Magician (109 page)

“I like little the tone of your
words. I thought you said the war was finished.”

“On the day of the meeting
between Lyam and the Emperor, you must marshal the elves and dwarves
to the west of the field. When the monarchs meet in the center of the
field, then will there be treachery.”

“What treachery?” Tomas’s
face showed his anger.

“I may say little more, save that
when Ichindar and Lyam are seated, you must attack the Tsurani with
all your forces. Only this way can Midkemia be saved from utter
destruction.”

A look of suspicion crossed Tomas’s
face. “You ask much for one unwilling to give more.”

Macros stood tall, holding his staff to
one side, like a ruler his sceptre.

His dark eyes narrowed, and his brows
met over his hooked nose. His voice stayed soft, but his words were
hot with anger. Even Tomas felt something akin to awe in his
presence.

“More!” he said, biting off
the word. “I gave you all, Valheru! You are here by dint of my
actions over many years. More of my life than you will know has been
given to preparing for your coming. Had I not bested, then befriended
Rhuagh, you would never have survived in the mines of Mac Mordain
Cadal. It was I who prepared the armor and sword of Ashen-Shugar,
leaving them with the Hammer of Tholin and my gift to the dragon, so
that centuries later you would discover them. It was I who set your
feet upon the path, Tomas. Had I not come to aid you, years past,
Elvandar would now be ashes. Do you think Tathar and the other
Spellweavers of Elvandar were the only ones to work on your behalf?
Without my aid over these last nine years, you would have been
destroyed utterly by the dragon’s gifts. No mere human could
have withstood such ancient and powerful magic without the
intervention only I could make. When you were swept along upon your
dream quests to the past, it was I who guided you back to the
present, I who returned you to sanity.” The sorcerer’s
voice rose. “It was I who gave you the power to influence
Ashen-Shugar! You were my tool!” Tomas stepped back before the
controlled fury of the sorcerer’s words. “No, Tomas, I
have not given you much. I have given you everything!”

For the first time since donning the
armor in Mac Mordain Cadal, Tomas felt fear. In the most basic fiber
of his being he suddenly was aware of how much power the sorcerer
possessed, and that should Macros choose, he could brush him aside
like a nettlesome insect “Who are you?” he asked quietly,
controlled fear in his voice.

Macros’s anger vanished. He
leaned once again upon his staff, and Tomas’s fears fled and
with them all memory of his fears. With a chuckle, Macros said, “I
tend to forget myself upon occasion. My apologies.” Then he
grew serious once again. “I do not ask this thing from any
demand of gratitude. What I have done is done, and you owe me
nothing. But know this: both the creature called Ashen-Shugar and the
boy called Tomas shared an abiding love of this world, each in his
own way, incomprehensible to each other as that love was. You possess
both aspects of the love of land: the desire of the Valheru to
protect and control, and the desire of the keep boy to nurture and
nourish. But should you fail in this task I set before you, should
you stint in resolve when the moment is nigh, then know with dread
certainty, this world upon which we stand shall be lost, lost beyond
recalling. This on my most holy oath is the truth.”

“Then I shall do as you
instruct.”

Macros smiled. “Go then to your
wife, Prince Consort of Elvandar, but when it is time, marshal your
army. I go to Stone Mountain, for Harthorn and his soldiers will join
you. Every sword and war hammer is needed.”

“Will they know you?”

Macros gazed at Tomas. “Indeed
they will know me, Tomas of Elvandar, never doubt.”

“I shall gather all the might of
Elvandar, Macros.” A grim note entered his voice. “And
for all time, we will put an end to this war.”

Macros waved his staff and vanished.
Tomas waited alone for a time, struggling with a newfound fear, that
this war would last forever.

T
he
armies stood facing one another.

Seasoned veterans eyed each other
across the open valley floor, not quite ready to feel at ease in the
presence of an enemy they had fought for nine years and longer. Each
side was composed of honor companies, representing the nobles of the
Kingdom and clans of the Empire. Each numbered in excess of a
thousand men. The last of the Tsurani invasion army was now entering
the rift, returning home to Kelewan, leaving only the Emperor’s
honor detachment behind. The Kingdom army was still camped at the
mouths of the two passes into the valley and would not leave the area
until the treaty was finalized. There was still a cautious aspect to
the newfound trust.

