quickly to the door, unlocked it, and let his sister slip inside. "What did you find out?" he whispered as they moved over to where Angel waited.

Angel could already read the answer on Simralin's face. Kirisin's sis–ter glanced out the window, searching the darkness momentarily. Then she leaned close. Even with her face right next to theirs, her words were barely audible. "I might have been followed," she whispered. "We have to get out of here."

Angel's hand tightened on the black staff, and she could feel the magic respond with a surge of sudden warmth. "What happened?"

Simralin continued to search the trees, sharp eyes scanning every–thing. "Ailie is dead. I found a piece of her gown, torn and soiled, close to where we left her." She paused, registering the change of expression on Angel's face. "I'm sorry. But it's worse than that." Her gaze shifted to her brother. "They know about you. Someone saw you running away."

Kirisin shook his head at once. "That isn't possible. There wasn't anyone else there?" He glanced at Angel. "Did you see anyone?"

Angel shook her head. "Who said they saw us?"

"I couldn't find out. By the time I learned this, I was worried that they knew about me, too. I had to hurry back and warn you. They'll be here any moment."

Kirisin sat back slowly. "I can't believe this."

Simralin looked at Angel. "We have to run. We have to get far away. If they find us, I don't like to think about what might happen." Angel nodded. "I take your point."

"Well, I don't," Kirisin interjected quickly. "Why can't we just go to them and explain? We haven't done anything wrong?"

Angel shook her head. "Listen to me. If Erisha's father is the demon–wait, let me finish–if he is, he won't bother to take the time to listen to any of us. He will take the Elfstones and have us killed. But even if he isn't the demon, someone close to him is. The King already appears to be under the demon's influence. We know that from his re–fusal to act on what either you or Erisha have told him. I wish I could tell you that he would act responsibly when he hears what we have to say, but history tells us that he won't."

"I agree," Simralin added. "The demons know who we are and what we are about. They will do what is necessary to stop us. We have to get out of here. I will send someone I can trust to warn our parents to stay away from Arborlon until this business is finished. They will be safe enough. We are the ones in real danger."

Angel shook her head. "I don't know. This feels wrong. It feels like we are being manipulated. Demons find us in Ashenell when no one else even knows we are there. A killing takes place that eliminates the only one among us who could spy them out. A second killing serves no purpose other than to enrage the King. Some unnamed person reports Kirisin at the site, someone none of us saw in return. And now we are forced to flee. There is something going on here that we don't under–stand."

"It seems obvious to me." Simralin was looking out the window again. "The point is to get rid of all of us and steal the Elfstones."

It was hard to argue with her, but Angel was unconvinced. She un–derstood enough of demon machinations and duplicity to question anything that seemed obvious. Demons never approached anything in a direct manner. Everything was done with stealth and cunning, with a reliance on misdirection and false trails. The end result was always something other than what it appeared. She couldn't help but think that it was so here.

Her face tightened with frustration. "Who else knew we were going to be at that graveyard? Who, besides those of us who were there? Someone had to. Someone gave us away."

Kirisin and his sister exchanged a quick look. "Old Culph knew," the boy said quietly. "Erisha and I told him."

"He was also in the Council chambers, hiding behind the walls with you, when Ailie sensed a demon presence." Angel pointed out.

"Behind the walls, not in the chamber itself?" Kirisin defended. He rushed ahead. "Besides, he was the one who helped us find Pancea Rolt Cruer's maiden name so that we could track down her tomb. He was the one who helped us with the scribe's journal and the Queen's name. Why do that if he was trying to stop us?"

Angel was not persuaded, already half convinced that they had un–earthed their culprit. "Where can we find him?"

"He lives in a small cottage at the rear of the Belloruus home," Kirisin answered. "But going there will put us right in the center of things."

"We'll send someone to ask for him." Simralin pivoted away from the window. "Someone they won't think to question."

Angel shook her head. "Who can we trust to do that?"

"Let me take care of that." Simralin rose from her crouch. "Right now we need to concentrate on getting out of here?"

