Chapter 68: Clarification

The room was almost silent, which Yren found ironic considering the number of people within it.

Yren looked around the room as the queen and king were getting settled. The room was about 40 feet wide by 20 feet deep. Simple wood panels made of a rich, deep brown and glossed to a high sheen were set in even squares along the bottom half of the walls. The square panels were framed by ornately carved, thin wooden pieces with complex swirls carved in the pieces themselves. The edges of the wood separators were rounded with tiny, gentle leaves carved on them. At waist high was a very small ledge, about the size that might hold a single candle. Above this ledge, the wall was even and painted a soft yellow. The color extended all the way up the wall and the ceiling, which was as even as the walls. To the rear, opposite the doors, were glass windows inset into the wall. The windows were not clear, but the darkened night outside would not have let much be seen beyond them anyway. Evenly spaced around the room were copper braziers, with their iconic darkened discoloration staining the walls above them.

Yren’s eyes narrowed. The wall on either side of the door they’d entered was all made of even, uniform, expertly mortared gray bricks. He yearned to examine the walls and doorway, to try and figure out how the transition was done but he knew it was unlikely he’d get the chance at the moment. He filed it away for later investigation.

A few short feet from the windows was an exceedingly long, narrow, iron-pine table which ran the length of the room. The windowed side of the table had chairs spaced evenly along the table while the side towards the majority of the room had none. Instead, the room was filled with chairs facing the table, arrayed in long even lines around an unmarked aisle leading from the double doors to the table.

The queen and king were moving slowly and steadily behind it, between the table and windows, and they were followed closely by the priest of Tyln. They didn’t seem to be in much of a hurry. The queen and king’s faces partially explained the slowness of their gait. They were deep in thought, frowns on both of their faces. The priest of Tyln looked particularly troubled, his eyes narrowed and his face in an uncomfortable, sour expression.

The elven party of six stood across the aisle off to Yren’s left, the hoods of their white robes once again covering their heads. Yren glanced at them, but none were looking towards him, all of them standing in a rather rigid line facing the windows. Yren had so many questions for them but now probably wasn’t the time.

Yren stood to the left of Ataya, her small hand holding his. He’d not initiated the contact and he wasn’t particularly comfortable with it. He had to admit it did make him feel warm in a way he didn’t quite understand.

To Yren’s right, Teran was wriggling uncomfortably. Yren knew his sister didn’t particularly like dresses and the dark blue gown she wore would be particularly uncomfortable for the young woman. It didn’t matter that she looked particularly beautiful in the gown, she would still hate it. Maybe she hated it because she looked particularly beautiful in it. He raised his arm to lightly touch her lower back and Teran turned and smiled at him warmly.

“Sorry,” she murmured but it was so soft it couldn’t even be called a whisper.

Yren, Ataya and Teran were standing before the chairs in the second row. In front of them, in the first row, were Gillen, Syl and Uud. The three were stiff and unmoving, their chins up and hands held tightly at their side.

Yren glanced back to his mother and youngest sister who were standing behind him in the third row. Elva was frowning and as he looked at her, she merely raised her eyebrows and shrugged marginally. Bena smiled at him, but even her smile was tempered and unsure. Behind Bena and Elva, Issa just looked at him darkly, her eyes angry. Then again, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d looked at Issa when she wasn’t looking at him angrily. Beside her stood Chugad, who looked even more uncomfortable than Teran.

Sir Givens, Bremer and Andowyn were sitting in the last row on the other side of the aisle. Bremer gave him an unsure smile, while Andowyn just gawked at the king and queen. Sir Givens gave him a small, grave nod, which Yren returned.

Sir Kotliss stood just inside the door and ten of his men were spread along the back and side walls.

“Please, sit down,” Queen Synel said as the king pulled her chair back for her.

Yren waited until the queen, Teran and Ataya were seated before sitting down himself. He reflected with a chuckle on Elva’s efforts at teaching him chivalry when he was much younger. He’d always been more than a little put out with it since he considered it useless information; he could never envision a time when he’d need to know to wait for a lady to sit or which fork was for salads, and which was for the main meal. As he’d often found in his young life, Elva certainly knew what she was doing. He’d have to thank her for it later.

There was silence for several minutes as the queen’s eyes drifted around the room while she was sitting forward, her hands folded on the table. Her face was mildly troubled, and her lips grew pinched as the silence went on uncomfortably. Finally, she sat back in her seat and sighed heavily.

“I’ve been trying to determine where to start,” she admitted. Her face was stiff and tight. “I have quite a few questions, not the least of which is why people in my throne room were bowing to someone other than King Drace or myself.”

