CHAPTER
IX
There
was a surprise waiting when the Mermaid's Tit made port at Rendor.
The docks, usually humming with activity when a ship made port, were
still. They were not, however, empty. In addition to the regular
denizens of the docks like stevedores and customs agents, there was a
party that by its dress could be composed of nothing but ilvan
nobility. The aristocrats waited in silence and the more plebeian
ilfs that normally had the run of the pier were standing off to one
side and waiting silently as well.
To
Jerrod's eyes, it made for a strange tableau. He had seen ilfs
before, but never so many. In addition, all of the ilvankind that
he had seen in the past had seemed to be independent sorts. In
fact, he had never seen an ilf show deference to anyone. Courtesy,
yes. Deference, no. The young mage was astonished. Not only was
there one ilf showing deference to another, but dozens of them were
obviously awaiting the pleasure of the nobles on the quay.
As
the ship slid up to the dock, there was signal from one of the ilfs
in the group of nobles. The ilvan workers stirred quickly into
motion. The ropes which were thrown over the sides of the Mermaid's
Tit by its crew were caught by Rendor's tall, slender longshoremen.
The stevedores hauled the ship in to the pier and made it fast to the
cleats on the docks. The ramp was then pushed out from the vessel's
side to clatter onto the planks of quay where its spikes grabbed and
held.
One
of the ilfs from among the ilvan aristocracy clambered immediately
aboard. He approached Captain Bushwa and bowed almost
imperceptibly. "Greetings, captain. Welcome back to Rendor.
We are given to understand that you have cargo for us. More
importantly, we have been informed that you also have several
passengers from Seremoreh who travel to Rendor. The Lord and Lady
of Rendor would like to meet them immediately. To that end, they
have dispatched Lady Nynavea to welcome them. The lady awaits them
on the pier."
Having
said his piece, the ilf withdrew. As he took his place back among
the group of ilvan nobles, those worthies parted to reveal one of
their number. Standing in the center of the gap that had just been
created was an ilvan female. Tall, even taller than most of the
other ilfs who as a rule overtopped most humans, the ilvan
gentlewoman stood motionless as her long, silver hair fluttered in
the breeze revealing the ilf's slightly pointed ears. She was
dressed all in rich green and brown velvets which were covered by a
gilt corselet and greaves. At her hip was a scabbarded sword. The
sword's hilt contrasted vividly with the richness which characterized
the rest of her attire. Instead of being encrusted with jewels or
gems as one might expect, the hilt was wrapped in well-worn leather.
It was evident that the blade had seen a great deal of use.
Bushwa
turned to his passengers. "Well, it would seem that ye are
expected. And apparently, the ilvankind view yer arrival as
something important as well. I have never dealt with an ilf so high
ranking as this woman apparently is. Nor have I seen so many of 'em
in one place before. Did you note the one that came up and spoke to
me? Seemed like a herald or something of the sort? Well, he was
no common herald. That was Lord Kennealy, the noble who runs the
docks for the ilfs. As a rule, I'm lucky to see him once in a trip
here. He never
comes out to meet me. Usually when I see him, I go to him... and
always at his convenience."
Wolf
raised an eyebrow at the news. "It would seem that Astall and
your other colleagues have been busy, eh, Ordolf," the ranger
said.
"Aye,
that it would," replied the necromancer. "And it disturbs
me a bit. I'm not too sure I like the notion of others knowing
where we are going before we get there. Although undoubtedly the
ilvankind wish us well -- for they have no love for Iskandar or his
minions -- one never knows who else might hear and what they might do
with the information. Look at what happened in Nova Ekirigilio."
The
archmage sighed. "Well, there is little we can do about that
now. Why don't we go down and meet the reception committee?"
So saying, Ordolf turned and headed down the gangplank toward the
ilvan aristocrats who awaited them.
The
others hurried to catch up. As the companions approached Lady
Nynavea, she nodded to one of her companions. That worthy handed
the ilvan rulers' emissary a small box which he had been carrying.
