Terry Brooks - The Gypsy Morph

“You really think that will be enough to persuade them to let me use the Loden?”

She gave him a look. “Well, you better hope it is because that’s the only chance we have. If we can’t convince them we’re telling the truth and that any failure to act on what they’ve heard means the end of the Elves, we’re finished.”

They stared at each other in the gray dawn light for a moment, the silence deepening.

“Maybe I better practice up on what I’m going to say,” Kirisin said finally.

His sister cocked her eyebrow. “Maybe you better get some sleep first.”

He started to protest, but she shoved him toward the bedroom. “Use Tragen’s bed. I’ll wake you in six hours. Go on, don’t argue. I’ll keep watch.”

“Whoever chooses you for a life partner deserves what he gets,” the boy called back to her just before falling across the bed.

He was asleep instantly.

When HE woke again, it was still daylight. But on looking out the window, he could see the shadows lengthening and the light fading. He was groggy and heavy–eyed, and wanted nothing more than to go right back to sleep. But he resisted the impulse, knowing that sleep was an escape from reality at this point. He had to clear his head and get ready for his meeting with the High Council. He walked into the other room and found Simralin asleep in one of the chairs. He stared at her a moment, and she opened her eyes.

“Why are you so noisy?” she asked him.

He grinned, shaking his head. Only Sim could look like she was asleep and not be. He walked over to the sink and pumped some water to wash his face. The water was cool and refreshing, and he lingered for a moment. “I’m sorry I got you involved in all this,” he told her.

“I think I got myself involved.”

“Well, I’m sorry, anyway. I wish you hadn’t.”

She rose and stretched her lanky frame, loosening her head scarf to let her long blond hair fall free. She ran her fingers through the thick mass, then tossed her head back to get the hair out of her face and retied the scarf. “That would have been too bad for you, Little K. You have the heart for this, but I have the skills. Anyway, it’s good that we can look out for each other.”

She came over to the sink to join him, washed her own face, and pumped water for them to drink, as well. She looked out into the yard and the trees beyond. “I wonder why Tragen isn’t back.”

“Do you think something might have happened to him?”

She shook her head. “I think he might be out tracking close to where the demons mass. They would have sent a handful of Trackers just to keep watch. He would have been a logical choice. He’s as good at it as I am.”

Kirisin dried his face. “No one is as good as you are.”

She laughed. “Let’s have something to eat while we wait for it to get dark. Maybe there’s some food in the pantry.”

They sat at a little table by the front window and ate a meal of bread and cheese washed down by glasses of ale, all food and drink they found in Tragen’s small larder and stone cooler. Kirisin didn’t miss that Simralin was so familiar with the house and seemed to know where everything was. He wondered how often she came here, but left the matter alone. They didn’t say much while they ate. Kirisin thought about Erisha, remembering how committed she had been at the end of things to saving the Ellcrys. He would tell that to the King. He would make Arissen Belloruus understand how much his daughter had believed in what she was doing. He would find a way to make the King believe, too.

“It’s dark enough,” Sim said finally, glancing out the window. “Time to go.”

Kirisin started for the door. “Wait,” his sister called after him. He turned. “Leave your weapons behind.” When he looked doubtful, she added, “The guards don’t allow weapons in the chambers. Besides, weapons won’t help us anyway if we can’t do what’s needed with words.”

They stripped away their long knives and Simralin’s bow and arrows and adzl, leaving them on Tragen’s small table. Then they wrapped themselves in their cloaks and went out the door of the cottage and into the trees. It was only a short distance to the High Council chambers, but Simralin was taking no chances. She chose a little–traveled path for them to follow, keeping away from the main roads to minimize the possibility of unexpected encounters. It took twice as long for them to get where they were going, and by the time they had reached their destination Kirisin was so anxious and tense that everything he had rehearsed so carefully had flown right out of his head.

There were guards at the entrance to the building, but Simralin never hesitated. She marched right up to them, not bothering to try to disguise who she was. When they recognized her, she held up her hand to stay theirs and said quickly, “It’s all right. The King is expecting us. Is Maurin Ortish inside?”

The guards looked at each other and nodded. “We’ve orders to take you directly to the King if we find you,” one said doubtfully.

She smiled. “Now you don’t have to bother, Rish. We’ve found you instead, and we’re on our way to see the King. Why don’t you come with us?”

Without waiting for a response, she moved past them and through the doors. Kirisin followed close behind, not daring to look at the guards. There were many more guards inside, and a low murmur quickly built as they realized who had appeared. Still, no one tried to interfere, perhaps uncertain as to what they should do. All of them simply stared in a mix of surprise and disbelief as Simralin cheerfully offered greetings, not once suggesting that she and Kirisin were in any sort of trouble.

Then Maurin Ortish appeared through the Council chamber doors, alerted by the sounds without that something was happening. His appearance immediately calmed everyone around him, all heads turning toward him to see what he would do. He took one look at Kirisin and his sister and limped over to them, beckoning to the Home Guards who were still rooted in place.

“Make certain they are unarmed.” He stood in front of Simralin. “I don’t know why you came back. You were safely away from here. You should have stayed so.”

“Do you really not know why we are here?” Simralin asked him, holding his gaze with her own. “It’s because the Knight of the Word told the High Council the truth. Demons and their creatures mass within the forests of the Cintra. They threaten the city. But they do not attack. Kirisin and I know why. We also know who really killed Erisha.”

He stared at her, assessing her words. “My orders–direct from the King–are to put you somewhere no one can find you and leave you there until he can question you personally.” He paused. “Those are not orders I can question, let alone disobey.”

“Do I lie about the danger to the city and our people?” Simralin asked him quickly.

“No,” he said, his soft voice almost a whisper.

“Does anyone here know why there has been no attack?”

“There is speculation that the enemy does not know for certain we are here, that they mass for another reason entirely.”

“Yes, and cows fly,” she snapped at him. “You know better than to believe such nonsense, Maurin. Give us a chance to tell the Council what is happening. What is really happening.”

“As I said, Simralin, my orders—”

“The King is not thinking clearly,” she cut in. “He is enraged over the death of his daughter, and rightly so. But he wrongly blames us. The real killer is an enemy from without, a demon who was disguised as an Elf. Let us reveal all this. Give us a chance!”

“If you don’t,” Kirisin added quickly, “the enemy attack will come all too quickly and you won’t be able to save anyone. You must have seen their numbers. We saw them from the air. There are thousands. Far too many for the Elves to defend against.”