“I sometimes think it must be terrible to be human,” said Sylvanna.
“All your accomplishments, your dreams and passions, are so ephemeral.
Your life spans are so very short, I often wonder how you stand it.”
Aedan smiled. “You mean to say you pity us?”
“Well … no, not quite,” she replied. “Pity implies a sort of condescension, and in the last few years, I have learned a great deal about you humans and what you can accomplish if you set your minds to it.”
“Perhaps we do so precisely because our time is short,” Aedan told her.
“Knowing we are but mortal is what gives us our drive to live life to its fullest. If we seem a bit desperate to you, maybe it is because, in a sense, we are. You elves, who live in your
immortality, do not possess that desperation. To humans, elves seem …
well, not desperate, like us.
That is why our passions burn so brightly. When you know from the outset that your time is limited, then each day becomes precious.”
Sylvanna studied him curiously for a moment as they rode side by side, rocking gently with the gait of their mounts. ‘That makes sense, I suppose. I have noticed that you humans seem to feel things very intensely.” She frowned and shook her head. “I don’t mean to say that we elves are not capable of intensity of feeling, for we are … it is just that humans seem so much more intense. And uncontrolled.”
“It’s that edge of desperation,” Aedan replied with a smile. “It comes from our mortality, as I said.
We live hard, work hard, play hard … love hard.”
Sylvanna glanced at him. He met her gaze steadily. She did not look away. “By extension of that argument,” she said, “I suppose one could claim that mayflies would be the most passionate creatures in the world, since they live only one day.”
“And note how very violently they beat their little wings and fly always toward the light,” said Aedan.
“They are so attracted to the flame that they will fly into it and allow it to consume them. If that is not a suitable metaphor for unbridled passion, then what is?”
“I thought those were moths,” Sylvanna said.
“Well, mayflies do the same thing, don’t they?”
She frowned. “I’m not sure. Do they?”
Aedan shrugged. “Even if they don’t, it does not invalidate the metaphor.”
Sylvanna smiled. “You may have missed your true calling,” she said.
“Instead of a royal minister, you should have been a hard.”
Aedan winced. “Oh, anything but that,” he said.
Sylvanna raised her eyebrows. “Oh? I seem to have touched a nerve.”
“I knew a hard once,” Aedan said. “In fact, I knew a number of them and they were all insufferable, but this one was the worst. Most bards are in love with the sound of their own words, which makes them merely conceited, but this one was also in love with an idea, which made him dangerous.”
“Why would idealism make someone dangerous?” Sylvanna asked.
“Ah, now there’s a question for the emperor’s chief minister,” said Aedan with a grin. “In my capacity as lord high chamberlain, I should tell you that all idealists are dangerous, because they are individuals who hold ideas in higher esteem than any emperor or king or noble. An idealist’s first loyalty is to the morality of the idea that he champions … or she, as the case may be. As a consequence, there is no room in such an individual for compromise. Personally, however, I find that there is a certain type of an idealist one can live with.”
“And what sort is that?” Sylvanna asked, taking the bait.
“One who agrees with you,” said Aedan with a chuckle.
“I should have seen that one coming,” said Sylvanna with a wry grimace.
“You’d think by now I would have learned better.”
“Elves are notoriously slow learners,” Aedan said teasingly. “That is yet another disadvantage of your immortality … you never really feel pressed to do anything quickly.”
“Some things are best done slowly,” she replied with a sidelong glance at him.
“You mean … like courtship?” Aedan asked.
“And other things, as well.”
Aedan cleared his throat uneasily. Over the past eight years, he and Sylvanna had grown very close, something he had not imagined would be possible when they first met. For one thing, he had not expected to know her long enough, but she had returned to Anuire with them, accompanying her brother, Gylvain, and they had both stayed, together with the halfling, Futhark, and the elven escort that had brought them from Tuarhievel, a group of about a dozen warriors.