She waved off any forthcoming dialogue. “However, that isn’t the best place to start. Normally, I’d like to start at the beginning but that doesn’t seem possible here.”

She turned to the elven ambassador’s party. “I know that you are uncomfortable being unhooded in a group of humans. I sincerely apologize but I must request you lower your hoods.”

Ambassador Tryl thought for a scant second. <Lower your hoods.>

“Thank you,” the queen acknowledged the six elven women as they, in near simultaneity, slowly pulled the hood from their heads and carefully lowered it to hang over their backs. “I’m afraid that is only marginally better. To human eyes, you all appear remarkably similar. I fear it will take both time and familiarity before I’m able to distinguish you. For example, I recognize the ambassador, but I have not spent enough time with the others in your party to tell them apart.”

“One of you made a rather serious accusation in my throne room,” the queen continued. “Would that woman please speak up concerning her accusation.”

Tryl swallowed worriedly, her eyes never leaving the queen’s. Finally, she took a single breath. <Voryn, answer her. Be polite and very careful.>

<Of what should I be careful, ambassador?> Voryn thought, worry creeping into her mental voice.

<Just be contrite, Voryn, > Tryl suggested.

Voryn chewed the idea over carefully, readying herself for whatever was necessary. “I am Voryn, your majesty,” she began slowly, carefully choosing her words in the common tongue. She was fluent but not completely practiced with the language and all of its many idiosyncrasies. “It was I who falsely accused the im’ikki’tova’Runeswardenen. I apologize both to you, your husband and the young man. Not only was I wrong but it was not my place to accuse him.”

The queen nodded. “That brings us to the next little knot. What is this ir’ik ... ir’ikk...”

“Im’ikki’tova’Runeswardenen, your majesty,” Tryl interrupted the struggling queen. “Pardon my impertinence for interrupting you, but humans have difficulty with the elven language. It has to do with both the width and agility of our tongues, compared to humans. Also, there is a small cavity in the back of the elven throat which humans do not possess. Ir’ikki’tova’Runeswardenen is the female version of the phrase. However, your ancestors merely called them ‘Runesward’. It is a bit easier for humans to pronounce.”

The queen nodded again. “Okay, what is a ‘Runesward’.”

Tryl looked a bit troubled. “They are – or were – exactly what we recited, your majesty. The elves are born of Shadow, much as the First Gods were born of Chaos. Since we first came into existence, we had the power of Shadow within us but could never harness or use it. Not until the First Gods instructed an elven girl in the use of it.”

“So, they’re mages,” Bishop Renud sneered flatly.

Tryl struggled to keep her face neutral. She didn’t like the man. She considered it possibly a prejudice to all clergy – but then amended the statement. She had no antipathy towards all clergy, just most of the clergy of Tyln and this particular clergyman in particular. “Not as you think of it, Bishop Renud.”

“What else can you call them, if not users of magic?” Renud shot back.

“The Runesward do not use magic,” Tryl explained. “The Runesward use the power of Shadow.”

“Which your fanciful tale revealed as just another word for magic,” the bishop bellowed loudly.

“No,” Tryl said, fighting to keep her temper. “Shadow is the repository of magic, but it is not magic.”

“What you call magic has three forms,” Tryl explained quickly, cutting off the bishop as he was drawing breath to speak. “Divinity is divine magic which is bestowed by the gods. Mundane is regular magic or what the mages use to bend reality. Chaotic is magic which is bestowed by demons or devils to their followers.”

“ ... and the difference is...?” Renud replied angrily.

“Remember the First gods were born of Chaos so they could only actually manipulate Chaos. To a lesser extent, they could manipulate Order because it is Chaos’ opposite – but only as it related to Chaos. Of course, neither Order nor Chaos is magic.”

“The First gods, however, could not touch Shadow as it was an ‘impure’ form of Chaos,” Tryl continued, her eyes showing she was in deep thought. “Shadow is, after all, the product of mixing Order and Chaos. Their followers, though, are born of Shadow; elves directly and the rest of the races indirectly. When mortals worship their deities, they channel a processed form of Shadow up to them. ‘Divinity’, then, is when a god or goddess shares this processed Shadow back to their followers in a diluted form.”

“The same is true in chaotic, but it is the devils and demons who receive and process Shadow to distribute to their followers. Demons and Devils are, after all, indirectly born of Chaos. Thus, they have the same, or more, limitations as the First gods.”

“Mundane is different,” she said softly. “It is the underlying Shadow of the universes, processed by life and natural processes into a form that mages can use.”

“I fail to see the difference,” Renud sniped.

“The difference is that divinity, mundane and chaotic are all processed Shadow,” Tryl bit out. “They are lesser forms of the purity of Shadow. Only the gods and the Runesward can use Shadow itself.”

