The Belromanticum

Chapter 3

This chapter is likely to bewilder those who have read the other, more official chronicles of my life. My first experience with the elves is many leagues and years from the eventual enmity between myself and their people. Yet, though none involved had eyes to see it, the seeds for that vendetta were sown here. I certainly had no prescience for any strife, as I held a foolish fascination with elves so common with the young.

Since Rhadoviel mentioned we would be visiting Iarveiros, I had been buzzing with excitement. The enclave of elves on Chassudor, Iarveiros was a subject of wonder for any raised on the continent. Though it was well into its decline then, I had no eyes to see it. The old man did not say when we would go, and I did not ask. I simply waited until he, with typical puckish cruelty, woke me when it was still dark to tell me we'd be leaving at sunrise. I dutifully gathered my things and prepared to go. Out of pride, I took Spire, which was what I named my stout ironwood staff. I set my last and most precious possession on the table: the lamp of Zhahllaia.

"Zhahllaia the Enlightened," I said into the stillness of the room.

The smoke billowed forth and Zhahllaia stepped from the cloud. The effect was still incredible and yet my routine had made it somewhat mundane. Still, her lovely form clad only in the minute golden chains, was enough to rob me of breath. She cocked her head, regarding the full pack next to my bed. "You are traveling."

"To Iarveiros," I said. "Have you ever been to any of the elven nations?"

"There was no love lost between the elves and Qammuz," she said.

"I was going to ask if you wanted to accompany me," I said, cheeks warming. "If you choose to stay, I can leave you free of your lamp. You would have the run of Thunderhead while Rhadoviel and I were gone."

"I want to go," she said quickly, lifting herself up on the balls of her feet. "Being confined to the lamp has lost its power to trouble me, Master Wizard."

I ran the back of my hand down her cheek, relishing the shimmer that trilled from my fingertips up my arm and down my spine. She leaned into the touch, smiling at me, her gold-flecked eyes bright. "I'm pleased you feel that way. Being without you would feel wrong. Please return to your lamp for now."

She faded into the smoke, returning to the lamp. I wrapped it in a robe and secured it safely in my pack. Since Zhahllaia was going, I packed the Alishum board and pieces I had assembled under the djinn's exacting supervision. The board was painstakingly drawn on a scroll, the one I carried was the sixth such effort and the first to be judged worthy. The pieces I had hand sculpted, one side from coral, the other from driftwood. These went into a box I found forgotten in one of Thunderhead's many subterranean storerooms.

I shouldered my pack and met Rhadoviel on the muddy road that terminated at our doorstep. He rode his swaybacked nag, his familiar Ephlin sullenly staring from a water-filled bottle secured to the saddle. I was left leading Hob, our mule, my familiar on my shoulder. Not far was a low hill topped with a henge made of horse-sized blocks of coral.

Rhadoviel was already casting his spell as we climbed the well-worn path. By the time we reached the coral pillars, the air within was shimmering with a riot of colors just outside my conscious vision. I perceived the magic in all five of my senses: the halo of light wreathing Rhadoviel's restless hands, the scent of lightning in the air, the sound of distant singing on the wind, the feel of cold inside hot, the taste of flowers. These told me not just that magic was being performed, but that it was a traveling spell.

We stepped into the ring of standing stones, and the world subtly changed. All I could see took on a flat aspect, like props on a stage, but all I could not see gave the impression of being too real, with too many angles, too many sides. I would look at a tree and be certain that just behind it was a shape that I could not name or even understand. It was seeing without seeing, a knowledge of paradox.

It was, in short, magic.

With each step, the scenery changed, as though we'd traveled a league down the road, until at the end of the day, we stepped back into the mundane from the Hinterlands and through another henge, this one fashioned of stones of granite.

We made camp by the side of the road at the base of a mountain range. Judging by the exposed stone on those peaks, the granite of these standing stones was local. Rhadoviel used his power to create a tent out of nothing, and when he opened the flap, it revealed a vast room littered with sumptuous pillows and furs. I was made to sleep on the cold ground, as under Rhadoviel's logic I would never learn this power unless I experienced the discomfort of being without it. I woke up chilled to the bone and a nest of aches. We stepped through the center of the standing stones once again to make our way through the Hinterlands.

