The Iron Throne

1

“I’m going to be Haelyn; Aedan will be my brother, Roele; and you, Derwyn, will be the Black Prince, Raesene,” announced Michael in a tone that brooked no argument. But he got one anyway.

“I don’t want to be Raesene! Why can’t I be Roele?” Lord Derwyn whined petulantly.

“Because you are not of the royal house,” said Michael in a tone of lofty disdain.

“Well, neither is Aedan,” Derwyn protested, unconvinced by this argument. “Besides, my father is an archduke, while his is just a viscount, so I outrank him.”

“Nevertheless, Aedan is my standard-bearer and his father is the lord high chamberlain,” said Michael. “As such, despite his rank, he is closest to the royal house.”

“Well, if I cannot be Roele, then I cannot be Raesene, either,” Derwyn insisted. “Raesene was Roele’s half-brother, so he was also of the royal house.”

Michael neatly sidestepped this piece of logic. “When Raesene gave his allegiance to Azrai, he betrayed the royal house and was thereby disinherited. Besides, I am heir to the imperial throne,” he added, the color rising to his cheeks, “so I can make anyone anything I want them to be!”

Aedan stepped in to play the diplomat before a minor court scandal erupted. “Why not let me take the part of the Black Prince, Your Highness? I always play Roele, and this would give me the opportunity to do something different for a change. I would enjoy that.”

Michael did not want to give in too easily. He tossed his thick, dark hair and frowned, making a great show of considering the matter, then finally relented. “Oh, very well then, since you request it, Aedan, you can be Raesene. Derwyn can be my brother, Roele, and Caelan can be Traederic, the standard-bearer.”

He quickly assigned roles to all the other boys, and they made ready to begin the battle. For Aedan, this was sheer torture. At eighteen, armed with a wooden sword and shield, he felt absolutely ridiculous playing with a group of children aged from six to thirteen. However, his duty was to serve his prince, and if his prince wanted to play war, then war it was.

They were playing the Battle of Mount Deismaar, yet again. It was Michael’s favorite game, and he stuck to it with a dogged persistence only a twelve-year-old could maintain. He never seemed to tire of it. As usual, Michael took the part of Haelyn, champion of Anduiras. It was just like him to pick Haelyn, Aedan thought. It gave him the chance to die spectacularly and become a god.

Every child in the empire knew the story by heart. Those of noble blood had learned it from their tutors, while commoners heard it from the bards, who sang it as an epic ballad called “The Legacy of Kings.” There were several slightly different versions of the ballad, each divided into four main parts, but in all of them, the story was essentially the same. It was the history of the formation of the empire, and like most children of the nobility, Aedan had been taught it early, when he was only six years old.

It began with “The Six Tribes,” the ancestors of the humans now settled in Cerilia. The story told how five of the tribes came on a mass exodus from the embattled southern continent of Aduria. The Andu, from whom the modem Anuireans were descended, took their name from their god Anduiras, the deity of nobility and war. The Rjuven had venerated Reynir, the god of woods and streams. The Brechts had worshiped Brenna, the goddess of commerce and fortune, while the Vos had followed Vorynn, the moon lord, who was the god of magic. The last of the five Adurian tribes, the Masetians, had been devoted to Masela, the goddess of the seas. These seagoing traders, whose swift, triangular-sailed sloops had once plied the Adurian coasts, had not survived as a discrete culture in the modern empire, though remnants of Masetian influence could still be found in the Khinasi lands.

The sixth tribe were the Basarji, the ancestors of the people now known as the Khinasi, whose temples were dedicated to Basaia, the goddess of the sun. They were a dark-skinned, exotic-looking people who had crossed the storm-tossed Sea of Dragons from their homeland of Djapar to settle in the southeastern region of Cerilia. Their origins were shrouded in the occult mysteries of their folklore, but it was believed that they had come from the same stock as the Masetians, as there were many similarities between their cultures and, like the Adurians, they had worshiped the old gods, though each tribe had its favored deity among the pantheon.

The Adurian tribes had fled from their war-torn ancestral lands to escape subjugation by their neighbors, who were followers of Azrai, lord of darkness. Their flight took them to Cerilia, across the land bridge that once existed where the Straits of Aerele now flowed.

Before the Six Tribes came, there had been no human presence in Cerilia. However, there were other races who had claimed the land for their own. Chief among them were the elves, who called themselves the Sidhelien. Their civilization was ancient and advanced, but they were also capable of fearsome savagery from centuries of competing with the feral humanoids who shared their land. They had carved out their kingdom from territories overrun by goblins, gnolls, and ogres, and in its days of glory, the Elven Court was said to have surpassed in power and pageantry even the Imperial Court of Anuire.

Of the remaining two races living in Cerilia, the dwarves were the most insular. A strong, taciturn, enduring people, they organized their kingdoms around clans, with each clan leader swearing fealty to the dwarven king. Expert miners and skilled fighters, they seldom ventured from their mountain strongholds and lived in peaceful coexistence with the elves. Their only natural enemies were the brutish ogres, who lived deep in the vast caverns that honeycombed the mountains.

Cerilia was also home to a growing population of halflings, though less was known about their history and culture than that of any other race inhabiting the land. Unlike the clannish dwarves, who rarely strayed from their domains, halflings were wanderers by inclination, tending to adapt to customs and conditions prevailing in the territories where they lived. The only permanent halfling settlement in Cerilia, the Burrows, was in the southern region of the Coulladaraight, the sprawling, trackless forest that was home to the reclusive elven kingdom of Coullabhie. The tiny halflings were tolerated by their elven neighbors, but any humans rash enough to venture into those dark woods often did not emerge again.

When the young knights had gathered to begin their game, Michael had decided to cast some of the smaller children as halflings, and an argument had erupted when thirteen-year-old Lord Corwin had insisted that there were no halflings in Cerilia at the time the battle had occurred. Michael had insisted that there were, and his perennial supporters, who had learned the art of sycophancy at a very early age, immediately backed him up, whether they privately agreed with him or not. Corwin wouldn’t budge, however, maintaining that it was a fact, and so Michael, convinced that he was right, turned to Aedan to settle the dispute. When Aedan had confirmed that Lord Corwin was, indeed, correct, Michael had snorted with disgust, then shrugged it off and cast the smaller children in the role of dwarves, instead.

It occurred to Aedan that there had been few dwarves at the Battle of Mount Deismaar, but since none of others seemed to know that, he prudently decided to leave well enough alone. Michael had given him a dirty look when he took Corwin’s side, and Aedan knew that look too well. Prince Michael did not like to be contradicted, regardless of the facts, but Aedan wasn’t going to lie for him.

The truth was that halflings were unknown in Cerilia until about five hundred years ago, long after the Battle of Mount Deismaar. Legend had it that the halflings had fled from their ancestral homeland in the mystic Shadow World to escape some nameless horror that had threatened their existence. Though halflings rarely spoke of it themselves, the bards embellished on this opportunity to whatever fanciful extent their imaginations would allow. They spoke of a “Cold Rider” who appeared one day in the world of faerie, the spirit world, and slowly, it became the Shadow World—cold, gray and foreboding. And the halflings, creatures half of this world and half of the world of faerie, fled the Cold Rider and the darkness he brought with him. Perhaps it was all merely the fanciful imaginings of bards, or perhaps it was the truth. The only ones who really knew for certain were the halflings.

It was said they were the only creatures who could pass between the worlds at will, though exactly how they did this no one knew. It was believed they could “shadow walk,” creating temporary portals that would let them slip into the dark domain and reemerge into the world of daylight at another place and time. Yet at certain times throughout the year, the veil between the worlds seemed to part. At such times, unwary humans could stumble through into the Shadow World, and creatures from the dark domain could emerge into the world of daylight.

At the tender age of six, when he first heard about the Shadow World from the older boys at court, Aedan had been plagued by nightmares prompted by the grisly stories he was told around their evening campfires. His young imagination had conjured up all sorts of hideous terrors that had lurked beneath his bed and in his closet, where he was convinced that portals to the Shadow World appeared each night. He would cower underneath his covers as the candle on his nightstand guttered, casting ghoulish shadows on the walls, and when he fell asleep eventually, despite all his efforts to remain awake, he would dream of fearsome monsters wriggling out from underneath his bed to drag him down into the Shadow World and feast upon his flesh.

A few years later, when he was old enough to realize that his closet, even after dark, held nothing more ominous than clothes and that the only things beneath his bed were dust balls, Aedan had regaled young Prince Michael with lurid tales of the horrors that awaited in the Shadow World, perversely hoping to repay the boy for the indignities that Michael made him suffer in his waking hours. But he soon discovered, much to his disgust, that Michael’s insufferable arrogance, even at the age of five, persisted in his dreams, where instead of being terrorized by monsters, he merely vanquished them with cool dispatch.

At fifteen, Aedan had felt mortified to act out the gheallie Sidhe with a mere child of nine. Back then, that had been Michael’s favorite game. Based on the second part of “The Legacy of Kings,” the gheallie Sidhe, or “Hunt of the Elves,” told the story of how the Elven Court resisted the incursion of the human tribes into their lands and how elven knights roamed the countryside, slaying any humans they encountered. This resulted in a war that lasted many years, but the elves were steadily pushed back from their territories because the humans had a weapon they were powerless against, namely, priestly magic.

Elves had mages of their own, but their spells were based upon the natural forces inherent in wood and water, field and air. They had never worshiped deities and could not comprehend this strange new source of power. In the end, the elves retreated to the forests, and the power of the Elven Court was shattered. All that now remained of the vast empire they once ruled were several isolated elven kingdoms scattered across the wooded regions of Cerilia, such as Tuarhievel, Coullabhie, Siellaghriod, Cwmb Bheinn, and Tuarannwn.

At one time or another, during Michael’s relentless obsession with the gheallie Sidhe, Aedan had played elven warriors from each of those distant kingdoms, dying countless times—and never quite dramatically enough—from the spells of Michael’s “priestly magic.” Sometimes Michael took the part of elven mages for variety, but that was even worse. He would hide behind the tapestries hanging in the halls and leap out at an unsuspecting Aedan, slaying him with elvish spells.

“Boola-boola-ka-boola!”

“What was that, Your Highness?”

“Boola-boola-ka-boola!” Michael would yell out again, flinging out his arms and waggling his fingers. “It’s an elvish melting spell. You’re dead!”

“Elven mages do not cast melting spells, Your Highness. At least, I am fairly sure they don’t. Besides, that did not sound anything at all like elvish.”

“If I say it’s elvish, then it’s elvish! Now melt!”

“Forgive me, Your Highness, but exactly how am I supposed to do that?”

Michael would stamp his foot and roll his eyes impatiently, as if any moron would know how to melt on cue. “You’re supposed to grab your throat and make horrible, gurgling noises as you sink down to the ground into a puddle of stinking ooze!”

“Very well, Your Highness, as you wish.” And Aedan would grab his throat and choke, gurgling as hideously as he knew how, meanwhile sinking to his knees and collapsing to the floor, trying his best to look as much like a puddle of stinking ooze as possible. His performance was never quite satisfying enough.

“Aedan, that was terrible!”

“Forgive me, Your Highness, I tried my very best. But I’ve never melted before. Perhaps if you could show me how?”

Whereupon Michael would demonstrate the proper way to melt, and as Aedan watched his histrionics, he would be forced to admit that Michael did it better.

“Now do it again, and this time, do it right!”

Often, Aedan would have to die at least half a dozen times before the prince was satisfied. It wasn’t long, however, before Michael’s nonsense syllables and outflung fingers were replaced by the lethal force of wooden sword and shield, and Aedan found miseries anew as he was repeatedly battered into submission by his young prince in the role of Haelyn, champion of Anduiras at the Battle of Mount Deismaar.

The third part of “The Legacy of Kings,” and the source of Aedan’s current woes, was “The Twilight of the Gods,” which told the story of how Azrai, the lord of darkness, had pursued the Six Tribes into Cerilia, determined to subjugate the people and wrest them from their gods.

Azrai first enlisted in his cause the goblins and the gnolls of Vosgaard in the northern regions of Cerilia, and gave their leaders priestly powers. Through cunning and deception, he then corrupted the Vos tribe, who had fallen from their worship of the moon god, and left the path of magic for the way of sword and mace. Next, Azrai sought to seduce the demihumans, the elves and dwarves, by tempting them through dreams and omens. The stoic dwarves did not fall prey to the blandishments of Azrai, but the elves had burned with the desire for revenge ever since the humans took their lands and pushed them back into the forests. Swayed by Azrai’s promises of the destruction of their human enemies and the restoration of their lands, once more, the elves prepared for war.

The kings of the Cerilian tribes were quick to realize the danger and joined forces, setting aside their differences to unite against the common foe. But even as the two armies met in combat, the warriors from the Adurian lands arrived to join the fray on Azrai’s side. Realizing that Azrai’s victory was within his grasp, the old gods appeared to their besieged followers at the land bridge between the continents of Aduria and Cerilia, where the mortals were trapped between their enemies’ forces.

Each god had chosen a champion from among his or her followers to lead in the final battle. Anduiras, the god of the Anuireans, chose Haelyn, who best exemplified all the virtues of a noble knight. Together with Roele, his younger brother, and their standard-bearer, Aedan’s ancestor, Traederic Dosiere, Haelyn led the tribes in one last, desperate assault against their enemies. Arrayed against them were the armies of the southern lands, in addition to the humanoids, the treacherous Vos, and the warriors of the elven kingdoms, all led by Azrai and his champion, the traitor, Prince Raesene, half-brother to Haelyn and Roele, whose ambition led him to betray his people and sell himself to the dark god.

Michael, indisputably, was always Haelyn when they played the game, but no one ever wanted to be Prince Raesene. The casting of the role of the Black Prince would always be the occasion of an argument among the young nobles of the Imperial Court, and depending on his mood, Michael would either settle things by force of royal prerogative or else stand back and watch his playmates settle it themselves. At such times, Aedan would be forced to step in and break it up while Michael watched with glee, delighting in the bruises that his future chamberlain received as he tried to separate two homicidal eight-year-olds armed with wooden swords.

This time, the matter had been settled peaceably, thanks to Aedan’s diplomatic skills, but it still left Michael in a surly mood. He had been denied his halflings and had revealed his lack of knowledge, due to his indifference in his studies. Now his choice for the Black Prince had been successfully disputed, though Aedan had tried to smooth things over as best as he knew how. Still, the future chamberlain had seen that stubborn set to Michael’s jaw before and knew exactly what it meant.

Someone was going to catch it when the “battle” started. It wasn’t likely to be Derwyn, who had whined about being picked to play Raesene, because now he was on Michael’s side as Prince Roele. Corwin, however, had been chosen to play the goblin general, which meant he was a likely target, despite being a year older and almost twice the size of Michael.

Aedan sighed with resignation. He would have to make a point of staying close by Corwin’s side so he could interpose himself if things got out of hand. As the Black Prince, it would be logical for him to challenge Haelyn, and he could thereby step in to take the brunt of the assault. It would mean more bruises, because Michael never held back on his blows, and though he was only twelve, a wooden sword could still raise a nasty welt, especially since Aedan wore no armor save for a light skullcap. Being older and much bigger, he had to take care to control his blows, which was more difficult while wearing armor. Meanwhile, his armored young opponents would flail away at him for all that they were worth, and he would once more wind up black and blue. However, better that than risk the chance of Corwin ringing Michael like a gong. Aedan didn’t want to think about the problems that could cause. By all the gods, he thought, I hate this game.

Once the cast had been agreed upon and sides were chosen, the two “armies” retired to draw up their battle lines. The opposing generals formed up their troops and proceeded to inspect them. When they were satisfied, they stood before their warriors and addressed them, exhorting them to bravery in dying for a noble cause. Michael stood before his soldiers and his earnest, high-pitched tones rang out across the field. Aedan, as Raesene, was obliged to do the same, feeling like an utter fool.

When he was sixteen, Aedan had tried appealing to his father, pointing out how ludicrous it was for him to play with children half his age. However, it had been to no avail.

“Son, you must learn to do your duty by your liege,” his father, Lord Tieran, had said.

“But, Father, he is not the emperor yet,” Aedan had protested. “He is a mere child, and a spoiled one at that!”

“Watch your tongue, boy! It is not your place to speak so of the prince.”

“Forgive me, Father,” Aedan had said, sighing with frustration, “I meant no offense, but must I continually suffer the laughter and the taunts of all my friends? Why must I be his nursemaid? It simply isn’t fair!”

“Who told you life was fair, boy?” his father had replied sternly. “When it comes to duty, fairness does not enter into it. One of these days, you shall take my place as lord high chamberlain, and when that time comes, you will have need of all the skills that you are only now starting to learn. A few years from now, you will understand and thank me. Prince Michael does not need for you to be his playmate or his nursemaid, but you need Prince Michael … for your training.”

Now, two years later, Aedan understood just what his father had meant, but understanding did not make his task any easier to bear. His friends no longer taunted him, except to chide him gently on occasion in good humor, for by now they too understood more about duty … and about how difficult the prince could be. The emperor was old and ailing and could not take a hand in Michael’s rearing, even if he had the inclination, and the empress was overly indulgent of her only son. Even Michael’s older sisters gave him a wide berth, a luxury Aedan was denied.

He surveyed his “troops,” standing all abreast in their little metal helms and suits of armor, looking like toy soldiers as they fidgeted in place, anxiously awaiting the attack. Their eyes followed him as he strolled up and down the line of his army, almost a dozen strong, improvising his speech as Prince Raesene.

“All right now, men …” he said, barely able to suppress a chuckle. “The time has come for us to seize the day and destroy the enemy once and for all!”

His young knights cheered the words of their commander, banging their little wooden shields with their blunt wooden swords. The “goblins” snarled, the “gnolls” howled like wolves, the “elves” responded in an ululating chorus, and the “Vos” growled and looked appropriately menacing.

“There he stands!” said Aedan, pointing with his wooden sword. “My brother, Haelyn!” He spat out the word “brother” as if it were a curse. “The favored of the gods! The champion! What monumental arrogance!”

His words were laced with heavy sarcasm, and he was surprised to discover how much he enjoyed saying them. He had never been Raesene before, and it suddenly occurred to him that in this role, he could say things about Prince Haelyn that he would never dare say about Michael.

“Look at him out there, parading before his troops and strutting like a silly peacock! The great and noble Haelyn! All my life I have had to suffer his sanctimonious self-righteousness, his smug superiority, his annoying, squeaky little voice—” He caught himself, realizing that he was getting a bit carried away. “Well, the time for reckoning has come! You gnolls and goblins, today you shall strike a blow for the glory of your people!”

The “humanoids” responded with a chorus of snarls and howls.

“You elves, today you shall savor the sweet taste of revenge!”

The “elves” raised the swords and gave their war cry.

“You Vos, today you prove once and for all which tribe deserves to rule!”

The “Vos” struck their shields with their swords and stamped their feet.

“Today we shall soak the field with the blood of our enemies!” Aedan glanced over his shoulder and saw that Michael was still gesturing expansively and pacing back and forth before his restive troops, giving his long-winded speech. Well, thought Aedan, there was no reason why the “enemy” should wait for him to finish it. He raised his sword.

“For Azrai and for glory!” he shouted. “Charge!”

The young knights gave voice to their battle cries and with weapons held aloft raced toward their opponents. Caught in midgesture, Michael turned with an expression of surprise and saw the “enemy” surging toward him. Without hesitation, he raised his wooden sword and gave the command to charge.

The two armies collided on the slopes of Deismaar, and it was the greatest battle the world had ever seen. They fought from sunrise until sunset, and the air reverberated with the clashing of steel against steel, like countless hammers ringing upon anvils. That sound alone was enough to almost deafen those in the center of the fray, but added to it were the cries of men and beasts, goblins screeching, gnolls howling like the hounds of hell, elves giving voice to their unearthly, ululating war cries, humans yelling, horses neighing, the wounded of all races calling out for aid and moaning, all amid the choking dust raised by countless thousands milling on the field of battle.

Aedan found himself face-to-face with Lady Ariel, a grimly determined girl of twelve with long blonde pigtails hanging out from underneath her helm. Her eyes burned with intensity as she raised her sword and launched herself at him, screeching with all the fury and abandon of a berserker seized with battle lust. Oh, gods, he thought, not Ariel. He back-pedaled from the ferocious assault, taking a rain of blows upon his wooden shield. In her fierce determination to prove herself the equal of the boys, Ariel struck as hard as any of them, and Aedan still had bruises from the last time they had squared off against each other.

With the boys, he could always deliver a carefully controlled whack against the side of a helm to slow them down a bit or “kill” them when they got too carried away, which was almost always, but with little Ariel, he could do little more than block her blows, because he was afraid that even with her armor on, a light blow could hurt her. And he couldn’t simply tap her, because Ariel did not acknowledge such light strokes. Nothing short of a blow that knocked her down would make Ariel admit that she had “died.” The other boys had no such scruples and would bash her hard enough to make Aedan wince, but he was much bigger and much stronger and did not wish to cause her any harm. As if she knew this, she always sought him out when they played war, as if it were a personal vendetta. He did his best to defend himself from this diminutive amazon.

Aedan glanced around the battlefield, searching for Michael and Corwin in the melee. Corwin had been right next to him when they began the charge, but now he was nowhere in sight. He could only risk quick glances, but could not spot him anywhere among the two dozen or so mingling bodies and, worse yet, he could not see Michael, either.

“Ow!” Ariel had scored a telling blow upon his thigh. It stung, and Aedan knew that it would leave a nasty bruise.

“Down!” she shouted. “Down to one knee! I’ve crippled you!”

“You have not; it was a glancing blow, merely a scratch.” He could not afford to be crippled at this stage; he still had to find Michael and Corwin and make sure they didn’t take each other’s heads off.

“Liar! I say you’re crippled!” Ariel shouted, smashing away at him with a flurry of blows as she kept up the litany with each furious stroke. “Crippled … crippled … crippled … crippled … crippled!”

Aedan backed away and tripped. Ariel immediately pressed the advantage as he tried to regain his feet, but managed only to get up to one knee before she was upon him.

“Die … die … die … die … die!”

She’s out of her mind, thought Aedan, cowering behind his wooden shield as he warded off the rain of blows. And then, miraculously, she struck a blow that hooked his shield and sent it flying out of his grasp as he watched in stunned disbelief.

Thunk!

“Ha! Dead!” Ariel cried out triumphantly.

The blow had come down squarely on his metal skullcap, and Aedan’s vision swam. The sound reverberated inside his head like a ringing gong. The ground came up to meet him as he fell and everything went black.

Toward sunset, it seemed certain Azrai’s forces would prevail, but as the sun sank beneath the horizon and darkness descended on the field of battle, the elves suddenly crossed over to join the forces led by Haelyn, and the tide began to turn.

No one knew precisely what occurred to make the elves change sides. According to some versions of the story, as darkness fell, the elves saw Azrai revealed for what he truly was and realized they had been duped. Other versions had it that the elven generals discovered that at the close of battle, when the humans were defeated and the elves were at their weakest, Azrai would betray them and have the gnolls and goblins eliminate the last potential threat to his dominion. But whatever the true reason may have been, Haelyn’s embattled forces were in no position to refuse their help. Elf and human, who for years had tried their utmost to destroy each other, turned and faced the greater enemy, fighting shoulder to shoulder against the troops of Azrai.

As the moon began to rise, the champions of the gods, led by Haelyn and Roele, managed to break through a weak point in the ranks of Azrai’s troops. Haelyn led the charge straight up the slopes of Deismaar to where the lord of darkness himself stood upon the higher ground, flanked by his generals and priests. Beside him stood Raesene, the traitor, and at Azrai’s signal, the Black Prince led his troops down in a countercharge to meet the attackers. The brothers met midway up the slopes, each determined to destroy the other, while Azrai and his priests retreated to still higher ground. And it was then, at the climax of the struggle, that the gods themselves appeared in human form and joined the battle, uniting all their powers in an all-out effort to annihilate the lord of darkness and his priests.

Never before had god battled against god. The ground shook on the battlefield below, and the slopes of Deismaar trembled. The sky was cracked with lightning, and thunder drowned out every other sound. The earth heaved, and men and beasts fell screaming to the ground. All eyes turned toward the summit of the mountain, where the skies were lit up with a blinding glow unlike anything ever seen before.

It was the Twilight of the Gods, and it lasted only a few brief moments, but those who had survived the conflict never forgot the sight as long as they lived. The light grew brighter, and then brighter still, until the upper portions of the mountain where the gods were locked in combat was totally obscured from view. Then an incredible, thunderous explosion shook the sky, leveling the mountain and everything else for miles around.

