Oath of Gold

21

Cal Halveric looked in; Paks could see that he was trying to control his excitement.

“Pardon, sir, but elves have come—”

“Elves?”

“Yes—I know you didn’t want to be interrupted, but—”

Aliam nodded. “At once. Paksenarrion, will you come with me? And Estil, of course.”

“Certainly, my lord.” Paks and Estil followed Aliam down to the Hall, where a group of elves waited.

Paks recognized none of them. They were all wearing mail and furred cloaks, their faces partly obscured by the hoods.

“I am Aliam Halveric,” said Aliam, going forward to meet them. “Be welcome in this Hall.”

“My lord Halveric,” said one of them, “you may not wish to welcome us; will you hear our errand first?”

Aliam froze where he was. Paks saw a band of color flush his neck. “Indeed, elves have always been welcome here, and all my guests are free to speak their minds.”

“Your courtesy becomes you, my lord Halveric. But Amrothlin sent word to the Ladysforest that Paksenarrion of Three Firs, a Girdish paladin, had sworn to seek the lost prince. He feared, he said, that the two of you together might discover the prince’s name and place. It is this we come to halt.”

Paks stepped forward, sensing anger and unease in the elf, but not evil. “Amrothlin did not interfere in the search,” she said. “Why should you?”

The elf’s eyes blazed at her. “You are that paladin, are you not?”

“I am.”

“I have heard of you.” That carried all the scorn an elf could put into Common, a cold serving of contempt. “I would not expect you to understand; you have no sinyin blood at all. But many of us have long regretted the alliance of men and sinyin in this realm. It was bad enough that our beloved sister wed that mortal king, and died by mortal hands. To lose her children to men’s greed—one for money, and one for power—was far worse. And no human peasant girl, no sheepfarmer’s child, is going to set a taig-crippled draudigs on the throne. Is that clear? I have come for that sword, paladin, which is none of yours.”

Paks saw from the corner of her vision the King’s Squires group themselves near her, hands on swords. It seemed colder in the room, and every detail glittered. The elf went on.

“It is neither yours nor any human’s. It was made for one of ours, and carried by one of ours, and to us it will return. Return it!” He held out his hand, commanding.

“No,” said Paks quietly. “I will not.”

“You would force me to fight in the Halveric’s hall?” The elf threw back his cloak, his own hand now on the hilt of his sword. Paks kept her hands in her belt.

“No, I do not force you to fight. If you fight, it will be on your own conscience.” The elf started to speak, but Paks went on. “I will not return the sword to you; it is not yours. The sword belongs to the one for whom it was made—the lost prince, the true king, the one who shall rule in Lyonya, by the will of the High Lord.”

“He is gone,” said the elf. “He is no more.”

“Amrothlin said he lived.”

“Amrothlin lied! The body lives, that is all. The prince, the true spirit—that died in him.” Now the voice was as pleading as angry. “We cannot accept that the throne be held by a hollow man—one empty of himself—”

“He is not,” said Paks. She caught the slight movement as all the elves reacted to that.

“You know who it is?” More than the elves hung on her answer.

“Yes.” Paks looked around the room, seeing humans as well as elves taut with suspense. “I know—and I know that he is not hollow, as you would say.”

“But in Aarenis—” began the spokesman.

Paks held up her hand. “Sir elf, not all here know the name; I would not choose to publish it abroad at this moment—would you?”

“By the Singer, I hope it is never known!” The elf turned to his companions and spoke rapidly in elven; Paks could not follow his words. Then he swung around again. “You meddle in things you do not understand, paladin. It must not be.”

“Sir elf, you also meddle in what you do not understand. Would you question the High Lord’s judgment?”

“I question any human’s ability to discern that judgment. As for you, I have heard of you, paladin. You were nothing but a common soldier, a mercenary, a hired killer, and then even lower—”

Esceriel stepped forward, his sword rasping as he drew it; Paks put out her arm and held him back. “No—put it by, Esceriel. I truly believe it is as I said—this elf meddles in what he does not understand. It is no insult to me, to speak truth, and I think his errors more ignorance than malice.”

