Arutha made introductions and Calin said, “You are welcome to Elvandar.”
“What is a gwali?” asked Roald.
Calin said, “These are, and that is the best answer I can give. They have lived with us before, though this is their first visit in a generation. They are simple folk, without guile. They are shy and tend to avoid strangers. When afraid, they will run unless they are cornered, then they will feign attack. But don’t be misled by those ample teeth; they’re for tough nuts and insect carapaces.” He turned his attention to Apalla. “Why did you try to scare these men?”
The gwali jumped up and down excitedly. “Powula make little gwali.” He grinned. “She don’t move. We afraid mans hurt Powula and little gwali.”
“They are protective of their young,” said Calin in understanding. “Had you actually tried to hurt Powula and the baby, they would have risked attacking you. Had there been no birthing, you never would have seen them.” He said to Apalla, “It is all right. These men are friends. They will not hurt Powula or her baby.”
Hearing this, the other gwali came pouring out from the protecting trees and began examining the strangers with open curiosity. They tugged at the riders’ clothing, which was quite different from the green tunics and brown trousers the elves wore. Arutha suffered the examination for only a minute, then said, “We should get to your mother’s court soon, Calin. If your friends are finished?”
“Please,” said Jimmy, his nose wrinkling as he pushed away a gwali who hung from a branch next to him. “Don’t they ever bathe?”
“Unfortunately, no,” answered Calin. He said to the gwali, “That’s enough, we must go.” The gwali accepted the instruction with good grace and quickly vanished among the trees, except Apalla, who seemed more assertive than the rest. “They will continue that sort of thing all day if you allow them to, but they don’t mind when you shoo them off. Come.” He told Apalla, “We go to Elvandar. Tend to Powula. Come when you will.”
The gwali grinned and nodded vigorously, then scampered off after his brethren. In a moment there was no hint that a gwali existed within miles.
Calin waited until Martin and Arutha had remounted. “We are only a half day’s travel to Elvandar.” He and the other elves began their run through the forest. Except for Martin, the riders were surprised at the pace the elves set. It was not taxing for the mounts, but for a human runner to keep it up for a half day would be close to impossible.
After a short while Arutha drew even with Calin, who loped along at an easy pace. “Where did those creatures come from?”
Calin shouted, “No one knows, Arutha. They’re a comic lot. They come from some place to the north, perhaps beyond the great mountains. They will show up, stay a season or two, then vanish. We sometimes call them the little wood ghosts. Even our trackers can’t follow them after they depart. It’s been nearly fifty years since their last visit, and two hundred since the one before that.” Calin breathed easily as he ran in long, fluid strides.
“How fares Tomas?” asked Martin.
“The Prince Consort fares well.”
“What of the child?”
“He is well. He is a fit, handsome child, though he may prove somewhat different. His heritage is…unique.”
“And the Queen?”
“Motherhood agrees with her,” answered her elder son with a smile.
They fell into silence, for Arutha found it difficult to continue the conversation while negotiating the trees, even if Calin did not. Swiftly through the forest they traveled, each passing minute bringing them closer to Elvandar and hopes fulfilled…or hopes dashed.
—
The journey was soon completed. One moment they were traveling through heavy forest, then they entered a large clearing. This was the first glimpse any of them, save Martin, had had of Elvandar.
Giant trees of many colors rose high above the surrounding forest. In the afternoon light the topmost leaves seemed ablaze with color where golden sunlight struck them. Even from this distance, figures could be seen along the high paths spanning the gaps between boles. Several of the giant trees were unique to this place, their leaves a dazzling silver, gold, or even white. As the day’s shadows deepened, they could be seen to have a faint glow of their own. It was never truly dark in Elvandar.
As they crossed the clearing, Arutha could hear the astonished comments of his companions.
Roald said, “Had I known…you’d have had to tie me up to keep me from coming along.”
Laurie agreed. “It makes the weeks in the forest worth it.”
Baru said, “The tales of our singers do not do justice to it.”
Arutha awaited a comment from Jimmy, but when the voluble lad said nothing, Arutha looked behind. Jimmy rode in silence, his eyes drinking in the splendor of this place, so alien from anything seen in his life. The usually jaded boy had finally encountered something so outside his experience, he was truly awestruck.