The blast of the cataclysm washed down the mountain with the force of a hundred hurricanes, and no one was left standing. The ground cracked and split and swallowed up whole regiments as smoke and flames shot up from the fissures. Of all the hundreds of thousands of combatants who had clashed from dawn till dusk upon the blood-soaked battlefield, only a few survived, and later, when they looked back on what had happened, they counted it a miracle.

The final part of “The Legacy of Kings” was called “The Birth of the New Gods and the Abominations,” and it told the story of what happened when the old gods died, having given up their lives to destroy the evil that was Azrai. The cataclysmic explosion that had leveled Mount Deismaar in an instant and reduced it to a smoking crater had released the cosmic essence of the gods. Those who had stood closest to the holocaust caught the full brunt of this searing wash of divine essence as it radiated from the epicenter of the blast like an incinerating wind. The champions of the gods, who had followed Haelyn in his bold assault up the mountain slopes, were closest, bathed in the full force of this raging wind of divine essence. Their bodies were discorporated in an instant, and in that same instant, their souls rose up to become new gods.

Haelyn became what Anduiras had once been, the noble god of battle. Aerik the druid took the place of Reynir, the patron of the forests. Seramie inherited the goddess Brenna’s role as the deity of fortune, and Avanalae took the mantle of Basaia, goddess of the sun. Nesirie supplanted Masela as the lady of the seas, and Vos, the moon lord, was succeeded by the new god, Ruornil, who became the god of magic. But the dark essence of Azrai had been released as well, and it imbued two of his grim champions among the Vos, the warriors Kriyesha and Belinik, who became the Ice Lady and the Prince of Terror.

These were the new gods, created from the old, and in time, the people of Cerilia would learn to worship them, erecting new temples to their glory and passing on this story of the new creation to the succeeding generations. But those days were yet to come when the survivors of the cataclysm rose, astonished to discover not only that they were still alive, but that they had changed in ways that would forever make them different from ordinary mortals.

The god essence the cataclysm had released had been much dissipated when it reached them, but the remaining energy had still imbued them with abilities no humans had possessed before. In the coming years, these wondrous powers would be passed on to their descendants, who would be called “the blooded,” those who had inherited blood abilities bestowed on the survivors of that battle where the gods themselves gave up their lives.

Among these comparatively few survivors were Roele and Traederic, who were not as close as Haelyn when the earthshaking blast occurred. They had turned to pursue Raesene, who fled when the old gods joined the battle, and though he made good his escape, he too was changed.

As smoke and flames rose up from the fractured battlefield, the earth began to groan and tremble. Slowly, the land bridge started to sink. Even then, the survivors turned upon each other. As Azrai’s minions struggled to fight their way clear before the land bridge sank, Roele marshaled his remaining troops to stop them from escaping. Many were killed on both sides, but soon they realized that they had to look to their own lives if they did not wish to sink beneath the waves that threatened to inundate them. In their battle frenzy, they did not notice the strange new feelings surging through them, and it was only later that they discovered they had inherited the powers of those whom they had slain in the cataclysm’s aftermath. They found that god essence could not be destroyed, but could be ripped or drained from those who had possessed it, and this dreadful practice soon received a name—“bloodtheft.”

Bloodtheft soon became a way of life for those of Azrai’s minions who had escaped, for outnumbered as they were, they realized their vulnerability and sought every opportunity to kill those who were blooded, the better to insure their own survival and increase their powers. And as their powers grew from the blooded men they’d slain, they gained the ability to transform themselves with the god essence they had seized. In their greedy quest for greater power, they became abominations, travesties of their once human form, and the elves, who were the first to learn of these perverse new creatures, gave them a new name—awnsheghlien, “blood of darkness.”

The traitor Prince Raesene became the mightiest of the awnsheghlien, a fearsome and grotesque creature who was called the Gorgon. Among others of his kind were the Ghost, the Kraken, the Serpent, the Sinister, the Hydra, and the Hag. Still others were in the process of their transformation, and once the metamorphosis became complete, more power gained through bloodtheft enabled them to create others like themselves and, in this manner, a new race came into being in Cerilia—a race of monsters who bore only a faint resemblance to the humans they once were.

However, this took many years. While the soon-to-be awnsheghlien went into hiding in Mount Deismaar’s aftermath, those few who had fought Azrai’s evil and survived returned to their own kingdoms to recuperate and rebuild what had been lost. Haelyn became the new god of the Anuireans, and his brother, Roele, became their king, founding the dynasty that bore his name. In time, through conquest or alliance, he unified the disparate human kingdoms under his rule, and the Anuirean Empire was born.

Over the years, the sons of Roele became known as the Emperors Roele, ruling their domains from the Iron Throne in the Imperial Cairn in the capital city of Anuire, built on the shores of a large bay in the Straits of Aerele, tens of leagues from the shattered islands where Mount Deismaar was destroyed and sank beneath the waves.

As Aedan came to and shook his aching head, he looked up to see the bodies of the “dead” lying all around him, craning their necks or sitting up to watch the next occupant of the Iron Throne battle the goblin general. Oh no, thought Aedan as he sat up, rubbing his sore head. Michael and Corwin were hard at it, bashing away at each other with grim determination. The survivors of the battle stood around them in a loose semicircle, watching for the outcome. Most of them cheered on the future emperor, but a few brave souls were shouting out encouragement to Corwin as the two opponents flailed away at one another.

Aedan’s practiced eye saw that the older boy was holding back a bit, taking care to avoid injuring the younger warrior, but Michael was laying on for all that he was worth and, despite his smaller stature, was giving Corwin lots of trouble. Aedan tried to get up, but dizziness overcame him, and he sat back down again with a groan. Suddenly, Corwin knocked Michael’s shield from his grasp and, sensing victory, raised his wooden blade and moved in for the kill.

As his stroke came down, Michael parried it, holding his wooden sword in both hands. He launched a devastating kick at Corwin’s groin. Had Corwin not been wearing a codpiece, he might well have sung soprano for the remainder of his life. As it was, he grunted and doubled over from the blow, dropping his shield and clutching at the source of his acute discomfort, while Michael, instead of moving in to deliver the coup de grace, stood back and broke out laughing at the older boy. It was a bad mistake.

Corwin came up out of his doubled-over crouch, eyes blazing, and with a cry of rage, unleashed a hail of blows at Michael as if he were purely determined to kill him. Aedan jumped to his feet and started running toward the boys, but before he’d covered half the distance, Michael’s sword went flying and Corwin brained him on the helm with all his might. Michael jerked and stiffened, then went down like a felled tree.

As Michael lay motionless upon the ground, a shocked silence descended on the battlefield. Aedan came running up and crouched beside him. “Michael! Michael!” he repeated with concern, forgetting in his anxiety to address him by his title rather than his name.

Michael did not answer. Carefully, Aedan removed his helm. He sighed with relief when he saw there was no blood, but that was still no guarantee he wasn’t seriously injured. He patted Michael lightly on the cheeks, but there was no response.

“Michael!”

Corwin stood over them, eyes wide, shocked as the realization of what he had done sank in. The pain of Michael’s kick to his essentials, evidenced by his awkward stance, was completely overwhelmed by the thought of what he’d done.

“I—I didn’t mean it!” he stammered in a small voice. His lips continued to move, but no sound came out.

Aedan could spare no thought for Corwin. He gazed down at Michael, slapping his cheeks lightly. “Michael? Come on, Michael….”

There was no response.

“My god,” said Aedan, glancing skyward. “Haelyn, help me!”

Michael made a small moan. His eyelids twitched, then fluttered open. His gaze appeared unfocused. He groaned.

“Michael! Michael!” Aedan said. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

He held up two. Michael tried to focus. “Four?”

“Lie still,” said Aedan. “You may have a concussion.” He glanced at Corwin. “Pray that it is nothing worse.”

Corwin’s lips were trembling. He had gone completely white.

Aedan gently picked up Michael in his arms and started carrying him back toward the castle. Behind him, the young warriors of Mount Deismaar trooped silently with their wooden swords and shields. The war was over.

2

Seaharrow stood upon a cliff overlooking Miere Rhuann, the Sea of Storms, roughly two hundred miles from the capital city of Anuire. The castle’s crenelated towers dominated the broken landscape for miles around, its machicolated battlements gave a commanding view of the surrounding countryside, and its thick, massive walls defied assault. Situated on a high and craggy rock formation, with the sea and a sheer wall of granite at its back, Seaharrow was a virtually impregnable fortress that a small body of men could easily hold against an army.

Archduke Arwyn of Boeruine had rather more than a small body of men, however, which was one of the reasons he was an archduke and one of the most powerful nobles in the empire. Seaharrow was his holding, and his ancestors had held it before him for hundreds of years.

Below the castle, the town of Seasedge lay spread out upon the rocky coastal plain. It was the capital and seaport of the nine provinces governed by the archduke. It was not a very large town, but it boasted a hardy population. Only the Northern Marches were less settled than the windswept western coastal region, which reached from the waters of the Tael Firth to the Straits of Aerele and east to the Seamist Mountains. During the winter, fierce storms battered the coast and strong easterly winds howled through the castle battlements. A visitor to Seasedge at this time of the year would wonder why anyone could possibly wish to settle on this desolate, storm-lashed stretch of coast.

In the summer, however, the climate was more temperate, and each year, at the end of spring, the Imperial Court of the Empire of Anuire traveled en masse in a heavily armed convoy to the Archduchy of Boeruine, to take up residence at Seaharrow. The brisk northern breezes coming in off the Sea of Storms at this time of year provided welcome relief from the hot and humid winds that buffeted Anuire during the summer season, bringing with them the monsoons that boiled up from the Adurian coast. But the monsoon season at the beginning of the summer was not the only reason the emperor came to Seaharrow each year.

The Archduchy of Boeruine had strategic significance by virtue of its geographical location. On its northeastern borders lay the Aelvinnwode, the thick pine forest that covered most of the territory known as the Northern Marches, and the hostile goblin kingdom of Thurazor, as well as the lawless, mountainous region known as the Five Peaks, which was home to goblins, bandits, gnolls, and renegades of all description. To the north of the Five Peaks and east of Thurazor lay the elven kingdom of Tuarhievel, ruled by Prince Fhileraene, whose great-grandfather was the only elven chieftain who had remained loyal to Azrai at the Battle of Mount Deismaar.

Rhuobhe Manslayer had remained with Azrai not out of any love for the dark lord, but out of a fierce hatred of humans. After the battle, he became awnsheghlien, and together with the renegade band of elves who followed him, he had seized a small portion of the Aelvinnwode on the northeastern border of Boeruine, where he still relentlessly pursued the gheallie Sidhe, for which he had won the appellations of Manslayer and Foresttaker, both of which he had defiantly adopted as his own.

The Prince of Tuarhievel did not seem to share his great-grandfather’s belief that the only good humans were dead ones, but it was difficult to tell precisely what Fhileraene believed. His mother, Queen Ibeicoris, was still the ruler of Tuarhievel, but Fhileraene held the actual reins of power in the elven kingdom. Though he traded with the humans, he still maintained good relations with his great-grandfather, the Manslayer, whose followers were made welcome at his court. Though he outwardly condemned the gheallie Sidhe, there were still sporadic outbreaks of it in his kingdom, and human traders who did business with Tuarhievel did so at their own risk.

With hostile territory abutting more than half its borders, Boeruine was a vital outpost of the empire, and the emperor took pains to ensure that Lord Arwyn was always kept aware of the important role he played in the interests of the Iron Throne. Summer Court at Seaharrow, therefore, was more than merely a holiday for the nobles of Anuire. It was also a time for important business of the empire to be conducted and for political alliances to be reaffirmed.

Arwyn of Boeruine was well aware of his important position in the empire, and he took it very seriously. Each year, before the Imperial Court arrived, he took on an additional staff of servants from the town, in addition to court pages, an honored and coveted function fulfilled by children of Seasedge. Seaharrow was swept and scrubbed from top to bottom, an enterprise that took up the entire spring season, and the kitchen larders were freshly stocked with game from the nearby forest and produce from the outlying farms. Visiting nobles and dignitaries arrived from all the nearby provinces, doubling the population of the town and filling its inns to overflowing. It was a busy time for Seaharrow and the town of Seasedge, and the Archduke Arwyn went to great lengths to make certain everything ran smoothly.

Consequently, he became extremely agitated when word reached him that Aedan Dosiere was coming up the path to the castle, trailed by the survivors of the reenacted Battle of Mount Deismaar and carrying the injured young heir to the throne in his arms.

So great was the archduke’s consternation that one might have thought it was his own son who had been gravely injured. His shouts roused the entire castle into a flurry of activity. He sent for the physicians and gave loud orders for the doubling of the guard at the gates and on the walls. He ordered water heated in case the prince’s wounds needed to be bathed, and he had servants running in a dozen different directions. In fact, the archduke was overdoing it a bit, purely for the sake of appearances, because secretly a thrill of excitement had run through him at the news.

Prince Michael was Emperor Hadrian’s only heir, and if anything happened to him, Arwyn himself, who was descended from the bloodline of Roele, would be the successor to the Iron Throne. At least, so he believed.

None of this impressed itself on Aedan, however, for he was worried to the point of panic over the young prince, who had been his responsibility. After being confronted by the archduke himself and informing him what happened, he had been dismissed with a rather ominous, “I shall deal with you later.” Then Lord Arwyn had personally taken Michael from his arms and carried him upstairs.

Had Aedan been a few years older and somewhat wiser in the ways of Imperial Court politics, he might have had second thoughts about turning Michael over to the man who stood to gain the most if anything should happen to him; but fortunately, Aedan’s father was on the scene, having been alerted by all the commotion, and did not leave Michael’s side even for one instant.

The fact that his father had not said a word to him made Aedan still more miserable, certain it was contempt that silenced him. However, that was not the case at all. The lord high chamberlain knew perfectly well that Arwyn was within one twist of his powerful wrists from possibly becoming next in line to assume the throne, not that Lord Tieran suspected the archduke of treachery. He simply had a healthy respect for the foibles of humanity and so would make sure Lord Arwyn was not unduly tempted. Under such circumstances, he could not spare any thought at all for his own son.

Fortunately for everyone, except perhaps Lord Arwyn, Michael’s injuries were no more severe than a mild concussion and nasty bruise on his forehead. The physicians bled him just a bit and ordered bed rest for a couple of days. Meanwhile the archduke took out his frustrations first on young Viscount Corwin, whom he ordered confined to the dungeons, and then on Aedan, whom he would also have thrown into the dungeons save for the fact that he did not wish to antagonize the lord high chamberlain, who was closer to the old emperor than any other man. He was therefore forced to satisfy himself with mercilessly browbeating Aedan until he ran out of breath, then dispatching him to clean the stables.

It was there that Lady Ariel found him, several hours later, shoveling manure and cursing his existence.

“Aedan?”

He looked up and saw her standing there, looking nothing like the screaming, armored banshee who had knocked him senseless earlier that day. She had changed into a simple, dark green velvet gown that fell to her feet, which were shod with dainty black slippers. She was bareheaded, her long blonde pigtails hanging down on either side of her chest. She looked like a perfectly normal little girl rather than the roughhousing tomboy that she was.

Aedan grimaced as he scraped horse droppings off the dirt floor and shoveled them into a wooden wheelbarrow. “What is it, Ariel?”

“Aedan, I just…” She hesitated. “I just came to say I am sorry.”

He merely grunted and resumed his work. “Well, think nothing of it.”

“I know that it was all my fault,” she said in a small voice. “What Corwin did, I mean. If I hadn’t struck you down, perhaps you could have stopped it.”

“It was my own fault,” said Aedan. “It serves me right for allowing a mere slip of a girl to knock me down. I should have been paying more attention. Frankly, I’d just as soon you didn’t mention it to anyone.”

“Well, I just thought that if I told your father what I did, he would know it was all my fault and wouldn’t blame you.”

Aedan froze, bent over his shovel. He glanced up at her with disbelief. “You told him?”

She nodded. “I did not wish to see you get in trouble. I went to him and said it was I who was to blame, and I would take whatever punishment was meted out, and he should not fault you for something you could not possibly have prevented because you were lying senseless on the ground when it occurred.”

Aedan shut his eyes and groaned inwardly. “Wonderful,” he said.

Ariel did not quite catch his sarcasm. She smiled and said, “I thought you would be pleased. And your father was very understanding. He said I was a brave girl for coming forward and telling him about it, and told me not to worry about being punished since no real harm was done. He also spoke with Lord Arwyn, and Corwin’s been released from the dungeons. So, you see? Everything’s turned out all right.”

“Just great,” said Aedan with a sigh of resignation.

“I only hope you’re not too angry with me for knocking you down,” said Ariel.

“No, Ariel, I’m not angry.”

“I never meant to hurt you.”

“You didn’t hurt me, Ariel. I’m fine.”

“Because I would never wish to hurt you, Aedan. I’m afraid I got a bit carried away. Sometimes, I just don’t know what gets into me.”

“Can we please forget about it, Ariel?”

“So then you’re not angry with me?”

“No, I’m not angry with you!” he shouted in frustration.

She flinched and took a step back. “You are angry.”

He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “I’m not angry, Ariel. Honestly. I just don’t want to talk about it anymore, all right? I have a lot of work to do, so if you don’t mind, I’d like to get on with it.”

“I only wanted to say I was sorry.”

Aedan closed his eyes in silent suffering. He counted ten, then said, “Very well. You’ve said it. It’s over and done with now. We shall speak no more of it. Agreed?”

She brightened. “Agreed. Well then, I shall leave you to your work.”

“Thank you.”

She turned and started to leave, then paused. “Oh, and your father said he wanted to see you as soon as you were done.”

“Of course,” said Aedan with a sour grimace. “Thank you for delivering the message.”

“You are most welcome.” She gave him a quick, bobbing curtsy, then turned and left the stables with a spring in her step.

Aedan moaned, leaned on his shovel, and hung his head in misery. One of the horses whinnied.

“Oh, shut up!” he said.

* * * * *

A couple days’ bed rest was more than sufficient for Michael to be up and about. After the first day, he was already complaining that he didn’t want to stay in bed, demonstrating he was as hardheaded as he was stubborn. But for a change, the empress put her foot down and gave Aedan orders to make sure he remained in repose, even if he had to tie him down. Aedan delighted in the opportunity to take these orders literally, and the first time Michael tried to disobey, he tied him to the bedposts. This brought on a royal tantrum of epic proportions, but after several hours, Aedan succeeded in getting Michael’s grudging word that he would not try to get out of bed if he untied him, and though he complained about it bitterly, the remainder of the recuperation period passed without further incident.

To his credit, Aedan thought, when Michael found out that Corwin had been sent to the dungeons on his account, even though it had only been for about two hours, he was deeply chagrined and immediately sent for the older boy.

Corwin arrived looking pale as death. When Lord Arwyn had ordered him thrown into the dungeons, the poor boy had been convinced that he would never see the light of day again. However, when he was released a mere two hours later, though it had still felt like an eternity to him, it was without any explanation. Consequently, when the jailer came to take him from his cell, Corwin had felt sure he was on his way to meet the headsman’s axe.

Aedan was there when Corwin came into Michael’s chambers and fell to his knees to plead forgiveness. Michael immediately told him to get up and come over to the side of his bed, whereupon he told the older boy that, by rights, it was he who should be asking his forgiveness.

“What you gave me I had coming,” Michael told him. “I got no more than I deserved. And it was a well-struck blow, whereas mine was most unseemly. I am truly sorry, Corwin, that you had to spend time in the dungeons on my account. I promise I shall try to find a way to make it up to you. Will you forgive me?”

Corwin was so flustered, he did not know what to say.

“Corwin, please say you’ll forgive me, or Aedan will be very angry with me and I shall never hear the end of it.”

“But… Your Highness, it is not my place to—”

“Corwin, if I say it is your place to forgive me, then it is your place to forgive me, so forgive me and let’s have done with it, shall we?”

Corwin accepted Michael’s apology, and then Michael accepted his, remarking how it was the first time Haelyn had ever lost the Battle of Mount Deismaar, and to a goblin general, at that. “Next time, there shall be a reckoning,” he cautioned.

Corwin looked dismayed. “Next time?”

“Of course,” said Michael. “After all, I have a score to settle with the goblins now.”

Corwin swallowed nervously. “Perhaps, Your Highness, next time I might have the privilege of fighting on the side of the Anuireans.”

“No, no, I want you on Azrai’s side,” said Michael. “Everybody else always holds back a little when they fight me, because I am the prince. But you did not hold back. And that’s just what I want. I will never get any better if everyone always holds back and lets me win. Next time, Corwin, I want you to make me work for it.”

“As you wish, Your Highness,” Corwin said, with a bow, though he was clearly unhappy with the whole idea. The thought filled him with dread.

“And another thing,” said Michael. “I’m tired of everybody calling me that all the time. Your Highness this, Your Highness that…. Nobody ever calls me by my name except my sisters and my parents, and I hardly ever talk to them. What is the point in having a name if no one ever uses it?”

“It would not be proper for people to address the heir to throne by his first name, Your Highness,” Aedan said, not bothering to comment on the fact that the reason Michael’s sisters rarely spoke to him was because they were spoiled rotten and detested him, and most parents had better things to do than spend time speaking with their children, anyway. Besides, the emperor was in poor health and rarely spoke to anyone these days, leaving most matters of state to his royal chamberlain, and the empress was too busy with her daughters, trying to get them married off, which was no easy task considering their lofty rank and still more lofty dispositions, to say nothing of the fact that there were seven of them.

“Well, I don’t care. I’m tired of it,” the prince maintained. “Can’t they at least call me ‘my lord Michael’ or something?”

“Hmm,” said Aedan. “As it is a point of royal etiquette, I shall have to consult my father. Perhaps, since you wish it, he may allow it in informal circumstances, but only among your intimate friends at court.”

“He may allow it?” Michael said, bridling. “Why should it be his decision? I am heir to the throne, while he is only the royal chamberlain.”

“That is very true,” admitted Aedan, “but the matter does not rest with him alone. There is the question of precedent, and the etiquette of titles and so forth, which may have to be researched. It is a complicated matter.”

“Well, have him look into it as soon as possible,” said Michael. “My name is not Your Highness, it is Michael Roele, and I want people to use it.”

“I shall speak with my father at the earliest opportunity, Your High—uh, my lord Michael,” Aedan promised.

“When I am emperor,” said Michael, petulantly, “I shall make such decisions on my own, without having to consult all sorts of people. It is foolish. Suppose we are in battle and someone is coming up behind me? By the time you call out, ‘Your Highness, look out behind you,’ I’ll be dead.”

“In such an event, my lord,” said Aedan, suppressing a smile, “in the interests of brevity, I shall be sure to call out your name.”

“Good,” said Michael. “I should hate to die of royal etiquette.”

That evening, when Aedan repeated the conversation to his father, Lord Tieran responded with amusement. “I see no reason why the prince’s intimates cannot address him as ‘my lord Michael’ or ‘my lord’ in informal circumstances,” he said, “though use of his first name alone would be highly improper, of course. Unless it were in battle, in a situation such as he described,” he added with a smile. “And as emperor, needless to say, he will certainly be free to make all such decisions on his own, without consulting anyone.” Then he grew serious. “And I fear that he may get his wish much sooner than he thinks.”

Aedan frowned. “Is something the matter with the emperor?”

His father nodded. “His health is rapidly failing. It is generally known that he has not been well, and that he is old and tires easily, but I have taken pains to conceal just how weak and frail he has become. I do not know how successful I have been in keeping his true condition secret, but I am seriously concerned that he may not last out the summer. And if he were to die before we returned to the Imperial Cairn, we could all find ourselves in a rather precarious situation.”

“Why?” asked Aedan.

“The Archduke of Boeruine is an ambitious man,” his father said. “A powerful man. Prince Michael is much too young to rule unguided. He will need a regent. Ordinarily, the empress would fulfill that role, guided by myself as royal chamberlain, but she too is young and Boeruine could easily claim that the empire required a stronger, more experienced hand. With the court at Seaharrow, it would be a simple matter for him to take control and appoint himself as regent. And once he had done that, he would be but one step away from the Iron Throne itself.”

“But… Prince Michael is the heir,” said Aedan. “Surely, Lord Arwyn could not entertain notions of displacing him. That would be high treason!”

“You still have much to learn, my son,” Lord Tieran said, shaking his head. “Once he was regent, Boeruine could wed the empress, and whether she wished to marry him or not, she would be in a poor position to refuse while in his hands here at Seaharrow. Once he had brought about the marriage, if some unfortunate accident befell Prince Michael, Lord Arwyn would become the next Emperor of Anuire.”

