All of a sudden I notice that for some reason his Harper seems to be continuing to advance and far too many of my troops on my left flank are succumbing to his singing. In an unexpected move, Lord Kalith sends his Light Cavalry streaming through the gap. I remain impassive at the board, but inside I’m uttering a few curses. Kalith has indeed worked out a new variation on the Harper’s Game, sacrificing his Hero. He apparently had no intention of rescuing him, but merely used the gambit as a distraction.
There are a tense few minutes as I struggle to reinforce my left flank. Even here I’m still a little doubtful, fearing that I may be missing something. I don’t want to overcommit and find Kalith suddenly breaking through somewhere else. It takes some fine swift calculations on my part to reorganise my defences and in the process I lose the services of my Harper when he is trampled by a rampaging Elephant.
Finally, however, I hold the line, and start pushing Kalith back up the board. With his Hero gone, his Wizard nearly out of spells and his Trolls hemmed in by my Heavy Cavalry, he has no option but to retreat. As play crosses back into his side of the board I start to inflict heavy losses on his army and manage to isolate and kill his Wizard. I’ve got him beat. No one comes back from this position, not against me anyway.
Makri chooses this moment to burst into the cabin, followed firstly by a frightened-looking Isuas and secondly by two irate Elvish attendants. She strides over to us and plants herself right beside Lord Kalith’s chair.
“What’s this your daughter tells me about you issuing orders that I can’t leave the ship?” she demands.
I quickly glance at Makri’s hips and am relieved to see she has not actually brought a sword with her. Not that this is any real guarantee that she is unarmed. Makri is always liable to produce a dagger or a throwing star from some unexpected place. I never met anyone so keen on walking round with a knife in each boot.
“I did indeed issue such an order,” says Lord Kalith, regally. If he’s at all concerned about the sight of a furious Makri towering over him he’s not showing it, and when his attendants hurry forward he holds up his hand to show that everything is under control.
I rise to my feet. “Don’t worry about it, Makri, I’ve arranged things.”
I wave at the niarit board, then give Kalith a look.
“I presume you do not wish to carry on with the game.”
Again, I have to say that Lord Kalith takes it well. Good breeding. He can’t be at all happy that’s he’s just lost to me at niarit, and he has made it perfectly plain that he is utterly opposed to Makri landing on Avula, but from all the emotion he shows you might imagine he was having another excellent day at the Tree Palace.
“I concede. Well played, Investigator. I see that my variation needs further work.”
He turns his head toward Makri. “You may land on Avula. Do nothing that may disturb my Elves. And stay away from my daughter.”
“What’s going on?” asks Makri. I tell her I’ll explain later and usher her out before she causes any further offence.
Back on the deck we run into Cicerius.
“Have you—?” he says.
“Yes. Thoroughly offended Lord Kalith. Major diplomatic incident. Better go and sort it out. See you on Avula.”
[Contents]
Chapter Seven
By the afternoon of the next day we’re riding inland to the heart of the island. Avula is extremely lush, densely forested with tall trees that cover the shallow hills that rise towards the centre. I’m a little taken aback by the size of the trees. I’d forgotten how large they were. Even the great oaks in the King’s gardens in Turai are mere saplings in comparison. And without getting too mystical about it, the trees on an Elvish island give the impression that they’re more alive than your average tree.
Landing on the island involved less ceremony than I was expecting. A delegation of important Elves, including Kalith’s wife, Lady Yestar, was at the quay to greet their guests, but there was not the tedious formality that such an event would have occasioned in Turai. Brief introductions were made and we set off inland. Even Makri’s appearance failed to cause a commotion. Kalith presumably had sent word of her arrival, and his subjects, while not looking thrilled at the sight of her, at least didn’t make a fuss. Makri greeted Lady Yestar in her flawless Elvish, as genteelly as any lady of the court, if the Elves have a court that is, which I’m not certain about. I know Kalith has some sort of palace in the trees.
I ride beside Makri at the back of the column, far behind Lord Kalith and Prince Dees-Akan. Makri looks around her with interest but I’m too busy thinking about my work to fully appreciate the splendour of the island. I have the tiniest feeling, far away at the very edge of my Investigator’s intuition, that something is wrong all around me. Something intangible that I can’t put a name to. Whatever it is, it prevents me from gaping at the giant butterflies.
Avula is one of the largest of the Elvish Isles. During the last Orc War it provided many troops and ships for the defence of the west, but as we travel inland it’s not exactly obvious where all these Elves live. There are no extensive settlements at ground level. Here and there wooden houses stand secluded in clearings in the forest, but in the main the Elves prefer to construct their houses high up in the trees. These are cunningly crafted so that they appear to be more like natural growths than artificial objects. Even some of the larger collections of these houses, connected by walkways high above our heads, blend in with the environment in a manner that makes it easy to believe that the land is devoid of inhabitants. Only the regular, well-maintained path we travel on betrays the fact that many Elves live in these parts.
Somewhere or other there must be some sort of industry, workshops where the Elves make their own swords, harnesses and other such things, but we see nothing of this. Just trees, treehouses and the occasional Elf looking down with interest at the procession.
We’re riding on horses provided by the Elves. Vas tells me that on the far side of the island the land is more open, and their animals are pastured there. We pass several small rivers, each running with bright water that glints in the sunlight.
Lord Kalith’s Tree Palace is situated at the centre of the island, the highest point on Avula. The Hesuni Tree is next to the Palace. The important guests are to be quartered nearby. I wonder how Cicerius will manage living in a tree. I notice that the sombre mood of our Elvish hosts has lightened as they find themselves once more in their familiar surroundings, but I still have the feeling that all is not well.
Cicerius is riding beside me, upright in the saddle like a man who once fought in the army. Cicerius never managed to cover himself in glory at war, but he did at least do his duty against the Orcs, unlike most of our present-day Turanian politicians, many of whom bought their way out of military service. I lean over and whisper to him.
“Is it just me or do you feel something wrong here?”
“Wrong? What do you mean?”
“I don’t know exactly. I just get the feeling that something is wrong. Shouldn’t these Elves in the trees be waving to us or something?”
“They are waving.”
“Well maybe they’re waving a bit. I still figure they should be happier to see their Lord back. Singing maybe. Don’t Elves sing a lot? There’s some kind of gloom over this place.”
“I don’t feel it,” says Cicerius.
I always trust my intuition and it’s kept me alive for a long time.
We pass through a clearing and view an unusual spectacle. Thirty or so Elves in white cloaks are moving around in unison under the direction of another Elf. He seems to be shouting at them in an exasperated manner.