They reached the outer boundary of the tree-city and on all sides could hear the soft sounds of a busy community. A hunting party approached from another quarter, bearing a large stag, which they carried off to be butchered. An open area outside the trees was set aside for the dressing of carcasses.
They reached the trees and reined in. Calin instructed his companions to care for the horses and led Arutha’s party up a circular stairway carved into the trunk of the biggest oak the Prince and the others had ever seen. Reaching a platform at the top, they passed a group of elven fletchers practicing their craft. One saluted Martin, who returned the greeting and briefly inquired if he might impose upon their generosity. With a smile, the fletcher handed Martin a bundle of finely crafted bowshafts, which the Duke placed in his nearly empty quiver. He spoke quick thanks in the elven tongue and he and his companions continued onward.
Calin led them up another steep stairway to a platform. He said, “From here it may prove difficult for some of you. Keep to the center of the paths and platforms and do not look down if you feel discomforted. Some humans find the heights distressing.” He said the last as if it was almost incomprehensible.
They crossed the platform and mounted more steps, passing other elves hurrying about their business. Many were dressed like Calin, in simple woods garb, but others wore long colorful robes, fashioned of rich fabrics, or bright tunics and trousers, equally colorful. The women were all beautiful, though it was a strange, inhuman loveliness. Most of the men looked young, about Calin’s age. Martin knew better. Some elves hurrying past were young, twenty, thirty years of age, while others, equally young in appearance, were several hundred years old. Though he looked younger than Martin, Calin was past a hundred and had taught Martin hunting skills when the Duke had been a boy.
They continued along a walkway, nearly twenty feet wide, stretching along enormous branches, until they came to a ring of trunks. In the midst of the trees a large platform had been constructed, almost sixty feet across. Laurie wondered if even a single drop of rain could worm its way through the thick canopy of branches overhead to fall on a royal brow. They had reached the Queen’s court.
Across this platform they walked, to a dais upon which two thrones were erected. In the slightly higher of the two sat an elven woman, serenity enhancing her already near-flawless beauty. Her face with its arched brows and finely chiseled nose was dominated by her pale blue eyes. Her hair was light red-brown, with streaks of gold—like Calin’s—giving it the appearance of being struck by sunlight. Upon her head rested no crown, only a simple circlet of gold that pulled back her hair, but there was no mistaking Aglaranna, the Elf Queen.
Upon the throne to her left sat a man. He was an imposing figure, taller than Martin by two inches. His hair was sandy-blond and his face looked young, while still holding some elusive ageless quality. He smiled at the sight of the approaching party, giving him an even younger look. His face was similar to the elves’, yet with a difference. His eyes lacked color to the point of being grey, and his eyebrows were less arched. His
face was less angular, possessing a strong, square jaw. His ears, revealed by the golden circlet that held back his hair, were slightly pointed, less upswept than those of the elves. And he was much more massive in the chest and shoulders than any elf.
Calin bowed before them. “Mother and Queen, Prince and Warleader, we are graced by guests.”
Both rulers of Elvandar rose and walked forward to greet their guests. Martin was greeted with affection by the Queen and Tomas, and the others were shown courtesy and warmth. Tomas said to Arutha, “Highness, you are welcome.”
Arutha replied, “I thank Her Majesty and His Highness.”
Seated around the court were other elves. Arutha recognized the old counselor Tathar, from his visit to Crydee years before. Quick introductions were made. The Queen bade them rise and led everyone to a reception area adjoining the court, where they were all informally seated. Refreshments were brought, food and wine, and Aglaranna said, “We are pleased to see old friends”—she nodded at Martin and Arutha—“and to welcome new”—she indicated the others. “Still, men rarely visit us without cause. What is yours, Prince of Krondor?”
Arutha told them his tale while they dined. From first to last the elves sat silently listening. When Arutha was finished, the Queen said, “Tathar?”
The old counselor nodded. “The Hopeless Quest.”
Arutha asked, “Are you saying you know nothing of Silverthorn?”
