I knew nothing about Elven funeral rites. There was a giant necropolis about a mile from town, full of graves, crypts, and barrows. The whole thing was tended by yet another subspecies, the Barrow Elves, and their monarch, Carca, the White Queen. Strange to have a monarch for such a small population, only 10,000, and that included the necropolises outside Nez Clar? and Ilníst.

  The Barrow Elves look much like the Deep Elves, snow white skin and hair, thin, but their eyes were white with a mere dot of a pupil to break up that color. To call them eerie, gruesome, creepy would not be diplomatic, neither would it do them justice. They were like revenants.

  May took me down a row of barrows, all with stone entrances, Elvish runes chiseled on every exposed bit of granite.

  She took my hand in hers while no eyes were on us and we walked like that for a few moments, just acting like normal lovers.

  “Do they scare you, Tendil? I know they can be unsettling at first.”

  “Yes. I won't lie, May. They're so ghost-like. I don't like thinking about the supernatural, it's always frightened me.”

  “Their story is rather unique, Dear. The first of them were mourners who couldn't bear to leave their kin here alone. Over time, more stayed. They come into town every morning to beg for food and coin. The Church helps them as well. You know, Elves have a peculiar ability to adapt to their environment if they're there for long enough. In two generations, you have a whole new subspecies. It's really quite beautiful, the different varieties of my people.”

  “Before this trip, I had only encountered Moon Elves and High Elves. Both come into Wikehold for trade. Oh, well, I guess I had met one Gray Elf, Margrin. The Moon Elves though with their lavender skin have been my favorites. No offense.”

  “Now Love,” she said, “how could I be offended that you prefer others to me? And I get it, I also think Moon Elf men are far more attractive than Humans.”

  “Now see here, May!”

  She was giggling and I saw that I had been set up. It was good that she had a chance to laugh. Things were getting more and more serious by the hour.

  We heard six bells as we arrived at the Hevistyón family crypt. The widow, the Lieutenant’s family, and hers were standing around the body, laid on a bier, covered with a sheet of white linen, surrounded by kindling. Clarest was the widow's name, I remembered. I went over to her and gave my condolences for what they were worth. There was a lot of murmuring, the Queen's presence being a tremendous surprise. A Priest of élois said much in Elvish over the body. Unexpectedly, May asked if she could say a few words. “Yes , Your Majesty, of course!” squeaked from his mouth as he walked away backwards, bowing the whole time.

  I'll paraphrase her eulogy. She mentioned what a pleasant and happy young man he was, how he often had guard duty outside her chambers. Courteous, chivalrous, she had planned on making him a Captain in a matter of a few weeks. She was lightly crying throughout. What brought everyone to tears were her closing lines. How he had shown her a locket he wore with a miniature painting of Clarest in it with a lock of her hair. May said she had never in her life met a man so proud of his wife. Then she said a rather lengthy prayer in Elvish.

  When she was done, all of the mourners walked around the bier, placing little bits of folded parchment prayers on the body. The Priest then doused the body with oil, took a torch, and set it ablaze.

  Before we left, May said she had to pay a visit to the White Queen. A matter of protocol that couldn't be avoided.

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  Carca's throne room was in an abandoned crypt — a sizable one. We were announced and a Royal Guard ran up to get on either side of a narrow carpet, crossing glaives to make an archway through which we were to pass. Then I really looked at the Guard. These things were animated skeletons armored and ready for battle or ceremony.

  May was smiling, I noted out of the corner of my eye. She whispered, I'm sorry, Love. I forgot to mention that the White Queen is the most powerful Necromancer in all of Tellia.”

  I whispered back, “It's quite alright my Darling. Despite my longevity, I've a long memory.”

  As we neared the throne, what they call the Mortal Throne, intricately carved from alabaster, the White Queen held up her hand for us to stop. I did and bowed, then she spoke.

  “It's good to see you, Darling May. Your visits are far too infrequent.”

  “I could say the same Carca. When is the last time you graced the Silver Gate? We see your subjects daily begging on our streets. You know, of course, that there have been troubles recently.”

  “I know of them, May. I was under the impression that they were being peaceful until your soldiers began beating them.”

  “They were actively resisting, Carca; you know how that Elf is that leads them, Milost Phaeronyón, he tries to create trouble. He's the Captain of your militia. I know you can get a better grip on his behavior.”

