Darkvision - Bruce R. Cordell [72]
With the storm howling at the cave mouth, Kiril pounded on the wooden gate, carved with abstract designs.
After a short wait, too brief for Kiril to consider pounding a second time, a small panel high on the door slid open. An amber glow and tinkling music streamed from the grilled opening.
"Hello?" said Kiril.
A man's voice replied from the other side of the door. "What do you want?" The language was Elvish, with something like a Yuirwood accent, but more liquid.
Kiril was too surprised by the language and what it implied to immediately respond.
"Well," said the voice again, in its strangely accented Elvish, "I can see you are not djinn; perhaps you were chased by a djinn to the safety of our doorstep?"
"Perhaps," said Kiril, not actually sure what the voice was asking her. "A storm came, and we saw the cave. We hoped it would give shelter-we didn't know we'd find someone living here."
"No? You weren't looking for the hidden city of Al Qahera or its people? But only those of elf blood could hope to locate Al Qahera-it is an ancient enchantment we preserve."
"I am an elf, that's true, but I hail from the north, from…" she almost said Stardeep, but finally said, "from the Yuirwood forest. I am not of the Al Qaheran clan. Elves hidden in the Yuirwood call themselves 'people of the star.' But I am not really part of their society any longer, either. I am a traveler."
"You've traveled far, and to one of the most inhospitable places in the world. I see no children with you, just a mountain carver. Are you carrying contraband?"
"I don't understand."
"Sometimes oathless smugglers make haddrum runs between Huorm and the oasis towns."
"I don't know what haddrum is, but, no, we're not carrying dangerous substances, if that's what you're implying."
"Then what?"
"It's a long story. I'd be happy to tell you if you let us in. My friend here is sick."
"Mmmm, hmm, yes, so I see," said the voice, and paused. "Very well. I'm a good judge of character, so I tell my sons and daughters." The sound of a bolt being drawn back momentarily drowned out the sound of the blowing sand. "Be welcome in Al Qahera! Bring with you no deceit, and you shall find none here."
The great carved door swung wide, and standing in its gap was an elf wearing a long, heavy gown of spun white cloth, over which he wore a larger, looser garment stitched with intricate script Kiril didn't recognize. His face, while certainly that of an elf, was strangely weathered. Despite his fey blood, his skin marked him as one who'd spent a lifetime in the sun.
"My name," said the man, "is Essam. Enter." He moved to the side and gestured inward. Behind him Kiril saw the heart of the dervish community of Al Qahera.
The entrance, wide as it was, opened onto a far larger and deeper plaza, enclosed on all sides by stone balconies, galleries, and square tunnels leading to hidden rooms. The entire plaza was brilliantly lit by hundreds of clove oil lanterns. Great bronze plaques with calligraphic script hung from every surface that didn't sport a tapestry of intricate weave. A beautiful mosaic design was laid out in tiles that paved the entire floor of the plaza. A high-walled stone well protruded from the plaza's center. From where she stood at the entrance, Kiril scented the cool tang of deep water.
People moved everywhere-men, women, and children. All were elves, and all were weathered like Essam. The adults wore flowing, colorful gowns, but the children wore loose pants and simple tunics.
One edge of the wide plaza, which was well over a hundred paces in diameter, hosted a bazaar with several semipermanent stands. The elves of Al Qahera were thickly gathered there. But the appearance of strangers had apparently distracted the Qaherans