THEY TOOK just long enough to snatch up weapons, rough–weather gear, blankets, and food for two days, and went out the door. In the dis–tance, the forest was filled with the sounds of voices and movement. Arborlon was beginning to come awake, alerted to the fact that some–thing was amiss, lights winking in homes, Elves stepping outside to see what was happening, a low buzz building. They had to assume that Elven Hunters would be searching for them by now, casting a wide net through the city in an effort to discover where they were hiding or in what direction they had chosen to escape. Kirisin knew from listening to his sister that their efforts would not be apparent, that they would rely on stealth and surprise. Some of them would be acquaintances of long standing. Some of them would be his friends. Most wouldn't know yet why they were looking for him, but once they did their efforts would intensify. It wouldn't be personal, but they were soldiers and knew better than to do anything but what they were told. For a soldier, orders took precedence over everything.

He reached down into his pocket and touched the small bulk of the pouch and its Elfstones. He was still finding it hard to believe how badly things had turned out. All their efforts had been directed toward finding and securing the Stones, and he had assumed that once that was achieved the worst of it was over. All that remained was to make use of the talismans and begin the search for the Loden. Halfway there, he had thought.

Now he understood for the first time how difficult the rest would be. It wasn't going to be a simple matter of asking for the support of the King and the High Council in their efforts to continue the search. There wasn't going to be any such support; rather, King and Council were going to do their level best to hunt them down if they ran, which they almost certainly were going to have to do. Running would make them look guilty. But staying behind would put an end to any effort to help the Ellcrys. Whichever way they turned, whatever choice they made, they would be on their own.

And he would not know for a long time to come–if ever–if the risk required was worth the taking.

Simralin, in the lead, glanced over her shoulder at him, perhaps to make certain that he was keeping up. He nodded for her to go on, keeping his thoughts to himself There was no reason to say anything.

She would be thinking the same thing he was. Given her training, she was probably already several steps ahead of him.

They skirted the city along its smaller trails, listening for sounds of pursuit, always moving away from activity that might signal danger. Now and again, Simralin took them off the main pathway into the trees or brush. Once she had them crouch down and wait. Each time, he searched for a reason and found none. But he knew better than to ques–tion her. She was far and away the best Tracker among the Cintra Elves, a rare combination of experience and instincts, of quick thinking and steady nerves. Everyone said she was the best. It had always made Kirisin proud. Tonight it made him grateful, as well.

On the trail behind him, Angel Perez was a silent presence. He glanced back at her once or twice, but she barely looked at him, her gaze directed at the surrounding trees. She had a Tracker's look about her, her concentration intense and her focus complete, as if she was able to see and hear much more than he could. Like Simralin. He stud–ied Angel a moment. How much older than he was she? A few years, perhaps, no more. But so much more confident, so much more poised. He found himself wanting to know more about her. She was a Knight of the Word, but what did that mean? What had she endured to achieve that title? How much had she survived?

They reached a small cluster of homes at the northern edge of the city, distant from its teeming center but not so far from the Home Guard and Elven Hunter compounds above the Belloruus home. It seemed dangerously close to exactly where they shouldn't be. But Sim–ralin moved ahead to a tight clump of cedar thick with brush and grasses, and motioned for them to hunker down within its cover.

Then she gave a sharp, quick birdcall, waited a moment, and re–peated the call. A few minutes passed; then a door to one of the cot–tages opened and a dark figure emerged, stepping cautiously through the shadows, searching.

"Wait here," Simralin whispered.

She stepped out of the brush and walked into the pale wash of starlight. The dark figure came toward her at once, big and strong look–ing, a man. He reached for Simralin in familiar fashion, but she held him away from her, saying something that caused him to look toward the place where Kirisin and Angel were hiding. The light caught his face, revealing his features.

"Who is it?" Angel whispered in Kirisin's ear.

"Tragen," he said.

"There seems to be something between them."

There does indeed, Kirisin thought, and he wondered why he hadn't known. He watched them converse, and then Simralin motioned for them to come out of hiding and join her. They did so, and Tragen, with–out a word, led them into the seclusion of his darkened cottage and closed the door behind them.

"Little K, you have a knack for getting into trouble," he said gruffly, but there was a smile on his lips, too.

"You know nothing of what's happened?" Simralin asked him, obvi–ously picking up their earlier conversation.

"I've been asleep. I'm not on duty again until day after tomorrow–today now, I guess. Dawn's not far off." The big Elf looked from face to face. "What do you need me to do?"

