“Then fare you well, my old friend,” said Tomas.
“Fare you well, lad.”
Just then Aglaranna appeared and Dolgan said, “Ah, lovely. Saves me the trouble of tracking you down to say good-bye, my lady.”
“You are leaving, Dolgan?”
“Aye, off to visit kin in Stone Mountain, then home before my boy makes too big a mess of things.”
“Then travel well and visit again soon, my friend,” she said.
He bowed and departed.
Tomas stared out again over the forest below, and his wife regarded him for a moment. She knew his moods better than any being living, and she loved him with a depth of her heart she barely believed possible. She had loved her first husband, the last King of the Elves, but it had been a love of slow building, a comfortable affection that came from necessity, for it had been her fate since birth to rule at his side. But with Tomas, passions she had never imagined had sprung into her heart as soon as she had seen him as a man, no longer the boy she had first beheld, and he had looked at her with a man’s eyes. Since then they had been as one, and she knew his heart and mind. She knew he was thoughtfully considering this new elf who had come among them.
And she knew he was troubled.
Aglaranna, Queen of the Elves and his wife for a century, came to stand behind him and put her arms around him, a gesture that never failed to give him comfort. “What troubles you, husband?” she asked softly.
He turned with a smile, gazing into the face he counted the most marvelous sight he had ever beheld. “Have I told you how beautiful you are?” he asked with a sheen of moisture in his eyes.
She couldn’t help but smile. “Only every day, my lord.”
He grimaced and said, “If it grows old…”
“No,” she interrupted. “I’ll endure you saying so if you must.”
The banter was just what he needed and it caused him to relax. “I’m concerned,” he said.
“I know. You are concerned over our guest.”
Tomas nodded. “My memories of Ashen-Shugar are not complete. Many have come to me over the years, but still there are holes. Of all my memories of the Edhel, I have no recollection of any like this Gulamendis.”
“He is very strange,” agreed the Queen. “Even the Moredhel resemble us in so many ways. But this…elf, he is different.”
“Dolgan said but for the ears, he is as different from us as a human would be.”
Aglaranna laughed, a musical sound that always delighted Tomas. “My love, have you been with us so long you’ve forgotten you are human?”
He smiled and folded her into his arms, her head resting snugly under his chin. “I am what I am. Yes, I was born human, but that was lifetimes ago. Only Calis”—he mentioned their son—“understands what it is to live half in one world and half in another.”
“I thank our ancestors he found Ellia and her sons.”
Tomas said, “Yes. A family can save a soul.” He was thinking of his own, and how he nearly succumbed to the madness of the Dragon Lords when he first wore the battle armor of white and gold. His wife and son had given him an anchor to hold him firm in the teeth of rages that came in battle or desires to dominate that were never entirely gone. His son likewise had a reason to live beyond mere survival: a foster family he had grown to love deeply.
Tomas was silent and, in the way of her people, Aglaranna was content to accept silence. After a few minutes of just enjoying one another’s quiet touch, Tomas said, “You rule in Elvandar, my love, so all decisions are yours. Still, as Warleader, my duty is to be wary.”
“I understand, and always welcome your counsel.”
He smiled. “Not always.”
She returned the smile. “Most of the time.”
Acaila appeared at the edge of the royal couple’s private chamber, seeking admission, and Tomas waved him over. The ancient elf was the leader of those who had returned to Elvandar from an enclave under the ice on the world of Kelewan. With the death of Tathar, the Queen’s closest advisor and senior Spellweaver since the time of her father, Acaila had become the leader of the Queen’s Council. He bowed and said, “Majesty, Lord Tomas.”
The Queen asked, “This Gulamendis, what do you make of him?”
Acaila moved to a waiting chair as indicated by the Queen. Sitting on the wooden seat, two large U-shaped pieces of wood cleverly joined and padded with a down-stuffed cushion, the ancient elf indicated his gratitude at the privilege. “It is most difficult, my Queen,” he began. “That he is of the Eldar, there can be no doubt. What he knows of our ancient lore is not much, but it is what I would expect from one who was not raised as a Lorekeeper or Spellweaver. To find him a master of demons, however…” He leaned to the right and put his right hand to his face, his index finger tapping on his bony cheek. His age was incalculable, and he was doubtless the oldest elf living. His hair was now as white as snow, but his blue eyes were still alight with curiosity. “What troubles me is less the matter of his…dark studies, for he would not be the first among the Eldar to find such practices fascinating. Rather it is his other…attitudes.”
