Tomas stared into space “Something . . . strange . . . like the other night: hopeful, but sad.”
Abruptly there was a shout from the edge of the clearing below Elvandar. It cut through the sound of the celebration, but what was being said was unclear. Tomas rose, with Aglaranna at his side, and crossed to the edge of the huge platform. Looking down, he could see an elven scout below, clearly out of breath. “What is afoot?” Tomas shouted.
“My lord,” came the reply, “the outworlders—they withdraw.”
Tomas was rooted in place. Those simple words struck him like a blow. His mind couldn’t comprehend the Tsurani’s leaving after all these years of fighting. He shook off the feeling. “To what ends? Do they marshal?”
The scout shook his head. “No, my lord, they are not staging. They move slowly, without alarm. Their soldiers look dispirited. They break camp along every mile of the Crydee and turn east.” The guard’s upturned face showed an expression of stunned but joyful understanding. He looked at those nearby, then with a smile said simply, “They are leaving.”
A shout of incredible joy went up, and many openly wept, for it seemed that at last the war was ended. Tomas turned and saw tears on the face of his wife. She embraced him, and they stood quietly for a moment. After a time the new Prince Consort of Elvandar said to Calin, who stood nearby, “Send runners to follow, for it may be a trick.”
Aglaranna said, “Do you truly think so, Tomas?”
He shook his head. “I only wish to make sure, but something inside tells me this is truly the end. It was the hope of peace with the sadness of defeat mingled together that I felt.”
She touched his cheek, and he said, “I will send runners to the Kingdom camp and inquire of Lord Borric what is happening.”
She said, “If it is peace, he will send word.”
Tomas looked at her. “True. We shall wait, then.” He studied her face, centuries old, but still filled with the beauty of a woman in her first bloom. “This day will doubly be remembered as a day to celebrate.”
Neither Tomas nor Aglaranna was surprised when Macros arrived in Elvandar, for they had ceased being amazed at the sorcerer after his first visit. Without ceremony he stepped forward from the trees surrounding the clearing and crossed toward the tree-city.
The entire court was assembled, including Longbow, when Macros came to stand before the Queen and Tomas. He bowed and said, “Greetings, lady, and to your consort.”
“Welcome, Macros the Black,” said the Queen. “Have you come to unravel the mystery of the outworlders’ withdrawal?”
Macros leaned upon his staff and nodded “I bring news.” He seemed to consider his words carefully. “You should know that both the King and the Lord of Crydee are dead. Lyam is now Heir.”
Tomas noticed Martin. The Huntmaster’s face was drained of blood. His features remained impassive, but it was clear to Tomas that Martin was rocked by the news. Tomas turned toward Macros. “I knew not the King, but the Duke was a fine man. I am sorry for such news.”
Macros went over to Martin. Martin watched the sorcerer, for while he had never met him, he knew him by reputation, having been told by Arutha of the meeting upon his island and by Tomas of his intervention during the Tsurani invasion of Elvandar. “You, Martin Longbow, are to go at once to Crydee. There you will sail with the Princesses Carline and Anita for Krondor.” Martin was about to speak when Macros raised his hand; those of the court paused as if taking a breath. In a near-whisper Macros said, “At the last, your father spoke your name in love.” Then his hand dropped, and all was as it had been.
Martin felt no alarm, but rather a sense of comfort from the sorcerer’s words, he knew no one else had been aware of the brief remark.
Macros said, “Now hear more glad tidings. The war is over Lyam and Ichindar meet in twenty days’ time to sign a peace treaty.”
A cheer went up in the court, and those above shouted the news to those below. Soon all of the elven forests echoed with the sound of rejoicing. Dolgan again entered the council, wiping his eyes. “What’s this? Another celebration without us while I nap? You’ll make me think we’re no longer welcome.”
Tomas laughed “Nothing of the kind, Dolgan. Fetch your brethren and have them join our celebration. The war is over.”