“By Falk!” Aliam burst out. “You cannot speak like that to a paladin in my Hall, elf, whoever you are. She was never a common soldier—”

“Peace, my lord. At one time I thought I was, and it satisfied me. Sir elf, my past is past; it may seem strange to you, for whom it is so brief, but to me a year ago is far away. Whatever I was then, I am now a paladin, chosen by my gods for this quest. If you dispute the truth of that, then I must make what proofs I can—but preferably outside. Even as a common soldier I disliked common brawls.”

That got a laugh from the men-at-arms still in the Hall; Paks saw Estil’s mouth twitch, and one of the elves, in the rear of the party, grinned openly. The spokesman frowned, then shook his head. “If you will not yield the sword willingly—”

“I will not.”

“Then I must try to convince you. I thought paladins were sworn to good—”

“I am sworn to the gods who chose me; as you have doubts that any human can discern the High Lord’s will, I have doubts that anyone can know good without guidance.”

He thought about that a moment, staring past her. “But you are a Gird’s paladin?”

“I am a Girdsman, and a paladin, and Gird was part of my choosing. But the High Lord, the Windsteed, and Alyanya were present.”

“Present!” The elf gaped. “You have seen—?”

Paks bowed. For a long moment no one moved or spoke; Paks could hear faint noises from the kitchens, and the hollow sound of hooves on the courtyard paving.

“Well.” The elf looked at his companions for a moment and back at her. “If that is true—or you believe that to be true—then I must inform my Lady.”

“The—?” Aliam began.

“The Lady of the Ladysforest.” He eyed Paks doubtfully. “I find it hard to believe—”

“So did I, at the time,” said Paks. She smiled at him. “So did the Kuakgan of Brewersbridge, who was also there.”

“A Kuakgan! A Gird’s paladin with a Kuakgan?”

“Yes.” Paks nearly burst into laughter at the look on his face. “I never claimed to be a common paladin,” she said slyly. Everyone but the elf laughed then, and he finally smiled.

“I fear,” he said in a different tone, “that you will be hard to convince. So Amrothlin said, and so said Ardhiel, but—no matter. Will you come to the Ladysforest, then? I will swear no harm, and will guide you.”

Paks remembered her first enchantment by elves, when she might have come to the Halveric steading but for their interference, however well-meant. She had heard of men being lost for years in the elvenhomes, spending lifetimes there while seeming to enjoy only a few days of ease and delight. She shook her head. “I fear the turmoil of this realm without a ruler, sir elf. I must not delay.”

“But our Lady must speak to you—”

One of the other elves spoke softly in elven; the spokesman stopped and turned to him. Heads were shaken. Paks took this chance to give her squires a reassuring look; Esceriel was still scowling.

“It’s all right,” she said quietly. “I won’t give up the sword, and I think he’s decided not to fight.”

“He’d better,” said Aliam grimly. “Sheepfarmer’s child, indeed!”

“Well, I am, my lord.”

“But that’s not what matters! It’s—” But the elf had turned back to them, his face now clean of all expression.

“My lord Halveric, I wished to make this easier on you by withholding my name—permit me to explain that I am Serrothlin, cousin of Amrothlin whom your paladin met, and the Lady’s nephew. My companion has made a suggestion, which might serve all our needs.”

“Oh?” Aliam did not sound enthusiastic.

“I deem it necessary for our Lady to speak with you and with this paladin. The lost prince, such as he is, is her grandson. It is on her that his acts will reflect the most strongly. It was with her consent that her daughter married your human king. She must know for herself what you think mitigates his behavior.”

“I see.” Aliam stared full at the elf, unmoving. “And so you propose what?”

“If the paladin Paksenarrion refuses to come to the Ladysforest, it might be possible for the Lady to come here—”

“But I thought she never left the elvenhome!” Estil broke in.

“She does not. But the elvenhome—” He hummed a little tune, that Paks thought she remembered hearing from Ardhiel. “The elvenhome borders are other, as you know. Mortal lands in Lyonya are but clearings, as it were, in the fabric of the elven forests. If you granted your permission, Lord Halveric, she might be persuaded to come—to bring the Ladysforest with her.”

“She could do that?” Aliam stared.

