The Gypsy Morph

NINE

THE NIGHT WAS DEEP AND STILL, its darkness a layer of cottony impenetrability that cocooned Kirisin and Simralin as they crept through the trees toward the sleeping city of Arborlon. They moved like cats, their footsteps soundless, their presence invisible. No talking was allowed, Simralin had instructed before they set out. No communication of any sort if it could be helped. She would lead, and Kirisin would follow. What she did, he was to do. If they were lucky, they would not be detected.

They had left the balloon behind, its bag deflated and tucked away with all stays and equipment stowed for ready access and a quick escape. The time for such an escape would come, and speed and efficiency at preparing the balloon for another liftoff might be the difference between life and death. If the demons were waiting for the Elves and their city to be encapsulated within the Loden, they would be quick to act the moment it was done.

Kirisin imagined all those points of light, each representing a demon or its creature, converging on him. The image made him shiver.

They had landed the balloon above the sleeping city, choosing a meadow just beyond the tree line and below the bare rock of the upper slopes. It was a considerable distance from where they had to go, but there was no safe or suitable landing sites closer. Whatever else happened, they could not risk damaging their only means of escape.

“Remember, Little K,” his sister had said to him as they prepared to set out. “Follow in my footsteps and stay close. I will keep us safe.”

He trusted her to do so. Hadn’t she done so on their journey to Syrring Rise? Hadn’t she always done so when danger threatened? And when it came to a Tracker’s skills, hers were the best. Larkin Quill had told him on that very first night on Redonnelin Deep that he had watched her pass right through the center of a large camping expedition of humans, and not one of them had caught even a glimpse of her. Anyone who could do that was something special, he’d said.

On this night, he depended on her to be so again. She did not tell him where they were going. She did not say what she intended to do. That was all right with him. He didn’t have any suggestions in any case. She knew what was needed, and she would have that firmly in mind, wherever she took them.

The minutes slipped past as they worked their way down the mountain slope and into the heavy forests that concealed Arborlon. Overhead, the stars speckled the dark sky, thousands upon thousands. Their brilliant light filtered through the canopy of the old growth and let the Belloruus siblings find their way more easily. It also revealed them. Twice Simralin stopped where she was, holding up her hand, listening to the silence, her head turning first one way and then the other. Both times she altered course slightly. Both times Kirisin saw and heard nothing.

I would be lost without her, he thought.

Nevertheless, he concentrated on keeping eyes and ears sharp for movement and sound. He would help as much as he could, although he did not think his sister required it. Now and then, his hand would stray to where the Elfstones nestled in his pocket, touching them, finding reassurance in their presence. He thought of how much his sister and he and the Knight of the Word, Angel Perez, had gone through to retrieve them from the ice caves on Syrring Rise. He thought of the hardships they had endured during their search for the Stones and of the lives that had been sacrificed. Barely a month had passed, but it felt like so much more. It all seemed as if it had happened in an earlier life.

He shook his head. What had begun as a group effort had ended as a responsibility given solely to him to fulfill. He understood and accepted this charge, but at the same time he wished that it could be over. He wanted things to go back to the way they were when he had been just another of this year’s Chosen and the boundaries of his life were defined by nothing more than his obligation to care for the Ellcrys and her gardens.

But he knew the truth of things. However this turned out, nothing would ever be the same.

Their progress through the forests of the Cintra was slow and cautious, and by the time the first houses of the city came into view the eastern sky was beginning to lighten. They moved more quickly then, passing out of the trees and onto the small pathways that skirted the buildings and the edges of Arborlon. A few distant figures passed through the shadowy predawn. But mostly the Elves slept still, not yet ready to rise for the new day. They were through the sentry lines, Kirisin knew, so those they encountered now would be average citizens on their way to their work rather than Elven Hunters or Home Guard. The danger lay mostly in coming face–to–face with someone who might recognize them.

They avoided this, and in another thirty minutes they had reached Tragen’s cottage. Without hesitating Simralin took them up on the porch and into the shadows of the overhang. She knocked softly and, when there was no response, retrieved a key from a space above the lintel and unlocked the door.