“What attitudes?” asked Tomas.
“He hides it well, but he feels superior to all here. He counts his ‘star people’ a superior expression of the Eldar tradition.” The old man sat back a little and sighed. “He considers us primitives, rustics at best. Wood lore is as alien to him as it was to many of the Ocedhel, who came to us from across the sea.”
“What else troubles you?”
“There are many secrets in this elf,” said Acaila. “He is here for more than he says. I sense he desperately wishes aid for his people, and despises himself for feeling the need to ask for help.”
Tomas was no stranger to feeling conflicted over difficult decisions, so he asked, “Is he torn because he feels we are inferior?”
“No, it is more than that. In talking of our lore and how it differs, he is an academic in many ways, like all the Eldar; he loves knowledge for its own sake. But it’s how that knowledge is to be used that goes to the heart of his troubles.” Sighing, the old elf said, “I do not know, but I suspect he has his own, personal agenda, and that is what we must uncover before we take all he says on trust.”
Tomas and the Queen said nothing and waited.
Acaila said, “These elves, these Taredhel…they are unexpected.”
Tomas merely nodded.
“You know our origins more intimately than anyone alive; can you have imagined the Eldar taking the path these Taredhel took?”
Tomas was quiet a long moment as he considered those memories he had inherited from the Dragon Lord, Ashen-Shugar. Finally, he said, with a slight sigh, “No, but remember the Valheru were arrogant beyond any other race’s imagining. They hardly understood the obvious differences between those of you who served close at hand and those who labored in the field.”
The old Eldar nodded agreement. “We were Lorekeepers and among the most trusted, those who were the Eldar. When my ancestors fled to the north of Kelewan, abandoned there by the Dragon Host, we assumed others would do as we did, abide and hope that someday we would be found, as we were.
“When we returned here, finding the division between Eledhel, Moredhel, and Glamredhel…even discovering the Ocedhel, all seemed logical, as if our basic nature was fashioned by circumstance, but these Taredhel…” The old elf shrugged. “They are strange.” He fell silent.
A patient race, elves thought in terms of years where humans worried about days. “We have time to uncover these things,” suggested Tomas.
“That is where I must disagree, Lord Tomas,” said the leader of the Eldar. “There is an urgency in this Gulamendis, a sense of time being limited, that leads me to believe we shall see the heart of this matter sooner rather than later.” He sighed. “What I don’t know is if we will like what we see. I don’t think we will.”
“Are these Taredhel to be like the Moredhel, rather than like ourselves?” asked the Queen.
> Acaila shook his head. “No, different from both, Your Majesty, different from we who were the Eldar.” He looked out and waved his hand. “This is the place of seeds, where we sprang at the dawn of time, before the war in heaven and the freeing of the People.” He used the original word, Edhel, that encompassed all the tribes of elves. “But like seeds, if you move them to different soil, the tree that grows will take on a different character. Some will grow strong and straight, others will be stunted and bent, while still others become something far different than what they were before.” It was clear to Aglaranna and Tomas he was speaking of the Eledhel, Moredhel, and Taredhel. “Those who lived to the north, they have come to abide with us and some have moved on to Baranor. Others from across the sea have returned to us. Is it not reasonable to think that those who have lived centuries on other worlds would be any less strange to us than those who merely lived on another part of this world?”
Tomas nodded. To those who always lived in Elvandar, the Glamredhel—those who lived to the north of the Teeth of the World—were barbaric, almost primitive, while the Ocedhel—those who lived across the ocean—were almost too human in their ways. “To live on other worlds for generations, yes, I can see how they would become alien to us.”
“Yet at their hearts, they are us,” said the old Eldar. “They have lore that is lost to us, as we have lore lost to them. For us to join with them in some fashion would benefit us both.”
