In the morning there were fresh packs in the main room. The clothes they had worn into the hill were waiting for them with all traces of travel stain gone. Somehow they had even restored the nap to the suede on Wiz’s running shoes. Moira’s cloak was clean and patched so expertly there was no sign it had ever been rent and tattered. There was a new cloak hanging next to Wiz’s pack to replace the one he had lost.
Sitting on the table was a round loaf of brown bread, still warm from the oven, a slab of pale yellow cheese, a pitcher of brown ale and a bowl of white onions.
“It appears we are to break our fast alone this morning,” Moira said, pulling her chair closer to the table. She poured herself a tankard of ale and used her knife to hack off a chunk of cheese and a thick slice of bread. With the knife point she speared one of the onions and took a healthy bite.
Although the idea of beer and onions for breakfast made Wiz a little queasy, he followed suit. In spite of his misgivings the combination was delicious. The cheese was sharp and tangy, the onions were mild and sweet and the ale refreshingly astringent on his tongue.
“Doesn’t time run differently in these places?” Wiz asked Moira around a mouthful of bread and cheese.
“Not if the elf lord does not will it so,” she said. “He promised me when we entered that it would not.”
“So that’s what that greeting was all about!”
“Just so. Albeit we had little enough choice should he have decided to make centuries pass like minutes.”
“I take it we’re going on this morning?”
“I doubt Duke Aelric’s hospitality holds for more than a single night,” said Moira, appropriating the heel of the loaf. “Besides, the sooner we reach our destination the better.” She looked at the bread and sighed. “I wish we could carry bread like this on our journey. It is unusually good.”
“It’s baked by elves,” Wiz said smiling.
“Their servants morelike. What’s so funny?”
“Never mind,” Wiz chuckled. “I’m not even going to try to explain it to you.” Then he turned serious. “What are the chances someone is going to be waiting for us outside?”
“Small enough. Oh, they may watch the door we entered like cats at a mouse hole. But I do not think we will go out that same way. Not only time but space runs strangely in places the elves make their own.”
Wiz picked up the last crumb of cheese and popped it into his mouth. He let it melt away on his tongue savoring the bite and flavor. “Well, when do we leave?”
“As soon as we gather our things,” said Moira. She stood up from the table and fastened her cloak at her pale freckled throat with the turquoise and silver clasp. Wiz followed suit, throwing his cloak over his back.
“Don’t we need to ring for someone to show us out?”
“I doubt it,” said Moira as she reached for the door handle. “If a guide is needed one will be waiting when we open the door.”
The door swung outward at her touch and brilliant morning sunlight flooded in. Instead of a marble corridor lined with travertine pillars the door opened into a sunny forest glade. An orange and brown butterfly flitted lazily above the deep green grass that ran to their threshold.
Moira looked over at Wiz, smiled slightly and shrugged. Wiz shrugged back. Then they adjusted their packs and set out under the warm morning sun.
Six
Hearts’ Ease
The morning was bright and sunny. Instead of dark and sinister, the Wild Wood was fresh and green. There was almost nothing among the trees and ferns to remind them of the night before.
Their path led out of the glade and back up the heavily wooded hill above the door. There was no hint or scent of danger, but still they moved along quickly.
They climbed a series of forested ridges, each looking down on the tops of the trees in the valley below. At the top of the third ridge, Moira scanned the valley while Wiz sat puffing on a rocky outcrop.