Chapter Five: The High Tzhurarkh

Engrossed in conversation and his own thoughts, Huiln only now noticed that the Concourse glinted, reflecting pinpricks of illumination. He looked up to see that the shape of the sky had changed: the Abyss, the Alfyrian moon, and the faint images of the Five Worlds were all gone, and in its place, the city stretched from horizon to horizon. In their journey through the Palace of Tzhurarkhs, they had arrived in the courtyard of one of the topsy-turvy castles, so that when they looked up, they saw the far-off streets and towering buildings of Julaba. Though the change was alarming, so that his skin crawled and his heart raced to see that down had become up and vice versa, what was most disconcerting about this change was also the subtlest, so that it took him a moment to put his finger on it. The curvature had flipped; unlike the sky's slight concavity, that those on the surface misread as flat, the curved world above bent backwards, in a slight convexity, as if a bubble was straining under the expanse of city.

At some point in their journey, when Huiln hadn't been paying attention, they had taken one of the impossible turns. On the one hand, he felt his own weight and the firmness of his footing, and on the other, the Elven World took the place of the Abyss. "Eurilda," he said, despising himself for being such a slave to his curiosity that he would ask the one he loathed most, "how does this work? I'd ask the elves how gravity gets capsized if I knew their noses wouldn't be upturned by snobbery."

"It's aggravating," said the giantess, "but easier to understand if you accept that our perceptions are distorted by trying to grasp what Alfyrians perceive, by forcing their perception to fit into our own concepts of space. But, if we accept that gravity works normally for us and those on Alfyria's soil above, and that both of us stand on the floor, then even though up and down for us appear to be diametrically opposed, we can act as if our up and down agrees with their up and down even though our senses contradict that. The elves may have different thoughts about this, but as we can't perceive what they perceive, there is no point in following their reasoning. Many things that are empirical for the elves must remain hypothetical for us, as we can never see the extra-dimensionality of the elven point-of-view. Pragmatically speaking, however, if we can travel in their extra-dimensional cities using our own assumptions, our assumptions are no less right than theirs."

"So," said Huiln. "You're telling me to ignore it."

"Yes. Like you would ignore an irritating little goblin."

The central castle was the largest yet, and all the more remarkable because entirely suspended, not only by the bridges—which were columnar and sturdier on the sides not used by foot traffic—but by towers jutting like spokes to connect with neighboring castles. The resultant structure looked not unlike a vast sea urchin.

Even on the dizzying bends and turns of the skywalk, concourse traffic was tedious; you couldn't get anywhere unless you exploited the occasional surges of the laggard crowd, as the beggars were loth to move, and others were on the business of this or that Tzhurarkh and inflated with the importance of their task.

When they were still hundreds of yards away, drums struck a somber seven-beat rhythm, one-two-three-FOUR-one-two-three, and the towering doors scintillated. And when they could make out the masks of the warriors stationed at the door—one was a compass of crossed swords, painted red, and the other was the first phase of Atoma (when its vertical motion was occluded by Alfyria's lower hemisphere, to resemble an ear to ear grin)—a trumpeter bugled not a cheery welcome, but a series of bullying blasts suitable for rallying savage armies.

Throngs of beggars were planted even on the white stone doorsteps of the High Tzhurarkh's residence. To Huiln, the steps were another kind of obstacle, as they were a few inches too tall for him, and could only be surmounted with his full stride, so that he seemed to be running upward in slow motion. By the time they reached the palace's shining black doors, his legs shook. The guards heaved open the doors, which proved to be not metal, but silver-tinted glass, two feet thick.

Lamplight flared in a long corridor lined by armored warriors; unlike the Treikondant Cerund, their colors were violet and sable black, but like them, their helms displayed intricate masks. Here was a silver feline face with whiskers of shining wire; another's mask was a pinwheel of shades of green; the most frightening was a mask without eye slits, an opaque black octagon with eight painted eyes. When Huiln passed that blind warrior, it seemed all eight eyes trained on him, an idea he could not dispel due to the recent scrutiny of an eight-eyed malevolence. Twice in the past day, the Spider-God's whims peeled back reality, so why not peer through a blind warrior's mask?

"More kings, or are these your warrior-librarians?"

"No and no," said the Tzhurarkh captain, "though these are of a sister sect. The primary duty of these warriors, the Kundan Cerund, is not to advance cobori but to protect kinulcra."

"I see," said Eurilda. "Knights not of knowledge but of power. Does Alfyria have other warrior sects?"

"I know none. And you misjudge the Kundan Cerund, who are content to serve the Tzhurarkhs because their primary dictum is not power but worthiness. First, they strive to become worthy of their order, the function of which is two-fold: discerning the unworthy and distinguishing the worthy, so as to preserve kinulcra for those of good character."