“Indeed, yes.” The elf smiled. “We have not told humans all our powers.” He looked around the hall. “But before you agree, my lord—if you agree—I must warn you. If you grant this permission, and if she comes, then for that space of time your steading will be part of the elvenhome. No human can enter or leave unguided, and none should wander about in it. For the ways of the elvenhome forests are as perilous as any grove of Kuakgan.”

“Hmm.” Aliam looked down, then turned to Paks. “What do you think? I can see that the Lady has a claim to know what’s going on.”

“I agree,” said Paks. “My concern is time: I will not imperil the quest to enjoy the delights of elven enchantments.”

Serrothlin smiled. “Lady, I understand your fears. Indeed this might happen, but not without our will. Would you accept my word that we will not let it happen here?”

“It happened to Ardhiel without his knowledge—can you prevent it?”

“That was different. Have you never been in a trance of prayer? Even an elf can be enchanted by the gods. If you had not thought of the danger, I might indeed have been tempted to leave you ignorant of it, and solve this problem my own way. But although I dislike humans—as you may have surmised—I will not stoop to dishonesty. I will give my word that you will come from meeting our Lady no later than the time of conference demands.”

“Are there many,” asked Paks, suddenly curious, “who regret the alliance?”

“That number is growing,” said Serrothlin, “as it has for some hundred years, as you measure time. It seems clear to some of us that humans have not abided by their word; others excuse them as too short of life to remember. But I remember when elves were most welcome in every hall, when all the forest was open to our hearts, and the heroes you call saints sat at our feet to learn wisdom. Now to be free in our forest we must draw in and in, leaving more of the realm to humans. And lately we have been unwelcome even at court, at the heart of the realm.”

“And what does your Lady say?”

He frowned. “I do not speak for our Lady; no one does. You will hear for yourself.”

“If Lord Halveric permits.” Paks looked at Aliam. “It is up to you, my lord, whether you will risk your steading this way. I believe his words; but it is your land.”

“Not all humans distrust elves, Serrothlin,” said Aliam. “Not all humans deserve your distrust. I will tell my people to stay close. Will you ask the Lady if she pleases to come?”

Serrothlin bowed and withdrew. Two of the elves in his party stayed, coming forward to greet Aliam and Paks.

“My lord—lady—I am Esvinal, a friend of Ardhiel’s,” said one. “It is easier if one of us stays, to form the bridge by which our Lady will shift the borders.”

“Do you also dislike humans?” asked Aliam.

“I like them less than Ardhiel does, and more than I did when we arrived, my lord,” said the elf smoothly. Aliam snorted.

“I’d best tell my people,” he said. “If you’ll excuse me—” and he left, taking his soldiers and Cal with him. Estil sent the others to warn those living in the hall to keep their places. The squires stayed by Paks. The elf met Paks’s eyes.

“I would not have known you from Ardhiel’s last description, Lady Paksenarrion. You are not what he remembers.”

“I daresay not.” Paks was surprised to find herself so calm about it. “Yet what he remembers is not the worst of it. Will you believe that if I can change so, the prince is not beyond hope?”

“That is a hard saying. I saw him once myself.” The elf looked quickly at the squires nearby, and Estil. “I—”

“By your leave, I think we should not discuss his past until the Lady comes,” said Paks. “Will it be long? How far is it?”

Both elves laughed lightly. “Far? Far is a human word for distances humans travel. And long is a word for human time. No, Lady Paksenarrion, it will not be long, for it is not far as we elves can travel within our own lands.”

“Yet your friend Ardhiel rode and walked the same miles we did,” said Paks.

“Oh—to be courteous, when traveling with humans—I’ve no doubt he did so. And that was outside the elvenhome forests, where other travel is difficult and perilous.”

“As hard for you as travel in the elvenhome forest would be for humans?” countered Paks.

“Perhaps,” said one of them. “I had not thought of it that way.”

Estil came back to them. “Will the Lady stay for a meal, sirs? And what would be appropriate?”

One shook his head; the other looked thoughtful. “I doubt she will stay longer than to listen to Paksenarrion, my lady. If the household can offer something to drink—”

“What season is it, in the Ladysforest?”