For five days we traveled like this, each day worse than the last, with aches and boredom my most constant companions. I wished I could have taken Zhahllaia from her lamp, but she could not go undetected here. I was stuck with no conversation but the old man's rants.

On the sixth day, we didn't step back into the henge we exited the previous evening. Instead, we walked along the path as mundane travelers. The forest stretched across the eastern horizon as far as I could see in either direction.

At the terminus of the path, the elven city of Iarveiros emerged from the ancient wood like a jewel at the center of a diadem, its trees shining in the sunlight.

Every step towards the city unveiled details. The trunks of the trees forming this jewel were silver, the boughs gold, and they stood among, but apart from the other trees with their red-brown bark and green needles. Graceful staircases spiraled up the sparkling trunks to walkways and structures built into the canopy. Shapes moved about up there, tall and slender and shining like slivers of spun silver. To my eyes, this was a place for gods.

That, of course, was precisely the impression the elves wished to impart.

"Close your flycatcher, boy. You look like a damn fool," the old man growled.

Two young men stood at the base of a nearby tree's staircase. At the time, I assumed them to be elves. Their ears came to delicate points, their hair was ash blond, and their complexions carried a subtle lavender tint. They were clad in glittering mail and were armed with bows and swords of incredible craftsmanship and beauty. I would learn later that these were actually half-elves, the product of unions between human and elf.

They bowed to Rhadoviel as the old man slid from his saddle, retrieving Ephlin and his pack. Two more half-elves, dressed in tunics and breeches that looked casual next to everything else, but were still finer than any garment I had ever seen, stepped into the dappled light. I marveled at their stealth, accomplished without the appearance of trying.

Rhadoviel handed the reins of his horse to the new arrivals. "Go on, boy," he said to me. "They'll tend to Hob." I obeyed, giving the reins to the porters, who led our animals out into the cool dark of the woods. I wouldn't see either animal until we left a week later and both were in better health and appearance than they had ever been.

The guards stepped aside, allowing us to mount the staircase and ascend the massive tree. I ran my hand over the bark. It wasn't merely silver-colored, but some wood and metal alloy, smooth as silver, but with the give of wood. Magic, used so casually as to overawe, is the elvish way. It certainly worked on me, the rube who thought of the old tower of Thunderhead as grand, or the fishing village of Burley Shoal as populous.

When we were three-quarters of the way up, we had a commanding view of the gentle slope leading up into this forest. Other shapes approached from the west, always traveling in twos, some with pack animals or horses, some without.

"More wizards?" I asked.

"You didn't think this was only us, hmm?"

"Of course not."

"Need I remind you not to lie to me, boy?"

"Apologies, Master."

"Don't you worry, boy. You're in for the night of your life." He cackled to himself.

"How many wizards? All of those in Rhandonia?"

"Not merely Rhandonia, but all the wizards in Chassudor, I expect. I remember my first symposium. You'll thank me later, you will."

The stairs opened onto a twilight-lit terrace, shielded from the sky by the highest boughs of the tree. Golden bulbs hung at irregular intervals, spilling a gentle glow over the area. The railing at the edge was intricately scalloped, shaped by a master craftsman.

The elves awaited us, and now I could see the difference between these and the ones below. Every one of them was taller than I, their bodies graceful and slender. At the time I compared their proportions to elegant creatures, to birds and cats, to trees and moonbeams. Later, I would think of their long-limbed bodies as those of spiders. Their ears were tall, the points almost stretching to the crowns of their heads. Their hair was platinum blond, long and straight without a single tangle. Their haughty features were subtly inhuman as well, their eyes large, noses and mouths delicate. Their skin was pale, with strong lavender undertones, especially in places my own flesh would show red.

They were dressed in flowing gowns and robes, the fabric glittering with metallic undertones. All wore jewelry, intricate rings and narrow crowns set with precious stones. I immediately felt like a barbarian from an unimportant backwoods. Which, to be fair, I was. I fought not to wither under their ageless gaze. I thought I detected a hint of amusement, but that could be my mind creating insult where none existed.

More half-elves, these in servant garb, waited unobtrusively at the edges of this terrace.

The elf in the center, wearing a crown that made me think of the boughs of a tree, spoke. "Welcome, Rhadoviel of Thunderhead."