Taking the container from her aide, the ilvan lady smiled at the
group of approaching adventurers and said, "I bid you welcome to
our domain from the Lord and Lady of Rendor. I am Nynavea, their
envoy. We are honored to be able to receive so gallant a company to
our land. If I may, I have gifts to present to you from my lord and
lady."
Having
said offered her greeting, the ilvan emissary stepped forward. As
she opened the box, its contents gleamed in the morning sun. "Lady
Kahlan and Lord Springbuck have bidden me to present one of these
rings to each of you as a token of welcome and as a symbol that you
are to be known as Ilf-friends. Each was forged from an alloy of
adamant and platinum by the Lord and Lady themselves. The rings are
singular for nothing like them has ever been created before. Each
will become imbued with an unique ability when donned by its owner.
What that ability will be I cannot say. It will not become clear
until the rings are worn. Once donned by its owner and infused with
its special power, each ring will forever after become nothing more
than a pretty bauble for any other who should happen to wear it."
Pausing
at a look of uneasiness from Ordolf, Nynavea turned to the
necromancer with a touch of sadness in her eyes. "I see you
are uncomfortable with the gift, Ordolf. What troubles you? Our
history perhaps? Fret not, these are from Springbuck and Kahlan, I
am nothing more than their courier."
Ordolf
smiled and replied, "Nynavea, nothing about our history troubles
me -- except perhaps our parting. No, what concerns me is the
quality of the present which you convey from Kahlan and Springbuck.
Such a gift is beyond price and seems excessive as a welcoming boon.
What is it we have done to deserve this? Or, what is it we are
expected to do? And why this particular token? The Lord and Lady
of Rendor have never been known for either their extravagance or
their gregariousness. Why us? Why now? And perhaps most
importantly, what price might your Lord and Lady expect us to pay?"
Nynavea
chuckled, "Ordolf, you have changed very little it would seem.
There is no price
which could successfully recompense the makers of these rings for
them. If you wish, you may turn and leave with the rings and the
blessings of all Rendor. Should you wish to stay, I believe that
you will find that your interests and those of the land of Rendor
coincide. I hope that you will find that any `cost' which you will
pay as the result of your decision to remain would have been one you
perforce must pay anyway."
"Besides,"
the ilvan noble grinned, "it has been far too long since we
tested each other's mettle. I crave the opportunity to test your
skills once again!"
Hearing
Nynavea's challenge to the necromancer, Jerrod grew alarmed. Was
this some kind of trap for all them? It didn't seem so from what
the ilvan ambassador had said and the lack of threat in the posture
of the ilfs. Perhaps there was a vendetta between her and Ordolf.
That seemed more likely. They had obviously met before. What
Jerrod couldn't figure out was the blush which had suffused Ordolf's
features at the last words of the Lady Nynavea.
While
Jerrod was lost in his worries, Ordolf had turned to the others and
queried them with a look. Receiving nods from everyone but Jerrod,
Ordolf fell in among the ilfs. Nynavea took his arm and set off for
the interior. The others followed without hesitation and each was
joined by an ilvan companion. Jerrod was startled when a tall,
young ilf with silver hair like Nynavea's tapped him on the shoulder.
"Would
you care to join the others or would you prefer to stand here and
moon a bit longer?" the ilf asked with some asperity.
Jerrod
flushed and looked at the ilf who had approached him. Nearly as
tall as Nynavea, the ilf towered over Jerrod. Also like Nynavea,
she had long, silver hair which was bound with a silver filigree
band. She was armed and attired in the same manner as was the ilvan
ambassador. The one major difference was that instead of green and
browns, the ilf confronting Jerrod was clothed all in blues and
grays. Her sword also lacked the worn appearance that characterized
Nynavea's and, for some reason, Jerrod got the impression that this
ilf was much younger than Nynavea, although both had a certain
agelessness about them both that the young mage suspected was common
to all ilfs.
