Thraxas and the Elvish Isles

Chapter Seven

By the afternoon of the next day we’re riding inland to the heart of the island. Avula is extremely lush, densely forested with tall trees that cover the shallow hills that rise towards the centre. I’m a little taken aback by the size of the trees. I’d forgotten how large they were. Even the great oaks in the King’s gardens in Turai are mere saplings in comparison. And without getting too mystical about it, the trees on an Elvish island give the impression that they’re more alive than your average tree.

Landing on the island involved less ceremony than I was expecting. A delegation of important Elves, including Kalith’s wife, Lady Yestar, was at the quay to greet their guests, but there was not the tedious formality that such an event would have occasioned in Turai. Brief introductions were made and we set off inland. Even Makri’s appearance failed to cause a commotion. Kalith presumably had sent word of her arrival, and his subjects, while not looking thrilled at the sight of her, at least didn’t make a fuss. Makri greeted Lady Yestar in her flawless Elvish, as genteelly as any lady of the court, if the Elves have a court that is, which I’m not certain about. I know Kalith has some sort of palace in the trees.

I ride beside Makri at the back of the column, far behind Lord Kalith and Prince Dees-Akan. Makri looks around her with interest but I’m too busy thinking about my work to fully appreciate the splendour of the island. I have the tiniest feeling, far away at the very edge of my Investigator’s intuition, that something is wrong all around me. Something intangible that I can’t put a name to. Whatever it is, it prevents me from gaping at the giant butterflies.

Avula is one of the largest of the Elvish Isles. During the last Orc War it provided many troops and ships for the defence of the west, but as we travel inland it’s not exactly obvious where all these Elves live. There are no extensive settlements at ground level. Here and there wooden houses stand secluded in clearings in the forest, but in the main the Elves prefer to construct their houses high up in the trees. These are cunningly crafted so that they appear to be more like natural growths than artificial objects. Even some of the larger collections of these houses, connected by walkways high above our heads, blend in with the environment in a manner that makes it easy to believe that the land is devoid of inhabitants. Only the regular, well-maintained path we travel on betrays the fact that many Elves live in these parts.

Somewhere or other there must be some sort of industry, workshops where the Elves make their own swords, harnesses and other such things, but we see nothing of this. Just trees, treehouses and the occasional Elf looking down with interest at the procession.

We’re riding on horses provided by the Elves. Vas tells me that on the far side of the island the land is more open, and their animals are pastured there. We pass several small rivers, each running with bright water that glints in the sunlight.

Lord Kalith’s Tree Palace is situated at the centre of the island, the highest point on Avula. The Hesuni Tree is next to the Palace. The important guests are to be quartered nearby. I wonder how Cicerius will manage living in a tree. I notice that the sombre mood of our Elvish hosts has lightened as they find themselves once more in their familiar surroundings, but I still have the feeling that all is not well.

Cicerius is riding beside me, upright in the saddle like a man who once fought in the army. Cicerius never managed to cover himself in glory at war, but he did at least do his duty against the Orcs, unlike most of our present-day Turanian politicians, many of whom bought their way out of military service. I lean over and whisper to him.

“Is it just me or do you feel something wrong here?”

“Wrong? What do you mean?”

“I don’t know exactly. I just get the feeling that something is wrong. Shouldn’t these Elves in the trees be waving to us or something?”

“They are waving.”

“Well maybe they’re waving a bit. I still figure they should be happier to see their Lord back. Singing maybe. Don’t Elves sing a lot? There’s some kind of gloom over this place.”

“I don’t feel it,” says Cicerius.

I always trust my intuition and it’s kept me alive for a long time.

We pass through a clearing and view an unusual spectacle. Thirty or so Elves in white cloaks are moving around in unison under the direction of another Elf. He seems to be shouting at them in an exasperated manner.

“The chorus for one of the plays,” our Elvish companions inform us.

The irate screaming gets louder.

“The directors of the plays are often given to excesses of emotion.”