"You know a great deal," said Huiln. "Did you aspire to the Kundan Cerund?"

The Tzhurarkh captain paused. A few moments passed. "I was a Tzhurarkh's sole heir. While I was not allowed to pursue any other path, my father gained permission for me to join a Kundan Cerund preparatory class, to satisfy my curiosity."

"Your father was a good elf. Mine did much the same for me," said Huiln, "though he was no king, and I entered a religious order, not a knightly sect."

"My father did his duty," said the captain, "but it was not ideal, as I was evaluated both by my kingly father and the Kundan Cerund, who begrudged the privileged interloper. I would say you are perceptive, but the truth is more that I prattle, even now, when it is about to begin without you having any foreknowledge. I should have prepared you, and instead I was indulging myself."

"It's about to begin? Already?" said Huiln, "Not yet. First, I must know—does either order worship the Spider?"

The Tzhurarkh smiled. "What is religion but a vast web of precariously balanced assumptions anchored in absurdity? It wouldn't surprise me, but I couldn't say." Their words and steps echoed as they walked into a cavernous chamber with a distant ceiling, and left, right, and far walls that were hundreds of yards away. The palace's ground floor was the High Tzhurarkh's courtroom, built on a barbarous scale, so that it was as large as a Nahurian kurtura stadium.

When their escorts led them to a stone cage, Huiln entered with reluctance, but Eurilda seemed unconcerned. The High Tzhurarkh's ascent to his throne was long, and more wearying for Huiln, who drummed his fingers on the bars during the procession of attendant Tzhurarkhs and Kundan Cerund, whose halberds struck the floor to mark a kind of three-legged march. The foppish, embroidered gowns, the enameled ceremonial armor, and the pomp of the processional march were nothing to Huiln, who was accustomed to pageantry, and who was riveted by the extreme age of the ancient council. While time creeped for those deemed worthy of kinulcra, and a noteworthy Alfyrian never looked their age, those appointed to the council must hold their positions for centuries.

The High Tzhurarkh, on the other hand, was of indeterminate age; not only was he wrapped head to toe in an ebon-trimmed red satin robe, but not even a lock of his hair peeked out from his enormous crown, which was a faithful representation of the Palace of the Tzhurarkhs, its miniature castles, towers, and bridges connected like a golden molecule. It was much more ostentatious than his badge of office—a slender staff, wound with silver wire embedded with azure gems.

The meeting opened with discussion, which echoed in the stone cage as murmurs. Huiln speculated that these doddering elves might drone on through the day's agenda, so that he and the giantess might be judged without knowing it. "What is the nature of this invitation?" he said, and though he raised his voice only a little, so that the High Tzhurarkh might hear him on his elevated throne, the echoing stadium repeated it many times. "By the escort provided, I assumed I was an honored guest." That they ignored him did not bode well.

Eurilda said, in a low tone, "I'm curious to hear your skit, unless you're going to throw me under a carriage as your punchline."

"Right," said Huiln. "A goblin, throwing a giant. That's less likely than a little physical comedy securing my freedom."

"Treat me like the delicate creature I see in the mirror," said Eurilda. "unless you're eager for the true me to appear in this cage, where there won't be room for both of us."

Though the giantess sounded easy-breezy, without a hint of malice in her voice, it was doubtful that she had warmed up to him, and Huiln added this witty death threat to others Eurilda had made. While the pretense of friendship pained him, he would encourage the repartee. "Not to mention the carriage. I suppose you have a timetable for arrivals and departures?"

"Carriage races would improve this enormous court. As to the timetable, you can charter our departure whenever you wish."

"Not yet," Huiln hastened to say. "Let's keep our appointment with this cretin."

"Don't be so serious. I'm just killing time."

That the giantess entertained the idea of their being companions of any sort signified that she considered Huiln beneath her contempt, kept no record of his grievances, and looked upon him as a plaything for her amusement. He would teach her caution, he promised himself—but when the sudden press of goosebumps reminded him that Eurilda's mind often ran parallel to Huiln's, he remembered the cardinal rule of intrigue: gyrialti nol cuda; gyrialti no sema. 'Respect your enemy; respect your self'; except that the goblin word for respect, gyrialti, also meant beware, so the rules could also be translated as 'beware your enemy; beware your self'. "Don't mind me," said Huiln. "Except...don't assume your magic is on par with the Alfyrians'. Mastery of size and mass is powerful, but the elves mastered space and sight."

"And they're too stupid to charge a fee for traveling through the Quront Sabata."

"The cobori license is expensive enough."

"They're leaving loot on the table, and could revolutionize Alfyrian travel. Imagine if such a thing existed on Nahure, Huiln: a port of travel in which the port of departure, the vehicle, and the destination, are all one. As soon as you've departed, you've arrived."