Dolgan took out his pipe and knocked the dottle from it, kicking the burned-out tabac over the edge of the platform. “Finally,” he said as he opened his pouch. He turned away, as if intent upon filling his pipe, and Tomas pretended not to notice the wetness upon the dwarven chief’s face.
Arutha sat upon his father’s throne, alone in the great hall. He held the message from his brother, which he had read several times, trying to understand that their father was truly gone. Grief sat heavy upon him.
Carline had taken the news well She had gone to the quiet garden beside the keep, to be alone with her thoughts.
Thoughts ran not through Arutha’s mind. He remembered the first time his father had taken him hunting, then another time when he had come back from hunting with Martin Longbow and how proudly he had listened to his father exclaim over the large buck he had taken. He vaguely recalled the ache when he had learned of his mother’s death, but it was a distant thing, dulled by time. The image of his father enraged in the King’s palace suddenly came to him, and Arutha let out a slow sigh. “At least,” he said to himself, “most of what you had wished has come to pass, Father. Rodric is gone and Guy is in disgrace.”
“Arutha?” said a voice from the other side of the hall.
Arutha looked up: stepping from the shadows of the doorway came Anita, her satin-slippered feet making no sound as she crossed the stone floor of the hall.
Lost in his thoughts, he hadn’t noticed her enter. She carried a small lamp, for evening had cast the hall into deep gloom. “The pages were reluctant to disturb you, but I couldn’t see you sitting alone in the darkness,” she said. Arutha felt pleasure at the sight of her and relief she had come. A young woman of uncommon sense and tender ways, Anita was the first person Arutha had known to see beneath his surface calm and dry humor. More than those who had known him since boyhood, she understood his moods and could lighten them, knowing the right words to comfort him.
Without waiting for him to answer, she said, “I have heard the news, Arutha. I am so terribly sorry.”
Arutha smiled at her. “Not yet over your own grief at your father’s passing, and you share mine. You are kind.”
Word of Erland’s death had come a week before on a ship from Krondor. Anita shook her head, her soft red hair moving in a rippling wave around her face. “Father was very ill for many years. He prepared us well for his death. It was a near-certainty when he was put into the dungeon. I knew that when we left Krondor.”
“Still, you show strength. I hope I am able to bear up as well. There is so much to be done.”
She spoke quietly. “I think you will rule wisely, Lyam in Rillanon, you in Krondor.”
“I? In Krondor? I’ve avoided thinking about that.”
She sat at his side, taking the throne Carline sat in when at her father’s side in court. She reached over and placed her hand upon Arutha’s, resting on the arm of the throne. “You must. After Lyam, you are Heir to the crown. The Prince of Krondor is the Heir’s office. There is no one to rule there but you.”
Arutha looked uncomfortable. “Anita, I have always assumed I would someday become Earl of some minor keep, or perhaps seek a career as an officer in one of the Border Barons’ armies. But I had never thought to rule. I am not sure I welcome being Duke of Crydee, let alone Prince of Krondor. Besides, Lyam will marry, I am sure—he always caught the girls’ eyes, and as King he’ll certainly have his pick. When he has a son, the boy can be Prince of Krondor.”
Anita shook her head firmly. “No, Arutha. There is too much work to be done now. The Western Realm needs a strong hand, your hand. Another Viceroy is not likely to win trust, for each lord will suspect any other who is named. It must be yo
u.”
Arutha studied the young woman. In the five months she had been at Crydee, he had come to care dearly for her, though he had been unable to express his feelings, finding words lacking when they were together. She was each day more a beautiful woman, less a girl. She was still young, which made him uncomfortable. With the war in progress, he had kept his thoughts away from their respective fathers’ plans for a possible marriage, revealed to him that night aboard the Sea Swift. Now, with peace at hand, Arutha was suddenly confronted with that question.
“Anita, what you say is possibly true, but you also have a claim to the throne. Didn’t you say your father’s plan for our marriage was designed to bolster your claim to Krondor?”
She looked at him with large green eyes. “That was a plan to foil Guy’s ambitions. It was to strengthen your father’s or brother’s claim to the crown should Rodric die heirless. Now you need not feel bound to those plans.”
