Magician (69 page)

Now Tomas and his band, numbering over
three hundred elves and dwarves, sat awaiting word from other camps.
They were eating a stew of venison, seasoned with mosses, roots, and
tubers.

A runner came up to Tomas and Galain.
“Word from the King’s army.” Behind him a figure in
grey approached the campfire.

Tomas and Galain stood. “Hail,
Long Leon of Natal,” said the elf.

“Hail, Galain,” answered
the tall, black-skinned ranger.

An elf brought over bread and a bowl of
steaming stew to the two newcomers, and as they sat, Tomas said,
“What news from the Duke?”

Between mouthfuls of food, the ranger
said, “Lord Borric sends greetings. Things stand poorly. Like
moss on a tree, the Tsurani slowly advance in the east. They take a
few yards, then sit. They seem to be in no hurry. The Duke’s
best guess is they seek to reach the coast by next year, isolating
the Free Cities from the north. Then perhaps an attack toward Zun or
LaMut. Who can say?”

Tomas asked, “Any news from
Crydee?”

“Pigeons arrived just before I
left Prince Arutha holds fast against the Tsurani. They have luck as
poor there as here. But they move southward through the Green Heart.”
He surveyed the dwarves and Tomas. “I am surprised that you
could reach Elvandar.”

Dolgan puffed his pipe. “It was a
long trek. We had to move swiftly and with stealth. It is unlikely we
will be able to return to the mountains now the invaders are aroused.
Once in place, they are loath to yield what they have gained.”

Tomas paced before the fire. “How
did you elude their sentries?”

“Your raids are causing much
confusion in their ranks. Men who faced the Armies of the West were
pulled out of the line to rush to the river. I simply followed one
such group. They never thought to look behind. I had only to slip
past their lines when they withdrew and then again across the river.”

Calin said, “How many do they
bring against us?”

Leon shrugged “I saw six
companies, there must be others.” They had estimated a Tsurani
company at twenty squads each of thirty men.

Tomas slapped his gloved hands
together. “They would bring three thousand men back only if
they were planning another crossing. They must seek to drive us deep
into the forest again, to keep us from harrying their positions.”
He crossed to stand over the ranger. “Do any of the black-robed
ones come?”

“From time to time I saw one with
the company I followed.”

Tomas again slapped his hands. “This
time they come in force. Send word to the other camps. In two days’
time all the host of Elvandar is to meet at the Queen’s court,
save scouts and runners who will watch the outworlders.”

Silently runners sprang up from the
fire and hurried off to carry word to the other elven bands strung
out along the banks of the river Crydee.

Ashen-Shugar sat upon his throne,
oblivious to the dancers. The moredhel females had been chosen for
their beauty and grace, but he was untouched by their allure. His
mind’s eye was far away, seeking the coming battle. Inside, a
strangeness, a hollow feeling without name, came into being.

It is called sadness
, said the
voice within.

Ashen-Shugar thought: Who are you to
visit me in my solitude?

I am that which you are becoming.
This is but a dream, a memory.

Ashen-Shugar drew forth his sword and
rose from his throne, bellowing his rage. Instantly the musicians
stopped their playing. The dancers, servants, and musicians fell to
the floor, prostrating themselves before their master “I am!
There is no dream!”

You are but a remembrance of the
past,
said the voice.
We are becoming one.

Ashen-Shugar raised his sword, then
lashed down. The head of a cowering servant rolled upon the floor.
Ashen-Shugar knelt and placed his hand in the fountain of blood
Raising fingers to his lips, he tasted the salty flavor and cried,
“Is this not the taste of life!”

It is illusion. All has passed.

“I feel a strangeness, an unease
that makes me . . . it makes me . . . there is no word.”

It is fear.

Ashen-Shugar again lashed out with his
sword, and a young dancer died. “These things, they know fear.
What has fear to do with me?”

You are afraid. All creatures fear
change, even the gods.

Who are you? asked the Valheru
silently.

I am you. I am what you will become.
I am what you were. I am Tomas.