“Ah—you are aware, then. It was late summer when we left, but the stretching may thin it.”

“I have a good wine for that,” said Estil. Paks looked at her in surprise. She had had no idea that the seasons were any different in the elven lands. Estil grinned at Paks. “Some good comes at last, of the time I listened at my great-aunt’s door when she spoke with an elven friend. I thought for years all I’d got from that was a whipping.”

Estil was hardly out of the room on her way to the kitchen when Paks felt the change. It was as if the room filled suddenly with water, and yet she could breathe. Her blood tingled. The air smelled of late summer, with the first tang of fall apples still unripe. It wavered, then thickened; common objects on table and hearth took on the aspects of enchanted things of song. It would not have surprised her if the table had begun to dance, or the fire to speak.

Paks looked at the squires; their eyes were bright. Suriya leaned forward slightly, her lips parted as if she saw an old friend. The door to the courtyard flew open. Instead of the gray winter sky they had ridden under, a soft golden light lay over the court. Paks heard birds singing, and the dripping chimes of snowmelt running off the roof. The elves in the room seemed unchanged in any detail. Yet Paks thought they moved with even more grace, and when they spoke the music of their voices pierced her heart.

So beautiful was that music that for a moment she could not follow the meaning of the words, and stood bemused. They waited, then spoke again, and this time she realized what they wanted. The Lady of the Ladysforest waited beyond the gate, and called her out. Paks glanced again at the squires. Esceriel’s eyes were almost frightened; she knew he feared that she would give up the quest, release the sword, under elven power. She shook her head silently, and went out into the light.

Patterns of power. Paks remembered what Macenion had said about the elves and patterns—their love of them, the beauty, the strength of binding that they worked into them. Now the strange gold light of a late-summer evening seemed to accentuate the patterns of Aliam’s steading. Stonework glowed, the joints making intricate branches up every wall. The arches of the stable cloister seemed ready to speak; Paks thought if they did they would sound like deep-voiced horns. The bare sticks of the kitchen garden, with its lumpy green heads of winter-kale poking from the snow, had sprouted a film of new green, lacy and vulnerable. Even as Paks looked, tendrils of redroot worked up the nearby wall.

Yet the light was not all golden. Through the open gate came the silvery opalescent glow of elflight itself. And in that glow, silver in gold, was the Lady of the Ladysforest, in form so fair that Paks could never after bring that face to mind. She was tall, as all elves are, and graceful; she wore robes that shifted about her like mists around mountains. And she conveyed without gray hair or lined face an age greater than Paks could well imagine, and immense authority.

Aliam Halveric bowed, welcoming, and the Lady inclined her head. She came through the gate, looked around, and crossed glances with Paks. Behind her Serrothlin and Amrothlin, not looking at one another, moved to stand beside Aliam.

“Lord Halveric, we have known you from afar; it is our pleasure to know you in your own steading.”

Aliam bowed again. “Lady, you are most welcome here, as your kin have been and will be.”

“As for us, we shall hope that your friendship endures, Lord Halveric.” She looked around. “You have not walled out the trees entirely,” she said, noticing the fruit trees trained against one wall. Under her influence their winter buds had opened into leaves and snowy blossoms. “I will mend them,” she said, “when we must leave; it would be ill grace to leave you with frost-killed bloom. May we greet your family?”

“Of course, Lady.” Aliam called them forward: Estil, then his children in order, and theirs. The Lady smiled at all, but Paks saw true joy in her face when one of the grandchildren reached out to her unbidden.

“What, child? Would you come to me?” She held out her hand, and the baby, still unsteady, toddled forward and wrapped chubby fingers around it. “Can you say your name, littling?” She looked up at the mother, Hali’s wife.

“He doesn’t say anything yet, Lady; his name’s Kieri, for the Duke, Lord Aliam’s friend.”

“A good name, a brave name; gods grant he grows into it. He’s bold enough now.” She laughed softly, for the baby had grabbed her robe, and was trying to stuff it into his mouth. “No, child, that’s not food. Best go to your mother; she’ll find something better for you.” She picked the baby up and handed him over in one graceful move; the child’s eyes followed her as his mother turned away.

