"I fear no…" Meris trailed off. The words would make no difference, for his father was mad. He knew it then, knew it beyond doubt. Instead, Meris set his jaw and said nothing, though he kept his hand on his sword.
"Then draw," Greyt said, his voice low and biting. "Attack."
Meris did nothing but fight to control his trembling hand.
"Attack, coward!" ordered Greyt. "You are my dog! I order you to attack!"
Meris stared at him. Greyt had never been this abusive, had never badgered him like this. He knew that Greyt was his father, his own flesh and blood, but… He did not know what to do.
"Attack!" shouted Greyt.
When Meris said nothing, the Lord Singer slapped him hard across the face. The scout looked back, his eyes furious, and Greyt laughed.
Meris felt his mouth drawing up into a sneer. The screaming creature before him was no longer a man to be respected, admired, or even feared-instead, he was merely a weak fool like the other villagers of Quaervarr. Only a tiny voice in the depths of Meris's heart protested that this man was his father.
"Attack, bastard!" Greyt screamed, spitting in Meris's face.
That one word-a title Meris had always worn without any show of emotion, a name that spoke of obdurate bitterness and a gulf between them that could not be crossed-cut him deeply, down to whatever he had left of a soul, and forever silenced that tiny voice. Here was the one man-the one being-he had ever felt any connection to, and to hear that damning word-
"Attack!"
Meris almost did. But even as he sent the command to his arm to draw the sword, he felt that haunting fear in the back of his mind and all his anger become terror. He flinched away, averting his eyes, unwilling to let the Lord Singer see him afraid.
Greyt chuckled. "As I thought," he said, turning. "You disgust me, coward." He walked back to his throne and sat, draping his gold-laced cape across the arm.
Meris paused at the door and looked back. His gaze held nothing but hatred. Then Meris turned on his heel and walked out without a backward glance.
The Lord Singer waited a moment after the doors shut behind Meris then he raised his hand in a particular signal. Talthaliel stepped out of the air at Greyt's shoulder.
"That was unwise," observed the elf seer. "What if he had done it?"
"You were there, weren't you?" the Lord Singer asked irritably. "I was never in any danger. Besides, your vision said he won't defeat you."
"What if I err?"
"Have you ever erred?"
Talthaliel nodded, conceding the point. Greyt's face was calm but his eyes were furious.
"Still, I advise caution," the elf continued. "Words spoken in haste and without calculation lead to mistakes. The Spirit and the Nightingale are no threat. But send the Wayfarer after them and-"
"Silence," snapped the Lord Singer without looking at Talthaliel.
"But-"
The man swung around and slammed a fist into the diviner's jaw. Talthaliel, startled, toppled to the floor. The Lord Singer stood over him, took the amber amulet out of his tunic, and dangled it in the air.
Talthaliel did not move.
His anger spent, Greyt returned the amulet to the inside of his tunic and stepped off Talthaliel. The elf seer didn't make a sound as he climbed to his feet.
"Now, are you maintaining the barrier to magical communication?" asked Greyt.
"Yes… Lord!' The word came hesitantly.
"Have you learned anything new of Walker or his protector?"
"Nothing, lord."
"Why do I keep you? A seer who never sees anything I need!" Greyt fumed.
"My sight is keen at times," the diviner said. He did not mean to continue, but the words came out before he could stop them. Emotion was so rare that it startled him. "Even if your son did not see it, I saw what truly passed between you in those moments."
Greyt's eyebrows rose, though whether in surprise or fury was unclear.
The elf hesitated, but the Lord Singer glowered at him. Anger, then.
"Speak, seer," he muttered, pulling at the chain around his neck.
"The balance of power is upset, Lord," Talthaliel said. Greyt pulled the amber amulet out again, but the diviner could not stop himself. "A time is coming when that balance will shift, and it will not be in your favor."
Greyt held the amber amulet in his open hand, but his hand twitched to crush it. He was trembling with barely restrained hate. "And?"
"I read the Wayfarer's heart," said Talthaliel. "His decision is made. As of now, he is your enemy. He could have loved you before, but he will never love you now."
Greyt's fist snapped around the amulet and Talthaliel's jaw closed with an audible clack. The two stared at one another for a long moment, their wills struggling across the short distance that separated them.
It was the Lord Singer who broke the silence first. His challenge was low and cold. "By all means, slave, keep speaking." His fist was closed tight around the amber gemstone, and Talthaliel could almost feel the hungry pressure of his fingers.
The diviner bowed, indicating that he had nothing to say.
"Well, if you're finished," said Greyt. He held the amber amulet up between them. "I suggest that if you want this gem to remain intact you still your impudent tongue and get out of my sight." He turned away.
"I only give counsel based upon what I see," Talthaliel reminded him. "You should listen. After all, you are the one, Lord Hero, who said I never err."
The Lord Singer whirled, gem in hand, ready to curse the diviner for his impertinence, but Talthaliel was nowhere to be seen.
The Lord Singer sighed, loud and long, and shuffled to his throne. He slumped down, threw his cape wide, and rested his chin on his left hand. The Greyt family wolf sparkled on his hand in the afternoon sunlight from the high windows. Sitting there brooding, Greyt seemed to have aged years in just the past day.
A knock sounded at the door.
"Come," Greyt called absently.
The door opened, and a woman's face peered through. "Husband?" asked Lyetha in a tentative voice. "May I speak with you?"
Greyt did not look up, but he did wave slightly-it was an almost imperceptible movement. He was thinking, and she didn't even distract him.
Lyetha, dressed in a shimmering red gown, swept in. Her dark, mourning colors were gone and her hair, which had been simply pulled back and seemed dull brown before, was a gleaming, golden cascade down her back. Even her words had lost the cold formality they once had. She approached the throne with a spring her step had not known for over a decade. The change that had come over her the last few days was startling-it was as though she had gone back in time fifteen years.
Greyt hardly noticed. "What is it?" he asked, disinterested.
The half-elf stopped at the foot of the dais and paused, looking up at him. She had weighed matters in her head and in her heart, and now she hesitated to do what she had intended.
"I… I wanted to tell you something," she said.
"Yes?" He did not look at her.
Lyetha opened her mouth to speak, but closed it. Instead, she looked at Greyt's averted face, seeing the lines of fear, discomfort, and hate there. His gaze was far away. For a time, she thought perhaps he had changed, but she saw once again the bitter, cynical, cruel, and very old creature he had become.
"What is it?" he repeated, still not meeting her eyes.
Lyetha shifted her gaze away. " 'Tis… 'tis nothing," she said.
Greyt did not argue. He merely shrugged and blinked once.
Picking up her skirts, Lyetha went away, slowly at first, but her steps picked up speed until she was running. She could not let Greyt see the tears leaking down her cheeks.
She need not have bothered, for the Lord Singer did not even look up.
Somewhere in the shadows, another pair of eyes watched.