This Scepter'd Isle Read Online Free Page A

because of what I will show you." Her solemn, almost fearful, expression gave him a chill of foreboding, but she said nothing more, though he looked at her with a hundred questions in his eyes.
    She took his hand and led him away; Miralys they left to graze as he would near the Gate. The steed would come to no harm here, and if Denoriel needed to ride, Miralys would come to him at a thought, no matter where he was, Underhill or in the mortal world. Elvensteeds were not limited to passing by Gates.
    They were all fortunate that the steeds would not travel into Unseleighe Domains in their unlimited journeys, or the ongoing skirmishing with their Unseleighe cousins would turn into something even uglier than it already was.
    Elven FarSeers, Healers, and the most powerful of the Mages were trained here in Avalon, which was said to be one of the oldest Elfhames. Aside from the teachers and those in training, only a select group of FarSeers actually dwelt here still. Avalon was small, but the very air hummed with power, and unlike any other Elfhame, there were no actual buildings here. Fragments of walls were melded with living trees and bushes, creating as much or as little privacy as the inhabitant or the use required. There were no roofs; where was the need for roofs where it never rained? Avalon's air was always that of a sweet and balmy spring night with a hint of a breeze, and if one wanted a little more darkness than the twilight, one could make one's dwelling in the deep shade of the boughs of a cascading cypress or a sighing willow.
    In the time of Arthur, human mages and the novices in service to the ancient gods had come here too, to be trained, passing—if not "easily," then certainly at their will—across the boundary between mortal and Elven lands. But then Christianity had supplanted the ways of the gods and goddesses, and the humans came no more. No mortal had set foot in Avalon for a thousand years.
    Which was, Denoriel reflected, just as well.
    As Aleneil drew her brother deeper and deeper into the heart of Avalon, the signs of current and former occupants appeared more often along the path. The pathway itself was lit by moon-lanterns, and the pearly glow they shed showed the arch of a doorway here, the thrust of a tower there, a surprising burst of color from a stained-glass window framed, not in stone, but in the living trunk of a tree.
    He knew where she must be taking him, although he had never seen the artifact himself—the great Mirror of the FarSeers. This was not only a vehicle for the FarSeers to use in seeing the possible futures, it had been enchanted to be able to capture those visions and show them to those who were not, themselves, able to FarSee. It was the only creation of its kind in all of the Seleighe lands; perhaps the only one in the world, mortal or Underhill.
    When they came upon it, though, it was a complete surprise.
    On the rare occasions Denoriel had thought about the mirror in connection with his sister, he had wondered idly whether it would be silvered glass or blackest obsidian? A still pool, rimmed with glowing precious stones? A giant ball of flawless crystal?
    It was none of these things.
    It was, however, set in the middle of a depression in the earth, a tiny bowl of a valley, carpeted with millions of minute flowers. They nestled among leaves no bigger than seed-pearls, which gave off a sweet, spicy scent as he trod on them. In the center of the bowl was a pedestal of alabaster; on the pedestal stood a silver frame, enclosing what appeared to be an enormous lens of crystal.
    Standing beside the lens were three elven women Denoriel didn't recognize. One, like Aleneil, was gowned in the height of current mortal fashion, though her chosen colors were sapphire and sky-blue. One wore little more than draped silk gauze, pinned in the style of ancient Greece at the shoulder with bronze brooches and held to her waist with a matching belt. The third, gowned in a style not seen since