Something
about his guide made Jerrod feel belligerent. "Oh, I'll come
because my friends agreed to do so. Bear in mind, though, I do not
trust the intentions of your ambassador toward my friend. Should
any harm befall him, she shall have to answer to me!"
With
each word of Jerrod's ringing announcement, what started as a slight
twinkle in the eyes his ilvan escort grew more brilliant. As it
concluded, she burst into laughter. "I hardly think that you
are yet a match for my mother, young mage! Or is it the whole
nation of Rendor which you challenge? Either way, I think you may
wish to rethink your brash words. After all, my mother's intentions
toward Ordolf while hardly honorable are, I think, unlikely to be
particularly dangerous."
"Anyway,
let me take you to your audience. We are having your horses and
gear taken to guest quarters. Oh, by the way, my name is Berit in
case you are curious. You know, I was wondering why is it you have
so much baggage? I would think you would want to travel lighter
than that. After all you have to go through lots of difficult
terrain. Besides, why drag horses all around on a ship? You could
have purchased horses here if you really needed them."
With
that, Berit began a stream of questions and comments that soon had
Jerrod dizzy. He could hardly keep up with her barrage of
questions, which seemed to him to come from every direction. He was
so discombobulated by the ilf's nonstop patter that he barely was
able to even notice that Captain Bushwa's description of the port of
Rendor hardly did it justice.
It
truly did soar like a city from a dream. Made of an arabesque of
spires and arches, the residences and other building of Rendor soared
far up into the air. They were a painter's palette of greens and
browns, blues and pastels, grays and yellows. The bridges added to
the beauty of the scene. Where the buildings were solid if
brilliant in their coloring, the arches, while multi-colored as well,
were translucent. With the light of the sunlit afternoon shining
through them they were particularly breathtaking.
One
detail of the panorama which he beheld struck Jerrod as odd.
Although almost every color which Jerrod could imagine was
represented somewhere in the panorama which the young mage beheld,
for some reason two colors seemed to be absent: black and red.
There wasn't a trace of either anywhere that Jerrod's gaze roamed.
Jerrod found that the old mariner was completely accurate about at
least one thing though. The ilfs apparently almost never went from
place to place on the ground.
Soon
after the meeting at the docks the ilfs had led their guests up off
the ground to those diaphanous arches upon which Bushwa had remarked.
To Jerrod's eye, they were every bit as tenuous as the captain had
suggested. Perhaps more so. Jerrod kept glancing anxiously at the
insubstantial path which he trod while listening to Berit's cascade
of questions with one ear. As he looked down, he realized that
Bushwa had been right about another thing. The ground was kept as
beautifully as the finest park Jerrod had ever seen -- and it
stretched for thousands and thousands of strides, not for a few
hundred like those masterpieces of human horticulture.
The
grounds were beautiful, Jerrod conceded to himself. But they did
seem rather a long way down especially when viewed from such an
attenuated platform. The dizzying height made it difficult for
Jerrod to focus on what Berit was saying -- which was hard enough to
follow as it was.
As
he traversed the ilvan bridges, the young mage just kept putting one
foot in front of the other and staring down at the gap between
himself and the earth below. Lost in concentration, Jerrod was
startled out of his fixation on the ground by a tap on his shoulder.
"Are you listening to me?" Berit asked.
"Uh,
yes....Er, no....Well, I'm trying to but....I mean I am, but I was
distracted by the breathtaking view from up here," Jerrod
stammered in response.
"Well,
I said we are here," his guide repeated pointing to a building
off to their right that was nearly close enough for Jerrod to touch.
Somehow
they had arrived without falling. Jerrod breathed a sigh of relief.
The building was much like those which surrounded it. Perhaps it
was a little bigger and the design a bit more complex. But for the
most part it was like the others: a tall spire soaring into the air
from the midst of the park-like land below. Like the other
structures the ilvankind had erected, it was connected to those which
surrounded it by several lacy arches. All in all, there was little
that made it stand out to Jerrod.
"Here?
