Baleful Signs (Dagger of the World Book 3) Read online

  The tree had a set of double doors, made of a slightly lighter chestnut colored wood, their faces decorated with elaborate ironwork designs. Outside of this door stood a simple metal lantern. Its ironwork had been shaped like a drooping flower, and it hung on a silvered staff almost twice his height. The flower-lantern cast a clear illumination in front of the door which felt welcoming.

  Terak knew that whatever was beyond those doors was important. It was the heart of the Second Family’s township. It had to be the place where they kept their rare Demiene Flowers.

  The elf stepped up to the chestnut doors and pressed one tapered ear to the wood.

  Was that?

  For a moment, a trick of his mind thought that he could hear sounds on the other side—a trickle of lilting and lulling flute music, like the slow winds sighing through the trees above. He caught a whiff of some exotic scent, cinnamon and frankincense, perhaps.

  But it is just my imagination. The elf stepped back, shaking his head to realize that there had been no such sound, and no scent. Even though this place felt right to the elf in him, it was also more like a dream than the austere, hard stones of the Black Keep he was used to.

  Maybe it was this dreamlike, soporific feeling that gave Terak a sense of security. And why he didn’t do as one of the Enclave-External might have done: circle around to try and find a less obvious way to enter the strange place.

  Terak pressed his hands to one of the chestnut doors for it to silently glide inwards, revealing a sweet-smelling darkness. He stepped lightly inside, without making a sound.

  “It is an honor to meet you,” said a woman’s voice.

  10

  Mother Istarion

  What?

  Terak blinked, and suddenly he wasn’t stepping into a silent, uninhabited chamber. He was standing before a tall throne made of inter-knotting branches of living wood, with the pale green fronds of willow reaching from its back like hands.

  On that throne sat a woman. She was clearly an elvish lady of some importance, dressed in shimmering white-silver robes edged in cream and gold. Her hair was black and shone like Terak’s own. Her skin was as pale as the orb of the First Moon itself, and her eyes were deep and dark as she regarded the interloper into her realm.

  A circle of clear white radiance pooled around the throne. Terak couldn’t guess where it came from—either from the white staff that rested across the elf’s knees, or from the woman herself.

  Terak reacted late. Flinching as he took a step back, he descended into a crouch with one arm in front of him defensively, the other moving to the pommel of the short sword at his waist—

  “I wouldn’t,” said a second, deeper voice. Terak realized that it wasn’t just him and the elf maiden here in this hall. It was a hall, he now saw in a flash. There were large and cracked flagstones on the floors, their edges picked out with lines of moss. The hall itself was large, and its walls appeared to be the solid, whorled, and organic wood of the tree itself. There were long, low tables of the same chestnut wood behind him.

  Did I walk past them!? He couldn’t remember a thing of how he’d gotten there.

  But the deeper voice hadn’t come from the unoccupied benches, but from another elvish woman who stepped forward from the shadows of the walls. In her hands was a long bow with an arrow already knocked and pointing straight at his heart.

  This second elf was sturdier than the ethereal lady on the throne, and she had hair that was as fair as fresh wheat. Her hair was braided and pulled back from her smooth brow. She wore a leather jerkin of softer robes, the jerkin studded with metal. At her hip was a long sword. She was clearly this elf lady’s guardian.

  Terak slowly raised his gloved hand nearest his sword hilt, showing her that it was empty. He knew when he was outmatched—at least at the moment. He thought about the Blind-Eye sachets that he still had attached to his harness, as well as a packet of Choke-Powder in a tearaway seam of his gloves.

  “Ulla, thank you,” the elf lady on the throne said seriously. She leaned forward to inspect Terak a little closer. “But I do not believe that this young elf is here to assassinate me, are you, Terak?” Terak saw her deep eyes glitter from the radiance. Although there was no malice in her tones, there was some sort of ice in her eyes—as if the lady knew full well what Terak had been trained to do with his life.

  “Mother Istarion asked you a question!” the guard, Ulla, said hotly, not releasing her firm grip on the bowstring and notched arrow.