“And I always thought Lord Arwyn was loyal to the emperor!” said Aedan.

“He is,” his father replied.

“But… if he is loyal, how could he contemplate committing treason?” Aedan asked, uncomprehending.

“Because he would not see it as treason,” his father explained patiently. “He would see it as a responsible and entirely reasonable act taken to safeguard the security of the empire.”

Aedan simply stared at his father with disbelief.

Tieran saw that he didn’t understand, so he elaborated for his benefit. “Arwyn of Boeruine is not an evil man,” he said, “but he is an ambitious one. In many ways, an evil man is easier to deal with, because you always know what to expect. An evil man knows what he is and accepts his nature. As a result, he has no need to justify his actions. An ambitious man, on the other hand, is a far more slippery creature, and highly unpredictable. He often fools himself as well as others.

“Boeruine is not an evil man,” Lord Tieran continued, “but he could easily convince himself that the empire was in danger with a mere child on the Iron Throne, and that the empress was herself too young and inexperienced to rule as regent. In that, at least, he would be correct. She could certainly do so with my guidance, but Lord Arwyn would doubtless feel that his guidance would be superior to mine. And he may even be right at that—who knows? He certainly is capable of governing the empire. Either way, he would tell himself that, as a widow, the empress would be vulnerable to unscrupulous suitors seeking to gain power, so by marrying her, he would only be protecting her and safeguarding the empire from greedy and ambitious men.

“And as a descendant of Roele,” he went on, “who better than himself to guide the empire and provide for the emperor’s widow? The empress is a beautiful woman, so I suppose it would not be very difficult for Lord Arwyn to convince himself he loved her. He is a strong and handsome man, and he might even be able to convince her. After all, the only man that she has ever known has been the emperor, and a man of his age and constitution does not really stir the fires in a young woman’s heart. But whether he courted the empress or coerced her, Lord Arwyn would convince himself that he was acting out of the best possible motives. And that is why ambitious men are dangerous, my son. I would rather have an evil man to deal with any day. At least evil men are honest with themselves.”

“But how could he possibly justify doing anything to Michael?” Aedan asked.

“Well, perhaps he wouldn’t really need to,” Lord Tieran replied. “Ambitious men often do not work in obvious ways, and they tend to surround themselves with underlings who know how to carry out their wishes, even if they are not obviously expressed. Lord Arwyn might decide to go out hunting with some of his knights one day, and that evening, over the campfire, he might choose to share some of his concerns about the empire. He might expound, in a casual sort of way, about how difficult it was to govern with a temperamental child on the throne, whose abilities were unproven and whose disposition was not conducive to instilling confidence in his subjects. He might sigh wearily and muse about how much easier things would be if only he didn’t have to worry about Prince Michael all the time….”

“And his knights would take that as an order for his murder,” Aedan said in a low voice as understanding dawned.

Lord Tieran shrugged. “No direct order would be given, of course, but his men would understand his meaning, just the same. And when Prince Michael turned up dead, no one would be more outraged than Lord Arwyn, who would vow vengeance on the regicides, whoever they may be. He would decree a period of mourning throughout the empire, during which he himself would mourn sincerely, and following which, for the good of the empire, he would reluctantly allow himself to be persuaded to ascend the throne.”

Aedan shook his head, stunned. “How is it you can even think of such things?”

“Because it is my duty to think of them,” his father replied. “I do not say that this is what Lord Arwyn will do, merely that it is something he may do. It is a possibility, and it is my duty—as it shall be yours someday—to consider such possibilities and determine just how likely they may be. And in Lord Arwyn’s case, I think it is a very likely possibility, indeed.”

“Then we must leave here and return to Anuire as soon as possible!” said Aedan.

“What reason would we give for our abrupt departure?” asked his father. “My unfounded suspicions based on my personal dislike for our host? Thus far, he has done nothing to warrant our distrust. We are barely halfway through the season and the entire court is here, so we cannot pretend that some urgent business of the empire has arisen that requires our presence in Anuire. Moreover, we cannot simply pack up and steal out in the middle of the night. For one thing, there is the matter of Lord Arwyn’s men-at-arms, and for another, we could not risk the journey without an escort. Even if we did not take the wagons and left most of the court behind, it would still take at least a day or two to organize the party, and the emperor is in no condition to travel at present.”

“Then at the very least we must get the prince to safety,” Aedan said. “With a small escort, I could take him to Anuire myself and then we—”

“No, that is out of the question,” said Lord Tieran, shaking his head. “Your courage is commendable, as is your initiative in suggesting such a course, but it would be far too great a risk. For a small party, the journey would be dangerous in itself, and the moment he discovered that the prince was gone, Lord Arwyn could send a party of knights after him, which he would doubtless lead himself, citing concern for the prince’s safety. Suppose he overtook you on the road, with none to see what would transpire? It would be a simple matter for him to return and claim he found the prince’s party ambushed by unknown marauders and slain to the last man … and boy.”

“Then what are we to do?” asked Aedan with chagrin.

Lord Tieran sighed. “For the moment, there is nothing we can do. Our situation may indeed provide a great temptation to Lord Arwyn, but we do not know for certain that he shall give in to it. These are all merely suppositions, after all. He may surprise us and prove he is a better man than I suspect he is.”

“And if he is not?” said Aedan, with concern.

“Then he must still take care about appearances. He cannot seize the throne in a way that would be obvious to everyone. That could easily provoke a war. He would have to take his time and manage things very carefully. That factor, at least, is in our favor. And we must pray for the emperor’s recovery … or at the very least, for him to survive the summer. I do not think Lord Arwyn would dare to act while the emperor still lives.”

“It was folly for us to come here in the first place,” Aedan said. “If Lord Arwyn cannot be trusted, why have we honored him by holding summer court at Seaharrow? Why have we placed ourselves into his hands?”

“Because we need him to safeguard the Western Coast provinces from incursions by our enemies in the Northern Marches,” said his father. “Political alliances can be very complicated things, very delicate and tenuous. A leader must often ally himself with men he does not like or trust. Such things are less important than whether or not such men can be controlled. Do you recall when you first learned to ride?”

Aedan blinked, surprised by the sudden change of subject. “Yes. My horse threw me and I landed so hard I had the wind knocked out of me.”

“And you were afraid to get back on,” his father said. “Do you remember what I told you then?”

“That my horse threw me because he sensed my fear,” said Aedan. “And that if I did not conquer my fear and get back on again at once, I would never learn to ride because I would always be afraid and the horse would always sense it.”

“Exactly,” said Lord Tieran. “In some ways, men are much like horses. If a strong hand controls the reins, they may be spirited but will respond to commands. However, if they sense fear …”

Aedan nodded. “I think I understand,” he said. He took a deep breath and exhaled heavily. “There is still so very much I have to learn.”

His father smiled. “It is a wise man who knows he has much to learn. It is a foolish one who thinks he knows it all. Take care of the prince, my son. See to it he is not left alone. My concerns may prove groundless in the end—and I pray they do—but remember that it is not wise to place temptation into the path of an ambitious man.”

* * * * *

That night, Aedan couldn’t sleep, so he made his way up to the parapet of the tower in the west wing of the castle, where the royal party was quartered. This tower, one of four at each corner of the castle, was toward the rear, looking out over the sea. No guards were stationed here, so he could enjoy some peace and quiet in which to think, with nothing to distract him save for the pounding surf on the rocks far below.

For the moment, he was not concerned for Michael. Two men-at-arms from the Royal House Guard were posted at his door. Soldiers also guarded the rooms of the emperor and the empress, and they were within sight of one another in the corridor. This was normal procedure, and as such, would not serve to reveal Lord Tieran’s suspicions to Lord Arwyn. What the archduke didn’t know was that Lord Tieran had posted two additional guards inside both Michael’s and the emperor’s rooms, as well. Castles were often built with secret passages, and though Lord Tieran did not know if Seaharrow had such hidden corridors behind its walls, he wasn’t taking any chances.

As Aedan stood on the tower parapet and looked out at the sea and the surrounding countryside, he could see most of the castle, as well. Lord Arwyn’s quarters were in the east wing, and Aedan wondered if he were asleep right now or if he were awake, considering what to do. Lord Arwyn was not a fool; he knew the emperor was ailing. Hadrian was old, and at his age, even a slight illness could easily turn fatal. If he died, Michael would become the emperor, and he was not yet ready. Nor was Aedan ready to assume the role of royal chamberlain.

Michael’s ascension to the Iron Throne would not mean Aedan would immediately assume that post, however. His father would continue in that role until he felt Aedan was prepared to take his place. But tonight, Aedan felt a long way from being prepared. He had never even considered the possibility that Lord Arwyn might harbor ambitions to sit upon the throne himself, and after speaking with his father, he felt woefully inadequate.

What his father had said about considering possibilities had made him think more about his role in being Michael’s “nursemaid,” as he had always thought of it. When he was a few years younger, he had resented having to perform that task, but then he came to understand that its purpose was to help him develop patience and form a bond with the young prince, so that when the time came for Michael to assume the throne, he would feel trust for his royal chamberlain and, in turn, Aedan would have learned how his sovereign thought. Now, however, Aedan realized that there was much more to it than that.

Without knowing it, he had also been training him to consider possibilities. The role that he had played in the young nobles’ reenactment of the Battle of Mount Deismaar had, in a sense, been similar to the role his father played in the political maneuverings of the Imperial Court. He had learned enough of Michael to know how he was likely to respond in given situations, and when young Corwin had shown him up, he had considered the possibility—correctly, as it had turned out—that Michael would take out his anger on Corwin in the game. He had also considered the possibility that the bigger boy might hurt Michael if things got out of hand. He had been equally correct in that assessment, too, though he had failed to anticipate that Ariel would interfere with his ability to step in and stop it at the proper time.

Children’s games. Yes, they were that, and he had been both frustrated and embarrassed to be forced to play them at his age. But now, for the first time, he understood why his father had insisted on it. On a smaller scale, he was learning how to consider possibilities, how to assess the personalities and idiosyncrasies of the players, how to gauge their reactions and deal with them appropriately. Now, however, he would have to learn how to apply those skills on a much higher level. For the first time, he began to understand just how difficult his father’s duties really were.

In the distance, dark clouds roiled over the sea. He saw a flash of lightning and a moment later heard the distant roll of thunder. The wind picked up. A storm was moving in. In more ways than one, he thought grimly.

“It appears I was not the only one who could not sleep,” a young female voice said from behind him.

He turned and saw Princess Laera standing on the parapet behind him. At nineteen, she was the eldest of the emperor’s seven daughters, and next spring, she would be the first to wed. Ironically, she was to marry none other than Lord Arwyn, who was twice her age. However, if his father’s fears were realized, thought Aedan, there was a possibility Laera might lose her intended to her own mother. Strange were the ways of imperial politics, indeed.

“Good evening, Your Highness,” Aedan said, bowing to her.

“Good night, you mean,” she said. “It is almost the midnight hour.”

“I had just come up to get some air and think awhile,” Aedan said. “However, I shall not intrude on your privacy.”

“Nonsense. It is I who am intruding on yours,” she said. “Stay, Aedan. I would be grateful for the company.”

“As you wish, Your Highness.”

“Must you be so formal?” she asked. “We have known each another since we were children, yet you have never called me by my name.”

What, Aedan wondered, was this peculiar penchant in the children of the royal family to want to be acknowledged by their names? It was as if being addressed by their proper titles, as was their rightful due, somehow failed to acknowledge their individual existence. And even as the thought occurred to him, he realized that perhaps, from their viewpoint, that was precisely what the protocol of court accomplished: they forced people through law and custom and tradition to acknowledge what they were rather than who they were. No one had ever acknowledged their individuality, only their positions. It had to make them feel rather lonely.

“Well, since we are alone, I will call you Laera, if you will allow me the rare privilege,” he said.

“I do allow it,” she replied with a smile. “It would be nice if you could see me as a woman and not only as a princess of the royal house.”

It was difficult not to see her as a woman, Aedan thought, with her dark hair hanging loose and billowing in the breeze, which also plastered the thin material of her nightgown against her body. She looked altogether too much like a woman and not enough like a princess. Self-consciously, and reluctantly, Aedan averted his gaze and looked out to sea.

“A storm is coming,” he said uneasily.

She came up beside him and rested her arms on the parapet wall. “I love summer storms,” she said. “The way the sheet lightning lights up the whole sky, the way the thunder rolls, as if the gods were playing at ninepins, the way the rain comes down so hard and fast and leaves everything smelling so fresh and clean. I love walking in the rain, don’t you?”

He glanced at her. The wind was blowing her long, raven tresses back from her face as she inhaled deeply, taking in the moisture-laden sea air. Aedan could not help noticing the way her chest rose and fell with her breaths. She was leaning forward against the wall, and her posture accentuated her breasts, which threatened to tumble out of her low-cut nightgown. She glanced at him, and he quickly looked away. Had she caught him staring? Aedan felt himself blushing and turned his head so she wouldn’t see.

It wasn’t all that long ago that Laera was a gangly, coltish little girl, proud and haughty, with legs too long for her torso, but since she turned fifteen, she had begun to blossom and seemed to become more beautiful with each passing year. Her once reed-thin figure now possessed lush curves, of which Aedan was all too uncomfortably aware with her standing so close, barefoot and wearing nothing but a sheer white nightgown.

It struck him that they really shouldn’t be alone like this, especially with her being dressed the way she was. Or barely dressed, he thought. She was promised to Lord Arwyn, after all, and if someone saw the two of them together in such circumstances, it could easily be misinterpreted. It wasn’t right.

“Well… I think perhaps I should be going,” he said, rather awkwardly.

“No, stay awhile,” she said, reaching out and putting her hand on his arm. Her touch lingered. “We never have a chance to talk anymore. Why is that?”

Aedan’s lips felt very dry. He moistened them. Did she feel completely unselfconscious standing before him in her nightclothes? “I suppose we never talk because I am usually kept busy with Prince Michael, and you are kept busy with …” He actually had no idea how she spent her days. “… whatever it is a princess does,” he finished lamely.

“Learning courtly graces, sewing and embroidering, dancing, riding, lessons on the lute … all those things meant to prepare a girl to be a noble’s wife. I am sure you would find it all quite boring. I know I do.”

“We could trade,” Aedan offered with a smile. “Then I could learn to sew and play the lute while you could spend the day reenacting the Battle of Mount Deismaar with Prince Michael and his little friends.”

“No, thank you, very much,” she said, making a face. “I concede you have the worse of it. I cannot imagine how you stand it. Michael is an absolutely horrid child. It must be awfully trying for you.”

“Oh, it’s not really so bad,” said Aedan, though privately, he could not agree with her more. “It is good training for my future role as royal chamberlain. It teaches discipline and patience.”

“It must,” said Laera. “I don’t know how you can put up with him. He may be my brother, but he is an insufferable little monster. When I heard that Corwin knocked him senseless, I thought it was just what he deserved. To tell the truth, I wish I’d done it myself.”

“That was entirely my fault,” Aedan said. “I should have prevented it, but I fear I was not quick enough.”

Laera smiled. “Yes, I heard that Lady Ariel slowed you down a bit.”

Aedan blushed again. Damn that Ariel. The story must be all over the castle by now and everyone was probably having a good laugh at his expense. “Yes, well, that was my fault, too. I wasn’t paying attention. I was trying to keep an eye on Prince Michael, and she managed to get in a lucky blow. I really should have known better. She always comes after me during the games. She knows that I won’t strike her, so she takes advantage.”

Laera smiled again. “That isn’t why she does it.”

“Oh? Why, then?”

Laera chuckled. “You mean you don’t know?”

He frowned and shook his head. “No. What other reason could there be?”

“She is in love with you.”

“What? Ariel? Oh, that’s absurd!”

“It’s true, you know.”

“But she’s just a child!”

“A child on the verge of becoming a young woman,” Laera said. “In many ways, a girl of twelve is more mature than a boy of the same age. She is certainly old enough to feel romantic inclinations. And among the peasantry, it is not at all uncommon for girls to marry at her age and start having children soon afterward.”

“Well, among the common folk, marrying young is often a necessity,” said Aedan. “They are poor and need more children to help them work the fields. Besides, they age quickly from their toil. It is hardly the same sort of thing. I am much too old for Ariel.”

“I was only a year older than Ariel is now when I was promised to Lord Arwyn, and he is more than twice my age,” said Laera.

“That is hardly the same thing,” Aedan replied. “You are of the royal house, and your betrothal was arranged to cement a political alliance. Besides, you did not marry at thirteen. You were merely promised. You shall be a grown woman when you take your wedding vows.”

“I am already a grown woman, as you have surely noticed,” she replied with a mocking little smile.

Aedan flushed with embarrassment and silently cursed himself. She had caught him staring, after all.

“It will not be long before Ariel grows into a woman, too,” Laera continued. “And there is much less of an age difference between the two of you than there is between Lord Arwyn and myself. In only a few years, she will not seem too young for you.” She sighed and looked off into the distance. “Whereas Lord Arwyn….” She sighed again. “I think I understand now how my mother must have felt when she was promised to my father.”

“I was told that women find Lord Arwyn handsome,” Aedan said.

Laera shrugged. “Perhaps, if they like that brutish sort. But he seems very coarse to me. He’s like a great big bear, with those large eyebrows and that great, thick, bushy beard. I’ll bet he’s hairy all over.” She grimaced with distaste. “The thought of him lying on top of me makes me shudder.”

Aedan was dumbstruck at her remarks. He would never have imagined that a woman could talk that way, especially a princess of the royal house. He could not think how to respond.

“Do I shock you?” she asked, seeing his dismayed expression.

“I…uh … well … I have never heard women speak of such things before,” he said, feeling flustered.

She cocked her head, curiously. “You think we are so very different? You think that only men think about such things? Would you wish to lie with a woman whom you found repulsive?”

“We, uh … we really should not be speaking of such matters,” he said awkwardly.

“Why not?”

“It is … well, it… it is simply not proper!” he said with exasperation.

“Oh, I see,” she said. “And you, Aedan, are so very proper in all things. I suppose that is why you have been stealing glances at my bosom every time you look at me before you so quickly and properly avert your gaze.”

Aedan gasped and blushed deep crimson. “I never did any such thing!”

“Liar,” she said, meeting his gaze.

“I really should be going,” he said, and turned to leave, but she grasped him firmly by the arm.

“I did not dismiss you.”

He moistened his lips, took a deep breath, and turned back to face her. “Forgive me, Your Highness. Have I your leave to go?”

“No, you do not,” she said. She cocked her head and raised her eyebrows. “So, you wanted to look? Well, then … look.”

She stood back from him and spread her arms out slightly from her sides. The lightning flashed overhead and, an instant later, was followed by a sharp crack of thunder. The wind picked up, blowing in off the sea, and it blew her nightgown back, pressing it close against her skin and outlining her figure clearly. As she turned slowly for his benefit, the lightning flashed again, the thunder boomed, and it began to rain, pelting down hard and fast. In a moment, they were both drenched, and as Laera’s nightgown became soaked, it clung wetly to her skin, revealing everything. She might as well have been standing before him naked.

His breathing quickened. She stood there, facing him now, her long, dark hair plastered against her forehead and the sides of her face, and he could see the goose bumps on her flesh and the way her nipples stood out. He was unable to look away. She was breathing heavily, and her lips were parted slightly, glistening as the rain ran down her face, like tear tracks. She licked at the moisture, holding him immobile with her intense gaze.

“I shall be forced to marry a man I do not love,” she said as she approached him. “A man I do not want. That is my duty as a princess of the royal house. But is it so very wrong of me to have … just once … a man I can desire?”

She stood very close, looking up at him as the rain poured down upon them, and Aedan trembled, though it was not from the chill. She placed her hands against his chest. “I saw you coming up here,” she said, her voice low and husky. “I followed you. I knew that there might never be another chance….”

Her face came closer.

“I know you want me,” she said, trailing her fingers down his cheek.

He knew that this was wrong. He knew that he should push her away, gently but firmly, and flee back down the tower stairs, back to his room, where he could bolt the door and catch his breath and try to convince himself this never happened. But instead, as her lips moved to his, so close he could feel her hot breath against his face, he put his arms around her and pulled her close, crushing his lips to hers.

Her tongue slipped between his lips and found his and his head swam with the overwhelming, new, and utterly intoxicating sensation. She rubbed up against him as her fingers trailed down his cheeks and his hands seemed to move down of their own volition, pressing her still closer as they kissed, hungrily, sinking to their knees into the water pooling on the parapet. She helped him pull her soaked nightgown over her head, and as he removed his shirt, she fumbled with the wet laces on his breeches, loosening them just enough to pull them down and, without waiting for him to remove them, she pulled him down on top of her. They made love in the pouring rain as the wind whistled through the battlements, and thunder rolled and lightning split the sky.

3

Aedan’s concerns about the emperor’s health soon paled in the face of new anxieties. He was racked with guilt over his affair with Princess Laera and filled with dread of being discovered, for contrary to what she had said that night, it was not enough for her to have, “just once,” a man she could desire. She had to have him again. And then again, and again, and again.

Aedan felt helpless in the grip of conflicting new emotions. He knew it was madness to continue the affair, but at the same time, he just could not resist her. And he understood only too well that he was the one who had the most to lose. Laera was a princess of the royal house, and he doubted she would suffer very greatly if knowledge of their secret trysts came to light. The marriage with Lord Arwyn would surely be called off, but that would be just what she wanted. He, on the other hand, would take the full brunt of Lord Arwyn’s wrath, and under the circumstances, his father would be powerless to help him.

He could be thrown into the dungeons, or else challenged by Lord Arwyn, and he did not think much of his chances in such an event. The Archduke of Boeruine was one of the most powerful knights in the empire, whereas, Aedan reminded himself painfully, he hadn’t even been able to stop little Ariel’s assault. True, he had not really been fighting or paying very close attention for that matter, but he knew his skills as a swordsman were nothing compared to Arwyn’s. He had been training for only a few years, while Arwyn had won countless tournaments in addition to proving himself many times in actual combat. But for that very reason, Arwyn might decide he was not worth challenging. He could simply have him tried and executed. It would certainly be his right. What if, in a careless moment, Laera allowed something to slip? What if they were caught together? Or what if, anxious to escape the marriage, she were to reveal their affair on purpose?

Every possible scenario for disaster went through Aedan’s fevered mind, but when Laera’s eyes met his during dinner in the great hall, and she gazed at him with that conspiratorial, knowing look, his knees went weak, his heart pounded, and he wanted her all over again, despite the guilt and fear. Sexual awakening had come to Aedan with a vengeance, and one smoldering glance from Laera was enough to bring him to immediate, acute, and uncomfortable attention.

They met several more times on the tower parapet where they had begun their affair, and then Laera accosted him in a castle corridor one evening and pulled him into a niche behind a tapestry, where they made love while, several times, people passed by in the corridor. The fear of being caught had added a dangerous excitement to their lovemaking, but afterward, Aedan never wanted to go through anything that nerve-racking again. Laera, on the other hand, had enjoyed it so much that she became emboldened to take still greater chances.

The next time, she found him in the stables, putting up the horses after he and Michael had gone riding, and they coupled in an empty stall, with the grooms brushing down the horses only yards away. It had been necessary for Aedan to cover Laera’s mouth so that he could keep her cries of pleasure muffled, lest anyone should hear. She didn’t seem to care. The risks they took only seemed to excite her all the more. And she would not be put off. She seemed to delight in the control that she exerted over him, and kept finding new ways to tempt fate.

She would tell him to meet her in the castle courtyard after dark, and they would make love in the shadows while the guards stood posted at the gate, less than a stone’s throw away. When a tournament was held in the fields below the castle, she took him underneath the stands, and they made love beneath the royal box, where the empress sat with all of Laera’s sisters and with Prince Michael and Lord Tieran at her side.

It was as if Laera wanted to be caught, thought Aedan, and the worst part of it was that he seemed to have lost all sense of reason and self-control. It was as if she had some sort of strange power over him. Each time he resolved to end it, to insist that it was wrong and could not possibly go on, she would look at him or touch him or press her lips to his and his will would simply evaporate in the rush of hot blood through his veins.

And then she started coming to his room at night.

He was preparing for bed one night when Laera came in, dressed in nothing but her robe, which she opened as she entered. He stared with disbelief. She slipped the robe off her shoulders and let it fall to the floor, and stood naked before him, like a beautiful sculpture unveiled, her creamy skin illuminated softly in the candlelight. His breath caught as he stared at her, drinking in her beauty. She had a way of looking at him that was at the same time seductive and possessive. And, as usual, he was unable to resist her.

