Magician (48 page)

Tomas laughed. “Most men lack
imagination, or possess too much. The forest is quiet and peaceful.
It is the most peaceful place I think I have known.”

The elves said nothing, but a look of
mild surprise crossed Calin’s face. “We had best
continue, if we are to reach Elvandar before dark.”

As night fell, they reached a giant
clearing Tomas stopped and stood rooted by the sight before him.
Across the clearing a huge city of trees rose upward. Gigantic trees,
dwarfing any oaks imagined, stood together. They were linked by
gracefully arching bridges of branches, flat across the tops, on
which elves could be seen crossing from bole to bole. Tomas looked up
and saw the trunks rise until they were lost in a sea of leaves and
branches. The leaves were deep green, but here and there a tree with
golden, silver, or even white foliage could be seen, sparkling with
lights. A soft glow permeated the entire area, and Tomas wondered if
it ever became truly dark here.

Calin placed his hand on Tomas’s
shoulder and simply said, “Elvandar.”

They hurried across the clearing, and
Tomas could see the elven tree city was even larger than he had first
imagined. It spread away on all sides and must have been over a mile
across. Tomas felt a thrill of wonder at this magic place, a singular
exaltation.

They reached a stairway, carved into
the side of a tree, that wound its way upward, into the branches.
They started up the steps, and Tomas again felt a sensation of joy,
as if the mad frenzy that filled him during a battle had a harmonious
aspect of gentler nature.

Upward they climbed, and as they passed
the large branches that served as roadways for the elves, Tomas could
see elven men and women on all sides. Many of the men wore fighting
leather like his guides, but many others wore long, graceful robes or
tunics of bright and rich colors. The women were all beautiful, with
their hair worn long and down, unlike the ladies of the Duke’s
court. Many had jewels woven into their tresses that sparkled when
they passed. All were tall and graceful.

They reached a gigantic branch and left
the stairs. Calin began to warn him about not looking down, for he
knew humans had difficulty on the high pathways, but Tomas stood near
the edge, looking down with no sign of discomfort or vertigo.

“This is a marvelous place,”
he said. The three elves exchanged questioning glances, but no words
were spoken.

They set off again, and when they came
to an intersection of branches, the two elves turned off the path,
leaving Tomas and Calin to travel alone Deeper and deeper they moved,
Tomas as surefooted on the branch road as the elf, until they reached
a large opening. Here a circle of trees formed a central court for
the Elf Queen. A hundred branches met and merged into a huge
platform. Aglaranna was sitting upon a wooden throne, surrounded by
her court. A single human, in the grey of a Natalese Ranger, stood
near the Queen, his black skin gleaming in the night glow. He was the
tallest man Tomas had ever seen, and the young man from Crydee knew
this must be Long Leon, the ranger Grimsworth had spoken of.

Calin led Tomas into the center of the
clearing and presented him to Queen Aglaranna. She showed slight
surprise as she saw the figure of the young man in white and gold,
but quickly composed her features. In her rich voice she welcomed
Tomas to Elvandar, and bade him stay as long as he wished.

The court adjourned, and Dolgan came to
where Tomas stood. “Well, laddie, I am glad to see you
recovered. It was an undecided issue when we left you I hated to do
so, but I think you understand. I was in need of getting word on the
fighting near Stone Mountain.”

Tomas nodded. “I understand. What
news?”

Dolgan shook his head. “Bad, I
fear. We are cut off from our brethren. I think we will be staying
with the elvenfolk for a while, and I have little love for these
heights.”

Tomas broke into open laughter at that.
Dolgan smiled, for it was the first time since the boy had donned the
dragon’s armor he had heard the sound.

W
agons
groaned under heavy loads.

Whips cracked and wheels creaked as
lumbering oxen pulled their burdens down the road toward the beach.
Arutha, Fannon, and Lyam rode before soldiers protecting the wagons
traveling between the castle and the shore. Behind the wagons a
ragged crowd of townspeople followed. Many carried bundles or pulled
carts, following the Duke’s sons toward the waiting ships.