  Mother Istarion? Terak thought, remembering the name of the elvish woman that had been the Enclave’s elvish contact, Mother Galda. The Mothers are some kind of leaders . . .

  “Uh, no, m’lady,” Terak bobbed his head in an awkward bow to Istarion, who chuckled.

  “Elves do not bow, Terak,” she said with not a small amount of humor in her voice.

  She called me Terak. The young elf’s mind caught up with his surprise. How does she know my name?

  “I am afraid that I am . . . unfamiliar with the ways of my people,” Terak said to Mother Istarion. This time he merely inclined his head into a brief nod.

  “Much better, Terak,” Istarion praised him. “Well, your first lesson in your own culture shall be this: An elf never bows in this world, because we have seen the ways of the other worlds. There is no mortal creature who walks under the two moons who is deserving of such respect, compared to elves.”

  “I see, m’lady.” Terak bobbed his head once more. He really didn’t see.

  “Unless you have walked the Aesther, then I doubt that you really do see what I am talking about.” The elvish lady appeared almost merry as she scolded him lightly. “And you should call me Mother. That is the proper respect to show to one of my position.”

  “Mother Istarion,” Terak repeated. “I am sorry for any offense caused—” He took a breath, knowing that he had to ask for her aid. This Mother Istarion hadn’t had him shot yet, had she? Perhaps she would even trade the Demiene Flowers without there having to be any awkwardness . . .

  But the Mother interrupted him before he could speak. “Of course, you did not mean to cause offense. You have spent your life in human airs, doing human things, behind human walls! One wouldn’t judge a fool for their actions, just as we won’t blame you for the lack of your knowledge.”

  “Mother . . .” Terak said carefully, “you seem to know an awful lot about me . . .”

  There was a low growl of annoyance from the guard Ulla. Terak saw her shift her stance a little, as if Terak had caused some great offense.

  But if it was deemed inappropriate to ask Mother Istarion a question, the woman herself did not appear to mind as she laughed once more.

  “I know of the only elf to be trained by the Enclave. I am a Mother of the Second Family—it is my job to know!”

  A wild possibility burst into Terak’s heart, fully-formed. Does this mean that this leader of the Second Family knows my origins? Knows who my real mother and father are?

  Terak’s heart beat a little faster. Knows why I was given up to the Black Keep before I could even talk?

  But no, Terak had to push that strange hope down. Right now, he was here to try and save Reticula’s life. He had no time to be chasing ghosts.

  “Mother Istarion, I come here on an urgent mission for another, to ask for the aid of the Second Family.” Terak drew himself up. He did not know whether he was empowered to even speak on behalf of the Enclave. But no one told me that I couldn’t, either, he thought.

  “If it is the news of the Baleful Signs, then I can assure you the Second Family is already preparing,” Mother Istarion said firmly. “But I am afraid that if the Enclave has sent you—their elf—in the hopes that we would help them, then I have to admit that we cannot.” Istarion leaned back in her chair with a slight sigh of resignation.

  “You can tell your Chiefs and your Magister that the Second Family is taking its own measures against what comes next. I suggest that the Black Keep does the same.” This time when Mother Ist
arion spoke, her voice was uncompromising. All trace of good humor had vanished from the deep pools of her eyes.

  Inwardly, Terak rocked. Even though this was not the request that he had come here with, he was surprised. Now of all times—hours, days, or weeks away from chaos, from the Blood Gate opening—the Second Family was refusing to help their nearest neighbors!

  “No, Mother Istarion,” Terak said respectfully. “That is not why I am here, although I do wish to ask for your help.” In a rush, he said, “My friend, a human, is sick. A dreadful poison is spreading through her blood. I was informed by the Chiefs of the Enclave that only the medicine that the Second Family of the elves have will be strong enough to cure her.”

  “The Second Family are not peddlers and merchants, Terak,” the woman said strongly. “To be quite frank, the Enclave has been attempting to gets its hands on our secrets for years, decades even. So, I remain loathe to share our knowledge with you, Terak—if it is the Black Keep to whom you report.”