Where?" Jerrod frowned.
"At
Springbuck and Kahlan's home of course. Where did you think we were
going -- back to Seremoreh?" Berit giggled, a sound which Jerrod
thought was rather undignified for elf. "Come on, let's go
inside. You are here to meet them, remember?"
Deciding
that he would not dignify Berit's mirth by responding to her meager
quip, Jerrod stepped forward through the arch which opened onto the
bridge. As he passed through the entry, what Jerrod saw took his
breath away once more. The entry opened into an enormous chamber
which was filled with living things. There were beasts. There were
birds. There were insects. There were plants. Everything was
beautiful. The beasts were variegated, but each was covered with
luxurious fur and looked as cuddly and cute as had Jerrod's first
puppy. The birds and buzzing insects were flashes of vibrant color
as they flitted from flower to flower. The blooms themselves were
just as beautiful, but they weren't the most amazing thing about the
vegetation. It had grown in such a way as to decorate the room.
There were chairs and tables and benches and shelves and friezes, all
fashioned out of living wood. There were statues and busts that
were formed as if by magic from the rich, dark timber which not only
surrounded the floor, but also seemed to rise from its midst wherever
furnishings were desired. The floor seemed to be carpeted with a
thick, green moss-like substance that felt to Jerrod's shod feet as
if he had stepped onto a cloud which was supple enough to sleep on,
yet firm enough to give secure footing.
Jerrod
had never seen anything like it. It was far different than the
castles of his parents and their friends. Those were all stone.
There was nothing alive and what wood there was, was limited to the
furnishings. Nor did the casual style of the chamber's two
occupants seem familiar. The human nobles with whom Jerrod was
acquainted greeted visitors sitting rigidly upon thrones or the like
which dominated the room. The two ilfs who reigned in Rendor, on the
other hand, lounged casually on couches covered in a moss which
looked like that on the floor, but which was instead golden brown in
hue. They laughed and talked with each other and, when they noticed
that their guests had arrived, the two ilfs rose to greet them.
"Welcome!"
their two hosts cried. "It has been a long time since we have
entertained anyone but our coterie of friends! Now, we have eight
new faces to behold. And they are the faces of heroes."
The
male ilf, who could be no one but Springbuck, winked at Ordolf and
said, "Ordolf, your reputation precedes you! Are you planning
on demonstrating your swordsmanship to everyone this time or are you
still limiting yourself to private lessons?"
The
necromancer blushed and muttered, "Did she tell everyone? I
should know better than to expect an ilf to treat anything as if it
was private!"
It
was beginning to dawn on Jerrod that Ordolf and Nynavea had been
something other than enemies when the had encountered one another.
From the levity with which everyone seemed to greet the
necromancer’s presence, Jerrod was beginning to suspect that Ordolf
and Nynavea might in fact have been something more than friends.
Taking
no heed of Ordolf's embarrassment, Springbuck continued, "Of
most of the rest of you as individuals we have heard less, but we are
delighted that you have come! Your quest is a worthy one and we
intend to give you all the aid that we may."
The
ilvan lord suddenly turned grave. "There is one other among you whose reputation is familiar to us. She is one of whom we have heard
much, one in who's debt we feel we and all ilvankind are. I speak
of Derazha, a daughter of our race and one who has never felt fully
accepted among us. She is right, she has not been. Long have I
felt that Derazha should take her place as an ilvan princess.
Although my cousins with whom she has lived have tried to ignore her
paternal side, they have failed. The troll in her separates her
from us. I cannot change that. I would if I could, but even our
ilvan skill with living things cannot fundamentally alter their
nature. To you, Derazha, I say this: you are welcome and you are
loved. You are the daughter of my cousin and as such you are like a
daughter to me. Whatever you ask shall be granted should it be
within mine or Kahlan's power."
Springbuck
turned to his consort. Kahlan handed him a small box like the one
which had held the rings which Nynavea had presented to the party.
