EPHEMERAL BOUNDARY
(BOOK ONE OF THE T’QUEL MAGIC – A TRILOGY)
Candy Rae
* * * * *
* * * * *
Ephemeral Boundary
Copyright © 2013 Candy Rae
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the author.
* * * * *
BOOKS BY CANDY RAE
The T’Quel Magic - A Trilogy
Ephemeral Boundary - Enduring Barrier - Eternal Bulwark
The Planet Wolf Series
Wolves and War - Conflict and Courage - Homage and Honour - Dragons and Destiny - Valour and Victory - Paws and Planets - Tales and Tales - Ambition and Alavidha
Dragon Wolf Pirates
(Forthcoming - Publish Date 2014)
(1) Journey and Jeopardy - (2) Gossamer and Grass - (3) Flames and Freedom
* * * * *
Ephemeral Boundary is dedicated to my daughter Hilary who listens with patience to my often rambling and impractical ideas about how my stories should progress. Her comments and feedback are sometimes amusing, sometimes derisory but always appreciated.
I would also like to mention the anonymous reviewer who declared my previous series awesome and who gave me the ambition and incentive to keep writing this one when doubt was setting in.
* * * * *
Maps Copyright © 2013 Jennifer Johnson
Cover artwork by ebook-designs.co.uk
Proofreading and editing by Colt Proofreading Services, Auchterarder, Scotland
* * * * *
THE T’QUEL MAGIC – A TRILOGY
To complete the circle, follow the path to there and here and there and now and back. Warrior ring shall know the path and warrior blue shall lead the way. Ten stones shall seal and divide. Ten are different and nine are same in twos then one. Three daughters of the line of the leader. Seek the one of the family of the other-born to complete the circle with the pure. Warrior brave, Wielder true, Whisperer loud. The Sacrifice …
(Saga of Enduin)
* * * * *
AUTHOR’S NOTE
‘Ephemeral Boundary’ is the first book in ‘The T’Quel Magic – A Trilogy’. It is an urban and an otherworld fantasy adventure. It is also a detective and mystery story, set in the present and the past.
Of Elves – As far as possible I have tried to use either Elfin or Elfish when referring to the singular and Elven and Elvish when referring to the plural although they can be (and are, on occasion) used interchangeably.
‘Ephemeral Boundary’ is written using British English. There are spelling differences between British English and the English as written in other parts of our wonderful, diverse world.
Although ‘Ephemeral Boundary’ can be read without any historical knowledge, I have included a series of short notes about the historical personages and the places mentioned in the appendices. There is also a list of characters and a glossary.
* * * * *
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Prologue
Chapter 1 – Kirsty
Chapter 2 – Three Maleficent Elves
Chapter 3 – Old Man in a Cave
Chapter 4 – Homecoming
Chapter 5 – Journey North
Chapter 6 – Kinloch Rannoch
Chapter 7 – Aranel
Chapter 8 – Hunting Trip
Chapter 9 – Aranel’s Journey
Chapter 10 – Chimeran King
Chapter 11 – Aranel’s Quest
Chapter 12 – Nosta
Chapter 13 – Kirsty and Aranel
Chapter 14 – Journey to the Bridge
Chapter 15 – King of Evil
Chapter 16 – Ambush
Chapter 17 – Lord Arovan
Chapter 18 – Out of the Mist
Chapter 19 – Evil Plans
Chapter 20 – Prisoners of the Tower
Chapter 21 – Ndorenisgiathatch – Land of the Dragons
Chapter 22 – Wisdom of the Tathar
Chapter 23 – Traitor
Chapter 24 – Valdoraptors and Vikings
The Five Elf Kingdoms
Character List
Glossary
Quotes from Lord Arovan’s Book
* * * * *
PROLOGUE
‘What's past is prologue.’
(The Tempest)
(William Shakespeare (1564-1616))
1993
Arovan Cuthalion felt the all too familiar prickling feeling on the back of his neck and raised his head. Being very careful to appear nonchalant he scanned the room in front of him. The library was its usual busy self - university and college exams were fast approaching - and almost every desk was occupied. He was sharing a table with a girl who had every appearance of being a student. He glanced at the book that was sitting in front of her and from which she was taking notes.
As with most elves, Arovan’s eyesight was very keen and he was able to read the words on the pages with ease. The girl was a history student - the book was about a period of change in Europe and was titled ‘The Twelfth Century Renaissance’. Arovan had used the book more than once himself. He noticed that her handwritten notes matched the subject. She was a bona fide student and therefore unlikely to be an enemy.
Carefully, he turned his body round and scanned the room behind him. One or two library patrons looked up as his gaze passed over but the heads of the others remained resolutely fixed on their books.
Arovan saw no-one who might constitute a danger.
He relaxed a little and bent his head to his research again. A few minutes later the uncomfortable feeling of being watched returned. He decided to cut short his research into the legendary madman and prophet Lailoken mentioned in a translation of ‘The Life of Saint Mungo’ by Jocelin of Furness. He wasn’t learning anything close to what he needed from it anyway.