Once inside, she closed and locked the door behind her, and then moved quickly through the rooms to make certain they were alone.

“He must be on duty,” she told Kirisin when she returned. “We’ll stay here for now. I don’t think we can risk going out in the daylight. We have to wait until dark.”

“Wait?” he repeated in disbelief.

She took hold of his shoulders and brought her face close to his own. “Think about it. The demons aren’t attacking or even in position to attack. They’re hanging back, waiting. On you, I expect. They want you to use the Loden. They think Culph is bringing you back to them. They will wait a reasonable time to hear from him before attacking. But if Arissen Belloruus gets his hands on us, he might decide to make us disappear with no one the wiser. He’ll be furious enough to do that. Then you’ll never get a chance to use the Loden and the demons will attack anyway and everything we’ve done will turn out to have been for nothing.”

Kirisin frowned. “You’re probably right. So what happens when it gets dark?”

“We go before the High Council and demand to be heard. We have to make certain they know what is happening and are taking steps to prepare for it. If nothing else, we can tell them about the nature of their enemy. If we can reach the Council chambers without being seen, we have at least a small chance of gaining an audience before the King can stop us.”

“You really think that will be enough to persuade them to let me use the Loden?”

She gave him a look. “Well, you better hope it is because that’s the only chance we have. If we can’t convince them we’re telling the truth and that any failure to act on what they’ve heard means the end of the Elves, we’re finished.”

They stared at each other in the gray dawn light for a moment, the silence deepening.

“Maybe I better practice up on what I’m going to say,” Kirisin said finally.

His sister cocked her eyebrow. “Maybe you better get some sleep first.”

He started to protest, but she shoved him toward the bedroom. “Use Tragen’s bed. I’ll wake you in six hours. Go on, don’t argue. I’ll keep watch.”

“Whoever chooses you for a life partner deserves what he gets,” the boy called back to her just before falling across the bed.

He was asleep instantly.

When HE woke again, it was still daylight. But on looking out the window, he could see the shadows lengthening and the light fading. He was groggy and heavy–eyed, and wanted nothing more than to go right back to sleep. But he resisted the impulse, knowing that sleep was an escape from reality at this point. He had to clear his head and get ready for his meeting with the High Council. He walked into the other room and found Simralin asleep in one of the chairs. He stared at her a moment, and she opened her eyes.

“Why are you so noisy?” she asked him.

He grinned, shaking his head. Only Sim could look like she was asleep and not be. He walked over to the sink and pumped some water to wash his face. The water was cool and refreshing, and he lingered for a moment. “I’m sorry I got you involved in all this,” he told her.

“I think I got myself involved.”

“Well, I’m sorry, anyway. I wish you hadn’t.”

She rose and stretched her lanky frame, loosening her head scarf to let her long blond hair fall free. She ran her fingers through the thick mass, then tossed her head back to get the hair out of her face and retied the scarf. “That would have been too bad for you, Little K. You have the heart for this, but I have the skills. Anyway, it’s good that we can look out for each other.”

She came over to the sink to join him, washed her own face, and pumped water for them to drink, as well. She looked out into the yard and the trees beyond. “I wonder why Tragen isn’t back.”

“Do you think something might have happened to him?”

She shook her head. “I think he might be out tracking close to where the demons mass. They would have sent a handful of Trackers just to keep watch. He would have been a logical choice. He’s as good at it as I am.”

Kirisin dried his face. “No one is as good as you are.”

She laughed. “Let’s have something to eat while we wait for it to get dark. Maybe there’s some food in the pantry.”

They sat at a little table by the front window and ate a meal of bread and cheese washed down by glasses of ale, all food and drink they found in Tragen’s small larder and stone cooler. Kirisin didn’t miss that Simralin was so familiar with the house and seemed to know where everything was. He wondered how often she came here, but left the matter alone. They didn’t say much while they ate. Kirisin thought about Erisha, remembering how committed she had been at the end of things to saving the Ellcrys. He would tell that to the King. He would make Arissen Belloruus understand how much his daughter had believed in what she was doing. He would find a way to make the King believe, too.