  “M’lady—I mean, Mother Istarion,” Terak said again, feeling the tremor of anxiety rise in his chest. “I do not come here as a spy for any master, least of all the Enclave.”

  “Still, you said yourself that you represent their interests. And Magister Inedi must have known that I wasn’t about to kill one of my own so readily.” Mother Istarion frowned ever-so-slightly.

  “Demiene Flowers!” Terak’s voice cracked desperately. He was so close to getting Reticula healed. Why was Mother Istarion acting like this? “My friend is sick, Mother Istarion. Dreadfully, awfully sick. Only Demiene Flowers can save her now.”

  If she hasn’t succumbed to the Estreek poison already. Terak glowered.

  “Demiene Flowers?” Mother Istarion gasped, just as the double doors behind them were thrown open. A voice boomed into the hall.

  “Absolutely not!” a male elf bellowed.

  It was Alathaer, the lord and commander of the Brilliant Host of elvish warriors, and he was stalking toward Terak, his eyes sparking with fury.

  “Ulla, I’ve got him now. Go find Kaloath and the others,” the Lord Alathaer said sternly as he marched into the hall. His hands blurred as he plucked his long sword from his hip with a hiss of steel.

  “My Lord,” Ulla nodded, and made to move. Mother Istarion’s voice interrupted her.

  “No. Is this any way to treat an emissary, Lord Alathaer?” Istarion’s tone was sharp.

  Lord Alathaer was tall, even for an elf. Terak regarded the irate warrior, who was also the chief and captain of the Second Family’s military pursuits. He was dressed in a soft cream tunic. Over the tunic, a tighter-fitted green leather jerkin, as well as arm and leg greaves, had been styled. His hair was black like Mother Istarion’s and Terak’s own, and he wore it long and loose.

  And the last time I met him, he appeared ready to take me captive for stealing “their” Loranthian Scroll, Terak remembered.

  Lord Alathaer did not seem to have forgotten—and certainly not forgiven—Terak’s treachery, either. “As you know, Mother Istarion, the Second Family has severed all dealings with the Enclave sneaks and spies! Any emissary of theirs is an intruder on our soil!”

  Lord Alathaer took a step forward, and Terak’s instincts forced him to take a step back. His hands came together as if he would plead for his life, but in fact he was reaching for the Choke-Powder.

  Until there was a bright flash and a resounding crack on the ground before the living throne, as Mother Istarion shot to her feet and smacked the floor with her staff. Her voice boomed out.

  “And what hospitality does the Second Family show its own kin? Its own blood?”

  I am of the Second Family. Terak blinked. He knew that he had to come from one of the seven families of the elves, but up until now he had never known which one. It’s true, he thought as waves of shocked emotions rolled through him. This is where I came from. These trees. These huts . . .

  “You know what he is,” the lord growled, sending a shiver of ice down Terak’s back.

  They know that I am a null. They know that I have no magic. But . . . how? The fact that he was a null—a being that shouldn’t even exist in this world at all, shouldn’t be capable of existing—generally meant he was also an outcast and an abomination. Every free person would shun him. Some would even dearly love to hunt him down.

  “I know full well what Terak is,” Mother Istarion said coldly. The tone of quiet authority in her voice was such that it was enough to make Alathaer slowly drop the naked blade to his side.

  “You can trust me, Lord Alathaer, to make the choices that need to be made in this matter,” she said strongly, stepping down from her throne and coming to stand between them. Once again, it felt like Terak was entering into a dream, as the radiance from the woman gathered and pooled about her, like an invisible, ever-shifting cloak. Terak had never felt so much power concentrated in one person before. Even Magister Inedi did not provoke the same shivers up and down Terak’s skin as Mother Istarion did.

  “Elf,” the radiant elvish lady addressed him. “Both I and Lord Alathaer have told you how we view the Brothers and Sisters of the Black Keep. If you are here doing their business, then I would advise that you drop any pretense, turn around, and leave this place immediately.” Her voice was clear but sounded carved out of ice.

  Terak didn’t move.