"Elves aren't goblins, Eurilda. Elves exploit in more dimensions than goblins, not only substance and material value, but the hidden world of cobori."

"These snobs wallow in money like the rest of us."

When Huiln heard a low voice echo, he craned his neck to see that a Tzhurarkh on the left had the court's full attention, and that of the High Tzhurarkh. It was hard to listen in over the giantess prating about pretentious Alfyrians.

"Shh!" he said, and pointed up at the Tzhurarkhs, who had all stood. "This looks pretty grim," he whispered.

"Give me the word," she said, "and we're on our way. We can add a regicide to our crimes when we leave." When Eurilda's clear, arrogant, voice carried like a stage whisper, Huiln waved his hands at her frantically.

"Shh!" he repeated.

"Speak!" shouted the Tzhurarkh who had spoken.

Huiln and Eurilda looked at each other. "Did you hear any of that?" asked Eurilda.

"Any of what? Your prattle?"

"Speak!" came the shout again.

Eurilda shouted back, "I'll have a pint of black beer, and my companion will have your tallest glass of Nahurian brandy."

"What?"

"I thought you were taking our order?" When Eurilda feigned the attitude of an indignant diner, Huiln laughed in spite of himself, the Tzhurarkh speaker turned livid, and a restrained chaos rippled in the elven kings. By accident, the giantess scored a point of form. And when the quiet chaos died, the Tzhurarkhs entered into an ordered but lively discussion, spoken too rapidly and inaudibly for the goblin to understand.

"This should be amusing," muttered Huiln.

"It isn't already?" snickered Eurilda.

"You don't understand," said Huiln. "A tacit rule in the court of the High Tzhurarkh is that all boons not contrary to the Law of the Tzhurarkhs be granted."

"That's insanely generous." <

"On the face of it, but by the time anyone gets their face to face with the elf king, they're in such terrible straits that they're more concerned with surviving the Law of the Tzhurarkhs than getting a tall glass of brandy gratis; and those few honest petitioners who earn an audience after many years and many petitions deserve whatever refreshments they can imagine."

Eurilda's eyes widened, then her smile, and then she broke into a guffaw. "You mean," she panted after her long laugh, "that they're debating whether they should serve my beer?"

Huiln's answer was a deep belly laugh he could no longer restrain. They roared and bellowed until they were breathless, but when the giantess in her hysterics reached out to embrace him in the wave of fellow-feeling, the goblin, while swaying into her reach, yanked Eurilda's pouch from her belt, and scrunched it in his knobby goblin fist. When he then pulled free from the giantess, and turned away as if he just remembered they were enemies, it was for a more practical reason—to stuff the pouch in his tattered shirt. Just as quickly, the stone cage was silent, though it still quivered a little with their laughter.

Two armored, masked elves decanted the beverages upon a folding stand. From the Nahurian brandy wafted a strong smell of cork, and an enormous foam head erupted from the giantess's black beer. Eurilda grabbed the flagon without complaint, but Huiln couldn't let such abuse of good spirits pass. "I can tell from here that's barely drinkable," he said. "If you would, tell the steward to store Nahurian brandy upright. When the bottles are racked, the corks spoil the sweetness. Not only are you giving my world's spirits a bad name, but you destroyed a priceless vintage. And for the gods' sake, or at least for your next guest's, learn how to pour a beer."

The guardians made no comment, nor any eye contact. He supposed the High Tzhurarkh thought it amusing to put the accused in their place, by having the servants of his servants serve them, but to goblins, such pettiness was a playground pastime. In Kreona, all served King Merculo, who was not so far above his servants that such a dainty hierarchy need be constructed to feed anyone's ego. Reluctantly, Huiln sipped his brandy, and tasted not only cork, but slight staleness; moreover, it was not served warm, which sweetened the beverage and textured it with ripples. Huiln counted his blessings and quaffed it anyway.

Huiln enjoyed the cold brandy in spite of his criticism, as it fit their sour situation: on a cold-hearted world, in a stone cage, with a vile murderess that turned the heart of his best friend and 'brother by house,' and about to be presumed a spy by the highest authority. While feeling sorry for himself and savoring the aftertaste, he noticed the commotion above. When the Tzhurarkhs stood, some bowed, and others followed the High Tzhurarkh, who descended until he looked through the bars upon Huiln and Eurilda with one eyebrow lifted to accentuate a half smile that summed up a character in whom condescension and mirth were equally mixed, as if to say I will tolerate your imbecilic pettiness, your primitive jokes, and most of all, your non-elvenness, so long as it amuses me.

What the High Tzhurarkh actually said was "Tell me about Cyhari gon-Azuri gont-Czebele." The High Tzhurarkh's tone and manner were not that of a king, but that of a doctor, a torturer, or a teacher.