Standing up, he gathered up his papers and put them into his briefcase. Then he walked over to return the book.
The librarian on the other side of the issuing desk had become a friend during the years Arovan had been making use of the facilities provided by the Mitchell Library in Glasgow.
“Finished Mr Douglas?” the man enquired, taking the book from Arovan’s outstretched hand. “Can I help you with anything else?” If questioned, the librarian would have informed the questioner that Mr Alasdair Douglas was a researcher of some repute and one who specialised in early mediaeval history.
“No, not today thank you,” Arovan answered, unconsciously rubbing his fingers to and fro under his collar. The uncomfortable feeling was getting worse.
“Will you be returning tomorrow?”
“I think I’ve got what I need,” Arovan replied, edging away. “I may as well go to my hotel and get some rest. It has been a long day.”
“Well, enjoy your evening Mr Douglas, but if you change your mind I’m back in again tomorrow.” The librarian liked Alasdair Douglas. The research Mr Douglas tended to undertake was very challenging and interesting in its diversity.
Arovan repeated his thanks, bid the librarian goodbye and headed for the exit. As he waited for the lift on the landing outside he turned and gazed through the glass door back inside the reading room. As he watched, a dark-dressed individual rose from his seat and walked over to the issue desk where the librarian was sitting. The tall figure engaged the librarian in conversation.
The lift heralded its arrival with a musical chime and the edgy Arovan
stepped smartly inside where he punched the ‘ground’ button.
As the lift descended Arovan realised that the prickling feeling had gone but he was one who rarely took any risks. He wouldn’t go to a hotel. Instead he would take a train back north at once. Outside the building he hailed a passing taxi.
He didn’t think he had been followed out from the library but the Morityaro were, as he knew to his cost, fiendishly clever, canny opponents.
“Queen Street Station,” he said to the driver as he opened the door and jumped inside. As the taxi inched its way into the rush hour traffic he looked back through the rear window. Arovan Cuthalion had learned not to take any chances. This was the main reason why he was still alive.
* * * * *
As the taxi drew into the taxi rank at the station Arovan was thankful that he had bought an open ended return ticket. He wouldn’t need to queue at the busy ticket office. Even so, he just made the evening train. As he displayed his ticket to the attendant at the barrier that funny feeling of being observed hit him again.
The train doors whooshed shut as the engines roared and the feeling went away again but Arovan was rattled - he felt sure the Morityaro were watching the station.
As soon as the train began to move the feeling again disappeared. Relieved, he selected a corner seat in a first class carriage. The train was busy and as he settled his lanky frame into the seat he took his habitual, careful look round at his fellow passengers.
He placed his briefcase on the inadequately sized table in front of him and extracted the thin bundle of loose papers, absentmindedly rearranging his hair as he did so. His hair was styled to cover the pointy tips of his ears; a ponytail his partner Marian called it. The silver colour was apt to draw attention (elf hair was resistant to dye) everywhere he went anyway - there was no point in adding peculiar looking ears to the equation.
Settling down, he began going over his notes. So what does Merlin the Wizard have to do with all this? The theme of Merlin, Myrddin and Lailoken had recurred at infrequent intervals during the course of his research throughout the libraries and collections the length and breadth of the United Kingdom. He’s not one of a threesome, unless … unless … somehow … he is three different people. Fact or fiction, it was difficult to decide. Merlin and King Arthur - they were often linked but the third? Who else might be one of the custodians of the tarna jewels? Genevieve? Sir Lancelot?
Arovan sighed. Try as he might, he simply couldn’t make the connection but was sure both Merlin and Arthur were important.
As he put the papers away he spied the shabby leather book nestled in at the bottom of his briefcase. At least he’d managed to record his findings, however unconventionally. Over the last month or so his unease had been growing. Today was the confirmation. He had stayed too long. His enemies were closing in and there were Marian and little Kirsty to consider. The Morityaro were dangerous. Back home in Alfheimr he had barely escaped from them with his life not once but twice. It was time to move on, time to put the contingency plans into action.
He mustn’t stay on the train all the way to Inverness. The town of Aviemore was situated too close to home. He would get out at the next stop, the one before Aviemore, the town of Pitlochry.
This decided, he donned his jacket, checked for his wallet and found his gloves. During the autumn months Scotland’s damp, evening chill was often unpleasant. His stop must be only minutes away now. To pass the time Arovan gazed out of the window and watched the countryside whizz by. When he had first arrived in the otherworld he had been astounded and not a little nervous about the speed the mechanical transport vehicles traversed the ground but these days they didn’t faze him. He had even travelled in an aeroplane.
The train began to slow down. Arovan took a quick look round the compartment. No-one was paying him any attention. There was a screech of brakes as the train entered the station, slowed down and stopped. The automatic doors swished open. Arovan counted to twenty before he stood up. A couple of long-legged bounds later and he had reached the doors and he jumped out on to the platform. He had timed it excellently well. He felt the doors whooshing shut at his heels. Only when he reached the fence at the edge of the platform did he stop and turn to scrutinise the train windows as the carriages sped away.