"Although it is small compensation for the years of mistrust
which you have suffered from our mutual cousins, Derazha, there is
something which I wish to pass along to you as a token of the high
esteem which should rightfully be yours."
"Please
accept the contents of this container as that symbol. They belonged
to your great-grandmother." Kahlan prodded her mate. "Er,
on you mother's side." In an undertone which clearly wasn't
meant to be overheard, Springbuck whispered crossly to his wife, "I
still think I didn't need to add that. She must realize that we are
far more likely to have gifts to present from the ilvan side of her
family..." As the last sentence of Springbuck's speech was
uttered he strode over to Derazha. Bowing deeply, the ilvan lord
handed his cousin the box.
Jerrod
was surprised to note that Derazha looked a trifle discomfited as she
accepted the ilvan gift. It was the first time Jerrod had seen any
uncertainty on Derazha's face. He had seen rage when she fought the
troll chief on the docks of Nova Ekirigilio. He had seen amusement
in her eyes at times when she watched Urki tease him. But he had
never seen the troll at a loss as she seemed to be now.
Jerrod
leaned toward his fearsome companion and whispered, "Open it."
Derazha
jerked at the sound as if startled. Glancing at Jerrod with a
grateful smile, she did as he had bidden. As she did, she let out a
gasp. Inside the box were two items. The first was a diadem
fashioned out of what could only be selotinor. Although Jerrod had
never seen that precious alloy of starsilver and gold, he recognized
it by its distinctive luminous golden hue. It was said that no
other metal gleamed the way that selotinor did. Legend had it that
one glimpse of something fashioned from the amber amalgam could
excite avarice in a dwarf as nothing else could. Having never seen
a dwarf any more than he had seen selotinor in his short life, Jerrod
couldn't vouch for the truth of that adage. He could believe it
after seeing the crown which had been given to Derazha.
The
coronet was magnificent. It was fashioned to resemble intertwined
vines of ivy that wound around upon themselves until they had come
full circle. Each of the tiny leaves which sprouted from the vine
was studded with a single gem of surpassing loveliness. The gems
would have been worth a king's ransom in their own right even if they
had not been in so lovely a setting. Nearly all of the colors of
the rainbow were represented. There were diamonds, emeralds, and
sapphires. There were amethysts and fire opals and pearls. None
of the pearls was black, however, and there were no rubies among the
jewels. Like the city of Rendor itself, the tiara had no trace of
either red or black in its makeup. Jerrod realized that it wasn't a
coincidence. There must be something about those two colors which
disturbed the ilfs. He began to wonder just what that something
might be.
The
other item in the box seemed far more pedestrian. It was apparently
some sort of brooch. Like the diadem, its workmanship was also
exquisite. And also like the diadem, it was fashioned from
selotinor. There the similarities ceased. The were no gems
studding the pin. Instead of the semblance of ivy, it was designed
in the likeness of a small bird no more than two joints in length in
any dimension. The bird was incredibly lifelike and, as far as
Jerrod was concerned, it was incredibly ugly. Jerrod had never been
a particular fancier of avian life, but he had always thought birds
quite pretty. Pretty, the bird that was the brooch was not.
Its
eyes bulged. Its beak was a long needle. Its wing were stubby and
its body could only be described as fat. Jerrod could but wonder at
what had been going on in the mind of the smith who created it. He
or she was obviously talented, but his or her choice of subjects was
puzzling. The same held true for Springbuck and Kahlan in Jerrod's
mind. Why would they give such an unsightly gift to Derazha? Was
it some sort of insult? That didn't seem to jibe with the diadem.
Jerrod was at a loss to understand.
Derazha,
on the other hand, seemed quite taken with both diadem and the
brooch. Noticing the tiara first, the half-ilf was overwhelmed by
its loveliness for a brief moment. As her astonishment passed, she
realized just what it was she was being given: the crown on an ilvan
princess. No other gift could symbolize her acceptance as ilf by
her distant kin half so well. Except, perhaps, one. Unlike Jerrod,
Derazha knew what had been in the mind of the creator of the brooch.
