Indeed, the captain itched for a fight. When the command to throw down their weapons came, his first reaction was to clutch his sword hilt. But then Reinheiser’s advice came to him once again. He looked to the physicist, who nodded toward the ground in front of them. To the absolute surprise of Billy and Del, Mitchell drew his sword and threw it down.
“Do it!” he growled at the gawking men, though they needed no encouragement; their swords were already in the air.
A slender figure clad in a short brown tunic stepped out from behind a tree and skipped down the path to the swords. Sparkling blond hair, short-cropped and straight, bounced above his pointed ears with every springing step. He seemed in his early teens, shorter than a man and not nearly as heavy, with a face angular, yet very fair; nose straight and thin, but not sharp, and eyes accentuated by slanted brows. Those marvelous eyes, big and round and blue, so rich in hue they appeared almost black, told Del that this was no child. Although on the surface they reflected that unblemished joy of youth, these eyes were far from shallow, and within their depths they revealed to Del’s sensitive scrutiny a sorrow gathered in the experiences of many, many years.
The boy’s skin glowed with a hint of a golden tan, but Del clearly recognized that this being had not seen much of the sun in his day. A “night dancer,” Del surmised with a secretive grin, and he realized that it was the twinkle of the stars, not the shine of the sun, that highlighted the lad’s hair.
“Who … what the hell is this?” Mitchell balked as the graceful Illuman gathered up their swords in long, graceful fingers and started back up the path.
“It’s an elf,” Del explained, but his smirk disappeared when the shocked Illuman stopped short and wheeled around to face the men. Surprised whispers issued from every imaginable hiding place near the trail.
“What name have you branded upon me?” the Illuman demanded in a near shriek. He stalked toward Del, hand firm on the pommel of his sheathed sword.
“I think you blew it,” Billy whispered to Del.
Del cleared his throat and responded meekly to the suddenly imposing Illuman.
“An … elf.”
Again the mountainside hissed with whispers.
“By what right do you dare utter that word?” the Illuman demanded, his voice ringing both anger and confusion.
Martin Reinheiser quickly cut in. “It is what we would call you in our land,” he explained. “Certainly no offense was intended; the word was not meant as an insult.”
“And what land is your land?” the Illuman asked a bit less sharply. “Talons you are not, luckily, for if you showed but a trace of that cursed breed, an arrow would have cut you down where you stand. Yet you do not appear as Calvans. What manner of being are you?”
“We are men,” Reinheiser replied. “Men across the boundaries of time.” He put great weight on the word “time,” studying the Illuman for a reaction, gambling that these people were familiar with the same folklore that had guided the rangers’ actions toward his party. From the amazed expression staring back at him, Reinheiser knew that his guess had been correct.
“Yes,” he continued in a breathless rasp of importance, deciding to put things bluntly to fully gauge the Illuman’s reaction. “We are men from another world, an older world. The ancient ones have returned!”
“Bey-ane cairnliss Colonnae!” the Illuman cried in the enchantish tongue of wizards. His trembling hands could not hold the swords as he ran stumbling to shelter up the path. This time the tumult of whispers sounded more like gasps, and Del imagined dozens of arrows being notched to bows trained on the four of them.
But the noises died away and soon the Illuman reappeared, accompanied by a beautiful elven maiden. She had the same stature and skin tone as the other and was likewise clad, but her hair was as dark as his was light. Not empty as the darkness of a void was the black of her lengthy locks, but rather a shimmering hue, as if every other color had blended there in overabundance. And from beneath the raven’s coat of her hair, her bright blue eyes peeped in startling contrast.
The two approached the men cautiously, obviously as unnerved as their counterparts.
“I am Erinel,” said the first, “and this is—”
“I am Sylvia,” interrupted the other, “daughter to Arien Silverleaf, Eldar of Lochsilinilume.”
“Then this is a fortunate meeting,” Mitchell proclaimed with over-friendly abandon.
Sylvia raised an eyebrow at him.
“It is your father we came to see,” Reinheiser quickly explained.