"Thank you, Your Majesty." The old man bowed, and that might have been the most incredible sight thus far.

"Welcome, Belromanazar of Thunderhead."

I bowed like Rhadoviel had, then made it a little deeper. "Thank you, Your Majesty."

The king, for that's who he was, the King of Iarveiros, gestured and servants appeared at our elbows. "You must be exhausted from your travels. Please, retire to your rooms and refresh yourselves. When you are rejuvenated, you may join us at the reception."

We bowed and thanked the king again, and followed the servant away from the terrace, along more walkways spanning the treetops. Elven buildings were sculpted from the living trees, natural and artificial all at once. I was dazzled, seduced by the grandeur of this place.

The servant led us to one of these buildings, gesturing to an open archway that served in lieu of a door. Rhadoviel didn't acknowledge the servant, but I thanked her. She blinked in surprise and scurried off without a word. I followed the old man inside and once again, my breath was stolen from me.

The vaulted ceiling towered overhead, with multiple terraced levels extending from the walls in tiers. The lowest was a pool of clear water, the others were furnished with couches and chairs of incredible quality, bookcases filled with volumes, and tiny trees decorated with chimes of precious stones and metals. Archways opened off the main room. Rhadoviel pointed to one on the upper level. "That's your room boy. Take your time. You'll want to clean up.Thoroughly."

He wasn't wrong. After nearly a week of travel and sleeping on the cold ground, I was an odorous fright. Attending a reception of those elegant creatures looking like this would be a humiliation I'd never recover from.

My room featured a pool like the one in the central room, filled with warm, sweet-smelling water. Oddrin unfolded himself, basking by the water but not going in. I opened up my pack, retrieving Zhahllaia's lamp and setting it next to the pool. I called her forth while I undressed. She emerged from her smoke as I lowered myself into the water. Instantly, the aches in my muscles dissipated and fatigue vanished from my sinews.

"Where is this place?" she asked, looking about in wonder. Zhahllaia was always petite, but against the high walls of the elven room, she was beauty in miniature. My eyes fell to her shapely rear, where the chains caressed her bronze flesh with every tentative step.

"Laerothia. Westernmost city of Iarveiros." I tried to sound authoritative as I repeated the morsels of knowledge that Rhadoviel dropped.

"Perhaps some of what the Qammuzi said about the elves was not entirely correct," she said, spinning gracefully on the ball of a foot, and returning to me. She sat, dangling her legs in the pool. I watched the delayed reaction of the water, fleeing from something that was and yet was not there. The riddle of her intangibility continued to vex me.

"How were you? In the lamp, I mean."

"Oh, it was a trifle. After a thousand years, you need not worry." She paused, a sly smile lighting her face. "But I do not mind that you do."

"I am to attend some kind of reception," I said. "Wizards from all over Chassudor, their apprentices as well."

"For what purpose?"

"I don't know. The way Rhadoviel talks, it's like there's a joke I'm missing. Still, I feel as though there is some official business as well. Elves and wizards seem to want to remain aware of one another."

"The dangers of living so close," Zhahllaia agreed. "Shall we have a game while you bathe? Or were you hoping to lie with your concubine?"

I hadn't thought of the latter, but now in the presence of her loveliness, I could think of nothing else. "The second, I think."

She smiled. "I fear you will have to defeat me first. Get the Alishum board and play as though you have been starved for my touch."

Grumbling, I fetched the board and set it up between us. She was as implacable as always, though I made her work for her inevitable victory. At the end, my forces decimated, she gave a playful sigh. "Unfortunate, Master Wizard. A week without my love and you will have to persevere at least one more night."

"You're cruel," I said, lifting myself from the water, my lips brushing over hers. The shiver passed through our touch to run delicious fingers over my spine. I dropped back into the water.

"I am. I think distractions will harm your ability to make a good impression. An elven ally could be formidable and I want you at your best. When you return, perhaps we will lie together."

I bathed and shaved, and then I did so again. My hygiene at Thunderhead had never been much of a concern, and in truth I did not know how clean I was supposed to be.

"You're finished," Zhahllaia said. "If you keep scrubbing, you're going to take a layer of skin."

"Thank you," I said, heat rising to my cheeks. I pulled myself from the pool and caught

Zhahllaia's gaze following me. "What?"

