Magician (18 page)

Calin looked at one of the boy’s
books. “I prefer to be called Calin, Pug.”

Pug nodded, pleased. “Calin, what
do you think the Duke has in mind?”

The elf gave him an enigmatic smile.
“The Duke will reveal his own plans, I think. My guess is that
Meecham is preparing the way should the Duke choose to journey east.
You will most probably know on the morrow.” He held up the book
he had glanced at. “Did you find this interesting?”

Pug leaned over and read the title.
“Dorcas’s Treatise on the Animation of Objects? Yes,
though it seemed a little unclear.”

“A fair judgment. Dorcas was an
unclear man, or at least I found him so.”

Pug started. “But Dorcas died
thirty years ago.”

Calin smiled broadly, showing even
white teeth. His pale eyes shone in the lantern light. “Then
you know little of elven lore?”

“Little,” Pug agreed. “You
are the first elf I have ever spoken with, though I may have seen
another elf once, when I was very little. I’m not sure.”
Calin tossed aside the book. “I know only what Martin Longbow
has told me, that you can somehow speak with animals, and some
spirits. That you live in Elvandar and the surrounding elven forests,
and that you stay among your own kind mostly.”

The elf laughed, a soft, melodic sound.
“Nearly all true. Knowing friend Longbow, I wager some of the
tales were colorful, for while he is not a deceiving man, he has an
elf’s humor.” Pug’s expression showed he did not
understand. “We live a very long time by your standards. We
learn to appreciate the humor in the world, often finding amusement
in places where men find little. Or you can call it simply a
different way of looking at life. Martin has learned this from us, I
think.”

Pug nodded. “Mocking eyes.”

Calin raised an eyebrow in question.
Pug explained, “Many people here find Martin difficult to be
with. Different, somehow. I once heard a soldier say he had mocking
eyes.”

Calin sighed. “Life has been
difficult for Martin. He was left on his own at an early age. The
Monks of Silban are good, kindly men, but ill equipped to raise a
boy. Martin lived in the woods like a wild thing when he could flee
his tutors. I found him one day, fighting with two of our children—we
are not very much different from men when very young. Over the years
he has grown to be one of the few humans who is free to come to
Elvandar at will. He is a valued friend. But I think he bears a
special burden of loneliness, not being fully in the world of elves
nor of men, but partially in both.”

Pug saw Martin in a new light and
resolved to attempt to know the Huntmaster better. Returning to the
original topic, he said, “Is what he said true?”

Calin nodded “In some respects.
We can speak to animals only as men do, in tones to make them easy,
though we are better at it than most humans, for we read the moods of
wild things more readily. Martin has some of this knack. We do not,
however, speak with spirits. There are creatures we know whom humans
consider spirits—dryads, sprites, pixies—but they are
natural beings who live near our magic.”

Pug’s interest was piqued. “Your
magic?”

“Ours is a magic that is part of
our being, strongest in Elvandar. It is a heritage ages old, allowing
us to live at peace within our forests. There we work as others do,
hunting, tending our gardens, celebrating our joys, teaching our
young. Time passes slowly in Elvandar, for it is an ageless place.
That is why I can remember speaking with Dorcas, for in spite of my
youthful appearance, I am over a hundred years old.”

“A hundred.” Pug shook his
head. “Poor Tomas, he was distressed to hear you were the
Queen’s son. Now he will be desolate.”

Calin inclined his head, a half-smile
playing across his face “The lad who was with us in the council
hall?”

Pug nodded. Calin said, “It is
not the first time my Mother-Queen has had such an effect upon a
human, though older men can mask the effect with more ease.”

“You don’t mind?”
asked Pug, feeling protective toward his friend.

“No, Pug, of course not. All in
Elvandar love the Queen, and it is acknowledged her beauty is
unsurpassed. I find it not surprising your friend is smitten. Since
my Father-King passed, more than one bold noble of your race has come
to press his suit for Aglaranna’s hand. Now her mourning is at
an end, and she may take another should she wish. That it would be
one of your race is unlikely, for while a few such marriages have
been made, they are very rare, and tend to be sad things at the end
for our kind. She will live many more human life spans, the gods
willing.”