“It’s dark enough,” Sim said finally, glancing out the window. “Time to go.”

Kirisin started for the door. “Wait,” his sister called after him. He turned. “Leave your weapons behind.” When he looked doubtful, she added, “The guards don’t allow weapons in the chambers. Besides, weapons won’t help us anyway if we can’t do what’s needed with words.”

They stripped away their long knives and Simralin’s bow and arrows and adzl, leaving them on Tragen’s small table. Then they wrapped themselves in their cloaks and went out the door of the cottage and into the trees. It was only a short distance to the High Council chambers, but Simralin was taking no chances. She chose a little–traveled path for them to follow, keeping away from the main roads to minimize the possibility of unexpected encounters. It took twice as long for them to get where they were going, and by the time they had reached their destination Kirisin was so anxious and tense that everything he had rehearsed so carefully had flown right out of his head.

There were guards at the entrance to the building, but Simralin never hesitated. She marched right up to them, not bothering to try to disguise who she was. When they recognized her, she held up her hand to stay theirs and said quickly, “It’s all right. The King is expecting us. Is Maurin Ortish inside?”

The guards looked at each other and nodded. “We’ve orders to take you directly to the King if we find you,” one said doubtfully.

She smiled. “Now you don’t have to bother, Rish. We’ve found you instead, and we’re on our way to see the King. Why don’t you come with us?”

Without waiting for a response, she moved past them and through the doors. Kirisin followed close behind, not daring to look at the guards. There were many more guards inside, and a low murmur quickly built as they realized who had appeared. Still, no one tried to interfere, perhaps uncertain as to what they should do. All of them simply stared in a mix of surprise and disbelief as Simralin cheerfully offered greetings, not once suggesting that she and Kirisin were in any sort of trouble.

Then Maurin Ortish appeared through the Council chamber doors, alerted by the sounds without that something was happening. His appearance immediately calmed everyone around him, all heads turning toward him to see what he would do. He took one look at Kirisin and his sister and limped over to them, beckoning to the Home Guards who were still rooted in place.

“Make certain they are unarmed.” He stood in front of Simralin. “I don’t know why you came back. You were safely away from here. You should have stayed so.”

“Do you really not know why we are here?” Simralin asked him, holding his gaze with her own. “It’s because the Knight of the Word told the High Council the truth. Demons and their creatures mass within the forests of the Cintra. They threaten the city. But they do not attack. Kirisin and I know why. We also know who really killed Erisha.”

He stared at her, assessing her words. “My orders–direct from the King–are to put you somewhere no one can find you and leave you there until he can question you personally.” He paused. “Those are not orders I can question, let alone disobey.”

“Do I lie about the danger to the city and our people?” Simralin asked him quickly.

“No,” he said, his soft voice almost a whisper.

“Does anyone here know why there has been no attack?”

“There is speculation that the enemy does not know for certain we are here, that they mass for another reason entirely.”

“Yes, and cows fly,” she snapped at him. “You know better than to believe such nonsense, Maurin. Give us a chance to tell the Council what is happening. What is really happening.”

“As I said, Simralin, my orders—”

“The King is not thinking clearly,” she cut in. “He is enraged over the death of his daughter, and rightly so. But he wrongly blames us. The real killer is an enemy from without, a demon who was disguised as an Elf. Let us reveal all this. Give us a chance!”

“If you don’t,” Kirisin added quickly, “the enemy attack will come all too quickly and you won’t be able to save anyone. You must have seen their numbers. We saw them from the air. There are thousands. Far too many for the Elves to defend against.”

“Maurin, please,” Simralin begged, lowering her voice, leaning close. “You have known me my whole life. You have known Kirisin. We would not lie about something like this. We would not turn traitor to our own people. Do you really think we are capable of such a thing?”

