Autumn Whispers (An Otherworld Novel) (19 page)

Trenyth led us past the turnoff to the throne room, down the wide, spacious corridor. The floor was a polished tile that shifted color every time I looked at a different section. Columns lined the hall, rising to the ceiling that towered over us, and eye catchers dotted the walls, caught inside of lanterns like soft glowing candles. The palace was beautiful, but at this point, we were focused on following Trenyth rather than on the décor. Chase and Sharah kept pace with us, and I had a feeling that Sharah was grateful for the delay.

We traveled through a set of double doors, then turned off the main hall into a smaller corridor, which led to a spiral ramp inclining down. The passage was about six feet wide, with a railing on one side. Even though the ramp was at a gradual slope, Sharah held to the railing as she cautiously followed Trenyth and Chase. Camille and I came next, Menolly and the guys in back. Another ten minutes of silent walking and we were at the bottom.

“We must be pretty damned far underground.” Menolly broke the silence.

Trenyth glanced over his shoulder. “Yes, we are several stories below the ground. We keep the seers and the mages here, protected in case of war.” His voice dipped on the last word, and he paused. “The last great wars Elqaneve was embroiled in were the Scorching Wars, and those were not on our territory. But we fought, sent legions to the Southern Wastes, when they were still oak and bracken, fern and soft grass.”

My sisters and I had grown up hearing about the Scorching Wars, but Trenyth had actually lived through them. The realization of just how old he was began to sink in.

“Were you . . . did you have to fight?” I wasn’t sure it was an appropriate question but I felt impelled to ask.

He turned to me. “I did, though I was quite young. So much blood flowed that it stained the sands red. I lost my brothers in that war—all of them. I watched as the sorcerers turned the vast plains that covered the area into dust and sand. The fires burned for years, scorching the land. Their magic was so powerful that it infused the air and is still caught in the rolling dunes. Things happen down there—and it is said that a great city lies beneath the dunes that vanished during the war, waiting to return.”

The way he spoke made it sound as if the wars were yesterday, and I had the suspicion that—for Trenyth—they might as well have been. Just one more fact about our elfin friend that we had not known.

“And Telazhar led them, even then. Why? He’s a necromancer. Why work with the sorcerers?” Camille’s voice was soft. She was trying to keep from breaking the mood. She’d used the technique often enough that I could recognize it by now.

Trenyth gave her a gentle smile. “Don’t play your glamour on me, young witch. I am too old and too experienced to be taken in by your beauty, as lovely as the gesture is.” He sucked in a deep breath, then let it out sharply.

He continued. “Even then, Telazhar recognized the power in uniting forces. He crossed guilds. He was a master of bringing together disparate people and there was a point where the power shifted and he grabbed control, with sorcerers and mages following him slavishly. He enlisted the Brotherhood of the Sun, and played on their fear and distaste for the Moon Mother.”

“Uniting through mutual hatred,” Trillian murmured. “Always a powerful trick, if a distasteful one.”

Trenyth nodded. “And he is repeating history. He has called on the sorcerers still angry at certain rules set up by Elqaneve and Y’Elestrial. Telazhar knows how to prey on the weaknesses of others. He uses truth, twists and perverts it, and spoon feeds it to his followers. And now . . . he works for Shadow Wing, and he’s had a thousand upon a thousand years to hone his skills. He is danger incarnate, and he knows this.”

We were all silent as the air seemed to thicken around us. Trenyth turned and once again, led us forward.

Another ten minutes and we entered what seemed the antithesis of the rest of the palace. Here, a soft dim light glowed through the chamber, and it was hard to see exactly how the setup was laid out. Silhouettes of tables and chairs were visible in the gloom, along with bookshelves lining the walls. This must be a study hall or something of the like, but right now it was deserted.

“Where is everybody?” Chase asked.

“Probably at the dinner hall. The mages employed by the Court work in two shifts and usually the night shift will not begin until midnight. The day shift comes on at the strike of noontide.” Trenyth led us through another set of doors on the opposite side of the room and into another long, narrow corridor.

Here, doors lined the sides and I guessed we were in the living quarters area, but when we passed one room with an open door, the inside looked like Camille’s study, and I realized these were private workrooms.

As we headed toward the end of the corridor, a young elf—well, he looked young, but truth was he could have been hundreds of years old—came racing down the hall. He skidded to a stop when he saw Trenyth and dropped to his one knee.

“Lord Trenyth, please, come quickly. There’s something wrong with Elthea.” The elf was doing his best to keep from panicking, the war of emotions evident in his face.

Trenyth motioned him up. On the run, they started down the hall toward the end doors. We followed, while Chase and Sharah walked behind. I glanced back to see Trillian return to their side. Relieved they weren’t left alone, I sped up and followed on the heels of Camille and Menolly. Shade had already vanished through the door.

We slammed through behind him, finding ourselves in yet another communal living room. But this was cozier, less austere, with leather sofas and rocking chairs and a cheery fire blazing away. In the center of the room, near a small seating arrangement, three elves were kneeling on the floor by the side of a woman. She looked middle-aged, which meant she had to be incredibly old, and she was seizing. Spittle frothed out of her mouth as her body convulsed, wracked in spasms. One of the elves was trying to turn her on her side, while another was murmuring some sort of spell, low and ominous.

Trenyth pushed aside the elf trying to help the woman and knelt beside her. “Have you called for the healers?”

“Yes, Lord Trenyth. They are on the way.”