After that first time, she came to his room almost every night, sometimes staying nearly until dawn. Her appetite was insatiable, and Aedan felt worn out. On a number of occasions, he had tried bolting his door when he retired for the night, but no sooner had he thrown the bolt than a stab of anxiety went through him and he thought, what would happen if she found herself locked out? What would she do? He was afraid to find out. And at the same time, he wanted her to come. And so his door remained unbolted.

He cursed himself for being weak, and for being afraid of refusing her, but on the nights she didn’t come, he found himself waiting for her with tense anticipation, feeling frustrated and disappointed when she failed to arrive. She neither told him that she would not be coming, nor did she offer any explanations or excuses. It was maddening, but there seemed to be nothing he could do about it. She enjoyed keeping him off balance. It was as if he were her plaything, to be used or disregarded subject to her whims.

Aedan was certain disaster was at hand when one of the house guards winked at him as they passed in the corridor one day. With horror, Aedan thought, he knows! And of course he knew, for the guards stationed in the corridors could not have failed to notice when Laera left her room each night, dressed only in her robe, not to return until at least several hours later. The guards were supposed to remain at their posts, but in the middle of the night, with everyone else asleep, it would have been a simple matter for one of them to follow her discreetly and find out where she went. By now, thought Aedan, with a sinking feeling, the entire house guard must know!

Fortunately, because they were the Royal House Guard and not the men-at-arms of the Archduke of Boeruine, their first loyalty was to the royal house, which meant the princess, and by extension Aedan as well. They found it quite amusing that the royal chamberlain’s son was not only having it off with a princess, but doing it right under the nose of her future husband, the proud and imperious archduke. It was just the sort of thing to strike a chord of manly empathy in any self-respecting guardsman’s heart.

However, Aedan reasoned that if the house guard was aware of what was going on, it would only be a matter of time—and not much time at that—before all the servants knew, as well. He knew he simply had to break it off somehow before disaster struck, but he did not know how, or even if he could. Laera had initiated their relationship, and now Laera controlled it. Aedan was afraid that if he tried to end it first, she would take it as a rejection, and that might give her all the excuse she needed to reveal their affair.

She was haughty, wilful, stubborn, and domineering, and the few times he had tried to tell her that what they were doing was wrong and dangerous, she had simply refused to listen. And even if, somehow, he could break it off, it really made no difference in the end, because the damage had already been done. Laera would not go to her wedding bed a virgin, and Lord Arwyn would thereby have the right to dissolve their marriage on the spot. It would disgrace the royal house and, after that, no self-respecting nobleman would want Laera for a wife, regardless of the political advantages.

It was an intolerable, nerve-racking situation, and Aedan did not see how he could possibly get out of it. It was all that he could do just to get through each successive day. With the exuberant energy of youth, Michael kept him on the go all day, and then at night, Laera wore him out with an altogether different sort of exuberance. And what with the attacks of guilt and self-recrimination that he suffered every night after she left his room—though she drove all such thoughts out of his mind while she was there—he wasn’t getting enough sleep. The anxiety was beginning to take its toll.

Worst of all was the thought of what this would do to his father. In all his life, Aedan had never disobeyed him, and what he was doing now was much worse than disobedience. He would bring dishonor and disgrace down on his family, and the thought of it made him sick at heart. It might have been easier if he could have told himself he loved her, but he did not, and he was certain Laera did not truly care for him. No tender words of love had ever passed between them. It was physical desire, pure and simple, nothing more than wanton lust, and that made it absolutely indefensible.

The trouble was, when she came creeping to his room at night and slipped her robe off her shoulders, and he would see her naked body gleaming in the candlelight, all reason simply left him. He could not control himself at all and, afterward, he would lie alone in bed, so overwhelmed with guilt that his chest would ache as if a huge weight were upon it. He had been raised to cultivate self-discipline and patience, yet he had become a slave to his own baser instincts. He could see no way around it. He was doomed.

After several weeks had passed since their first tryst on the tower, Aedan was a nervous wreck. He would flinch if someone merely called his name, expecting that at any time his treachery would be revealed. For it was treachery: he was conducting an illicit affair with a princess of the royal house in her future husband’s home. It preyed on his mind to such an extent that he was beginning to feel as if he would welcome being caught.

One morning, as he was saddling up the horses in the stables for himself and Michael to go hawking, he felt a light touch on his shoulder and practically jumped out of his skin. He spun around as he heard a throaty giggle and saw that Laera had sneaked up behind him in the stall.

“Laera! By Haelyn, you scared me half out of my wits!”

As he tried to catch his breath and make his heart stop hammering, she began to loosen the laces on her bodice. “I see the grooms have changed the straw,” she said, with a sultry little smile. “It’s nice and fresh.”

“Are you mad?” he said. “Michael will be here any moment!”

“He slept late this morning and is still getting dressed,” she replied as she slipped out of her gown. “We have time for a quick one.”

“Laera, for pity’s sake, the grooms!”

“Are all outside, exercising the horses,” she said, pulling him into an empty stall. “We are all alone. So hurry, get your clothes off. I want you.” She reached for his breeches.

He somehow found the strength of will to back away. “Laera, please! I beg of you, listen to me! This cannot go on! It would be worth my life if we were caught!”

“Then that should make it all the more exciting!” she said, reaching for him. “Besides, it is your duty to serve the emperor and his family. So … serve.” She put her arms around him and kissed him passionately.

“Aedan?”

It was Michael! Aedan quickly pulled Laera down inside the stall. She giggled and he pressed his lips to hers, desperately trying to silence her.

“Aedan, where are you?”

Laera loosened the drawstring of his breeches and started to pull them down. Her eyes were alight with excitement. Michael was but a few feet away, just outside the stall. The only thing separating them was a five-foot-high wood partition. Aedan stared at her with alarm, soundlessly mouthing, “Stop!” He tried to pull his breeches back up, but she grinned and fought him, pulling them back down. He was certain Michael would hear the rustling sounds they were making in the straw.

“Aedan, are you there?” Michael called out. “I see you have the horses saddled. Well, I am ready to go!”

So was Laera. She was squirming underneath him, wrapping her legs around him to prevent his escape. “Laera, please, I beg of you!” he whispered frantically into her ear.

“Make love to me,” she whispered back, a wild look in her eyes. “Make love to me right now or else I’ll scream!”

“No!” he whispered harshly. “Laera, this is insane—”

She took a deep breath and opened her mouth to scream. He hastily covered her mouth with his own and she chuckled deep down in her throat.

“Aedan! Aedan, I’m going! I’m not waiting any longer!” Michael called out.

Neither was Laera. She was breathing heavily, moaning as she moved beneath him. Aedan did not see how Michael could possibly fail to hear. Panic-stricken, he covered her mouth with his hand, looking over his shoulder and expecting Michael to open the stall door at any second. In his anxiety, he failed to notice that he had covered not only Laera’s mouth, but her nose, as well.

Unable to breathe, she struggled to remove his hand, but he held her down with determination, pinning one arm with his free hand and the other with his knee as he watched to see where Michael was. Laera bucked and thrashed beneath him, but Aedan cursed her silently as he looked over his shoulder and gritted his teeth, watching the stall partition.

He heard footsteps, then the clip-clopping of hooves as Michael took his horse out of its stall. Pressing down on Laera in an attempt to keep her still, he continued to watch the stall door, holding his breath and listening. He heard Michael’s horse snort and wicker just outside the stable doors. Then came the soft creak of the stirrups as the boy mounted up and hoofbeats as he trotted off.

Aedan closed his eyes and let out a long sigh of relief. However, he wasn’t safe yet. The grooms could return at any moment. He had to get Laera dressed and out of here. “Laera—”

She had stopped her struggles and lay still beneath him, her eyes closed.

“Laera?”

With a shock, he suddenly noticed that he had been covering both her mouth and nose. He jerked his hand away.

“Laera!”

She gasped for air, reflexively, and Aedan almost sobbed with relief. For a dreadful moment, he had thought he might have killed her. Her eyes fluttered open, and she coughed, gasping for air.

“Laera! Laera, forgive me! I didn’t realize—”

His head jerked as she slapped him hard across the face. “You bastard! I couldn’t breathe!”

“Laera, I’m sorry, I—”

“You might have killed me, you miserable wretch!” she said, shoving him away and getting to her feet unsteadily. He tried to help her, but she pushed him back again and he fell onto the straw. She stood over him, naked, her eyes blazing with fury “How dare you! I ought to have you whipped!”

“Laera, lower your voice, for mercy’s sake!” he said, pulling up his breeches and brushing off the straw. “The grooms—”

“The grooms! The grooms! It would serve you right to have the grooms come in here and find us like this! What do you suppose they’d think?”

He got to his feet. “And just what would you have them think?” he asked with an edge to his voice. Even as he spoke, he realized that suddenly everything had changed.

“I could tell them that you’d lured me to the stables and then choked me so you could remove my clothes and have your way with me!” she said spitefully. “And then what would you do? What do you think Lord Arwyn would do when he found out?”

“He might find out considerably more than you intended,” Aedan countered angrily.

“Oh, and do you really think that he would take your word over mine?” she asked contemptuously.

“No, I rather doubt he would,” said Aedan. “But he might take the word of the house guards, who saw you leave your room each night for the past few weeks and come to mine.”

“They never saw where I was going!” she said, but a look of uncertainty came into her eyes. For the first time, she seemed to realize she was no longer completely in control.

“Didn’t they?” Aedan said. He shrugged. “Well, perhaps not. Perhaps one of them didn’t follow you to see where you went each night. Perhaps he never saw you go into my room. Perhaps there is some other reason why they all wink at me and smile each time I pass them in the corridors.”

“Even so,” she said, “they are the Royal House Guard, and their first loyalty will be to me, the princess, and not the lowly chamberlain’s son!” She tried to say this with conviction, but a note of doubt crept through.

“The lowly chamberlain,” said Aedan, echoing her words with heavy sarcasm, “is the man who has always seen to it that they were paid on time and well, and who has made certain their families were properly provided for, and given comfortable quarters and the care of court physicians whenever they were ill. It is just possible that they might also feel some loyalty toward him, and not wish to see his son falsely branded as a rapist when the truth is that the princess is a wanton slut.”

She stared at him with shock, then struck him across the face with all her might. He saw it coming, but he took the blow, not even trying to avoid it. “You insolent pig!” she said, spitting out the words. “You’ll pay for that! And to think I gave myself to you!”

“Indeed,” said Aedan, wryly. “It was a gift I never asked for and was a fool to have accepted in the first place, considering its questionable worth.”

With a cry of rage, she launched herself at him, arms raised, fingers hooked like talons, ready to claw his eyes out. He caught her by the wrists and pivoted, using her own momentum to throw her down. She fell, sprawling, into the straw.

“Enough!” he said. “By all the gods, enough! Whether in anger or in lust, you have laid hands on me for the last time! Now get up and put your clothes back on! You are still a princess of the royal house, so try to act like one! And henceforth, I shall try to act as befits my proper place and station, which I had forgotten, like a fool. As for the rest of it—your threats, your wounded pride—do what you wish. Whatever it may cost me, I am past caring one way or the other.”

Aedan turned and left the stall, leaving her lying there with an incredulous look on her face. He crossed the aisle and took his horse out of its stall. Michael already had a good head start, and he had to catch up to him. It was not safe for the prince to be out riding alone, and it was past time he started thinking once again about his duties and responsibilities—for however long they would remain his duties and responsibilities. Perhaps only until this afternoon. It would not surprise him if he were seized by Arwyn’s men-at-arms the moment he returned. He didn’t care. He felt, at least for the moment, marvelously free.

Laera’s words had been like a bucketful of cold water dashed into his face. Whatever spell he had been under was finally broken, and he saw her for the selfish, spiteful, spoiled girl she really was … and himself for an utter fool. One way or another, however things turned out, at least it was finally over and he could try to regain, if at all possible, some vague semblance of his self-respect.

He truly didn’t care about what would happen to him now, except for how it would affect his parents. His disgrace would become theirs, as well, and for their sake, he hoped Laera had enough wits about her to leave well enough alone. Perhaps he had convinced her she would not come away unscathed if she made any accusations against him, that if she chose to reveal their affair or claim he had forced himself upon her, it would be her disgrace, as well. Perhaps it would not be very chivalrous of him to reveal a lady’s indiscretions, even in self-defense, but neither was it very ladylike for a woman to salvage her own questionable virtue by accusing her chosen lover of rape. Either way, he knew Laera would not forget or forgive. He had made an enemy for life. And it was his own fault for becoming involved with her in the first place.

However things turned out, Aedan was past feeling guilty. Now, he felt only anger, not so much at Laera as at himself. Once again, he had received a painful lesson in the foibles of human nature—in this case, his own. Belatedly, he understood the true meaning of self-discipline. Laera had excited him, and he had wanted her. He would not take refuge in choosing to think she had seduced him, for even though she had initiated their affair, he had been a more than willing participant right from the start. He had known full well what he was doing, as he had known the consequences, and yet he did it anyway. He could blame no one but himself, and whatever punishment would come his way now, he would certainly deserve it. If only, somehow, his parents could be spared the disgrace of their son’s folly.

Torn between anger at himself and agonized concern over his family, Aedan rode quickly down the trail leading from the castle, reining in at a bend on a promontory that gave a commanding view of the town of Seasedge and the spreading fields of the coastal plain. As his gaze swept across the wide expanse of gently rolling, grassy fields, he searched for a lone rider. Finally, he spotted him, galloping across a meadow to the east, not far from the edge of the forest. He had flown his hawk, and the bird had already stooped to make a kill.

Aedan urged his horse into a canter down the serpentine trail, and when he reached the more gradual incline of the lower slope, he kicked his horse into a gallop. Michael would be angry with him, and to make things worse, he had not brought his hawk. He tried to think of what he would tell the prince, what excuse he could make for his tardiness. He felt a brief pang of guilt at the thought of lying to him, but if Laera talked, Michael would learn the truth soon enough. If not, it was just as well. He was too young to understand about such things, and there was nothing to be served in causing him undue distress. Aedan had neglected his duties long enough in thinking only of himself. Now he would have to think about the prince, which he knew he should have been doing all along.

He lost sight of Michael when he reached the plain, and he used the ends of his reins to whip up his mount as he galloped in the direction he’d last seen him. He should have brought a guard escort with him, as he usually did, but it was too late to worry about that now. As he topped a small rise, without slacking pace, he scanned the fields ahead of him. No sign of the prince. Perhaps his hawk had stooped upon its prey in a slight depression and Michael had dismounted out of sight. He continued riding in the same direction, heading east, toward the edge of the pine forest.

He didn’t like the idea of Michael’s being out alone, and he liked even less the idea of his being so close to the forest. The province of Boeruine was not Anuire. They were on the frontier, and there could be brigands in the forest, or bears, or some equally dangerous creature. Renegade elves were also a possibility, though Aedan didn’t think it likely they’d risk coming so close to Seaharrow. Still, Michael should have known better than to go riding off alone. And, he immediately thought, he should have known better than to be distracted from his duties.

He topped another rise and reined in briefly to look around as his restive horse pawed the ground and snorted. Still no sign of Michael. Where could the boy have gone? Surely, he would not have been foolish enough to ride into the forest? But then, Aedan reminded himself, this was the fearless Prince Michael Roele, conqueror of imaginary elves and goblins, slayer of monsters from his dreams. Michael simply didn’t know enough to be cautious. And if he had gone into the forest…. Aedan swallowed nervously. A grown man could easily get lost in there. He urged his mount into a gallop once again.

As he rode, he scanned the sky, thinking he might spot Michael’s hawk, but there was no sign of the bird, either. He glanced back toward the castle. He was pretty sure he had reached roughly the same spot where he had seen Michael from the trail leading down from Seaharrow. The boy could not have ridden very far.

“Michael!” he called out. “My lord!”

He waited. There was no response. Aedan felt a knot of tension in his stomach. Suppose the prince had fallen from his horse and was lying injured somewhere nearby, unable to respond? Aedan called out again. No answer. He searched for tracks.

After a while, he found them. They were leading toward the forest.

Aedan swore softly to himself and followed the tracks of Michael’s horse. As he approached the tree line, he heard an unmistakable screech and looked up. It was Slayer, Michael’s hawk. He had helped Michael train the bird himself. He whistled loudly, calling the bird. With an answering cry, it came flying out the trees just ahead. He held his arm out, and the hawk came down to roost. Aedan winced as the sharp talons dug into his forearm. He had neglected to put on his hawking glove. He looked around. There was still no sign of Michael.

“Where is he, girl?” he asked the bird. “Where did he go?”

The hawk looked agitated. It swiveled its fierce little head sharply back and forth, fluttering its wings. Aedan gritted his teeth at the pain in his forearm as he felt blood moisten his sleeve. He had lost the trail. He turned his horse, looking down at the ground as he tried to find the tracks again. Suddenly, something came hissing through the air, and he felt what seemed like a sharp, strong blow to his shoulder. The hawk took wing with a screeching cry as Aedan tumbled from his saddle.

He fell hard on his side and cried out with pain. He rolled onto his back, clutching at the shaft protruding from the wound. A bolt from a crossbow. Bandits! He reached for his sword, and it was only then he realized that he had left it behind in the stables in his rush to get away from Laera and catch up with the prince.

He cursed himself for an idiot and fumbled awkwardly with his left hand for the dagger in his right boot, realizing with a sinking feeling that even his sword would have been an inadequate defense against crossbows. The dagger would be nearly useless. Still, it was all he had. But even as his fingers closed around the hilt of the dagger in his boot, another crossbow bolt struck the dirt scarcely an inch away from his foot, and he froze. He heard a low, nasty sound that was halfway between a chuckle and an animal growl, and looked up to see four small figures emerge from the brush.

They were no more than about four and a half feet tall, but they were very muscular and lean, armed with short swords, long knives, spears, and crossbows. Each of them wore chain mail, greaves, and peaked, open-faced, spike-topped casques. They carried small, round war shields strapped to their backs, and two of them held spears pointed down at Aedan, while the other two aimed crossbows at him. All four had sharp, swarthy features; feral, golden yellow eyes with snakelike pupils; dark, coppery skin; flat faces and sloped foreheads. Their arms were unusually long, and their teeth were sharp and pointed, the canines shaped like fangs. Haelyn help me, Aedan thought. Goblins!

He had never seen a goblin before, but he had heard stories about them, and he knew their small stature did not make them any less dangerous. They were extremely strong and possessed preternaturally quick reactions, with excellent night vision. They were a seminomadic, warrior culture who used slave labor extensively, and it was said that they sometimes ate human flesh as a ritual to take the power of their enemies. There were goblin kingdoms spread throughout isolated regions of Cerilia, in the lands of Thurazor, Urga-Zai, Kal Kalathor, the Blood Skull Barony, Markazor, and the Five Peaks. However, Aedan had never dreamed that goblins would dare to venture this far south, so close to Seaharrow.

They were probably part of a raiding party from Thurazor or the Five Peaks. He could not imagine only four of them would have risked such a journey, penetrating so deeply through elven lands to reach Boeruine. All this flashed through his mind in an instant as he desperately tried to push his fear aside and think clearly, for he knew his survival would depend on what happened in the next few moments.

“Get up, human, if you wish to live,” one of them said, speaking Anuirean in a guttural, heavily accented voice.

Aedan slowly struggled to his knees, wincing with pain, then rose unsteadily to his feet, clutching at the crossbow bolt protruding from his shoulder. He saw another goblin try to seize his horse, but the stallion reared up and neighed, then bolted from the creature. Run, Windreiver, Aedan thought. Run swiftly back, so they will know at the castle that something has gone amiss.

One of the goblins bent and snatched the dagger from Aedan’s boot, and then a spear point in his back prodded him into the trees. As he walked, Aedan tried to ignore the pain in his shoulder. His mind raced feverishly. Had they taken Michael?

They approached the remainder of the party, waiting under the cover of the trees. There were about a dozen of them, in addition to the four who had captured Aedan. Two of them held Michael between them, gagged, with his hands tied behind his back. The rest were mounted on large, gray wolves that growled threateningly as Aedan approached. Wolfriders, he thought. That clinched it. A raiding party out of Thurazor.

He realized that if they had meant to kill Michael and him, they would undoubtedly have done so already. What then? Take them as slaves? Hold them for ransom? The latter seemed a likely possibility. He and Michael were obviously not peasants, so the goblins must have naturally assumed they were nobility from Seaharrow. If the creatures planned to hold them for ransom, at least he and Michael had a chance of getting out of this alive. So long as they didn’t know who Michael was.

“Listen,” Aedan said to his captors, “if you mean us any harm, then know that my father will pay handsomely for the safe return of my little brother and me.”

One of the goblins chuckled as he sat astride his wolf. His laughter was an ugly, rasping sound. “Brothers, is it?” he said with a sneer. “Funny, I seem to recall that the emperor had only one son.”

Aedan tried to keep his alarm from showing. They knew! But perhaps there was a chance he could still convince them otherwise. He glanced at Michael, who apparently didn’t even know enough to be afraid. Instead, he looked angry—furious, in fact—and was making noises into his gag, which fortunately were completely unintelligible.

“The emperor?” said Aedan, trying to look surprised. “What in Haelyn’s name makes you think our father is the emperor? He is but a lowly viscount who—”

“Save your breath, boy,” said the goblin leader. “The prince has already told us who he is. He has promised to have us all drawn and quartered and then boiled in oil for daring to lay hands on his royal person.” He chuckled. “No one but a prince could possess such arrogance at so young an age.”

Aedan silently cursed Michael for a fool. If only he’d known enough to keep his mouth shut! “What did you tell them that for, you little idiot?” he said to Michael angrily. “If they think you are the prince, they’ll only demand a higher ransom, more than our father could ever hope to pay!” He turned back to the goblin leader. “Don’t listen to him; he’s just a child! He must have hoped to frighten you into releasing him. He didn’t know that goblins would not fear the power of the emperor, as we do!”

The goblin leader smiled. “A good attempt, young lord,” he said. “And I might even have believed you had I not had the prince described to me in detail, nor seen the royal signet graved in gold on his left hand.” He held up the ring. “I shall keep this as a trophy. Our quest has gone far more easily than I could ever have expected. Who would have thought that our quarry would come riding straight into our waiting arms?”

The goblin leader’s words sent a chill through Aedan. They had not merely stumbled onto a raiding party. These wolfriders had come specifically for the purpose of kidnapping the prince! They knew the royal seal, and they had a description of the prince, as well. They must have been waiting in the forest for an opportunity to seize Prince Michael as he was out hawking or riding, and they had come prepared to do battle with an armed escort that, Aedan realized miserably, he should have brought along with him as he usually did. All that could only mean one thing—someone had given them that information. There was a traitor in the Imperial Court! But who?

Who stood to gain the most from some tragedy befalling Michael? Arwyn of Boeruine, of course. Aedan’s father had considered the possibility of Arywn’s ambition leading him to treachery, but he had not considered that Arwyn could be so bold and black-hearted as to ally himself with goblins. But then, if Arwyn wanted Michael dead, why go to such lengths? Why not just hire some brigands or some mercenaries to perform the task, or else entrust it to some of his own men, whose loyalty to him was beyond question? Why involve the goblins? And why, for that matter, would goblins enter into any plot with a human warlord? There had to be some reason that would benefit both parties. Aedan tried to think clearly. If he could reason out their motives, it might help him figure out what to do.

If the goblins planned to hold the prince for ransom, as seemed likely from their behavior and what the goblin leader said, Arwyn of Boeruine would be the logical choice to deliver that ransom. And since the emperor was at Seaharrow and not Anuire, he had no immediate access to the treasury, which meant Lord Arwyn would have to raise the ransom himself. And that would put the emperor—and more significantly, the empress—in his debt. But what would be in it for the goblins? Well, the ransom itself, obviously. That could be enough. The only heir to the imperial throne would bring, literally, a princely ransom.

However, if no ransom was forthcoming, Michael would probably be killed. The goblins would get all the blame, and no suspicion would ever fall on Lord Arwyn. All he had to do was fail to deliver the ransom, or claim the goblins had killed Michael anyway, in spite of the ransom being paid. And that, of course, would mean war.