Simralin told him. He listened without comment, typical of Tragen, who seldom had much to say in any case. "Can you do it?" she finished.

He nodded. "Stay out of sight until I get back. No lights. No move–ment. Lock up after me."

He went out the door and shut it tightly behind him. Simralin gave him a moment to get clear and then slid the heavy bar latch into place.

They moved over to the shadows behind a shuttered window that let them peer through the slats into the night and crouched down to wait.

After a few moments of silence, Kirisin said, "Are you sure you can trust him?"

His sister nodded without answering.

"You didn't say anything to me about how you felt about him."

He felt her eyes on him as he stared studiously out the window. "I didn't have a chance. This is new." She touched his shoulder so that he was forced to look at her. "Besides, I'm not sure yet how I feel."

"He seems pretty sure." He hesitated a moment, then shrugged. "But never mind. I like Tragen."

Simralin grinned, pretty and flushed. "Well, it's all right, then. But don't get ahead of yourself. He's interesting enough for now, but maybe not for more than that."

Kirisin grinned back. He glanced at Angel to catch her reaction. But the Knight of the Word didn't seem to be paying attention, sitting back and away from them, staring at nothing. He started to speak to her and stopped. What he had mistaken for disinterest was something else. There was pain in her eyes, a ripple of loss and remorse. He could read it clearly, and it surprised him that he could. She might be thinking of Ailie, but she might be thinking of someone else, too. She would have lost more in her short lifetime than the tatterdemalion, he thought. And he wondered again about what she had survived before coming to Arborlon and the Elves.

Tragen was gone for the better part of an hour. When he reap–peared, the first glimmer of dawn was beginning to appear through breaks in the forest canopy, and the shadows were starting to recede.

He came out of the trees at a swift walk, looking neither left nor right. Simralin opened the door to admit him.

"Culph is dead," the big Tracker announced as soon as the door was closed again. "I found him in his sleeping chamber, torn apart. The damage was bad, but I could tell it was him."

Kirisin squeezed his eyes shut. We were too slow! He rounded on Angel. "I told you it wasn't him? I told you!"

"Stop it, Little K," Simralin snapped. "She only said what the rest of us were thinking–that it might have been him, not that it was." She shook her head helplessly. "I thought it was him, too. So we're back to the King."

"Or one of his ministers," Angel amended. "Or anyone else standing around when Ailie was in the Council chambers. We can't be sure." She reached over and touched Kirisin on the shoulder. "I'm sorry about your friend."

"We should have warned him," the boy whispered to no one in par–ticular. "We should have done something."

"I don't think there was much you could have done," Tragen said. "He was killed hours ago, long before the King's daughter." He looked at Simralin and shook his head. "I don't know what is going on, but it isn't good. Once they find the old man's body, things will only get worse. They're looking for you. All of you. They're combing the city, house by house. You have to get away while you still can."

Simralin shouldered her pack. "Looks like we don't have any choice. We're leaving." She moved over to him, reached up to touch his cheek, and kissed him on the mouth. Kirisin watched, intrigued. "I have to ask you to do something else. I need you to go to Briar Ruan and warn my parents not to return, to stay where they are until they hear from me. Will you do that?"

Tragen looked at the floor. "I had thought I would go with you."

She shook her head. "Then you would be one of us. I can't allow that. Besides, you will do me a bigger favor by warning my parents. Per–haps I will have need of your help again before this is finished. There has to be someone here I can turn to."

He hesitated a moment, and then nodded. "All right, Sim. But I don't have to like it."

She kissed him again, a deeper kiss, and this time Kirisin looked away. "You don't have to like it," she told Tragen. "You just have to do it."

She opened the cottage door, peered out momentarily, and then led Kirisin and Angel back into the night. They moved swiftly toward the shadow of the surrounding trees, eager to gain their concealment, to blend into the darkness. In the distance, south toward the city, the buzz of activity had grown more pronounced. In the east, the sky was flooded with light from the sunrise.

Kirisin glanced back to where Tragen stood in the doorway watch–ing after them. The big Elf waved halfheartedly, and the boy waved back.

But his thoughts were of Culph and Erisha and Ailie and his nag–ging certainty that everything he was trying to do–for the Elves, for the Ellcrys, for those with him, even for himself–was going wrong.