They turned down the road that split
off from the town road, and Arutha’s gaze swept over the signs
of destruction. The once-thriving town of Crydee was now covered in
an acrid blue haze. The sounds of hammering and sawing rang through
the morning air as workmen labored to repair what they could of the
damage.

The Tsurani had raided at sundown two
days before, racing through the town, overwhelming the few guards at
their posts before an alarm was raised by terrified women, old men,
and children. The aliens had run riot through the town, not pausing
until they reached dockside, where they had fired three ships,
heavily damaging two. The damaged ships were already limping toward
Carse, while the undamaged ships in the harbor had moved down the
coast to their present location, north of Sailor’s Grief.

The Tsurani had put most of the
buildings near the quay to the torch, but while heavily damaged, they
were repairable. The fire had spread into the heart of town,
resulting in the heaviest loss there. The Hall of the Craftmasters,
the two inns, and dozens of lesser buildings were now only smoldering
ruins. Blackened timbers, cracked roof tiles, and scorched stones
marked their locations. Fully one third of Crydee had burned before
the fire had been brought under control.

Arutha had stood on the wall, watching
the hellish glow reflected on the clouds above the town as the flames
spread. Then at first light he had led the garrison out, finding the
Tsurani already vanished into the forests.

Arutha still chafed at the memory.
Fannon had advised Lyam not to allow the garrison out until
dawn—fearing it was a ruse to get the castle gates open or to
lure the garrison into the woods where a larger force waited in
ambush—and Lyam had acceded to the old Swordmaster’s
request. Arutha was sure he could have prevented much of the damage
had he been allowed to rout the Tsurani at once.

As he rode down the coast road, Arutha
was lost in thought. Orders arrived the day before instructing Lyam
to leave Crydee. The Duke’s aide-de-camp had been killed, and
with the war beginning its third year this spring, he wished Lyam to
join him at his camp in Yabon. For reasons Arutha didn’t
understand, Duke Borric had not given command to him as expected;
instead Borric had named the Swordmaster garrison commander. But,
thought the younger Prince, at least Fannon will be less ready to
order me about without Lyam’s backing. He shook his head
slightly in an attempt to dislodge his irritation. He loved his
brother, but wished Lyam had shown more willingness to assert himself
Since the beginning of the war, Lyam had commanded in Crydee, but it
had been Fannon making all the decisions. Now Fannon had the office
as well as the influence.

“Thoughtful, brother?”

Lyam had pulled his own horse up and
was now beside Arutha, who shook his head and smiled faintly. “Just
envious of you.”

Lyam smiled his warmest at his younger
brother. “I know you wish to be going, but Father’s
orders were clear. You’re needed here.”

“How needed can I be where every
suggestion I make has been ignored?”

Lyam’s expression was
conciliatory. “You’re still disturbed by Father’s
decision to name Fannon commander of the garrison.”

Arutha looked hard at his brother. “I
am now the age you were when Father named you commander at Crydee.
Father was full commander and second Knight-General in the West at my
age, only four years shy of being named King’s Warden of the
West. Grandfather trusted him enough to give him full command.”

“Father’s not Grandfather,
Arutha. Remember, Grandfather grew up in a time when we were still
warring in Crydee, pacifying newly conquered lands. He grew up in
war. Father did not. He learned all his warcraft down in the Vale of
Dreams, against Kesh, not defending his own home as Grandfather had.
Times change.”

“How they change, brother,”
Arutha said dryly “Grandfather, like his father before him,
would not have sat behind safe walls. In the two years since the war
began, we have not mounted one major offensive against the Tsurani.
We cannot continue letting them dictate the course of the war, or
surely they will prevail.”

Lyam regarded his brother with concern
mirrored in his eyes. “Arutha, I know you are restless to harry
the enemy, but Fannon is right in saying we dare not risk the
garrison. We must hold here and protect what we have.”

Arutha cast a quick glance at the
ragged townspeople behind. “I’ll tell those who follow
how well they’re protected.”

Lyam saw the bitterness in Arutha. “I
know you blame me, brother. Had I taken your advice, rather than
Fannon’s . . .”