That had to be the answer, Aedan thought. A war would benefit both Lord Arwyn and the goblin prince of Thurazor. If the Archduke Boeruine declared a war of retribution against Thurazor for the murder of the prince, the empire would surely unite behind him, for any noble who refused the call to arms would appear to be taking the side of the goblins. And the same thing would unite the goblin kingdoms behind Thurazor. The elves living in the Aelvinnwode would be caught squarely in the middle, and it would be impossible for them to remain neutral in the conflict. They would have to choose one side or the other. There would be no question of their siding with the goblins, their age-old enemies. Even at the height of the gheallie Sidhe, the elves had hated the goblins just as much as they had hated humans, if not more. Besides, since then, the elves of Tuarhievel had established tenuous trading ties with the outposts of the empire.

It was a foregone conclusion that, caught between two warring armies, the elves would take the empire’s side. Regardless of which side they chose, however, they would be the losers in the end, for the war would be fought upon their lands, which lay between the goblin kingdom of Thurazor and the empire’s northern frontier. It would mean the end of Tuarhievel’s independence. Because of geographical factors alone, the elves would suffer the greatest death toll, and when, at length, the war was concluded with a negotiated peace that would allow both sides to claim victory, the elven lands would be partitioned between the empire and the goblin kingdom, and any elves who had survived would either be forced to flee or else live in subjugation under the goblins or the humans.

It all fit together and made perfect sense, but reasoning it out gave Aedan little satisfaction at this point, for it meant Michael almost surely had to die. And if Michael’s death was a foregone conclusion, so was his. Well, Father, he thought, it seems I’ve learned how to consider possibilities, for all the good it’s done me. And I thought my worst worry would be Laera.

Several of the goblins dragged over a crude litter they had lashed together from pine boughs and branches. They harnessed it to two of the larger wolves, so that one end dragged upon the ground, and tied Michael to it. The goblin leader then rode over to Aedan.

“I perceive you are a noble’s son,” he said. “Therefore, you should be worth something, as you attend the prince. Well, you may continue to attend him, provided you do not slow us down. You are too big for the wolves to draw upon a litter, so you shall have to run. Keep up, and you shall live. But if you cannot keep pace …” The goblin made a slashing motion across his throat.

Aedan gulped. “I shall do my best,” he said.

“We shall soon see if your best is good enough,” the goblin said with a sneer.

Aedan’s arms were tied behind him securely, and a rope was looped around his neck, the end held by a wolfrider who grinned at him maliciously, showing his pointed teeth.

“Let us go,” the goblin leader said. “Before long, these two shall be missed and a search party will be sent out. I intend to be deep in the Aelvinnwode by then.”

The wolfriders moved off, with Michael drawn on the litter, bound and gagged securely. Aedan had to run to keep up and keep slack in the rope around his neck, which he soon realized had been tied with a slip knot. If he allowed any tension, it would choke him. Unlike Michael, he had not been gagged. The goblins were not concerned about his calling out, since it was not likely anyone would hear. Besides, one jerk on the rope would cut off any cry he made, and they had Michael as a hostage for his silence. It occurred to him that Michael might have been spared his gag, as well, had he possessed the sense not to lose his temper with his captors and annoy them.

Aedan was amazed at Michael’s lack of fear, but then, the prince had never had any real reason to be afraid before. Perhaps his young mind simply did not grasp the danger, or the fact of his own mortality. In any case, Aedan soon forgot all about Michael as his attention became occupied with trying to keep up with the wolfrider who held his rope. The wolves were trotting through the thick forest at a good pace, but fortunately, they were not running all out, otherwise Aedan would never have been able to keep up with them. Clearly, the wolves drawing Michael’s litter could manage no more than a trot, for which Aedan was profoundly grateful. As it was, it wasn’t long before his lungs were burning and his legs aching and he was gasping for breath.

Several times, he faltered as he tripped over a rock or an exposed root, and the rope tightened around his neck. To his relief, he discovered that the slip knot was tied in such a manner that it would loosen once again after he got some slack back in the rope, but it still took some time before the tension eased and there were periods when he found himself struggling to draw breath while having to run harder to catch up and gain more slack. His entire world became simply putting one foot in front of the other and avoiding any obstacles that could trip him up and bring about disaster. It was sheer torture.

After a while, they stopped to rest, just when Aedan felt he couldn’t run another step. He had lost all track of time as he had tried desperately to keep pace. As they stopped, he fell gratefully to the ground, sobbing for breath. His clothes were drenched with sweat and his legs felt as if they were on fire. They still had a long way to go to reach Thurazor, which Aedan assumed must be their destination. He tried to recall his geography lessons. He seemed to remember that Thurazor was at least three or four days’ travel from Boeruine, through the Five Peaks region covered by the Aelvinnwode. He did not see how he could possibly last that long. He already felt completely worn out.

Still, he could not afford to think about his own exhaustion. His first duty was to the prince. Gasping for breath, he dragged himself to his knees and looked up at the wolfrider who held his rope.

“May I please see to the prince?” he asked hoarsely.

The goblin grunted and released the rope, jerking his head toward the litter. Aedan knew there was little reason for them to fear he would run away. With his hands tied behind his back, and exhausted as he was, he would not have gotten ten steps before the wolves brought him down. He struggled to his feet and made his way over to the litter, while the goblins sat cross-legged on the ground, munching on some sort of dried jerky they had taken from their bags. Aedan didn’t want to speculate on what sort of meat it was. He crouched beside the litter, then glanced at the goblin leader. He could not loosen Michael’s gag, since his own hands were tied. He knelt beside the litter.

“I am deeply sorry about this, my lord,” he said. “If I had met you at the stables, as I should have, none of this would have happened.”

Michael simply shook his head. It was evident that the seriousness of their situation had finally sunk in, but as his eyes met Aedan’s, there was no reproach in them.

“We are in very desperate straits, indeed,” said Aedan, keeping his voice low. “We must try our best to keep our wits about us.”

Michael nodded that he understood.

Aedan hesitated. Should he share his suspicions with the prince? He had no proof that Lord Arwyn had a hand in their abduction, and he could hardly make such a serious accusation without evidence, although he wasn’t sure how much it really mattered now. Still, he felt he owed it to Michael to be honest with him about how precarious their plight truly was. He took a deep breath and then continued.

“I doubt there is much hope for rescue,” he said. “At least we are still alive. It would seem they intend to demand ransom for us. There is, however, another possibility. They might intend to sell us into slavery. A goblin lord who held the Prince of Anuire as his personal slave would gain immeasurable status, and as such, you would bring a considerable price. Aside from that, Thurazor and all the other goblin realms would greatly benefit from instability within the empire.”

Aedan paused and swallowed nervously, then plunged on. “And if the heir to the throne were killed … it would almost certainly lead to war, which could be of benefit to certain factions within both the empire and the goblin realms. The succession would be placed in doubt, and any number of powerful nobles in the empire would intrigue to gain the throne. In such a climate, armed conflict would be inevitable, and the goblins would be able to increase their territories and gain strength while the empire was tom by civil war.”

Michael’s gaze was somber. He shook his head slightly, his eyes asking the question.

“What are we to do?” said Aedan, guessing what he meant.

Michael nodded.

Aedan sighed wearily. “For the moment, there seems to be nothing we can do. We shall have to bide our time and wait for an opportunity to escape, if we can. I shall be honest with you … our chances are very slim. Still, we must try. In the meantime, we must not antagonize our captors, as you did before. We must act frightened and submissive, and hope for the best. There is no shame in showing fear in a situation like this, and it could work for us. Let them think they have broken our spirits. Then they may get careless, and we may get lucky.”

Michael nodded once again.

“You, there!” the goblin leader called out. “What are you whispering about?”

“I was merely trying to reassure His Highness,” said Aedan. “He is frightened and having trouble breathing. Can you not remove the gag, at least? I promise he will not trouble you.”

The goblin leader jerked his head at one of the wolfriders. “Remove the boy’s gag,” he said. “But if he does not keep his mouth shut, it goes right back on again.”

“Could we please have some water, too?” Aedan pleaded.

“Give them water,” the goblin leader said curtly.

“Thank you. You are most gracious,” Aedan said, bowing his head slightly.

The goblin leader chuckled. “Gracious, am I? Well, no one has ever said that to me before. You hear that?” he said to the others. “I am most gracious. How do you like that?”

They all laughed maliciously.

One of the goblins removed Michael’s gag and cut Aedan’s bonds, but left the rope around his neck. He handed him a waterskin and said, “I will leave your arms untied, but mind that if you try to run, we shall set the wolves on you. We have the prince. We do not need you.”

“You think I would leave my prince?” said Aedan.

“You might to save your own skin,” the goblin said.

“If you believe that,” said Aedan, “you know nothing of honor and duty.”

“I know you’ve a rope around your neck,” the goblin said, sneering, “and you would dangle nicely from a tree, so mind your mouth, boy!”

Right, thought Aedan. Don’t antagonize them. He would do well to take his own advice. He offered the waterskin to Michael, but the prince shook his head. “No, you drink first, Aedan. You have been running, and you must be exhausted.”

Aedan was in no mood to argue. “Thank you, my lord,” he said, and drank greedily. He then held the skin to Michael’s lips so he could drink, as well.

“I do not blame you for this, Aedan,” Michael said when he was finished drinking. “It is all my fault. I should have waited for you instead of riding off alone.”

“And I should have been doing my duty, instead of…. Well, I suppose it really doesn’t matter now. We shall get through this somehow, I promise you.”

“I am not afraid,” said Michael.

“I am,” Aedan confessed.

“Haelyn will not let us die,” said Michael with conviction.

Aedan sighed. “I wish I shared your faith, my lord.”

“Right now, I am lord of nothing,” Michael said, “so you may as well call me by my name. After all, it is not as if we are at court.”

Aedan had to smile. “Very well, Michael.” He patted his shoulder. “With any luck, we may live to see court once again.”

“Aedan, listen … if you have a chance to escape without me, you must do so.”

“Absolutely not,” said Aedan.

“I insist. I order it.”

Aedan smiled. “As you said, we are not at court now. When we return, you can have me punished for my disobedience. But I shall not leave you.”

“I will have you lashed for your impertinence.”

“As you wish.”

“I will make you marry Lady Ariel.”

Aedan grinned. “That’s a bit harsh, don’t you think?”

“Would you rather marry my sister?”

Aedan stared at him, completely taken aback.

“I heard you, you know,” said Michael. “In the stall. Why do you think I left? I knew what you were doing.”

Aedan was stunned. “But … what would you know of such things?”

“I’m not stupid, you know.”

“I … I don’t know what to say,” said Aedan, blushing with embarrassment and shame.

“You could certainly do much better,” Michael said. “Laera may be my sister, but she is selfish and mean-tempered. She cares nothing for you. She cares nothing for anyone except herself. She will only bring you trouble.”

Aedan snorted. “You mean, this isn’t trouble enough?”

“You may have a point, there.”

Aedan shook his head ruefully. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, it’s over. I finally came to my senses, though a bit too late, I fear. I am truly sorry, Michael. And deeply ashamed. I’ve let you down.”

“You certainly have,” said Michael. “I see I shall have to choose your wife for you. You seem to have no judgment in such matters.”

Aedan could not help smiling. “And you, of course, are vastly experienced.”

“I did not say I would choose her now,” said Michael. “Besides, experience and judgment are not the same thing.”

“No, they’re not,” Aedan admitted. “But it usually takes the one to acquire the other. And sometimes, as I have recently discovered, the lessons can be rather painful.”

“Enough!” the goblin leader said, approaching them. “Time to move on.”

Aedan groaned as the wolfriders mounted up again. The banter had momentarily lifted their spirits, but now grim reality sank in once more. Fortunately, they proceeded at a slower pace this time. They were obviously less concerned about pursuit. They were deep in the Aelvinnwode now, and fast pursuit would be impossible. If a rescue party from Seaharrow had been sent out, it would have been difficult for them to pick up their trail, and even if they had, they would have been unable to proceed quickly through the thick forest of the Aelvinnwode.

Aedan held out little hope for rescue now. If they were going to get out of this somehow, they would have to do it on their own. And he held out little hope for that, as well.

He had long since lost all sense of direction, and the thick canopy of branches overhead meant he could not orient himself by the stars. Even if they could manage to escape somehow, he could not see how they could hope to elude the wolves. As he followed along, led on his leash by the wolfrider, his spirits sank lower and lower. He could not share Michael’s optimism, yet he marveled at the boy’s attitude in the face of their dire predicament. Perhaps it was just his youth. Maybe he really didn’t know enough to be afraid. Or perhaps he had underestimated Michael all along. In many ways, he was a stubborn, willful, spoiled child, but at times such as now, he seemed older than his years. Most boys his age would have been reduced to abject terror by their situation, but Michael did not panic. Even at twelve, he was keeping his wits about him, which was certainly more than Aedan could say for himself.

They did not stop again until well after dark. The goblins did not pitch camp or light a fire. They were in elven territory, and clearly did not wish to draw attention to themselves. Besides, they could see in the dark, and had their wolves for protection from predators. They simply stopped, unharnessed Michael’s litter, and leaned it up against a tree to rest the wolves pulling it, then sat down and ate some jerky from their packs. Afterward, they gave some to their captives. Aedan had no idea what it was, but the meat was quite tough and very salty. Knowing what unsavory creatures goblins were, it was probably some sort of rodent. Still, he was so hungry he would have eaten saddle leather. After they ate, the goblins settled down to sleep, either curled up on the ground or leaning back against the trunks of trees, their weapons close at hand. Aedan noted that two of them remained awake to stand watch.

After he ate and fed Michael some jerky and some water, they had tied him up again, both his hands and feet, so that he could do little more than squirm along the ground like a caterpillar. Still, at least he had been given a brief amount of freedom. Michael had remained tied to the litter ever since their capture, and when Aedan asked repeatedly if they couldn’t untie him for at least a little while, if only while they ate, one of the goblins cuffed him and told him to keep his mouth shut. It infuriated him; there was no reason for it other than pure meanness. They were punishing him for his earlier outburst. But Michael did not complain. At least they had removed his gag and left it off because he had stayed silent.

Feeling utterly exhausted from the long journey, Aedan curled up beside the litter to which Michael had been tied, and as he shivered with the cold, he became overwhelmed with despair. He saw absolutely no chance for escape. What bothered him most was his uncertainty about their fate. At worst, they would be killed in the end, and at best, they would wind up slaves, thralls to some goblin lord in Thurazor for the remainder of their lives. Better to die than live like that, he thought.

He felt sure he was right about Lord Arwyn. Someone had certainly betrayed them, and he could not imagine who else it might be, who else could benefit from Michael’s death or disappearance. But if the plan called for him and Michael to be killed, why had the goblins bothered keeping them alive this long? Perhaps because some sort of proof that they were alive would be required when the demand for ransom was delivered. Or perhaps because they really did intend to sell them into slavery. It was even possible the goblins had some other plans for them that he could not foresee. His imagination started to come up with all sorts of lurid possibilities, which only increased his anxiety and made sleep difficult, despite his exhaustion. There was no sound from Michael, and Aedan assumed he was asleep until he heard his name whispered softly.

“Aedan? Are you awake?”

“Yes,” he whispered back. “I’m dead tired, but I can’t seem to get to sleep.”

“I think I’ve almost got my hands free.”

Aedan craned his neck to look up at him in surprise. “What? How?”

“When they tied me up, I tensed my muscles,” Michael whispered. “It was a trick I learned during our games. It gave me just a little bit of slack in the ropes when I relaxed, and I’ve been working at them ever since. Now I think I’ve almost got my right hand free.”

Aedan was astonished. Michael hadn’t been untied ever since their capture, which meant he had enough presence of mind right from the beginning to think about escape and he’d been working on the ropes all day long while they had traveled.

“I got a little worried when you asked them to untie me,” Michael continued, whispering softly. “They would have seen I’d been working on the ropes and would have only tied me up tighter.” Aedan heard Michael grunt softly. “There! Hold on…

A few moments later, Michael had untied the ropes holding his feet and crouched beside him.

“Lie still,” whispered Michael, as he worked at the knots on Aedan’s bonds.

A short while later, Aedan’s hands were free. He sat up and glanced around quickly to see if the goblins standing watch could see. He felt Michael’s hands working at the ropes around his ankles.

“I’ll get these,” the prince whispered. “You keep watch.”

Aedan marveled at the boy’s composure, but then he realized they were still a long way from being truly free. The goblins standing watch were actually sitting underneath a tree about fifteen or twenty yards away, playing some sort of game with dice. He could barely make them out, but he could see the motions they made as they tossed the dice and he could hear their voices. They were absorbed in their game and not watching them at all. But the guards were not their greatest worry.

As Michael got his feet untied, Aedan whispered, “What about the wolves?”

“I think they’re sleeping,” Michael whispered back, jerking his head toward where the beasts had all curled up together a short distance away. “They’ve come a long way, bearing riders, and they were fed just before the goblins went to sleep. If we’re very quiet, we might have a chance to slip away.”

“But the moment they realize we’ve escaped, they’ll wake the beasts and set them on us,” Aedan replied. “We’ll never be able to outrun them!”

Michael’s face was close to his. “We have to try,” he whispered. “If we can reach that stream we crossed a while back, we can follow it and they will not be able to pick up our scent.”

“That’s good thinking. But it’s several miles, at least,” Aedan replied. “We’ll never make it!”

“Aedan … do you want to escape or don’t you?”

He bit his lower lip and nodded.

“All right, then. Come on.”

Slowly, they started to crawl away from the camp, taking great care not to make the slightest noise. It was agonizing progress and, at any moment, Aedan expected to hear shouts of alarm behind them and the growling of pursuing wolves. His heart raced and his stomach felt tight as he crawled behind the prince, trying to breathe steadily and evenly. He had never felt so afraid in his entire life. The thought of being brought down by wolves and torn to pieces was foremost in his mind as he carefully placed his hands and knees down, dreading to make the slightest rustling sound. Once, a twig snapped softly underneath his knee and he caught his breath and froze, but as loud as the sound had seemed to him, it went unnoticed. After what seemed like hours, they were finally far enough from the camp to risk getting to their feet.

And then they started running for their lives.

4

They plunged through the forest with Michael leading the way, his smaller size making it easier for him to dart among the trees and pass below low, overhanging branches. Aedan’s longer legs were not much of an advantage in the heavily overgrown terrain, besides which, he had been on his feet all day, running for miles, and he was dead tired. He tried not to think about the burning pain in his overworked leg muscles as he ran, concentrating only on putting one foot in front of the other. And it seemed to take all his concentration.

They could not have run more than a hundred yards when he was already gasping for breath and stumbling. In the darkness, with the thick forest canopy blocking the moonlight, he could not see more than a few yards ahead of him, and he strained to keep up with Michael, whom he soon lost sight of and was only able to follow by the sounds of his running footsteps somewhere just ahead. And to make matters worse, his leg muscles started to cramp.

He did not know how much longer he could keep it up. He knew it wouldn’t be long before his muscles cramped so badly he could not go on. If he could only make it to the stream… but he did not see how he could. Already, his left leg was starting to fail him, and he slowed as he was forced to trot with a limp in Michael’s wake. The important thing was for the prince to get away, he told himself. It would not be long before their escape was discovered and the wolves would be on the trail. There was no hope of outrunning them. None at all. However, if they caught him first, it might give Michael enough time to reach the stream and lose them. Then he might get away, if he were lucky.

Aedan winced with pain as his left leg cramped so badly that he could not take another step. He stumbled to a halt and supported himself painfully against a tree trunk. It was no use. He would never make it. Go, Michael, he thought. Go, run for it!

In the distance, he heard the howling of the wolves as they picked up their trail. It felt as if a giant fist had suddenly started squeezing his gut. It was all for nothing. But maybe not. There was still a chance he could buy Michael some time. At least he would give his life in the service of his prince. Perhaps it would compensate for his dereliction of his duty in his affair with Laera. It was certainly no more than he deserved for having acted like a fool.

There was a sudden rustling ahead of him and he straightened, breathing heavily, prepared to meet whatever new threat could be facing him, but it was only Michael. He had doubled back.

“Run!” Aedan shouted at him. “They have discovered our escape! Run for your life! I will try to hold them off as long as I can.”

“With what?” asked Michael. “Don’t be stupid. Come on!”

“I can’t,” said Aedan, wincing with pain. “My legs … cramped…. I can’t go on. Save yourself.”

“I am not going to leave you,” Michael said. “Now come on, Aedan, lean on me….”

“Forget about me! I’ll only slow you down!”

“We go together or not at all,” insisted Michael, taking his arm and putting it around his small shoulders. “Now lean on me. Come on, you can do it!”

“It’s no use. We’ll never make it. You must go on without me.”

“Shut up and move!” said Michael.

They started off at an awkward, shambling trot, with Aedan leaning on Michael for support, but he knew it was hopeless. The stream was still at least a mile or two away. The wolves would catch them long before they reached it.

“Michael… please …”

“Shut up and run, Aedan,” Michael said, through gritted teeth.

“I can’t. The pain …”

“Forget the pain. Pain is only a sensation.”

If their situation hadn’t been so desperate, Aedan would have laughed at the sheer lunacy of such a statement. And yet, somehow, it helped. He grimly set his teeth and increased his pace, trying not to lean too hard on Michael, who barely came up to his chest. The howling had stopped now, but that was only more ominous. It meant the wolves were on the stalk. They would be gliding almost soundlessly through the forest, following their scent, their jaws agape, their tongues lolling, goblin riders on their backs. Death was racing toward them on padded paws. They would undoubtedly spare Michael, at least for a time, but they did not need Aedan and there was no question in his mind he would be killed as an object lesson to the prince to prevent further escape attempts. If only Michael hadn’t stopped….

He thought he could hear faint rustling sounds behind them, but he wasn’t sure. They were no longer trying to move quietly. There was no longer any point. They were trying to move as quickly as possible, but even if they could run at full speed, it still would not be good enough. It would take nothing less than a miracle to save them now.

Haelyn, help us! Aedan thought. Don’t let it end like this! If not me, at least save Michael.

They came to a small clearing, overgrown with a carpet of moss and lacy ferns, strangely illuminated by the moonlight filtering through the trees. Aedan did not remember their passing this way before. He thought they were headed back roughly the way they came, but he was no longer sure of anything except that they would never reach the stream. He cursed himself for not being stronger and having more endurance, for having succumbed to Laera’s charms, for having failed his prince.

If Michael had not stopped to help him, he might have made it and the wolves would have lost his scent as he splashed through the shallow water, following the streambed for a distance before jumping out on the opposite bank and heading back the way they came. The goblins would know, of course, which way he was headed, but the forest was thick, and there was a chance he might have been able to elude them, or meet a rescue party, if one had been sent out…. In any event, it was all pointless speculation now. They had tried, and they had failed, and Aedan knew it had been all because of him. They began to cross the clearing, but before they could get more than a dozen yards, a low growling froze them in their tracks.

A pair of lambent eyes appeared in the darkness ahead of them. And then another. And still another. Aedan’s heart sank. The wolfriders. The wolves had not only caught up to them, they had passed them, and now they stood surrounded, in the center of the clearing, the threatening growls of the wolves coming from all sides.

“We are undone,” said Aedan with bitter resignation. “Forgive me, my lord.”

“Well, we shall simply have to try again another time,” said Michael.

Aedan snorted as the wolfriders moved into the clearing, hemming them in. “I fear there will be no other time for me.”

“I shall not let them kill you,” Michael said firmly.

Aedan shook his head. “Whatever happens, you must not try to interfere,” he said. “You must try to live, for however long you can. Perhaps there is still hope.”

But he did not really believe that. For him, at least, it was over. Eighteen years, he thought. A short life, but a good one. He could not really complain. He drew himself up, ignoring the pain in his leg, and decided that no matter what, he would do his best to make a good end. The prince would not see him die like a coward.

As the wolfriders approached, a cold wind blew through the clearing. And, unfathomably, the wolves appeared to hesitate. They raised their heads, nervously sniffing the air, and several of them gave uneasy little whimpers. The goblin leader glanced all around, sharply.

“Bows!” he commanded.

By all the gods, thought Aedan, they are going to shoot us both! But then he realized he had misunderstood the command. The wolfriders had unlimbered their crossbows and drawn their swords, but they were looking all around them, not at Aedan and Michael, but at the brush on the outer borders of the clearing. The wolves were acting skittish. Several of the riders were having difficulty controlling their feral mounts.

Suddenly, the wind came once again and all the wolves began to howl. It was a bloodcurdling sound, but it was not the baying of wolves about to move in for the kill. There was a tone of terror to their cries. And then one of the wolfriders cried out and clapped his hand to his cheek. Another one cursed, and also brought his hand up to his face. Aedan could not understand what was happening. Then the air above the clearing was full of soft, hissing noises, and rain began to fall.

The goblins were shouting and batting at the air around them. The wolves were dancing about, darting to the left, then to the right. Several of them had thrown their riders and bolted into the trees.