Passing through another clearing we distinctly hear choral singing, again from a group rehearsing for the festival, and in the distance we catch sight of some jugglers practising. The whole atmosphere becomes more festive. I wonder again if I might solve the case quickly and thereby have some time in which to enjoy myself. Along with Osath the cook, I’m quite looking forward to the juggling competition. Whatever happens, I don’t have that long in which to investigate. Elith is due to be tried immediately after the festival, which begins in seven days’ time and lasts for three.

Vas-ar-Methet is riding some way in front of us. Several hours into the journey he sends a message back to me that we are close to his brother’s abode. The messenger is to take Makri and me there while the procession rides on. The deputation is to receive the full hospitality of Lord Kalith. We aren’t.

“Would it be any use telling you not to make a nuisance of yourself?” asks Cicerius as we prepare to go our separate ways.

“You’ll hardly notice we’re here,” I promise.

“Whatever you do,” says Cicerius sternly, “don’t meddle with anything that is calanith.”

“Cheer up, Cicerius,” says Makri, appearing beside us. “I’m an expert in Elvish taboos. In fact, I am an Elvish taboo. I’ll keep Thraxas out of trouble.”

Makri sits well on her horse. When she arrived in Turai she was already a good rider. Makri is good at most things. It’s annoying. Since leaving the ship her spirits have improved.

“I’m as happy as an Elf in a tree,” she says, laughing, and then looks thoughtful. “Although I have noticed that the Elves up in the trees don’t actually look all that happy. Good choral singing though.”

Our guide leads us down a narrow path. For an Elf he seems remarkably dour. My efforts at conversation come to nothing. Apart from learning that his name is Coris-ar-Mithan and he’s a cousin of my friend Vas, I learn nothing at all from him.

We don’t have to endure each other’s company for long. Coris brings us swiftly to another small clearing where three other Elves, two of them elderly, are waiting for us. Coris greets them briefly, bows formally to us and rides off.

“Greeting, friends of Vas-ar-Methet. Welcome to our home.”

They introduce themselves to us as Vas’s brother, mother, and sister.

“You must be tired after the long journey. We have prepared food and your rooms are waiting. Please follow us.”

They head for a tree. Lying flush with the trunk is a ladder that goes upwards for a long way. I look at it doubtfully and turn to Makri.

“How do you like heights?”

“I’m not wild about them.”

“Me neither.”

We grit our teeth and start to climb. We climb a long way. I try not to look down. As a man who can have difficulty mounting the outside steps to my office, I don’t find it the most convenient place for a home. I’m relieved when we reach the top and step on to a platform. The Elvish house stretches over the highest branches of the tree, and over to the next tree. We’re on the very outskirts of the large central township of the Elves, and from here to the centre of the island houses are strung over most of the forest, increasing in density as they approach the centre. From here it should be possible to walk all the way to the centre of the island without once touching the ground.

Once we step inside we find a comfortable and welcoming dwelling place. The rooms, though simply constructed, are brightly lit, decorated in warm colours with tapestries and rugs. There are pitchers of water and we are invited to wash and make ourselves comfortable before our meal.

“Nice house,” says Makri after they’ve left us.

I agree. “Pity it isn’t on the ground. I’d have a hard time making it up that ladder every day.”

It is now late in the afternoon. After eating I’m planning on heading out quickly to investigate.

“I’m going to see Elith. Time to question the suspect and get things moving. I figure if I can clear her name quickly I might be able to get a bit of rest before heading back to Turai. I need a rest, I’ve been working way too hard recently.”

Vas has arranged that his brother will take me to the place where Elith is held and I’m keen to set off as soon as I can. Camith, slightly younger and less distinguished than the healer, is pleased to find I’m eager to get started.

“No one in our family believes that Elith is guilty of this terrible crime.”

Leaving Makri to look around, I accompany Camith on the long journey through the walkways over the trees towards the centre of Avula, where Elith is incarcerated. He tells me that she is held in a rarely used prison building at the rear of Lord Kalith’s Tree Palace.

“Have you considered a jail break?”

