Magician (93 page)

“I have been told by some that no
elf can be revived by human arts. Others have said that elves have no
true souls, which is why they do not return. I think both are false,
and they have a finer sense of where they live in the world.”

Garret was quiet for a moment while he
digested this information. “It is a strange tale, Huntmaster.
What brought it to mind?”

“The death of those elves and
your question. It is to show you how they differ from us, and how you
must work to learn their ways. You will spend time among them.”

“Is the tale of the dead elf
true?”

“Yes. The newly fallen elf was
the late Elf King, Queen Aglaranna’s husband. I was but a boy
then, thirty years ago, but I remember it. I was with the hunting
party when the accident happened, and I met the priest.”

Garret said nothing, and Martin picked
up his weapon and resumed his journey.

They soon came to the edge of Elvandar.
Martin stopped while Garret stood enraptured by the sight of the
great trees. The late-afternoon sun cast long shadows through the
forest, but the high boughs were already glimmering with their own
fairy light.

Martin took Garret by the elbow and
gently guided the gawking tracker along to the Queen’s court.
He reached the council ring and entered, saluting the Queen.

Aglaranna smiled at sight of him.
“Welcome, Martin Longbow. It has been too long since you last
came to us.”

Martin introduced Garret, who bowed
awkwardly before the Queen. Then another figure entered the court,
from where he had stood in the shadows.

Martin had grown alongside elven
children and was as able as any man in hiding his emotions when need
be, but the sight of Tomas rocked him to the point of nearly
exclaiming. Biting back a comment, he forced himself not to stare and
heard Garret’s indrawn breath of amazement. They had heard of
the changes in Tomas, but nothing had prepared either Martin or
Garret for the sight of the towering man before him. Alien eyes
regarded them. There was little remaining of the happy, grinning boy
who had once followed Martin through the woods begging for tales of
the elves, or played barrel ball with Garret. Without cordiality
Tomas stepped forward and said, “What word from Crydee?”

Martin leaned upon his bow. “Prince
Arutha sends his greetings,” he said to the Queen, “and
his affections, as well as his hope for your good health.”
Turning to Tomas, who had obviously usurped some position of command
within the Queen’s council, he said, “Arutha sends the
following news: Black Guy, Duke of Bas-Tyra, now rules in Krondor, so
no help will be forthcoming to the Far Coast. Also, the Prince has
good cause to believe the outworlders plan to mount a major offensive
soon, whether against Crydee, Elvandar, or the Duke’s army he
cannot tell. However, the southern enclaves are not being reinforced
through the dwarven mines, though they are strongly dug in. My
trackers have had some signs of northward movement, but nothing on a
large scale. It is Arutha’s guess the most likely offensive
will be against his father and Brucal’s army.” Then he
said, “And I bring word that Arutha’s Squire has been
slain.” He observed the elven avoidance of naming the dead.

Tomas’s eyes betrayed a glint of
emotion at the news of Roland’s death, but all he said was, “In
war men die.”

Calin realized the exchange was
something of a personal matter between Longbow and Tomas. No one else
in the court had known Roland well, though Calin remembered him from
the dinner that night so many years ago in Crydee. Martin was
troubled by Tomas’s reaction to the news of his boyhood
friend’s death. Returning to the business of the war, the Elf
Prince said, “It is a logical thing. Should the Kingdom army in
the West be broken, the outworlders could then turn their full
attention on the other fronts, gaining the Free Cities and Crydee
quickly. Within a year, two at the most, all of what once was Keshian
Bosania would be under their banners. Then they could march easily
upon Yabon. In time they could march to the gates of Krondor.”

Tomas faced Calin, as if to speak, his
eyes narrow. A flash of communication passed between the Queen and
Tomas, and he stepped back into his place in the council circle.
Calin continued, “If the outworlders are not staging to the
west of the mountains, then we should be joined by the dwarves soon.
We’ve had sorties across the river from the outworlders, but no
sign of major attacks to come. I think Arutha is correct in his
surmise, and should the dukes call, we should try to aid them.”

