“Then we can trust his statement that he smells—he feels the power of the Gorgon on the invaders?”
“I’m afraid we must,” he said.
“What is the Gorgon?” Cald asked, wondering why he was the only one who seemed ignorant. The humans had known of the awnshegh, the elves and the goblins knew, but until that day he had never heard of the creature. “If it’s such a powerful monster, why have you never told me of it?”
“Why speak of evils we are not ready to challenge? For centuries he has been far away and out of our thoughts,” Eyrmin said. “It is not good to darken the day with tales of horror and wickedness.”
“But if this foe endangers us, should I not know about him?” Cald asked.
“Later I will tell you all I know, but for now I must turn my mind to other things.”
Cald understood. Learning about the power of the enemy attacking the northern borders had taken the prince’s mind from the message of the king and the problems with Relcan, but they would have to be faced.
Relcan had always looked upon Cald as an enemy, but now the prince would also have an opponent within his own forces. Though the boy could not lay the blame on the humans, he wished he had never set eyes on them. Eyrmin did not need more trouble in the camp; he was already surrounded by it on all sides.
Nine
“Another twenty warriors have left the villages to the south, Sire. They’re on their way to Reilmirid.” Brechian Adraail announced the fact, weighting his voice until it sounded like a bell tolling the doom of the nation.
Tieslin Krienelsira, king of Sielwode, ruler of Siellaghriod, stood on the balcony outside his quarters. Immediately below him, the faceted and polished spires of the Crystal Palace caught the light of the setting sun and glittered in a shattered rainbow of color. Arching bridges, ribbons of light, stretched between the towers, giving a continuity to the bright spires that rose against the dark forest, but the king took no joy in the sight.
He looked out over the forest of Sielwode. To the east lay Kiergard, where fewer than fifty miles of hill country acted as a buffer between the forest and the humans who had begun to settle along the shores of that land. Baruk-Azhik, Coeranys, and Elinie lay to the south. The dwarves in the mountains were not interested in the forest, but humans lived in the other two lands and were working their way north. In addition, some unspeakable evil had moved into the swamps in Elinie, something feared by both elves and humans.
He worried over what was happening in the north. The unrest of the dwarves in Mur-Kilad, and the forays of the gnolls and goblins coming down from the mountains, were additional concerns.
To the west, the human settlers from Mhoried were being driven out of Markazor by forces from the north. Let them fight it out and kill each other, he decided.
Sielwode was surrounded by enemies, but at the moment he was more concerned over a friend turned possible foe. One that might threaten him personally—and even worse, a threat to the throne and the unity of the nation.
He mentally cursed the day, more than ten thousand years before, when Dorainaval of the Erebannien had entered Sielwode. He tried desperately to lay the blame for the troubles of his kingdom on her shoulders, but it would not rest where it did not belong. No one could fault her because her honesty had been as great as her beauty. Those who had been alive then said she was golden haired, golden eyed, full of laughter and wit, and possessed of a wild spirit. Those who had seen her said her beauty surpassed all other females, but that she made nothing of it. She had fled her own land rather than marry Prince Corristen, refusing to be tied, even to a throne. She had been heard to say she would give her life to a just cause, but her heart to no one.
Why every adult elf, even the king, made a fool of himself for her sake was a question not easily answered. It was said even human, dwarven, and humanoid males held that kinship with elves.
The throne was then held by Ealresid Veyamain, Prince Eyrmin’s grandsire. Ealresid and Glaimal Krienelsira, royal kindred both, sought her attentions, and their rivalry led to a challenge that included not only the right to the lady’s favor, but the throne of Sielwode as well.
Glaimal, Tieslin’s grandsire, had won the battle, but after having killed his friend, he took no joy in the throne. The woman for whom he had fought scorned him. Since Ealresid had wagered the crown on the fight, the elves of Sielwode accepted Glaimal as king. But he never felt they gave him their love, nor did his grandson, Tieslin, feel it. Glaimal, along with Unismalin, Tieslin’s father, had been lost at the battle of Mount Deismaar, and the crown had descended to Tieslin.
Eyrmin’s father, Maerimil Veyamain, had also died in that battle. He had accepted Glaimal’s reign, and Eyrmin had never shown any envy for the throne, but in the years he had been guarding the western borders, he could have changed his mind. If he had, Tieslin had no doubt many of the elves of Sielwode would support his claim to the throne of his ancestors. Others would honor the outcome of the fight between Ealresid and Glaimal and support Tieslin’s claim. Therein lay the danger to Sielwode.
“Sire, something must be done about Prince Eyrmin,” Brechian said, breaking into the king’s thoughts. “The court is concerned.”
Tieslin turned and walked back into his private audience chamber. When he had stepped out onto the balcony, the cushioned crystal seats had been bare of sitters, the room empty. Now, six of his most trusted advisors had gathered. They rose when he entered the room. Their long faces and the tension in their movements warned him they too had heard the news.
He wordlessly crossed the room and took a seat on the small throne, disliking the use of it but knowing it was necessary. The seat was uncomfortable in its own right. Worse, it bore the stigma of unwelcome decisions, times like this one when he had to take official notice of his advisors’ concerns. He motioned them to sit and looked from face to face.
Listainel, who had been a close companion of his grandfather, was still famed for his warrior’s skills and was a great leader in the field. Like most elves who had celebrated their tenth millennia, his face was sharp and strong, and his deep eyes showed wisdom.
With Listainel sat Adair, Cleomid, and Jainnar—all royal kindred and mages—as well as Biestiel and Romsien, two of Tieslin’s ablest generals.
Tieslin sat back and gazed at their set faces. He could not prevent his smile. He spread his hands in a helpless gesture.
“I confess, I don’t see the danger,” he said. “Twenty warriors—and since I have heard no complaints of desertion, I take it they were not on active defensive status—have decided to go to the west, seeking adventure. What in that can worry us? No one expressed such concern when two score went adventuring in Aelvinnwode two centuries ago.”
“But they did not join forces with a claimant to the throne of Sielwode,” Biestiel replied.
“I tire of this,” Romsien announced, impatiently slapping the arm of his chair. “Your pardon for my outburst, Sire. I think you show wisdom in believing there is nothing to these rumors of disloyalty in Prince Eyrmin. If he desired the throne, would he not be here, seeking powerful allies? Instead, he chooses to defend the western borders.”
“He could hardly raise an army here in Siellaghriod,” Brechian snapped.
Listainel, the oldest and most revered of Tieslin’s council, shifted in his chair, a sign he wished to speak. The others turned, waiting to hear him. When he knew he had their attention, he began slowly.
“I would discredit the tales, save for the reason the warriors give for joining Prince Eyrmin. No song tells of elven ghost warriors trapped on Aebrynis after death. Perhaps our wise mages can settle my mind on the issue.”