Calin looked around the room, then
added, “It is likely our friend Tomas will outgrow his feelings
for the great lady of the elves. Much as your Princess will change
her feelings toward you, I would think.”

Pug felt embarrassed. He had been
curious as to what Carline and the Elf Prince had spoken about during
dinner, but had been uncomfortable asking. “I noticed you spoke
with her at great length.”

“I had expected to meet a hero of
seven feet in height, with lightning dancing around his shoulders. It
seems you slew a score of trolls with a cast of your hand.”

Pug blushed. “It was only two,
and mostly by accident.”

Calin’s eyebrows shot up. “Even
two is an accomplishment. I had thought the girl guilty of a flight
of fancy. I would like to hear the story.”

Pug told him what had happened. When he
was done, Calin said, “It is an unusual tale, Pug. I know
little of human magic, but I do know enough to think that what you
did was as strange as Kulgan said. Elf magic is far different from
human, but we understand ours better than you understand your own.
Never have I heard of such an occurrence, but I can share this with
you. Occasionally, at times of great need, an inner call can be made,
bringing forth powers that lay dormant, deep within.”

Pug said, “I have thought as
much, though it would be nice to understand a little better what
happened.”

“That may come in time.”

Pug looked at his guest and sighed
deeply. “I wish I could understand Carline, as well.”

Calin shrugged and smiled “Who
can understand another’s mind? I think for some time to come
you will be the object of her attention. Then, it may be, another
will distract her, perhaps young Squire Roland. He seems held in
thrall by her.”

Pug snorted. “Roland! That
bother.”

Calin smiled appreciatively. “Then
you are fond of the Princess?”

Pug looked upward, as if seeking
guidance from some higher source “I do like her,” he
admitted with a heavy sigh. “But I don’t know if I care
for her that special way. Sometimes I think I do—especially
when I see Roland fawning over her—but other times I don’t.
She makes it very hard for me to think clearly, and I always seem to
say the wrong things to her.”

“Unlike Squire Roland,”
prompted Calin.

Pug nodded. “He’s court
born and bred. He knows all the right things to say.” Pug
leaned back on his elbows andsighed wistfully. “I guess I’m
just bothered by him out of envy as much as anything. He makes me
feel like an ill-mannered clod with great lumps of stone for hands
and tree stumps for feet.”

Calin nodded understandingly. “I
don’t count myself an expert in all the ways of your people,
Pug, but I’ve spent enough time with humans to know that you
choose how you feel; Roland makes you feel clumsy only because you
let him.

“I would hazard a guess young
Roland might feel much the same way when your positions are reversed.
The faults we see in others never seem as dreadful as those we see in
ourselves. Roland might envy your direct speech and honest manner.

“In any event, what you or Roland
do will have little effect on the Princess so long as she’s
determined to have her own way. She has romanticized you in much the
same manner your friend has our Queen. Short of you becoming a
hopeless boor, she will not be shaken from this attitude until she is
ready. I think she has you in mind as her future consort.”

Pug gaped for a moment, then said,
“Consort?”

Calin smiled. “The young are
often overly concerned with matters to be settled in later years. I
suspect her determination in the matter is as much a result of your
reluctance as from a true appreciation of your worth. She, like many
children, simply wants what she can’t have.” In a
friendly tone he added, “Time will decide the issue.”

Pug leaned forward, a worried
expression on his face. “Oh, my, I have made a hash of things.
Half the keep boys think themselves in love with the Princess. If
they only knew how terrifying the real thing can be.” He closed
his eyes, squeezing them tightly shut a moment “My head aches.
I thought she and Roland . . .”

Calin said, “He may be but a tool
to provoke your interest. Sadly, that seems to have resulted in bad
feelings between you.”

Pug nodded slowly. “I think so.
Roland is a good enough sort on the whole; we’ve been friends
for the most part. But since I was elevated in rank, he’s been
openly hostile. I try to ignore it, but it gets under my skin after a
while. Maybe I should try to talk to him.”