A shout from below brought Tomas from
his reverie. He rose and left his small room, crossing a tree-branch
bridge to the level of the Queen’s court. At a rail he could
make out the dim figures of hundreds of dwarves camped below the
heights of Elvandar. He stood for a time watching the campfires
below. Each hour hundreds more elven and dwarven warriors made their
way to join this army he marshaled. Tomorrow he would sit in council
with Calin, Tathar, Dolgan, and others and make known his plan to
meet the coming assault.

Six years of fighting had given Tomas a
strange counterpoint to the dreams that still troubled his sleep.
When the battle rage took him, he existed in another’s dreams.
When he was away from the elven forest, the call to enter those
dreams became ever more difficult to stem. He felt no fear of these
visitations, as he had at first. He was more than human because of
some long-dead being’s dreams. There were powers within him,
powers that he could use, and they were now part of him, as they had
been part of the wearer of the white and gold. He knew that he would
never be Tomas of Crydee again, but what was he becoming . . . ?

The slightest hint of a footfall
sounded behind him. Without turning, he said, “Good eve, my
lady.”

The Elf Queen came to stand next to
him, a studied expression on her face. “Your senses are elven
now,” she said in her own language.

“So it seems, Shining Moon,”
he answered in the same language, using the ancient translation of
her name.

He turned to face her and saw wonder in
her eyes. She reached out and gently touched his face. “Is this
the boy who stood so flustered in the Duke’s council chamber at
the thought of speaking before the Elf Queen, who now speaks the true
tongue as if born to it?”

He pushed away her hand, gently. “I
am what I am, what you see.” His voice was firm, commanding.

She studied his face, holding back a
shudder as she recognized something fearful within his countenance.
“But what do I see, Tomas?”

Ignoring her question, he said, “Why
do you avoid me, lady?”

Gently she spoke. “There is this
thing growing between us that may not be. It sprang into existence
the moment you first came to us, Tomas.”

Almost with a note of amusement, Tomas
said, “Before that, lady, from the first I gazed upon you.”
He stood tall over her. “And why may this thing not be? Who
better to sit at your side?”

She moved away from him, her control
lost for a brief moment. In that instant he saw what few had ever
seen: the Elf Queen confused and unsure, doubting her own ancient
wisdom. “Whatever else, you are man. Despite what powers are
granted you, it is a man’s span allotted to you. I will reign
until my spirit travels to the Blessed Isles to be with my lord, who
has already made the journey. Then Calin rules, as son of a king, as
King. Thus it is with my people.”

Tomas reached for her and turned her to
face him. “It was not always so.”

Her eyes showed a spark of fear. “No,
we were not always a free people.”

She sensed impatience within him, but
she also saw him struggle with it as he forced his voice to calmness.
“Do you then feel nothing?”

She took a step away. “I would
lie if I said not. But it is a strange pulling, and something that
fills me with uncertainty and with no small dread. If you become more
the Valheru, more than the man can master, then we could not welcome
you here. We would not allow the return of the Old Ones.”

Tomas laughed, with a strange mixture
of humor and bitterness. “As a boy I beheld you and was filled
with a boy’s longing. Now I am a man and behold you with a
man’s longing. Is the power that makes me bold enough to seek
you out, the power that gives me the means to do so, that which will
also keep us apart?”

Aglaranna put her hand to her cheek. “I
know not. It has never been with the royal family to be other than
what we are. Others may seek alliance with humans. I would not have
that sadness when you are old and grey and I am still as you see me.”

Tomas’s eyes flashed, and his
voice gained a harsh edge. “That will never happen, lady I
shall live a thousand years in this glade. Of that I have no doubt.
But I shall trouble you no more . . . until other matters are
settled. This thing is willed by fate to be, Aglaranna. You will come
to know that.”

She stood with her hand raised to her
mouth, and her eyes moist with emotion. He walked away, leaving her
alone in her court to consider what he had said. For the first time
since her Lord-King had passed over, Aglaranna knew two conflicting
emotions: fear and longing.