That worthy had not chosen his subject badly. On the contrary, if
anything, the pin was worth far more that the coronet. It was one
of a kind. And had Jerrod bothered to look with a sense other than
ordinary sight, he would have realized that the brooch fairly shone
with magic.
That
the pin was magical was no surprise to Derazha. She had heard tales
of this small piece of jewelry many times while she had resided
amongst the ilfs of Seremoreh. It had been created long before when
all of ilvankind was united under a single king. Its merit was
legend. The brooch was more than just an item of finery. It was a
guardian spirit given tangible form by an ilvan mage. It had been
fashioned by a great wizard for an ilvan prince who had set off on a
great quest like the one upon which Derazha and her companions had
embarked. The prince had been attacked by a trio of demons as he
neared the completion of his quest. Sorely beset, in desperation he
freed the spirit of the brooch. What transpired next had become
epic. The bird took wing like a whirlwind given life and attacked
the demonic trio. Despite the disparity between it and its targets
in size, the guardian spirit was more than a match for the demons.
In a trice, all three demons had been slain and the spirit had
returned to its existence as brooch once more. Upon the prince's
return, the pin had been added to the collection of the crown jewels
of ilvankind. It had remained the property of one or another of the
ilvan rulers ever since. That Kahlan and Springbuck would give it
to her nearly drove Derazha to tears.
Kahlan
looked at the half-troll. "I can see that our gifts have
pleased you. That gladdens my heart, but they are nothing more than
your birthright. The violence that attended your conception and the
mixing of our blood with that of trolls do not make that fact any
less true. You are an ilvan princess and the diadem and the brooch
are among the trappings of your rank. That they have not been given
you ere now is our failing, not yours. It is time that you took your
place among us. To that end, we have another `gift' which we are
wont to bestow as a shield for your journey. Berit, please come
forward."
As
the young ilf who had been Jerrod's escort from the docks approached,
Kahlan continued. "As a princess of ilvankind it is only
fitting that you have a handmaiden of suitable rank. Now given the
nature of your quest, it strikes me as somewhat foolish to provide
you with an attendant who is ill-suited to danger. Since that is
the case, we have selected Berit to join your company -- provided
that you have no objections to this presumption of ours. Berit is
the daughter of Nynavea and, like her mother, she is skilled in both
sword and sorcery. It is our hope that you will accept her as a
companion and our belief that she will be a valuable addition to your
group."
Berit
bowed deeply to Derazha and said, "Milady, please accept me into
your service. My life is yours from this moment forward."
Derazha
glanced at Ordolf. He shrugged. Next, she looked to Wolf for aid.
The ranger seemed entranced by one of the decorations that had been
grown out of the living wood. The same seemed to hold true for each
of her companions -- all were either busily occupied somewhere else
or suddenly seemed to have lost their ability to speak. Enki and
Urki seemed intent on quiet conversation. Neun Ja and Brianna
smiled merely at the half-ilf. Finally with a sigh, Derazha turned
to Jerrod. "Well, Jerrod what do you think? Should we allow
this ilf to tag along?"
Jerrod,
who was never shy about venturing his opinions, said earnestly,
"Berit seemed nice enough when she guided me here -- although
she does talk a lot." Springbuck, Kahlan, and Nynavea all hid
grins when they heard Jerrod's assessment of Nynavea's daughter.
Berit, on the other hand, did not smile. Her features suddenly
grew bright red and twisted with a glare which she directed at her
erstwhile charge. Noticing none of the ilvan reactions, Jerrod
continued. "The trip is going to be long and arduous and we
could use another who can help us fight off our foes. Besides that,
I would like to learn more of the magic of the ilfs. It is unlike
any I have seen before. If she is as good as they suggest, why then
we will be well served with her as a companion."
Derazha
grinned at Jerrod's succinct, if tactless, summary of the pros and
cons of bringing the young ilvan maiden along. "Well, Jerrod
perhaps you are right. Mayhap I do need a handmaiden."