It was part of an alliance concluded between Lord Tieran, acting on behalf of the then still-uncrowned Emperor Michael and Prince Fhileraene of Tuarhievel. The elves were to act as the emperor’s personal guard, initially to ensure his safe return to Anuire and, later, to demonstrate to all that the elven kingdom of Tuarhievel had formally allied itself with Anuire and thrown its support behind Emperor Michael.
It was an unprecedented agreement and one that from the outset had been certain to arouse the ire of extremists on both sides, such as Rhuobhe Manslayer and Lord Kier Avan, Duke of Avanil, who had about as much use for elves as the Manslayer had for humans. Since Avanil and Rhuobhe, the renegade province the Manslayer had carved out for himself in the southern region of the Aelvinnwode, shared a common border, there were frequent raids back and forth by the Manslayer’s warriors and Lord Kier’s knights, and the skirmishes were as constant as they were violent. Indeed, if not for Kier on the south and Arwyn of Boeruine on the north of Rhuobhe’s borders, the Manslayer would have spread his violent hatred much farther through the empire.
why then, Aedan had wondered at the time, had his father negotiated this unusual alliance? And why had Fhileraene agreed to it? The answer lay, as his father had always taught him, in a consideration of the possibilities.
For Fhileraene, there were certain advantages to the alliance that were not immediately apparent on the surface, but became clear upon some consideration. Fhileraene knew that he could not hope to stand alone against the humans and the goblins of Thurazor, as well. His great-grandfather, the Manslayer, did not share that particular problem.
While Rhuobhe was beset on both sides by the Duke of Avanil and the Archduke of Boeruine, he was separated from the goblin realm of Thurazor by the province of Boeruine and the Five Peaks region. He could afford to concentrate on waging his war of constant skirmishes solely on the humans.
Fhileraene, on the other hand, was virtually surrounded by his enemies-the goblins of Thurazor to the west, the savage giants of the Giantdowns to the north, and the feral minions of the awnshegh Raesene in the mountains of the Gorgon’s Crown, to the east. He enjoyed good relations only with his neighbor to the northwest, the province of Dhoesone, which needed its alliance with Tuarhievel because it was an isolated outpost of the empire that was surrounded by demihuman realms.
Fhileraene understood full well that such alliances were imperative to keep his borders secure against his enemies. In order to help ensure the survival of his realm, Fhileraene had to be adroit in his political maneuverings. The alliance he had agreed to with Lord Tieran was a case in point.
By his signing of the treaty, Fhileraene had clearly signaled the elven kingdom of Tuarhievel’s formal recognition of Michael’s birthright as successor to the Iron Throne, and this had turned out to be no small thing, as Lord Arwyn had taken steps to consolidate his own position in the year they’d been away. He had managed to induce the provinces of Talinie, Brosengae, and Taeghas to recognize his claim to regency.
Lord Rurik Donalls governed the windswept province of Talinie, and with the goblin realm of Thurazor abutting his northeastern borders and both the Aelvinnwode and the lawless Five Peaks region to his southeast, the Earl of Talinie desperately needed the protection and support of a strong warlord like the Archduke of Boeruine. His northern provinc
e was sparsely settled, with the only city being the wellfortified capital at Nowelton, situated on the coast and to some degree protected from the fierce storms of the Miere Rhuann by the rocky cliffs of Dantier Island.
Most of Talinie was covered by thick forest, except for the narrow band of rocky plain along the coast. There were no teeming cities like Anuire in Lord Rurik’s domain, nor even large villages like Seasedge, but the residents of Talinie were a tough and hard-bitten lot, mostly hardy woodsmen and rough miners who carved the coal out of the highlands. The Earl of Talinie could not muster a large army of warriors, but the men he had were tough and seasoned fighters accustomed to frequent skirmishes with goblin raiders and the bandits of the Five Peaks region. Together with the knights and men-at-arms of Lord Arwyn, they made a formidable force.
Then there was the province of Taeghas, which had gone over to Boeruine.
