Shona moved through the next two days in a heat-drenched stupor. She waited for Meda or Fareed to speak of what had happened during their captivity. But neither did. In fact, it seemed as though neither was aware of being imprisoned at all. But Shona knew. She remembered everything.
She had been frozen as tightly as when the Emporis witch had chained her with smoke. A bevy of witches had dragged her to one of the giant pillars lining the central keep. The stone column had grown a portal, or rather, a mouth, and swallowed her whole. From within, she had seen that Fareed’s legend of silver cages was indeed true. Between the slender bars had stood sheets of palest amber, and she had watched the witches sing, though she’d heard nothing. She had seen Alembord give in and Selim shudder and Hyam struggle. She had wanted to shriek a warning, but the power of speech was as distant as her ability to breathe. She could not even feel her heart’s beating, as though the column possessed the ability to trap her somewhere beyond time’s reach, out where she would remain a living component of this magical realm for all the eons yet to spin.
She watched Fareed and Meda closely those first two days back with the caravan, almost as carefully as she scouted behind them, ever fearful the witches would swoop down and ensnare her again. But the yellow realm remained empty, and her fellow prisoners showed no foul remnants from their lost hours.
Selim led them steadily onward, pushing them hard. At sunset on the third day they arrived at a well. There was no marking to announce its presence. In fact, the stone circle was hidden behind a sand hillock. The first indication Shona had was when her animal snorted and accelerated. As they halted and watered beasts and men alike, Shona wondered how Selim had led them here across this featureless plain.
That night, after a stew of rice and dates and dried vegetables spiced with desert sorrel, after they had drunk cup after endless cup of mint tea, Selim spoke of his past. He addressed his words to Hyam but spoke in the human tongue so they all could hear and understand.
“Elves are great ones for tales from the distant past. But they are not much for the counting of years. I have no idea how long ago it happened. I only know it was a number of generations before the Milantians invaded. An Elven forebear of mine was of royal blood. The king of Ethrin sent him to Alyss, which supplied the king with all manner of human finery. And there my ancestor fell in love with a commoner. Their marriage cost him everything, but by all accounts he lived and died a contented man.” Selim shrugged. “Legends have a way of growing happy endings.”
“It was no legend,” Hyam said softly. “Which suggests the ending was real as well.”
The two men stared into the magical fire at the center of their gathering. The caravan drovers clustered about their own mage-light, which Shona had lit after Hyam suggested they not use their precious oil for what could be supplied for free. Selim’s assistant had thanked her with the quiet solemnity that Shona was coming to recognize as the desert way. Passions were kept well hidden, as though the flames within these hearts were so fierce all were best served by extreme politeness.
Selim spoke that way now, addressing the fire with a voice soft as the night. “My forebear established a trading house of his own, one that served the Elves throughout the realm. A generation or so later, my clan were appointed bankers to the Ashanta, and their house grew in wealth and power. But the legacy of their Elven heritage remained alive. Each child was taught the tongue and the history of the green realms. Those with the talent were also taught the Ashanta speech and that of the bird. Whose own forebears have been our allies since those earliest days.”
Hyam asked, “Did anyone ever mention the dragons?”
“I have wondered about this ever since you first spoke of the beast. Just in the past few years the bird has spoken of a master, and I feared it might have been ensnared by the crimson foe.”
His features and Hyam’s now shared a similar cast, of hard-earned wisdom and tragedy and the impact of experiences beyond Shona’s reach. She listened as Selim went on, “When the crimson horde invaded, my forebear was off with a trading caravan. He loved the road and the journey, which is most odd for one with Elven blood. Even so, this oddity saved him. He was in Emporis when word arrived of the destruction of Alyss. By the time he returned to his former home, there was nothing but ash and ruin. Soon after, word arrived that Ethrin had suffered the same fate.”
Hyam asked, “Where do you live now?”
“Up ahead is a desert oasis where a city has grown. Olom, it’s called, which is the ancient word for golem.” Selim’s smile was utterly without humor. “You will see some strange things there, I assure you.”
“Why make that your home?”
“There are riches to be had for one who is cautious. Olom supplies gemstones to all the human realm.”
“And you carry them.”
“Just so. My clan has fashioned a haven out of a neighboring valley.” He made a distinctly desert gesture, right hand to heart and lips and forehead. “You and your company are welcome.”
“I thank you for the offer of hospitality,” Hyam replied. “What of the scrolls?”
“The scrolls, ah, the scrolls, had I never come across them.” Selim rose to his feet. “That is a tale for another night. Sleep well. Dawn comes soon.”