Invisible pipers played a high reedy tune in the background, at once medieval and modern, like soft progressive jazz performed on recorders.
The duke seated Wiz on his left and Moira on his right.
“You seemed to have created an uncommon stir among the mortals,” Aelric observed to Moira as they sat down.
“It was not intentional, Lord.”
“And you were the object of a Grand Summoning,” he said to Wiz.
“Yes, Lord. Uh, it wasn’t my idea.”
“No doubt,” Aelric said equitably.
The elf duke was a perfect host, charming, gracious and witty. He made Moira laugh and dimple without arousing more than a twinge of jealousy in Wiz and contrived to make Wiz feel more at ease than he had since he arrived on this world. Only once did Moira bring the talk back to the circumstances which led them beneath the elf hill this night.
“Lord, why did you aid us?”
Aelric smiled, just a hint of a smile. “Let us say we find your pursuers an annoyance. Trolls and such like are uneasy neighbors and were they to find that which they seek they might be encouraged to tarry.”
“We thank you for your service.”
“The pleasure was mine, Lady,” he said with an easy smile and again changed the subject.
For all his charm, Wiz could not warm to their host. There was malice there, Wiz thought, as he listened to the flow of the elf duke’s talk. The casual malice of a cat with a mouse. There was alien, and underneath it was boredom. Would it be boring to live forever? Yes, in the end it would be, no matter how rich, how powerful or how skilled you were.
The food was rich and varied. The portions were small but there were many dishes and each plate was brought forth as carefully arranged as if by a master designer. Most of it was unidentifiable. But it was all delicious.
Once Wiz had been taken to one of the fanciest restaurants in San Francisco as part of a dog-and-pony show for a client. The meal had been very much like this. Excellent food, beautifully presented in magnificent surroundings. Except this was better on all counts.
The girl who served them was human. Wiz wondered if she was Lothar’s daughter. But she was so quick and efficient and so quiet and downcast she was gone before he could ask the question. Probably not a good thing to ask anyway, he decided uncomfortably.
They had gone through a half a dozen courses of meats, vegetables, sweets and savories when the duke reached out to lay a gentle hand on Moira’s wrist, interrupting the story she was telling.
Aelric frowned. “Your pardon Lady, Lord. But it seems we have a caller asking for you.”
Wiz froze, his spoon halfway to his mouth.
Aelric listened and then said into the air. “You may speak.”
A hazy shimmering began to congeal in the center of the hall but the elf prince raised his hand. “I said you may speak. None enters here unbidden.” The half-shadow dissipated until only a little shimmer remained.
“You have two mortals here,” wailed a voice, high, thin and reedy with all the despair in the universe.
“What is within this hill is not the business of outsiders.”
“You have two mortals,” the voice repeated. “We want them.”
“Your wants are no concern of mine,” Aelric said in a bored tone. “Now speak on matters of interest or begone.”
“My master will reward you well,” crooned the voice.
The elf duke cocked his head and arched his brows. “It might be of interest to know what your master has that he possibly believes I should want. But not tonight. Say you further?”
“My master offers double what the Council offers for the mortals.”
Aelric frowned. “I have no part in mortal quarrels,” he said sharply. “What I do, I do because it pleases me and for no other reason. Those who are here stay here and those outside stay outside.”
“My master is powerful,” the voice wailed. “He is powerful and determined. Give us the mortals.”
“Your master is a mortal,” Aelric responded. “That is limit enough on his power.”