The city they looked down upon was more beautiful than many of the great cities on Earth, and it was worse than lifeless in the aftermath of a holocaust.
He shut down his feelings and turned professional. “Pia told me that she talked to Gaeleval in a dream the night before Dragos killed him.”
“Did she?” Aryal sounded thoughtful. “Did she say what they said to each other?”
He looked over the idyllic coastal scene without really seeing it. “Did you know he wielded something called a God Machine? That was how he enthralled so many Elves and did the kind of damage that he did. It amplified his Power.”
“I know.” She sounded cautious, as if the God Machine might be some kind of taboo subject, but Quentin had heard some of the old Elven stories and had already known of the Deus Machinae.
“In her dream, Pia asked Gaeleval how he had gotten the Machine,” he said. “Camthalion, the Numenlaurian lord, had held his Machine for a very long time, ever since Numenlaur closed itself off from the rest of the world. Apparently it drove him mad. He summoned Gaeleval to the palace, where Gaeleval claimed he found everyone dead. Palace attendants, Camthalion’s children and their mother. They had been kneeling in the throne room, and their throats had been slit. Camthalion had poured oil over his head and set himself on fire.”
“That’s pretty fucking crazy,” she said softly.
He gave her a sharp look. “Maybe it happened the way Gaeleval said it did, and maybe it didn’t. Maybe Gaeleval was the one who killed them. Whatever the real story is, I think there’s going to be some ugly shit down there.”
She took a deep breath. “I understand.” They both fell silent. After a moment, she tapped his shoulder. “Hey,” she said. “Come on. My mouth is burning up, it’s so dry. We need to find water. Let’s get down to those houses and see if there’s anything to eat and drink.”
He nodded and turned back around.
The path was steep enough that it made jogging a bad idea, so they descended at a slower pace. The first house they came to was a surprise. It was set into the hill, and they didn’t see it until the path turned and took them right by it. The front of the house faced the sea and was painted white, and flower beds were planted in front of it.
The door stood open.
Quentin had his sword in his hand before he was fully conscious of drawing it. Aryal drew hers more slowly. She whispered, “It might have been open all this time.”
“It also might not have,” he said.
They were going to harvest what they needed from the homes they found, but they were also going to take only what they needed and treat the property with respect. The thought that someone else might have come and looted through the belongings of a Numenlaurian victim caused anger to torch along the corners of his mind.
He strode for the door and pushed it open with one flattened hand, while his sharp gaze noted every detail and he expanded his magic sense. There had been no recent Power expenditure.
The interior of the house was shadowed and cool. He walked inside while Aryal threw open shutters, letting in more light. The furniture looked minimalist and comfortable, and a fireplace with a simple hearth had half-burned logs. He wanted to check to see if the logs were cool, but first he needed to make sure the rooms were clear.
He found a body lying in the doorway of a bedroom. It was an Elven male, lying face down, long hair spilled about his head and shoulders. He had been dead for some time.
Quentin did not know that because of any state of decay, as he would with any human or mortal body. Some alchemy of their race caused Elves to look as natural in death as they had in life for years. When they finally began to decay, or so he had heard, they smelled sweet, like crushed flowers.
He could tell the male had been dead for some time because the body had been partially eaten. Wildlife had gotten into the house. The lower half of one leg was missing entirely.
He carefully eased the body over, and several insects scuttled away. The male wore soft, loose clothing, such as what one might wear to bed, if one wore pajamas. He had been stabbed several times, and there were defense wounds on his arms.
Quentin looked beyond the body into the bedroom. The bedcovers had been thrown back on the bed. The Elf had been disturbed while he was resting.
Aryal had moved to join him. She stood staring down at the body for a long moment. Then she stepped over it and walked into the deeply shadowed bedroom. “There’s evidence of a partner,” she said. “Feminine clothes, jewelry, et cetera. I’ve looked through the other rooms. There aren’t any other bodies.”
He took a blanket off of the bed and covered the body carefully, then stood, slamming the door on his emotions again. “In Lirithriel when Gaeleval enthralled the Elves, he did it at night, when most of them were asleep. Not everyone was asleep though, and the ones who had been enthralled attacked the others. It looks like the same thing could have happened here.”
In the middle of the bedroom, she turned to consider him. “This is going to be a grim homecoming for any Numenlaurian Elves who recover enough to make it back.”
“I know.” He wiped his forehead with the back of one arm. “We should check to see if there’s any food that might still be useable.”
“Right.”
Aryal moved past him and he followed her. The dwelling was a simple one, and the kitchen was recessed back into the hill. He heard the sound of trickling water as he stepped into the room, which was in almost total darkness until Aryal struck a match. The tiny yellow flame threw enough illumination for her to locate a lamp set on a table. She lit it and stepped back. A cooking hearth was inset into one wall. The chimney would have to go through the soil of the hill itself to provide some kind of outlet for the smoke. Against another wall, an underground spring provided ample running water, which trickled out of a fountain.
Even though Numenlaur had been cut off from the outside world for so long, the house seemed thoroughly modern in concept as it used natural elements as assets. It would be warm and easy to heat in the winter, and stay cool in the summer.
While he admired the design of the house, Aryal moved around the kitchen. She walked into a deep recess that must be some kind of pantry. Then she walked out again.
“The cupboard shelves are bare,” she said. “Somebody’s been here before us.”
The blunt words sent a jolt of adrenaline through him. “You’re sure it isn’t wildlife.”
He hadn’t quite phrased it as a question, but she answered as if he had. “There’s been some wildlife in there. It’s messy and stuff has been knocked to the floor and spilled. But there’s no wayfarer bread, or anything preserved in jars that might be portable.”
Wayfarer bread was stored wrapped in leaves that were a natural repellant. The leaves masked the smell of the bread, and they tasted bad to animals and insects. “All right,” he said. “We had an instinct to be wary. Now we know for sure.”
She shrugged and walked over to the fountain to drink deeply and wash off. When she was through, he moved in to do the same. The clear, pure water was delicious and immensely refreshing.
Aryal said, “It could have been the missing Elves.”
“Could have,” he said. He ducked his head to wet his hair. The cold on the back of his neck was a shock to the system and sharply bracing. “But I don’t believe it. I don’t know two of the Elves, and I’ve only met the third so I can’t speak for them, but I find it hard to imagine that Linwe could have walked by the body and just left it alone. I think she would have covered him, like I did. She certainly would have shut the door to keep out any more scavengers.”