Camith seems shocked by the suggestion. “No. We are presuming that her name will be cleared.”

“Don’t presume. After all, she might be guilty. I’m planning on knocking a few heads together to find out the truth. But it never hurts to have a back-up plan.”

The wooden walkways lead us past more houses. Elves stare as I pass. I’d imagine it’s a long time since they’ve seen anyone with my impressive figure. They’re a thin race, the Elves. Even in old age they rarely seem to settle into comfortable obesity. I ask Camith if there are any taverns on Avula. He tells me that there is nothing that would actually qualify as a tavern, but they do brew their own beer and gather in glades to drink it, which doesn’t sound too bad. I tell him that I have now run out of beer, and instruct him that I must have some as soon as possible.

We pass over a large clearing, the largest open space I’ve seen since we reached the island.

“The tournament field,” explains my guide. “It is often in use—Lord Kalith likes to keep his Elves well prepared. It is here that the plays will be staged. There will also be a tournament, for the younger Elves. Will you be staying for the whole festival?”

“I’m not sure. Depends how the investigating goes.”

“A curious way to make a living,” ventures Camith.

“Not in Turai it isn’t. Where I live you can’t turn round without bumping into something that needs investigating.”

“Are you paid well for the service?”

“No,” I reply, truthfully. “But I make up for it at the chariot races.”

Camith laughs. I like him, he’s affable like his brother. He’s heard about my triumph over Lord Kalith at the niarit board and has the good grace to tell me that the Avulans cannot remember when their ruler was last defeated at the game, which pleases me immensely.

The evening is cool and pleasant. Walking through the tree tops isn’t so bad when I get used to it and the journey takes less time than I anticipated. Camith comes to a halt, pointing out to me a large wooden construction visible a short way ahead.

“The Tree Palace,” he informs me.

To one side there is a tree so large and impressive that it has to be the Hesuni Tree. It seems healthy enough, with plenty of golden foliage. Beside it are two pools of still water, one large and one small. We walk over a narrow suspended bridge towards the Palace, but when we’re almost there a commotion breaks out and several Elves appear at the doorway, talking together in an agitated manner. When they see us they run up and start speaking to Camith accusingly. He looks confused, and turns to me to explain, but I need no explanation. Elith-ir-Methet has vanished from her prison.

“Escaped?”

The Elvish guards nod. They recognise Camith and they find it very suspicious that her uncle just happens to be strolling by at this very moment, but before they can pursue it further a great wailing breaks out from the direction of the Hesuni Tree. Camith and the other Elves are taken aback and peer over the walkway in an attempt to find out what is happening. Sensing that his niece may be in trouble Camith starts to run in the direction of the Palace. I follow him as best I can, though I have difficulty keeping up. All around Elves are shouting, torches are being lit and the general uproar grows ever more furious. Close to the Tree Palace Camith spots an Elf he recognises on a walkway some way below us and leans over to shout at him, trying to find out what is happening.

“It’s Gulas-ar-Thetos,” shouts the Elf. “He’s dead. Murdered beside the tree. Elith-ir-Methet has killed him.”

Camith almost falls off the walkway, such is the shock that this intelligence gives him. For a while he is incapable of speech and gasps for breath as the outcry intensifies. The Elves’ Tree Priest has been murdered and I don’t need to be told that this is the most sensational event ever to happen on Avula.

“Elith!” gasps Camith. “How could she?”

“We don’t know that she did,” I tell him harshly. “Now, take me to the scene of the crime, and quickly. If I’m going to sort things out I’ll need to know a lot of things and I’ll need to know them fast.”

I give him a push, none too gently. It’s enough to get him back into action. We hurry round the outskirts of the Palace and make our way down a ladder to the Hesuni Tree, where already a great many Elves are congregating, and everything is noise and confusion.

I pat my sword, secure at my hip, and take out a small flask of klee I’ve saved for emergencies. As it burns its way down my throat, it strikes me that for the first time in over a month I’m feeling properly like myself. Thraxas the Investigator. I’ll show these Elves a thing or two when it comes to investigating.

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