Fire Dragon - Katharine Kerr [90]
“You look sad,” Meranaldar remarked at last.
“I am. Roll it back up, will you? It's splendid, and you have my profound thanks.”
“You're most welcome. I also have a map case to give you.” Meranaldar began to roll the map loosely and gently from the shorter edge. “And I have interesting news, as well. The council is meeting down in Linalandal. They're finally ready to act on this matter of our people out in the Westlands.”
“Oh indeed? And what do they propose to do?”
“Nothing, yet.” Meranaldar looked up with a grin. “It's taken me twenty years to get them to even consider sending a boat to the old homelands. Surely you don't expect a decision in a day?”
Evandar laughed with a shake of his head.
“Well spoken. But you know, this interests me greatly. Tell me something—why are you so eager to get that boat sent?”
“Oh, my dear Guardian! The lore, of course. You yourself told me that their bards remember all kinds of lore about the loss of the cities.” Meranaldar paused to slip the scroll into a silver tube. “Things that we've forgotten here.” He looked up with a rueful smile. “I'd risk my life twice over for the chance to copy it down. I'm more than a little deranged, I suppose.”
“I wouldn't call you that. You know, this could be very useful. I have another problem in hand, you see, and I've not forgotten our bargain, either. Would you like to gain the favor of the greatest bard in the Westlands—assuming you should be allowed to travel there?”
“Of course I would!”
“Good. His son lives in Bardek in rather difficult straits. If you could get him home, Devaberiel would be most grateful.”
“Devaberiel.” Meranaldar looked away, smiling a little. “The name of a man I never knew existed till today. A man of our people, in our old homeland.”
“And there are a great many others. I—”
Evandar paused; the purplish gnomes had materialized again, standing on the table and looking at him with sad eyes. He was about to banish them when he realized that their persistence might mean Dalla truly did need him.
“What's all this?” Meranaldar frowned at the gnomes, who stuck their tongues out at him.
“A nuisance,” Evandar said. “I'd best leave.”
“Ai! That's a pity!”
In a crowd of triumphant gnomes they walked outside to a lingering sunset. The wind was scouring up the dust and blowing it in great gusts round the carved wooden huts and longhouses. In the distance the ground fell away fast to the long valley, lost in mists below. Meranaldar shivered and tucked his hands into the long sleeves of his grey robe.
“When will I see you again?”
“As soon as possible.” Evandar considered for a moment. “I have another bargain for you. How would you like me to appear before the council to argue your case?”
“That would be splendid!”
“Very well. If you agree to help this fellow, the bard's son who's in Bardek, then I'll speak on your side in council.”
“You have my humble thanks. I'll certainly be glad to do what I can about Devaberiel's son. I'll wager you'll tip the scales with the council. They're not so arrogant that they won't listen to a Guardian.”
“Good. I'll return in some few days.”
Evandar glanced around and saw the glimmer of power in the air that marked an entry to the mother roads. He slipped the map case into his tunic, then walked briskly to the entry line, stepped up into the air, and walked back into his own country in two long strides. No doubt he'd left Meranaldar shivering in awe. Although the elven race never fell down in worship of any being, they considered the race they called the Guardians a species of god.
As a master of illusions and transformations, Evandar had fostered that belief over the long years of his existence. It had amused him at first to terrify and amaze lesser beings with his magicks. Once he became enchanted with the elven race and their culture, he had used his magic to help them in any number of ways. For a time in fact he had believed himself a god. Hadn't they all called him one? Those few others