The Elves of Cintra (Book 2 of The Genesis of Shannara)

A moment later, the old man had a smokeless torch lit, and they were descending a set of narrow steps into an even deeper gloom. At the bottom of the stairs, they found the tunnel and moved into it, the torch providing sufficient light to guide the way. The passageway wound on through the darkness, a rough-hewn corridor shored up by wooden beams and finished with plank flooring raised off the earth. The walls and ceiling were mostly dirt and roots. The tunnel looked as if it had been there a long time, but someone had kept the roots cut back and the spider webs swept away. When Kirisin touched the earthen walls, he found them hard and dry and smooth. The air was close and stale, but breathable. Even so, it reminded him of the crypts at Ashenell, and he was anxious to get clear.

The tunnel ended at a second set of steps leading up. Culph turned and put a finger to his lips in warning. They climbed the stairs silently, and as they neared the top a sliver of light became visible in the distance. Culph extinguished the smokeless torch, and they ascended the last several steps in darkness and crept forward toward the light. The outlines of a door grew faintly visible; to one side, cut horizontally in the wall, was a narrow slit.

When they reached the slit, they could just see through to where the members of the High Council were seated in chairs at the foot of a dais. The King sat atop the dais, the back and right side of his tall frame just visible. Simralin stood at the foot of the dais, facing the King and the Council. Maurin Ortish had positioned himself off to one side, dark face impassive. Angel Perez and Ailie were waiting back near the chamber entry in the company of a pair of Home Guards.

The King was speaking.

“THERE IS NO PRECEDENT for what you have done, Simralin,”

Arissen Belloruus was saying. “You know that outsiders—and humans, in particular—are not allowed inside our home city. Never allowed inside. You know why this is so: our survival depends to a very great extent on being able to maintain the secrecy of our existence. If there are no exceptions, there is no risk.”

He paused for effect, and then made an expansive gesture toward Angel and Ailie. “But we have never had a Knight of the Word or a tatterdemalion seek admission. Faerie creatures and others who serve the Word are rumored to share our concerns for the well-being of the land and her creatures. They do not come to us as enemies; they come as friends. Bringing them here, in this instance, must have seemed to you to be the right thing to do. Circumstances sometimes force us to make exceptions to the rules. I am inclined to think that this is the case here. Your decision is judged a reasonable one, Simralin, and your actions appropriate.”

He paused, waiting for her response, his gaze steady.

“Thank you, High Lord,” she acknowledged.

He nodded. “You are dismissed, Simralin. Wait outside.”

Angel, who was watching closely, realized at once from the flicker of surprise that crossed the Tracker’s smooth face that this was not what she was expecting. Having been invited in at the beginning of things, she was expecting to be allowed to remain until the end. But this Elven King, this Arissen Belloruus, was used to controlling things, to making sure that those around him were never entirely certain of where they stood. She had seen it in the faces of the Council members when she had entered the room—in their furtive glances and their unmistakable deference. This was a strong king—as he would be quick to remind those who came before him. Dismissing Simralin so abruptly was an obvious example.

The Tracker bowed without a word and went out through the Council chamber doors. She did not look back.

The King turned his attention to Angel and Ailie. “Come,”

he directed, gesturing for them to rise and approach.

Angel, with Ailie beside her, walked forward. She had bathed and changed into clean clothes, her own so badly soiled and torn that the Elves had simply thrown them away. She found she liked the Elven clothing, which was soft and loose fitting and gave her a freedom of movement that she found reassuring. Her wounds, cleaned and bound with bandages and treated with Elven medicines, did not hurt as much as before. She felt oddly new, standing there; she felt a kind of physical reemergence.

She took a deep breath as she faced the King and the members of the Council. She was still trying hard not to stare—at their Elven ears and brows and narrow-featured faces. She was trying hard to pretend that they were simply humans of a different sort. But she could not ignore what Ailie had told her of their history, a history that could be traced back to a time before humans even existed and in which magic and mythical creatures were real and alive.

Nor could she forget Ailie’s warning to her earlier this evening about what she could expect would happen.

Remember that you will appear less strange to them than they do to you, the tatterdemalion had told her while they were still alone.

They have studied you in your world while you have been shut out of theirs.

They dislike and mistrust humans. They believe that humans stole their world from them and then ruined it. Your status as a Knight of the Word will not make them forget entirely the nature of your origins. They will use your uncertainty about them against you. They will try to keep you on the defensive. Be aware of their intentions.

She was, but she was also uncertain about how to deal with them. At least she could understand their language. Ailie had told her that she would be able to do so because of the magic bequeathed to her by the Word through her staff, and so far the tatterdemalion had been right.