Lord Davan Durien, the Count of Taeghas, ruled a relatively poor province from his hold at Stomispoint, on the coast just south of Boeruine. Taeghas possessed a wide variety of terrains, from coastal plains to moors, from lowland forests to the Seamist Mountains, which separated the province from Avanil. The small seaport town of Portage at the tip of Finger Bay was devoted primarily to fishing, and the remainder of the residents of Taeghas were tenant farmers and herdsmen.
The periodic raids by trolls who came down from the Seamist Mountains, attracted by the produce of the farms and the sheep and cattle of the herdsmen, meant that Lord Davan, like Rurik of Tahnie, needed a protective alliance with a warlord like Arwyn of Boeruine.
Finally, there was Brosengae, situated where the Straits of Aerele flowed into the Miere Rhuann. Brosengae was cut up with large bays and swampy bayous that opened onto lush and fertile coastal plains that gave way, in turn, to wooded foothills and forest highlands. Like Taeghas, Brosengae had the Seaniist Mountains on its borders, which meant that its populace was vulnerable to raids by trolls. However, unlike Taeghas and Talinie, Brosengae was a wealthy province, headquarters to several powerful guilds.
Its sheltered bays provided good anchorage for merchant ships, smugglers, and corsairs, all of whom found welcome in equal measure from harbormasters who were not too particular whom they admitted, so long as they could pay the docking and the mooring fees.
Lysander Marko, Duke of Brosengae, shared a common border with Avanil, the province where the empire’s capital city of Anuire was located, and so far as Aedan could see, his alliance with Boeruine was nothing less than opportunism. He could easily afford to maintain a force of men-at-arms and mercenaries to keep the predations of the trolls under control, and he had no worries about goblin raids or massed bandit attacks, since his province was far to the south of Thurazor and the Five Peaks, and sheltered by Boeruine, Taeghas, and Avanil.
No, thought Aedan, Marko did not enter into his alliance with Boeruine as a result of intimidation by Lord Arwyn. He did so because he saw a chance to undermine his rival, Lord Kier Avan, Duke of Avanil.
Everyone had his own personal agenda, Aedan thought, and Arwyn had exploited each of them for his own gain. Promises were made, bargains concluded, tribute paid-when the commoners of the merchant classes received such “tributes,” they were generally known as bribes, thought Aedan wrylyand the upshot of it all was that Arwyn of Boeruine had essentially united the provinces of the entire Western Coast region under his own banner.
All that had happened in the year they had been at Fhileraene’s court in Tuarhievel-a year that had actually been only about a week or so for them-and no one had suspected then that Prince Michael could still be alive. No one save Lord Tieran, who had kept that information to himself until Michael had returned safely to Anuire, the better to ensure he could return safely. By then, however, Lord Arwyn had long since reported his death and sent dispatch riders throughout the empire to spread the word and announce his assumption of the regency.
Talinie and Taeghas had formally given their support to him right from the outset, which made Aedan wonder if they had simply judged which way the wind was blowing and acted to safeguard their own interests, or if they had received some advance notification of Lord Arwyn’s plans.
Either way, they were the first to grant their recognition. Brosengae followed, but not until Avan had refused, questioning Boeruine’s right to the regency and declaring for Lord Tieran and the empress. The Baron of Diemed had announced support for Lord Tieran and the empress, as well, but not until Kier of Avanil had declared himself. With Avanil across the river from Diemed, Baron Harth Diem had wanted to see which way the more powerful Duke of Avanil would go.
And so it went throughout the empire, each province and each ruling noble waiting for as long as possible to declare allegiance either to Lord Tieran and the empress or to Arwyn of Boeruine, for no one wished to be premature in his formal recognition of either party. They first wanted to see how their neighbors would declare, especially if those neighbors were wealthier and more powerful.
