Lord Of Dragons (Book 2) (13 page)

The priest opened his mouth and displayed a broad smile. "You sound like a priest of our faith! We share similar outlooks on life. The formation of dogma comes as a result of people living too many years in crowded cities. The filth and the stench and the striving for power corrupts the mind. When you live in nature and observe the natural patterns, of the seasons, of life and death, of heat and cold, and of the immaculate beauty of creation and renewal, you internalize the truth and it is easy to reject all dogma."

Tael bobbed his head and followed the priest into another room lined with cedar planks, and the air smelled richly of the fragrant wood. Another priest handed them each a wide, wooden bowl, and Yaran motioned them over to the center of the room where sunlight filtered down from a hole in the wooden ceiling. They sat at low, cedar stools and the priest scooped handfuls of salt into his bucket, and poured what smelled like olive oil over the salt. Yaran mixed the salt and oil, and indicated for Tael to do the same.

"The god of the earth produces this salt deep in the heart of the mountain, and his water and soil nurtures the trees to produce the olives for the oil." The priest scrubbed his arms and chest with the oiled salt, and Tael did the same. His skin tingled at the rigorous rubbing of the abrasive salt.

"We must first cleanse our entire outer body of impurities, and prepare the skin." The other priest returned to the room wielding a hemp brush in his hand. He scrubbed Tael's back and the rest of his body with such a vigor that his skin reddened.
 

"Now we use a soap made from lye, from the ashes of bulls, to remove the salt and the oil and any other impurities from our skin." The priest clad in white robes carried a square bar of black soap, and took out new brushes and washed and scrubbed them again with the strong soap. When they drenched themselves again with another bucket of hot water, Yaran guided Tael outside to dip into a stone pool filled with steaming water.

"These waters come from deep within the volcano that lies dormant underneath our city. Rez'el has risen to the pinnacle of wealth and success through the bountiful blessings of our god. The area possesses the perfect combination of water and soil and wind and sun needed to produce our grapes and famous wine, our fragrant olives and oil, and our almonds and citrus."

And indeed at the priest's words, Tael could smell hints of wine and olives and citrus in the air, and also the intoxicating fragrance of jasmine. "I am curious, by what guiding principles do your people live their lives?"

"This is a good question, for in many ways we may seem like fanatics to the world outside of Rez'el—even to the people of Erelim and Shaar'el they call us fools who work endlessly and blindly worship the god of the earth. Those of Shaar'el prefer the freedom to worship many gods, and they find themselves floating about like a raft drifting aimlessly at sea. They will die without a purpose, without a direction, without their roots burrowed deep into the earth to sustain and anchor them."

The priest sighed, as if exasperated by an age-long debate. "What they don't see is our duality." His eyes illuminated in a brilliant intensity as the sunlight filled his piercing, blue eyes like the color of a mountain lake. "In the day we exert intense mental and physical focus on the completion of our work, banishing all other thoughts from our minds. This affords us immense efficiency. But as twilight falls, the other side of our duality awakens, and that is the mystery of the god of the earth, a mystery you will discover tonight..."

Chapter Fifteen

IN THE RED hue of twilight, Master Greyth Shalinor stared at the City of Yhalan from the treacherous hillside overlooking the expansive city. Yhalan met the elven kingdom at a steep, narrow mountain pass protected by a towering, silver wall protected by gleaming runes. There was danger here in the interplay of human and elven cultures, and most importantly there was danger from the rising influence of the dark elves. He spurred his black mare down the trail and cloaked himself in the magical illusion of decrepitude.

The guards barely paid him a glance as his horse passed through the city gates, but the wizard knew their eyes only saw an old donkey carrying an aged man in tattered clothes. Nothing for them to notice. The entrance to the sprawling city was thick with smoke, and the air was scented with roasted pork and garlic and the delicate fragrance of saffron. Old women standing at merchant stalls added the spice in wide, round pans filled with rice and chunks of chicken. Alluring girls veiled in silk wriggled invitingly at the men entering the city, and whispered words offered hints of the pleasure their silver would find in their beds.
 

