Chapter 18
The carriage traveled to the back of the enclave, taking them past dome-shaped greenhouses with the walls half-covered in vining plants, some growing on the outside, some on the inside.
Large pods, nuts, and fruits dangled from them, appearing ready to harvest even though it was early in the summer.
Gardens lay to either side of the wide path, and beautiful gazebos, trellises, and arches made from living trees abounded, providing shade and seating.
Rylana recognized the plant master’s touch.
The carriage stopped in front of a small home built partially into and partially against the thick trunk of a towering pine.
Plant Master Chalora stood out front, holding a sapling and pointing to its root bulb while speaking to several youngsters present for a class.
Seated cross-legged, the elven children were a lot more orderly than Rolf’s offspring, but that wasn’t surprising.
Goblins weren’t known for being a sedate and patient species.
It was also possible the plant master was a stricter watcher of the young than Rolf.
Rylana and Sylin stepped out of the carriage.
“Do you require transportation back to your diner?” Zilek asked.
“You don’t need to wait for us, no,” Rylana said, not certain if that was what he’d been asking. “Thank you for your assistance.”
“Certainly.” Though Zilek didn’t rise, magic rippled around him. “I’ll visit you again, Sylinesla, if I’m able to acquire rare and delicious prey for you.”
Sylin turned back to the carriage, looking like she would say something snarky, but she froze. Zilek had shifted shapes.
His face remained similar but a little more angular with his eyes more almond-shaped than round, and pointed ears now protruded from his dark-silver hair.
Further, he had a rangier build with lean muscled arms that were on display in a sleeveless green tunic with a deep V that also showed his pectorals.
The hilts of several daggers protruded from a wide silver belt, and more blades were strapped to the thighs of buckskin trousers and into leather boots.
It was garb similar to what many of the southern male elves had worn during the Ore War.
Seeing Zilek looking like one of them, and being reminded of how often they’d attacked her mercenary unit, made Rylana want to step back.
“A haunch from a gleaming glacial mammoth?” Sylin asked.
“Is that what you desire?”
“I’ve never had that food before.”
“Then you’d doubtless feel ardor toward the powerful male hunter who brought it to you.”
Sylin looked him up and down—had she taken a step closer?—and smiled slightly at his ears. “I might feel something.”
“How promising.” Chuckling, Zilek twitched a finger. Magic flowed from him to shut the door, and the carriage rolled around one of the greenhouses to head out of the enclave.
Sylin watched it depart.
“You’re not really more attracted to him because he shifted forms, are you?” Rylana had been joking about the pointed ears. She hadn’t truly thought it would make a difference, though she admitted his elven physique was appealing.
Sylin glanced at her. Had her cheeks grown a touch pink?
“His personality is the same,” Sylin said. “Narcissistic, pompous, arrogant. I only suggested he fly to the South Pole so he would be gone for a while and not around to pester us.”
“So, if he returns with delicious meat for you, you won’t spring into bed with him.”
“Certainly not.”
“Or against the closest wall,” Rylana said, remembering Zilek’s advice to Jildarin on what to do with her.
“Rylana?”
“Yes?”
“Mind your own business. No, mind your own dragon.”
By then, Plant Master Chalora had noticed them. She dismissed the children, telling them to enjoy an early recess.
Her silver-blue hair was swept back with a clip, and a celestial-themed blue dress flowed to her ankles, the hem swishing over sandaled feet as she walked over to join Rylana and Sylin.
“It’s good to see you.” Chalora nodded to both of them, not showing any of the aloofness that the guard had. “You didn’t, by chance, bring any of Chef Jildarin’s mouthwatering bacon, did you?”
“Aren’t there rules against bringing meat into the elven enclave?”
“Oh, no. Some of us prefer vegetarian dishes, but many enjoy meat as well. We are hunters in addition to gardeners, after all. You may deliver bacon to me anytime. Especially the most scrumptious bacon marinaded in what was it? Pineapple and garlic-sugar-chili sauce. When I brought Chef Jildarin tropical ingredients from our greenhouses, I didn’t imagine what fabulous things he could do with them.
” Chalora clasped her hands to her chest.
“How did I miss the pineapple-chili bacon?” Sylin asked Rylana.
“I think he’s only made that once. It’s your fault for not coming by the diner every day.”