On the Kingdom side of the valley, Lyam
sat astride a white war-horse, awaiting the Emperor’s arrival.
Nearby the nobles of the Kingdom, their armor cleaned and polished,
sat their horses. With them were the leaders of the Free Cities
militia and a detachment of Natalese Rangers.

Trumpets sounded from across the field,
and the Emperor’s party could be seen emerging from the rift.
Imperial banners fluttered in the breeze as the procession moved to
the head of the Tsurani contingent.

Awaiting the Tsurani herald, who was
walking across the several hundred yards that separated the opposing
monarchs, Prince Lyam turned to regard those who sat on horseback
nearby. Pug, Kulgan, Meecham, and Laurie were accorded their position
of honor by dint of their service to the Kingdom Earl Vandros and
several other officers who had distinguished themselves were also
close by. Next to Lyam sat Arutha, astride a chestnut war-horse, who
pranced in place out of high spirits.

Pug looked around, feeling a giddy
sensation at the sight of all the symbols of two mighty nations with
whose fates he had been so closely tied. Across the open field he
could see the banners of the powerful families of the Empire, all
familiar to him: the Keda, the Oaxatucan, the Minwanabi, and the
rest. Behind him were the fluttering banners of the Kingdom, all the
duchies from Crydee in the west to Ran in the east.

Kulgan noticed his former student’s
far-off gaze and tapped him on the shoulder with the long staff he
was holding. “Are you all right?”

Pug turned. “I’m fine. I
was just a little overwhelmed for a moment, engulfed in memories. It
seems strange to see this day, in a way. Both sides of the war were
bitter enemies, and yet I have ties with both lands. I find I have
feelings I’ve yet to explore.”

Kulgan smiled. “There will be
much time for introspection later Perhaps Tully and I can offer some
aid.” The old cleric had accompanied Arutha on his brutal ride,
not wishing to miss the peace meeting. The fourteen days in the
saddle had taken a toll, however, and now he lay ill in Lyam’s
tent. It had taken a command from Lyam to keep him there, for he had
been determined to accompany the royal party.

The Tsurani herald reached a place
before Lyam. He bowed low, then said something in Tsurani. Pug rode
forward to translate. “He says, ‘His Most Imperial
Majesty, Ichindar, ninety-one times Emperor, Light of Heaven, and
ruler of all the nations of Tsuranuanni, sends greetings to his
brother monarch, His most Royal Highness, Prince Lyam, ruler of the
lands known as the Kingdom. Will the Prince accept his invitation to
join with him at the center of the valley?’ ”

Lyam said, “Tell him that I
return his greetings and will be pleased to meet with him at the
appointed place.” Pug translated, with the appropriate Tsurani
formality, and the herald bowed low and returned to his own lines.

They could see the imperial litter
being carried forward Lyam signaled that his escort should accompany
him, and they rode out to meet the Emperor in the center of the
valley floor Pug, Kulgan, and Laurie rode with the honor escort,
Meecham waited with the soldiers.

The Kingdom horsemen reached the
designated place first and waited while the imperial retinue
approached. The litter was born on the backs of twenty slaves, chosen
for their uniformity in height and appearance. Their thick muscles
bunched under the strain of carrying the heavy, gold-encrusted
litter. Gauzy white curtains hung from gold-inlaid wooden supports,
decorated with gems of great value and beauty. The rare metal and
gems caught the sun’s rays and glittered brightly.

Behind the litter marched
representatives of the most powerful families in the Empire, clan
Warchiefs. There were five of them, one for each family eligible to
elect a new Warlord.

The litter was lowered, and Ichindar,
Emperor of the nations of Tsuranuanni, stepped out. He was dressed in
golden armor, its value immeasurable by Tsurani standards. Upon his
head was a crested helm covered in the same metal. He walked over to
Lyam, who had dismounted to meet him. Pug, who was to translate,
dismounted and walked to stand to one side of the two rulers. The
Emperor nodded curtly to him.

Lyam and Ichindar studied one another,
and both seemed surprised at the other’s youthfulness. Ichindar
was only three years older than the new Heir.

