Chapter Seven Elvine
CHAPTER SEVEN
Elvine
The queen chose only the swiftest and most renowned ships for the flotilla she sailed to Skar Magnol.
How Thera had become so certain that the traitor Lore was to be found there had not been revealed, though none felt obliged to question her judgement.
Elvine thought it a foolishly obvious place for the false queen to choose as a refuge, but also in keeping with her character.
Perhaps she lusts for one last glorious stand atop the walls of the Verungyr, Elvine mused. Or has a yet darker design.
The thought drew her gaze to the stacks of books and boxes creating an alcove around her corner of the Ohlnir’s lower deck.
The queen had ordained that they not sail aboard the same vessel, an unspoken but wise precaution against future danger.
Should the Great Wolf be sunk and Thera lost, then at least Ascarlia would still have the Spear Maiden.
So Elvine found herself aboard the Ohlnir, captained by Kahlvik Vahrimdorr and said to be the fastest ship ever to sail Ascarlian waters.
Elvine, Colvyn, and her full coterie of guards were allotted half the lower deck, and she regretted their quarters had been made yet more cramped by the many volumes she had them carry up the gangway.
“‘Archivist’s Catalogue Number Forty-Six’,” Colvyn said, squinting at the spine of the book atop the tallest stack. “Sounds riveting. Are they all like this?”
“No,” Elvine replied, gesturing to the book in her lap.
“This is the twentieth volume in the Official Acts of the Sister Queens. And here—” she nodded to a box of scrolled parchment “—is one of eight boxes containing the collected correspondence between Sister Lore and every official in Olversahl, or at least those I could find.” She returned her attention to the book, slipping into Ishtan, “Proper research requires both focus and privacy, esteemed brother. Be so good as to respect mine.”
Colvyn set the ledger aside and sat opposite Elvine, staring at her intently until she consented to react. “What?”
“Your mother seemed… upset, when we departed the harbour. Do you want to talk about it?”
“No.” In truth, at this juncture, Elvine neither wished to discuss nor think about her parting conversation with Berrine.
The sight of her face, half accusing, half imploring, before Elvine turned and marched up the Ohlnir’s gangway had left a dark impression.
But, it was her words that lingered longest, hissed in a harsh mutter when Elvine had calmly refused Berrine’s final demand that she stay with her in Olversahl: That spear you carry is as false as Lore ever was.
I wish with all my heart you were still mired in Covenant nonsense.
Faith in the Altvar is going to get you killed.
Many rejoinders had occurred to Elvine since that moment, principally a reminder that she now held no more faith in the Altvar than she did the Covenant.
She could also have pointed out that her Covenant beliefs not only brought her close to death, they had placed them both in Lore’s clutches.
But, beset by the need not to betray how much her mother’s words stung, Elvine had stiffened her back and quickened her pace.
She also hadn’t looked back at the dockside when the ship pulled away, something that provoked a greater pitch of regret with every passing mile.
“She only wanted to keep you safe,” Colvyn said, echoing her thoughts in that uncanny way of his. “What mother wouldn’t?”
“Lore’s didn’t.” Elvine closed the volume in her lap with a resigned sigh. Plainly, her brother wasn’t going to leave her in peace. “Whoever she might have been. She gave her up to her king so that Lore could be sent here, a mere child but already expertly schooled in deceit.”
“She might’ve been an orphan,” Colvyn suggested.
“I doubt it. We know she had a brother, at least, which would imply knowledge of her parents. But nothing in her life since coming to these lands gives any indication of her origins. She was so very thorough.”
“That’s what this is all for?” Colvyn surveyed the surrounding wealth of information. “You’re trying to learn more about Lore.”
“It pays to know well the ways of your enemy,” Elvine said, slipping into Ascarlian.
Colvyn’s brows furrowed as he searched his memory. “If that’s from the Altvar Rendi, I admit I can’t place it.”
“It’s not. Vahlak Tahrimsturm said it some weeks before you killed him.”
“Oh.” Colvyn shrugged. “So, found anything that might be useful?”