“It’s hard to be a regular when you’re being hunted by elves.” Sylin gazed around the enclave, no doubt taking note of a couple of guards standing innocuously against a tree at the edge of the gardens, pretending not to be watching them. Watching her.
“You worked visiting the coffee shop daily onto your calendar.” Rylana lifted the horn over her head to show Chalora.
“Plant Master, it was remiss of me not to bring bacon, but you’re welcome to visit the diner anytime.
After you put together that wonderful terrace for us, neither Jildarin nor I would object to giving you all the food you’d like at no cost.”
“Would I still be pressed into leaving a goblin tip?” Chalora looked at the horn without any recognition or sign of interest, but that wasn’t surprising. It was a dwarven artifact, after all.
“If you come today, you might be pressed into leaving a dozen tips.”
Chalora blinked, and Rylana waved away the comment. “I found this horn while questing with Jildarin for enchanted morels. Technically, a peacekeeper’s hound found it. We’re soon to learn if it belongs to the dwarven royal family.”
Chalora’s slender eyebrows arched. “I can sense that it’s magical but wouldn’t have guessed it overly significant. The artwork is somewhat crude by elven standards.”
It crossed Rylana’s mind that Zilek’s pomposity fit well with pointed ears. Maybe he should keep his new elven form.
“It’s quite old, I understand,” Rylana said. “Maybe dwarven ivory carving art wasn’t that refined then.”
“Dwarven art still isn’t that refined,” Chalora said. “But it was presumably meant more for utility as a hunting horn than a masterpiece. Is it simply that it once belonged to the royal family that gives it significance?”
“I don’t know. That’s what we’re trying to find out.
It warms up at times, and in three instances, I’ve seen these little mugs glow blue.
Once was after the attack on the terrace.
Not during it but the morning following.
I bumped one of the potted trees and dropped it in the soil.
That’s when it glowed. Then it didn’t glow again, despite me waving it all over the rooftop.
” Rylana spread her arms. “The mugs didn’t light up again until we wandered through the market past leather goods, meat on skewers, a plant shop, and an alchemy shop run by a crabby troll. ”
“Meertah, yes.” Chalora smiled. “She’s famous for the many, many potions, formulas, and tinctures she offers.”
“Something in her shop made the mugs glow,” Rylana said, “but there were so many items that we couldn’t guess which. We thought you might be able to tell us about that potted tree though. I believe it was one of the ones that shot thorns to help defend the terrace during the attack.”
“Ah.” Chalora nodded. With enlightenment? “Follow me.”
She led them along narrow paths, through an orchard, and into a grove with many species of evergreens and deciduous trees, exotic varieties that didn’t grow naturally in the area.
Some had blue leaves, and a couple had brilliant pink foliage.
Toward one side of the grove, Rylana spotted a pair of trees with pointed leaves and familiar trumpet-shaped flowers.
“Larger versions of the ones on the terrace.” Rylana strode up and waved the horn at them.
“Yes,” Chalora said.
The horn neither glowed nor warmed. Hm. Rylana set it on the ground near the base of the trunk.
“I have a comrade with some insight into dwarven tools and artifacts. I’m inviting him to join us.” Chalora touched her temple to indicate she’d spoken telepathically to the person.
“An elf with an interest in dwarven tools?” Rylana crouched beside the horn and poked it, but it remained inert. “That’s rare, isn’t it?”
“Our peoples used to get along quite well, until some of the dwarves in the Skyfang Mountain Kingdom decided to ally with the joint kingdoms against us.” Chalora waved toward the south.
“There have been a lot more tensions between our peoples since then, even up here in the north, where we stayed out of the war. Those tensions have made my comrade, Shalikon, uniquely appreciated for his ability as a go-between.”
“A go-between? Between elves and dwarves?”
“Quite.”
Rylana started to pick up the horn, but Chalora lifted her hand.
“Wait.” Chalora closed her eyes and touched the corrugated bark of the tree. After a moment, the flower petals opened wide and several thorns shot into the grove.
“Really, Chalora,” a male voice rumbled from a path not far from where they’d flown past. “I thought you had a tryst in mind, and it turns out you invited me here to attempt to assassinate me with your overly aggressive flowers.”
“I don’t schedule trysts on days when I have classes,” Chalora said. “Over here, Shalikon. These friends of the enclave need you.”
Did Sylin’s ears perk at being called a friend instead of an enemy to the elves? Rylana might have said something, but a blue glow on the ground pulled her gaze toward the horn.