Sylvia backed a step and studied them, thinking the same thoughts Belexus had when he first viewed these otherworldly men. She, too, knew the tales, but she was tentative, for the potential consequences of her decision could prove much more severe. Illuma was a secret refuge hidden from powerful enemies, and Ungden the Usurper would bestow a king’s reward on any man who discovered the whereabouts of the Silver City. In the end, it was Billy Shank’s black skin that convinced Sylvia that these men were not of her world, and she decided to grasp at the faint glimmer of hope that had entered her oppressed heart.
“If you are truly the men spoken of in our legends, my father shall indeed grant you an audience.”
“Then lead on,” Mitchell said, and he took a step up the path.
“Halt!” Erinel commanded, and turned to Sylvia. “I will respect your judgment in this affair. Yet we must also honor the laws of our land. You know as well as I that it is forbidden for any man to gaze upon the paths to the city.”
She conceded with a nod, then explained to the men, “You must be blindfolded.”
“No problem,” Mitchell agreed quickly.
Again Del and Billy exchanged incredulous glances.
As soon as the blindfolds were in place, the men heard the sound of many light footsteps and chattering whispers gather around them. Sylvia gave some instructions and the troupe started off.
Many roots and stones crossed the path, causing the unseeing men to stumble constantly despite the earnest efforts of their captors to guide them carefully and keep them steady. Reinheiser, though, had little difficulty, for he evenly and deliberately spaced all of his steps and he exaggerated all of his turns, making them as close to right angles as possible. The Illumans thought the man crazy, but there was indeed a method to Reinheiser’s madness.
An hour later they stopped climbing and began moving horizontally across the face of the mountain. Suddenly the blindness became blacker and the cool mountain breeze abruptly ceased.
“We’re in a cave,” Reinheiser observed almost as soon as they entered.
“A tunnel,” Erinel corrected. “You will find the ground smoother in here.”
“Please!” Reinheiser cried in sudden terror. “No caves!”
Del cocked his ear in surprise, suspecting that the physicist was up to something. A man of Reinheiser’s disposition would never allow himself such an irrational fear, and the exaggerated tone of the physicist’s despair gave Del the distinct impression that he was lying.
“Could I travel near a wall?” Reinheiser begged. “Something to hold onto.”
Del cringed at the blatant deception but, not understanding the motives behind it, remained silent.
“I do not understand,” Erinel said. “Why—”
“Please!” Reinheiser shrieked, noting the underlying tone of guilt in the voice of his pitifully sympathetic captor. The physicist smiled inwardly, realizing that he could play on these soft hearts as easily as if they were his puppets. “I am afraid of caves!”
“Yes, yes,” Erinel agreed, trying to comfort the frantic man. He took Reinheiser by the hand and led him the few steps to the tunnel wall. “I will stay beside you,” he assured Reinheiser, “but be wary of side passages.”
That is precisely the point, the physicist thought, burying a chuckle. To be wary of side passages! Now he was thankful of the hood that hid his devious grin. Bless these kindly, simple folk, he mused inwardly.
A g
ood while later they exited the twisting maze of tunnels and were greeted by a chilly, late afternoon breeze. Sylvia stopped the party and told the men they could remove their blindfolds. They did so anxiously, and gazed down upon yet another wonder of this strange new world.
They were on the western edge of a valley, and below them, rolled out like a carpet of magical dreams, lay the hidden refuge of Illuma. Del looked on the city of the Silver Realm with sparkle-eyed wonder, for this place was woven of wizards’ spells as surely as was the Emerald Room—and on an even grander scale. Certainly this was no ordinary vale; the slopes leading down to it were barren gray stone and shale, in direct contrast to the color-filled floor, overflowing with life. Blue-green grass waved like a rippling pond in the mountain breeze, and “telvensil” elms, as Sylvia named the silvery trees, swayed gently with every gust, accepting the wind without a creak or groan of protest. Most of the trees here stood taller, limbs spread wider, than the two that formed the archway at Mountaingate, and among those mighty limbs, within the shelter of their white leaves, many houses had been built. These didn’t intrude upon the sovereignty of the telvensils; rather, they seemed to be natural extensions of the tree, as if somehow the tree had helped in their creation.