“People are capable of anything,” he replied. “Even Elves. Even good Elves, like you.”

“If you take us away, if you do what the King has ordered, you will never know the truth.”

“The King will extract the truth from you.”

“What the King is looking to extract is revenge. He will not listen to the truth. He has already made up his mind, and you know it. He is half mad with grief. In there, in the Council chambers, he might be made to listen. Alone with us, he won’t bother. He will simply find a way to kill us and call the matter closed.”

They stared at each other silently, desperation mingling with uncertainty. Maurin Ortish shook his head, and Kirisin thought, We failed. “You realize what you are asking of me?” the captain of the Home Guard said softly.

“I am asking you to do what you have always done before,” Simralin replied. “I am asking you to do what is right.”

He said nothing in response, but instead looked off into the distance. There was a hushed silence in the hall as everyone waited to see what he would do. One way or the other, Kirisin sensed, this was the turning point. He decided to try to tip the balance.

“Can you move everyone away from us for a moment?” he asked the captain of the Home Guard.

Ortish glanced over at him, hesitating. Then he motioned the guards to move back.

“You were there in the Council chambers when the Knight of the Word and the tatterdemalion told the King that the Ellcrys had spoken to me,” Kirisin said quietly, keeping his voice too low for anyone but Ortish to hear. “So you remember what they said. That I was to go in search of the Loden Elfstone. That when I found it, I was to use it to place the tree and the city and the Elven population inside so that they could be taken to another, safer place. No one believed this. No one even thought an Elfstone existed after all this time. There was no record of an Elfstone, nothing to support what any of us were saying.”

“I remember.”

Kirisin reached into his pocket and pulled out the Loden. He cupped it in the palm of his hand so that only Maurin Ortish could see it. “This is it. The Loden Elfstone. We found it on Syrring Rise. This is what will save us all. If you doubt my sister, if you don’t believe her, this should change your mind.”

The captain of the Home Guard stared at the Elfstone, and then he looked up at the boy. “How could you have found something like this, Kirisin?” he asked. “Are you sure of what it is?”

But before the boy could answer him, a familiar figure appeared in front of them, big and looming. “So there you are, Little K.”

Kirisin looked up to find Tragen standing next to them, his dark features lined with a mix of worry and confusion. And something else. Despair? Desperation? Kirisin wasn’t sure.

The big man tried a quick smile. “Hello, Sim.”

“What is it, Tragen,” Maurin Ortish asked, clearly irritated by the interruption.

Tragen looked exhausted. His clothes were torn and dirtied, and his face was scratched. “I need to speak with the King at once. Things are much worse than we thought.”

“Give your report to me.”

Tragen shook his head. “If I give it in the presence of the King and the members of the High Council, maybe I can say something that will help Kirisin and Simralin. About what they are telling you. About the Loden Elfstone. Please, Captain, let me come inside with you.”

Kirisin blinked. How long had Tragen been standing there? How much of what was said had he heard? Where had he come from, for that matter? He hadn’t been there before, had he?

Ortish glanced past the big Tracker. “Where are the others?”

“Dead. We were discovered, attacked, and then chased. The enemy caught up to us all, one by one. I was lucky. I fell down a ravine, and they lost sight of me in the dark. I hid until they had wandered away and I was able to crawl out again. Captain, please.”

Kirisin suddenly realized that he was standing there holding the Loden in his hand for anyone to see who happened to walk up to him. He closed his fingers around it and dropped it back into his pocket.

“Maurin, I think we all need a chance to speak before the High Council,” Simralin repeated. “Please give it to us.”

Maurin Ortish nodded. “I won’t promise that you’ll get two words out before the King has you hauled away. But I will take you into the chambers and let you do your best. Tragen, you might as well come with them if you’ve got something to say that bears on this.”

He signaled over to four of the guards. “But you’ll have company, so please don’t do anything to make me regret this decision.”

Leaving the remainder of the Home Guard without, he led the way over to the chamber doors and pushed them open.