Then she turned to Paks. “And you must be Paksenarrion, who found the scrolls that Luap wrote long ago, and freed the elfane taig.”

“Yes, Lady.”

Her glance swept the courtyard, and cleared it without a word. The others moved quickly into the buildings; the two elves reappeared with seats, and she waited until they were placed. Paks felt the immense determination behind her courtesy, the weight of years and authority. With a fluid gesture, she sent her son and nephew away, and seated herself. With no less grace, the Lady set about to make her position clear.

“My son and nephew,” she began, “brought troubling word of you, Paksenarrion, and of your quest. I had hoped never to face this hour. My daughter was dearer to me than you can know, mortals with many children; when she died, and her son disappeared, my grief matched my love. Once that grieving eased, I laid their memories to rest, and hoped to find solace in her daughter. When first I heard of the boy again, it was that he had borne such injury as left him with no knowledge of himself, and none of his elven heritage. A lesser grief than his death, you might say, but not for me, nor for any who loved him. Patterns end; patterns mangled are constant pain. By the time we found him again, he was here, alive—” she glanced around the courtyard. “In this safe haven. If he could mend, it would be with such love as you gave. So I was told.” Paks noticed that she neither gave Kieri Phelan’s name, nor asked if they knew it.

“But why didn’t you—?” began Estil. Aliam squeezed her hand. The Lady frowned slightly.

“The elf who brought word, Lady Estil, had it from a ranger first. Then he came himself: Haleron, a distant kinsman, much given to travel in mortal lands. The boy was badly damaged, he told me, in body and mind both. He found no trace of memory that he could use, only the physical signs that we elves read more easily than you. To be sure, he would have had to invade the boy’s mind—a damaged mind—and risk more damage to it. As well as endure the pain of it himself.” She turned away; Paks saw her throat move as if she swallowed.

“Then it was you, who sent the elves all those times,” said Aliam. “And we thought they liked us.”

The Lady met his gaze directly. “Lord Halveric, they—we—did. We do. You cared for a lost child, a hurt child, and one of our blood—healed him as well as you could. We are forever in your debt; do you think I would shift the borders of the Ladysforest to visit someone for whom I had no regard?”

Aliam shook his head, speechless.

“You ask, and rightly so, why we told you nothing and did nothing. First, for the boy himself. With such damage as Haleron believed he had suffered, we were as likely to harm as help, if we tried to stir his mind. I hear that Paksenarrion can attest to the truth of that—” She looked at Paks, who nodded. “And we judged it would not help him to know what he had lost if we could not restore it. We waited, watching him for some sign that he was healing in more than the body. If his memory returned, if any of his elven abilities came forth—”

“Could they, without your guidance?” asked Paks.

“Yes. Lord Halveric knew his sister, who without our aid came to her full powers. She was our second reason for saying nothing. You will remember: the year he came to you was the year his father died, of grief, we were told, for his dead wife and lost son. Already she had been brought up to bear the rule. Unless the prince showed that he was returned to himself, we would be unfair to her, and unfair as well to the realm, to champion a crippled prince over a princess of great ability. You thought that yourself, Lord Halveric, did you not? When you first suspected who he might be?”

“Yes.” Aliam looked down at his clasped hands. “I had no proof—and she was just coming to coronation that next year—But how did you know what I thought? I never told—”

“You told the Knight-Commander of Falk. He is part-elven, one of my great-great grandsons.”

“Oh.” Aliam looked stunned.

“And of course he told me what he knew—which wasn’t much. I wish you would tell me now why you thought Kieri Phelan was the prince.”

“He told me, finally, when he was my senior squire in Aarenis. I—don’t want to go into all that happened, but he told me what little he remembered. Seeing him like that, looking older as men in pain often do, he had a look of the king . . . and his few memories made sense of it.”

“What did he remember? Haleron said there was nothing in his memories but pain and despair.”

“Well—” Aliam ran his hands over his bald head. “I’m not sure now I recall all he said. Little things, as a very small child might see them. A bowl he ate from, tall windows, a garden with roses and a puppy. A man who picked him up—I think that may have been the king, Lady; he remembered the green and gold colors, and a fair beard. He remembered riding with his mother, he said, and traveling in the woods—that’s what caught me, you see—and being attacked.”

