Rane Roth and Arthur Morgan followed after Limdur and his four companions into the thick palm forests beyond the beach. The five Elves moved with unconscious grace, slipping between the trees, their cloaks wafting out behind them and their boots making scarcely a sound, but Rane and Arthur, weakened by thirst and toil and sunsickness, struggled to keep up. They leaned on one another heavily, stumbling, their faces shining with sweat.
"Who are they?" Arthur panted. He coughed hoarsely, covering his mouth with his forearm, his brow furrowed.
"Elves," said Rane, low.
Arthur coughed again, shaking his head. "We gotta go find Dutch -!"
"We will." If he's alive , she didn't add. "But we're not gonna be able to find our own assholes if we don't get some water in us, Arthur, let alone Dutch. I must have barfed up half a gallon of saltwater when I woke up back there, my tongue feels like a piece of carpet."
This was the truth. She felt as dry as a bone inside, and beneath the heat and beating sun streaming through the palms her head was pounding evilly. The chatter of tropical insects and birds overhead was devilishly loud. Arthur was eyeing the Elves ahead of them, his eyes suspicious and bloodshot.
"Rane, what do you know about 'em? Those fellers?"
"Nothing but what they told us."
Arthur scoffed. "Oh, hell. I heard ya speakin' that language, you must know somethin.' I wanna know if we're walkin' into a wasp nest, especially with my guns all wet."
Rane hitched what remained of her dress up onto her shoulder, her breath coming quickly, blowing the strands of damp hair away from her face. "Shit, I dunno. Southern accents, not like where I come from. My dad is a yankee from Elyfalume." She staggered a little, grasping at Arthur's shoulder. "Teleri, I think, of some kind. Sea-faring folk, musicians, fishers. Asking them would insult them."
"What'd you do back there? With your eyes?" Arthur glanced over at her, his eyes acute despite his exhaustion. "And that light?"
"Not right now," Rane muttered, panting. "Later -"
She staggered abruptly, her boots catching one another, and fell into the brush, gasping, her eyelids fluttering. Arthur knelt beside her, breathing hard, looking ahead.
"Is it much farther?" he said roughly. Ahead, the five Elves had turned back to them, the patchy sunlight passing through the palms dancing over their clear foreheads. "She's weak, she needs water -"
"Ievos, rehta ," said Limdur, inclining his head, and one of his men swept forward and lifted Rane into his arms, her hair swinging. Arthur staggered up, grasping at the trunk of a palm, his face running with sweat. Limdur met his eyes, beginning to turn back to their path.
"Not far now. Come. Summon a bit more strength and you will find shelter."
IT wasn't. They came upon the city a few minutes later, and as Arthur stumbled into the clearing after the Elf carrying Rane (her eyes were slipping open and closed rapidly now as she stared into the sky, her mouth open, lax in his grasp), he nearly went to his knees again. It was a city, massive, alabaster stone twined with wrought iron, the steeples rising into the humid skies above the treeline, a mile across and surrounded by the tropical forests, sago and coconut and rippling seagrass. Parrots, their plumage bright blue and red in the sunlight, flew overhead, crying, and the sunlight dappled across the white walls, shifting with the motion of the swaying palms. It was a beautiful sight, ethereal and otherworldly. He had never seen another like it.
"Welcome to Hostas of Othelin, handsome peredhil's paramour," said Limdur over one shoulder, seeing Arthur's expression and smirking, looking highly amused. "Have your mortal eyes never fallen on an Elven city before? Or have you dwelled only the hollow wooden burgs of those born to die, with their stinking streets and their pestilential colonists, as most mortals have?"
"No, I ain't never," Arthur managed, faint.
"There is no finer city south of Nilen Caelora," said Limdur, sounding haughty, and laughed. "Let your eyes feast upon it, paramour, for you will never see another of its ilk in your short life."
They strode on past the grazing horses, climbing the alabaster stairway, Limdur waving aside the guards. Arthur eyed them as they passed, curious in spite of his exhaustion. They wore braided leather armor, their faces hidden by steel helmets, and all of them wore swords on their hips, not like Rane's but shorter and lighter. He saw their eyes, blue and glinting, follow his progress with grim suspicion.
By the time Limdur threw open a heavy stone door and ushered Arthur in, he was nearly fainting, and far too weak to put on airs about it. He collapsed onto the stone floor at the door's entry, his hair in disarray, breathing hard. Ievos was setting Rane onto one of the chairs at a stone table near a broad window, where she sat, wavering slightly, her eyes fluttering open, her dark hair plastered to her forehead with sweat. It was cool inside, at least, and a relief after the beating sun.