“What’s happening?” asked Michael.

Aedan shook his head, mystified. “I don’t know.”

It looked as if rain were falling, sheeting down, but inexplicably, they were not getting wet. Whatever it was that was coming down from the sky was not touching them, but was falling on the goblins and the wolves, coming down very, very fast…. Aedan crouched and touched the ground before him.

Pine needles!

Thousands of them, hundreds of thousands, were raining down from the trees, but they were not merely falling, they were hurtling down with incredible speed and force, hissing through the air like a storm of tiny arrows. The upper arms and faces of the goblin wolfriders, wherever there was bare skin, resembled pincushions as the pine needles struck them with such force that they became embedded in their flesh. The wolves were howling and squealing with pain, and in moments, they had all thrown their riders and bolted off into the trees. And yet, miraculously, Aedan and Michael had remained untouched. All around them in the clearing, the moss was covered with a thick carpet of pine needles, and the ferns were beaten down … except for a three- or four-foot circle where they stood.

The goblins had all dropped their weapons and were crouching on the ground, crying out and snarling with pain, trying to cover themselves up, and then, as abruptly as it began, the rain of pine needles stopped.

Aedan and Michael stood motionless, frozen with astonishment, holding their breath. Everything was quiet, except for the moans and curses of the goblins. Aedan was completely at a loss to explain what had just happened. And then Michael said, “Aedan, look!”

From the underbrush at the edges of the clearing all around them, tall, slender figures in dark, hooded cloaks appeared. Each of them carried a short, powerful, double-recurved bow to which long arrows had been nocked.

“Michael, get down!” Aedan said, dropping to the ground and pulling the prince down with him and covering him with his body.

The arrows whistled through the air all around them and each one found a mark. In seconds, the goblins all lay dead. Aedan raised his head as the hail of arrows stopped. The elves standing around the clearing remained where they were, but they had lowered their bows. And then the wind returned. It blew through the clearing, then came back and began to swirl roughly in the center, forming a rapidly spinning vortex, and as it dissipated, a tall and slender figure stood revealed, his long cloak swirling around him and then settling to drape around his shoulders.

For a moment, the figure simply stood there, gazing at the bodies of the goblins, and then he turned toward them. Aedan realized this was the explanation for the mysterious rain of pine needles. An elven mage.

Now the elven archers who had killed the goblins moved into the clearing, as well. Several of them began to pick up the weapons the wolfriders had dropped, while others stripped the bodies of their daggers and armor.

“What are they doing?” Michael asked him softly.

The mage overheard him. “The goblins have no further need of their armor and their weapons,” he said to them in a deep, resonant, lilting voice that seemed almost musical. Aedan wished he had a voice like that. “We can make good use of them, however. We are not a rich kingdom, you see, as is your human empire.”

“But they are much too small for you,” said Michael with a frown.

Aedan was still trying to get over what had just happened, but Michael’s impetuous curiosity asserted itself even at a time like this. Apparently the boy was simply incapable of feeling fear.

“Indeed, they are too small for us,” the mage replied, “but not for our children. We start their training at an early age.”

He pulled back his hood, revealing long, raven-black hair with silver streaks running through it, gracefully curved and sharply pointed ears, and a sharp-featured, youthful-looking face that was strikingly handsome.

Aedan drew himself up and gave him a slight bow. “Greetings, Sir Wizard,” he said. “I know not what you intend to do with us, but allow me to thank you for saving us from the goblins.”

The mage gazed at him speculatively for a moment, a faint trace of a smile at the corners of his mouth. He returned the bow. “You are welcome, young lord,” he said. “But in truth, we were less concerned with saving your lives than in taking theirs.”

“As that may be,” said Aedan, “you could still have shot us down along with them, but you chose to spare us. And for that, we are both grateful.”

“Indeed,” said Michael. “I shall see to it that you are well rewarded when we return to Seaharrow.”

Aedan winced inwardly. Would the boy never learn when to keep his mouth shut? There were still elves within the Aelvinnwode who pursued the gheallie Sidhe, and though these elves had spared their lives, at least so far, they could still be held for ransom … which Lord Arwyn would be in no great hurry to deliver.

“What he means, Sir Wizard,” he said, hastily, “is that we will do our utmost to persuade our families to compensate you to the best of their abilities for rescuing us from our captors.” He shot Michael a quick warning glance.

The elven mage watched them with bemused interest. “Knowing what I do of Arwyn of Boeruine,” he said, “he is much more likely to repay us in steel rather than in gold.”

“I would never allow that,” Michael said emphatically.

“You would not allow it?”

Aedan nudged him, but it was already too late.

“I give you my word that you shall always be treated fairly, and with respect, at Seaharrow and throughout the empire,” Michael said, oblivious to the warning.

“Indeed?” the mage said, raising his thin, sharply arched eyebrows. “I take it, then, that I have the distinct honor of addressing the Prince of Anuire?”

“I am Prince Michael Roele, heir to the Iron Throne of Imperial Anuire, and this is my standard-bearer and chamberlain, Lord Aedan Dosiere.”

The mage bowed to them both. “A rare privilege, Your Highness,” he said. “And your lordship,” he added to Aedan.

“And whom have we the honor of addressing?” Michael asked.

“I am Gylvain Aurealis, wizard to the elven court of Tuarhievel,” the mage replied, inclining his head slightly.

“How did you make those pine needles come down like arrows from the trees?” Michael asked him.

“It was done with magic, Your Highness, as you have doubtless surmised. However, as to the precise method, I fear I cannot tell you that.”

Michael frowned. “Why? Is it an elven secret?”

“No, it was an elven spell, Your Highness,” said Gylvain. “But having used it, I have now forgotten it. So even if I wished to, I could not tell you just now how it was done.”

“You mean a spell, once used, is always forgotten and must be learned anew before it can be used again?” asked Aedan.

“Such is the nature of magic,” the mage replied. He raised his eyebrows in surprise. “They do not teach you such things?”

“Our mages teach only their apprentices,” Aedan replied. “Such knowledge and power is closely guarded.”

“Indeed?” said Gylvain. “Pity. We teach all our children about magic. They do not all choose to become wizards, of course, for the path is a long and arduous one, but they can all use magic in small ways, to add depth and meaning to their lives. Magic is a part of nature, as are we, and to understand it is to understand the world around us and become attuned to it.”

“Well, I have learned something new,” said Michael, nodding. “That is useful.”

Gylvain smiled. “Knowledge is always useful, Your Highness. And you will soon have an opportunity to add to your store of it. You shall be my guests at the court of Tuarhievel.”

Aedan was about to protest that they could not go to Tuarhievel and needed to return to Seaharrow as soon as possible, but these elves had saved their lives. They were in their debt, and it would be dishonorable to refuse their hospitality. Aside from which, Aedan was not sure if he could refuse. He was still far from certain as to the elven wizard’s motives.

Gylvain was being very civil, even courtly in his manner, but Aedan knew there was just no telling what an elf would do. The elven kingdom of Tuarhievel was officially at peace with the empire, but humans had nevertheless been their enemies for generations. The gheallie Sidhe was not a distant memory in these parts. For Rhuobhe Manslayer, it was still a way of life, and it was impossible to tell which elves in the Aelvinnwode gave their allegiance to Fhileraene and which followed the Manslayer. In many cases, it was said, they followed both.

Either way, the miracle they’d prayed for had been delivered and they were in Haelyn’s hands now, though unlike Michael, Aedan’s faith in their god was not quite as simple and unquestioning. He did not regularly pray to Haelyn, as devout Anuireans did each night, and he had only been to temple a few times in the last year or so, during official functions on the holy days. He swore by Haelyn in his speech, but that was more from habit than from faith. When it came to that, Aedan had his doubts.

In part, this was no more than a function of his age, for he was at a stage in life when young people questioned everything they had been taught. To a large degree, however, his doubts had grown as a result of his exposure to the Fatalists, a group of young people who believed that when the old gods died at the Battle of Mount Deismaar, the storm of dissipated god essence gave birth to the bloodlines, but no new gods were created.

What proof was there, the Fatalists asked, of their existence? The priests claimed to speak for them, but what proof was there that they spoke to the priests? None. The new gods were a fiction, they maintained, devised merely to give the people hope and the priests power. Haelyn and the other champions of Deismaar had simply died from being too close to the explosion, and that was all there was to it. There were no more gods. The people of Cerilia were on their own, and their fate was their own responsibility.

When Aedan first heard this philosophy expounded in the tavern known as the Green Basilisk, back in the capital city of Anuire, he had been deeply shocked. It was sacrilege to speak so, nothing short of outright blasphemy. And politically dangerous, as well. But at the same time, the rather shocking nature of the patrons who frequented the tavern was the reason he kept going back there. The Green Basilisk was a bit disreputable, and known to be the gathering place of some unsavory types, but that only added to its allure.

During the day, the only breaks he had from Michael were those hours in which the prince was forced to spend in study, during which time Aedan had to be with his own tutor. At night, however, his time was more or less his own, and he was anxious for some stimulation in the company of people his own age. He had found that in the Green Basilisk.

The tavern was little more than a hole in the wall in the artists’ quarter, a square room with a bar in the back and no windows in the walls, which made the atmosphere inside quite dark and stuffy. The Green Basilisk catered mostly to a younger crowd, a mix of artists and bards, craftsmen, students, and the more adventuresome children of the noble class and merchant guilds, who saw themselves as daring nonconformists. They all dressed down when they came to the Green Basilisk, in plain tunics, demicloaks and breeches of dark gray or black, though Aedan noted that the material and cut of the clothing worn by the children of aristocrats was markedly superior to those of all the others. During his first visit, shortly after he had turned eighteen, he had been attracted by a girl seated with a group at one of the tables and had wandered over to join their discussion.

The young nobles among them had naturally recognized him, for his father was prominent at court, and a few of them he knew, although not very well. They introduced him to the others, whom he had never met before. The girl who caught his eye was Caitlin, the pretty blonde daughter of a farrier. Aedan was very much attracted to her, though he knew a serious relationship would have been out of the question. As a tradesman’s daughter, she was of the peasant class and not descended from a bloodline. A serious liaison between them would have been frowned upon, as any offspring such a relationship might produce would dilute the powers of the bloodline. Nevertheless, Aedan had started frequenting the tavern and often met there with the others for long discussions over ale, bread, and cheese, late into the night.

Initially, Caitlin was the main attraction, but Aedan soon discovered she was interested in another member of the group, a young bard named Vaesil, who was the chief exponent of the Fatalist philosophy. For a short while, Aedan allowed himself to nurse the hope that Caitlin might eventually come to prefer him, but he soon realized that he could not compete, either with Vaesil’s handsome looks or his sharp wit and musical talents. The two of them always sat together, and Caitlin hung worshipfully on Vaesil’s every word.

With a wistful resignation, Aedan had eventually accepted that Caitlin saw him as no more than a casual acquaintance, merely one of the crowd, and he began to entertain the thoughts of other possibilities. Caitlin was not the only pretty girl who came to the Green Basilisk, and the Fatalists always attracted a good deal of attention. For the young aristocrats, the Green Basilisk was a place they could go slumming, mingling with the lower classes and getting a taste of common decadence. For the others, the tavern was a stimulating gathering place for freethinkers and rebels, albeit the rebellion was mostly in the form of dress and conversation. Young women went there to meet interesting young men, hopefully someone from a well-off merchant family or, better yet, a blooded noble, and young men, whether of the aristocratic class or not, went there to meet young women.

For the blooded young aristocrats, it was fairly easy pickings, for there was no shortage of young women from the common classes who nursed the dream of marrying a nobleman. Most of them, however, were doomed to disappointment. Though it occasionally happened that a blooded aristocrat took an unblooded commoner to wife, weakening the bloodline was the sort of thing that could get a man disowned. Most of the young men of the Anuirean aristocratic class had their marriages arranged for them by their families, often at a very early age.

Still, that did not stop many of them from dallying with young girls from the lower classes, most of whom were more than eager to accommodate them. They knew that even if such a liaison did not lead to a marriage, if a child resulted, the child would be blooded and would, in time, possess the blood abilities, albeit diluted, of the father. Because of this very fact, many aristocratic fathers lectured their sons sternly on how to conduct such casual affairs, stressing the importance of breaking off the act of love-making at the crucial moment so that a pregnancy would not result. However, this was not always successful, and on those occasions when blooded bastards did result, they were often taken into the service of the father’s family and, on rare occasions, even recognized. Consequently, there were many female commoners who went to great lengths to entice a blooded young aristocrat.

For Aedan, however, it had never been as easy as it was for the others. While he had made many new acquaintances, he had not really found any close friends. Part of this was due to his natural reticence in conversation. He could not hold court the way Vaesil did, and had always felt awkward around girls, especially attractive ones. Aside from that, he was Lord Tieran’s son, and while most girls had no reservations about flirting with young viscounts or baronets, they always took a different attitude when they found out who Aedan was. Even with the other young nobles, Aedan was always aware of a certain forced deference in their manner.

It took a while before he realized the reason for it. As the future royal chamberlain and the young prince’s friend and confidant, he was practically a member of the royal family as far as they were concerned. No one ever took issue with him over anything, except perhaps only in the mildest way, and he soon understood it was because of who he was and his position. He could never be sure if they would tell him what they really thought. Still, he didn’t mind that so much. He had enjoyed the company of the group and found their discussions very stimulating. He felt a certain daring recklessness in associating with them.

Now, just a few months later, it struck him he had not previously even had the barest inkling of what true recklessness could be. Laera had certainly taught him that. He doubted he would ever again feel quite so intimidated by a pretty face or shapely waist. And the recklessness he had displayed in going after Michael had been unforgivable. Ordinarily, they went out hawking with a party of armed men from the house guard, even when they stayed relatively close to Seaharrow. Not only had he neglected to assemble such a party, which was what he should have been doing instead of rolling in the hay with Laera, but he had allowed the impatient prince to go off on his own and then compounded his offense by going after him alone, forgetting his sword in the stables. Not that it would have done him a great deal of good, he realized. Still, if he had immediately assembled an armed party and then gone after Michael, there was a chance that none of this might have happened.

Had he simply been so distracted by what occurred with Laera that he wasn’t thinking, or was he too concerned about the questions that would have been raised, such as why he had allowed the prince to ride off by himself in the first place, and what had he been doing? Either way, he had acted stupidly, and even the risks involved in his affair with Laera seemed like nothing now compared to what they had gone through. And there was still no way of knowing how it would turn out.

Although Gylvain and his elves had rescued them from the goblins and did not seem to mean them harm, now they were going to Tuarhievel, in the northernmost section of the Aelvinnwode, even farther from Seaharrow than Thurazor. And though Gylvain seemed favorably disposed toward them, once they reached Tuarhievel, it would be Fhileraene who would decide what to do with them.

If Haelyn had truly ascended and become a god at Deismaar, Aedan hoped he was watching over them. But if the Fatalists were right, he and Michael were completely on their own. However, as the saying went, there were no atheists in a melee, and while the goblins had them, Aedan had discovered that when his own life was at stake, he could become as devout as the Patriarch, himself. In the comfortable safety of a tavern, it was one thing to question faith and argue the virtues of self-reliance. In the Aelvinnwode, it was another thing entirely, and now Aedan found himself fervently hoping he could rely on a greater power than himself.

Gylvain had left them for a few moments to confer with the other elves, who had finished stripping the bodies of the goblins they had slain. Michael watched with interest. He had never seen elves before. Neither, for that matter, had Aedan. They were certainly getting more than their share of new experiences. They were dressed unlike the wizard. Gylvain wore a voluminous, ankle-length, dark cloak, with several unusual-looking amulets hanging on silver chains over an indigo-blue tunic, which was belted at the waist with a wide, black leather belt studded with silver ornaments. He had on black hose and short, ankle-high, black shoes made from leather with the rough side out. The other elves, like Gylvain, all wore their hair extremely long, but they were dressed in green and brown, with rough-out leather doublets and short cloaks. They all wore soft, rough-out leather knee-high boots fastened with crisscrossing rawhide thongs and fringed at the tops. It was perfect dress for woodsmen, Aedan thought. They would blend in easily with the forest all around them.

Aedan closed his eyes and concentrated, drawing on his blood ability of healing to restore himself. There had been no time before, and he had no energy, in any case. Now, he used what little energy remained to heal his wound and make his leg muscles relax. Unfortunately, it left him in an even more weakened condition, and he had no idea if there would be enough time to recuperate.

“I don’t see any horses,” Michael said after a moment. “Do you suppose they were all traveling on foot?”

“Except for Gylvain, perhaps,” Aedan replied. “I wonder what it’s like, being able to travel on the wind.” And then the significance of Michael’s observation struck home. They would have to walk all the way to Tuarhievel.

He estimated that they were probably somewhere near the southern border of the Five Peaks region. On foot, it would be at least a three- or four-day journey to Tuarhievel, probably more, depending on the terrain. The thick, old-growth forest of the Aelvinnwode was not conducive to easy travel.

“It is said that elves have great powers of endurance,” Michael said, “and that they can run like deer.”

“I do earnestly hope they have brought horses,” Aedan said anxiously. “I have done quite enough running. I have healed my wounds, but it has left me with almost no strength at all. I am not sure I could walk another twenty yards, much less all the way to Tuarhievel.”

“There are still a few hours left till dawn, I think,” said Michael. “Maybe they will camp awhile and you can rest up for the journey.”

Aedan sighed wearily. “A week’s rest would not be enough for me, at this point. I am absolutely exhausted.”

“I am tired, myself,” said Michael, “and I have not suffered nearly as much as you have. I shall tell the wizard we must rest here awhile before we can go on.”

“Perhaps it would be better if you asked him,” Aedan said. “He has been most respectful, but remember he is still an elf and owes you no allegiance.”

“True,” said Michael. “Thank you for reminding me. I must learn how not to take such things for granted.”

Aedan glanced at him curiously. The boy was full of surprises. When it came to Michael, Aedan himself had taken much for granted. He had always considered Michael a spoiled child, which he certainly was in many ways—arrogant, willful, petulant, and stubborn. Yet whatever Michael’s shortcomings were, cowardice was apparently not among them. He had proved himself brave, steady, and resourceful. In the face of adversity, he had comported himself more ably than Aedan had, despite being six years younger. He truly did have the makings of a king. The fate of Imperial Anuire was in good hands—provided they ever got back.

The wizard finished speaking to the others and returned to them. Michael looked up at him curiously, and though Aedan tried to keep the concern he felt from showing on his features, judging from Gylvain’s expression, he was not entirely successful.

“Allow me to reassure you that there is no need for concern,” the wizard said. “I have said you shall be my guests at the court of Tuarhievel, and guests you shall be, treated with all due respect and courtesy. And as soon as possible, you shall be returned to your own land, and under proper escort.”

“I thank you, Sir Wizard,” Michael said, “both for your offer of hospitality and again for saving us from our captors. Rest assured, we shall not forget.”

“I am pleased to hear that, Your Highness,” Gylvain replied. “And I would be pleased if you addressed me simply by my name, rather than ‘Sir Wizard.’ I am neither titled, nor a knight. And we elves do not stand on such formality.”

“Very well, Gylvain,” said Michael. “Then you must call me Michael.”

The elf smiled at that.

“And as I am in no position to presume upon your allegiance,” Michael continued, “I would humbly request a favor of you.”

“Ask, and I shall grant it, if it is within my power,” Gylvain replied.

“We are both tired, but Aedan is utterly exhausted. The goblins forced him to run after their wolves for the better part of the day. His legs are cramping and causing him pain, and he is weary from healing a wound he sustained. You may be anxious to return to Tuarhievel, but for my friend’s sake, I would plead with you to allow us time to rest.”

“That was well spoken,” Gylvain replied, nodding with approval. “Never fear, however, I shall not trouble you to walk all the way to Tuarhievel.”

“You have horses, then?” said Aedan, brightening.

“Elves can move more quickly through the forest on foot than they can on horseback,” Gylvain replied. “However, there is no need for us to travel through the forest when we can go above it.”

“Above it?” Aedan said.

Gylvain smiled. “Observe,” he said. He lifted up his cloak and spoke a phrase in Elvish. As he did so, he stepped close to them and wrapped the cloak around them both, embracing them within its folds.

Unable to see within the dark folds of the cloak, Aedan suddenly felt his feet leave the ground. He grew light-headed and dizzy as he felt himself turning around and around in midair, faster and faster, until he was whirling like a child’s top and, at the same time, rising higher and higher. He wanted to cry out in alarm, but his breath caught in his throat.

As they spun within the vortex, he heard the whistling sound of wind, rising rapidly in pitch, like a storm blowing through the treetops, then lost all sense of his body. It wasn’t as if he had gone completely numb; it was as if his body had somehow simply ceased to exist. He tried to bring his hands up to his face, to feel if he still had a face, for there was absolutely no sensation of the wind upon his skin, or the chill of the night air. However, when he tried to move his arms, he realized with an abrupt stab of panic that he had no arms to move, nor legs, for that matter. He couldn’t feel anything because there was nothing there to feel. And then, abruptly, the blackness faded and he could see. It would have taken his breath away if he’d had lungs to breathe with.

They were high above the forest clearing where they’d stood a moment earlier, and the treetops were falling away rapidly beneath them. He heard the rush of wind, though he was not sure how, since he was not aware of having ears. Nor was he sure how he could see, with no eyes to squint against the swirling wind.

It was still dark, and yet, below him, he could clearly make out the elves moving through the forest, appearing and disappearing once again as they ran through the open spaces between the trees and then were once again obscured from view by the forest canopy. At first, he thought there were more of them than the dozen or so he had first seen, but then he realized he was seeing the same ones, only they were moving with astonishing speed. He could not believe how quickly they were darting through the trees. It was, indeed, true what they said about elves’ being able to run like deer. If he were on the ground with them, even if he were fully rested, he knew he could never have hoped to keep pace. No human could ever run that fast.

His perceptions had changed completely. They were high above the forest now, and yet he could see perfectly, despite the darkness. In fact, he realized, he wasn’t really seeing, because his human eyes did not possess the night vision of the elves. Moreover, he could see all around him without moving his head. Indeed, he had no head to move. His physical body had melted away somehow, vaporized like the morning dew, and what he was perceiving was registering not upon his senses, but directly upon his awareness.

The only time he had ever felt anything like it was on those occasions when he was asleep and dreamed he had somehow left his body and was hovering above it, looking down and seeing himself lying there in bed. He did not know why he had such dreams and was grateful they did not come more often, for they were profoundly unsettling. They always seemed so real, it was as if he could actually feel himself floating in midair, just below the ceiling, and there was always that strange, alarming, vertiginous sensation of his body failing away from him.

The feeling he had now was very similar, only this time, it persisted and there was no ceiling to stop him. They kept rising higher and higher, and now he had no sense of spinning, just an eerie sensation of floating, of feeling completely weightless and free, like a bird soaring high above the forest. At that moment, it suddenly occurred to him that maybe he had died, and the realization struck with absolute terror, the more so because he felt completely helpless, unable to do anything about it. Panic gripped him as he thought of himself rising forever, never to return to earth.

Have no fear, Gylvain’s voice came from somewhere very close. You are not dead. You have merely been transmogrified by magic. You have become one with the air currents upon which we soar. There is no reason for alarm. We are the wind, and here in the skies, we are in our element.

It’s wonderful! Michael’s excited voice came to him as if he were shouting gleefully right into his ear, except it didn’t feel as if he actually heard him, more as if Michael were a part of him, within him somehow. It’s fantastic! Oh, Aedan, look! We’re flying, just like birds! We’re flying!

Have no fear? thought Aedan. How was it possible that Michael could not be afraid? Was it just his youth, or was the emotion of fear something he completely lacked? Despite Gylvain’s reassurances, it seemed they’d died and their souls were rising up into the heavens! It was the most frightening experience Aedan had ever known, and yet to Michael, it was a joyous thing, a new adventure, and Aedan felt his wild exhilaration. Felt it! It was only then that Aedan realized he was not actually hearing their voices; he was somehow privy to their thoughts, as they were aware to his. Transformed into the wind, they were all one, together, mingled with each other in the swirling air currents that swept above the forest.

Yes, we are all one, Gylvain replied to his unvoiced thoughts, one with the wind. One with the power of nature. This is the true kingdom, one that is not subject to the rule of emperors or princes. It is the kingdom we are all a part of… the kingdom of the elemental forces that shape the world and shape us all.

They swept over the treetops with a speed unlike anything Aedan had ever imagined. But how? he thought. How is this possible?

Magic, Gylvain’s thoughts replied. Magic makes all things possible to those who apprehend the possibilities.