“That’s more than I thought he had,” said the Lady quietly. She smoothed her robe with one graceful hand. “Haleron caught none of that.”

“The older lords at court remember the puppy,” said Paks.

“Yes, it knocked him down, or some such. He remembered that, and being lectured for hitting it.” Aliam cocked his head at the Lady. “Forgive me, but one thing still confuses me. If he is the prince, and half-elven, why doesn’t he look like it? All the half-elves I’ve seen show their blood—it’s one thing that made me think he couldn’t be the prince after all.”

“A good question. Even then, there were humans who feared such strong elven influence, and so my daughter thought it would be easier for her children, if they looked more human. This is a choice we have, when we bear children to humans—how much the sinyi blood shows. As well, part of what you see in us is the practice of our abilities, as a swordsman’s exercise with a sword shapes his arm and shoulder. Had the prince grown up with that training, he would show some of it—but he would still look more human than elven, as his mother chose.” Aliam nodded, looking thoughtful.

The Lady frowned again, and leaned toward Aliam. “Lord Halveric, is it true that you did not know anything of the sword you found?”

“The sword? You mean, where it was from? No—nothing—that’s what I wrote.”

“Yes, but—” She rolled her robe in her fingers. “It’s so hard with humans—you surprise us sometimes, with your gallantry and wit, and yet it seems you know nothing. That sword was famous at court; everyone knew it—”

“But I wasn’t at court then!” Aliam’s eyes snapped. “I was a boy—a page—at my uncle’s. I never saw it!”

She shook her head. “I thought you were being courteous—offering to let us decide whether to try the sword or not.”

“You were what?!”

“I truly did not know that you knew nothing. Amrothlin suggested you might not know, but it seemed impossible you could not. And when you said you were giving it as a wedding present—”

“To his wife,” said Aliam.

“I thought that was your way of letting the gods decide.”

Aliam stared at her a long moment. “Would you have told me,” he said, “if you’d known I didn’t know?”

“I—don’t know. Possibly. At the time, as you said, he seemed as fit to rule as the new king, who had no taig sense and no way to beget any.”

“But then when nothing happened, why didn’t you—?”

She sighed, and moved her hands slightly. “Lord Halveric, I thought you had left it to the gods, by gifting his wife. Someday he would draw the sword; someday it would act—or, if the gods willed otherwise, it would not. What was I to do? We do not meddle much in mortal affairs, but we were never far from him. We never saw or felt aught to show that he had come to know who he was, or had found any of his elven abilities.” She shook her head until her hair shimmered around her. “We were wrong in that, Lord Halveric—I say it; I, the Lady at the heart of my Forest and home. Wrong to think you knew, when you said you did not, and wrong to think we knew, when we knew only from afar. But believe me if you can, my lord, we intended no wrong.”

“I believe you,” said Aliam heavily.

“But the wrong was done,” said Estil suddenly, out of her silence. “We all did it, and for us—for me, at least—it came from taking the quiet way, the easy way. Forget, I thought. Forget, put it behind, look to the future—as if the future were not built, grain by grain, out of the past.”

The Lady looked at her with dawning respect. “Indeed, Estil Halveric, you speak wisely there. We singers of the world, who shrink from disharmony, may choose silence instead of noise, and not always rightly.”

“And now will you help us, Lady?” asked Paks.

“I would do much to serve this land, Paksenarrion, and much to serve both you and the Halverics—but I am not yet convinced that my grandson can take the throne in any way that will serve.”

“Because he has not remembered who he is?”

“Because of that, and because he turned to darkness after his wife’s death. Even in the Ladysforest, we heard of that, and of his campaigns in Aarenis. We want no civil wars here, Paksenarrion, no hiring of idle blades to fill out a troop and impose his will where he has no right.”

“It may not have been so bad as you thought,” said Aliam.

The Lady turned on him. “It was indeed as bad—and worse than I have said. And the only bad I know of you, Aliam Halveric, is that you stayed with him through that and supported him.”

“You mean Siniava?”

“I mean after Siniava. Do you think we get no word at all?”