“What happened?” He managed to flip her over so the froth didn’t choke her. As her body spasmed, he laid his hands on her and I had the feeling he was working some sort of magic.

The elf he’d pushed aside answered. “We were discussing what the . . .” He paused, glancing our way, and his gaze flickered back to Trenyth, who seemed to understand what he was about to say.

“It’s all right. They’re here to help.”

“Thank you, my Lord. We were talking about the energy looming over the city when Elthea slipped into a trance. Her eyes rolled back in her head and she said, in a loud male voice, ‘It’s too late . . . we are here.’ And then, she went into seizure.”

At that moment, the healers burst through the room and took over. Trenyth moved back to give them space. I tapped Camille and Menolly on the shoulder, and we moved off to the side. Shade followed.

“What the hell is going on?” I told them what Greta had said to me, figuring we’d better have everything out in the open.

Camille pressed her lips together and glanced over her shoulder at Elthea, who now seemed to be out of the convulsions, but was still unconscious. “The question is, who spoke through her?”

Trenyth joined us. “Come with me. This requires a visit. I normally would never allow you where we’re going, but after what you felt, Camille, and what Greta said to you, Delilah, you must come with me. I’m afraid Shade cannot join us. We don’t allow dragons in the restricted area. Nor Menolly, I’m afraid.”

Menolly held up her hand when I started to protest. “It’s all right. Shade and I’ll join Trillian to help watch after Chase and Sharah. We’ll be right here when you get back.”

Without waiting for our answer, Trenyth hurried Camille and me through the room and out the back. He said nothing, hushing me before I could ask where we were going. We followed silently, rushing to keep up with him. His feet were flying, and while we could keep to a pace, it wasn’t easy. Elves were lighter on their feet than the Fae.

The corridors went by in a haze of marble and magical light, and I lost track of the twists and turns as we wound our way through the palace. Camille gave me a strained look but remained silent. As we passed, no sound followed except for the hollow stroke of her heels against the marble, and the soft fall of my boots. We were a blur of motion, a whirlwind racing through the empty corridors. I had no sense of what time it was, though I knew it couldn’t be later than eight o’clock ES time.

And then, we were there. Wherever
there
was. A solid gray door, carved in granite, stood before us. There was no knocker, and no handle. Trenyth motioned for us to stand back and began to incant a spell. The elvish he was speaking was older than time, older than I could recognize, and when I looked to Camille, she shook her head.

The ancient, sonorous rhythm of Trenyth’s voice lulled me. He sang the words, on and on, weaving the magic through them. He was a charmer with a snake, a whisperer of horses, a tamer of all beasts and wild things, and his voice could cajole blood from the body, stones from the earth.

A minute passed, then another. On the third, the door shifted, slowly swinging inward. Trenyth let his words drift back into silence and nodded for us to follow him through. As we entered the room, I was surprised to see it was quite plain, not elaborate at all. There was a table in the center, and on that table, in a stand large enough to safely hold it, a glowing crystal orb. It was bigger than my head, bigger than a bowling ball, and it was emanating a brilliant blue light from its core.

The room was nearly empty, except for the dais and the orb. There were chairs around the table, tall enough to lean over to gaze at the crystal. The room was lit by eye catchers, softly glowing near the ceiling. Trenyth motioned for us to take a seat. Camille slid into the chair next to him, and I sat on the other side.

I wanted to ask what we were looking for, but a crackle sounded from the orb and the light began to spin. Camille leaned closer. I wanted to say “back away” . . . I wanted to shout “get out of there” . . . but there was no time.

The spinning blue light swirled into a vortex that rose over our heads. It spread out, clouds filling the room, flickering silver with sparkles of blue mixed throughout.

“Pretty . . .” Camille sounded entranced. She stood and reached up, as if to touch the mist. As Trenyth realized what was going on, he dove for her, as I tried to make my way across the table.

The clouds began to spin again, faster and faster, filling the room, expanding out, forks of miniature lightning flaring out to attach themselves to Camille. They began to attack her, racing up and down her body as she tried to slap them away.

Trenyth lunged, trying to protect her as I tripped over a hidden flange on the table and went skidding over the edge, hitting my chin on the floor. We all went down, with the lightning focusing on Camille. A moment later, as we scrambled for the door, the room shook and a sound like crashing thunder rolled through the air. The storm clouds we were facing shrank and vanished.

“Fuck, what’s happening?” Camille managed to pull herself by holding on to one of the chairs.

I followed suit, realizing that the floor was rolling under our feet. “Earthquake!”

Trenyth panicked. “The Queen! I must get to her side!” He turned to us.

“Go—we’ll find our way out. Just go.” I shoved him toward the door and he stumbled out as the quaking went on and on. The sound grew from thunder to freight train, and I thought I could hear screams racing by, a blur in the mayhem.

Camille made her way over to the door, crawling on her hands and knees. “We need to get in the arch!”

But the door had swung shut again and there was no visible handle, no way to open it. We were trapped in the room. On the plus side, our nasty lightning storm seemed to be gone, but on the other hand—so did any escape. And the rumbling beneath our feet continued to grow.

“Get under the table, it looks strong enough to shield us.” I grabbed Camille by the arm. We crawled under the dais, which was made of solid marble. If it cracked on us, we’d have one hell of a headache, but if it held, we’d be protected from falling debris. And given that the quake hadn’t stopped, I doubted we’d get through without something breaking off and tumbling down from the ceiling.