Arutha lost his harsh manner. “It
is not your doing,” he conceded “Old Fannon is simply
cautious. He also is of the opinion a soldier’s worth is
measured by the grey in his beard. I am still only the Duke’s
boy. I fear my opinions from now on will receive short shrift.”

“Curb thy impatience, youngster,”
he said in mock seriousness. “Perhaps between your boldness and
Fannon’s caution, a safe middle course will be followed.”
Lyam laughed.

Arutha had always found his brother’s
laughter infectious and couldn’t repress a grin. “Perhaps,
Lyam,” he said with a laugh.

They came to the beach where longboats
waited to haul the refugees out to the ships anchored offshore. The
captains would not return to the quayside until they were assured
their ships would not again come under attack, so the fleeing
townspeople were forced to walk through the surf to board the boats.
Men and women began to wade to the boats, bundles of belongings and
small children held safely overhead. Older children swam playfully,
turning the event into sport. There were many tearful partings, for
most of the townsmen were remaining to rebuild their burned homes and
serve as levies in the dukes’ army. The women, children, and
old men who were leaving would be carried down the coast to Tulan,
the southernmost town in the Duchy, as yet untroubled by either the
Tsurani or the rampaging Dark Brothers in the Green Heart.

Lyam and Arutha dismounted, and a
soldier took their horses. The brothers watched as soldiers carefully
loaded crates of messenger pigeons onto the sole longboat pulled up
on shore. The birds would be shipped through the Straits of Darkness
to the dukes’ camp Pigeons trained to fly to the camp were now
on their way to Crydee, and with their arrival some of the
responsibility for carrying information to and from the dukes’
camp would be lifted from Martin Longbow’s trackers and the
Natalese Rangers. This was the first year mature pigeons raised in
the camp—necessary for them to develop the homing instinct—were
available.

Soon the baggage and refugees were
loaded, and it was time for Lyam to depart. Fannon bid him a stiff
and formal farewell, but it was apparent from his controlled manner
that the old Swordmaster felt concern for the Duke’s older son.
With no family of his own, Fannon had been something of an uncle to
the boys when they were growing, personally instructing them in
swordsmanship, the maintenance of armor, and the theories of
warcraft. He maintained his formal pose, but both brothers could see
the genuine affection there.

When Fannon left, the brothers
embraced. Lyam said, “Take care of Fannon.” Arutha looked
surprised. Lyam grinned and said, “I’d not care to think
what would happen here should Father pass you over once more and name
Algon commander of the garrison.”

Arutha groaned, then laughed with his
brother. As Horsemaster, Algon was technically second-in-command
behind Fannon. All in the castle shared genuine affection for the
man, and deep respect for his vast knowledge of horses, but everyone
conceded his general lack of knowledge about anything besides horses.
After two years of warfare, he still resisted the idea the invaders
came from another world, an attitude that caused Tully no end of
irritation.

Lyam moved into the water, where two
sailors held the longboat for him. Over his shoulder he shouted, “And
take care of our sister, Arutha.”

Arutha said he would. Lyam leaped into
the longboat, next to the precious pigeons, and the boat was pushed
away from shore. Arutha watched as the boat dwindled into the
distance.

Arutha walked slowly back to where a
soldier held his mount. He paused to stare down the beach. To the
south, the high bluffs reared, dominated by Sailor’s Grief,
which stood upthrust against the morning sky. Arutha silently cursed
the day the Tsurani ship crashed against those rocks.

Carline stood atop the southern tower
of the keep, watching the horizon, gathering her cloak around her
against the sea breeze. She had stayed at the castle, bidding Lyam
good-bye earlier, not wishing to ride to the beach. She preferred
that her fears not becloud Lyam’s happiness at joining their
father in the dukes’ camp. Many times over the last two years
she had chided herself over such feelings. Her men were soldiers, all
trained since boyhood for war. But since word had reached Crydee of
Pug’s capture, she had remained afraid for them.

A feminine clearing of the throat made
Carline turn. Lady Glynis, the Princess’s companion for the
last four years, smiled slightly and indicated with a nod of her head
the newcomer who appeared at the trapdoor leading down into the
tower.