Turning to Berit and seeing the young lass' discomfiture, she smiled
and exacerbated Berit's chagrin. "I suppose you can come along
Berit. But I believe that you will have to take care not to chatter
so much when in Jerrod's company. It seems that the young mage
thinks you a trifle verbose."
At
Derazha's last utterance, Urki and Wolf both made strangling noises,
which if Jerrod didn't know better, he would have sworn were guffaws.
Realizing that he had been somewhat less than courteous, Jerrod
made an attempt to apologize the ilvan maiden. "Berit, uh, I'm
sorry that you talk so much....er I mean, I'm sorry that I said...."
Before
he could get out another word, the target of his apology favored him
with a scowl and interrupted, "No need to apologize. I can see
now how my efforts as a convivial host were wasted on you. In the
future, I will refrain from inflicting my feeble attempts at
conversation on you!"
With
that, the young ilf turned and fled from the room muttering darkly
something about stupid human mages and how she didn't understand how
her mother could have gotten involved with such boorish folk.
Kahlan
watched Berit's escape with a smile. She turned to Jerrod and said,
"Don't worry, she will forgive you in time. It is not in her
nature to grip anger and pain too tightly. Unfortunately, we appear
to have more important things to discuss than Berit's distress."
Ordolf
assumed the role of spokesman for the eight adventurers. "Indeed
we do, milady. We are on a quest to rebind Iskandar. It would
seem from things that you and your representative said, though, that
you already know something of what we are about. Perhaps you could
begin by telling us what you already know and how you came to learn
it?"
"Certainly,
Ordolf. We know very little about your mission beyond its bare
outlines. We know that Iskandar is reawakening and loosing himself
from his bonds. We know also that he has sent the hand of winter
sweeping down into Seremoreh. We have been told that you and your
comrades seek to recover the keys to his chains in order that you may
securely fasten his bonds once more. Our source of information is
harmless enough: the Society of Mages. We were informed by crystal
through the mage guild that you were on your way. We were told who
you were and generally what you sought. But that is the extent of
our knowledge. If you could fill some more details, we would be
grateful. Perhaps if we learn more about what exactly you seek, we
could aid you more directly than with a few trinkets, potent as those
may be."
Ordolf
nodded, "I thought as much. Let me begin at the beginning.
As you have said we seek to rebind Iskandar. To do so, we need to
find the seven keys to his shackles. We are in possession of the
wand of Torvil. At present, we seek the Sword of Might which we have
been told might lie somewhere in the Islands of Despair. As to the
whereabouts of the other keys to Iskandar's bonds, unfortunately we
haven't a clue as of yet."
"To
acquire the sword, we took ship in Nova Ekirigilio for your fair
realm. As we left, the city fell to trolls. We were forced to
battle our way to the harbor from our lodgings during the chaos.
Fortunately, we overcame the trolls which sought to hinder us and
made it to the docks ere the captain of our vessel was forced to
depart. Nearly as fortuitously, the voyage itself was far less
eventful than our stay in Nova Ekirigilio."
"All
we know about the whereabouts of the prize which we seek is that it
is somewhere in the islands which you inhabit and that it may have a
fell guardian which protects it. The first of these two bits of
information was given to us by the Society of Mages who sponsor our
journey. The second is a local tale which a human native to the
archipelago told us while we traveled here on the ship on which he
served. If you could give us more information about the whereabouts
of the sword or perhaps point us in the direction of someone who
could, you would be doing us a great service."
Springbuck
looked at his consort and nodded gravely. "Alas, we can give
you nothing of certainty regarding the whereabouts of the fabled
sword. Like you, we have heard legends of a weapon guarded by a
deadly sentinel which is located somewhere here in the Islands of
Despair. According to the local lore, that island is located at the
other end of our archipelago in an area which is controlled by a
kingdom of buccaneers with whom we are constantly at war. We can
tell you little more about that particular legend. Sadly, there is
little we can do to aid you in its investigation for the pirates slay
any ilfs of Rendor upon whose person they can lay their hands and, at
present, we do not have a navy powerful enough to whelm them in
direct confrontation."
