Laurie pulled in his horse near a large outcropping of rock where a Tsurani officer in black-and-orange armor supervised the passing soldiers. From his officer’s plume and insignia, he was a Force Leader, surrounded by his cadre of Strike Leaders and Patrol Leaders. To the Force Leader he said, “Where lies the closest ford across the river?”
The other officers regarded Laurie with suspicion, but if the Force Leader felt any surprise at the barbarian’s nearly perfect Tsurani, he did not show it. He inclined his head back the way his men marched from and said, “A short way from here. Less than an hour’s march. Faster on your beast, I’m sure. It is marked by two large trees on either side of a clearing, above a place where the river falls a short way.”
Laurie had no difficulty identifying the house colors the man wore, as it was one of the Five Great Families, and said, “Thank you, Force Leader. Honor to your house, son of the Minwanabi.”
The Force Leader stood erect. He did not know who this rider was, but he was courteous, and that courtesy must be returned. “Honor to your house, stranger.”
Laurie rode forward past the dispirited Tsurani soldiers plodding along the banks of the river. He found the clearing above the small falls and rode into the water. The river ran swiftly here, but the horse managed to cross without incident. Laurie could feel the spray from the falls as the wind blew it back in his direction. It felt cool and refreshing after the hot ride. He had been in the saddle since before daybreak and would not finish his ride until after night had fallen. By then he would be close enough to Elvandar to be intercepted by elven sentries. They would certainly be watching the Tsurani withdrawal with interest, and one could guide him to their Queen.
Laurie had volunteered to carry the message, for it was felt that the messenger would be less likely to encounter trouble if he could speak Tsurani. He had been challenged three times during his ride, and each time he had explained his way past suspicious Tsurani officers. There might be a truce, but there was little trust yet.
When he was clear of the river, Laurie dismounted, for his horse was tired. He walked the animal to cool it off. He pulled the saddle from the mount’s back and was rubbing him down with a brush carried in his saddlebags when a figure stepped out from among the trees. Laurie was startled, for the figure was not an elf. He was a dark-haired man with grey at the temples, dressed in a brown robe, and holding a staff. He approached the minstrel, without hurry and seemingly at ease. He stopped a few feet away and leaned on his staff. “Well met, Laurie of Tyr-Sog.”
The man possessed a strange manner, and Laurie did not remember having met him before. “Do I know you?”
“No, but I have knowledge of you, troubadour.”
Laurie edged closer to his saddle, where his sword lay. The man smiled and waved his hand in the air. Abruptly Laurie was filled with calm, and he stopped moving for his sword. Whoever this man was, he was obviously harmless, he thought.
“What brings you to the elven forest, Laurie?”
Without knowing why, Laurie answered. “I bring messages to the Elf Queen.”
“What are you to say?”
“That Lyam is now Heir, and peace has been restored.
He invites the elves and the dwarves to the valley in three weeks’ time, for there will they seal the peace.”
The man nodded. “I see. I am on my way to see the Elf Queen. I will carry word. You must have better things you can do with your time.”
Laurie started to protest, but stopped. Why should he travel to Elvandar when this man was bound there anyway? It was a waste of time.
Laurie nodded. The man chuckled. “Why don’t you rest here for the night? The sound of water is soothing, and there is little chance of rain. Tomorrow return to the Prince and tell him that you carried the message to Elvandar. You spoke with the Queen and Tomas, and they were agreed to the Prince’s wishes. The dwarves of Stone Mountain will hear also. Then tell Lyam that the elves and the dwarves will come. He may rest assured, they will come.”
Laurie nodded. What the man was saying made a great deal of sense. The stranger turned to leave, then said, “By the way, I think you’d best not mention our meeting.”
Laurie said nothing, but accepted what the stranger said without question. After the man was gone, he felt a great sense of relief that he was on his way back from Elvandar and that his message had been received.
—
THE CEREMONY TOOK place in a quiet glade, with Aglaranna and Tomas exchanging vows before Tathar. No one else was there, as was the elven way, while they pledged their love. Tathar invoked the blessings of the gods and instructed them on their duty, one to the other.
When the ceremony was complete, Tathar said, “Now return to Elvandar, for it is time for feasting and celebration. You have brought joy to your people, my Queen and my Prince.”
They rose from their kneeling positions and embraced. Tomas stepped back and said, “I would have this day remembered, beloved.” He turned and cupped his hands around his mouth. In the ancient language of the elves he cried, “Belegroch! Belegroch! Attend us.”
The sound of hooves pounding the earth could be heard. Then a small band of white horses raced into the glade, ran toward them, and reared in salute to the Elf Queen and her consort. Tomas leaped upon the back of one. The elf steed stood quietly, and Tathar said, “By no other way could you have shown so well that you are now one with us.”
Aglaranna and Tathar mounted, and they rode back to Elvandar. When they came into sight of the tree-city, a great shout went up from the assembled elves. The sight of the Queen and her Prince Consort riding the elf steeds was, as Tathar said, a confirmation of Tomas’s place in Elvandar.
The feasting went on for hours, and Tomas observed that the joy he felt was shared by everyone. Aglaranna sat next to him, for a second throne had been placed in the council hall, acknowledging Tomas’s rank. Every elf who was not keeping watch over the outworlders came to stand before them, pledging loyalty and offering blessings on the union. The dwarves also offered their congratulations and joined in the festivities wholeheartedly, filling the glades of Elvandar with their boisterous singing.
Long into the night the celebration wore on. Suddenly Tomas stiffened. A chilled wind seemed to pass through him. Aglaranna gripped his arm, sensing something amiss. “Husband, what is it?”
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 ch
eek, 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 riot 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 you.”
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 responsibility weigh too heavily upon you.”
“I will try. Still, I would feel better knowing you 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.”
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