“Not particularly. Save that Lore was especially fond of books, which is hardly surprising if you had ever seen her personal library. She does appear to have pestered the Olversahl archivists more than most for fresh titles, however.” She grimaced, looking at the box of correspondence.
“Going through all this will likely occupy the entire voyage to Skar Magnol.”
“A burden is not a burden when shared with family,” Colvyn said, quoting the Aphorismus as he plucked a scrolled letter from the box.
“‘To the Chief Archivist of the Port of Olversahl do I, Sister Lore, present greetings,’” he read before rolling his eyes.
“I’m already bored. Let’s see, ‘many thanks for your recent missive’, and so on.
‘Your efforts in compiling my catalogue of fisherfolk sea shanties are much appreciated…’ Don’t think we’re going to find much of interest here.
” Casting the letter onto the deck, he reached for another.
They worked together in scrutinising the correspondence, finding little of note, until interrupted by Halkyr bearing bowls of stew from the ship’s galley. “Can you read?” Colvyn asked him once they had eaten.
“Well enough,” the young guardsman said. “Proper runic only, though. Can’t make head nor tail of that old stuff.”
Colvyn used his boot to slide the nearest box across the deck. “Then see if you can make head or tail of some of this.”
“What might I be looking for, Spear Maiden?” Halkyr asked, directing an uncertain glance at Elvine. She disliked being addressed with such formality but repeated statements to this effect had done nothing to prevent him, or her other guards, from doing so.
“Any letter to the archivists of Olversahl,” she told him, glancing up from a report regarding a cache of heretical Covenant scripture found secreted in a coal scuttle.
“Particularly those requesting books. I’m gaining the impression Lore was looking for something, but was very careful about how she phrased her questions.
She keeps referring to texts concerning ‘matters arcane’.
Also, her interest isn’t confined to Ascarlian writings. ”
After another hour’s laborious sorting, Halkyr went off to fetch the four other guards under his command who could read well enough to help.
The ship’s bosun was calling out for the midnight watch to take their shift by the time Elvine noticed that most of her would-be helpers were beginning to nod off.
“I think that’s enough for now—” she began, only for Halkyr to interrupt.
“What’s the ‘Map of Veils’, Spear Maiden? Do you know?”
Elvine frowned as the question stirred a memory.
Something from her girlhood when Berrine would take her to the archive to practise her scribing.
Then, the collection of literature that had survived the destruction of the old library had been under the authority of a tall, aged man of austere appearance named Arnlys.
Although often critical of Elvine’s presence in his domain, she noted that he never forbade it.
On occasion, he would even tutor her in forming the more complex characters found in ancient Ascarlian script.
They argued, she remembered, recalling how the exchange of heated whispers between Berrine and Arnlys had drawn her notice away from her parchment. About the Map of Veils.
“What have you found?” she asked Halkyr.
“It’s not from an archivist, but some kind of merchant.” The guardsman handed her the letter. “His runic is poor, so I’d guess he was a foreigner.”
Scanning the single sheet of parchment, Elvine had to agree.
The runes were set down with scratchy imprecision and the contents displayed a limited understanding of Ascarlian grammar.
However, the meaning was clear enough. “I am told, Great Majesty, that you are wanting a book that is called The Map of Veils. This book I have and will unto your hands give it if proper payment you give I.”
“My thanks to you all,” she told her guards. “Go now and sleep well.”
“Same task tomorrow, Spear Maiden?” a guardsman enquired with ill-concealed reluctance.
Aesolf by name, he was the oldest among her protectors, a man thick of body and fulsome of beard which showed more grey than black.
Despite his years, he had proved himself tenacious in a fight, so Elvine had resisted the notion of asking him to remain in Olversahl on the pretext of watching over her mother.
“No, no,” she assured him. “Tomorrow, I’ve a yen for some more practise.”
After they retired to their bunks, Colvyn raised an eyebrow at Elvine. “Map of Veils, eh?”
“Have you heard of it?”
“It chimes no bells for me. But, more importantly, I think does for you.”