“Should I take Krondor, what will you do?”
“Mother and I have other estates. We can live quite well upon the revenues, I am sure.”
Struggling with emotions within himself, Arutha spoke slowly. “I have not had time to weigh this in my mind. When I was last in Krondor, I learned how little I know of cities, and I know less than that of governing.
“You were raised for such undertakings. I . . . I was only a second son. My education is lacking.”
“There are many able men, here and in Krondor, who will advise you. You have a good head for things, Arutha, the ability to see what must be done, and the courage to act. You will do well as Prince of Krondor.”
She rose and leaned over to kiss his cheek. “There is time for you to decide how best to serve your brother, Arutha Try not to let this new responsibihty weigh too heavily upon you.”
“I will try Still, I would feel better knowing vou were close by—you and your mother.” he added with a rush.
She smiled warmly “We will be close at hand should you have need of our advice, Arutha. We will likely stay upon our estate in the hills near Krondor, just a few hours’ ride from the palace. Krondor is the only home I’ve known, and Mother has lived nowhere else since she was a girl. Should you wish to see us, you have but to command, and we will happily come to court. And should you wish to find respite from the burdens of office, you will be a welcome guest.”
Arutha smiled at the girl “I suspect I will be visiting with regularity, and I hope I do not wear out my welcome.”
“Never, Arutha.”
Tomas stood alone on the platform, watching the stars through the branches above. His elven senses informed him someone had come up behind. With a nod he greeted the sorcerer. “I am but twenty-five years in this life, Macros, though I bear memories of ages. All my adult life I have been waging war. It seems a dream.”
“Let us not turn this dream into a nightmare.”
Tomas studied the sorcerer. “What do you mean?”
Macros said nothing for a time, and Tomas awaited his words with patience. At last the sorcerer spoke. “There is this thing which must be done, Tomas, and it has fallen to you to finish this war.”
“I like little the tone of your words. I thought you said the war was finished.”
“On the day of the meeting between Lyam and the Emperor, you must marshal the elves and dwarves to the west of the field. When the monarchs meet in the center of the field, then will there be treachery.”
“What treachery?” Tomas’s face showed his anger.
“I may say little more, save that when Ichindar and Lyam are seated, you must attack the Tsurani with all your forces. Only this way can Midkemia be saved from utter destruction.”
A look of suspicion crossed Tomas’s face. “You ask much for one unwilling to give more.”
Macros stood tall, holding his staff to one side, like a ruler his sceptre.
His dark eyes narrowed, and his brows met over his hooked nose. His voice stayed soft, but his words were hot with anger. Even Tomas felt something akin to awe in his presence.
“More!” he said, biting off the word. “I gave you all, Valheru! You are here by dint of my actions over many years. More of my life than you will know has been given to preparing for your coming. Had I not bested, then befriended Rhuagh, you would never have survived in the mines of Mac Mordain Cadal. It was I who prepared the armor and sword of Ashen-Shugar, leaving them with the Hammer of Tholin and my gift to the dragon, so that centuries later you would discover them. It was I who set your feet upon the path, Tomas. Had I not come to aid you, years past, Elvandar would now be ashes. Do you think Tathar and the other Spellweavers of Elvandar were the only ones to work on your behalf? Without my aid over these last nine years, you would have been destroyed utterly by the dragon’s gifts. No mere human could have withstood such ancient and powerful magic without the intervention only I could make. When you were swept along upon your dream quests to the past, it was I who guided you back to the present, I who returned you to sanity.” The sorcerer’s voice rose. “It was I who gave you the power to influence Ashen-Shugar! You were my tool!” Tomas stepped back before the controlled fury of the sorcerer’s words. “No, Tomas, I have not given you much. I have given you everything!”
For the first time since donning the armor in Mac Mordain Cadal, Tomas felt fear. In the most basic fiber of his being he suddenly was aware of how much power the sorcerer possessed, and that should Macros choose, he could brush him aside like a nettlesome insect “Who are you?” he asked quietly, controlled fear in his voice.