“That would prove wise, I think.
But don’t be surprised if he is not receptive to your words. He
is most certainly caught up in her spell.”

Pug was getting a headache from the
topic, and the mention of spells made him ask, “Would you tell
me more about elven magic?”

“Our magic is ancient. It is part
of what we are and in what we create. Elven boots can make even a
human silent when walking, and elven bows are better able to strike
the mark, for that is the nature of our magic. It is vested in
ourselves, our forests, our creations. It can sometimes be managed,
subtly by those who fully understand it . . . Spellweavers, such as
Tathar. But this is not easily done, for our magic resists
manipulation. It is more like air than anything, always surrounding
us, yet unseen. But like air, which can be felt when the wind blows,
it has substance. Our forests are called enchanted by men, for so
long have we dwelled there, our magic has created the mystery of
Elvandar. All who dwell there are at peace. No one may enter Elvandar
uninvited, save by mighty arts, and even the distant boundaries of
the elven forests cause unease in those who enter with evil intent.
It has not always been so; in ages past we shared our lot with
others, the moredhel, those you call the Brotherhood of the Dark
Path. Since the great break, when we drove them from our forests,
Elvandar has been changing, becoming more our place, our home, our
essence.”

Pug said, “Are the Brothers of
the Dark Path truly cousin to the elves?”

Calin’s eyes grew hooded. He
paused for a moment, then said, “We speak little of such
things, for there is much we wish were not true. I can tell you this:
there is a bond between the moredhel, whom you call the Brotherhood,
and my people, though ancient and long strained. We wish it were not
so, but they are true cousins to us. Once in a great while one comes
back to us, what we call Returning.” He looked as if the topic
were making him very uncomfortable.

Pug said, “I’m sorry if—”

Calin waved away the apology.
“Curiosity is nothing to apologize for in a student, Pug. I
just would rather not say more on this subject.”

They spoke late into the night, of many
things. Pug was fascinated by the Elf Prince and was flattered so
many things he said seemed to be of interest to Calin.

At last Calin said, “I should
retire. Though I need little rest, I do need some. And I think you do
as well.”

Pug rose and said, “Thank you for
telling me so much.” Then he smiled, half in embarrassment.
“And for talking to me about the Princess.”

“You needed to talk.”

Pug led Calin to the long hall, where a
servant showed him to his quarters. Pug returned to his room and lay
down for sleep, rejoined by a damp Fantus, who snorted in indignation
at having to fly through the ram. Fantus was soon asleep Pug,
however, lay staring at the flickering light from his fire pot that
danced on the ceiling, unable to call up sleep. He tried to put the
tales of strange warriors out of his mind, but images of brightly
clad fighters stalking through the forests of the westlands made
sleep impossible.

There was a somber mood throughout
Castle Crydee the next morning. The servants’ gossip had spread
the news about the Tsurani, though the details were lacking. Everyone
went about his duties with one ear open for a tidbit of speculation
on what the Duke was going to do. Everyone was agreed to one thing:
Borric conDoin, Duke of Crydee, was not a man to sit idly by waiting.
Something would be done, and soon.

Pug sat atop a bale of hay, watching
Tomas practice with a sword, swinging at a pell post, hacking
backhand, then forehand, over and over. His blows were halfhearted,
and finally he threw his sword down with disgust. “I’m
not accomplishing a thing.” He walked over and sat next to Pug.
“I wonder what they’re talking about.”

Pug shrugged. “They” were
the Duke’s council; today the boys had not been asked to
attend, and the last four hours had passed slowly.

Abruptly the courtyard became busy as
servants began to rush toward the front gate. “Come on,”
said Tomas Pug jumped off the bale and followed his friend.

They rounded the keep in time to see
the guards turning out as they had the day before. It was colder than
yesterday, but there was no rain. The boys climbed on the same wagon,
and Tomas shivered. “I think the snows will come early this
year. Maybe tomorrow.”

“If they do, it will be the
earliest snowfall in memory. You should have worn your cloak Now
you’re all sweaty from the drill, and the air is chilling you.”