That was not, however, where Amrothlin’s story began, for he started long before. The tale chilled Kieri’s blood; it made sense at last of Paksenarrion’s story about the underground stronghold where she had nearly died. Vanryn ago—the vanryn of the elves, ten thousand winters to humans—the elves had lived in the far south that humans called Old Aare, and fewer vanryn ago they had moved north, finally over the mountains. And there the Lady’s first heir had chosen the Severance over his mother’s obedience to the Singer, turning inexorably into the vicious being imprisoned in the banast taig.

Amrothlin went on—and on—with the tale, telling it as elves did, in great detail, connecting every action to its cause and its consequence. Hours passed, the sun’s light shifting from window to window, but Kieri was afraid to break into that torrent of speech now revealing so much he had wondered about. It was nearly dark, and Amrothlin finally had come to Kieri’s mother, when Kieri held up his hand at last, and Amrothlin paused.

“Another day, Amrothlin. You and I both need food and rest, and I have other duties, as you know. Come, if you will, the day after next.”

Amrothlin stood and bowed. “I will come,” he said. “The Singer’s blessing on you.”

“Take care, Uncle,” Kieri said, standing as well. He felt stiff as a log and stuffed with knowledge he needed time to understand. “We know we have enemies still.”

That night Arian said, “Did he tell you anything useful or more roundabout tales?”

“I learned that his brother—my eldest uncle—was a traitor and turned iynisin,” Kieri said.

“It took him all day to tell you that?”

“That and everything leading up to it, connected with it, and … It’s no wonder they won’t answer simple questions, Arian. They don’t think anything is simple.” He shook his head. “I suppose it’s not, if you’re looking at ten or twenty thousand winters as a short time; they can see the beginnings and endings, the connections.” He laughed, mocking himself. “So much for elves being peaceful lovers of harmony and song. I heard about quarrels that lasted thousands of years, and grudges held from before the Dwarfmounts were lifted up and set in place. I will never remember it all.”

“I suppose you could tell it to a scribe—”

“And get half of it wrong? No. No, I’ll deal with the days as they come, use what I can remember. Oh—I didn’t ask the steward—did the other elves keep on with the jobs Amrothlin gave them?”