Master Shalinor ignored the temptations and pressed deeper into the city. If he was lucky he could reach the border into the elven Kingdom of Drazal'tan before the elves closed the gates. The wizard didn't want to remain in the human realm for risk of encountering Hakkadian sorcerers who would likely see past his illusion. He had no idea where Master Vhelan might have gone, but the sorcerer had certainly surrendered to the King in order to save his wife from torture and death. Master Shalinor thought of his wife in Trikar, and with a heavy heart realized he would do the same thing if she were ever captured by the King's men.

Yhalan was a wild trading city with exotic goods from the elven kingdom, and in trade with the elves, a vast assortment of goods from Valance, the Malathians, and even as far as the Islands of Marr. But the traders that lived here in Yhalan possessed a kind of distant, hazy expression in their eyes, as if they were lost souls imprisoned in the middling world between heaven and hell. And the elven world was a heaven far from the reach of those human traders, men and women who seemed to feed off some power wafting over the tall, silver gates barring their entrance into the Kingdom of Drazal'tan.

After riding for nearly half an hour through the tent-like city, more of a grand bazaar than a permanent settlement, Master Shalinor arrived at the rune-covered gates guarded by two towering elven soldiers in silver armor. Each beautiful warrior wielded a long, wicked sword with ghostly, smoky waves running along the blade. The elves nodded and allowed the wizard entry through the gates, much to the whispered murmurings and gasps of surprise of the humans gathered around the gates as if worshipping at the altar of eternal life.

Passing from the dark evening sky of Yhalan into the silver ever-night of the elven kingdom, the wizard couldn't help but feel a wave of exhilaration rise up in his heart. On the other side of the gate the dense forest was green and mystical, with will-o'-the-wisps and butterfly-sized faeries fluttering through the air. Magical deer and elk were unafraid and curious as he rode past on his black mare, and even his horse seemed soothed by the entrance into the elven forest.

He shed his magical illusion and allowed his true form to appear, a body twice as old as the oldest age a human could hope for, but with his elven heritage from his father renewing his blood, he still felt and looked youthful. As a young apprentice studying at the Arcanum many moons ago, he was often puzzled at his own vast stamina and strength, and his deft ability at climbing trees and chasing over the rooftops of Trikar. He had been born different, and it had taken him years to discover why.

As tired as he was from riding all day, he knew he had another hour to reach the City of Fenellan, where he could rest for the night in the quiet city filled with traders and craftsmen. After reaching Fenellan, he spent a peaceful evening eating dinner and imbibing in miruvor, a honey-sweet drink of the elves, and he slept the first deep, dreamless sleep he'd had in many weeks. He rode out the next morning, hoping to reach the high elven capitol city, Khalas Dralorn, before the moon rose high over the forest. And with the full moon, he knew the risk of encountering the dark elves would be at its greatest.

Now in the lull of late afternoon, he rode along the seemingly innocuous path through the dense, misty forest, and his wizard's sense told him that something was very different from the last time he'd traveled this stretch of woodland. Was there some foul scent in the air? A faraway fire perhaps, or a blight creeping in this untainted forest, or maybe the scent of something fetid and decomposing, like the smell of a rat that's died and grown rancid under a cupboard.
 

The wizard pulled his cloak over his head as a biting wind gusted up and blew his hair in a rush. The limbs above groaned eerily as they were buffeted by a rising gale, and with the wind came the smell of pine and storm. Raindrops filtered down through the thick branches, and Master Shalinor urged his horse on, hoping to reach the gates of Khalas Dralorn before the storm came in its full fury. For now the light had fallen in the forest, as thick, black storm clouds coalesced into a menacing face.

