his face showed no sign of age as yet. His fingers were covered in dark dirt, and one of his hands hovered next to a bow that leaned against the table. He reminds me of—
Cyrus turned to make a remark to Martaina of his observation, but he found her with her mouth agape, hanging open stunned in a way he’d never seen her before. “So … you know this one, then?”
“His name is Gareth,” Martaina said, not taking her eyes off the man, who was watching her in return with something approaching a wistful smile, “and he, like me, was of the last of the Iliarad’ouran woodsmen.”
15.
“It is good to see you again, Martaina,” Gareth said with a muted smile. Cyrus tried to decide if the man was merely suffering from a severely dampened personality, or if he was trying to keep himself staid in the name of being professional. Or he could just be a damned elf , Cyrus thought. He glanced at Vara, who raised an eyebrow at him.
“It is good to see you, too,” Martaina said, apparently adopting the understated approach for her own.
“Please, come sit,” Cora said, beckoning them forth. The other members of the Amti council stood, making room at the table. Gareth hurried to the side and began to move roughly carved wooden chairs to sit at the table, his cloak—exactly like Martaina’s in shade and stitching—sweeping behind him silently.
Cyrus started to assist them in moving chairs when Cora caught his arm with her own, a delicate hand landing on his gauntlet. “Please,” she said, meeting his eyes with hers, and he could see … pain inside them. She guided him to a chair and motioned for him to sit. Gareth slid another next to his and Vara seated herself, her armor clanking against the wood. Cyrus followed her example and the table rearranged itself as everyone sat around it save for Scuddar and Mendicant, both of whom refused chairs of their own, remaining standing behind Cyrus on either side. Martaina, for her part, sat heavily in her own chair, and though her face was staid, he knew by her action that encountering Gareth had affected her in some way.
“So here we are,” Vara said, placing her gauntlets on the surface of the table. There was no artisan feel to it, simply a look of utility that Cyrus felt probably encapsulated the difference between Amti and the Kingdom as a whole— no time for fancy things; they’re too busy trying to carve out a living and survive .
“We thank you for coming,” Cora said, placing her hands on her lap, prim and proper now. “And for enduring what you had to in order to keep our secret.”
“Well, some of us apparently don’t have to keep it,” Vara said, giving Cyrus a sidelong look.
“Yes, I’m headed to Kortran right after this to tell them all about it,” Cyrus said. “Scuddar and I will have a race to betray the location first, I’m sure. ‘It’s the eight-hundred-and-fifty-sixth tall tree on your left.’ That’ll clue those enormous idiots right in.”
Cora smiled. “Forgive us for being so cautious. Our threat is great, and we are small in number.”
“How many of you are there?” Vara asked.
“A little less than a thousand,” Gareth said, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. He glanced at Martaina, found her looking at him, and both of them looked away abruptly. Looks like this is an uncomfortable meeting for both of them. I wonder if it’ll spill out onto the rest of us?
“You have grown a little, then,” Curatio said, sweeping his head around the council chamber as though there were something new to see other than marginally polished wood surfaces and grains.
“Yes,” Cora said quietly. “A little.”
“Do people still come here from Pharesia, then?” Martaina asked, suddenly upright in her seat.
“No,” Cora said. “That road is closed, and has been for years. No one is fool enough to leave the safety of the Kingdom north of the mountains and venture here. They would find it ill to their liking, in any case—there is a
Cyrus turned to make a remark to Martaina of his observation, but he found her with her mouth agape, hanging open stunned in a way he’d never seen her before. “So … you know this one, then?”
“His name is Gareth,” Martaina said, not taking her eyes off the man, who was watching her in return with something approaching a wistful smile, “and he, like me, was of the last of the Iliarad’ouran woodsmen.”
15.
“It is good to see you again, Martaina,” Gareth said with a muted smile. Cyrus tried to decide if the man was merely suffering from a severely dampened personality, or if he was trying to keep himself staid in the name of being professional. Or he could just be a damned elf , Cyrus thought. He glanced at Vara, who raised an eyebrow at him.
“It is good to see you, too,” Martaina said, apparently adopting the understated approach for her own.
“Please, come sit,” Cora said, beckoning them forth. The other members of the Amti council stood, making room at the table. Gareth hurried to the side and began to move roughly carved wooden chairs to sit at the table, his cloak—exactly like Martaina’s in shade and stitching—sweeping behind him silently.
Cyrus started to assist them in moving chairs when Cora caught his arm with her own, a delicate hand landing on his gauntlet. “Please,” she said, meeting his eyes with hers, and he could see … pain inside them. She guided him to a chair and motioned for him to sit. Gareth slid another next to his and Vara seated herself, her armor clanking against the wood. Cyrus followed her example and the table rearranged itself as everyone sat around it save for Scuddar and Mendicant, both of whom refused chairs of their own, remaining standing behind Cyrus on either side. Martaina, for her part, sat heavily in her own chair, and though her face was staid, he knew by her action that encountering Gareth had affected her in some way.
“So here we are,” Vara said, placing her gauntlets on the surface of the table. There was no artisan feel to it, simply a look of utility that Cyrus felt probably encapsulated the difference between Amti and the Kingdom as a whole— no time for fancy things; they’re too busy trying to carve out a living and survive .
“We thank you for coming,” Cora said, placing her hands on her lap, prim and proper now. “And for enduring what you had to in order to keep our secret.”
“Well, some of us apparently don’t have to keep it,” Vara said, giving Cyrus a sidelong look.
“Yes, I’m headed to Kortran right after this to tell them all about it,” Cyrus said. “Scuddar and I will have a race to betray the location first, I’m sure. ‘It’s the eight-hundred-and-fifty-sixth tall tree on your left.’ That’ll clue those enormous idiots right in.”
Cora smiled. “Forgive us for being so cautious. Our threat is great, and we are small in number.”
“How many of you are there?” Vara asked.
“A little less than a thousand,” Gareth said, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. He glanced at Martaina, found her looking at him, and both of them looked away abruptly. Looks like this is an uncomfortable meeting for both of them. I wonder if it’ll spill out onto the rest of us?
“You have grown a little, then,” Curatio said, sweeping his head around the council chamber as though there were something new to see other than marginally polished wood surfaces and grains.
“Yes,” Cora said quietly. “A little.”
“Do people still come here from Pharesia, then?” Martaina asked, suddenly upright in her seat.
“No,” Cora said. “That road is closed, and has been for years. No one is fool enough to leave the safety of the Kingdom north of the mountains and venture here. They would find it ill to their liking, in any case—there is a
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