“No,” replied the Queen. “The Hopeless Quest is a legend among our people. We know the aelebera plant. We know of its properties. That is what the legend of the Hopeless Quest tells us. Tathar, please explain.”
The old elf, the first Jimmy and the others had seen who showed some signs of age—faint lines around his eyes and hair so pale it bordered on white—said, “In the lore of our people, there was a Prince of Elvandar who was betrothed. His beloved had been courted by a moredhel warrior, whom she spurned. In his wrath the moredhel poisoned her with a draught brewed from the aelebera and she fell into a sleep unto death. Thus the Prince of Elvandar began the Hopeless Quest, in search of that which could cure her, the aelebera, the Silverthorn. Its power is such that it can cure as well as kill. But the aelebera grows only in one place, Moraelin, in your language the Black Lake. It is a place of power, sacred to the moredhel, a place where no elf may go. The legend says the Prince of Elvandar walked the edge of Moraelin until he had worn a canyon around it. For he may not enter Moraelin, nor will he leave until he has found that which will save his beloved. It is said he walks there still.”
Arutha said, “But I am not an elf. I will go to Moraelin, if you’ll but show me the way.”
Tomas looked around the assembly. “We shall place your feet upon the path to Moraelin, Arutha,” he said, “but not until you’ve rested and taken counsel. Now we shall show you places where you may refresh yourselves and sleep until the nighttime meal.”
The meeting broke up as the elves moved away, leaving Calin, Tomas, and the Queen with Arutha’s group. Martin said, “What of your son?”
With a broad smile, Tomas motioned for them to follow. He led them through a bough-covered passage to a room, its vault formed by a giant elm, where a baby lay sleeping in a cradle. He was less than six months old from the look of him. He slept deeply, dreaming, little fingers flexing slightly. Martin studied the child and could see what Calin meant by saying his heritage was unique. The child looked more human than elven, his ears being only slightly pointed and possessing lobes, a human trait unknown among elves. His round face looked more like that of any chubby infant, but there was an edge to it, something which said to Martin that this was a child who was more his father’s than his mother’s. Aglaranna reached down and gently touched him while he slept.
Martin said, “What have you named him?” Softly the Queen said, “Calis.” Martin nodded. In the elven tongue it meant “child of the green,” referring to life and growth. It was an auspicious name.
Leaving the baby, Martin and the others were taken to rooms within the tree-city of Elvandar, where they send tubs for bathing and sleeping mats. All were quickly clean and asleep, save Arutha, whose mind wandered from an image of Anita asleep to a silver plant growing on the shore of a black lake.
—
Martin sat alone, enjoying the first evening of his first visit to Elvandar in a year. As much as any place, even Castle Crydee, this was his home, for as a boy he had played and been one with the elven children.
Soft elven footsteps caused him to turn. “Galain,” he said, happy to see the young elf, cousin to Calin. He was Martin’s oldest friend. They embraced and Martin said, “I expected to see you sooner.”
“I’ve just returned from patrolling along the northern edge of the forests. Some strange things are going on up there. I hear you may have some light to shed on what they may be.”
“A small candle flicker, perhaps,” said Martin. “Some evil is at play up there, have no doubt.”
He filled Galain in, and the young elf said, “Terrible deeds, Martin.” He sounded genuinely sorry to hear about Anita. “Your brother?” The question, in elvish fashion, carried a variety of nuances in the intonation, each concerning itself with a different aspect of Arutha’s trials.
“He perseveres, somehow. He puts it all out of his mind sometimes; other times he is nearly overwhelmed by it. I don’t know how he keeps from going mad. He loves her so very deeply.” Martin shook his head.
“You’ve never wed, Martin. Why?”
Martin shrugged. “I’ve never met her.”
“You are sad.”
“Arutha’s a difficult man at times, but he is my brother I remember him as a child. Even then it was hard to get close to him. Perhaps it was his mother’s death, when he was still so young. He kept things distant. For all the toughness, for all the hard edges, he’s easily hurt.”
“You two are much alike.”
“There is that,” Martin agreed.
Galain stood quietly next to Martin awhile. “We shall help, as much as we can.”
“We must go to Moraelin.”
