A Time of Exile - Katharine Kerr [91]
“Evandar!” he called out blindly in grief and rage. “Evandar! Give me back my wife!”
His only answer was the grass sighing as it bent in the wind and the stream gurgling over its rough bed. This time his voice screamed in a berserker’s howl.
“Evandar! At least give me the chance to fight for her. Evandar!”
“She’s not mine to keep or give back.”
The voice came from directly behind him. With a yelp he leapt straight up and turned as he came down, panting for breath, close to tears, and faced the seeming-elf. His yellow hair was bright as daffodils in the morning sun, and he was wearing a green tunic over leather trousers, a bow slung over his back and a quiver of arrows at his hip.
“She came to us of her own free will, you see,” Evandar went on. “Truly she did. I asked for her help, but never would I have stolen her away.”
“And I suppose you won’t be able to tell me if she’ll ever come back.”
“Of course she will, when she wants to. We won’t keep her against her will.”
“But what if she doesn’t want to? That’s no concern of yours, I suppose.”
Evandar frowned, studying the grass, and spoke without looking up.
“I have the strangest feeling round my heart, and all for your sake. I’ve never felt such a thing before, but you know, I do think I pity you, Aderyn of the Silver Wings. My heart is so heavy and sore that I don’t know what else to call it.” He looked up at that point and indeed, his luridly blue eyes glistened with tears. “I’ll make you a promise. You’ll see her again. I swear it, no matter how long she stays.”
“Well, I believe you’re sincere, but your promise may not do me one jot of good. I’m not elven, you know. My race only lives a little while, a very little while compared with them and even less compared with the likes of you. If she doesn’t come home soon, I won’t be here. Do you understand?”
“I do.” He thought hard, chewing on his lower lip in a completely human gesture. “Very well. I can do somewhat about that. Here, let me give you a pledge … oh, what … ah, I know. A long time ago my woman gave yours an arrow. Here, take another to go with it. You have my word and my pledge now, Aderyn of the Silver Wings, that she’ll come back and that you’ll live to have her back.”
Aderyn took the arrow and ran his fingers down the smooth, hard wood, cool and solid and as real as the grasslands under him.
“Then you have my thanks in return, Evandar, because I don’t have another thing to give you.”
“Your thanks will do. Oddly enough.”
When Aderyn looked up he was gone, but the arrow stayed, a tangible thing in his hands. He took it back to the camp and his tent, searched through Dallandra’s possessions, and found the other arrow, wrapped in an embroidered cloth in one of her saddlebags. He wrapped its fellow up with it, put the bag back, then sat down on the floor and stared at the wall, merely stared, barely thinking, for hours and hours.
To Dallandra, much less than an hour passed on the misty road. Just at sunset Elessario brought her to a vast meadow, a long spill of green flecked with tiny white flowers. Scattered all across it were tables made of gilded wood set with jewels, so that they sparkled in the light of the thousands of candles that stood in golden candelabra. It was night, suddenly, and in candlelight the host was feasting. They were dressed in green and gold, and gold and jewels flashed at throat or wrist