"There
is even worse news for me to impart. Unfortunately, the legend of
the weapon and its guardian is not the only such local tale. There
is another yarn told by those who dwell in this region about a
powerful blade which is said to occasionally find its home somewhere
among our islands. This other mystical weapon is reputed to be
housed on an island which appears in our archipelago only briefly
once every thousand years. That such an island exists we can
confirm. That there is a blade of power on it, we cannot confirm.
Would that we could. We can tell you this, however, in one way you
are in luck. The island of which we speak will make its appearance
in the very near future, so you may have an opportunity to
investigate it for yourselves."
Jerrod
hadn't really thought too much about what might transpire at this
meeting with the ilvan rulers of Rendor. Truth to tell, he hadn't
really thought about it all. What with the speed with which they
had been whisked to the palace or whatever this place was and the
stupefying trip on the high wire of a network of bridges which he had
had to cross to get there, thinking had been something of a luxury in
which he did not indulge. Even given that, it was a powerful jolt
to the young mage when he realized that they were now faced with two
completely different and mutually exclusive paths that seemed to him
had to be investigated. On the one hand, they had to find out if
the weapon on the pirate key was the sword that he and his companions
sought. On the other, it might be now or never to find out if the
enchanted isle held their goal since its existence was apparently
transitory.
Apparently,
Ordolf had come to the same conclusions. He sighed. "It
would seem that our task has grown more complicated. On the one
hand, there is legend which points to a weapon of power in a land
where no ilfs may safely adventure. This means that Berit and
perhaps Derazha would be ill-advised to seek it there. On the other
hand, there is reputed to be a blade of power hidden on an island
which appears only briefly once every thousand years. Fortunately,
the island will appear soon. Unfortunately, it will not stay in our
world for long. Have you any idea long this isle will stay in the
domain of Zemelia? Or its precise location? Or exactly when it
will make itself visible?"
Kahlan
responded. "Yes, we are favored with the answer to all three
of your questions. The island is scheduled to reappear at the next
full moon. It will remain in our world for approximately three days
and we can direct you to the approximate spot where it will
materialize. In fact, if you would like, we will provide you with a
ship and crew to take you there."
Ordolf
looked at his comrades and, seeing the confusion on their faces,
turned back to their ilvan hosts. The necromancer bowed to
Springbuck and Kahlan and said, "We appreciate the offer, milord
and milady. I'm sure you'll understand that before we can say yay
or nay to your kind proposal, we must discuss the ramifications of
the information you have just provided and determine which of these
two trail we should follow."
Springbuck
nodded. "I understand. There is one last bit of information
which we wish to impart before you go to the accommodations which we
have placed at your disposal. As you undoubtedly know, we ilfs are
blessed with far longer lives than are members of humankind.
Correspondingly, we have a far more detailed and complete memory of
history than do even the most exacting of humanity's sages. Because
this is so, we can provide you with knowledge of the whereabouts of
one more of the items which you seek and a clue as to how to go about
finding the others.""Each
of the powers which fought to bind Iskandar was given charge of the
task of hiding one of the keys to Iskandar's bonds. Ilvankind,
which was unified then, was given the ring of transformation to ward.
The ring was taken into custody by Sunblade, king of ilfs. Like
the rest of the other items which were held by the royal family, the
ring was part of the treasure which was divided among Sunblade's
heirs when he was slain by his eldest son and no single claim to the
throne was deemed worthy. The ring was given into the custody of my
uncle Starfollower. My uncle and the ilfs who gave him their
allegiance live somewhere deep in the woods of Northern Hanpon.
Where exactly they are in that vast land and what they have done with
the ring I cannot tell you for since the Kinslaying, we ilfs have
little to do with one another. Perhaps, though, that will be enough
to at least start you on the right path to find the third of the
items which you seek."