"Get up, paramour," said Limdur, laughing, and lifted his chin at one of his men. One of the guards yanked Arthur to his feet by the bicep, his strength fearsome, and hauling him up planted him in a chair aside Rane. Arthur grasped the cool stone table before him, listing dangerously to the left, the world doubling and trebling before him. Limdur, who had appeared behind them with a carafe of some sort of silvery liquid, grasped his shoulder and pulled him back up, still smirking easily.
"Hold fast, fir'mellon," he said, and planted two ornate silver cups onto the stone table, pouring. Both Rane and Arthur jerked to attention at the sound of the cold liquid striking the metal, their eyes hungry. "Drink before you die. It will keep the life in your chest a few moments longer, at least, so that we may have a few less bodies to burn."
Neither of them could stand on ceremony at this, not in such dire thirst. Both Arthur and Rane snatched the goblets up and drank greedily, slurping, the silvery liquid running down their chins with impunity, and Limdur smirked, his hands held behind his back and his long hair over his shoulders. Arthur coughed, startled, grasping at his chest. It was strong and heady, like some sort of ale, with a faint salty finish, and it burned like hell going down.
"The hell is it?" he coughed.
Limdur laughed. "Perhaps your pretty Eldarin friend can tell you, if she is worth her gab."
" Miruvor ," Rane said, her voice thick, catching her breath around the goblet.
"That it is," Limdur agreed, taking a seat between them and refilling their goblets. "A tonic for strength. Make quick use of it, for you are both weak." He eyed Rane, crossing his legs. "Our Northernmore fellows also partake in the sogenne'mithril , it would seem? Forgive me, but I always thought it a Southerner's drink."
"They don't make it that strong up there," Rane said honestly, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.
Arthur set his own goblet down, leaning back and clutching his chest. There was a curious sensation filling him up, not just the subsiding of his terrible thirst but a fortifying of his very core, seeming to fill him from the middle of him. He straightened, peering into the goblet with true bewilderment.
"Feeling better, paramour?" Limdur was leaning back against his stone seat, arm slung over the back of it, watching him with wry amusement.
"Stronger."
Limdur nodded to him, touching his forehead and trailing the fingers away in a gesture Rane was familiar with. "I am glad of it, then. My vintners have not lost their touch, it would seem."
" Le'fael ," said Rane, nodding at Limdur, still grasping the goblet in both hands, her breath slowing at last. Her face was sweaty and pale. "Thank you. Honestly."
"You will thank me with your conversation," said Limdur.
Rane watched him a trifle warily, setting her goblet aside. "What do you want to know?"
"Where you come from. No, not you, paramour," Limdur added as Arthur leaned forward, clearly meaning to speak. "You, peredhil . I have never met another of your ilk, and I'd know what brings you here, if we are to go forth as friends."
"I've already told you, I came from Ylle Thalas." Rane was looking up at him from beneath her brows, and Arthur noted once more that one of her hands had strayed to the helm of her sword, not grasping but fingering gently. She didn't trust these people, clearly. "What else do you want?"
"You do not speak like an Elf of Ylle Thalas," said Limdur, leaning forward. "And I have met many Ylle Thalas Elves, Rane Roth, so you call yourself. In fact, truly, you do not speak like any Elf I have henceforth encountered."
Rane eyed him for a long moment. Limdur broke it, laughing, the sound ringing and hearty, filling up the alabaster room. Outside the window, visible between the billowing curtains, the sun continued to ride high, and the tropical creatures' calls were loud and piercing.
"I did not mean your lands, I meant your father. Who was he?" He shifted, stroking his chin. "Was it he who is of the Eldar? Or your mother?"
"My dad. Wade Roth, Undunai of the North."
Limdur laughed, slapping the stone table with the flat of his hand. " Rochon'baug . The maethor ."
"You know him?" Rane asked with genuine surprise.
"Everyone knows Undunai ." Limdur laughed again. He seemed full of laughter, though not all of it seemed genuine, Arthur thought. "His reputation stretches across the sea. Lowborn warrior, ascending the ranks without the grace of blood. Who doesn't know of his feats?"
Limdur eyed Rane speculatively.
"It is said that he practices magic, like a common mortal." His voice was suddenly cool. "It is said that alone has kept him from the Council. His countrymen's derision."
Rane's eyes became cool, too. Arthur saw her grasping the silver chalice in her hands with white-knuckled tightness. "He's a great man," she said, low. "He uses it to protect his people. Not for pretension."
"Perhaps." Limdur laughed again. "A young man. Almost too young for daughters. Word has never reached my ears of his offspring."
