THE LIGHT IN THE NORTH

Prologue

Even in mid-winter, the midges danced at twilight over Wielkopolska Lake. The water was still, and the flat surface seemed never-ending to the elf wearily making his way along the well-used sprite path close to the shore. The light was going fast, but as yet there was no sign of lamplight ahead to guide him to his destination. A few stumbling jumps later, he sighed with relief as he was challenged. Two sturdy elves, smartly dressed in the black and green of Special Brigade, stepped out of cover onto the path in front of him.
“Heading for parliament?” one of them asked abruptly. “State your business, please,” he added, frowning slightly as he noticed the red wristband the strange elf wore.
Weary though he was, the visitor drew himself up to his full height, looked the guard in the eye, and replied with dignity.
“My name is Viorne Vandenesse, colonel of the First Regiment, Sprite Army, French Section. I am here at the invitation of Envoy Yantra.”

The explanation rang true. Envoy Yantra had recently been promoted to senior envoy level, with special responsibility for army liaison.
“Certainly, sir. If you will make your way to the fountain, I’ll message the envoy and ask him to meet you there.”
Colonel Vandenesse nodded his thanks, and continued along the path. It led him through a thick bank of willow, then across a causeway that would never have taken the weight of a human, to a wide island in the marsh, entirely surrounded by reeds.

Very well-hidden, thought the colonel, impressed. He was challenged again at the wall of reeds, but quickly allowed through, to be impressed once again by the imposing buildings of the sprite parliament. There were many of them, built of grey stone, steel and glass. In between the buildings were neat lawns and gravelled paths, and in the very centre, a huge fountain. The colonel stood looking at it while he waited. Four abstract figures – presumably representing an elf, a fairy, a goblin and an imp, though it was hard to be sure – stood a-tiptoe upon some broken stuff, a crown, he thought, and possibly a bough. The figures leaned inwards, towards each other. Joyful expressions were on their faces, and their hands met, the fingers disappearing just where the water jutted out and soared into the air and down again, running down their backs and into the pool that surrounded them.

Colonel Vandenesse sank down onto the pool’s rim and looked at his reflection in the water. Neat purple-black hair, the colour of elderberries, framed a sun-tanned face that seemed curiously blank. It didn’t have the freshness of youth, but it didn’t have the lived-in, lined look of experience either. The colonel didn’t see it like that, though. He just noted the absence of wrinkles with a complacent smile.
At the sound of footsteps on the gravel, he stood up and turned round. Envoy Yantra was walking towards him, his hand outstretched, his smile showing a few too many teeth.
“Colonel Vandenesse! Good of you to come. You must be tired after your long journey from France. Come and have some refreshments.”
Sounds friendlier than I expected, thought the colonel. Thought he was supposed to be really hostile. Wonder when I’ll find out what he wants me for?
He smiled tentatively, though his nose wrinkled a little as the envoy got closer. Not too keen on washing, obviously.
“Thank you, Envoy,” he said. “That sounds good.”

The envoy led him inside the dome-shaped main building, which was known as the Beehive, along polished corridors with subdued lighting, past lofty rooms with impressive names on the doors. Everywhere was warm, though there were no fires to be seen. Even at this hour, there was plenty of bustle and noise. Smartly-dressed sprites were hurrying to and fro, or standing in groups gossiping in excited voices. Eventually the envoy stopped outside a double door of heavy glass.
“This is the Terrace Bar,” he whispered. “For senior personnel and their guests, only.”
The colonel followed him across the softly-carpeted room to a gleaming bar where you could get almost anything you wanted to drink. Polish vodka and French wine, dozens of fruit juices, and the finest teas and coffees were available, though if you’d asked for Lucozade or goat’s milk they might have been a bit stumped.
“Oh, claret, definitely,” smiled the colonel when he was asked what he’d have. The envoy took a glass of tokay and led his guest out onto the terrace. Soft chairs were spread about before a huge picture window overlooking the lake.
“Do make yourself comfortable,” urged Envoy Yantra.
“Glad to,” said the colonel, sitting down with a sigh, and stretching his legs. “Why am I here, though?”
“Ah, no need to rush to business. Enjoy your wine.”

The envoy chatted on, about the splendid facilities here at Wielkopolska, how many sprites worked there, how exciting it was to live and work at the nerve centre of the realm.
“Rather a contrast to, er, Fjaerland,” said the envoy, rather acidly.
“Oh, I suppose it is,” said the colonel. “That’s got its good points too, though,” he added loyally.
“You are fond of the place?” the envoy enquired.
“Yes…yes, I am,” said the colonel. “I think every army sprite at the very least has fond memories of his two years’ training there.”
“How would you feel about returning to live there full-time?” smiled Envoy Yantra.
“Ah…oh,” said the colonel.

He knew what this was about, now. The only army appointments in parliament’s gift were the six most senior, a right they’d taken to themselves after the Balkan War. And everyone knew there was a vacancy. Colonel Vandenesse felt angry for a moment, remembering Tilleul Cherapont’s death, and how it had been brought about. Still… it was an important position. You’d be a general. There were only ever five generals at a time, it was a rank Colonel Vandenesse had never expected to attain. In spite of himself, he was flattered.
“Returning to Fjaerland?” he mused. “It’s not France. But I could be tempted, for the right reason.”
“We were thinking,” said Envoy Yantra smoothly, “of offering you the rank of general. I believe the actual job is named, er, ‘chief of staff’.”
The barely-concealed contempt annoyed the colonel as much as it would have annoyed any army sprite. But he swallowed his annoyance. Someone had to do the job, and if it was being offered his way, he wanted it.
“That would indeed be a very tempting offer,” smiled the colonel.
“Have some more wine,” purred the envoy, “and let’s talk about your new job. Then I’ll see you to your room - the guest bedrooms are absolutely magnificent, and I have one of the best reserved for you - and in the morning, when parliament is in session, you shall come in to receive your commission…General Vandenesse.”