"Do you want a reference," said Huiln, "or her biography? Either way, I can't help you."

"I was told you are insolent. As you are not my subject, I could forgive this. Answer my questions sincerely, and to the fullest extent."

"I'm no midwife," said Huiln, "so I can't relate the full extent of Cyhari's life, as I missed the prologue."

"The next time he answers flippantly," said the High Tzhurarkh, "I will be satisfied with one of his toes in place of an honest answer."

This conversation was not going in the right direction, thought Huiln. "Let me start over. I'm happy to answer your questions, after which you must receive a message imparted to me by Otoka the Wise and the Councilor-Generals."

"Imparted to us, he means," said Eurilda.

"The High Tzhurarkh asked for sincerity," said Huiln with a frosty tone, "so there is no us, just a me and a you."

"This message is a subterfuge, of course."said the High Tzhurarkh, "but if it's a point of negotiation, I see no harm in listening. You have proved yourself to be entertaining, at least."

"Fine," said Huiln. "On my arrival, Cyhari showed me a moment's kindness."

"More than a moment, I think," gloated the High Tzhurarkh. Huiln suppressed his scorn, lest he be tempted to spin a web of lies to the smug elf king, rather than follow through on his word to Otoka the Wise. "Come, come," continued the High Tzhurarkh, "tell me the story in full."

"Yes, it was more than a moment. In Nahurian storytelling, understatement and overstatement are literary tools which increase the hearer's enjoyment. If you prefer, I can provide you with just the facts."

"Oh yes," said the elven king, "The conceits of goblin storytellers do not hold my fancy."

"Thank you. Understanding one's audience is crucial. For instance, I would have gone on to name Cyhari my only friend on Alfyria, though I see now the mistake in that, as no elf would believe that in only two days affection could grow to that degree."

The High Tzhurarkh's smile dived for his beard. "What are you saying, goblin?"

"I mean no disrespect. To continue: I arrived on Alfyria friendless and with few resources, as I had departed not from my home, but the Dryad World. That Cyhari was not my friend only made her hospitality more altruistic."

"You mean when she paid your Quront Sabata fees?"

"Yes. Due to my need, I didn't question my luck, nor did I did properly thank her. My indebtedness only increased when she reached out to her father Azuri, an elf of high repute on my own world as well as your own. She arranged for my stay at his worthy house."

When the High Tzhurarkh smirked, Huiln couldn't guess the reason, though the monarch's snobbish airs did not seem out of place for this tribunal.

"Do you deny she was your co-conspirator?"

"Take my word for it," said Eurilda, "this goblin is as honest as a crook can be."

"Don't help me," said Huiln wearily. "No, your Majesty, I am not particularly honest, though Lord Hwarn and the House of Hwarn are known for so being, and as Son of Hwarn, the appearance of a good character is important. Despite that, I have acquaintances like this one," here he indicated Eurilda, "and those that are little better, though they won my friendship. If you were to judge me by my bad company, not my noble House and lineage, you would think me a scalawag." Here Huiln paused, to let his self-criticism sink in. "That said, I am no co-conspirator in any plot on Alfyria. In fact, I was sent by a coalition of would-be allies. Since then, I stumbled upon a coup in the Treikondant Cerund that may lead to a proper coup d'etat once they've strengthened their grip on the Quront Sabata."

"A coup? You exaggerate."

"No. They crossed swords less than an hour ago, and it's near certain that the usurping faction, allied with Dryads and Giants, deposed the ruling faction."

"You witnessed drawn blades in Quront Sabata?"

"Twice in two days, actually." When Eurilda stomped Huiln's toe, his smile froze. Though Huiln had no intention of declaring that they first drew weapons on the giantess, his obsession with facts compelled him to answer accurately.

"Twice? Why not tell me the first time?"

"My ragged attire was unworthy of your Highness, and even your servants' servants would have believed me a mere interloper, up to no good."

"We cannot take time to ascertain the truth of this, your Highness," said the Tzhurarkh on the left. "We must mobilize against Quront Sabata."

"Dolt," said the High Tzhurarkh. "Do I not know the strategies befitting my post?" The High Tzhurarkh turned, and by gesture indicated not his attendant kings, but the Kundan Cerund. "You know what you must do."

"At once, Eye of Alfyria," said one, whose oversized mask bore the image of the grasping arms of a praying mantis.

When the Kundan Cerund sprinted from the royal court, a Tzhurarkh shouted after them, "I have not dismissed you!" When they ignored him, the Tzhurarkh turned to his monarch and asked, "how long?"

"They have owed me allegiance since birth," said the High Tzhurarkh.

"They are not worthy of serving you."

