There was no doubt that the elves didn’t want them there. It was plain in their expressions, and the way they narrowed those wild, yellow eyes. It was a look one might give after taking a big bite of a piece of rotten meat. Distaste.
Why was Vaegon so different? Mikahl asked himself. Maybe he’s not so different, maybe he just hides his feelings better. A glance down at the shoulder rig in his lap made him regret ever having that thought. Vaegon was different. The elf had been kind, thoughtful, and most helpful to him. Mikahl decided not to judge any of them yet. He didn’t have to like the way he was being treated, but he also didn’t have to blame the whole race of elves for this lack of hospitality.
He closed his eyes and used his breathing to clear the anger from his mind. He hadn’t gotten the chance that morning to go through his routine of exercises, something he had done relentlessly every day since Loudin had been killed. He needed that release of sweat and stress to balance his anger and fear. He knew that, if there was even a remote chance of beating the odds that were piling up against them, he would need total clarity to see it through.
How long he slept, he wasn’t sure, but he was startled awake by a nudge from Grrr’s cold wet nose, and the sound of Vaegon returning.
He must have slept for some time, because it was full night now. Vaegon had brought two other elves into the camp with him. One had silvery blue hair, which reflected in the camp fire’s light like icicles. The other’s hair was another shade of blue entirely. It was the color of a cloudless summer sky. This elf was ancient. He moved with a slight tremble, and his eyes were more amber than yellow, and had a depth to them that one might get lost in. He nodded at Hyden respectfully, and then looked directly at Mikahl. He spoke in the elven tongue, and Vaegon translated for him.
“It would be a great honor, friend, if you would allow me to look upon Pavreal’s sword with my own eyes.”
Mikahl looked at Hyden askance. Hyden nodded that it was all right.
Mikahl drew the sword. The soft, bluish glow was barely enough to light the radius of the camp, but it still caused a look of awe to form on the faces of the two older elves.
“Tell them, it’s no longer Pavreal’s sword,” Mikahl said sharply. “Ask him if it were Pavreal standing here, instead of me, this would have been a more courteous meeting. We’ve been traveling for weeks, and haven’t even been offered water.”
Mikahl’s words put a mortified look on Vaegon’s face, but a gentle urging from the older elf caused him to repeat them, word for word.
The old elf’s response was quick and hard.
“He said his grandfather helped to forge that blade, and that there is a cool, crisp stream only a stone’s throw from here.”
“Pavreal was my ancestor,” said Mikahl, who was still riled. “You all should be ashamed to be afraid to bring your grandfather’s work among your people, no matter what sort of trouble it might bring with it.”
The old elf listened to Vaegon’s translation, and then smiled sadly. After a moment, he spoke in a far softer tone. Again, Vaegon translated.
“He apologizes for the lack of hospitality and courtesy shown to you, to our group, to us. It was not his doing. He says that his wisdom is sometimes relied upon to make decisions, but he is not a true decider. The Queen Mother, after seeking the guidance of the forest, through the Heart Tree, made the decisions that offend you so much. He only wishes to lay his eyes upon the fruit of his grandfather’s labors. If it were up to him, the sword would be displayed at every gathering, and with pride and honor for its intent.”
Vaegon added his own words now.
“He is a respected man among my people, Mik, and one of the oldest of my kind. Please don’t be rude to Em Davow.”
Vaegon gestured at the forest full of glittering yellow eyes that surrounded them. “This is not his doing.”
“Then, I apologize for my rudeness,” Mikahl said, with a nod of his head. He took Ironspike by its glowing blade, and offered the hilt to Em Davow.
The instant he let go of the blade, the bluish glow vanished, leaving the insufficient dancing orange flames of the campfire to illuminate their faces.
The aged elf took the hilt, moved closer to the fire’s light, and studied the sword reverently. The fact that its magical inner radiance didn’t acknowledge him was a statement unto itself, and more than once Em Davow glanced up at Mikahl curiously.
The other elf and Hyden were having a quiet conversation. Mikahl saw the resemblances to Vaegon in Deiter and the older elf, and knew that he was their father. He took another long gaze at Em Davow then. If the ancient elf was related to Vaegon, it didn’t show.