Then he was jerked back from her by Piachras’ strong arms, appearing from out of nowhere. He struggled to free himself but found himself held fast.
Sianna curtly untangled herself from the net and accepted her second sword from Ceolle’s hands. She dusted herself off with lips pursed in a tight smile. Eathril also stood, gathering in his net.
“Give up now, Scribe,” Piachras spoke in his ear. “We’ll spare your life, and you can go back to Ristoria—on the condition, of course, that you speak not of Emeria so long as you live.”
“I would not disgrace the name of elves by admitting to them the cowardice of what I have seen here,” Stuart retorted.
“Cowardice, is it?” Sianna asked.
“I know now that Emeria hid itself in spite of Ristoria’s plight, considering as it still does its own safety higher than the duty of brotherhood.”
“Let us end his life now for his tongue’s sake,” Piachras declared, tightening his grasp.
“We will all die soon now anyway,” Stuart answered.
“Enough, all,” Ciarthan spoke up at last, standing and advancing. “Piachras, release him. Eathril, by your own test he has been proved.”
To Stuart’s surprise, Sianna lifted up his sword where it had fallen and handed it to him flat upon her palms. He took it, and suddenly realized it must have all been a game.
“Show him out, now,” Ciarthan said, indicating Stuart. Sianna herself attended to it, taking his arm by the elbow and without ceremony guiding him out of the hall. Stuart was stricken wordless and could only await her explanation.
They exited the hall. The sun was low but the sky still bright, in the way the late afternoon may sometimes be, without cloud, darkening, fading in shades from west to east. Many elves were still crowded about the place on either bank of the stream and throughout the dwellings all around. These parted at the sight of Sianna but did not take their eyes off Stuart.
Sianna led him through the crowd and out past the edge of the town, or city, or village—whichever it might have been. She finally stopped at a shady grotto where the land dipped into a hollow and was shaded by a mossy stone overhang. She sat down and invited him to do the same. He hesitated.
“Still sore?” she asked. “Come on, if I had wanted to kill you, I would’ve used both swords. Sit down.” He sat. “Anyway, all of us love Ciarthan,” she went on, her voice betraying the slightest note of listlessness.
“I was fooled,” said Stuart. “I should have seen that the others weren’t attacking.”
“Of course not,” said Sianna. “You fight well. It was a test, not life and death. Ciarthan would not have wanted them to endanger their lives.” She kept her eyes fixed easily on him, reassuringly.
“But it was still foolish of me,” said Stuart.
“If you hadn’t been fooled,” Sianna replied, “we couldn’t have been sure of your trustworthiness. We put you in the place of Emeria to see if you would follow the advice you gave us. Which you did. Even Eathril will be convinced.”
He nodded, still confused though less so. “What will happen now?” he asked.
“They are deliberating. They will be a long time about it but they will decide for you.”
“Shouldn’t you be with them?”
Sianna rolled her head. “They know my opinion, and it will not change. I often come here while they decide things...to relax my mind.”
“You are a strange person,” he said.
“We are a strange culture to you,” she replied.
“I’ll wager your own people—Eathril, for one—find you strange also.”
“I hardly concern myself with Eathril’s standards of normalcy,” she answered, “nor with any general public’s impressions. If I was concerned, though, I would still be a fool to change to their ideas without sharing their convictions.”
“True enough,” Stuart agreed. “I’m glad, anyway, you happened to think well of hunting in that place and at that time when I was in need.” He wrenched his eyes away from her and folded his hands.
She watched him for a moment, trying to decide what he had been thinking when he said that. She let it go and turned to nature. She felt the breeze blow against her, listened to the watery rushing of the leaves, and finally asked, “How do you combat the dragonlings?”
He shrugged. “They die,” he answered. “A rank of soldiers with sabres I have seen them tear through with hardly a casualty. Cavalry is just as bad: rather, even worse. They know how to coordinate to devastating effect against mounted soldiers. In fact only the best steeds will not panic at a drake charge. Terrain: open fields are certain death; in forests and towns they make use of whatever cover there is more perfectly than any native who knows the land like the back of his hand. They hunt in groups and love to split their quarry apart. One warrior apart, whether swordsman, archer, or scout, hasn’t any chance at all. They’ll hit him in a diamond formation, four at a time, sometimes from three different directions at once. Even worse, they can appear out of nowhere in droves.”
“A good barrage of arrows would put a dent in them,” Sianna thought aloud.
“I don’t know,” Stuart replied. “I’ve never seen them hit a line of archers.”
“Cerregan and his riders mostly carry archery weapons,” Sianna said.
“Ristoria has the finest archers in the world,” Stuart mused. “Oh, but I don’t mean better than Cerregan’s, of course,” he amended. “I don’t know his soldiers’ skill.”
“Understood,” she replied. “It must be a marvelous land, Ristoria.”
Stuart smiled and turned his eyes back to her. “but every land is marvelous when it’s home. This place, for instance....”
