The Elven King Read Free Page A

before had to hide in the wilds from his own kind.
    Staying close to the tree, his back shielded by its mighty trunk, Aranion looked around for any sign he might be being watched. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Night in the outer woods wasn’t as dark or terrifying as most of his people believed. Yes, it was impossible to see the stars, or even the upper canopy of leaves, but here at the base of the trees, the ground was covered in soft, phosphorescent moss that made the dim outlines of things easy enough to pick out. And, unlike the songbirds that fluttered like jewels in the upper canopy where the elves made their court, the outer woods were filled with the chatter of insects. So long as they serenaded the air, and the tiny forest animals rustled about, then he could feel comfortable that larger predators were occupied elsewhere. At least, that had been true in Aranion’s experience so far.
    Without the light of the moon or stars, Aranion had no way to know how long he had slept or if it was yet close to dawn. From the moss on the trees, he was able to reckon a rough north -- which was where he was heading, towards the barren rock deserts where no elf would follow him.
    It was a lousy plan, really, but Aranion didn’t have a better one. He couldn’t stay in the woods forever. The rangers would find him eventually.
    And, given a choice between being chained by breath and bond to a Bane Sidhe monster, and dying desiccated and alone under an uncaring sun, the desert was fractionally better.
    On that cheerful thought, Aranion lifted his waterskin to take a drink. That was when he caught sight of something shimmering in the corner of his vision.
    A gate?
    Aranion’s heart quickened. Slinging his bow and bag over his back, he started toward the pool of light.
    The gate hung in midair, at about the height of Aranion’s chest, like a gong swinging on an invisible rope. If he had spread his arms and stretched a rope from fingertip to fingertip, the portal would have been half again as tall and wide. It wasn’t a perfect circle; natural gates never were. The edges were warped, like a moon cake that had been bitten at on the right-hand side.
    Aranion had only ever seen one other portal in his life, and that one hadn’t been wild. Like all bright elves, when his hair had turned from black to silver, marking his passage into adulthood, he’d been taken to the priests and told to look through the ancient gate they kept in their temple. He had been given a choice of weapons, and instructed to stand at attention and gaze into the portal for guidance.
    He’d done just that. For just a moment, he’d caught a glimpse of a mortal child, sitting in a clearing, watching him.
    The vision had been brief, and he hadn’t understood it at all. When he’d told the priest, the ancient elf had looked up at him with white, sightless eyes.
    “A mortal,” he had said, his expression tight. “That’s impossible.”
    Aranion hadn't known how to answer that. He’d shrugged.
    “You were wrong,” the priest declared. “You know not what you saw. Keep this to yourself.”
    Confused, Aranion had simply agreed, and had seldom, if ever, thought of it again.
    But now, he’d just happened to stumble across a wild gate. And on the same night he’d had that overwhelming dream… Another dream of a mortal? It seemed too much of a coincidence.
    The world on the other side of the gate was visible through an iridescent skin, like looking through a soap bubble. It was afternoon there. Aranion saw that the terrain was cultivated in uncomfortable angles, the way mortals did it, with patchworks of grass shorn at its head and flowers placed in rows along what looked like a gate of dead wood.
    In the distance -- obscuring half his view -- stood a square domicile. Whatever spirit the materials of the building had once possessed were long gone, leaving only a hollow emptiness, like a shed insect shell. Beside it hunched a metal chariot, crouching on a