"No, they are not," agreed the High Tzhurarkh. "and they serve you so handsomely that I wouldn't deprive you of their service. In fact, it is their ability to reconcile loyalty to two masters that makes them such excellent spies." When his subordinate was speechless, the High Tzhurarkh said, "you have forgotten my other duty—I am Alfyria's spymaster. Your ignorance is forgiven, as I rarely consult my Tzhurarkhs about the motion of my spies." Next, he again turned to Huiln, and said, "if you lie, we will find an appropriately bureaucratic torture for the one that wasted my time. "

For his reply, Huiln handed the rolled letters between the bars.

The High Tzhurarkh unrolled the paper, and separated the desperate plea drafted by Otoka the Wise and the Councilor-Generals from the century-old document that Eurilda had found in Glesingren's shards.

From the Green Sward of Ielnarona to the Stone Skies of Alfyria,

From the Truefast Army to the Palace of A Hundred Kings,

From the Elder Woods to the Azure Throne,

Dearest Leturo, High Tzhurarkh of Ancient Alfyria,

Hear our plea: it is time.

The giants' storehouses crave bone and blood,

and Inglefras sees the Abyss as her abattoir.

Come by Ladder, or the Doorways of the Quront Sabata.

Feed our enemies or heed our call.

Army of the Faithful

Councilor-General Teuren

Councilor-General Quhinei

After the High Tzhurarkh impassively read the Councilor-Generals' lyrical entreaty, he handed it to the Tzhurarkh on the left, then unrolled the antique letter, which crinkled audibly. After he read it silently to himself, he read it aloud:

Heiczai 23-02

Inglefras,

Our like-minded friends will bring their gift the morning of stepfather's ceremony. Make sure the doorway is clear on your end, and I'll see to matters here. When I've grasped my heart's desire, I'll have the door widened on my end; be sure to do the same on your end so that I can make good on my promise. Salt is as sure as a blade, more subtle, and quick enough that you could finish your excavation in a month. The doorman was a good friend while he was useful. Make sure that he will not be missed.

F.

"Tzhurarkh Kaveen," he said, "is this written in my stepson's hand?"

Kaveem looked the letter over, front and back, as if seeking proof of authenticity.

"Yes, High Tzhurarkh. While it looks a little different, this is very old paper, and if it is to be believed, the date is one week before your coronation."

Turning to Huiln, the High Tzhurarkh asked, "Where did you get this?"

"On Ielnarona, in a long dead dryad's remains," said Eurilda, before Huiln had a chance to answer. "No doubt the dryad for whom your son prescribed salt, a well-known remedy for obnoxious trees."

"Eurilda," said the High Tzhurarkh. "I've awaited your arrival."

"I thought so," said Eurilda. "Is Sarin Gelf here?"

"You would be surprised how many Alfyrians, goblins, and dryads, enjoy my hospitality. Even savages from Hravak and Uenarak."

Huiln snorted. "Hospitality is for others' benefit; you give for your own. Call it largess, or liberality, but not hospitality. Elves do not know the meaning of the word."

"Did you come all this way not as a message boy, but to lecture me? My goblin friend, you are Alfyrian at heart." The High Tzhurarkh's retinue tittered. "Do not mind them, Huiln, son of Hwarn. I mean it. That is true cobori."

"To call my heart Alfyrian," said Huiln, "strikes me as offensive, though in the spirit of cooperation, I will take it as complimentary."

The elven king smirked. "Though you bear me no ill will, I can't say that you bear good intentions, either. Regardless, my halfway-willed friend, you are free to go; but what of your companion?"

"She is not my companion," said Huiln, scowling. "I don't care what you do with her. Though High Tzhurarkhs do as they will, if you value your life, never trust her."

Eurilda's face clouded; she turned from Huiln, grasped the stone bars, and gripped them tight. As one Kundan Cerund opened the cage, another pulled Huiln out before the first warrior again locked it shut.

Huiln continued, "And Sarin Gelf is worse."

Eurilda's voice shook. "I saved your life."

"Yes," said Huiln, "a deed which doesn't fit you. As it's unpleasant to think I owe my life to your caprice, I believe you have a hidden motive."

"You know my motive!" shouted Eurilda. Her echo shivered the chandeliers, and set their green lights flickering. She swelled in size until her back braced against the cage roof, which buckled but did not break.

"Yes," a hooded Tzhurarkh said, "we know your mind, Eurilda—so easily changed that a few kind words from a lover could make you our intractable enemy."

"Enemy?" Eurilda's growl filled the court and throbbed in Huiln's ears, as she increased her size even more in an attempt to burst the ceiling or bars through sheer mass. "Let me," she said, gasping, "clear up any doubt you have." Try as she might, though, she could not crack the stone shell, as she had neither sufficient space nor leverage to exert her giant's strength.