The homes scattered about on the ground were of stone, worked and shaped with care into elaborate designs that followed no set patterns, yet displayed a congruity of spirit. Glittered with streaks and swirls of flashing silver and bursts of gemstones, and thick with windows, these joyous abodes seemed more a creation of love than a product of work.
And such was the valley around them, hemmed by three towering mountain mica walls, and the fourth side, directly across from the travelers, spilling into a wide gorge that ran deeper into the range, offering an endless view of mountain majesty. Some of the distant peaks lay cold in the long shadows of late afternoon, while others raised their heads above the gathering darkness to catch the last warming rays of the sun. Cloud collars and rising mists floated in mystical serenity, adding a preternatural, almost holy, touch, and kindling profound musings of the unanswerable secrets of the heavens. How removed from the noisy existence of men loomed the unconquerable and silent Crystals.
Singing wafted up from the valley, the same innocent melody the men had heard when they first came under the archway at Mountaingate. Here, too, it fit, the sweetest icing on a sugarcoated land. With this strange and wonderful view before him, Del felt the name Illuma inappropriate. He preferred the name Bellerian had used, Lochsilinilume, with its eldritch ring and rhythms conjuring images of faerie lands and legends.
Sylvia led them down into the city, past the curious gazes and giggling whispers of the surprised elves.
Seldom had visitors ever come to Illuma, and none at all since Ungden the Usurper had claimed the throne of Calva. And of course, Billy, with his dark skin, was a completely new experience for them.
They passed through the city and approached the lip of the gorge, where sat the grandest house of all, immense in size and incredible design, its roof slanted every which way, dotted with lazily puffing chimneys. Spires and towers darted up everywhere for no better reason than to catch the low-riding clouds. Windows dominated each wall, large and small, and swung wide to bring in the sun, the breathtaking view, and the scents of the million flowers that blossomed on the grounds. Balconies and terraces with ivy-colored railings crossed and crisscrossed again and again.
Ornate carvings ridged the huge front doors, and gold leaf edged them, their bulk alone promising tons of weight. But so perfect was their balance and workmanship that they swung in easily at Sylvia’s effortless push.
Easily and noiselessly, in silence befitting the hallowed halls within. Even Del, who had perceived this vale as a place of happiness, was a bit taken aback at entering the palace of the Eldar. A hush fell over them all as they stepped through the doorway, belittled by the grand and ornate arches. Yet once inside, they realized that this was a comfortable house, a place not unaccustomed to dancing and merriment. A house of art, not akin to a museum holding artworks, but a masterpiece in itself, each individual work a contributing element in the overall design.
Every room held its own large fireplace promising warmth against even the coldest winter nights on the mountain, each hearth as different as the elves that had created them, offering its own perspective with unique twists and turns in the iron grillwork and stone composition. Intricate mosaics covered the floors, and finely woven tapestries lined the walls, all depicting scenes of feasts and festivals by the light of the full moon. The maidens shown were dressed in beautiful gowns, the men in flowing robes, yet like this house, the regal dressings were offset by a comfortable informality, a pervading sense of individualism and acceptance.
The group crossed through several rooms and a long corridor that opened into a narrow hall, different from any of the other rooms they had seen. Formal and serious, this appeared as a place of grave debates, a council hall for important decisions.
Across from them, on a throne carved of silver telvensil, sat a very tall Illuman, as tall as a man, wearing a light green robe with silver trim. A crown of white leaves ringed his head, making his black hair seem even more vital than Sylvia’s. His face was firm yet fair, and he held his head high, despite his comfortable posture. He was flanked by a more ordinary-looking elf with whom he had apparently been arguing when the great door had swung open.
“Sildarren aht theol baisraquin!” the Illuman screamed, standing by the throne, obviously angered by the interruption. But the elf’s second volley of protest caught in his throat and his face went bloodless in horror as he recognized that the people accompanying Sylvia were not Illumans, but humans.