"Word reached your ears just now," said Rane.
Limdur looked at her silently, stroking his chin, then laughed. "I mean no offense, young one, none at all. I must ask these things of strangers in my house. You understand. You are the daughter of a lowborn warrior and a human woman, and if you say it true, then I trust your words. We are kinsmen, you and I, even if born so far apart."
Rane understood he wasn't talking about distance and had a moment to find a chilly dislike for him. She didn't betray it, however, only nodded, still clutching her cup. They needed to take what supplies these Elves were willing to offer and make their way out of Hostar, that much was clear. Rane was no great judge of character, but Limdur seemed to her like the sort of Elf who would stab you through the heart as quickly as he would bow you into his chambers.
"So who is this man you bring before us?" said Limdur, gesturing to Arthur.
"A hired gun I fell in with," said Rane, meeting his eyes. She smirked, then shrugged. "And my paramour."
The men standing behind them laughed. Arthur, who had never heard this word before, looked around at them, his brow furrowed, unable to discern if this was an insult.
"You are bold to take a mortal," said Limdur, chuckling as well. "As fickle as the seas, they say, flitting between lovers like sharks flit between prey."
Rane smiled demurely, shaking her head. Arthur saw a flash of genuine anger in her eyes, sharp and cold as steel, and was surprised Limdur seemed not to notice.
"Please. Don't insult him. He isn't that way."
"Very well, very well, I will stop my jest. Goheno'nin." Limdur got to his feet, chortling. "I have never met a peredhil , and I am still not sure I have, but we will grant you shelter here nevertheless, and food and drink, if you should require it. You may seek shelter here for the night."
Rane looked at him in slight alarm at this. "We have to find our friends. They could be hurt."
Arthur glanced out the window. The sun was setting soon; the horizon was growing red across the palm fields. Limdur followed his gaze.
"You will not survive a night unaided on this island," he said, stroking his chin, his bright blue eyes glimmering. "Not even if you were laden with our supplies. There are others who dwell here who are less accommodating than us. Not Elves but men, and men are far more barbaric. Your friend's weapons surely will not work any longer, Rane Roth."
"I can take care of us."
"No. They outnumber you. And you are weak."
"But we need to find them," said Rane, looking at him sharply. "We lost them in the shipwreck."
"Aye, you must. Those who leave their friends behind are untrue indeed." Limthur eyed her. "Fear not, Rane Roth and Arthur Morgan. We have seen them. They are alive."
"You've seen them?" Arthur leaned forward from his seat, looking at Limdur. " Where ?"
"Not far from here." Limdur lifted his chin toward the window. "They have met with others. Your leader, the black-haired man -"
"Dutch." said Rane and Arthur at once. Limdur nodded.
"Yes. He has befriended them. You have nothing to fear. They are safe."
Arthur glanced at Rane, his eyes wide beneath his brows. Rane sighed, rubbing her forehead and wincing against the pain of the sunburn there.
"No, Limdur -"
"Enough." Limdur got up. "You will stay here tonight and rest. I insist. Rest. Before you join your frivolous friend. There will be food later, and this will be your quarters." He glanced between them, smirking, then added, "surely you will not argue us bedding you down with your paramour in the same room, peredhil ."
"We have to go ," said Rane sharply, getting up, grasping the hilt of her sword.
"Careful," said Limdur, and as her eyes met his own, he smiled, his own hand grasping the sheathed sword that hung at his belt. "You are young and not so quick as you think, daughter of Undunai. If you try to fight us, we will prevail. Even with your magic, for do not think we have not seen your second weapon, the one hidden in your boot. Doubt it not."
"Why are you doing this?" Rane asked, her voice rough.
"Because you need rest," said Limdur steadily. "And because you are too stubborn to accept it, or to see how weak you are." He gestured at Arthur. "Your friend is ill, as he knows well. He cannot continue without rest."
Rane looked at Arthur sharply, her eyes suddenly searching his face. Limdur went on heedless.
"My loyalty is with Elfkind, and I will not let one tear off to kill herself. Half-blood or not."
He took her shoulder gently, shaking her, meeting her eyes.
"Strengthen yourselves, then you may go." He squeezed her shoulder. "A single night. Partake of our food and drink. After, we will help you, should you ask. Accept it. We mean no harm, but we will not allow you to leave us while you are weak enough to perish."
Rane glared at Limdur a moment, then pulled her shoulder away.
"Fine."
Limdur looked pleased, and clasped his hands behind his back, inclining his head at her. "My people will bring clothes and meat when the sun sets. Rest."
He glanced at Arthur, then turning swept from the room. There was the click of a lock being turned as he left.