Lyam began by welcoming the Emperor
with friendship and the hope of peace Ichindar responded in kind.
Then the Light of Heaven stepped forward and extended his right hand.
“I understand this is your custom?”

Lyam took the hand of the Emperor of
Tsuranuanni. Suddenly the tension broke, and cheers went up from both
sides of the valley. The two young monarchs were smiling, and the
handshake was vigorous and firm.

Lyam said, “May this be the
beginning of a lasting peace for our two nations.”

Ichindar answered, “Peace is a
new thing to Tsuranuanni, but I trust we will learn quickly. My High
Council is divided over my actions. I hope the fruits of trade and
the prosperity gained by learning from one another will unify
attitudes.”

“That is my wish also,”
said Lyam. “To mark the truce, I have ordered a gift prepared
for you.” He signaled, and a soldier trotted out from the
Kingdom lines, leading a beautiful black war-horse behind. A black
saddle set with gold was upon its back, and from the saddle horn hung
a broadsword, with a jeweled scabbard and hilt.

Ichindar regarded the horse with a
little skepticism, but was awed by the workmanship of the sword. He
hefted the great blade and said, “You honor me, Prince Lyam.”

Ichindar turned to one of his escorts,
who ordered a chest carried forward. Two slaves set it before the
Emperor. It was carved ngaggi wood, finished to a deep and beautiful
shine. Scrollwork surrounded bas-relief carvings of Tsurani animals
and plants. Each had been cleverly stained in lighter and darker
tones, in nearly lifelike detail. In itself it was a fine gift, but
when the lid was thrown back, a pile of the finest cut stones, all
larger than a man’s thumb, glistened in the sun.

The Emperor said, “I would have
difficulty justifying reparation to the High Council, and my position
with them is not the best at present, but a gift to mark the occasion
they cannot fault. I hope this will repair some of the destruction my
nation has caused.”

Lyam bowed slightly. “You are
generous and I thank you. Will you join me for refreshments?”
The Emperor nodded, and Lyam gave a command for a pavilion to be
erected. A dozen soldiers galloped forward and dismounted Several
carried poles and bolts of material. In short order a large,
open-sided pavilion was erected. Chairs and a table were set up under
the covering. Other soldiers brought wine and food and placed them
upon the table.

Pug pulled out a large cushioned chair
for the Emperor, as Arutha did for his brother. The two rulers sat,
and Ichindar said, “This is quite a bit more comfortable than
my throne. I must have a cushion made.”

Wine was poured, and Lyam and the
Emperor toasted each other. Then a toast to peace was offered.
Everyone present drank it.

Ichindar turned to Pug. “Great
One, it seems that this meeting will prove more salubrious to those
around than our last.”

Pug bowed. “I trust so, Your
Imperial Majesty I hope I am forgiven my disruption of the Imperial
Games.”

The Emperor frowned. “Disruption?
It was closer to destruction.”

Pug translated for the others while
Ichindar smiled ruefully in appreciation. “This Great One has
done many innovative things in my Empire. I fear we will not see the
end of his handiwork long after his name is forgotten. Still, that is
a thing of the past. Let us concern ourselves with the future.”

The honored guests from both camps
stood in the pavilion as the two monarchs began their discussion of
the best way to establish relationships between the two worlds.

Tomas watched the pavilion Calin and
Dolgan waited on either side. Behind them more than two thousand
elves and dwarves stood ready. They had entered the valley through
the North Pass, moving by the Kingdom forces that were gathered. They
had circled around the clearing, gathering in the woods to the west,
where they were accorded a clear view of the proceeding. Tomas said
to both his comrades, “I see little to indicate trickery.”

A second dwarf, Harthom of Stone
Mountain, walked over to them. “Aye, elfling. All looks
peaceful enough, in spite of the sorcerer’s warning.”

Abruptly there was a heat shimmer
across the field, as if their vision swam and flickered, then Tomas
and the others could see Tsurani soldiers drawing weapons.

Tomas turned to those behind and said,
“Be ready!”

A kingdom soldier rode up to the
pavilion. The Tsurani lords looked at him with distrust, for so far
the only soldiers who neared the pavilion were those serving
refreshments.