Richard Baker - Final Gate

Her face was heart-shaped and perfect, her hair black and straight as a river of pure night, her figure almost elf-slender but alluring beneath a snug gown of royal blue. She fixed her eyes on him, and her lips pursed in a small smile. Ignoring the stares of the mercenary captains and lordlings who filled the taproom, she glided over to Fflar’s table and seated herself without waiting for an invitation.

“Well,” she began. “You have a habit of taking long walks in the evening, don’t you?”

Fflar did his best to keep a faintly bemused expression on his face. He could sense at once that he was badly out of his depth; he had no skill for fencing with words. “And you have a habit of watching me,” he answered. “Who are you?”

“I am Terian. You are Starbrow, are you not?”

“That’s what they call me,” Fflar said. “Why have you been spying on me, Terian?”

“Now that is a truly ironic accusation, coming from an elf who’s spent each night skulking about in the alleyways and shadows, eavesdropping on the whole town.”

“If there’s something you want to say to me, better say it soon. Otherwise I think I’m going on up to my room.”

“Forgive me, Starbrow. I meant that to be clever, not rude. I truly do admire your directness.”

Fflar leaned back in his chair, regarding the girl skeptically. “All right, then. What do you want, Terian?”

She tossed her hair and glanced around the room, and she moved closer, setting one slim hand on his forearm. “You are being watched, Starbrow. Ilsevele Miritar and all of the elves in your party, too.”

“By you, apparently.”

“I am being serious. Selkirk is not negotiating in good faith. I fear he may be plotting to take Lady Miritar captive and use her against her father.”

Fflar narrowed his eyes. “How do you know that?” he demanded.

Terian raised a finger to her lips. “Not so loudly. I am in the service of a Sembian lord who believes that peace with your people is the only path that can lead us out of this disaster. He has sources of information close to Selkirk who have warned him of the prince’s duplicity.”

“Who is your master, then?”

“I can’t tell you that.” The girl frowned, chewing on her lower lip. “But… I think I might be able to arrange a meeting. Your delegation is to meet with Selkirk tomorrow afternoon, correct?”

“No, in the evening. He returns from Ordulin late in the day.”

“The evening… even better. You will need to slip away from the delegation before they reach the Sharburg. There is a manor on the east side of the town that belongs to the Elgaun family, of Yhaunn. Meet me there one bell after dusk.”

“Let me guess. I should come alone?”

“One elf slipping out is hard enough to hide. I think you would have a hard time if you brought any more of your warriors. But suit yourself.” Then Terian leaned across the table to brush her lips against his.

Fflar was so startled he didn’t even think to protest. Then she whispered in his ear, “For the sake of those who are watching us. Let them think you have an assignation of a different sort tomorrow.” Then she pushed away and disappeared into the crowded taproom, with only a single mischievous glance over her shoulder for a good-bye.

“I haven’t agreed to anything,” he murmured to no one in particular. There was trouble brewing, he was certain of it, but if the girl had been telling the truth… then Ilsevele was in danger.

He shook his head and sighed. He didn’t trust this Terian at all. Fishing a few coins from his belt pouch, he left them on the table and returned to the rooms set aside for the elven embassy. He replayed the whole mysterious conversation in his head several times before he reached the door to their rooms, but still he couldn’t make any real sense of it.

Fflar rapped three times on the door and was admitted by the moon elf Seirye, leader of Ilsevele’s party of guards. He found Ilsevele waiting for him, her arms folded across her chest and anxiety creasing her brow.

“Starbrow!” she said. “Where have you been? I was beginning to fear that some misfortune had befallen you.”

“No such luck, I’m afraid. No one noticed my stroll through the town. Well, no one who took offense, I suppose.”

She glared at him and nodded at the door leading to her room. The other elves in the suite were doing their best to find other things to occupy their attention. Fflar glanced at Seirye, who offered a small grimace of sympathy. Then he followed Ilsevele into the smaller room and waited as she closed the door. Still, he was surprised as she rounded on him and set her hands on her hips. “Next time, ask before you slip out into the night! Do you have any idea of what could happen if the Sembians caught you spying out the town?”

“I am charged with keeping you safe, Ilsevele. To do that I need to know what’s going on around us. We’re deaf, dumb, and blind as long as we wait here.” He studied the floorboards between his feet. The last thing he wanted in the world was to anger Ilsevele.

“But you couldn’t tell me before disappearing for so long?” Ilsevele demanded. “I was worried sick about you!”

Worried about me? Fflar looked up sharply and met her eyes, green as the spring. By the Seldarine, she is beautiful, he thought. She’d never been one to hide what was in her heart, and right now her worry for him left him dumbstruck. He found himself gazing at a faint dusting of tiny freckles across her cheekbones. They lent her features a girlish innocence that entranced him, until he realized that he was staring at her. Something in his gaze must have given him away, for a strange expression flickered across her face, and she suddenly turned and moved away to gaze out the window of leaded glass.

What are you doing? he demanded of himself. You do not have the luxury of mooning over this girl!

The silence grew uncomfortable, until Ilsevele cleared her throat and spoke. “Well?” she said. “As long as you were out there flirting with peril, did you learn anything useful?”

“I didn’t pick up much from the tavern talk of the soldiers,” he admitted, glad for the chance to speak of something straightforward and unambiguous. “But something else came to my attention while I was looking around the town. A human girl named Terian approached me in the taproom downstairs. She was the one I saw watching us from the window the day we arrived here.”

“The dark-haired one?”

“Yes. She told me that Selkirk intends treachery, and that she can put me in touch with Sembians who wish to deal honestly with us. Terian said that she could arrange a meeting with her patron for me, tomorrow evening during the banquet.” Fflar smiled awkwardly. “Of course, it would involve slipping out of your sight again.”

Ilsevele let the last remark pass. Instead, she asked, “Do you think she can be trusted?”

“I have no idea at all. But I suppose I won’t find out for sure unless I take her up on her offer.”

“The Sembians would notice your absence. But I suppose you could take ill.” Ilsevele studied him for a moment. “Can you think of a reason why you should not see what she and her mysterious master have to say?”

“It takes me away from your side. If anyone intends mischief toward you, it might be easier if I am not around.”

Ilsevele’s eyes flashed. “I think I can manage to look after myself for a short time.”

Fflar raised his hands in surrender. “You asked,” he said.

Sarya Dlardrageth soared through the luminous spires and columns of the Waymeet, impressed despite herself. She had been born in an age when the works of elves were spectacular on a scale that the folk of latter years could scarcely have comprehended. But even she had never set foot in an undisturbed work of ancient Aryvandaar. The Waymeet embodied the boldness, daring, and skill of the ancient Vyshaan Empire, capturing in its living crystal a song of elven might that filled her heart with pride and approval.