“Lady—I don’t know if you can understand—” Aliam’s hands knotted together.

“I understand evil well enough,” she said crisply, “even in my own family. It stinks the same everywhere.”

“I would plead, Lady, that things happened which rubbed the same scars. When Siniava tortured his men and mine at Dwarfwatch—”

“Lord Halveric, there is always an excuse. I know that. Such a man does not do wrong for no reason. But there are always reasons. Are we to set him on a throne—in this kingdom, set between Tsaia and Prealith and the Ladysforest—to have him find excuses to turn mercenaries free in the forest, as he turned Alured free? You will pardon my saying this: I know of your son Caliam’s loss; I know how that angered you. Had it been only the torturing of Siniava—”

“But they didn’t!” Paks burst out. “They didn’t—”

“Because you withheld them, isn’t that so?”

“Well—yes—but—”

“If you want to talk policy with elves, Paksenarrion, you must be ready to see all the truth and speak it.” She turned back to Aliam. “Had it been only that, I would worry little. But you know—all of you here know—that it went farther than that. Much farther. We do not want—I do not want—the man who helped Alured reduce the coastal cities to show the same character in Lyonya. We would agree to no one’s rule, who had done such things, elf or human. Elf least of all, for in this realm where so many fear us, even hate us, an elf’s misrule could finally breach that old agreement between human and sinyi. Should we prove ourselves what so many already say we are? Arrogant, cold, uncaring, quick to anger? Should we risk confusion with the iynisin, to give space to his taste for cruelty?”

“Lady, no!” Again Paks broke in. “Please—let me tell you what I know of my own experience—”

The Lady looked at her without smiling. “Paksenarrion, I will listen. But I realize he is capable of love, and caring, for a few. You remind him of his wife, I daresay, or even his daughter; you have seen the private side of tenderness which all but the worst men have. As a king, it is the other side, the outer, that concerns us here.” Paks, immersed in the power that flowed from the Lady as steadily as water from a spring, inexhaustible, nonetheless found herself able to perceive more clearly what indeed the elven nature was, and what its limitations. Firstborn, eldest of the Elder Races, immortal, wise as the years bring wisdom, elves were due reverence for all this . . . and yet not gods or demigods, however powerful. Created a choir of lesser singers by the First Singer, they were so imbued with harmony that they endured conflict only in brief encounters, resolving such discords quickly, in victory or retreat. It was not weakness or cowardice that made them withdraw, again and again, when evil stalked their lands, but that they were made for another purpose. This was their gift, with living things or elements or pattern itself to repattern into beauty, endlessly and with delight. From this came their mastery of healing, of the growing of plants, the shaping of the taigin, for they alone, of all peoples of the world, could grasp the entire interwoven pattern of life the High Lord designed, and play with it, creating new designs without damage to the fabric. So also they enchanted mortal minds, embroidering on reality the delicate patterns of their imaginings.

Yet powerful as they were, as powerful as music that brings heart-piercing pain, tears, laughter, with its enchantments, they were as music, subordinate to their own creator. Humans need not, Paks saw, worship their immortality, their cool wisdom, their knowledge of the taig, their ability to repattern mortal perceptions. In brief mortal lives humans met challenges no elf could meet, learned strategies no elf could master, chose evil or good more direct and dangerous than elf could perceive. Humans were shaped for conflict, as elves for harmony; each needed the other’s balance of wisdom, but must cleave to its own nature. It was easy for an immortal to counsel patience, withdrawal until a danger passed . . .

She took courage, therefore, and felt less the Lady’s weight of age and experience. That experience was elven, and not all to her purpose. Kieri Phelan himself was but half-elven; his right to kingship came with his mortal blood. And as she found herself regarding the Lady with less awe, but no less respect, the Lady met her eyes with dawning amazement.

“I will grant your ideas,” Paks began slowly. “Others have said I look much like Tamarrion. It may well be that he has turned a kinder face to me than to strangers. But I am not speaking—now—of his treatment of me.” The Lady nodded, and Paks described the Duke’s generosity to his own, from recruits to veterans, and to others who had served him, however briefly.