But did you not say that once a spell was used, it was forgotten? Michael asked.

That is so, Gylvain replied. But there are no fewer than a score of different spells for windwalking, and I devote myself to constant study of my arts. I am forever learning spells and losing them and learning them again. That is the way of magic, as indeed it is the way of all things in the world. To pursue the ways of knowledge is to forever be a student, learning the same lessons over and over again. It is a never-ending process, and the reward of it is the process itself. We forget too easily, and must always learn again. The study of magic is an apt metaphor for life; when one stops learning, one begins to die.

Between the reassuring presence of the wizard and Michael’s boundless joy and exhilaration at their flight, Aedan’s fear began to ebb, to be replaced by a growing sense of awe. He did not feel the wind of their swift passage through the skies: he was the wind, and far below him, the Aelvinnwode was like a vast green carpet stretching out across the land. In the distance, he could see the mountains of the Five Peaks region, and to the northwest, he could make out the rapidly approaching forest highlands of the goblin realm of Thurazor. But for the elves, that would have been their destination. Now, however, they swept past the land of their late captors and continued in a northeastern heading, past the rugged Stonecrown Mountains toward the elven kingdom of Tuarhievel.

It did not seem possible that they could have covered so much distance in so short a time, but when Aedan saw the first gray light of dawn appear over the horizon, he realized much more time had passed than he had thought. Hours had somehow seemed like only moments as he was caught in the fascination of the spectacle unfolding far below him, seeing the world the way a hawk would see it, or an eagle.

From the sky, he watched the sunrise, its rays casting an expanding band of light over the forest and the rolling, rugged country of the Northern Marches. His initial fear became forgotten as he was mesmerized by the beauty of the land waking up to a new day.

The forest seemed to slowly rise up toward them, and he realized they were descending. They were still moving forward with great speed, but they were gradually angling down, and soon he was able to make out birds flitting among the uppermost tree branches, oblivious to their presence. As they went lower still, a flock of doves rose up out of the trees, ascending toward them. Aedan could not get over the experience of birds flying up toward him. The flock flew closer with a fluttering of white wings in the early morning sun and then, amazingly, the doves passed through them! They were all around him, and even within him, soaring on the wind currents, and Aedan could actually feel their hearts beating.

Then the doves were above them, and they descended lower still, barely skimming the treetops, which bent with their passage. It was dreamlike and surreal as they swept over the forest, rushing smoothly through the sky above the forest canopy. Not even in his dreams had Aedan ever experienced anything like this. Surely, he thought, this was what it felt like to be a bird. As a child, he had often watched birds and wished he were capable of flight. Now he was doing it. And for a moment or two, while the doves had flown with them, he had experienced their feelings and sensations, too.

He had always thought that wizards lived their lives in dark and musty rooms, dimly illuminated by candles set in skulls, that they spent all their time puttering about with ancient manuscripts and arcane scrolls and breathing in the sulfurous fumes of their mystic potions while they squinted in the smoke from their incense burners. This, however, was magic of a different sort. Elven magic.

It made him wish his course in life had not been predetermined from his birth, for if this were what elven magic could accomplish, he would have become an eager student of it. He wondered if elven mages would accept human apprentices, and even as the thought occurred to him, Gylvain responded.

Elven magic is for elves alone, the mage replied. If we were to teach it to humans, it would no longer belong only to us, and the possibility for its misuse would be too great. Just as no human wizard would ever take an elf as an apprentice, so no elven mage would ever teach a human.

But are not the principles of human and elven magic the same? asked Aedan.

Indeed, they are, Gylvain responded. However, the disciplines are different, as are the spells. And we are not yet so trusting of each other that we may reveal all our secrets. Someday, perhaps.

But not today, thought Aedan, realizing the wizard’s reply served as a pointed reminder of their situation. Elves and humans were far from friends, and the peace between them was still a fragile one. It would be a long time before elves and humans were able to trust one another, if that day ever came. The memory of how the humans had invaded elven lands and took them for their own was still painfully fresh among the elven kingdoms, and with the Man-slayer still actively pursuing the gheallie Sidhe in these very woods, the days of humans falling to elven blades and arrows were far from over.

Nor are the days of elves falling to human blades and arrows, Gylvain replied, reminding him once again that while they were joined in the spell of windwalking, he was privy to their thoughts, while his own, unless he wished them known, were somehow guarded.

When I am emperor, I shall decree an end to that, Michael replied.

Would that our problems could be solved so simply, the wizard responded. You may find when you ascend the Iron Throne that there can be vast differences between what a ruler wishes to do and what he is able to do. I wish you luck in those days to come. But for the present, I bid you welcome to the elven city of Tuarhievel.

And suddenly there it was, directly ahead of them, appearing out of the forest as if out of thin air. Accustomed to the way human cities were constructed, Aedan was unprepared for the sight that greeted him as they came upon Tuarhievel.

When humans built cities, they chose sites for favorable terrain features and then cleared vast areas of land in preparation for the construction of the roads and buildings and market plazas. The defensive walls and fortifications required clear approaches so that potential attackers would be exposed as they advanced. Nature, in other words, made way for human cities.

Elves, on the other hand, followed an entirely different philosophy of building.

Tuarhievel simply rose up out of the forest. The clear-cutting was minimal, and wherever possible, the trees had been left standing so that the forest and the city were all one, a melding of natural features and construction. From a distance, it would have been impossible to spot the city, and Aedan thought it likely that unless a traveler knew the way exactly, he could easily pass within a hundred yards of Tuarhievel and never even see it.

Wooden thatch-roofed homes were constructed among the trees, shielded from the elements beneath their canopy. The streets of the city—little more than dirt paths, really—wound in serpentine fashion among the trees and natural clearings had been utilized as small, shaded plazas where the people drew water from wells and market stalls were erected. In many cases, homes had actually been built around the trees so that the trees themselves became part of the construction, with the upper stories of the homes situated in the thick lower branches.

From overhead, the forest masked to some degree the density of the construction, which increased as they approached the center of the city. Many of the structures had open platforms built in the branches above them, often on several levels, with wooden catwalks running from tree to tree, connecting them. Tuarhievel had streets upon the ground and in the air, as well. But one structure towered above all others, its graceful, intricately carved and fluted wooden spires rising high above the treetops. They were approaching the forest palace known as Tuaranreigh, where Prince Fhileraene ruled from the legendary Throne of Thorn.

As they circled the palace, Aedan marveled at the sculpted spires, carved from hand-rubbed and -oiled wood, a figured ebony with swirling, golden-yellow highlights running through it. The spires were of unequal height and clustered close together as they rose from the central structure of the palace, which was built of wood and mortared stone that must have been quarried generations earlier in the mountains to the north, beyond the Giantdowns. The steep-pitched, gabled roof below the spires was tiled in rosy slate. Stone gutters for the run-off of melted snow or rainwater led to spouts carved in the shapes of screaming gargoyles.

Tuaranreigh was not a proper castle, at least not by human standards, since it had no outer walls or battlements. However, Prince Fhileraene had little reason to fear a siege. The Aelvinnwode itself was a far more effective outer defense than any walls or moats or barbicans could be. An attacking army would have to penetrate through miles of dense forest and thick underbrush, which made the march of massed formations virtually impossible. And long before such an army could even reach Tuarhievel, it would be destroyed piecemeal by elven archers and warriors who could attack from cover and then quickly disappear into the trackless forest.

Aedan remembered from his lessons that back in the days of the Great War between the humans and the elves, no human warlord had ever been foolish enough to pursue the elves once they had retreated to the forests. No invaders would ever reach the palace of Tuaranreigh, except as captives.

The wind on which they sailed circled round and round the spires of the palace, gathering speed and forming a swirling vortex that descended slowly to the ground. Aedan once more felt that strange, unsettling sensation, as if he were floating away, and the light-headedness returned as he became aware of his physical senses. He felt himself spinning rapidly inside the swirling wind funnel, his hair whipping around his face. He gasped, struggling for breath within the vortex, then felt the ground beneath his feet as the wind slackened to a breeze and dissipated, leaving them standing on the pathway to the palace.

Aedan brushed his hair out of his face and looked around, but everything still seemed to be spinning. He had difficulty remaining on his feet. He felt dizzy, and when he tried to take a step, he almost fell. He saw that Michael was no better off. The prince staggered and went down to one knee, swearing softly. Aedan closed his eyes and waited for the world to stop spinning. His body felt extremely heavy and clumsy. Small wonder, he thought. A moment earlier, he had been lighter than air.

“The effects will pass within a few moments,” Gylvain said. “You may find it helps to close your eyes, stand still, and breathe deeply until the dizziness subsides.”

Aedan opened his eyes after a few moments and tried to focus them. As the dizziness ebbed, he looked around. They were on a pathway that wound through a long and narrow clearing flanked by rows of ancient poplars, a sort of natural, tree-lined corridor leading up to the palace. The sound of water running over rocks drew his attention to a stream that ran down the center of this natural corridor. On either side of the stream were winding pathways leading to a gracefully arched stone bridge that gave entrance to the palace gates.

Unlike the castles of the empire, which had dirt roads wide enough for several horsemen riding abreast, the pathways leading to the gates of Tuaranreigh were clearly meant for foot traffic only, for they wound through lush rock gardens planted with lacy green ferns, flowering shrubs, and wildflowers. Benches made of split sections of tree trunks were placed at irregular intervals along the pathways, on both banks of the stream.

At first glance, it seemed to Aedan that the stream flowed around the palace, making a sort of natural moat. Then he realized it was actually coming out through an archway in the wall beneath the bridge, apparently flowing out of the palace itself!

Through the trees, Aedan could make out some of the buildings he had spotted earlier from above. They resembled peasant cottages with their thatched roofs and wooden shutters, but they were larger, and had the open platforms constructed in the trees above them, with interconnecting catwalks suspended at different levels high above the ground. Everywhere he looked, Aedan saw the perfect union of nature and architecture. The city was part of the forest, and the forest an integral part of the city.

As they walked toward the stone bridge leading to the gates of Tuaranreigh, a number of elves stopped to stare at them. Aedan knew human traders sometimes visited Tuarhievel, but judging by the looks they got, humans were still not a common sight. He noticed that everyone they passed bowed his head respectfully.

“They seem to know me,” said Michael.

Aedan frowned, momentarily puzzled by his remark, and then sudden comprehension dawned. “They bow to Gylvain, not to you,” he said.

“Oh,” said Michael. “I see.” He sounded a bit annoyed, or perhaps disappointed.

“Remember, you are not a prince here, save by rules of courtesy alone,” Aedan told him softly. “Fhileraene rules in Tuarhievel, not Emperor Hadrian.”

Michael frowned. He was accustomed to being treated as befitted the royal scion, and the fact that he would enjoy no such status here was a bit difficult for him to grasp. However, the goblins had already done much to advance his education, and Michael was learning not to take such things for granted. He nodded to show he understood.

Aedan felt relieved, though he was still apprehensive about their situation. It would certainly not do to have Michael putting on airs in front of Fhileraene. From all that he had heard about the elven prince, Aedan did not think he would be amused.

They followed Gylvain up the path as it curved away slightly from the riverbank, around a moss-covered rock formation, and then back toward the stone bridge. Elven warriors armed with swords and spears stood guard upon the bridge and by the two massive, arched and studded wooden doors. They did not challenge Gylvain as he approached, but made no effort to hide their curiosity about his two young human companions.

As they passed through the doors and entered the great hall of Tuaranreigh, both Aedan and Michael stopped dead in their tracks, staring wide-eyed at the tableau spreading out before them. They had crossed an entry hall and suddenly stood at the entrance to a forest clearing. But that did not seem possible. They were indoors … or were they?

For a moment, Aedan felt totally disoriented. They should have entered into the great hall of the palace, but this was a hall unlike any he had ever seen. It was open to the sky, with flagstones forming pathways between well-tended plots of giant ferns and colorful bromeliads, moss-covered rocks with trickling fountains, small trees and flowering shrubs. There was an arched opening in the wall through which the stream flowed, with a small wooden bridge spanning the spring from which it bubbled.

It was, in fact, an atrium that served as a great hall. The palace had been constructed around a forest clearing with a pool fed by an underground spring. Archways in the walls led to the east and west wings of the palace, as well as to the keep at the far end. But the main feature of the atrium was just in front of the vaulted entrance to the keep, surrounded by a stand of oaks.

Aedan had heard stories about the legendary Thorn Throne of Tuarhievel, but he had never known if they were truth or fancy. Now, he saw it for himself. It was a rose tree, the largest he had ever seen. Its multiple trunks curved sharply outward, forming a natural throne before they branched off into a spreading canopy of blue-green leaves and spectacular blooms of ivory white and bloodred. And seated on that throne, flanked by his ministers and surrounded by his court, was Prince Fhileraene, ruler of the last elven kingdom in the Aelvinnwode.

As they were announced, Gylvain escorted them toward the throne, his hands resting lightly on their shoulders. Their arrival caused a considerable stir among the elves present at the court. All eyes were upon them as Gylvain stepped forward, went down to one knee, and bowed deeply to his prince. Aedan followed suit, but Michael remained standing, perfectly calm and composed as he gazed curiously at the elven prince.

Fhileraene appeared to be in his midthirties, but then physical appearances were very deceptive with immortals: Fhileraene had ruled Tuarhievel since before Michael’s grandfather was born. He was tall and slender, with harsh, angular features and straight black hair that hung down well below his shoulders. His mouth was wide and thin-lipped, with a touch of cruelty about it. His eyes were dark brown and hooded, giving him a brooding aspect, and his nose was prominent and hooked. It was said he was the very image of his renegade great grandfather, the awnshegh, Rhuobhe Manslayer.

Aedan wondered if any of the elves present at the court were Rhuobhe’s warriors. It was a decidedly unpleasant possibility. Killing the Prince of Anuire would be a mark of tremendous status among those elves who had sworn eternal enmity to humans. Of course, not all the elves were like that, but here, there would be no way of telling which was which … until it was too late.

“Rise, Gylvain,” Fhileraene said. “And you, as well, Lord Aedan.” He glanced at Michael with a flicker of amusement in his eyes. “And of course, princes do not kneel, and that is as it should be. You honor us with your presence, Prince Michael. I am pleased to see you are alive and well.”

“Thanks to Gylvain,” Michael said. “We are in debt to him for rescuing us from the goblins.”

“Then you are in debt to me, for it was I who sent him,” Fhileraene replied with a smile. Seeing their confused expressions, he went on to explain. “Little goes on within my realm of which I am unaware,” he said. “Intelligence had reached me that goblin raiders out of Thurazor had been spotted traveling through the Aelvinnwode, heading south. They were taking a great risk going through my lands. I wondered what could justify such a risk. Now I know. They had captured quite a prize.”

“Well, we are very grateful to you, Your Highness,” Aedan said. “Thanks to you, that prize has been denied them. And as soon as we return to Seaharrow, we shall make certain—”

“You shall not be going back to Seaharrow,” Fhileraene said, cutting him off. “At the moment, I do not think that would be prudent.”

Aedan simply stared at him. Had they been rescued from the goblins only to be held for ransom by the elves? “Forgive me, Your Highness,” Aedan said, “I… I fear I do not understand.”

Michael was more direct. “Are we your prisoners?”

“Why, not at all,” the elven prince replied with genuine surprise. “You are honored guests, free to move about Tuarhievel as you please. However, I feel myself responsible for your safety, as you are now in my domain. And if you were to return to Seaharrow right now, chances are that you would almost certainly be killed.”

“Killed!” Michael said in a tone of outrage. “By whom?”

“By the man who even now is in the process of seizing the Iron Throne,” Fhileraene replied calmly. “Lord Arwyn, the Archduke of Boeruine.”

5

“You lie!” Michael shouted angrily before Aedan could stop him. “Lord Arwyn would never dare attempt such treason, not while my father lives!”

Aedan grabbed him by the arm and squeezed hard, causing Michael to gasp with surprise and pain. Fhileraene’s face clouded over, but he kept his calm.

“You would do well, Your Highness, to remember that you are not in your own empire here. In fact, at this point, it does not even appear as if you may even have an empire. However, thus far, you have been treated with the respect due to your rank and station. If you wish that to continue, I expect you to return the courtesy.”

Aedan held on to Michael’s arm and gave him a warning look, then turned to Fhileraene and said, “Please forgive the outburst, Your Highness. It is just that you have given us some shocking news, if indeed your information is accurate.”

Fhileraene nodded. “You may rest assured it is,” he said. “Emperor Hadrian has died, and the Archduke of Boeruine has not wasted any time putting his plans in motion.”

Michael looked stricken at the news. He shook his head and softly murmured, “No … It cannot be!”

“I am sorry for your loss, Your Highness,” said Fhileraene, “but surely, you must have been prepared for this eventuality. After all, your father was very old, by human standards, and has long been in poor health. You see, I make it my business to know which way the wind blows in the Aelvinnwode and the surrounding territories. This move by Arwyn of Boeruine does not really come as a surprise. There have long been rumors of his intriguing with Thurazor, and there are other forces at work in these events, powerful forces of which you are not yet aware. You are at the heart of a situation not of your own making, but it shall be up to you to make the best of it.”

“Meaning no disrespect, Your Highness, but why should you care what happens to the throne of Anuire?” asked Aedan. “Or to us, for that matter?”

“A fair question,” Prince Fhileraene replied, nodding. “It is true I have little reason to love your human empire, but of necessity, I have had to learn to live with it. With Hadrian on the Iron Throne, elf and human were able to regard one another with some tolerance. The peace between us has not always been an easy one, but with the exception of isolated incidents, it has been kept. I labor under no misapprehensions that this would continue with Arwyn of Boeruine in power.”

Those “incidents” to which he was referring so disingenuously, Aedan thought, involved none other than his own great-grandfather, Rhuobhe Manslayer, whose bitter hatred of humans ensured he would never tolerate them, much less keep peace with the empire.

“The Archduke of Boeruine’s ambition is boundless,” Fhileraene continued, “and that makes him dangerous to us. He treats with our enemies and conspires against us. We have no desire to see his bid for power succeed.”

“So then you help us merely to bring down Lord Arwyn?” Aedan said.

“That alone would be no mere thing,” Fhileraene replied. “However, there are still other factors that would serve my interests in this situation.”

It all suddenly became clear to Aedan. If what he said were true, and Aedan could think of no reason Fhileraene would lie, Arwyn of Boeruine had committed himself, and now there could be no turning back. He probably would never have dared go so far if he had not already mustered up support for his claim to the throne. Apparently, Lord Arwyn had been intriguing with more than just the goblins of Thurazor. How many secret alliances had he already forged among the nobles of the empire? How long had this been going on? He must have been planning it for years, waiting only for the right opportunity. Now, with the emperor dead and Michael out of the way, his path was clear, and he had wasted no time.

The emperor must have died around the same time as their abduction, Aedan thought. For Fhileraene to have learned the news so quickly, he must have spies in Seasedge capable of communicating with him through magic or perhaps carrier pigeon. But that was not at all unlikely. There were halflings in Boeruine, and it was quite conceivable some of them could be in the pay of Fhileraene. For that matter, the spies could also be humans. Arwyn of Boeruine was not universally loved. He had made his share of enemies.

Either way, when Aedan and Michael did not return from hawking, Lord Arwyn must have realized the goblins had succeeded in capturing them, especially after Windreiver had returned. And Michael’s horse must have made its way back to the stables without its rider, as well. Lord Arwyn must have quickly and immediately moved to take advantage of the opportunity. This was exactly what his father had feared, thought Aedan. Lord Arwyn must have seized the court the moment Emperor Hadrian had died and Michael’s disappearance was discovered.

Aedan felt a tightness in his stomach as he thought about his parents. What had become of them? His father would never have stood idly by while Arwyn tried to take the throne, and Arwyn had to know that Lord Tieran would oppose him to his last breath. With a feeling of despair, Aedan realized his father would undoubtedly have been among the first to be eliminated.

However, Lord Arwyn had no way of knowing he and Michael had been rescued. He had acted on the belief that they were safely on their way to Thurazor to be enslaved. He must have claimed Michael was dead, otherwise he could not have justified assuming the regency of the empire, and eventually, the throne itself. If Michael suddenly appeared now, his life would certainly be in danger unless he were able to rally support among the other nobles of the empire. And if Arwyn refused to yield at that point, it could mean only one thing.

There would be war. The empire would be split in two between those loyal to Prince Michael and those who would support Lord Arwyn. And without knowing how much support Arwyn could muster, there would be no telling how long it would last, nor what the cost would be. And if it came to war, no matter which way it turned out in the end, the empire would be left weakened. That would certainly serve Fhileraene’s interests.

“So where does that leave us, with respect to you, Your Highness?” Aedan asked. “And what has become of the Imperial Court?” he added nervously, afraid to hear the answer.

“For the present, it leaves you as my guests,” Fhileraene replied. “The last word I received, only this morning, reported only that Lord Arwyn had declared a state of emergency upon the Emperor Hadrian’s death and Prince Michael’s disappearance and had imposed martial law upon the province of Boeruine. And, by extension, one supposes, whatever portions of the empire he can induce to go along with him. Beyond that, there has been no further information. As you must have guessed, I have agents in Boeruine, and under current circumstances, they must remain especially circumspect. As soon as I know more, I shall send word to you. Gylvain has extended his offer of hospitality to you, and you shall remain welcome in Tuarhievel until it can best be determined what our course of action should be.”

“If the Imperial Court is being held hostage at Seaharrow,” Aedan said, “we must reach Anuire as soon as possible and raise a force to rescue them. We must make certain word is spread that Prince Michael…” he paused, significantly, “… Emperor Michael, I should say, is still alive. The longer we delay, the more time Lord Arwyn has to strengthen his position.”

Fhileraene smiled. “You shall make a good minister to your liege,” he said. “Very well. Let Prince … Emperor Michael compose a message to his subjects, while you prepare a list of those to whom it should be sent, and I shall arrange for messengers to be dispatched. In particular, is there someone you may depend on in Anuire whose loyalty is beyond question and who may accurately report to you on the state of matters there?”

Aedan thought only for a moment. “My tutor, Baladore Trevane, the librarian at the College of Sorcery in Anuire.”

Fhileraene nodded. “I know of him,” he said. “A man worthy of respect, by all repute. Very well, it shall be done. And the other messages shall be sent out as soon as you have prepared the list. Gylvain will see to it.”

“I am very grateful for all your help, Your Highness,” Michael said to Fhileraene, with a slight bow. “I shall not forget.”

“Rest assured we shall remind you if you do, Majesty,” Prince Fhileraene replied with a wry smile. “From this day forth, it shall be known that the elven kingdom of Tuarhievel was the first to recognize the Emperor Michael Roele and declare an alliance against those who would disrupt the peace between us.”

“It shall be so,” said Michael, drawing himself up proudly. For the first time since he had heard the shocking news of his father’s death, he seemed to accept the fact that he was now no longer Prince Michael, but Emperor Michael.

At the moment, an emperor without an empire to command, thought Aedan. But as to whether or not it would remain that way, there was no way of knowing until word had been sent out that he was safe and they heard responses to their messages. Would the nobles of the empire line up behind Michael, as was their duty, or would they transfer their allegiance to Arwyn of Boeruine? And if some nobles did defect, would there be enough to make the eventual outcome certain?

Too many questions, Aedan thought, and not a single answer. Yet. It was a difficult way for Michael to begin his reign, and for him to begin his duties as lord high chamberlain. They were both too young, and far from ready. But fate did not wait on the convenience of individuals, as Aedan recalled his tutor saying often. As they took their leave of Fhileraene and once more made their Way outside, escorted by Gylvain, Aedan said a silent prayer to Haelyn. He thanked the god for their deliverance, and he prayed for guidance in the days to come. They had been saved. Now it would be up to them, two boys, to try to save the empire.

Baladore Trevane was out of breath. He was no longer a young man and was unaccustomed to running. He was a short man, about five-and-a-half feet tall, and his considerable girth did not permit him to move very quickly, but nevertheless, he had trotted all the way to the docks from the College of Sorcery, panting with each labored step. His hair was white, merely a fringe that went around his head like a laurel wreath, and he carried a red kerchief as he ran, using it to mop the perspiration off his bald pate, so that the sweat wouldn’t run into his eyes. As he huffed and puffed his way onto the docks, he wished he could have used a spell to transform himself into a bird and flown to the Imperial Cairn. However, at his age, he had to be careful of his spells.