Curse the god of the sky
, the wizard thought, and braced himself for the downpour. The distant rumbling thunder came first with a sound like the massive movement of earth and stone from a landslide. Then a searing light illuminated the now dark forest as many forks of powerful lightning struck nearby and instantly boomed and shook the ground, causing the hairs around the wizard's head to stand in alarm. This was no natural storm. The dark elves were near.

Master Shalinor knew better than to run. He spied a ring of trees—a very old camphor grove—and spurred his horse over to the place of druidic power. The dark elves would respect the neutrality of such a sacred place. At least he hoped so. He dismounted from his horse and tied the reins onto a branch, whispering magical words to calm the beast.

As soon as he passed into the circular ring of ancient magic protecting the grove, the rain ceased and the air sparkled with luminescent crystals. The feeling of serenity soothed him. These groves were rumored planted by the ancient druids of the forest thousands of years ago. And Master Shalinor could feel the immensity of the ages here within the grove.

Outside the ring, he noticed a rippling in the air around the grove, as if a river were flowing into the sky and defying the laws of nature. Several shadowy shapes descended from the stormy sky inside the rippling air, and four figures emerged from the illusion and entered the grove. The dark elves were here.

"Hail, wizard." The tallest of the obsidian-skilled elves spoke in a haggard, raspy voice. Master Shalinor noticed that one of their party was a half-elf woman, and a legendary one at that. Chania Trellan was renowned for her beauty and her powers of deception. Her mother was rumored a slave from the Islands of Marr, and a necromancer who had brought her family back to life after invaders had killed them all. And Chania's father was the dark elf that stared at the wizard in the mystical grove.

"The infamous Master Greyth Shalinor, I presume?" The tall man possessed a wicked charm that flowered on his handsome, bronzed face as he studied the wizard. "What brings you to the elven kingdom? Another visit to the council of high elves?"

"As a matter of fact, my intention was to lure you out of your little hovel in the mountains." Master Shalinor flashed the man a devilish grin. "I've missed bantering with you, Jolrath. Though I must say I haven't missed your dark temper, which was particularly nasty the last time we visited. Your humor seems improved, has something happened?"

"You know quite well it has," Jolrath said, and stared up at the majestic circle of trees. "King Braxion has fled to the north. The dragons have been recaptured by the Hakkadians loyal to Master Vhelan. And my daughter is free of the King's grip."

Vhelan escaped the King's wrath and reclaimed the dragons? How did he manage that?
The wizard scratched his beard and waited for the dark elf to continue.

"Much of this is new to me, Jolrath. Although I am worried why the King has increased his visits to the north, especially with the news that Master Vhelan shared with me regarding the abominations created in the laboratories of Naverstrom."

"We know of this already. Master Vhelan has sent sorcerers to us seeking an alliance, and they have shared their worries regarding the Princes of Naverstrom. None of this is of concern, for with war this will bring our sleeping enemies out of their places of protection."

Master Shalinor thought of the high elves in their stronghold at Khalas Dralorn, and in an instant his mind also showed him the deep, cavernous cities of the dwarves. Perhaps the dark elves had crafted a master plan to try and conquer them both? He remembered the time in Yhalan when he had encountered a raving lunatic, a human with dark elf blood, spouting his dreams for a unified elven land ruled by the dark elves, and of the complete subjugation of the dwarves in service to the elves. He likely had heard of this spoken from the mouths of the dark elves living high in the mountains.

"So all is going as you've expected?" Master Shalinor said, and paused to study Jolrath's expression, but the dark elf's handsome face revealed nothing but an amused smile.

"Nothing in this world of chaos goes as planned. This is the advantage we elves have over the world of men. They are so overconfident and filled with illusions of unrealistic success. We expect chaos and with proper preparation navigate the raging waters of the maelstrom. And we are old, very old, and possess a patience humans and even dwarves lack. This feeds into our strategy of achieving our vision for the world. A world you and the humans can be a part of—if the right conditions are met."