Macros’s anger vanished. He leaned once again upon his staff, and Tomas’s fears fled and with them all memory of his fears. With a chuckle, Macros said, “I tend to forget myself upon occasion. My apologies.” Then he grew serious once again. “I do not ask this thing from any demand of gratitude. What I have done is done, and you owe me nothing. But know this: both the creature called Ashen-Shugar and the boy called Tomas shared an abiding love of this world, each in his own way, incomprehensible to each other as that love was. You possess both aspects of the love of land: the desire of the Valheru to protect and control, and the desire of the keep boy to nurture and nourish. But should you fail in this task I set before you, should you stint in resolve when the moment is nigh, then know with dread certainty, this world upon which we stand shall be lost, lost beyond recalling. This on my most holy oath is the truth.”
“Then I shall do as you instruct.”
Macros smiled. “Go then to your wife, Prince Consort of Elvandar, but when it is time, marshal your army. I go to Stone Mountain, for Harthorn and his soldiers will join you. Every sword and war hammer is needed.”
“Will they know you?”
Macros gazed at Tomas. “Indeed they will know me, Tomas of Elvandar, never doubt.”
“I shall gather all the might of Elvandar, Macros.” A grim note entered his voice. “And for all time, we will put an end to this war.”
Macros waved his staff and vanished. Tomas waited alone for a time, struggling with a newfound fear, that this war would last forever.
THIRTY-TWO - Betrayal
The armies stood facing one another.
Seasoned veterans eyed each other across the open valley floor, not quite ready to feel at ease in the presence of an enemy they had fought for nine years and longer. Each side was composed of honor companies, representing the nobles of the Kingdom and clans of the Empire. Each numbered in excess of a thousand men. The last of the Tsurani invasion army was now entering the rift, returning home to Kelewan, leaving only the Emperor’s honor detachment behind. The Kingdom army was still camped at the mouths of the two passes into the valley and would not leave the area until the treaty was finalized. There was still a cautious aspect to the newfound trust.
On the Kingdom side of the valley, Lyam sat astride a white war-horse, awaiting the Emperor’s arrival. Nearby the nobles of the Kingdom, their armor cleaned and polished, sat their horses. With them were the leaders of the Free Cities militia and a detac
hment of Natalese Rangers.
Trumpets sounded from across the field, and the Emperor’s party could be seen emerging from the rift. Imperial banners fluttered in the breeze as the procession moved to the head of the Tsurani contingent.
Awaiting the Tsurani herald, who was walking across the several hundred yards that separated the opposing monarchs, Prince Lyam turned to regard those who sat on horseback nearby. Pug, Kulgan, Meecham, and Laurie were accorded their position of honor by dint of their service to the Kingdom Earl Vandros and several other officers who had distinguished themselves were also close by. Next to Lyam sat Arutha, astride a chestnut war-horse, who pranced in place out of high spirits.
Pug looked around, feeling a giddy sensation at the sight of all the symbols of two mighty nations with whose fates he had been so closely tied. Across the open field he could see the banners of the powerful families of the Empire, all familiar to him: the Keda, the Oaxatucan, the Minwanabi, and the rest. Behind him were the fluttering banners of the Kingdom, all the duchies from Crydee in the west to Ran in the east.
Kulgan noticed his former student’s far-off gaze and tapped him on the shoulder with the long staff he was holding. “Are you all right?”
Pug turned. “I’m fine. I was just a little overwhelmed for a moment, engulfed in memories. It seems strange to see this day, in a way. Both sides of the war were bitter enemies, and yet I have ties with both lands. I find I have feelings I’ve yet to explore.”
Kulgan smiled. “There will be much time for introspection later Perhaps Tully and I can offer some aid.” The old cleric had accompanied Arutha on his brutal ride, not wishing to miss the peace meeting. The fourteen days in the saddle had taken a toll, however, and now he lay ill in Lyam’s tent. It had taken a command from Lyam to keep him there, for he had been determined to accompany the royal party.
Magician Page 81