"Your Highness," said Huiln, "given time, she will break free."

"I'm touched that you, who are critical of our entire world, shows concern for my well-being. Do not fear; she will not break free."

The hooded Tzhurarkh spoke again. "With respect, High Tzhurarkh, I agree with the goblin. All she needs is time."

"Then why are we still here?" asked Huiln, allowing his agitation to creep into his voice.

"I did not say we are at risk," said the hooded Tzhurarkh. "I thought goblin cowardice was more specific, pertaining only to heights and spaces. While the giant wants her freedom, taking our lives would run counter to her purpose."

"Yes, we have something she wants," said the High Tzhurarkh. Though both had a smug tone, it felt more offensive coming from the High Tzhurarkh, who seemed to ape his subordinate.

"Why not just give the order to your men," suggested Huiln.

"You mean the Kundan Cerund?" scoffed the High Tzhurarkh. "They are only mine to command as spies; into battle I can only order Tzhurarkhs."

"Order them!" When one of the struts burst free in several clattering pieces, Huiln flinched, as his memory of being bludgeoned by copper coins was still too fresh.

"Unnecessary," observed the hooded one, who lowered his hood to reveal not a Tzhurarkh, but Sarin Gelf, who seemed slimmer, sterner, and more robust than the ancient dryad seed they had chased up the Alfyrian Ladder.

Huiln watched as Eurilda's face fell, losing its hauteur in its descent into lunatic fury, for to her, the elderly dryad was not only the one who stole her son, but also the representation of another, more hated, enemy; she screamed, "Inglefras!" and two more struts shattered.

"If you crush me under your heel, Inglefras yet lives, and what becomes of your son?" Sarin Gelf's confidence seemed unflappable as one, two, and then three more bars broke, and the Tzhurarkhs fled the debris that rolled off Eurilda's back. Midway into his own dash for the far wall, Huiln turned his bobbing head to see the elderly dryad unbowed and apparently unshaken, though Huiln was still trembling from his vigorous sprint, and he couldn't be certain.

"If I play your game, I'll never know," bellowed Eurilda, "but if I kill you now, you'll be the one that dies guessing. Maybe I'll find him all the same. And it's been a week since I killed an Inglefras." When she yanked Sarin Gelf toward her, the old dryad seemed to bend from the speed and force of her grab. As she looked at him with satisfaction, the elves regrouped. Several Tzhurarkhs drew swords from under their robes to form ranks behind the Kundan Cerund. While Huiln's back was also to the wall, goblin ears are keen, and he was able to follow their conversation.

"First," crooned Eurilda, savoring the moment, "tell me: why not let Inglefras molder in Merculo's bordello? Why send Khyte from Hravak to Nahure, when reports of your enemy's captivity should have pleased you? Moreover, why should I listen to any justification, if you were ever one with that monster?"

"Who slew the seed of Inglefras on the roof of the Orange Hotel," asked Sarin Gelf, his voice unusually strong and clear for one in the grip of a giantess. "Was it you?"

"Save your breath. It proves not that you oppose her, but the contradiction of a mind divided, of insanity."

"Opposition is my life. Given a choice of reconciling with my maker, living the few years Inglefras allotted, and expiring in the reunion with her tree, or the madness and murder of negation, I choose the power in destruction, in uprooting, and in shattering the image of perfection. Kuhidi deltira gamami."

Power is the death of form: an often cited eponymous verse from the classic Nahurian treatise on politics and war, Yamukh Kwerew's The Death of Form. Huiln knew the verse well, and, hearing his native language misrepresented, held his tongue, for though he was certain neither knew kuhidi meant not only power but change, neither would they appreciate the distinction.

"You sing a song after my own heart," laughed Eurilda. "Although I am not sorry to kill you, your reason to be speaks to me, and I will consider what you say long after your death." But when Eurilda squeezed Sarin Gelf hard enough to crumble a boulder, he smiled back, then darkened, his tanned, human tones becoming brown as soil. When his torso, arms, and legs lengthened, thickened, and grooved, and the sudden tremendous mass shredded his robes, Eurilda yelped and dropped him. What landed on root-like feet was no longer a dryad seed but a dryad sapling a foot shorter than Eurilda. Unlike a full-grown dryad tree, the sapling that erupted out of Sarin Gelf still had legs, arms, and a face, which directed a violent glare upon Eurilda before it heaved her high, threw her to the ground with a tremor that shook the palace, then fell upon her. Though the dryad's grip was implacable, and Eurilda could not shake herself free, when the pinned giantess thrashed her legs, the court shuddered, and many Tzhurarkhs still seated fell to the floor, while others tumbled down the stairs.

