Elfhome полностью

“Here is good,” Oilcan told Andy. “You’ll have to take the full dumpster out of the alley before there’s room for another.”

“I’ll grab it after I drop this.” Andy worked the hydraulics to lower the container into place. “And bring another empty one back?”

“Yeah.” He wished he could be more confident that he was doing the right thing. Tinker sailed forward so sure and true — it was easy to follow in her wake. It made life a joyful ride. This was like being lost at sea.

If they were going to open an enclave, then they would need tables, chairs, dishes, silverware, food — the list went on and on. He had some money saved. Tinker always paid him well and he lived rent free, but he had expensive hobbies. If things continued at this rate, he’d burn through it fast.

He was in a cleared corner of the dining room with the pieces of the front door. He’d just triggered the last spell to knit together the splintered wood, when stillness ran through the building. He looked up and found Windwolf standing in the foyer with his sekasha arrayed around him.

Oilcan had seen Windwolf helpless, mauled and bleeding, close to death. Oilcan had also seen Windwolf calling down bolts of lightening like a god. What mattered most to Oilcan was he’d seen the loving way Windwolf treated Tinker. How the elf felt about him, though, was a mystery.

“Wolf Who Rules Wind.” Oilcan gave him bow and used his full name because he needed to talk to Windwolf about official things.

Windwolf raised an eyebrow at the formality. “I thought I recognized the pattern of chaos,” Windwolf said in English. “But I guess I was wrong.”

“Oh! Yeah, this is all me.” Oilcan slipped back to English since Windwolf obviously wanted to keep the discussion informal. “I’m glad you’re here. I need to talk to you.”

Windwolf smiled wryly. “Yes, you do. I ordered this building to be torn down.”

“I know. I need to discuss with you setting up an enclave.”

“Ah.” Windwolf considered a moment, apparently thinking about the fact that their conversation would be public. He tilted his head toward the Faire Grounds. “Let us walk.”

Windwolf was nearly a foot taller than Oilcan but he matched stride with him as they walked out of the school and across the street to the rolling pasture. Oilcan waited until they were out of earshot before starting up the conversation again.

“I don’t know if you’ve been told, but I’ve taken in the Stone Clan children.”

“Yes, I’ve been told,” Windwolf said. “I know your family will go through extraordinary lengths to protect anyone that lands in your lap. I love you both for your boundless empathy and selfless courage.”

It surprised and touched Oilcan how easily Windwolf used the “l” word. He supposed it was a difference in culture. Still, he could hear the “but” lurking in Windwolf’s voice.

“So what’s the problem?” Oilcan said.

“I’ve become aware, too, that you often act without knowledge of the inherent—” Windwolf paused, searching for appropriate word.

“Danger?”

“Entanglements.” Windwolf smiled. “But yes, also danger.”

“What am I missing?”

“I’m assuming that if you wish to talk to me about starting an enclave, you’re seeking Wind Clan sponsorship.”

“I think I am,” Oilcan said cautiously. “I need to learn more about it before I can be sure.”

“Basically I would supply you with money to start an enclave. It is not a gift given freely.” Windwolf frowned. “I want to be sure you understand all that sponsorship entails. I do not want to assume that since your Elvish seems flawless that you actually understand what I’m saying to you.”

Considering Tinker had accepted Windwolf’s engagement gift in total ignorance that she was agreeing to marry him, Oilcan couldn’t blame Windwolf for being leery.

“I realize it isn’t a gift, that I would be somehow indebted to you.” Oilcan said. “It’s the level of debt that I don’t understand.”

Windwolf nodded and sighed. “I’ll try to explain. I don’t know English well enough to feel comfortable that I’m correctly translating the concepts.”

Considering Windwolf’s English was as good as Oilcan’s, the statement was intimidating.

They walked in silence across the grass. The sekasha had moved away, giving them the illusion of privacy.

“We have songs and legends that tell of a time, long ago, when we were much like the humans. We were nomadic tribes, bound together mostly by blood ties, waging wars with even friends and family over land and beautiful females. But then the Skin Clan discovered their dark magic and built an army of monstrous beings — wyverns and wargs and baenae—that swept over Elfhome, enslaving all before them. The Skin Clan would scatter each newly conquered tribe through their nation. A cousin here. A cousin there. All the children were taken from their parents. No siblings were raised together. They killed our priests and scholars and burned all our books, determined that nothing would bind their slaves together. They could not, though, destroy our hate of them — and in the end — that was what bound us together.”