“You must feel terribly lost amongst such strange people as we all are.”
“I confess I wish I understood more nearly your politics.”
“Pol...itics?”
“The organization of your society,” Stuart said. “I feel awkward addressing your leader by his given name. I am confused about who everyone is—counselors, scribes, leaders, judges, generals—you: I don’t even know who you are.”
Sianna laughed. “I’m Sianna,” she said.
“But more than that,” Stuart protested. Her face went suddenly serious. “Ciarthan...your leader, whatever his title is...introduced you as some kind of general, and I confess I thought the same while you were leading me here. But your own followers, as you call them, don’t salute you or call you general.”
“The alpha wolf wears no insignia and has no title, but is feared and respected amongst its own. Just the same with me...and with Ciarthan. If you are uncomfortable with it, think of ‘Ciarthan’ as his title.”
“Does he hold no official title?” Stuart asked.
She stood. “Neither title, nor rank, nor crown: only authority, which, all seeing, each one is sure to follow as well as they may. It is thus by their actual will, and not by any election or appointment by high-minded leaders based on some supposed excuse of the people’s good, that he is followed. The same is true even for those of us who lead soldiers into war.”
“But how....”
“I tell them what I think needs to be done. I indicate to them its importance. They know well enough, and if they choose to follow some different path, heaven help them, no imposition of some false conception of ‘duty’ will change their minds.”
“It couldn’t work,” Stuart replied.
“It’s called democracy,” Sianna answered. “I suppose Ristoria is still what you call a monarchy.”
Stuart hesitated. “Since our last king died it has been only us, the council.”
“The same concept. It’s a simple design focused on creating order out of disorder. The advantage is that everyone knows what they have to do, and the disadvantage is that they have to do it—they have no way out if their monarch is insane or anything less than divine. We chose to evolve into a democracy, the design of which focused on liberating the greatest talents and skills from those for whom th
e government is meant to work: the people. The advantage is that everyone is free to do as they think best...and that is the disadvantage, as well.”
“Given that your society—as much as I’ve seen it, anyway—seems not to be a ravening maul of chaos, I assume there is a solution,” Stuart deduced. “How do you keep the peace? How do you get anything serious done on the national level?”
“There are two keys,” Sianna replied: “education and oversight. First we take the greatest pains to educate every person from childhood on. We try to instill in each person through education rationality and freedom of thought; then aesthetic sensibility and recognition of the good, then philanthropy and a desire for moral justice. Each of these relies upon the previous and is fulfilled by the following, and the whole is a necessity for freedom. We thus make use of the advantage of democracy to overcome the disadvantage. Second, we take similar pains to preserve an active oversight of every level of society. The chief things about Ciarthan that make him fit to lead are his wisdom and his ability to interpret successfully the signs in the Mirror of Emeria—the pool beside the fire where I introduced you to him first. You have not seen the others, but almost a dozen others have nearly as great skill as he, and if he were to fall, or if the people thought he was acting wrongly, any one of those others would at once be brought to power and life would flow on as though nothing at all had happened. Moreover, in the name of education he is obliged to teach anyone his skills if he can. He has even taught me a little, though his skills are far beyond me yet. Even down to the lowest elfling there are teachers and peers to watch over one another, and from the youngest to the oldest we emphasize the values of right position in life—what you call ‘politics’—and honor based on merit.”
“But surely,” Stuart replied, “you can’t educate them so well as to care nothing for property.”
“Property?” Sianna asked.
“Private capital,” Stuart tried; “belongings, like money and livestock and goods.”
“Oh, no,” Sianna replied, “a capitalist democracy would never work out. How could it? At the very same time you were trying to educate the people to accept their right position in life based on their skills and merits, you would be teaching them the very opposite: that conformance to truth and pursuit of virtue were not what effects one’s life—except perhaps indirectly—but only how well they could gather belongings. Unless you think that virtue is being able to amass belongings.”
“Of course not,” Stuart replied. “Anyone can get hold of belongings, and not necessarily illegally. Chance or shrewd manipulation of the markets can do as well.”
“Illegality is a matter of divergence from virtue,” Sianna said.
“Of course, but it has to be written down so that everyone knows clearly what virtue is.”
“Nonsense,” Sianna retorted. “Everyone knows clearly what virtue is innately; and if they didn’t, their education into society is meant to bring them to that knowledge. Ah, but since you dispose of their education, you dispose of the expectation. However, you replace it with nothing because a written law is outside the realm of common peoples’ experiences. Then you have to appoint police and government officials to foster them along the virtuous path.”
“Then what do you do if no one owns anything—still not admitting what you seem to imply, that ownership leads of a necessity to oligarchy. Despite every theory you may postulate, the people still live on bread and sweat.”
“And therefore one might say that the natural tendency of all societies was toward oligarchy. We are no more perfect in that respect than any other society. When we allot rations or goods, then, we do so based not on some shabbily-manufactured quantification of the value of the person’s contribution to society—which is what money is—but simply considering the two factors of what is just and what is necessary. But most people take less than what is just and give something back for the betterment of society.”