When Eurilda vanished, sapling Sarin Gelf fell forward. Huiln seized a Kundan Cerund's blade and ran forty steps before its startled owner realized it. For while Alfyrian eyes could see another skein of reality, goblin eyes could see the universe of details. And while the elves were confused at the giant's disappearance, Huiln's eyes trained on Eurilda, who had shrunk smaller than a centipede and crawled nearly as fast as one towards the rubble. Had she the instinct of a centipede as well, and not the curiosity and arrogance of a sorceress, she would have scurried under the debris, but when the goblin's shadow darkened the stones, she turned.

When Huiln swung the sword down in a crushing arc, Eurilda flinched, and threw her arm over her head, but the blade bit the stone behind her, then scraped her off her feet and down the neck of her sorcerous pouch. Huiln tightened its drawstrings, swung it over his head, pumped his other fist in the air, and laughed good and long. As his eyes were squeezed shut in exultation, he noticed neither the Kundan Cerund closing ranks around his victory dance, nor the looming shadow of sapling Sarin Gelf.

"Huiln of House Hwarn," called the High Tzhurarkh, "Who do you serve?"

Huiln turned to stare at a monstrous menagerie, not only the sapling dryad that was once the old man Sarin Gelf, but the Kundan Cerund, who had lowered their arcane and beast-like masks, and the Tzhurarkhs, who had closed their cowls, and were no longer kings, but griffins, crows, dragons, wolves, and the other beasts whose faces appeared when their hoods were drawn tight. Moreover, though the giant was contained, the elves' blades were still bared.

Unsure of correct decorum, Huiln knelt, then bowed, doubling his abasement in his haste not to offend the ego and image-conscious elven monarch. Then he said, "only my beloved father….and you, High Tzhurarkh." Huiln detested lying, and had mentioned his father so a sprig of truth might make might the deception fresher and more believable.

"I accept your fealty, Nahurian. You may kiss the Qelereth Tzurt," he said, presenting his jewel-encrusted, silver-bound, staff.

In bending the knee to this arrogant high king, Huiln's dissembling skills were taxed, for it is hard to feel reluctance and not show it. The important thing is to smile, he told himself. Wearing his smile, Huiln no longer felt that he was the only one unmasked among so many Kundan Cerund helms, Tzhurarkh cowls, and Sarin Gelf's wooden face. Huiln was under no illusions, however, that his mask was not the most dishonest, and when he kissed the Qelereth Tzurt, the silver's bitter patina wrinkled that smile into a frown. The High Tzhurarkh's cheap, gloating, leer was not the face of a good king, but of one delighted that Huiln's abasement was tainted by the age-old tarnish on his badge of office. The High Tzhurarkh's contempt made the goblin's lie easier, and his smile hardened.

"Now," said the High Tzhurarkh, "give me the giant."

"In truth, my liege," said Huiln, "she is no longer here."

"Did you not drop her in that pouch?"

"Yes, we all saw it," said one of the Tzhurarkhs.

"Eurilda is in the nowhere and the never, where her fall will not end. So long as these strings are tied, she is a memory."

"Your semantic point tries my patience," said the High Tzhurarkh. "Do you deny that if I take the pouch, she will be under my power?"

"'Under your power' has the ring of truth, but even truer would be 'out of your reach.'"

"Nahurian," said the High Tzhurarkh, "your capacity for saying bedeviling things exceeds that of any in my employ. I will give you half their compensation if you join my retinue until you no longer amuse me."

Huiln was sorely tempted, as half of an elven king's compensation would be fabulous wealth; however, as he could not work for such an evil king, he would only accept in pretense. "If I am more eloquent than your kings, why not pay me more?" If Huiln had accepted in good faith, he may have come to regret that remark, for all eyes turned upon him malevolently.

"Until you have an army at your back like they do, half is generous." The High Tzhurarkh's eyes shifted to the pouch that Huiln yet carried. "I will call you Vizier Sharpeye, due to your acute sight, that picked a flea-sized sorceress from debris. The one not yet in my hand."

Again feeling the poisonous onset of reluctance, Huiln smiled, knelt, and proffered the pouch on his outstretched hand.

The High Tzhurarkh's smug smile, already wide, broadened even wider. "Holding the Qelereth Tzurt in one hand, and a giant in the other, I find my appetite for power undiminished. Can I hold Quront Sabata as well?"

"If I may be so bold, your Highness, you must. The Quront Sabata not only provides passage to every Alfyrian city, it could also establish footholds on all Five Worlds." After Huiln said this, he again felt all eyes upon him—an unnerving feeling, as, with the exception of the High Tzhurarkh's, those eyes were masked and cowled.

"Explain."

"Surely your Highness knows of the Doorways?"

After a moment, the High Tzhurarkh turned to those around him and asked, "Is this a Nahurian idiom? It sounded like he said doorways."

