All of a sudden the Elves vanish. Just like that. They disappear into thin air. I’m stunned. I’ve seen plenty of sorcery in my time, but it was the last thing I was expecting. I’m seriously perturbed. If four invisible Elves start hunting for me in this forest I’m doomed. I strain my senses, trying to catch any scent of them. I can’t pick up anything but get the faint impression of voices receding into the distance.
After a while I venture back on to the path. Nothing there. I light up my staff and bend down to examine the grass. It looks to me as if the Elves just went on their way after becoming invisible. I don’t understand any of this, but I’m not going to hang around and wait for them to come back. I set off homewards rapidly, not stopping till I reach the welcoming sight of the ladder that leads up to Camith’s treehouse, which I ascend a good deal more briskly than I had anticipated.
[Contents]
Chapter Thirteen
Next day I’m feeling sprightly, despite the hefty intake of beer.
“Must be the healthy air,” suggests Makri. “I’m feeling good myself. What are you doing today?”
“Questioning a blacksmith’s sister who saw the fatal stabbing. And talking to Visan the Keeper of Lore, whoever he may be. Yestar suggested he might be able to tell me more about the rivals for the Tree Priesthood.”
“Wouldn’t that be calanith?”
“What isn’t on this damn island? You’d think it might be calanith to execute a woman without a proper investigation, but apparently not.”
“Does Elith really face execution?” asks Makri.
“So they say. It would be the first on Avula in over a hundred years, and it’s going to happen right after the festival unless I come up with something quick.”
“Well, have fun. I’m teaching that idiot child how to fight.” Makri is wearing her swords and has thrown a few other weapons in a bag. “I only had two knives when I jumped in the ocean, but I’ve borrowed a couple more from Camith. And a practice sword.”
Makri looks at the wooden blade with frank distaste. I tell her not to worry, she can still kill Isuas with it if she hits her hard enough.
Makri is meeting her pupil some way over to the west of the island, at a clearing used only by the Royal Family, where they will not be disturbed. Although we’ve seen young Elves practising their fighting all over the island, Makri is to teach Isuas in private. This suits Makri.
“If no one sees anything, my reputation might survive the debacle.”
She is still unhappy at the way things have turned out but supposes she should just make the best of it.
“Okay, teaching the brat will be a disaster, but I’ll get some exercise and weapons practice myself. And maybe a chance to use the Royal Elvish language.”
After some study of my grimoire, I load the sleep spell into my mind, and another one that may prove useful. We leave together, heading west. Rather than tramp over the walkways we borrow two horses from Camith and make our way round by means of one of the main paths in the forest. As we travel we pass performers of various sorts at regular intervals, all rehearsing for the festival, now only five days away. I pause to look at a young Elf who is putting on a fine juggling performance under a tall silver tree. She’s keeping four small wooden balls in the air at once and her partner, or possibly her trainer, tosses another one at her, and then another, so that she now has six balls flying in an arc from one hand to the other.
“She looks like a woman who might be worth a wager,” I mutter, and trot over to ask her name. She’s called Usath, she’s from Ven, and her green tunic is decorated with silver crescent moons. Although she is at first surprised at our approach, and visibly sniffs the air as she catches scent of Makri’s Orc blood, she is not distracted for long and soon gets back to practising. Obviously a dedicated performer. Her assistant, another young female Elf, throws a seventh ball to her, but it goes wrong and the balls cascade on to the grass.
The young juggler lets out a coarse oath, and stoops to pick them up. Already she’s forgotten our presence.
“Well, she made a hash of the seventh ball, but even so, she was pretty impressive with six,” I say.
“Might be worth a bet,” agrees Makri. “I’ll see if Isuas has any information about the other jugglers.”
Realising what she has just said, Makri frowns.
“How come I’m keen to bet on a juggling competition? I used to disapprove of gambling.” She twists in her saddle. “It’s your fault, you corrupted me.”
“Nothing corrupt about it, Makri. Gambling is good for you.”
“How?”
“I don’t know. But I’m sure it is. You know, thanks to me, you are a much finer person than the raw young gladiator who arrived in Turai only a year and a half ago. Beer, klee, thazis and gambling. I taught you them all. Now I think about it, you weren’t very good at lying till I showed you how.”
Soon after this we go our separate ways, Makri to Lady Yestar’s private clearing and myself on to the collection of treehouses where the blacksmith’s sister dwells. She is a weaver by trade and should now be working at her loom. A few enquiries lead me to her place of work, a small wooden hut at ground level that contains four looms and two elves. One of these is Caripatha, the Elf I’m looking for. She’s sitting at her loom, though rather than working she’s staring into space. I introduce myself, mention my conversation with the blacksmith, and ask her if she’d mind answering a few questions.
She nods, vaguely. I’m surprised at her lack of reaction. From her indifference you might think that a Human detective appearing at her workplace to investigate a murder was an everyday occurrence.
“You were in the clearing when the murder took place?”
She nods.
“Would you mind telling me what you saw?”
“Elith-ir-Methet sticking a knife into Gulas-ar-Thetos.”
“Are you sure it was her?”
“I’m sure.”
“It was dark when it happened. Could you have been mistaken about her identity?”
Caripatha is quite certain that she was not mistaken. I ask her what she was doing in the clearing. She tells me that she just likes to be close to the Hesuni Tree every now and then, the same as all Avulans.
“Do you know of any reason why Elith-ir-Methet might have done it? Can you tell me anything about her relationship with Gulas?”
“I have to go now,” says Caripatha suddenly.
She rises from her stool and walks out. I’m astonished.
Her friend, or workmate, has so far sat in silence.
“Where did she go?” I ask her.
The other Elf shakes her head. “I don’t know. Her behaviour has been erratic recently. She hasn’t woven anything in a month.”
“Does she often just disappear like that?”
Apparently she does. I’m puzzled. One minute she was answering my questions, the next she suddenly departed. There was no sign that my questions had perturbed her. It just seemed like she’d remembered something more important she had to do.
Outside my horse is waiting for me. I mount up and ride off, deep in thought. These Elves. Is it just me, or are they all acting strangely?
I ride back towards the centre of the island. Two groups of mounted Elves pass me, each with cloaks and tunics a slightly different shade of green than those of the Avulans. The island is filling up as guests and spectators arrive from the nearby islands for the festival. As I pass the turning that leads to the Queen’s private clearing, I’m overcome with curiosity about Makri and Isuas. I lead my horse up the path. As far as I know, Makri has never taught anyone before. I wonder if she has an aptitude for it. I hope so. As long as Isuas is happy, I’m guaranteed entry to the Palace.