"Perhaps I spoke too hastily about loveplay."

I chuckled. "Later. I need to be my best, remember?"

I pulled on my best robe, fixing it in place. Oddrin fluttered to me and settled on my shoulder. I had no jewelry then, no treasures to display. I would be more impressive on my second visit, but that was years off. I kissed Zhahllaia once again and returned her to the lamp, once again hiding it amongst my things, then went out.

The old man floated naked in the pool in the common room. Ephlin, his familiar, floated nearby, his three tentacles splayed and single baleful eye shut. "Master?" I ventured, averting my eyes.

"Take your damn time, you fool," Rhadoviel said without opening his eyes.

"When does the reception start?"

"Reckon it's started. Go when you like. The wise man would take advantage of the baths here. Really soak. Get the knots from your muscles."

"I would like to meet the elves."

"Then go! Leave me here." He opened one eye. "Should an elven lady inquire about my whereabouts, you can send her here."

"I'll do that, Master."

"Good lad. Now get on with you and give me some damn peace."

I stepped out of the dwelling and realized that I wasn't certain where to go. I wasn't even certain I could find the terrace I'd initially arrived on. I was standing there, wondering if I could brave Rhadoviel's ire by asking for directions, when a half-elf appeared at my shoulder, looking expectantly at me.

"Can you take me to the reception?"

The half-elf gave a short bow and beckoned me to follow, leading me not to the first terrace, but another, grander one, set high in the boughs of one of their shimmering trees. This faced deeper into the forest, looking out onto a quiet lake bordered by tall conifers.

Branches were covered in crawling vines braided with glowing jewels, casting gentle light over the terrace. Half-elves circulated with silver trays of golden wine in delicately-fluted goblets. More half-elves played harps and flutes, their music like butterflies in the air. Elves gathered in twos and threes, watching the new arrivals with interest. I wasn't the first apprentice present. Three others were there first, each speaking with a single elf. I noted with some surprise that every elf was barefoot. I learned later that these elves only covered their feet when they traveled from their treetop city.

"This is incredible, isn't it?" said a bubbly voice next to me.

I turned to find a beautiful young woman of about my age. Waves of black hair fell around her shoulders as she offered a wide smile. Her bright green eyes twinkled against honey-colored skin. She was short, with heavy breasts and hips, a roundness to her that extended to her face. Surrounded by elves, I was struck by how human she looked. The moon cat on her shoulder sized Oddrin up.

"I've never seen anything like it."

"Phylyta Sullac," she said. "Apprentice to Aphiane Dulaev."

I introduced myself and bowed. "I've never heard an accent like yours."

"I come from Mairault." I'd heard of it, an island off the southern coast of Chassudor. "I've never heard of Thunderhead either."

"I don't think I would have heard of it if I wasn't from there."

She laughed. "We are both far from home, aren't we?"

"My master tells me nothing. Do you know what we're doing here?"

"My mistress was coy. She said I would enjoy myself, but..." she shrugged. "There are many beautiful things to look at."

I loved her accent. Every word was a meal. I was about to speak when over her shoulder I saw an elven man approaching. He towered over both of us, but especially Phylyta. "I think we have a visitor," I murmured.

She turned as the elf arrived. He gave the two of us a nod, but focused on Phylyta. "You are Phylyta Sullac, are you not?"

She curtsied. "I am, my lord."

"I would speak with you." He looked to me. "If you would excuse us?"

As I was leaving, Phylyta caught my eyes and widened hers. I had to grin. If I didn't know better, I thought the elf lord was flirting. I could hardly blame him as I was in the process of moving that direction myself.

I accepted a goblet from one of the half-elves and made my way to the railing, watching the tiny lights of insects flitting over the velvet surface. The air was cool on my skin but far from unpleasant.

"Lake Aelwyn," said a musical voice behind me, raising the hairs on the back of my neck. "I learned to swim in its shallows."

"I can't imagine an elf learning..." I said, and the sentence died on my lips as I first beheld a woman whose name even those who know of me only in broad strokes would surely recognize. She watched me with her wide violet eyes, her platinum hair hanging to her waist. She was over a head taller than I, her rose gold gown clinging to her shapely form. Her breasts were small, her hips subtle, her legs impossibly long. She smelled faintly of lavender. I was instantly besotted with her.