Tomas looked dubious. He knew much of what that lore contained, from his memories of the ancient Dragon Lord, Ashen-Shugar, and some of it deserved to remain lost. This caused him to consider something, and he asked, “Is he concerned over my presence?”
“Perhaps,” said Acaila. “Gulamendis asked questions about you, but no more than I think any newcomer might. His fear and curiosity are balanced. No, there is something else he fears, more immediate than any concern about your Valheru nature accreting itself and trying to establish dominion over his people.
“In fact,” said the old elf with a wry smile, “though he tries to hide it, he believes to a near certainty that you would fail. These people, I think, are arrogant to the point of thinking themselves supreme of all the races.”
Aglaranna said, “That has never been our way.”
“Not your way, Majesty, but it is the way of the Moredhel.”
Tomas nodded and the Queen said, “I must admit that is so.”
“But the Moredhel were menials, house slaves, those forced to build the abomination that was Sar-Sargoth”—he spoke of the monstrous city north of the Teeth of the World—“for their masters, and its twin, Sar-Isbandia, for their own glory, ages ago,” said Acaila.
Tomas shook his head. “You lead me to think we have encountered a race of Eldar with the ambitions of the Moredhel.”
“Not quite,” said Acaila. “That would be simple, but these elves, these Star Elves, they’ve become something even more dangerous. From what he has said, Gulamendis is representative of these people. They are physically bigger, and I think have strength far in excess of our own.” He smiled and nodded at Tomas. “Your own being the exception, my lord.”
Tomas nodded, his expression indicating it was of no importance. Despite his majestic abilities, he was without vanity. He had endured too much and caused too much pain to others, coming into his power, to consider himself other than the luckiest of beings, having avoided succumbing to the ancient Valheru madness. Finding forgiveness from those he wronged had made him profoundly humble.
“More,” said Acaila, “his magic is…dark.”
“How so?” asked the Queen.
“I have not seen him employ any spellcraft, yet there is power in him. It’s hidden well, but it is there. He asks questions. He is insightful, perceptive, and has a keen mind, perhaps as intelligent as any I’ve encountered, yet there is something about him that troubles me.”
“Me, as well,” said Tomas. “He brings danger.”
Both the Queen and Acaila looked at the Warleader. Tomas said, “So far I don’t see him as being a danger, but there’s something he’s hiding, something that will be a danger.”
The Queen said, “He is strange.” She paused, then added, “There is no sense of kinship when he is before me.”
Acaila nodded. “These Taredhel have changed far more than any of our kin during their time out among the stars.” He looked thoughtful. “Though he does seem almost enthralled by our great trees; he calls them ‘the stars,’ at times. When he is not with the Spellweavers he wanders the forest floor, touching the boles, almost as if he disbelieves they are real.”
Aglaranna said, “We may be as strange and unexpected to him as he is to us. We think of ourselves as unchanged since the time of the Chaos Wars, but that is probably not true.” She looked at her husband, knowing Tomas had memories of those days.
“You are a stronger people, more noble, more at one with the world around you. You have risen.” He looked back out over the forest below. “These Taredhel have risen, too, but in a very different fashion.”
“He talks of cities,” said Acaila. “Great cities of stone and glass, with massive walls and sky-vaulting towers, elven cities.”
Aglaranna said, “That sounds strange to my ear, elven cities.”
“He hides things,” said Acaila, “but makes a common error speaking of things he assumes we already know. Like geomancers—Spellweavers who work with rock, stone, and mud as our Spellweavers work with the living magic of our forest.
“Others who command fire, water, and air.”
“Elementalists,” said Tomas. “I remember.” He looked out over the forests again. “When the Valheru were gripped by the madness of Drakin-Korin, and built their first city at Sar-Sargoth, they gave that magic to their chosen builders.” He turned to see the Queen and Acaila looking at him intently. He smiled. “You don’t think the Valheru dirtied their hands building that city, do you?” he asked wryly.
Acaila said, “Then what happened to those who built Sar-Isbandia?”
