At Esteldin Cutch discovered that, while no one had seen his wife, there were reports of a lady Elf passing by from the south, presumably from Lin Giliath, at about the time Seregrian would have been in the area. A quick ride south brought Cutch to the Elf refuge. It had been several years since he’d been there on an expedition with Her Ladyship in her House Company. Since he’d had no direct dealings with the Elves in Lin Giliath, it was not surprising that they did not recognize him.
As he dismounted, he saw a pair of Elves near the library, one male and the other female, in serious discussion. At first, and perhaps encouraged by wishful thinking, his heart lept because he thought the Elf maid must be his wife. They were very similar in physical appearance. It took only a moment to realize she was not his beloved, but he still stared, and the maid seemed to feel his gaze because she turned toward him, regarding him coolly.
Cutch approached as the lady Elf examined him down her lovely nose, and when he stopped before her, she raised a hand. “You must the Bloodqueen’s husband? She said you’d show up eventually…”
Bloodqueen? Cutch knew that to be the common Westron translation of Seregrian’s adopted name. She had for a time been consumed by a vengeful heart and through swift and terrible application of her powers she earned the fear of her enemies and the respect of her allies. He bowed politely, a smile on his face, glad he had finally found another place on his wife’s trail and happy that she had expected him to follow her.
“Yes, I am Cutch Crane, Steward of Her Ladyship’s House. I am relieved…”
“Seregrian told us to answer your questions as best we could,” she interrupted, making no effort to hide her annoyance. “I am Istlonda.”
The male Elf returned Cutch’s bow, his demeanor far more welcoming. “We are pleased to greet you Master Crane. I am Glambaen. Your wife speaks very highly of you.” He punctuated his last statement with a sharp side glance at Istlonda, who stiffened and pursed her lips.
Cutch was well acquainted with mixed attitudes towards his Her Ladyship’s choosing him as a mate. Many regarded the marriage warily, for they saw the differences between mortals and immortals to be more significant than their commonalities. He had learned to accept their intractable positions without falling into the spiral of resentment; that path went nowhere useful.
“Thank you, Glambaen”, Cutch responded pleasantly. “I am grateful to find that Her Ladyship has been expecting me.”
“She expects you to follow, Master Crane”, Istlonda stated. “But I am not sure she thinks it entirely advisable.”
Confused, Cutch turned back to Istlonda. In an off-hand voice she continued, “This quest of hers may take …. considerable time. Perhaps more than a mortal might endure.” She glared unwaveringly at Cutch, allowing him to draw whatever conclusion he might.
Cutch was silent for a moment and, looking directly into her harsh face, took a slow breath. “So, your advice would be, what?”
Istlonda blinked, not expecting such measured response from a mortal. “That is your question? Not curious about…”.
Cutch interrupted. “I am curious about a great number of things, Istlonda”, he spoke evenly, and with his set jaw concluded, “Among them are your assumptions about me and what I might endure”.
Istlonda’s eyes narrowed and her face flushed. Neither looked away from the other.
“Perhaps this is not going the way Seregrian might have wished”, Glambaen interjected. “What have you learned so far about your wife’s quest?”
Cutch gathered another slow breath as he turned to Glambaen. He recounted all the details he had gathered along the way from the Shires, through Cardolan, and lastly Bree. “What I don’t know”, he explained calmly, “is if she has acquired a shard of this Ambossar and what she would do with it. We are assuming this leg of her journey would be to gather whatever additional facts might be had about the Vandassari…?”
The Elves exchanged surprised glances. “She did speak highly of her husband…”, Glambaen reminded.
“Who is this ‘we’ you speak of?”, Istlonda asked suspiciously.
“You are not the first scholarly folk I have conferred with”, Cutch answered. “They have helped me greatly to get … here.”
Istlonda looked away; Glambaen suppressed a broad grin and said, “Perhaps, Istlonda, it is time you take him to Gildor.” Istlonda made no reply but instead spun on her heel and strode toward the library door, leaving Cutch to catch up.
Previousà Fork in the Road
