His officers offered various theories: The humans had panicked and were now scattered to the four winds, the humans had descended below ground in hopes of finding tunnels that would lead them back north, and so on and so forth. Each theory had its opponents, and the elves argued among themselves. Growing weary of the debate, Silvan left abruptly, walked out into the night.
“There is one person who knows,” he said to himself, “and she will tell me. She will talk to me!”
He strode purposefully toward her tent, past the bonfires where the elves sat disconsolately, reliving the battle. The soldiers were bitter and chagrined at their failure to annihilate the detested foe. They swore that when it was dawn they would search beneath every rock until they found the cowardly humans, who had run away to hide when it became clear defeat was imminent.
The elves vowed to slay them, every one.
Silvan discovered that he wasn’t the only one interested in the prisoner. Glaucous stood at the entrance to her tent, being cleared for admittance by the guard. Silvan was about to advance and make himself known when he realized that Glaucous had not seen him.
Silvan was suddenly interested to hear what Glaucous would ask her. He circled around to the rear of the prisoner’s tent. The night was dark. No guard stood back here. Silvan crept close to the tent, being careful to make no sound. He quieted even his breathing.
A candle on the floor inside the tent flared, brought to life two dark silhouettes—the girl’s with her smooth head and long, graceful neck and the elf, tall and straight, his white robes black against the light. The two stared at each other unspeaking for long moments and then, suddenly, Glaucous recoiled. He shrank back away from her, though she had done nothing to him, had not moved, had not raised her hand, had not said a word.
“Who are you?” he demanded and his voice was awed.
“I am called Mina,” she replied.
“ And I am—”
“No need to tell me,” she said. “I know your name.”
“How could you?” he asked, amazed. “You couldn’t. You have never seen me before.”
“But I know it,” she replied calmly.
Glaucous had regained his self-possession. “Answer me one thing, witch. How did you pass through my shield? By what magic? What sorcery did you use?”
“No magic,” she said. “No sorcery. The Hand of the God reached down and the shield was lifted.”
“What hand?” Glaucous was angry, thinking she mocked him. “What god? There are no gods! Not anymore!”
“There is One God,” Mina stated.
“And what is the name of this god?”
“The God has no name. The God needs no name. The God is the One God, the True God, the Only God.”
“Lies! You will tell me what I want to know.” Glaucous lifted his hand.
Silvanoshei expected Glaucous to use the truth-seek, as had been done to him.
“You feel your throat start to close,” said Glaucous. “You gasp for air and find none. You begin to suffocate.”
“This is not the truth-seek,” Silvan said to himself. “What is he doing?”
“Your lungs burn and seem about to burst,” Glaucous continued. “The magic tightens, tightens all the while until you lose consciousness. I will end the torment, when you agree to tell me the truth.”
He began to chant strange words, words that Silvan did not understand, but which he guessed must be words to a magical spell. Alarmed for Mina’s safety, Silvan was ready to rush to her rescue, to tear the fabric of the tent with his bare hands if need be to reach her.
Mina sat calmly on the cot. She did not gasp. She did not choke. She continued to breathe normally.
Glaucous ceased his chant. He stared at her in amazement.
“You thwart me! How?”
“Your magic has no effect on me,” Mina said, shrugging. The chains that bound her rang like silver bells. She looked up at him.
“I know you. I know the truth.”
Glaucous regarded her in silence, and though Silvan could see only Glaucous’s silhouette, he could tell that the elf was enraged and, also, that he was afraid.
Glaucous left the tent abruptly.
Troubled, fascinated, Silvan came around to the front of the tent. He waited in the darkness until he saw Glaucous enter General Konnal’s tent, then approached the guard.
“I will speak with the prisoner,” he said.
“Yes, Your Majesty.” The guard bowed, started to accompany the king.
“Alone,” Silvan said. “You have leave to go.”
The guard did not move.
“I am in no danger. She is chained and manacled! Go fetch yourself some dinner. I will take over your watch.”
“Your Majesty, I have my orders—”
“I countermand them!” Silvan said angrily, thinking he was cutting a very poor figure in the sight of those amber eyes. “Go and take the fellow of your watch with you.”
The guard hesitated a moment longer, but his king had spoken. He dared not disobey. He and his companion walked off toward the cooking fires. Silvan entered the tent. He stood looking at the prisoner, stood inside the amber of her eyes, warm and liquid around him.
“I want to know. . . if. . . if they are treating you well. . . .”
What a stupid thing to say! Silvan thought, even as the words fumbled their way out of his mouth.
“Thank you, Silvanoshei Caladon,” the girl said. “I need nothing. I am in the care of my God.”
“You know who I am?” Silvan asked.
“Of course, you are Silvanoshei, son of Alhana Starbreeze, daughter of Lorac Caladon and of Porthios of the House of Solostaran.”
“And you are. . . ?”
“Mina.”
“Just Mina?”
She shrugged and when she shrugged, the chains on her manacles chimed. “Just Mina.”
The amber began to congeal around Silvan. He felt short of breath, as if he were the one to fall victim to Glaucous’s suffocating spell. He came closer to her, knelt on one knee before her to bring those lovely eyes level with his own.
“You mention your god. I would ask you a question. If the Knights of Neraka follow this god, then I must assume that this god is evil. Why does someone so young and so beautiful walk the ways of darkness?”
Mina smiled at him, the kind and pitying smile one bestows upon the blind or the feebleminded.
“There is no good, there is no evil. There is no light, there is no darkness. There is only one. One truth. All the rest is falsehood.”
“But this god must be evil,” Silvan argued. “Otherwise why attack our nation? We are peace-loving. We have done nothing to provoke this war. Yet now my people lie dead at the hands of their enemy.”
“I do not come to conquer,” Mina said. “I come to free you, to save you and your people. If some die, it is only that countless others may live. The dead understand their sacrifice.”
“Perhaps they do,” said Silvan with a wry shake of his head.
“I confess that I do not. How could you—a human, single and alone—save the elven nation?”
Mina sat quite still for long moments, so still that her chains made no sound. Her amber eyes left him, shifted to stare into the candle’s flame. He was content to sit and gaze at her. He could have been content to sit at her feet and gaze at her all night, perhaps all his life. He had never seen a human woman with such delicate features, such fine bone structure, such smooth skin.
Every movement was graceful and fluid. He found his eyes drawn to her shaved head. The shape of the skull was perfect, the skin smooth with a faint shimmering red down upon it, which must be like feathery down to touch. . .
“I am permitted to tell you a secret, Silvanoshei,” said Mina.
Silvan, lost in her, started at the sound of her voice. “Who gives you this permission?”
“You must swear that you will tell no one else.”
“I swear,” said Silvan.
“Truly swear,” said Mina.