The young elf shivered, an unusual display even in one so inexperienced. “That is a bad place, Martin. It is called Black Lake for a reason that has nothing to do with the color of the water. It is a well of madness. The moredhel go there to dream dreams of power. It lies on the Dark Path.”
“It was a Valheru place?”
Galain nodded yes.
“Tomas?” Again the question carried a variety of meanings. Galian was especially close to Tomas, having followed him during the Riftwar.
“He will not go with you. He has a new son. Calis will be tiny for so short a time, only a few years. A father should spend that time with his baby. Also, there is the risk.” Nothing more needed to be said, for Martin understood. He had watched the night Tomas had almost succumbed to the mad spirit of the Valheru within him. It had nearly cost Martin his life. It would be some time before Tomas felt secure enough to challenge his own heritage, to again awaken that dread being contained within. And he would venture into a Valheru place of power only when he felt circumstances were grave enough to justify the risk.
Martin smiled his crooked smile. “Then we shall go alone, we humans of meager talents.”
Galain returned the smile. “You are many things, so I doubt your talents meager.” Then he lost the smile. “Still, you would do well to take counsel with the Spellweavers before you go. There is dark power at Moraelin, and magic overcomes much in the way of strength and courage.”
Martin said, “We will. We speak soon.” He looked to where an elf approached, Arutha and the others behind. “I think now. Will you come?”
“I’ve no place in the circle of elders. Besides, I have not eaten for a day. I will rest. Come talk if you need.”
“I will.”
Martin hurried to join Arutha. They followed the elf, who led the humans back to the council. When all were seated before Aglaranna and Tomas, the Queen said, “Tathar, speak for the Sp
ellweavers: say what counsel you have for Prince Arutha.”
Tathar stepped into the center of the court circle and said, “Strange things have been occurring for some turns of the middle moon. We expected southward movement of the moredhel and goblins back to the homes they were driven from during the Riftwar, but this has not come to be. Our scouts in the north have tracked many bands of goblins heading across the Great Northern Mountains into the Northlands. Moredhel scouts have come unusually close to our borders.
“The gwali come to us again because they say they don’t like the place they lived in anymore. It is hard to make sense of them at times, but we know they came from the north.
“What you have told us, Prince Arutha, causes us deep concern. First, because we share your sorrow. Second, because the manifestations you tell of bespeak a power of great evil with a long reach and far-flung minions. But most of all, because of our own ancient history.
“Long before we drove the moredhel from our forests, for taking to the Dark Path of Power, the elven people were one. Those of us who lived in the forests were farther from our masters, the Valheru, and because of this were less attracted to the intoxication of power dreams. Those of us who lived close to our masters were seduced by those dreams and became the moredhel.” He looked to the Queen and Tomas, and both nodded. “What is little spoken of is the cause of our divorcement from the moredhel, who once were our blood. Never before has any human been told all.
“In the dark era of the Chaos Wars, many changes in the lands occurred. From the people of the elves, four groups rose.” Martin leaned forward, for as much as he knew elvenkind, more than almost any man alive, this was all new to him. Until this moment he had always believed only the moredhel and elves were the sum total of elvenkind. “The most wise and powerful, numbering the greatest Spellweavers and scholars, were the eldar. They were the caretakers for all that their masters had plundered from across the cosmos, arcane works, mystical knowledge, artifacts, and riches. It was they who first began fashioning what is now Elvandar, lending it magic aspect. They vanished during the Chaos Wars, for they were among our masters’ first servants, and it is supposed that, being very close to them, they perished with them. Of the elves and Brotherhood of the Dark Path, the eledhel and moredhel in our tongue, you know something. But there were yet other kin of ours, the glamredhel, which name means ‘the chaotic ones’ or ‘the mad ones.’ They were changed by the Chaos Wars, becoming a nation of insane, savage warriors. For a time elves and moredhel were one, and both were warred upon by the mad ones. Even after the moredhel were driven from Elvandar, they remained the sworn enemy of the glamredhel. We speak little of these days, for you must remember that while we speak of eledhel, moredhel, and glamredhel, all elvenkind is one race, even to this day. It is simply that some of our people have chosen a dark way of life.”
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