“They would be remarkable people.”
“They are remarkable people.”
“From what I can see.”
Sianna glanced away. “But enough of this; I think a messenger is coming.” She jogged onto the main path, and Stuart followed her. They retraced their steps toward the city, and halfway there the messenger Sianna had foreseen met them. It was Sianna’s follower, Dain.
“My lady, Sianna,” Dain spoke, “there is news: the leaders have decided.”
“So quickly?” Sianna queried.
“Amongst themselves, they were agreed almost at once,” Dain answered. “Their main difficulty was in determining the means by which it might be approached. Now, because of Ciarthan’s foresight, we believe all three wings of the army might be able to set out as early as the morning after tomorrow.”
“Would our wing be able to move any sooner?”
“Some of them, perhaps; not all.”
“Walk with us,” Sianna directed him. “What plans did they form?”
“The Emerian forces shall march incognito as Ristoria. They will direct their route due east from here to the source of the Pyre River, where Amrill laid down the crown of Emeria. Thence they will move directly across the Bentar River to the source of the Turus River, then northeast across the plateau and through the passes into the ancient lands of Ristoria. Thence they will finally meet the Ristorian forces at Ristoria or at any other location, to coordinate with these forces after Stuart’s outlined plan with whatever contingencies may arise.”
“There is a problem,” Stuart said. “You would be marching right through the heart of Sûrthia. It might be better to divert to the south of the plateau and reach Ristoria from that direction a few days later. The delay would be less than that of an all-out war.”
“Ciarthan should be informed of that,” Sianna notified Dain.
“Aye, understood,” Dain replied. “He requested both your presence at the great hall. I shall precede you. My lady.”
“Dain, I’d like you to spread the word amongst our soldiers also,” Sianna instructed. “Anyone who can leave tomorrow morning should make their way to the source of the Pyre River and rest there until the arrival of the wing. And inform them of the nature of the expedition.”
With that, Dain bowed and was off in a bounding run.
Sianna paused. They were just within the eaves of the forest, and they could clearly see the houses of Emeria and the Emerian elves. The crowds around the great hall had redoubled while they were away, and the lengthening shadows patterned the world around them.
“Is there something wrong?” asked Stuart.
“Is it the dawning or the dusk?” she asked, musing. “Or are the dawn and the dusk but one? No, don’t answer. Come.”
From all over the Emerald River Valley, leaders and elders of the Emerian elves were gathering to the Emerian Great Hall. Torches were lit as the light of day faded in the sky, and citywide a great feast was prepared upon the occasion. Tropical fruits and elven meads, fine pastry breads, and every kind of fish imaginable—perch, tuna, marlin, trout; roasted, baked, simmered in juices—were set out along the walls of the hall.
Ciarthan greeted Stuart warmly, embraced him, and announced his arrival to the gathered elves. They applauded. Sianna whispered to Stuart, “He has donned the red shawl of war: that means he has accepted your honesty.”
Ciarthan guided Stuart to the place of honor. An elderly elf came up to Stuart and asked him, “What shall I fetch for you, Sir Scribe? Allow me to describe our menu.”
“I will rely on your good taste, Sir,” Stuart replied.
“As you wish, Sir Scribe,” the other replied, bowing and leaving. Malaoenidea the minstreless struck up a melody with her harp and a score of musicians joined in. Until late in the night the feasting and music continued, with some elves leaving and others taking their place until the tables of food had been replenished thrice over.
At last that hour of the night came when the torches flicker less brightly, the food is gone, all but the most serious of revelers have
risen to excuse themselves, and the smoke and humors of the evening mix in such proportions as to create the atmosphere upon which wizards and dragons thrive, courageous heroes’ exploits rise to consciousness, and the minstrel reigns supreme. In that hour it was only fitting that the legend of that grave war which had exiled Emeria from the world, the stories of King Amrill and the goblin emperor Cothus, of Dhevhain and the human warrior chieftain Traichaness, the epic of Emeria, be sung. Malaoenidea therefore strummed the chords of the harp, tightened one a half-turn, and began.
The Epic of Amrill the Sequesterer
1.1.1 Of Cothrigus and Chamsra born the last of nine
Was Cothus th’ terrible, the goblin emperor,
The elven bane: a mewling brat upon the breast.
1.1.2 Eight brothers passed in grand parade against the foe,
Sobeit elf or man, and all in glory’s garb,
The scarlet cloak of heroes slain in war, returned.
1.1.3 The last then, Cothus on the southern throne was set;
His hands were trained for war and tongue for policy,
And these he set at once to overthrow the north.
1.2.1 Chill was the day he took the northern throne
From Tarkhas, Ixunar’s successor, th’ embassies
Of Aris and Tomeria addressing thus:
1.2.2 “Our ancestors when time began marched from the forge,
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