Margaret Weis: Elven Star

“Mistress Quindiniar,” said the other elf in greeting. “I trust I find you in health?”

“You do, sir, thank you for asking. And I trust you are the same, Master Astrologer?”

“A slight touch of rheumatism, but that is to be expected at my age.”

“I wish your rheumatism would cany you off, you old charlatan!” muttered Calandra beneath her breath.

“Why is this witch down here meddling?” muttered the astrologer into the high, pointed collar that stood up from his shoulders and almost completely surrounded his face.

Lenthan stood between the two, looking forlorn and guilty, though he had no idea, as yet, what he had done.

“Father,” said Calandra in a severe voice, “I want to speak to you. Alone.” The astrologer bowed and started to sidle off. Lenthan, seeing his prop being knocked out from beneath him, grabbed hold of the wizard’s robes.

“Now, my dear, Elixnoir is part of the family—”

“He certainly eats enough to be part of the family,” Calandra snapped, her patience giving way under the crushing blow of the terrible news of the human priest. “He eats enough to be several parts.”

The astrologer drew himself up tall and stared down his long nose that was nearly as sharply pointed as the tips of the night Hue collar through which it was seen.

“Callie, remember, he is our guest!” said Lenthan, shocked enough to rebuke his eldest child. “And a master wizard!”

“Guest, yes, I’ll give him that. He never misses a meal Or a chance to drink our wine or sleep in our spare bedroom. But master wizard I much doubt. I’ve yet to see him do anything but mumble a few words over that stinking gunk of yours, Father, and then stand back and watch it fizzle and smoke. You two will likely burn the house down around our ears someday! Wizard! Hah! Egging you on, Papa, with blasphemous stories about ancient people traveling to the stars in ships with sails of fire—”

“That is scientific fact, young woman,” struck in the astrologer, the tips of his collar quivering in indignation. “And what your father and I are doing is scientific research and has nothing at all to do with religion—”

“Oh, it doesn’t, does it?” cried Calandra, hurling her verbal spear straight for her victim’s heart. “Then why is my father importing a human priest?” The astrologer’s eyes widened in shock. The high collar turned from Calandra to the wretched Lenthan, who found himself much disconcerted by it.

“Is this true, Lenthan Quindiniar?” demanded the incensed wizard. “You have sent for a human priest?”

“I—I—I—” was all Lenthan could manage.

“I have been deceived by you, sir,” stated the astrologer, his dignity increasing every moment and so, it seemed, the length of his collar. “You led me to believe that you shared our interest in the stars, in their cycles and their places in the heavens.”

“I was! I am!” Lenthan wrung his soot-blackened hands.

“You professed to be interested in the scientific study of how these stars rule our lives—”

“Blasphemy!” cried Calandra with a shudder of her bony frame.

“And yet now I find you consorting with—with—”

Words failed the wizard. His pointed collar appeared to close around him so that all that could be seen above it were his glittering, infuriated eyes.

“No! Please let me explain!” gabbled Lenthan. “You see, my son, Paithan, told me about the belief the humans have that there are people living in those stars and I thought—”

“Paithan told you!” gasped Calandra, pouncing on a new culprit.

“People living there!” gasped the astrologer, his voice muffled by the collar.

“But it does seem likely … and certainly explains why the ancients traveled to the stars and it fits with what our priests teach us that when we die we become one with the stars and I truly do miss Elithenia… .”

The last was said in a wretched, pleading tone that moved Lenthan’s daughter to pity. In her own way, Calandra loved her father, just as she loved her brother and younger sister. It was a stern and unbending and impatient kind of love, but love it was and she moved over to put thin, cold fingers on her father’s arm.

“There, Papa, don’t upset yourself. I didn’t mean to make you unhappy. It’s just that I’d think you would have discussed this with me instead of … instead of the crowd at the Golden Mead!” Calandra could not forebear a sob. Pulling out a prim—and-proper lace-edged handkerchief, she clamped it over her nose and mouth.

His daughter’s tears had the effect (not unintended) of completely crushing Lenthan Quindiniar into the mossy floor and burying him twelve hands [9] The thickness of moss used to cover elven dead. down. Her weeping and the wizard’s trembling collar points were too much for the middle-aged elf.

“You’re both right,” said Lenthan, glancing from one to the other sorrowfully.

“I can see that now. I’ve made a terrible mistake and when the priest comes, I’ll tell him to go away immediately.”

“When he comes!” Calandra raised dry eyes and stared at her father. “What do you mean ‘when he comes’? Paithan said he wouldn’t come!”

“How does Paithan know?” Lenthan asked, considerably perplexed. “Did he talk to him after I did?” The elf thrust a waxen hand into a pocket of his silk vest and dragged out a crumpled sheet of foolscap. “Look, my dear.” He exhibited the letter.

Calandra snatched it and read it, her eyes might have burned holes in the paper.

“ ‘When you see me, I’ll be there. Signed, Human Priest.’ Bah!” Calandra thrust the letter back at her father. “That’s the most ridiculous—Paithan’s playing a joke. No person in his right mind would send a letter like that, not even a human. ‘Human Priest’ indeed!”

“Perhaps he’s not in his right mind,” said the Master Astrologer in ominous tones.

A mad human priest was coming to her house.

“Orn have mercy!” Calandra murmured, gripping the edge of the laboratory table for support.

“There, there, my dear,” said Lenthan, putting his arm around his daughter’s shoulders. “I’ll take care of it. Just leave everything to me. You shan’t be bothered in the slightest.”

“And if I can be of any help”—the Master Astrologer sniffed the air; the smell of roast targ was wafting down from the kitchen—“I shall be happy to lend my aid. I shall even overlook certain things that were said in the heat of emotional distress.”

Calandra paid no attention to the wizard. She had recovered her self-possession and her one thought now was to find her worthless brother and wring a confession out of him. She had no doubt—well, she had little doubt—that this was Paithan’s doing, his idea of a practical joke. He was probably laughing heartily at her right now. How long would he laugh when she cut his allowance in half?

Leaving the astrologer and her father to blow themselves to smithereens in the cellar if they liked, Calandra stormed up the stairs. She marched through the kitchen where the scullery maid hid behind a dish towel until the awful specter was gone. Ascending to the third level of the house—the sleeping level—Calandra halted outside her brother’s door and banged on it loudly.

“Paithan! Open your door this instant!”

“He’s not there,” called a sleepy voice from down the hallway. Calandra glowered at the door, knocked again, and rattled the wooden handle. No sound. Turning, Cal stalked down the hall and entered the room of her younger sister.

Clad in a frilly nightdress that left both white shoulders exposed and just enough of her breasts to make things interesting, Aleatha lounged in a chair before her dressing lable, lazily brushing her hair and admiring herself in the mirror. Magically enhanced, the mirror whispered compliments and offered the occasional suggestion as to the correct amount of rouge. Calandra paused in the doorway, shocked almost beyond words. “What do you mean! Sitting there half-naked in broad daylight with the door wide open! What if one of the servants came by?”