Tomas turned at a shout from the edge
of the clearing. An elf was walking from the trees followed by a
simply dressed man. He stopped his conversation with Calin and
Dolgan, and the three hurried to follow the stranger as he was guided
up to the Queen’s court. Aglaranna sat on her throne, her
elders arranged on benches to either side. Tathar stood next to the
Queen.

The stranger approached the throne and
made a slight bow. Tathar threw a quick glance at the sentry who had
escorted the man, but the elf looked bemused. The man in brown said,
“Greetings, lady,” in perfect elvish.

Aglaranna answered in the King’s
Tongue. “You come boldly among us, stranger.”

The man smiled, leaning on his staff.
“Still, I did seek a guide, for I would not enter Elvandar
unbidden.”

Tathar said, “I think yon guide
had little choice.”

The man said, “There is always a
choice, though it is not always apparent.”

Tomas stepped forward. “What is
your purpose here?”

Turning at the voice, the man smiled
“Ah! The wearer of the dragon’s gift. Well met, Tomas of
Crydee.”

Tomas stepped back. The man’s
eyes radiated power, and his easy manner veiled strength that Tomas
could feel. “Who are you?”

The man said, “I have many names,
but here I am called Macros the Black.” He pointed with his
staff and swept it around the gathered watchers. “I have come,
for you have embarked upon a bold plan.” At the last, he
pointed his staff at Tomas. He dropped the tip and leaned on the
staff again. “But the plan to capture a Black Robe will bring
naught but destruction to Elvandar should you not have my aid.”
He smiled slightly. “A Black Robe you shall have in time, but
not yet.” There was a hint of irony in his voice.

Aglaranna arose. Her shoulders were
back, and her eyes looked straight into his. “You know much.”

Macros inclined his head slightly “Aye,
I know much, more than is sometimes comforting.” He stepped
past her and placed a hand upon Tomas’s shoulder. Guiding Tomas
to a seat near where the Queen stood, Macros forced him to sit with a
gentle pressure on his shoulder. He took a seat next to him and laid
the staff against the crook of his neck and shoulder. Looking at the
Queen, he said, “The Tsurari come at first light, and they will
drive straight through to Elvandar.”

Tathar stepped before Macros and said,
“How do you know this?”

Macros smiled again. “Do you not
remember me in council with your father?”

Tathar stepped back, his eyes widening.
“You . . .”

“I am he, though I am no longer
called as I was then.”

Tathar looked troubled. “So long
ago. I would not have thought it possible.”

Macros said, “Much is possible.”
He looked pointedly from the Queen to Tomas.

Aglaranna slowly sat down, masking her
discomfort. “Are you the sorcerer?”

Macros nodded. “So I am called,
though there is more in the tale than can be told now. Will you heed
me?”

Tathar nodded to the Queen. “Long
ago, this one came to our aid. I do not understand how it can be the
same man, but he was then a true friend to your father and mine. He
can be trusted.”

“What, then, is your counsel?”
asked the Queen.

“The Tsurani magicians have
marked your sentries, knowing where they hide. At first light they
will come, breaking across the river in two waves, like the horns of
a bull. As you meet them, a wave of the creatures called cho-ja will
come through the center, where your strength is weak. They have not
thrown them against you yet, but the dwarves can tell you of their
skill in warfare.”

Dolgan stepped forward. “Aye,
lady. They are fearsome creatures and fight in the dark as well as do
my people. I had thought them confined to the mines.”

Macros said, “And so they were,
until the raids. They have brought up a host of them, which ready
themselves across the river, beyond the sight of your scouts. They
will come in numbers. The Tsurani tire of your raids and would put an
end to the warring across the river. Their magicians have worked hard
to learn the secrets of Elvandar, and now they know that should the
sacred heart of the elven forests fall, the elves will be a force no
longer.”

Tomas said, “Then we shall hold
back, and defend against the center.”

Macros sat quietly for a moment, as if
remembering something. “That is a start, but they bring their
magicians with them, anxious as they are for an ending. Their magic
will let their warriors pass through your forests unchecked by the
power of your Spellweavers, and here they will come.”

Aglaranna said, “Then we shall
meet them here and stand until the end.”