The elf on the throne started forward in surprise, but quickly regained his composure and glanced questioningly toward Sylvia.
“Father, I bring four distant travelers who seek audience with you,” Sylvia explained.
“To bring men to the Silver City in these times!” the standing Illuman cried. He pointed menacingly at Sylvia, his fingers trembling with outrage. “You have betrayed us!”
“They surrendered their swords willingly,” Sylvia retorted. Her face flushed with anger and the looks the two exchanged made it obvious to all present that their dislike of each other ran deep.
“You do not, then, remember the laws, my lady Sylvia?” he replied sarcastically.
“Enough, Ryell,” the seated Illuman casually requested, all too accustomed to the bickering of these two.
“The laws?” Ryell jabbed, heedless of the other.
“And do you not remember the tales?” the elf on the throne scolded in response, clenching suddenly, taut and ready as a bent bow. He hadn’t shouted the words, but his clear voice resonated with power, and the sheer strength of its insistence broke the lock of anger between Sylvia and Ryell and turned them both toward the speaker. Immediately he relaxed back in his throne. “These men are special, I believe,” he said to console his angry companion.
“They are men,” Ryell spat, venom dripping from his words. “That alone makes them enemies to Illuman. You look too much to old tales, Arien, for the answers to the problems we face.”
He swung back at Sylvia. “You searched them, of course,” he stated matter-of-factly, his dry tone thick with sarcasm.
“They surrendered willingly,” Sylvia stuttered.
“Search them!” Ryell roared, and apparently he held some importance, for several elves moved to the men.
Panic hit Del when he remembered the scroll in his cloak. He locked into Arien’s gaze, begging for a stay of the search.
The perceptive elf-lord caught the desperate plea in Del’s eyes.
“No!” Arien commanded, immediately halting the search. “They have trusted us, and we will not return their trust with suspicion.”
“Do not be a fool!” Ryell screamed. “They are men! By the law penned in your own hand, they should be imprisoned for that fact alone!”
Staring down from his th
rone, Arien Silverleaf remained unblinking and resolute.
“You will bring us all to ruin with your trust of humans,” Ryell cried, and the expression on his face eased as if a revelation had come over him. “But then,” he continued too calmly, “your parents were the children of humans, were they not? Back in Caer Tuatha when the land was young.”
“I should choose my words more carefully were I you, Ryell,” Arien advised evenly, a sudden and calculating coldness in his control promising that his warning was more than just an idle threat.
Unnerved, recognizing that he had pushed too far, Ryell shrank back from the Eldar and simply threw up his hands in frustration and marched for the exit. “Come, Erinel,” he said as he stormed by.
“But Uncle—” Erinel protested.
“Come!” Ryell commanded, listening to no argument, and Erinel had no choice but to follow.
“Oh Father, why do you keep him at your side?” Sylvia asked when the pair had gone. “He is so disagreeable, and so stubborn!”
“Ryell holds old grudges, but he is not evil,” Arien replied, the tension removed from his face, and his lips turned up in a disarming grin. “And it is good for an adviser to be disagreeable; Ryell shows me a different point of view for many important problems. His eyes see what mine do not. Ardaz has been too busy to sit by me since midwinter. I am grateful for Ryell.”
Del perked up his ears at the mention of the wizard.
“Ryell forces Ardaz away,” Sylvia said. “He is always calling him an ‘old buffoon’ and other such—”
Arien raised his hand to stay her. “We shall discuss this another time, dear child. I have guests with a tale to tell—one that I am very anxious to hear.”
He motioned for the men to approach and sit before him. Mitchell walked out in front, introduced his companions, and, with a low bow, introduced himself as their leader. Then, at Arien’s bidding, he told their tale from the rescue by the dolphins to their encounter with Sylvia and Erinel at the silver archway on Mountaingate. He carefully omitted the episodes that showed him in a bad light, nor did he tell of the rangers, for he wasn’t certain of the relationship between the Illumans and the warriors of Avalon.