'So what happened?' Erienne turned Lyanna away from the window and they walked on, passing ancient, faded pictures depicting burning cities, great feasts and running deer. It was an odd collection.
'I think they were complacent about ensuring the line continued, until it was almost too late. As you're aware yourself, producing a
true adept is very difficult. Numbers soon dwindled and it was made worse by those that just didn't want to stay their whole lives here. Despite the importance of the order, the will ebbed away. Who can explain that?'
They reached the doors, which were opened for them. Inside, a huge ballroom, decorated in red and white, decked with chandeliers and mirrors, took the breath away, though the covering dust told of its redundancy.
'I'll let them tell you the rest,' said Ren'erei, taking them right across the ballroom to an innocuous-looking door. She knocked and opened it, ushering them into a small dining room. Oak-panelled and hung with elven portraits, it contained a long table around the far half of which sat four elderly women. They were talking amongst themselves until Lyanna and Erienne entered, the litde girl clutching her mother's leg.
'It's all right, Lyanna, I'm here and they're friends,' whispered Erienne, taking in for the first time, the majesty of the Al-Drechar.
Erienne had no doubt that she was in the presence of Balaia's most powerful mages. Their faces told of people tired of life yet determined to survive, yearning for fulfilment to their long lives. It was the way she would always remember them.
Superficially, they were ancient elves, friendly enough but with the fierce expressions taut flesh dictated. Erienne saw shocks of white hair, bony fingers, long necks and piercing eyes. And then one spoke, her voice like balm on an open wound, quelling anxiety.
'Sit, sit. We must all eat. You, my child, must be tired and scared after your long journey. We won't detain you long. Your mother we might keep a little longer, if it's all right with you.'
Lyanna managed a litde smile as Erienne pulled out a chair at the opposite end of the table and ushered her to sit before taking the place next to her. Ren'erei took up a neutral position between the two groups.
'You won't hurt my mummy,' said Lyanna, her eyes fixed on the blue cloth that covered the table.
'Oh, my child, quite the reverse,' said another. 'We have been waiting too long to do anyone harm.' She clapped her hands. 'Introductions in a moment. First some food.'
Through a door to the left, a slim middle-aged woman came,
carrying a large steaming tureen by ornate wooden handles. Behind her, a boy of no more than twelve carried a tray with a stack of bowls and plates piled with cut bread. Swiftly, beginning with Lyanna, they served a thick soup that smelled rich and wholesome and set Erienne's stomach growling. She could see lumps of vegetable floating under the surface and the fresh aroma filled her nostrils.
'Eat, dear child,' said one of the Al-Drechar. Lyanna dipped a corner of her bread into the soup, blew on it and put it gingerly into her mouth. Her eyebrows raised.
'It's nice,' she said.
'Don't sound so surprised, Lyanna,' laughed Erienne. 'I'm sure they have good cooks here too.'
'I hope so.' Slightly clumsily, she scooped liquid on to her spoon. For a time, they were quiet, all eating the soup, which tasted as delicious as it looked and smelled, before Ren'erei cleared her throat.
'I think we've gone long enough without those introductions,' she said. 'Erienne, Lyanna, it is my great honour and pleasure to name for you the Al-Drechar.' Erienne smiled at the light of reverence in her eyes.
'To my right and moving around the table, Ephemere-Al-Ereama, Aviana-Al-Ysandi, Cleress-Al-Heth and Myriell-Al-Anathack.' She bowed her head to each in turn.
'Oh Ren'erei, you're so formal!' Cleress-Al-Heth laughed. 'You make us sound completely unapproachable.' The other Al-Drechar joined the mirth and Ren'erei blushed, the corners of her mouth twitching slightly. 'Please, Erienne, Lyanna,' she continued. 'We are Ephemere, Aviana, Cleress and Myriell, though you may hear us address ourselves with various other names which you are of course welcome to use.'
Erienne felt more at ease than she had done for days. The aura of the Al-Drechar dissipated a little though she remained mindful of their power and the clear magical vitality that they possessed. They were, on one level at least, just old elves and that was a comforting thought.
She studied them as the soup was drained, and her immediate impression was that they looked very much alike. It was inevitable, she supposed, after so many years living so close to one another, that
they would share mannerisms, dress and even broad physical attributes. And though they were different enough through shape of nose and mouth, and through eye colour, she expected Lyanna to have trouble telling them apart for a few days.
'You've lived together a long time, haven't you?' she asked.
Cleress smiled. 'A very long time,' she agreed. 'Three hundred years and more.'
'What?' Erienne was taken aback. She knew elves had a potentially very long life span but three hundred years was extraordinary. Impossible.
'We have waited here, scanning the mana spectra, conserving ourselves and planning for the next coming of someone who can take on the Way,' said Aviana. She smiled ruefully. 'We were getting a little desperate.'
'How long have you been waiting?'
'Three hundred and eleven years. Ever since the births of the babies: Myriell and Septern,' replied Aviana.
Erienne gaped. Septern having been an Al-Drechar wasn't really a surprise but the scarcity of the adepts certainly was. 'And there have been none since then?'
'Oh, there have been whisperings and our hopes have been raised and dashed more times than you have years in your body,' said Cleress. 'But let's leave that for later. I see your beautiful daughter is wilting and we do need to talk to her before she sleeps. It's been a long day.'
Erienne looked down. Lyanna was playing with the remains of her soup, trailing a piece of bread across its surface.
'Lyanna, the ladies want to talk to you. All right?'
Lyanna nodded.
'Are you still feeling shy, darling?' asked Erienne.
'A little,' admitted Lyanna. 'I'm tired.'
'I know, darling. We'll have you in bed soon.' Erienne nodded for the Al-Drechar to speak.
'Lyanna?' Ephemere's soft voice reached across the table and Lyanna raised her head to look at the friendly face of the Al-Drechar. 'Lyanna, welcome to our home. We hope you want to make it your home too, for a little while. Do you want that?'
Lyanna nodded. 'If Mummy stays here, I do.'
'Of course she will, my dear child, won't you, Erienne?'
'Of course I'll stay,'said Erienne.
'Now Lyanna.' Ephemere's voice took on a slightly harder edge. 'You know there is magic inside you, don't you?' Lyanna nodded. 'And you know that in your old home, it was starting to hurt you and your teachers couldn't help you any more, and that's why we came into your head and your dreams. To help you. Do you understand that?' Another nod. Lyanna glanced up at Erienne who smiled down and stroked her hair.
'Good,' said Ephemere. 'That's very good. And how do you think we will help you?'
Lyanna thought for a moment. 'You'll make the bad dreams go away.'
'That's right!' said Myriell, clapping her hands. 'And we'll do more. I know that the hurt inside you makes you angry sometimes. We'll teach you how to stop the hurt and make the magic do the things you want it to do.'