He saw them then - two faces pressed against a window two carriages behind his and he shrank back. He recognised them for what they were - agents of the Morityaro. Had they seen him leave the train? He sincerely hoped that they had not.
* * * * *
Arovan left the station, rapidly walking through the gate and turning right down the asphalt path, past the railway arch and over the stream. As he passed a restaurant hunger pangs began to gnaw at him, he had eaten nothing since lunchtime but he did not stop. Entering Dundarach Hotel, he went to reception and enquired about hiring a car for three days. Half an hour later and he was driving his Astra away from the hotel car park, mentally thanking Marian for her insistence that he learn to drive. He manoeuvred the car into the last empty spot in the car park of the nearby Rosemount Hotel where he booked a room for two nights. He then partook of an excellent hotel dinner. He supposed he could have taken a room at the Dundarach but he had stayed at the Rosemount before and had enjoyed this visit.
As he ate he pondered his next move. He would go out, find a telephone and call Marian. It was too dangerous to phone her from the hotel. If the Morityaro found out where he had been staying it would be comparatively easy for them to trace the number. Perhaps he should have bought a mobile phone, but it hadn’t seemed a necessary accoutrement at the time Marian and he had discussed it.
Once he was back in his room Arovan set to work. From his briefcase he extracted the papers, the leather notebook, a large stamped envelope (addressed to a lawyer in Glasgow), a smaller envelope and a long, thin, cloth-wrapped parcel.
He ripped the paper into tiny little pieces and disposed of them in the waste paper bin. Then he opened the notebook and taking a pen from the inside pocket of his jacket hurriedly began to write.
Had he remembered everything?
“The four gates - yes,” he muttered. “The three gates - yes. Merlin and Arthur - yes. The tenth and twelfth centuries - yes. German connection - yes, got that. Flannan, the three sisters, Boudica and the Ninth - yes, yes, yes, yes. Ramses and the dragons. That’s it all.”
His thoughts were racing.
Were the clues too cryptic? Perhaps, but he had faith in Marian. She had helped him with his research and had even suggested some of the quotes he had used. More importantly, if the book did fall into the hands of his enemies, they would hopefully find it difficult, if not impossible to work out the relevance of its contents.
Arovan closed the book. He opened the end of the large envelope, placed the book inside and sealed it. Taking a piece of hotel notepaper he scribbled some words before adding this sheet to the pages already inside the smaller envelope.
Marian would be upset but had always known this letter would arrive one day. If it hadn’t been for Kirsty he would have asked her to come with him but they had both agreed that Kirsty must be protected, at least until the day when she could learn how to protect herself. He might even manage the occasional visit.
The lawyer would be neither upset nor surprised when his large envelope arrived. He was being extremely well paid for his trouble. He would carry out Arovan’s instructions to the letter.
Tasks completed, Arovan left the hotel in search of a post box and a telephone.
* * * * *
After he had posted the letters he found a telephone in one of the side streets and used all the change he had in his pocket to phone Inverness.
“I know dearest … I love you … I will always love you … this breaks my heart … Look after Kirsty … Destroy all the paperwork and delete the computer files … Above all keep safe … Don’t draw attention to yourself … no, you must on no account try to find me … whatever happens … Stay where you are until my friend, you know the
one, arrives, then move on to our emergency location … You are the light of my life and always will be … I must go …”
Arovan slammed down the handset and pulled a long sharp knife from his belt. His neck was prickling again.
Gingerly, he opened the kiosk door and looked out. The streetlights were not yet lit although it was getting dark.
Before he could react a figure suddenly sprang at him from behind and grabbed him round the throat.
Arovan desperately tried to free himself with his spare hand while with the other he began to blindly stab at the figure with his knife. However, his assailant was quick and seemed to be able to sense each stab before Arovan could bring his arm back. After a few ineffectual tries Arovan dropped his knife and bent his energies to freeing his neck from the hands.
Both elves fell to the ground as the struggle continued and a desperate kicking, writhing struggle it was. Eventually Arovan managed to prise one of his opponent’s hands from his throat and scrabbled around for his dropped knife. He couldn’t find it. He elbowed the Morityaro agent in the ribs and for good measure kneed him in the general area of his groin.
His aim was true. The elf grunted, doubled up and the hand at Arovan’s throat relaxed.
Immediately Arovan rolled away and as he did, encountered his knife as his back span painfully over it. Thankfully, he grabbed it.
The Morityaro agent was getting to his feet. He had a short bladed knife in each hand. He shot Arovan a look of pure venom.
With a bound the Morityaro leapt towards Arovan and the fight began anew. Arovan managed to stab the elf deep in his upper arm, his longer blade enabling him to reach further. Both elves had become largely unaware of their surroundings and jumped when they heard a male voice shout out from the darkness.