their guest. “Though it has changed considerably since last I was here.” She looked around the room with an appraising eye. “The table was smaller then, I think.”
“Same table,” Cyrus said, settling back in his enormously high-backed chair. Suddenly he felt the pressure of the Guildmaster medallion strung round his neck, and felt self-conscious about the chair he was inhabiting. When she was an officer of this guild, I was not even a member. Now I am the Master of Sanctuary and she is not even a member. Sometimes I forget the history of this place predates me by some considerable margin. “We haven’t replaced it.”
“Indeed?” Cora looked it over again. “Memory is a most malleable thing, I suppose, making days that were a struggle seem like halcyon stuff after a sufficient distance of years. Merely shrinking a Council Chamber seems an easy task compared to that.” She forced a smile. “I am sad to say that I recognize few enough of the faces around me.”
“But a few of us recognize yours,” J’anda said with a smile of his own, warm, sincere and genuine.
“Oh, J’anda,” Cora said with a tinge of regret. “It does my heart ill to see you this way.”
“You would have outlived me in any case,” J’anda said, but now his smile was tinged with sadness. “Such is the fate of you elder elves.”
Curatio cleared his throat. “Who are you calling elder, exactly?”
Cora glanced over at him. “Did that finally come out, then, oh, ageless healer?”
Curatio looked chastened for a moment. “Indeed. It was quite dramatic in the way it did.”
Cyrus watched the interplay between the two of them and felt a faint aura of suspicion. She knew he was one of the Old Ones? That was a closely guarded secret until just three years ago. Cora’s eyes met his, cool, composed, and he wondered not for the first time what exactly he faced in this elven woman. How many secrets did the founding members of this guild know that even I am not aware of?
And how many did—does—Alaric keep still, wherever he may be?
“I apologize for coming to you in this manner, and at this hour,” Cora said. She dropped her gaze to the table and ran her fingers over the smooth grains of the wood.
“The dinner hour is always a poor time for a meeting,” Vaste agreed. “Second only to the breakfast hour and just behind the lunching one, or on the afternoon occasions when Larana decides to bake fresh fruit pies—”
“Vaste,” Cyrus said, taking up the Guildmaster’s sworn duty to rope the troll back on topic.
“The smell of tart apples, sugar and pastry crust fill the air in the foyer, like magic wafting off the fingers of an expert caster—”
“Vaste,” Curatio said, somewhat more sternly.
“I’m hungry,” the troll said, more than a little plaintively. He sulked for a few seconds then looked to Cora. “Oh, fine, then, proceed. I’ll just sit here, starving. Ignore my stomach’s rumblings.”
“Just as easily as I ignore the rumblings of the rest of you,” Cora said a bit playfully, poking at the troll. “As I was saying … the timing is poor for my approach, and yet necessary. Word of what happened in your protectorate of Emerald Fields has reached our ears in Amti—”
“I’m sorry,” Samwen Longwell said, and Cyrus detected a hint of danger lurking behind the dragoon’s eyes, “but I can’t recall hearing of this ‘Amti’ place that you represent. It’s not on the maps of Arkaria that I’ve studied.”
“Amti is a colony of elves in the southern lands, beyond the Heia Pass,” Odellan said, leaning forward, his winged helm gleaming upon the table and his blond hair in perfect order this day. “They were founded roughly a century ago to exploit some of the resources discovered in the Jungle of Vidara—”
“What sort of resources?” Longwell asked.
“I’d be curious to know that, myself,” Ryin added, casting a look around the table. “Especially as they’re not terribly
“Same table,” Cyrus said, settling back in his enormously high-backed chair. Suddenly he felt the pressure of the Guildmaster medallion strung round his neck, and felt self-conscious about the chair he was inhabiting. When she was an officer of this guild, I was not even a member. Now I am the Master of Sanctuary and she is not even a member. Sometimes I forget the history of this place predates me by some considerable margin. “We haven’t replaced it.”
“Indeed?” Cora looked it over again. “Memory is a most malleable thing, I suppose, making days that were a struggle seem like halcyon stuff after a sufficient distance of years. Merely shrinking a Council Chamber seems an easy task compared to that.” She forced a smile. “I am sad to say that I recognize few enough of the faces around me.”
“But a few of us recognize yours,” J’anda said with a smile of his own, warm, sincere and genuine.
“Oh, J’anda,” Cora said with a tinge of regret. “It does my heart ill to see you this way.”
“You would have outlived me in any case,” J’anda said, but now his smile was tinged with sadness. “Such is the fate of you elder elves.”
Curatio cleared his throat. “Who are you calling elder, exactly?”
Cora glanced over at him. “Did that finally come out, then, oh, ageless healer?”
Curatio looked chastened for a moment. “Indeed. It was quite dramatic in the way it did.”
Cyrus watched the interplay between the two of them and felt a faint aura of suspicion. She knew he was one of the Old Ones? That was a closely guarded secret until just three years ago. Cora’s eyes met his, cool, composed, and he wondered not for the first time what exactly he faced in this elven woman. How many secrets did the founding members of this guild know that even I am not aware of?
And how many did—does—Alaric keep still, wherever he may be?
“I apologize for coming to you in this manner, and at this hour,” Cora said. She dropped her gaze to the table and ran her fingers over the smooth grains of the wood.
“The dinner hour is always a poor time for a meeting,” Vaste agreed. “Second only to the breakfast hour and just behind the lunching one, or on the afternoon occasions when Larana decides to bake fresh fruit pies—”
“Vaste,” Cyrus said, taking up the Guildmaster’s sworn duty to rope the troll back on topic.
“The smell of tart apples, sugar and pastry crust fill the air in the foyer, like magic wafting off the fingers of an expert caster—”
“Vaste,” Curatio said, somewhat more sternly.
“I’m hungry,” the troll said, more than a little plaintively. He sulked for a few seconds then looked to Cora. “Oh, fine, then, proceed. I’ll just sit here, starving. Ignore my stomach’s rumblings.”
“Just as easily as I ignore the rumblings of the rest of you,” Cora said a bit playfully, poking at the troll. “As I was saying … the timing is poor for my approach, and yet necessary. Word of what happened in your protectorate of Emerald Fields has reached our ears in Amti—”
“I’m sorry,” Samwen Longwell said, and Cyrus detected a hint of danger lurking behind the dragoon’s eyes, “but I can’t recall hearing of this ‘Amti’ place that you represent. It’s not on the maps of Arkaria that I’ve studied.”
“Amti is a colony of elves in the southern lands, beyond the Heia Pass,” Odellan said, leaning forward, his winged helm gleaming upon the table and his blond hair in perfect order this day. “They were founded roughly a century ago to exploit some of the resources discovered in the Jungle of Vidara—”
“What sort of resources?” Longwell asked.
“I’d be curious to know that, myself,” Ryin added, casting a look around the table. “Especially as they’re not terribly
Similar Books