For one thing, he would have made an exceedingly stout bird. A pelican, no doubt, a great, big fat one. And as a pelican, he would still have expended considerable energy in flapping his wings to fly. Assuming he could even get off the ground. It was easier to run, all things considered. At least that way, he didn’t have to worry about whether or not he got the spell exactly right.

His memory just wasn’t what it used to be. He no longer trusted his recall. He had to look everything up. Some things he remembered with no difficulty. He could, for example, still recite the history of the empire without getting a single date wrong, but when it came to spells, sometimes he simply wasn’t sure anymore. There was nothing more ludicrous or pathetic than an absentminded sorcerer, he thought. But then again, he was almost seventy years old. All in all, he was in remarkably good health for his age, even if he did get a trifle vague from time to time.

On this occasion, however, there was nothing vague about his state of mind at all. A halfling messenger had arrived at the college, carrying a dispatch all the way from Tuarhievel from Prince Fhileraene himself. Of course, the fact that the messenger had been a halfling meant that he had almost certainly not traveled all the way from Tuarhievel the way normal people would. Doubtless, he had shadow-walked, creating a portal into the Shadow World and passing through it, emerging in Anuire. A handy little skill to have, thought Baladore, going from Point A to Point B without passing through the distance in between. Too bad humans couldn’t learn to do it. Still, he understood that passage through the Shadow World, even for a halfling, could be very dangerous, so the message that this halfling brought had to be important. When he learned it was from Prince Fhileraene, he knew it was. But when he saw whose hand had written the message, his heart leapt, and he ran straightaway for the Imperial Cairn.

Young Lord Aedan was alive! And Prince Michael was alive, as well! It was wonderful news, and he rushed to bring it to the palace. He hailed a boat captain and had the man take him out to the island where the palace stood. With the sail up and the rowers assisting the boat’s passage through the bay, it was much faster than traveling along the causeways, and even though boat travel made him seasick, this news simply couldn’t wait.

Baladore had not gone to Seaharrow with the Imperial Court. He had remained in the city of Anuire, as he always did, because his duties as librarian of the College of Sorcery required his presence there at all times. The college was the repository of all the magical knowledge of the empire, and it was one of the few places in Cerilia where students could come—if they were fortunate enough to be accepted—to study the mystic arts. The college numbered some of the finest adepts in the empire among its teaching faculty, and many wizards from realms as far off as Zikala or Kiergard made annual journeys to the capital to study and do arcane research in the library of the college in exchange for teaching some of its students. Consequently, Baladore could not afford to be absent from his post and so he always remained in Anuire throughout the summer season while the Imperial Court repaired to the cool ocean breezes of Seasedge in the province of Boeruine.

Baladore’s first inkling that something had gone drastically wrong at Summer Court came only when he heard that Lord Tieran had arrived at a gallop back at the palace with the empress and the house guard. Rumors had flown wildly all over the city and, what with his duties, it was a few days before Baladore was able to make his way to the palace to ascertain what had really happened.

That was when he had discovered that the emperor had died at Seaharrow, which was tragic news, of course, but not nearly as devastating as the news that Prince Michael and Lord Aedan had disappeared, apparently the victims of foul play. They had apparently gone out hawking in the morning and their horses had returned to the stables by themselves. There had been blood on Aedan’s saddle, too.

Why they had gone out by themselves, without taking an escort of the house guard with them, was anybody’s guess. It was certainly not like Aedan to be so irresponsible. He had even left his sword behind in the stables. Clearly, his mind had been elsewhere than on his duties. Questioning of the guards posted at the castle gate had resulted in the information that Prince Michael had gone out hawking by himself, and that Aedan had followed alone, shortly thereafter. Lord Arwyn had reportedly flown into a rage at his guards for allowing the prince to go out by himself, but the guards had insisted that Prince Michael had commanded them to let him through, saying Aedan would be following right behind. They had naturally assumed Aedan would follow with an escort, but when Aedan came galloping through the gates alone, they had seen no reason to stop him. Perhaps the guard escort would follow on his heels. When they didn’t, however, it was reported to the captain of the watch, who supposedly should have delivered the information to Lord Arwyn, who in turn claimed he had never heard a thing about it. When the boys’ horses returned by themselves, Lord Arwyn had raged that heads would roll and had immediately set out with a squad of mounted men-at-arms in search of the two boys.

What Lord Tieran had done then must have been the hardest thing he had ever done in his entire life. As soon as Lord Arwyn and his knights had passed through the castle gates, Lord Tieran had assembled the Royal House Guard and immediately had horses saddled for the empress and her daughters. Without stopping to bring anyone else along except his wife, the Lady Jessica, Lord Tieran had made haste to depart before Lord Arwyn could return with his knights. He had left the rest of the court behind and immediately set out for Anuire on horseback with his female charges and the entire house guard for an escort.

They had ridden hard, covering the entire distance from Seaharrow to Anuire, about two hundred and fifty miles, in a mere three days. It must have been a brutal pace, thought Baladore, for he had heard that when they finally arrived at the Imperial Cairn, the empress and her daughters had to be lifted from their mounts and carried inside. It was a miracle they hadn’t killed the horses.

Lord Tieran had set a fast pace during the day, and then a walking pace during most of each night to allow the horses to recover. They took only short rest periods, sleeping for only a few hours at a time while the guards took turns standing watch. More than anything, Lord Tieran had been afraid of being overtaken on the road by Lord Arwyn and his knights. They had to reach the capital at all costs, even though Lord Tieran knew absolutely nothing of what had become of his own son.

As the sea breeze ruffled Baladore’s cloak, he bit his lower lip and tried not to think about the pitching of the boat in the choppy waters of the bay. Instead, he thought of how Lord Tieran had looked when he had seen him last—tired, drawn and haggard, pale, with a haunted, tortured look about him. To have left Seaharrow as he did, with his own son’s fate uncertain, must have taken a supreme act of will and self-sacrifice. As a father, he must have wanted desperately to set out on Aedan’s trail. As lord high chamberlain, however, his first duty was to the empress and the empire, and he had to act quickly to safeguard both.

As the boat drew up to the jetty at Cairn Rock, the windswept island from which the imperial palace rose almost like a natural extension of the rock formations, Baladore stepped onto the dock, assisted by the boat captain. He swallowed hard, thanked the man, paid him a bonus for making the journey under full sail, then hurried up the jetty toward the palace gates, grateful to be on dry land once again. Well, relatively dry, at any rate, he thought. He squinted at the sea spray coming off the rocks as the waves crashed against the island. The wind had picked up, and the swells were coming in harder and faster.

Why Haelyn, in his mortal days, had ever wanted to build the palace on this rock out in the middle of the bay was something Baladore had never been able to discern. Its natural defensive position was the only thing that argued for the site. It was as safe from any attack as possible, except a protracted siege by sea, and an enemy’s ships would have had a hard time maintaining a blockade, given the unpredictable swells and currents of the bay in the Straits of Aerele. Unless a captain really knew these waters, he could easily wind up on the jagged rocks that ringed the island like a deadly necklace.

Admitted through the gates, Baladore hurried to find Lord Tieran. The lord high chamberlain was in his private quarters in the tower, standing at the window and staring out across the bay at the city of Anuire. He turned as Baladore came in. Lord Tieran appeared to have aged at least ten years since he had returned from Seaharrow. The strain of worrying about the empress, who had sunk into despair at the loss of her son and husband, and the stress of losing—or so he thought—his own son, added to his concerns about the fate of the empire now that the succession was in doubt. It all had turned his hair completely white, and there were new lines etched into his face. His eyes looked dark and sunken from lack of sleep, and he had lost weight, as well.

“Baladore,” he said, greeting him in a weary voice. He frowned. “By the gods, you look red as beet, and you are all out of breath. Please, sit down, old friend. Here, have some wine and tell me what brings you out to the Cairn in such a state.”

“Great news, milord,” said Baladore, sinking down gratefully into a chair. “Wonderful news! Miraculous news! Prince Michael is alive and well, as is your son!”

Lord Tieran stared at him with disbelief, as if he weren’t sure he’d heard correctly. “By Haelyn! Can it be true?” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Baladore took a quick gulp of wine before replying. “I have just this morning received a message from your son,” he said, “written in his own hand, which your lordship is aware I know as well as I do my own. And there is an added postscript from the prince, with his signature appended. Here, see for yourself.”

“A message?” said Lord Tieran, his eyes lighting up as Baladore passed him the scroll. “But how? By what means?”

“Delivered by a halfling, milord, sent from Tuarhievel by Prince Fhileraene himself,” Baladore replied. “What transpired is all contained therein, in your son’s own hand.” And he waited, slaking his thirst with wine while Lord Tieran read the message, which was an account of how the boys had been captured by the goblins and then rescued by the elves, led by the mage, Gylvain Aurealis, and how they had been received by Prince Fhileraene.

“Bless you, Baladore, for bringing me this news!” Lord Tieran said. “I must bring this to the empress at once! She was convinced that Prince Michael had died, as I fear I was as well. I had dared hope they still lived, but I did not really think we would ever see them again. This message will restore her spirits.” He paused as something else occurred to him. “Baladore, this note makes no mention of any ransom,” he said, uncertainly. “Surely, Prince Fhileraene must want something for their safe return?”

Baladore shook his head. “If he does, milord, neither the message nor the messenger made mention of it.”

“Hmm. Does this halfling messenger wait for word to be sent back?”

“He awaits back at the college, milord, where I have seen to it he shall be fed and rested well.”

“It is good,” Lord Tieran said. “Oh, it is so very good, indeed. I feel, good Baladore, a tremendous weight has been lifted from my chest, a weight that had been crushing me. Come, come with me. We must go tell the empress together. I am certain she will want to see the message and read it for herself. Then we must compose a reply and send it back to Tuarhievel with this halfling. Prince Fhileraene must know the empire will be grateful for the safety of Prince Michael….” He paused. “No, by Haelyn, Emperor Michael! The succession is no longer in doubt.”

He clenched his fist around the scroll. “Arwyn of Boeruine will find he has gravely overreached himself. Claim regency, will he? Well, he shall have a hard time justifying his claim to power now. And if he persists, all will see his bold ambition for what it truly is. Come, Baladore, let us go tell the empress the great news. And my wife, of course. She has cried tears of grief for long enough. She will now cry tears of joy, and it will do my heart no end of good to see it.”

* * * * *

“Is that the best you can do?” the elf girl said as she easily parried Aedan’s attack. “You will surely never slay your enemy if you come at him so gingerly.”

“I did not wish to hurt you,” Aedan replied.

Sylvanna raised her thin and gracefully arched eyebrows. “Indeed? And what makes you think you could?”

“The fact that I might, even though unintentionally, is enough to give me pause,” said Aedan. “I owe my life to Gylvain Aurealis, and it would be a poor show of gratitude if I were to injure his own sister.”

“Ah, I see,” Sylvanna replied. “So a sense of obligation to my brother makes you exercise caution and hold back, is that it? Well, in that case, perhaps I should seek another opponent to help me in my practice, for you are not providing any challenge.”

“As you wish,” said Aedan. He swept his borrowed sword out to the side and bowed to her, then turned and left the practice ring to sit by Michael while another opponent, an elf, stepped up to take his place.

“I think you have annoyed her,” Michael said as Aedan sat down on a log beside him.

“Better that I cause her some annoyance than an injury,” said Aedan. “We are guests here, and I do not need to shore up my pride or endanger our position by besting a female in a practice match.”

“You may be rating yourself too highly, and her not highly enough,” Michael replied as he watched Sylvanna cross swords with her next opponent. “She knows what she’s about.”

As other elves watched, they moved around each other inside the practice circle. Each held a dagger in one hand and a sword in the other. They used no shields, and the blades were sharp. Sylvanna’s new opponent did not share Aedan’s hesitancy about engaging her. He darted in quickly and did not hold back in the least. The blades clanged against each other, and the daggers flashed, steel striking upon steel; then both combatants sprang apart and started circling once again.

Aedan frowned as he watched the contest. “Someone will get hurt if they keep that up,” he murmured. “The blades are unprotected, and they are not even wearing full armor.”

“That does not seem to cause them much concern,” Michael replied, his gaze intent on the circling combatants.

Aedan shook his head as he watched them engage, blades flashing, then spring apart again. “It is foolhardy to take such risks,” he said. “What are they trying to prove?”

“Perhaps they are not trying to prove anything,” said Michael without taking his eyes off the match inside the ring. “The intent may simply be to recreate the conditions of real combat as closely as possible.”

“Which increases the possibility of a very real injury,” said Aedan.

Even as he spoke, Sylvanna parried an attacking stroke, deflected a knife blade with her own, pivoted, and brought her sword around in a tight arc, opening a cut on her opponent’s upper arm. He gasped, and Aedan sprang to his feet as he saw the blood flow.

“Well struck!” the male elf said, and bowed to his opponent.

Sylvanna inclined her head toward him, acknowledging the compliment, but displaying no alarm or even any regret over having wounded him.

“Let me help you,” Aedan said. “I have healing ability.”

The elf simply shrugged. “It is of no consequence,” he said. “A minor cut is all it is. It will remind me to keep more on my toes the next time. But I thank you for your offer, just the same.”

Aedan stared at him as he walked away. What sort of people were these elves? The way they had been going at each other with no protection other than steel breastplates, one of them could easily have been seriously wounded, even killed. However, he saw what Sylvanna had meant when she stated without rancor that he had provided her no challenge. He had held back, because she was a girl, but now he saw that Michael had been absolutely right. He had rated himself too highly and her not highly enough. She was better than he was. Much better.

He watched as another opponent moved into the ring to take her on. Sylvanna stretched a few times and swung her blade about, then took her stance. She was about as tall as Aedan, with a typically elvish build—wiry and lean. However, her shoulders were broader than those of most young women Aedan had known, and the muscles of her back gave her a figure that tapered to her narrow waist. Like her brother, Sylvanna had long black hair streaked with silver highlights. She had gathered it in a ponytail for weapons practice, to keep it out of the way. Elven women were not buxom as human females often tended to be, and Sylvanna was no exception. She was long limbed and small breasted, but Aedan did not find that unattractive. Sylvanna was not as voluptuous as Laera, but she moved with the smooth litheness of a cat, and Aedan liked the way she bore herself.

He was surprised to find himself suddenly comparing her with Laera. They were completely un-alike in almost every way. Laera was beautiful, while Sylvanna was merely pretty at best, and took no pains at all to enhance her appearance. Laera was flirtatious and seductive; Sylvanna was unassuming and direct. Laera was soft, with smoldering dark eyes; Sylvanna was lean and muscular, with striking gray eyes so light that they seemed like cut crystal. But as he found himself comparing the two, Aedan realized Laera was found wanting.

The clang of steel against steel filled the clearing as the two opponents circled each other in the practice ring. The elves who waited their turn at practice, or simply watched, clapped their hands and called out encouragement at well-struck blows. If he hadn’t known better, Aedan might have thought the two were fighting in earnest. However, as he watched, he realized they took care to aim no cuts or blows at the face or neck, or at the legs. The target areas were the protected chest and the unprotected arms and shoulders, but any cuts aimed at the latter were carefully controlled. The blades were lighter than those used by most humans, and consequently quicker in action. A first cut ended the combat, but it was clearly not the object of the exercise. The idea was simply to penetrate the opponent’s defense. A light hit upon the steel breastplate was counted as a killing stroke and ended the match.

Sylvanna was not the only female who came to practice. Among humans, females did not generally participate in combat. Sometimes tomboys like Ariel played at war while they were young, but as they grew older, they usually followed more ladylike pursuits. Among the elves, things were apparently quite different. The women trained along with the men, and though most of them would have lacked the upper body strength to wield broadswords effectively, they seemed equally adept with the men in the use of the lighter, faster elvish blades.

Sylvanna defeated her second opponent with a touch to his breastplate, and he saluted her in acknowledgment as the next opponent stood up to take his place. Aedan marveled at Sylvanna’s strength and endurance. A short, unsatisfactory, aborted match with him, then two matches with full-grown male opponents, and she hadn’t even cracked a sweat. She used the blade as if it were a part of her and was clearly commanding of respect among her peers.

“I would not have thought a woman could fight as well as that,” said Michael as he watched her with admiration. “She is at least the equal of the best swordsmen in the house guard.”

“Yes, she is very good, indeed,” Aedan agreed, nodding emphatically. “After watching her, I feel foolish for holding back. On my best day, I would stand no chance against her.”

“The lesson here, I think, is not to underestimate a female just because she is a female,” Michael said. He glanced at Aedan and grinned. “I should have thought you would have learned that one before, with Ariel.”

Aedan scowled. “Apparently, I shall never hear the end of that,” he said. “If it weren’t for you, I might have been paying closer attention that day.”

“You mean it was all my fault?” asked Michael innocently. “It wasn’t my shield she hooked, nor was it my skull she nearly cracked.”

“As I recall, it was someone else’s skull that was very nearly cracked,” replied Aedan dryly.

“Yes, well, I will concede that we both took our share of lumps that day,” said Michael with a grin.

Sylvanna finished her third match by beating her opponent, scoring a light cut on his forearm. They saluted one another, and both left the practice ring. As two other fighters took their places, Sylvanna came back to where the two boys were sitting. There was a slight flush on her face from her exertions, but otherwise, she looked none the worse for wear. Aedan had grown tired merely watching her.

“I owe you an apology,” he said as she came up. “I held back because you were a woman, but even at my best, I would have proved a poor match for you.”

“Well, you are young yet,” she replied. “Doubtless, if you practice diligently, your skills will improve with time, as mine have.”

Aedan frowned. “You cannot be much older than I.”

Sylvanna curiously cocked her head at him. “I don’t know. How old are you? It’s difficult to tell with humans.”

“I am eighteen,” he replied.

“Ah. Well, I am somewhat older.”

“Indeed? You do not look it.”

“Let me think….” she said, frowning slightly “By human reckoning, I believe I would be in my fifties.”

Aedan’s jaw dropped. “Your fifties?” he said with disbelief.

“By elven standards, I am still a mere child,” she replied with a smile. “And most of the people you saw practicing today were younger still.”

“You said ‘by human reckoning,’ ” said Michael as they started walking back to Gylvain’s home. “Do elves reckon time differently?”

“It is not that we reckon time differently,” Sylvanna replied, “for being immortal, the reckoning of time does not concern us as much as it does you. But the difficulty lies in the fact that time often passes differently for us than for humans.”

Aedan frowned. “How can that be?”

“I cannot say,” Sylvanna replied with a shrug. “I once asked my brother that same question, but he was not able to account for it, either. It seems no one can. But in the elven lands, time appears to pass differently for humans. What may seem like a few hours to you while you are in Tuarhievel may actually be days on the outside, and what may pass for weeks while you are here may actually be years in human lands. This effect on humans seems to increase the longer they remain with us, so it is difficult for us to reckon time in your terms. At best, we can but estimate its passage.”

“You mean that if we remain here for a week or so, a year or more may pass back in the empire?” asked Michael with astonishment.

“It is possible,” Sylvanna said, “though by no means certain as far as anyone can tell. We once had a human trader remain with us for several weeks, studying our crafts. When he returned to his village beyond the Black River, he discovered that eight years had passed, and everyone had thought him dead. On the other hand, when traders have remained with us for only a few days, there has been no noticeable difference when they returned, except for one man, who found that he returned a mere hour after he had left.”

“It sounds like magic!” Michael said.

“Perhaps it is,” Sylvanna replied. “Gylvain seems to think so. He believes something happens when enough elves gather together in one place, but he cannot say how or why. It may have to do with our being immortal, or with the way we practice magic, or perhaps there is some other reason. Anyway, no one knows for sure what causes it.”

“So then the longer we remain here, the more likely that a great length of time will pass back in the empire?” Aedan asked in a worried tone.

“That would appear to be the case,” Sylvanna said.

“Then the longer we remain here, the more time Lord Arwyn has to strengthen his position, if I understand correctly,” Aedan said with concern. “I did not realize this before. Why didn’t someone tell us this?”

Sylvanna shrugged. “Doubtless because you did not ask. But there is no reason for alarm: there is a way this effect may be counteracted. My brother explained to me once. It is not without some risk, of course, but it has been the way your message has been sent back to Anuire.”

“How?” asked Aedan.

“Through the Shadow World,” Sylvanna said. “A halfling took your message back to the capital city of your empire. In this same manner, when it is time for you to leave, a halfling guide will take us. He will open up a portal to the Shadow World and we shall travel through it to reemerge into the world of daylight at another place and time.”

“You said, ‘a halfling guide will take us,’ ” Aedan said. “Will you be coming along with an escort to take us back?”

“No, I shall be returning with you,” she replied. “Gylvain and I are both going with you to Anuire. Prince Fhileraene wishes to be kept apprised of how events unfold back in the empire.”

“You mean he wants someone with us to look after his interests,” Aedan said.

“Does that seem unreasonable to you?” she asked.

“No,” Aedan replied, “of course not. We owe Tuarhievel much, our lives included, though it is your brother who personally holds that debt as far as I’m concerned. But even if that were not so, I would still be pleased to know you were going back with us.” He blushed, then quickly added, “The both of you, that is.”

“I am looking forward to it,” said Sylvanna. “I have lived all of my life in the Aelvinnwode and never been outside Tuarhievel. I would like to see the human world and find out what it is like.”

“It is different,” Aedan said. “Our cities are not much like yours, nor are our villages. Our streets are not as clean, I fear, nor do we live among the trees, as you do. We build our houses and our palaces differently, and we live behind stone walls. There is much to recommend your way of life. It is more peaceful and calming to the spirit. Perhaps that is why time seems to pass more slowly here.”

“Still, I would prefer to be back in Anuire,” said Michael. “After all, I am emperor now, and I must claim my throne.”

“As I must serve you and the empire,” Aedan said. “Duty calls. But,” he added sadly, “except for that, there is little for me to go back to now.”

Sylvanna frowned. “What makes you say that? You would not wish to see your family?”

Aedan swallowed hard before replying. “My parents were my only family,” he said. “I had no brothers and no sisters, and now I fear my parents are probably both dead. Perhaps my mother survives, but my father would have been too great an enemy to Lord Arwyn for him to have been left alive.”

“But… your father lives,” Sylvanna said.

Aedan stopped and stared at her. “What?”

“A message was received from him this morning,” she said. “You mean you did not know?”

Aedan could not believe his ears. “My father is alive? There has been a message from him? Are you sure?”

“My brother mentioned it to me this morning when he had word from the palace and was summoned to the prince’s presence,” she replied. “Perhaps he meant for me to tell you, but I thought you already knew.”

“This is the very first I’ve heard of it!” said Aedan, his heart giving a leap.

“What was the message?” Michael asked eagerly. “Did Gylvain say?”

“Something about how Lord Tieran had safely reached Anuire along with the empress and her party,” said Sylvanna. “There was more, but that is all I can remember now.”

“You have remembered the most important thing,” said Aedan. Impulsively, he grabbed Sylvanna and gave her a hug. “Thank you! Thank you! This is the best possible news!”

Taken aback, Sylvanna stiffened, and Aedan released her and stepped back, feeling a bit flustered. “Forgive me,” he said.

“No, it is I who must ask your forgiveness, Aedan,” she said. “Had I but known you thought your father dead, I would have told you right away. I had not realized…. How awful it must have been for you!”

Aedan closed his eyes as an immense feeling of relief surged through him. For a moment, he was so overwhelmed, he simply couldn’t speak. He felt his lower lip tremble and was afraid that he might start to cry. Sylvanna’s arms went around him and held him close. Then Michael’s hand settled on his shoulder, and they were all three holding each other for strength and support. For a few moments, no one spoke. Aedan took a deep breath, and they stood apart, looking at one another.

“It must have been so very lonely for you,” said Sylvanna, “thinking you were the only one of your family who was left alive.”

Aedan nodded, struggling to compose himself. He glanced at Michael, reached out, and squeezed his shoulder reassuringly. “You realize what this means?” he said. “Lord Arwyn does not hold the empress hostage and cannot enforce his claim upon the regency. He has failed. The moment he learns you are alive and well, he must either give up his bid for power or brand himself a traitor.”

“He has already done that,” said Michael firmly. “And what is more, he knows it. He cannot simply be brought to heel. He must be brought to justice.”

Aedan gazed at him, and for the first time, he saw not Prince Michael, but Emperor Michael. “Yes, you’re right, of course,” he said. “One way or another, there will be war, and there is no avoiding it.”

Michael nodded. “The empire is my birthright,” he said, “and if I must fight to keep it together, I shall fight to my last breath.”

“We both shall… Sire,” Aedan said. They clasped hands. “Come, Sylvanna,” he said. “Let us go and find Gylvain and see how soon the emperor and I may start for home.”