Fifteen minutes later and the trail opened up into a spacious clearing encircled by enormous stones, some tall and narrow, others short and broad. The waterfall still flowed from the hillside, but fingers of lacy frost crept up the stones on either side of it.
The familiar creak of old leather caught Jahrra’s attention, and she turned to find Ellyesce dismounting his semequin.
“This is a place of deep magic,” he murmured, kneeling to the ground so that his dark cloak spread out around him. He pressed his fingers into the snow and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. “Many have met here over the ages, consulting the spirits of the trees. In fact,” he added, glancing up and scanning the forest around them, “I would not be surprised to find one of Ethoes’ sacred trees nearby. It would explain the construction of this place.”
The elf stood up and strode toward the waterfall. Jahrra dismounted Phrym and hurried to join him, pausing only to turn and help Dervit down as well. The two of them scurried after Ellyesce, finding him behind a rock outcropping on the other side of the fall. A second cluster of tall standing stones, these ones placed much closer together, crowded around an ancient tree, their crooked nature mimicking subjects bowing to their king.
“Ethoes’ Dogwood Tree,” Ellyesce breathed with reverence. “Not as powerful as the Oak, or the Pine or the Sycamore, but still a sacred tree of Ethoes.”
Jahrra felt her jaw drop, and she reached out a hand, suddenly compelled to brush her fingers against the tree’s smooth bark. As soon as her fingers made contact, visions flashed through her mind. Pictures of pale-haired elves holding council with this tree, of seasons passing and time changing their surroundings. Laughter, birdsong, the morose moaning of the wind, the angry voices of Resai elves arguing … The whirlwind of color and memory spun and spun again until it finally showed her the mountain road they had climbed to reach Cahrdyarein. The Crimson King’s soldiers camped along that same road about five miles back, their brilliant uniforms of red and black standing out against the snow.
Jahrra gasped and withdrew her hand, breaking the connection. A burning sensation flared at her wrist. Hissing, she wrapped her hand around the injured area, remembering the wood bead bracelet there. She didn’t have to look down at the bracelet to know the rune on one of the beads, the Dogwood bead, was glowing. Instead, she glanced up at Ellyesce, the dark look on his face telling her what she had already assumed.
“You saw it too, didn’t you?”
He nodded grimly.
“But Jaax has been looking for them for days!”
“They have powerful dark magic on their side, and they’ve been using it to cloak their presence. I should have known. I should have insisted on going with Jaax to scout, but he thought my presence here of more use.”
“What are you talking about?” Dervit interjected.
Jahrra had almost forgotten about him, what with the residual shock of connecting with one of Ethoes’ sacred trees.
“The Red Flange,” Ellyesce said quickly, his voice rough. “They are gathered not too far from the city.”
Dervit’s face went pale, nearly as white as the snow. “Are they planning to attack?” he breathed.
“I couldn’t tell from the vision just now. Let me try again,” Ellyesce murmured, placing his hands gently upon the dark skin of the Dogwood.
He was silent for many moments, breathing deeply through his nose and keeping his eyes closed.
“What is he doing?” Dervit whispered.
“I’m not entirely certain, but I think he’s taking advantage of the deep magic in this place, as well as tapping into the tree’s consciousness.”
When Dervit continued to look baffled, Jahrra added, “The sacred trees of Ethoes are far more magical and sentient than their brethren. They hold secrets and memories, and sometimes they share what they know with us.”
Dervit jerked his head in assent, though Jahrra wasn’t certain he fully understood. Her answer must have been enough, though.
Eventually, Ellyesce withdrew from the tree and looked at Jahrra, his expression grim.
“They are planning a secret ambush, but they must wait for the arrival of reinforcements. The snow storm has delayed them, but not by much. We have a few days, perhaps more, perhaps less, before they strike. The wall should hold them, but I do not know the full extent of their mages’ magic.”
Jahrra felt her face go as white as Dervit’s.
“So soon?” she breathed.
Ellyesce averted his gaze. Jahrra stiffened.
“What?” she asked, her voice harder this time.
Ellyesce sighed. “Jaax was planning on leaving tomorrow, late into the night. The weather promises to bring more snow for the next few days, and he wants to take advantage of the cover it will provide for our tracks.”
“When did he tell you this?” Jahrra demanded, suddenly livid.
Had her guardian kept details of their journey from her again? How dare he!
Ellyesce, clearly not wanting to divulge any information to her, spoke quietly when he answered, “Last night.”
Jahrra exploded. “And neither of you bothered to tell me!? Why?”
Ellyesce pressed his lips together and caught her eyes with his, their pale green color as icy as the snow. For a split second, that strange feeling of familiarity, of knowing his face from before they met, washed over her again. But she was too angry about Jaax’s deceit to worry about it now.
Jahrra crossed her arms and gave him her fiercest glare. “Tell me, Ellyesce.”
“I gave him my word, Jahrra,” the elf growled in response.
“And Jaax gave me his word he wouldn’t do this anymore!” she snapped back, surprised to feel tears forming in her eyes. Was she more angry at being left out of the plans, or hurt because Jaax had broken his word? She couldn’t say.
The elf glanced away, his eyes falling upon the tree once again. She could see his jaw working as he fought against the desire to keep his word to Jaax and tell her what she needed to know. Cursing softly, Ellyesce ran his hands over his face as if attempting to wipe away his weariness.
“I promised not to tell you, but that was before this new information came to me. And it doesn’t seem to matter much anymore. He asked me to keep this information from you because he wanted you to enjoy the ball. And he didn’t want you telling Keiron.”
Jahrra’s anger spiked. She sucked in an sharp breath through her nose and pressed her molars together.
“So, he doesn’t trust me to keep this information to myself?”
Ellyesce held up a placating hand. “It’s a little more complicated than that. He suspects there is a spy here in Cahrdyarein, and he doesn’t want any information getting out that might hinder our journey to Nimbronia.”
“Who?” she insisted. “Who does he suspect?”
Ellyesce gave her a pained look, as if he realized he’d said too much already. The dark circles under his eyes and his pinched expression were evidence of his weariness, the reason he’d been so careless with his words, most likely. Jahrra didn’t care. She wanted to know.
“Tell me, Ellyesce!” she nearly shouted.
The elf shook his head, but did not answer. He didn’t need to. From his expression and reluctance to give over the information, Jahrra knew exactly who Jaax suspected. She laughed out loud, the bitterness she felt becoming a physical thing pressing itself between her and the elf.
“Keiron is not–” she began, but Ellyesce held up a hand and cut her off.
“Jahrra, I don’t want to believe it either, but your guardian has good reason for his suspicion. And in all honesty, do you really know Keiron all that well?”