A hand, light but radiating strength, descended upon her shoulder. She glanced up. The green-cloaked figure took a step to the side and gestured toward the depths of the dark forest. Far away in the distance, a pinprick of light unfurled like a star being born.
The sun rising in the east? Jahrra wondered.
The soft glow grew and grew until it was nearly blinding. The stranger took a step toward it, then turned and faced Jahrra again. Reluctantly, she drew in a deep breath and followed. They traveled through the forest for ages, the bright light always remaining the same distance away and the forest scenery never changing. Just when Jahrra was ready to complain, their pace slowed.
The man in the cloak ascended a small berm and waited for Jahrra to join him. She complied, her worn muscles begging for a rest. Once at the top, the trees parted and the hill sloped gently on the other side to spill into a wide valley. In the distance, wooden buildings clustered together to form a small town. Jahrra recognized their thatched roofs and the muddy streets snaking between them: Edyadth, the town in Oescienne just on the other side of the Wreing Florenn.
Jahrra couldn’t believe it. The last time she had visited Edyadth she’d been with Gieaun and Scede. And Hroombra. He had taken them to a place of standing stones on a hillside, the Dragons’ Court, to bear witness to a meteor shower.
Before she could get too lost in her memories, the hooded stranger pointed at something in the distance. Jahrra narrowed her eyes. West of town, and much closer to the tree line, a crowd of people stood about. Some were dressed in fine silks and velvet, others wore work clothes, mud-stained and nearly worn through. On a raised platform in the center of the throng stood a handful of skinny, grimy people in nothing more than rags.
Jahrra sucked in a harsh breath. The slave auction. She remembered now how Hroombra had explained to her and her friends what had been transpiring those handful of years ago.
“Why have you brought me here?” Jahrra asked her companion, her voice tight with regret and a small amount irritation.
She turned to glance at him, knowing he wouldn’t answer but hoping his body language would give something away.
He tilted his head, but she still could not see beyond the deep shadow of his cowl.
“Why show me this memory?”
Jahrra threw one arm out in front of her, gesturing toward the crowd below.
The green cloaked man lifted his arm, one finger pointing to a spot behind her.
Jahrra turned and followed his gesture. About fifty feet away, someone led a white horse from the woods. This person also wore a hood, but as he cleared the edge of the trees, he reached up and drew the hood from his head. Jahrra caught sight of sharply pointed ears and dark hair. An elf. The elf she had seen at the auction. Like the memory itself, she had almost forgotten about him. The elf slowed to a stop and gazed at the crowd, just as she had been doing. Something, a feeling she couldn’t explain, insisted she continue to watch him. In the next breath, that instinct paid off when he turned, giving her a full view of his face. He was still a good distance away, but either her eyesight was aided in this dream world, or the sudden, painful familiarity brought everything into sharp focus.
A handsome face, the lower half covered in a neatly trimmed goatee, gazed in her direction. Jahrra gasped, her own face draining of color. She would have known him immediately, but it was his eyes, the color of pale, clear emerald, eyes she had always thought looked too familiar, that gave him away.
And now you know why they always seemed so familiar, she told herself. Because you had seen them before.
Suddenly, the scene grew brighter, as if the sun cresting the horizon was expanding far beyond its limits. The hooded figure beside her faded and grew smaller, and she had the strange sensation she was being pulled upward.
No! Jahrra screamed in her mind. Once again, she had too many questions she wanted answered. But her cloaked friend merely stood there, arms linked over his broad chest, and watched as she floated away.
Jahrra woke suddenly, but not as violently as before. This time she simply opened her eyes, her head cradled in the soft pillow. She lie on her back, her injured leg keeping her in place, her head angled to the side. From her vantage point, she could see the door and the fireplace just beside it. She considered sitting up, but decided to give her mind the time to work out the revealing dream.
So, her mysterious hooded friend had been trying to tell her something, after all. Ellyesce was a villain in disguise. Their companion for all these past months. The elf who had arrived at Jaax’s house in Lidien on the eve of their departure, the same person who had taught her how to play Astral cards and who placed himself in front of a volley of arrows to protect her. For so long, Jahrra had been reluctant to put her faith in him. Now, she knew why. Everything he’d done to earn her trust was a ruse. He was a fraud, for how could anyone looking to purchase slaves be an ambassador of Ethoes?
A slight shuffling sound drew Jahrra’s attention from her contemplation. She turned her head in the direction of the noise, expecting to find Dervit. What she saw instead made her heart sink. In the chair beside the window sat Ellyesce, his arms folded loosely over his stomach and his head tilted back as if he slept. Jahrra narrowed her eyes, wishing her leg wasn’t useless at the moment. If not, perhaps she could have sneaked past him.
The elf shifted again and sighed, his eyes fluttering open as he awoke from his uncomfortable sleep. He stretched and pressed a hand to his forehead, using his free arm to push himself properly back into his chair. Jahrra watched him silently, not wanting to draw any attention to herself. Ellyesce yawned and looked toward her, his pale, glazed eyes lighting up a bit when he noticed she was awake.
“Welcome back to the world of the living,” he said with a slight smile, his tone weary but carefree.
A cold prickle coursed down Jahrra’s spine, and she remained absolutely still. She wanted to keep the dream to herself; to pretend nothing was amiss until she could talk to Jaax. But hearing the cheer in Ellyesce’s voice set off a spark of anger in her. He had tricked her, and her dragon guardian, into thinking he was on the side of good, all the while he had been hiding his dark past from them. Was he the one, then, who’d led the band of mercenaries into the city? Could he be the traitor to Cahrdyarein that Jaax suspected? In Jahrra’s eyes, he was the perfect candidate. A long lost friend of her guardian’s, showing up unannounced and traveling with them every step of the way. Slipping away to use his magic, or so he claimed, to discover the location of their pursuers. Miscalculating the day they had been forced to split up and make a run for it. Oh, how could she and Jaax have been so foolish?
Without responding to Ellyesce’s words of greeting, Jahrra slowly sat up, wincing at the ache in her knee and the various other places she sported cuts and bruises. She gave him a look of pure disdain, then hissed quietly, “Who are you?”
The smile on the elf’s face faded slightly, and confusion filled those green eyes of his. He blinked and took a breath.
“You were attacked two days ago, Jahrra. You only just woke up earlier this morning and right now,” he said, his voice calm, his tone one of comfort. “You were set upon by a band of the Tyrant’s soldiers, or so we believe, and your leg,” he gestured to the bed, “was injured. A bad cut and sprained knee. You were fighting a fever last night. Luckily, the elves of Cahrdyarein are excellent in the field of healing magic. It will take some time for your leg to heal fully, but you should mend quite well.”