“I thought you just said the gods couldn’t touch Shadow,” Renud pointed out.

“I said the First gods could not touch Shadow,” Tryl said quietly, her voice hovering on a harsh tone. “This irked them, so when they created their children, the second gods, they ensured this ability was within them.”

Renud rolled his eyes, his face turning heavenward. “So now our gods aren’t even the first gods. Now they’re secondary gods. Whatever happened to the First gods?”

“Actually, the current gods are not the second gods,” Tryl said tensely. “They’re the third set of gods at best and possibly the fourth or fifth. The elves turned their back on the gods during the First gods tenure and we have not kept up with the current gods except insofar as needed to relate to the other races.”

“As to what happened to the First gods,” Tryl sighed. “We have no idea. We would not have kept track of them even if we could. When the last of the Ohl’ikki’tova’Runeswardenen fell – when the last of the Runesward died – we petitioned the First gods to choose another of our number that they might return to our ranks. The gods refused our pleas. After a few thousand years of their refusals, we stopped pleading with them and instead ignored them.”

“So, to amend my words,” Tryl said evenly, looking directly at the bishop. “Only the second or later generations of gods and the Runesward can use Shadow itself, and even then the gods can only use processed Shadow while the Runesward can channel raw Shadow itself.”

“So now you would lead us to believe the Runesward are gods,” Renud laughed bitterly, looking around the room. “The man in the blue armor down there is a god.”

“I did not say that,” Tryl replied angrily. “I said both gods and the Runesward draw from Shadow itself. Gods, since they are all born or descended from Chaos, are limited to using a form of processed Shadow. The Runesward are limited only by their intellect and their mortality. Mortality is the bane of the Runesward because they must channel the Shadow through their minds and their bodies, something the gods find unnecessary. The Runesward can channel tremendous amounts of Shadow, but it exacts a toll. Luckily, the nature of channeling aids them, for Shadow is the melding of Order and Chaos, so it can heal and it can destroy. However, if they channel too much at once, it can devastate them. It caused our immortal Runesward to become mortal, after all.”

“So, he’s immortal?” the queen asked, her eyes thoughtful.

Tryl turned to the queen and raised her eyebrows. “I do not know. I have never met a human Runesward. I have never met a human immortal. I have no way of knowing.”

The queen put her hands to her head and began rubbing her temples. “I think I’m getting a headache.”

She looked at Tryl while still rubbing her temples. “Why do you think this young man is a Runesward?”

Tryl took a deep breath, looking thoughtful. “I do not think he is a Runesward, your majesty. I know he is ... for a myriad of reasons.”

“The least of which is the armor he wears,” she continued carefully. There were things she would not relate to the queen, so she had to walk a fine line. “As you know, mages cannot easily create metal objects imbued with magic. Metals, by their very nature, repel magic. Only the Runesward were capable of so easily empowering metal objects. Like the armor this young man wears, the Runesward could naturally color metal as they desired. Colors such as vivid blues and reds and ... every color. Our greatest artifacts were the various colored armors and weapons created by the Runesward, though not all of these were metal. These artifacts are buried with our greatest champions who wielded them, which is why Voryn, when confronted with the blue armor, thought it had been stolen.”

“Maybe he did steal it,” the queen suggested, glancing at Yren. His face clouded at her words.

Tryl chuckled. “I don’t think so. It is beyond the armor. It is ... difficult to fully explain. It is his ... presence. It is what I felt when he entered the room, even before I saw him. It is ... not something for which I have adequate words. It is what I know, throughout my being. Shadow recognizes shadow.”

<It is what I felt when he entered the room, > Alia thought humorously.

<Quiet, sona, > Tryl thought back. <I am treading dangerous waters just now.>

The queen, however, appeared to have no further questions for Tryl. She turned to Yren. “You created the armor?”

“Yes, your majesty,” Yren replied, keeping his anger at her earlier accusation in check.

“How?” the queen asked. “Did you just ... I don’t know ... will it into existence?”

“No, your majesty,” Yren replied. He was going to leave it there. He didn’t need to explain himself, not even to the queen. At Ataya’s gentle nudge, however, he rethought his stance. “I am a blacksmith. I created the armor in a forge.”

“And it just came out that way?” the queen questioned.

“Honestly, yes,” Yren answered with a sigh. He would not share how he could speak with metal. It had been hard enough getting his family to understand what he meant. “I ... understand metal. When I was creating my armor, I just let myself feel it. I knew as I was creating it exactly what the metal needed to ... be complete. I didn’t intend it to be colored blue. It just came out that way. The design of it, adding the glyphs of Kyr and Deia just ... made it whole.”