Tomas shrugged. “Those who remained here, who became the Moredhel, they lost those arts, apparently. Their magic-users have never been a strong presence, or a threat to us.” Tomas paused, then said, “What this says to me is these Taredhel may be more of the Moredhel than Eledhel.”
Aglaranna said, “We are all Edhel.”
Acaila inclined his head in a gesture they both read to mean “I wish it were so.”
Tomas spoke, “Yes, it would be a noble thing if all the tribes of the Edhel were as one.” He looked at his wife. “For every Moredhel who finds his way here, who returns to us and forsakes the Dark Path, we have slain a dozen. It is in their nature to seek out power.” He looked at Acaila. “And it appears the Taredhel have found that power.”
Aglaranna said, “What do you propose, husband?”
“I think it is time for me to have a private discussion with our guest.” He turned to Acaila and said, “Ask Gulamendis to meet with me at the entrance to the Holy Grove.”
The old Eldar bowed slightly, then bowed deeper to the Queen, and departed. After he was gone, Aglaranna said, “Why the Holy Grove, Tomas?”
“This Gulamendis seems to be struggling with something, that thing I see as bringing danger. I don’t presume to know what it is, but I do know that there is no place on this world that can give any elf more strength to make difficult choices than the Holy Grove. Acaila says Gulamendis is almost consumed by wonder over these ancient trees.”
She nodded. “I understand.”
Tomas sighed deeply. “And I think I need to provide one more, additional prod.”
She watched silently as her husband went into their quarters to don his white-and-gold armor.
Gulamendis followed the elf detailed to escort him to his meeting with Lord Tomas. He found her a fair example of the females of the Eledhel, though their women were too dainty for his taste. Most of the Taredhel women stood as tall as the Eledhel men and were more striking—then he considered it was mo
stly a matter of taste and that this female was attractive in a rough-hewn fashion.
They passed down a path in the woods that took them some distance from the heart of Elvandar, away from the majestic trees the Demon Master could not help but think of as “stars.” When they reached a clearing, she halted and said, “Lord Tomas will meet with you shortly.”
He said, “Thank you,” and she left him alone.
At first glance, there was nothing remarkable about this clearing, but he did feel a faint, gentle flow of energy. It was nothing he could identify, yet it did feel familiar, as if he heard the echo of a song he couldn’t quite remember. Since arriving at Elvandar, Gulamendis found himself feeling an unexpected conflict; his agenda was anything but simple, but it was straightforward: establish a relationship with these primitive elves and use them as a means to recruit allies against the Demon Legion. He had no doubt the demons eventually would follow the Taredhel to this world.
The blame heaped upon him and others who explored demon lore was unfounded; it was by no arts of his or any other Taredhel magic-user the demons reached the first outpost of the Clan of the Seven Stars, the colony on the world of Estandarin. And it certainly was no fault of any demon master the colonists had not destroyed the translocation portal before the demons reached the translocation hub in Shadin City on Dastin-Barin. From there they spread like a cancer, infecting four other Taredhel worlds.
At first the Taredhel were supremely confident they could crush the attackers, for they had never known defeat in any conflict. But the demons appeared endless. Despite taking uncounted casualties, the demons were unrelenting.
The Demon Masters knew the truth, but no one in the Regent’s Meet would listen to them; there was a gate, somewhere, on Estandarin perhaps, through which the demons were pouring into this realm. Gulamendis tried to find other Demon Masters with whom to consult, but their years of isolation and distrust, as well as several having been killed outright as being responsible for the war, made it impossible for any coherent picture of the demon realm to be drawn.
He only knew what he knew from his years of study and consulting with his handful of trained demons. But whatever the truth behind the demons reach into this realm, he was certain somehow they would follow from Andcardia to Midkemia. If he was wrong, no harm done in gulling these elves into allying with the Taredhel; they would be allowed to serve…yet…There was something about this Queen, this Aglaranna. She may truly be of the ancient line, for when he beheld her for the first time, Gulamendis felt something deep, basic, and…something right. This woodland was not familiar to him, yet there was something profoundly familiar to him.
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