"It is no idiom," said Huiln, "and I do not speaks of doors that open rooms, but magical Doorways that open every city in The Five Worlds."

"Ludicrous," scoffed the elven high king. "If they exist, would we have built Alfyrian Ladders?"

"The ancients that built the catacombs," Huiln continued, "also built the Doorways. Since the Doorways are not unlike the Alfyrian Ladders, perhaps the ancients were once Alfyrian."

"Is this flattery, or would you really have me believe it?" said the High Tzhurarkh indignantly. "My spies tell me you arrived by Alfyrian Ladder; why not use a Doorway instead?"

"When war blocked the Doorway, we left by the Alfyrian Ladder on the roof of the Orange Hotel."

"High Tzhurarkh," said the hooded one, "what would the goblin gain by lying?"

"You believe this farce, that a way to the Five Worlds has existed under our noses?"

"Millennia," offered Huiln.

"Should we not have the truth of it?" asked the hooded one. "If true, should we let unworthies act on this knowledge? Also, the goblin insinuates Quront Sabata hid this from you."

"Perhaps not just me," mused the High Tzhurarkh. "Perhaps even during my father or grandfather's reign."

"Surely not," scoffed another. "They reigned over a hundred years ago. May your reign be everlasting."

The High Tzhurarkh looked down upon Huiln, and said, "tell me where this Doorway is."

"My liege," said the goblin, "the closest is in the Quront Sabata. I was looking for it when I was captured by dryads and giants, that minutes later waged battle against the Treikondant Cerund. As I watched, the guardians were betrayed by some in their ranks, so that while I did not see the end of it, I surmise that the turncoats won Inglefras the victory." The goblin rubbed his chin. "What do we call the traitors, to distinguish them from the other masked knights? After all, they're all wearing masks, so all are 'false faces'; given that a mask is a false face, do the falsely masked traitors show their true face? As traitors, their concealment is not figurative and aesthetic, but literal and practical; they are not signifying hidden depths, but hiding in plain sight."

"You are confused, Son of Hwarn," said The High Tzhurarkh. "You are not my jester or philosopher, but my adviser."

"You deprive me of my two favorite masks," said Huiln.

Ignoring Huiln, the High Tzhurarkh addressed them all. "Our choice was made for us. With armed insurrectionists in Quront Sabata, we take it from invaders and insurrectionists for the glory of Alfyria, whether or not I believe in this Doorway. We liberate Quront Sabata not only from the intruders, but from the custody of the Treikondant Cerund. For if your story is true from beginning to end, Son of Hwarn, we no longer trust the Treikondant Cerund to govern there, since whether they have sworn allegiance to Inglefras or remain loyal to their order, all kept from me the secret of the Doorways.

The High Tzhurarkh now addressed the coterie of elf kings that seemed to cling to him. "Who accepts the honor of conducting this siege and leading my armies?" When a half-dozen of those assembled begged for the duty, Huiln was impressed by their loyalty to one for whom he had a very low opinion; never had he met someone so low that was so highborn.

"Ialuna gon Weqana, my beloved cousin, crush these interlopers, restore order to Quront Sabata, and determine if these Doorways are another goblin joke. The rest of you will take her word as my own, and commit your troops to her command, so that the next time there is an insurrection, they'll shudder to remember the force marshaled today. Huiln, Son of Hwarn, you will serve as Tzhurarkh Ialuna's aide; if the invaders are destroyed, and the Doorways proven—or not—I shall reconsider your worth."

Ialuna gon Weqana uncovered her head and bowed; the tall and regal elven king was dark-complected like the elves of Kuln, and with azure blue hair, piercings dangling from her right ear, and a wavy sword slung at her hip. Huiln had forgotten that the word Tzhurarkh was gender neutral, but as the sexes were as equal on the Elven World as they were on the Goblin World, he only wondered for a moment how many elf women had been concealed in the hordes of Cerund masks and Tzhurarkh cowls, before he became obsessively preoccupied with Ialuna's piercings. The most distracting was the prominent piercing, a silver spider hanging from a golden chain over a tangle of gold and silver creatures: a strange hound mid-leap, a dragon with upraised wings, and a baugn diving. To the special vision of goblins, this much detail at twenty feet away might as well be under Huiln's nose, so that he couldn't tear his eyes away from the mesmerizing clutch of detail on one side of Ialuna's face.

"The honor pleases me, High Tzhurarkh," said Ialuna gon Weqana, "though I should hate that our kinship caused any preference."

"If you were any of my other relations, kinship would argue against you, but your accomplishments have always reflected well on me, and your victory may add another trophy for my collection,"

"With luck, then," said Ialuna, and bowed. "With your leave, I go to sound the clarion cannons. Nahurian, you're with me."