  “Very well,” the Mother continued. “If you are still standing here, then I have to assume that you have come here as an elf first, and as a friend. Such requests can be granted to kin. Now speak.”

  Terak opened his mouth and stammered, before calming his emotions. He felt oddly naked before this elf lady, and every bit of training that he had received under the Chief External—how to lie and to dissemble, how to misdirect and charm—all disappeared.

  Give them a useless bit of information first, Father Jacques had told him, but Terak knew that he couldn’t. And that he wouldn’t.

  She respects who I am just by virtue of my blood. Terak felt oddly moved by that.

  “My friend, Reticula. She was bitten by the Estreek—”

  “Hsss!” Lord Alathaer bared his teeth and hissed. “Don’t speak any name of the Ungol in this place!” he snapped.

  Terak nodded and began again. “The Second Baleful Sign. My friend Reticula was poisoned by the Second Baleful Sign, and I have been told that only you can help.”

  “The Second Baleful Sign struck last night,” Istarion said. “Surely, this friend of yours must already be dead?” A small frown from the elf lady’s face. “Unless, of course, the Enclave has magics that we are unaware of.”

  Terak took another breath. Probably best not to mention the Mordhuk right about now. He nodded his head. “As you say, Mother Istarion, I cannot say precisely how my friend is alive, but live she does. But for only a little while.”

  “Without the Demiene Flower to heal her, of course,” the Mother finished, casting a quick glance to the lord. “I am inclined to allow it, Lord Alathaer,” she said firmly. Terak caught an insight into their relationship. The Mother was undoubtedly the leader, but she must be more of a spiritual figurehead to Lord Alathaer’s martial. There existed a tense balance between the two, as one must surely know that they needed the gifts of the other.

  “My lady,” Alathaer said through gritted white teeth. “You know that the attack occurred here as well—all across the north! We used much of our supplies already, and we are sure to need the flowers again in the next few days.”

  It was impossible to miss what the elf captain was referring to. That the Blood Gate was going to open—and they would be facing a pitch battle.

  “I have already sent word to the nearest families. We can stand here and fight—in which case we will need every flowerhead we have—or we can retreat,” Alathaer continued.

  “One problem at a time, Lord Alathaer,” Mother Istarion said. She did not look happy as her pale brow was furrowed and her lips were pursed. “But this elf is kin, and he is requesting aid. There are an
cient customs that dictate this,” she argued.

  Lord Alathaer was just as quick to counter back, “Is the victim of the Second Family also, though, my Lady? Is she even an elf?”

  Mother Istarion looked at Terak, who felt all his hopes turn to ash before his very eyes.

  “No. Reticula is a human, a novitiate of the Enclave,” Terak was forced to admit.

  “Then it is decided.” The lord was adamant. “The request for aid is not for one of our kin, but for a human! We do not have time for this nonsense!”

  Lord Alathaer straightened up, stepped back, and sheathed his sword with a swift and smooth movement. He gave one simple nod to Mother Istarion, before turning to look at Terak with cool hatred in his eyes.

  “You are here because you have been favored by Mother Istarion, elf.” He said the word sarcastically. “But soon enough the north will be running with blood and shadows, and I pray that you are far away from me and my family when it does.” He turned smartly on his heels and stalked out of the hall, but his words made Terak’s teeth clench in anger.

  Maybe Father Jacques had been right about him all along, Terak thought. Lord Alathaer was just like the Chief Martial and the Chief Arcanum and all the rest: too close-minded and too full of their own self-importance.

  To Alathaer, it doesn’t matter if I am an elf of his own family or not. All that he sees is the fact that I am a null. Terak glared at his back until it disappeared through the chestnut double doors at the far end.

  There was a small sigh of resignation from Mother Istarion. The radiance that had seemed to gather to her like a cloak reduced in intensity and brilliance. Terak found that he was looking at an incredibly beautiful mature elf woman. Elves do not age in the same way that humans do, but Terak could see in her eyes the weight of centuries.

  “I am afraid that I cannot go against Lord Alathaer’s counsel, Terak,” Mother Istarion said.

  What!? Terak felt like he had been kicked in the stomach.