They passed down stately corridors, through tapestry-hung halls and up sweeping curving staircases, yet they saw no one. Not even a faint, distant footstep or the furtive motion of a curtain dropping into place showed that there was anyone in the huge underground palace but themselves and their tiny guide.
At last they came to a massive door, twice their height and finely carved. The elf placed his hand on the intricately worked handle and pushed gently.
The door swung open to reveal a spacious, richly appointed room. It was more brightly lit than the rest of the palace and the carved and gilded lanterns along the walls cast a warm light on the furnishings of pale brown wood and heavy silken hangings the color of chrysoberyl. The ceiling was painted the blue of a summer sky and spangled with glittering golden stars. Lines of silver traced out the shape of unfamiliar constellations. The air was heavy with the scent of roses and lilies.
“My master bids you be comfortable,” the elven major-domo squeaked. “There will be time to rest and bathe before dinner. My Lady’s chamber is to the right,” he swept a bow in that direction, “and my Lord’s is to the left. Peace and repose be unto you.” With that he bowed out.
“Wow,” said Wiz as he looked around at the splendor. “This is really something.”
“Elves contrive to live well,” Moira said, laying her cloak onto an elegantly proportioned table and sinking down onto a silken cushion of the palest blue in the chair next to it.
“All right!” Wiz said and dropped onto a couch nearby.
Moira removed the ribbon from her hair and shook out her flaming locks. Wiz watched, enthralled.
“It was brave of you to save me from the trolls,” she told him. “You gave me my life at the risk of yours and I thank you for it.”
The words were sweet, but her tone was used to thank a stranger for a service. Moira was sincere and grateful, but that was all. She had been warmer to the man from the village, Wiz thought.
“It was nothing, Lady,” he said uncomfortably.
“It was, and again I thank you.”
Wiz did not reply. “Lady,” he said finally, “may I ask you a question?”
“Since you must.”
“I mean we won’t be overheard or anything will we?”
“We will almost certainly be overheard, although mayhap Duke Aelric is too noble to pry into the affairs of his guests. Question if you must, but guard your tongue.”
“Where is everyone? I mean, does Aelric live here all alone?”
Moira shrugged. “I doubt it, for elves are social creatures. But the place cold be aswarm with elven folk and we might see none. All elves have the trick of not being seen when it pleases them.”
“Why did Aelric help us? Are the elves allied against the League?”
Again the shrug. “Allied against the League? No. Elves ally with none and barely notice what mortals do to each other. His Grace acted for his own reasons and those are beyond conjecture. Barring war or murder, elves are deathless and they fill their years with contests and rivalries among themselves. They play deep and subtle games with their own kind and meddle seldom in the affairs of mortals. Perhaps we are part of such a game.”
“Well, as long as he’s willing to put us up, we can be whumpuses for all I care.”
“What’s a whumpus?”
“An imaginary animal.” Wiz lay back on the couch and started to put his feet up before looking at his muddy shoes and thinking better of it. “Now what?”
“Now we had best make ready for dinner.” Moira rose from the chair. “This is your room, I believe.”
The bedroom managed to be magnificent, simple and cozy all at once. The canopied bed was made of some rich dark wood crafted in sleek, almost modern, lines and polished until it glowed a warm reddish brown. The sheets were tan and the thick comforter was a pale russet. The lighting was soft and indirect, brighter than the twilight the elves seemed to prefer but not as bright as the sitting room. The bed looked so inviting Wiz nearly sank down onto it, but he knew if he got comfortable he’d never be ready for dinner. He had a strong feeling it would not do to keep Aelric waiting.