Calis said nothing.
Nakor asked, ‘When was the last time you saw Pug?’
‘A year or so ago. He came to visit my mother and Tomas.’ He looked at Miranda. ‘He was still saddened by your loss, as well as Caleb and Marie.’
Miranda couldn’t help but gasp, and tears gathered in her eyes. ‘Caleb? Marie?’ She tightened her grip on his hand; a lesser being would have endured broken fingers. Caleb had been Miranda’s youngest child and Marie, his wife.
Calis softly said, ‘In the attack that took you.’
Miranda looked away for a second, then finally she composed herself and asked, ‘The boys?’
Calis squeezed her hand in return and said, ‘Tad, Zane, and Jommy are well. There were other losses when the demons attacked your island, students and two of Pug’s teachers, but given the severity …’
‘I remember.’ She said nothing for a long moment, and then lowered her eyes. ‘I will tell you everything, but not now.’ A sad sound, barely a whisper of a breath, was followed by silence.
Nakor said, ‘Not that I’m unhappy to see you, old friend, but what coincidence brings you here on the very day we arrive?’
‘Not such a coincidence, I’m on an errand for my mother. I carry word to young Lord Martin that those sent to us from Crydee to care for are safe in Elvandar.’
Composing herself, Miranda asked, ‘Why come this way? Why not take the straighter course south across the River Boundary to Crydee?’
‘Because Martin is not in Crydee, he’s here in Ylith.’
‘They have kept you waiting here?’ She indicated the inn with a quick wave of her hand.
‘They haven’t,’ said Calis. ‘I saw Martin yesterday and paused here on my way north.’
Miranda said, ‘Because you had never spent a night in an overcrowded ale house with too many strangers who haven’t bathed in weeks?’
Calis grinned and Nakor laughed. The Prince of Elvandar said, ‘Whatever you may be now, some things about you are exactly as I remember them.’ He looked across the room to the far corner. Where the bar ended, a small additional room had once been added; there was a step leading down to a pair of tables that had been placed together for a large group. All of the chairs had been moved to allow a band of workers to sit together, save one. A figure wearing a dark cloak sat in the corner, his arms crossed over his chest, surveying the room. He was staring directly at Calis.
‘Ah,’ said Miranda taking in the figure’s hair and ears. ‘One of yours?’
‘Hardly,’ said Nakor. ‘So, you were curious about that dark elf and decided to linger?’
Calis nodded. ‘I was curious to see what a moredhel was doing in Ylith.’
‘And no doubt he’s curious to know what a prince of Elvandar is doing in Ylith,’ said Nakor.
Miranda glanced at the figure half-hidden in shadows and said, ‘How did you know he was moredhel?’
‘It’s in our nature to recognize our own kind, and those who are not. He travels as an ocedhel, one of the elves from across the sea, but his disguise is flawed.’
Nakor peered at the figure for a bit and sat back. ‘I can see nothing.’ He squinted, then shook his head. ‘Under the table?’
Calis nodded. ‘The boots.’
Nakor laughed. ‘Trust a moredhel to be unwilling to sacrifice his boots.’ Then the little man’s expression turned serious. ‘Or his sword, I expect. Though I wager you’ll have to kill him to get a good look at it.’
‘How do you know so much of dark elves?’ Miranda asked Nakor.
‘I travel,’ was his answer.
Again Miranda was struck by the absurdity of their two sets of memories. Belog had never travelled further than the distance from the archivists’ quarters to Dahun’s palace and back, until he had left the city and encountered Child. Nakor had travelled to every distant part of Midkemia and worlds beyond.
‘He does look like a traveller from across the sea, like Calis’s wife,’ granted Nakor. Miranda had rescued Ellia and her sons during the war of the Emerald Queen, across the sea in Novindus and had taken them to Elvandar, where they had met Calis.
Calis said, ‘His tunic, trousers, and cloak are simple enough, and he wears no armour, but that’s a bad bow: it’s cracked and has been re-glued and banded with leather, so he’s no archer. And he wears fine boots of a craft common to the Dark Brotherhood.’ He used the human name for the moredhel. ‘Those are unmistakable, and from what I can see, well made. He’s important, perhaps even a clan chieftain.’
‘Well, that does raise the question of what he’s doing here,’ said Miranda.
‘Renegade?’ asked Nakor of Calis.
Calis shrugged. ‘Rare, but not unheard of, although they rarely venture this far south; there are too many places between here and the northland for a moredhel to die alone. The few who are expelled from their clans are usually found in the east, among humans who traffic in weapons, drugs, and slaves.’
‘A spy, then?’ said Miranda, obviously intrigued by the speculation.
‘If he is, he’s a bad one,’ said Nakor, standing up. ‘Well, the best thing to do is ask him.’
Before either Calis or Miranda could utter another word, Nakor had worked his way through the crowd to stand before the dark-haired elf in the corner. With as friendly an expression as the demon-in-human form could manage, he said, ‘Excuse me, but my friends and I were wondering what you are doing here?’
Dark eyes regarded Nakor for a long moment, before the dark elf spoke, not in the King’s tongue but in heavily accented Common Tongue, the trading language of Triagia. ‘Go away, little man.’
Nakor’s grin broadened even more. ‘We could have some fun. I could tell this crowd exactly what you are. Many are from the north and have no love for your people; and then we can see how long you survive. Or, you could simply answer my question.’
Lowering his voice so those at the next table couldn’t overhear, Arkan of the Ardanien said, ‘Or, I could simply ignore you until you go away!’
Nakor kept grinning. ‘I can be very persistent and patient.’
‘And annoying, apparently.’ Arkan stared Nakor in the eyes, then suddenly stood up and pressed past the little man. With no apology, the moredhel chieftain pushed his way through the crowd eliciting complaints and muttered threats.
Reaching Calis and Miranda, he spoke in a language only Miranda and Nakor could understand. It was High Elven, the common ancestor language of all branches of the elves. ‘Had you wished to know my reason for being here, Prince of Elvandar, you could have simply asked, rather than send over that annoying little human.’
Miranda tried not to chuckle.
Calis said, ‘You know me?’
‘By reputation,’ said Arkan. ‘You are eledhel, but you are not. There’s something about you that is … human.’ He said the last as if it was an insult. ‘There is only one being like that: the son of the Queen of Elvandar.’
Calis raised his eyebrows slightly and tilted his head, as if what he had heard was of little importance. ‘It is true, I was curious.’
‘Which is why you followed me into the inn when you were obviously about to depart this pest hole of a city.’
‘So, are you going to tell us why you’re here or do I send for the city watch and begin some carnage?’ asked Calis.
Arkan studied the Prince of Elvandar. Like others north of the Teeth