Tomas turned upon the Elf Prince.
“Leave Elvandar unprotected!” His face showed outrage.
Martin was startled by the ferocity of Tomas’s barely checked
anger “Without stripping the elven forests of defenders, we
could not mount enough numbers to matter in such a battle.”

Calin’s face remained impassive,
but his eyes mirrored Tomas’s anger. His words came forth
quietly. “I am Warleader of Elvandar. I would not leave our
forests unprotected. But should the outworlders mount a major
offensive against the dukes, they will not leave sufficient soldiers
along the river to menace our forests. They have not come against us
since we defeated them with the sorcerer’s aid and their Black
Robes were killed. But should they battle Lords Borric and Brucal,
and should the battle be a close thing, our numbers might tip the
balance, especially as we can strike against their weaker flank.”

Tomas maintained his self-control,
standing rigidly for a moment, then in icy tones he said, “The
dwarves follow Dolgan, and Dolgan follows my lead. They will not come
unless I call them to battle.” Without another word he left the
council circle.

Martin watched Tomas leave. His skin
crawled as he felt for the first time the power contained within this
strange blend of man and whatever else lived inside the boy from
Crydee. He had caught only a glimpse of what was within Tomas, but it
had been enough Tomas was a being to be feared.

Martin then saw a flicker of expression
on Aglaranna’s face. She rose and said, “I had better
have words with Tomas. He has been overwrought of late.”

As she left, Martin was struck by a
certainty. Whatever else he had seen, he had witnessed a conflict
between the Elf Queen’s son and her lover, and a deep conflict
within herself, as well. Aglaranna had worn the expression of one
caught in a hopeless fate.

When the Queen had left, Calin said,
“You have come at a propitious time, Martin. We have need of
your wisdom.”

Martin nodded. He sent Garret away to
get something to eat, and when he was gone, Martin studied the Elf
Prince, then the others in the council. Tathar stood at his usual
place, to the right of the Queen’s throne. Others he knew, all
old and trusted advisers of the Queen. Many were ancient
Spellweavers.

Martin sat down, patiently waiting for
Calin to speak. The Elf Prince remained silent for a time. Martin
studied Calin, for he knew him and could sense his disquiet. As a
boy, Martin had thought the Elf Prince the finest embodiment of all
elven virtues. While his boyish hero worship had passed, he still
regarded Calin with undiminished respect.

Calin said, “Martin, of all here
you are the only one to have known Tomas before this change. What can
you say of the transformation you’ve seen?”

Martin spent time considering his
reply. “I have only glimpsed these changes over the years,
until this day. That they are great is obvious. But as to what they
herald, I cannot begin to guess. He was a good enough boy; one not
overly given to mischief, though with enough curiosity to find it. He
had a tender side and did not hold back in his affections. His temper
was moderate, though he could lose control when a friend was
threatened or struck. In all, he was much like other boys, a
dreamer.”

“And now?”

Martin was troubled and took no pains
to hide this. “He is something beyond my understanding.”

Tathar said, “Your words are
clear to us, Martin, and true, for he has also gone beyond our
understanding.”

Calin spoke softly. “Of men, you
know our history more than any. You know of our hatred for the ages
spent in bondage to the Valheru. You know we reject the Dark Path
they trod. We fear the return of that power as much as we do this
invasion of outworlders and their Black Robes. You have seen Tomas.
You must know what we are forced to consider.”

Martin nodded. “Yes. You weigh
his life.”

“Many of the younger elves follow
him blindly,” said Tathar. “They lack the maturity and
wisdom to withstand the subtle influence of the Valheru magic with
him. And while the dwarves do not follow blindly, still they follow,
for they have none of our heritage of fear, and they put great faith
in his leadership. He has proved the means of their survival for
eight years now, saving many of them from death repeatedly.

“But while Tomas has been a boon
to us in this struggle against the invaders, we may have to put aside
all other considerations save one: will this half man, half Valheru
attempt to become our master?” Tathar frowned. “If so, he
must be destroyed.”