This, however, was precisely what Lord Tieran had gambled on, for he knew it would buy him time-time in which the young emperor might return and assume his rightful place on the Iron Throne of Anuire. And he had needed as much time as he could buy, because he had no way of knowing when Michael and Aedan might return. He knew about the strange way time flowed in the elven realms and he had also known it was completely unpredictable. For Michael and Aedan, a few days could go by while for him and the rest of the human world, it could be weeks or months or even years.
It had to be incredibly difficult for him, thought Aedan, trying to manipulate the political situation to his best advantage-insofar as he was able-while at the same time knowing the strongest weapon he could use against Lord Arwyn was one he did not dare reveal. If he had announced Michael was still alive and safe within the borders of Tuarhievel, Arwyn and his allies could have taken steps to prevent his return and see to it he never left the Aelvinnwode alive.
It must have been a terrible strain for him, thought Aedan. And it had certainly taken its toll. His father had died a year ago, while Aedan was out on a campaign with the emperor. And those campaigns had been virtually unceasing almost since the time they had returned.
Eight years, he thought. Eight years of almost constant warfare, trying to hold the empire together.
Michael was doing a good job of it, however. And with each campaign, he had improved significantly as a general. In the beginning, the campaigns had been planned by Lord Korven, commanding general of the Imperial Army of Anuire, who had been adamantly opposed to the idea of Michael going out into the field with the troops. At the time of the first campaign, Michael had just turned thirteen, and Lord Korven had believed it was much too risky for a mere boy-and the only heir to the imperial throne, at that-to accompany the army into battle. However, Michael had insisted on it, and, to Aedan’s surprise, his father had supported his choice.
“It is true he is young and would expose himself to risk,” Aedan’s father had said to him when he protested. “However, those very things also work for him. The troops shall see the boy emperor riding with them, leading them beneath his standard, and it shall both invigorate and motivate them. If they see that a boy is unafraid to fight for a cause, then they, as grown men, shall take courage from his presence.”
“But what if he should be killed?” Aedan had asked.
His father shrugged slightly. “That is the risk that every true leader must take. If he wants his men to be willing to diefor him, then he must also be willing to die with them. A ruler who simply sends his troops out while he remains behind in the safety of his castle will never command the same loyalty and respect as one who leads his armies into battle. More than anything else right now, Michael must gain the respect and loyalty of the troops and of his vassals.
And respect and loyalty are never freely given. They must be earned.”
So at the age of thirteen, Michael had led the Imperial Army of Anuire into the field, which sounded much more impressive than it was in fa
ct, since a great deal of the army’s strength at any given time depended on troops sent from the empire’s provinces.
And in the beginning, all they had were the troops quartered in the capital and those sent by Kier of Avanil. Messengers had been dispatched to all the other provinces with an imperial command for a troop levy, but while no one had refused outright, neither had anyone except the Duke of Avanil hastened to comply. They all waited to see in which direction the wind would start to blow.
And, at least in the beginning, it had blown against Emperor Michael.
When word had been sent out that Prince Michael was alive and well and had returned to Anuire to claim his birthright, Arwyn had responded by accusing Lord Tieran of trying to palm off a pretender on the people of the empire. An entire year had passed, he said, in which there had been no word from the missing emperor and now he had returned? From where?
If it were truly the prince, what had he been doing all this time? How had he escaped his goblin abductors? And why had the elves, the old enemies of humankind, chosen to help him? What did Prince Fhileraene have to gain?
What Lord Tieran had to gain was obvious, Arwyn had maintained. He was after power and sought the regency for himself. What other possible reason could there have been for his cowardly flight from Seaharrow with the empress at a time when not only the prince’s fate but that of his own son was uncertain? Arwyn even went so far as to suggest that the high chamberlain had taken the empress from Seaharrow against her will-for what mother would leave when her son was missing? and was now holding her at the Imperial Cairn in Anuire as hostage for his claim to regency. Arwyn manifested considerable outrage over this, despite the fact that it was probably exactly what he had planned himself.
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