  Allow me to explain a bit here. The Barrow Elves have a philosophy that their very existence makes them responsible to carry the weight of a community's grief and sorrow. By flagellating themselves in the streets of the cities, they exorcise the pain so we never have to feel it. In theory.

  Many Elves have no issues with the Barrow Elves. They see them as a necessary aspect of life. But the shop owners and city leaders see them as a hindrance to commerce and an eyesore. There was recently a conflict when the constabulary came to order the leader, Milost Phaeronyón to move along and he resisted. He ended up, ironically, being flogged publicly, a punishment to which the Gray Elves rarely resort.

  The flagellants were ordered out of Nez Ambríl, not to return to beg, and flagellation was made illegal. Now, there is an uneasy peace with the Church providing for the Barrow Elves who don't work, don't raise crops, manufacture anything, educate their children — they mourn.

  Oh, they do make little fetishes that they carve from coffin wood and sell to mourners from the city for a few coppers, but that's the extent of their industry.

  The Church has insisted on being allowed to teach the children of the barrows reading, writing, and basic mathematics, in exchange for food. Believe it or not, there has been resistance to this from the Barrow Elf parents. They have a ridiculous belief that children are “sky taught,” that the environment and spirits give children all of the education they'll ever need. They're really very primitive, and it's confounding, living as they do in the shadow of the most advanced civilization in our world.

  Carca said, “Milost is his own Elf, May. You know he feels he should get some leeway for what he did during the Siege of the Black Banner, never having been properly, publicly recognized.”

  Back then, Milost was a Barrow Warden, a highly trained Ranger specializing in stealth and infiltration tactics. He single-handedly took out several batteries of hobgoblin trebuchets with skill and magical fire. All of the Barrow Elves know of the deed, few Elves in the city do.

  “Perhaps we can remedy that, Carca. We could create a medal for him, give him a handsome reward in gold. Name something after him. I'm amenable to all that.”

  May seemed genuinely contrite, knowing the Elf's heroism and at what cost. He was an anonymous beggar on the streets of Nez Ambríl. And he was flogged as a common criminal.

  Carca considered for a moment, then said “We can revisit the issue after we've dealt with these most recent aggressors. You know we will come to your aid anyway, but a share of the amber concession would be appropriate recompense I should think.”

  May didn't need to think about it. “You're right, of course Carca. Amber, a medal for Milost, anything else?”

  “Now that you mention it, May, a park for us near the town center, lift the ban, rescind the laws, allow us to mourn as we've done for centuries.”

  May was in full agreement except for one issue. “There's one condition, Carca. You let us educate those children. That's non-negotiable. Adults can take part as well if they wish. It's never too late to learn.”

  “It will be a hard sell on my part, May. You don't know how dug in these people are. Tradition is everything. But it will be done. So, we can provide 1,000 light cavalry and 1,000 light infantry. I know it's not much, but the other necropolises will send more. Maybe we'll get it up to 5,000.”

  “Thank you, Carca. You know anything you can do is well-appreciated. This will be the greatest Elven army ever assembled; do you realize that? We don't have the final numbers, but it will be close to 250,000 strong and fighting from a well-defended position. It's a beautiful thing, Carca.”

  Carca was unimpressed. “I care more about survival than how many come to the family reunion,” she said dryly. “Certainly, it's optimal if we can all get along and cooperate. I'm not dismissing your vision, May. I'm just keeping things in perspective.”

  May laughed, “Shrewd as always, Carca! Please, come by the Palace this week for lunch or dinner or tea, whichever you want, and we'll have a nice visit.”

  “Speaking of food,” I said to May as we were leaving, “let's have a good meal. Something to put me to sleep.”

  She looked sad, “I don't think so, Tendil. We've been together all day and I don't see any sense in rubbing it in people's faces. Just know that I'm happy. In the middle of all of this, I'm happy.”

  I was briefly unhappy, but then reminded myself to maintain perspective. Me too, My Darling. Happier than I've ever been. Oh, and tomorrow we need to discuss my trip to the Coast with ?rdelon. I was thinking it might not be a bad idea to take Margrin with me. Take advantage of his connections.”

  “Yes, love. That's a sound plan. Come to the war room in the morning and we'll discuss it. I'll have ?rdelon and Margrin there and ready. Pack a satchel, okay?”

  “Yes, beloved. Get some rest and I'll see you in the morning. Good night, Dearest.”