Martin felt cold inside. Of all the
boys he had known at Crydee, he had held special affection for three,
Garret, Tomas, and Pug. He had mourned silently when Pug had been
taken by the Tsurani, and had often wondered if it had been to his
death or captivity. Now he mourned for Tomas, for whatever else might
occur, Tomas would never again be as he once was.

Martin said to Calin. “Can
nothing be done?”

Calin indicated Tathar should answer
the question. The old Spellweaver looked around the circle, gaining
silent agreement from the other Spellweavers. To Martin he said, “We
do what we can to bring this to a good ending. But should the Valheru
come forth in his might, we would not withstand, so we are fearful.
We harbor no hatred for Tomas. But even as you pity a rabid wolf, you
must kill it.”

Martin looked grimly out at the lights
of Elvandar, as darkness deepened. As long as he remembered, it had
been a comforting sight. Now he felt only cold bitterness. “When
shall you decide?”

Tathar said, “You understand our
ways. We shall decide when we must decide.”

Martin rose slowly to his feet. “My
counsel to you then is this: until the change has clearly shown
itself to be toward the Dark Path, do not mistakenly give too much
weight to ancient fears. I have long been taught that those who now
rule in Elvandar are of heartier nature and more independent mind
than those who were first set free by the Valheru. Stay your hand
until the last. Something good may come of this yet, or if not that,
something that is not entirely ill.”

Tathar nodded. “Your counsel is
given well. It is well received.”

Martin looked heavily burdened “I
will do what I can. Once I was able to influence Tomas, perhaps I may
yet again. I will go meditate upon the matter, then seek him out and
speak with him.” None in the circle around the Queen’s
court spoke as he left. They knew his heart was as troubled as their
own.

The throbbing had become worse, not
quite a pain, but a discomfort that grew unnervingly more persistent
Tomas sat in the cool glade, near the quiet pool, struggling within
himself. Since coming to live in Elvandar, he had found his dreams
little more than vague shadowy images, with half-remembered phrases
and names to grasp. They were less troublesome, less fearful, less a
presence in his daily life, but the pressure within his head, the
dull near-ache had grown. When he was in battle, he became lost in
red rage, and there was no sense of the ache, but when the battle
lust subsided, especially when he was slow to return to Elvandar, the
throbbing returned.

Footsteps sounded lightly behind, and
without turning, he said, “I wish to be alone.”

Aglaranna said, “The pain,
Tomas?”

A faint stirring of some strange
feeling rose briefly within, and he cocked his head as if listening
for something. Then he answered curtly, “Yes. I will return to
our rooms soon. Leave now and prepare for me to join you later.”

Aglaranna stepped back, her proud
features showing pain at being addressed in such a tone. She turned
quickly and left.

As she walked through the woods, her
emotions churned within. Since surrendering to Tomas’s desire,
and her own, she had lost the ability to command him, or to resist
his commands. He was now lord over her, and she felt shame. It was a
joyless union, not the return of lost happiness she had hoped for.
But there was a will-sapping compulsion, a need to be with him, to
belong to him, that stripped away her defenses. Tomas was dynamic,
powerful, and sometimes cruel. She corrected herself: not cruel, just
so removed from any other being, no comparison could be made. He was
not indifferent to her needs; he simply was unaware she had any. As
she approached Elvandar, the soft fairy lights reflected in the
shimmering tears that touched her cheeks.

Tomas was only partially aware of her
departure. Under the dull ache within his head, a voice faintly
called to him. He strained to listen, knowing its timbre, its color,
knowing who called . . . .

“Tomas?”

Yes.

Ashen-Shugar looked across the
desolation of the plains, dry cracked lands devoid of moisture save
for bubbling alkali pots that spewed foul odors into the air. Aloud,
to his unseen companion, he said, “It has been some time since
we last spoke.”

Tathar and the others seek to keep
us apart. You are often forgotten.

The fetid winds blew from the north,
cold but cloying. The smell of decay was everywhere, and in the
residue of the mighty madness that had gripped the universe around,
only faint stirrings of life reasserting itself were felt.

“No matter. We are together
again.”