“Nonsense. It’s far too early. Besides, I felt the ground tremble. Didn’t you?”
“Maybe it’s Callie, stalking me.” Paithan removed the flower from his buttonhole and began playfully tearing it up, tossing the petals in his sister’s lap.
“I’m so glad you find this amusing, Pait. Wait until she cuts your allowance. What is this about a human priest, anyway?”
Paithan settled himself on the bench, his eyes on the flower he was decapitating, his youthful face unusually serious. “When I came back from that last trip, Thea, I was shocked to see the change in Father. You and Callie don’t notice. You’re around him al! the time. But … he looked so … I don’t know … gray, I guess. And woebegone.”
Aleatha sighed. “You caught him in one of his more lucid moments.”
“Yes, and those damn rockets of his aren’t clearing the treetops, let alone coming close to the stars. He was going on and on about Mother … and you know how that is!”
“Yes. I know how that is.” Aleatha gathered the flower petals in her lap, unconsciously forming them into a miniature grave.
“I wanted to cheer him up, so I said the first jolly thing that popped into my mind. ‘Why not send for a human priest?’ I said. They know an awfully lot about the stars, ’cause that’s where they think they come from. Claim that the stars are really cities and all that rot. Well”—Paithan appeared modestly pleased with himself—“it perked the old boy right up. I hadn’t seen him so excited since the day his rocket flew into the city and blew up the garbage dump.”
“It’s all very well for you, Pait!” Aleatha irritably scattered her flowers to the wind. “You get to go off on another one of your trips. But Callie and I will have to live with the brute! That lecherous old astrologer of Father’s is bad enough without this.”
“I’m sorry, Thea. I really didn’t think.” Paithan sounded and felt truly ashamed. The one bright spark that burned in all of Quindiniars was their love and affection for each other—an affection that, unfortunately, did not extend to the rest of the world.
Reaching out, Paithan took his sister’s hand in his and squeezed it. “Besides, no human priest will ever come. I know them, you see and—” The moss bed rose up suddenly beneath their feet and then settled back down. The bench on which they were sitting shook and shivered, a pronounced rippling effect marred the smooth and placid surface of the lake. A rumbling sound like thunder, which came from below rather than above, accompanied the ground’s shudder.
, “That wasn’t a storm,” said Aleatha, looking about in alarm. Shouts and screams could be heard in the distance.
Paithan rose to his feet, his expression suddenly grave. “I think, Thea, that we had better move back to the house.” He gave his hand to his sister. Aleatha moved with calm alacrity, gathering her flowing skirts around her in unruffled haste.
“What do you think it is?”
“I haven’t the vaguest idea,” Paithan answered, hurrying through the garden.
“Ah, Durndrun! What’s this? Some new form of party game?”
“I only wish it were!” The lord appeared considerably harried. “It’s sent a big crack through the dining room wall and frightened Mother into hysterics.” The rumbling began again, this time stronger. The ground bucked and quivered. Paithan staggered back against a tree. Aleatha, pale but composed, clung to a hanging vine. Lord Durndrun toppled over, and was almost struck by a falling piece of statuary. The quake lasted for as long as a man might draw three deep breaths, then ceased. A strange smell wafted up from the moss—the smell of chill, dank dampness. The smell of darkness. The smell of something that lives in the darkness.
Paithan moved to help the lord to his feet.
“I think,” said Durndrun in an undertone meant for Paithan’s ears alone, “that we should arm ourselves.”
“Yes,” agreed Paithan, glancing askance at his sister and keeping his voice low. “I was about to suggest that myself.”
Aleatha heard and understood. Fear tingled through her, a rather pleasant sensation. It was certainly adding interest to what she had expected to be an otherwise boring evening.
“If you gentlemen will excuse me,” she said, adjusting the brim of her hat to best advantage, “I will go to the house and see if I may be of assistance to the dowager.”
“Thank you, Mistress Quindiniar. I would appreciate it. How brave she is,” Lord Dumdrun added, watching Aleatha walking fearlessly alone toward the house. “Half the other women are shrieking and flinging themselves about and the other half have dropped over in a dead faint. Your sister is a remarkable woman!”
“Yes, isn’t she,” said Paithan, who saw that his sister was enjoying herself immensely. “What weapons have you got?”
Hastening toward the house, the lord glanced at the young elf running along beside him. “Quindiniar”—Durndrun edged nearer, took him by the arm—“you don’t think this has anything to do with those rumors you told us of the other night. You know, the ones about … er … giants?”
Paithan appeared slightly shamefaced. “Did I mention giants? By Orn, that was strong wine you were serving that night, Durndrun!”
“Perhaps those rumors aren’t rumors, after all,” said Durndrun grimly. Paithan considered the nature of the rumbling sounds, the smell of darkness. He shook his head. “I think we’re going to wish we were facing giants, my lord. I’d enjoy a human bedtime story right about now.” The two arrived at the house, where they began going over the catalog of his lordship’s armaments. Other male members of the party joined them, shouting and proclaiming and carrying on in an hysterical manner not much better than that of their women, to Paithan’s mind. He was regarding them with a mixture of amusement and impatience when he became aware that they were all regarding him and they were extraordinarily serious.
“What do you think we should do?” asked Lord Durndrun.
“I—I—really—” Paithan stammered, looking around at the group of thirty members of the elven nobility in confusion. “I mean, I’m certain you—”
“Come, come, Quindiniar!” snapped Lord Durndrun. “You’re the only one of us who’s been in the outside world. You’re the only one with experience in this sort of thing. We need a leader and you’re it.”
And if something happens, you’ll have me to blame for it, Paithan thought but didn’t say, though a wry smile flitted across his lips.
The rumbling began again, strong enough this time to knock many of the elves to their knees. Screams and wails came from the women and children who had been herded into the house for safety. Paithan could hear crashing and breaking tree limbs in the jungle, the raucous cawing of startled birds.
“Look! Look at that! In the lake!” came a hoarse cry from one of the lords standing on the fringes of the crowd.
All turned and stared. The lake’s waters were heaving and boiling and, out of the middle, snaking upward, could be seen the shining scales of an enormous green body. A portion of the body surfaced, then slithered under.
“Ah, I thought so,” murmured Paithan.
“A dragon!” cried Lord Durndrun. He clutched at the young elf. “My god, Quindiniar! What do we do?”
“I think,” said Paithan with a smile, “that we should all go inside and have what will probably be our last drink.”
5
Aleatha was immediately sorry she’d joined the women. Fear is a contagious disease and the parlor stank of it. The men were probably every bit as frightened as the women but they were maintaining a bold front—if not for themselves, at least for each other. The women were not only able to indulge their terror, they were expected to. Even fear, however, has socially defined limits.
The dowager—Lord Dumdrun’s mother and reigning mistress of the house since her son was not yet married—had the priority on hysteria. She was the eldest, the highest in status, and it was her house. No one else present, therefore, had the right to be as panic-stricken as the dowager. (A mere duke’s wife, who had fainted in a corner, was being ostracized.)