“That last year—” Paks took a breath before she said it. “He was wrong, Lady. I will say that, and Lord Halveric knows I bear the Duke no grudge. He was wrong to support Alured as long as he did; I think from what I saw that he was unhappy about it, but had given his word, not knowing what Alured would do. Any man is wrong to be unjust, whenever he is. But did you not say, a little bit ago, that you had been wrong? And the Halverics said they had been wrong.”

The Lady stiffened; Paks heard the Halverics gasp. Before the heavens fell, she rushed on.

“He was wrong then; I have been wrong, too. But he has asked the Marshals of Gird back, Lady, and apologized for sending them away. He said before the whole Company that he had erred, that he had been hasty in anger. Does that sound like an arrogant man, a man eager to judge harshly, delighting in cruelty?”

The Lady sat long without answering; twice Paks opened her mouth to speak, and shut it again, fearing she had already said too much. Finally she gave a little shake, like someone waking from a reverie, and turned to Paks with a smile.

“It speaks well of any man to gain the love and respect of a paladin. You are not lying about this, though you may have put the best face on it that you could. I did not know he had called in the Marshals. If he admitted his errors—then—I have less fear, though I am not confident. At least he might not be an evil king.”

“Kieri’s a Knight of Falk, too,” said Aliam. “At least, he was knighted, though he never took the vows and wears no ruby. Good thing, too, or it’d have given him a fit of conscience when he became a Girdsman.”

“He’s not a Girdsman,” said Paks.

“What? Of course he is—or was—and I suppose is again, if he’s made his peace with them.”

Paks shook her head. “No, my lord. He talked to the Marshal-General in my presence. He supported Tamarrion in the Fellowship, and encouraged it, but he never took the vows. He told the Marshal-General that he had always felt withheld from such vows.”

The Lady sat forward, eyes bright. “He said what? Say exactly what you remember, Paksenarrion.”

“He said that he had been drawn to both—to Falk and to Gird—but that he felt something about other vows awaiting him, and he could not swear with a free heart. And the Marshal-General told her Marshals that she was content—that she did not seek his vows.”

“Ahh.”

“But why does that matter?” Paks looked at her curiously.

“I am not sure. If it means what it could mean—” the Lady smiled again, and shook her head. “I speak in riddles, you think, as elves are wont to do. Indeed I do, for I have nothing but surmises. But if—and remember that I said if—what has withheld him from these vows is a memory of his true nature, even a slight memory, that can be, perhaps, restored.”

“But I thought Lyonyan kings could be Falkians—can’t they?”

“It has been so—and true of the last two kings, indeed. They were but human. A king of elven heritage, aware of the taig by that blood, would follow the High Lord, as you call him, directly.” She sighed, then moved her shoulders. “You have told me much I did not know. It may be that he can become king. I accept, Paksenarrion, your description of your quest: to find the true king of Lyonya and restore him. I accept your decision to prove my grandson, whom you know as Duke Phelan, by the sword’s test. But before I agree to his crowning, I wish to see him myself. If he can become what he was meant to become, my powers will aid him. If not—we shall hope for better things than I fear.”

The Lady rose; Paks and the Halverics, trying to stand, found themselves unable to move. The Lady’s voice was kindly, now, its silvery music warmer than before.

“It will make your task no easier, that all know the Ladysforest has moved to enclose your steading; as I shift the border in return, you will find that none of your people remember a summer’s afternoon in winter. For you, I leave you such memories as you need—and from Paksenarrion I withhold no truth. You will not be troubled by any elves of my Household—”

Paks suddenly thought of the evil plots Achrya had woven for the Duke before now—had all this, for near fifty years, been one—? She wanted to ask the Lady, wanted to explain—but gentle laughter filled her mind.

“Be at ease, paladin; others, too, can see a web against the light.”

A knock came on the door; Paks and the Halverics looked blankly at each other. Between them a bowl of apples and a tiny glass flask with a spray of apple blossoms filled Aliam’s study with the mingled odors of spring and fall.

“What is it?” Aliam finally croaked.

Cal Halveric put his head in. “It’s getting late, sir—did you wish to dine here? Shall I sit for you in Hall?” Paks looked at the small window; outside it was full dark.