“I beg forgiveness of my liege for my crime, my only defense being that the love and loyalty I have for the throne would not allow me to serve one who plots against it.”
King Tieslin leaned forward, glaring at Lerien. His knuckles were white against the crystal arms of the throne.
“You are saying Prince Eyrmin is a traitor?” His voice, hoarse and low with anger, was hardly more than a whisper, but it echoed around the chamber.
Lerien dropped his head and stared at the floor, keeping his eyes averted to hide his pleasure in the king’s anger.
“My sire will, I hope, understand that I can call no elf traitor, but I will not serve with humans, goblins, and halflings whose goals oppose those of our people. With the king’s permission, I will tell my tale, and he can judge for himself.”
Lerien’s story, almost wholly a lie concocted by Czrak, was embellished by facts about Reilmirid and the activities of Eyrmin’s forces, facts supplied by Iswiel and Farmain. Lerien claimed to have been restless one night when on watch near the southern border of the western arm and had overheard a conversation between Cald Dasheft and a spy in the service of the Mhor of Mhoried.
“The human boy was complaining. He wishes to return to Bevaldruor, which the humans call Shield-haven, but the messenger told him he must stay with the prince. He is a royal hostage and a pledge that the Mhor would supply an army to support Prince Eyrmin when the prince attacks Siellaghriod.”
Lerien paused again as an uproar from the listeners threatened to drown the rest of his story. Like all elves, he loved tales and knew that any story twice told lost some of its drama.
“It’s a lie! A false tale!” Romsien shouted, drowning out the others. He jumped to his feet, his hand on his sword hilt as he started toward Lerien. Then he seemed to remember where he was and realized his action was out of place. “I will not believe Eyrmin is disloyal to the king! It cannot be true about the human boy. He has been in Reilmirid since he was a small child.”
“Since when have elves suffered the impatience of humans?” Brechian demanded. He, too, was on his feet, ready to move to the defense of the informer. “It is less than a score of years. Eyrmin would wish to be sure of his footing before he took the final step and attacked Siellaghriod.”
“Cease this bickering,” the king thundered. His voice echoed. Lerien noticed the other voices did not reverberate in the chamber. Tieslin, of royal blood, had power over the castle and the surrounding lands.
“If there is more to your tale, tell it,” Tieslin ordered. His brow was furrowed and his face was dark as he glared down at Lerien. He seemed to understand the hesitancy in the messenger. “Speak the truth and do not fear the enmity of the court. The tale you bring is unwelcome, yet for the good of Siellaghriod and Sielwode, it is necessary that we hear it.”
“There is little more, Sire, save that the messenger asked if the halflings and the goblins were still with the prince, pledging the help of their people. The human boy said they were. It is true that three halflings of amazing likeness have been in Sielwode along with two goblins for years.”
“Goblins?” Jainnar rose, his eyes sparkling in rage. “Eyrmin would sink to allying himself with goblins?” In his youth, Jainnar had lived in a village at the northern eaves of Sielwode. It had been overrun and destroyed by goblins from the mountains of Mur-Kilad. In the two thousand years that had passed, he had never ceased to mourn his family. The hatred of all humanoids was a major force of his life.
Biestiel, carrier of the sword Verdos and one of the oldest living elves, rose. The murmur of outrage and dissension died away as the elves paused to hear his opinion.
“Sire, this tale is one that bears much thought,” he said slowly. “If a messenger arrived at court and spoke of the prince using the magic of trans-leaping when in battle, we would never doubt it. It is a natural elven trait, and one we would all approve. If that same messenger spoke of the prince turning himself into a goblin, none would believe it because we know this is not possible.”
The ancient warrior gazed about the room, his commanding gaze drawing nods from the assembly.
“I have long wondered if the descendants of Ealresid would one day wish to regain the throne, a possibility we all admit. But for Prince Eyrmin to align himself with our sworn enemies to take the throne would avail him nothing. No elf would serve a ruler who did so. Prince Eyrmin knows this. I would sooner believe he turned into a goblin than believe he is a fool. I find this tale beyond my ability to accept.”
“I bow to the wisdom of General Biestiel,” Romsien said. “Sire, I am another who cannot believe this tale. I point to the suggestion that the prince is supposedly allied with halflings. These small people are farmers and traders. Their chief concern is in filling their bellies. They are not warriors. I can believe many are escaping the Shadow World through a portal in the western arm. This would not in itself make them our enemies. We too would seek to escape a plane where evil has become so strong we could not fight it. Even Lerien admits the halflings do not stay in our forest. If the prince sees fit to keep three in Reilmirid to assist those who escape the horror of their world and see them on their way, I see no harm in that.”
Lerien had remained kneeling before the king. The objections made to his story bothered him, but he had not thought of a way to counter them until Romsien brought up the halflings. He raised pleading eyes to the king.
“Sire,” he spoke softly. “If I may speak of a new thing being discussed in Reilmirid?”
“Speak.” The king seemed relived to put an end to the bickering of his advisors.
“The halflings have the ability to open the portal to the Shadow World. Some wonder if the prince plans to use their ability to allow forces from the dark plain to invade and fight under his banner.”
“Impossible!” Romsien said, still trying to defend Eyrmin, though his voice lacked conviction.
“Sire, we must urge you to take steps before the prince opens Sielwode to these fell forces,” Brechian pleaded. Beside him, Cleomid, his face grim, nodded.
“My king, I would ask a question of the messenger.”
“You may do so.”
“Lerien, have you told us all you know of this plot?”
Lerien nodded. He dared not add more, since his master had told him only to lay the groundwork for suspicion and let the distrust of the court do the rest.
“This conversation you overheard,” Cleomid asked. “Was Prince Eyrmin present?”
In the original tale, Lerien had not placed the prince on the scene, so he regretfully shook his head.
“We must learn more of this,” Cleomid said slowly. “The previous tales speak of the prince’s sheltering the goblins because they saved his life and that of the king’s kinsman, Relcan. Honor demands he repay a debt.”
“The child was said to be the sole survivor of a caravan of travelers attacked by gnolls,” Romsien said. “It does not seem reasonable that the Mhor of Mhoried would risk his kinsman in such a way.”
“There is much here we must doubt, yet the throne must be protected,” General Biestiel said. “I disbelieve this tale of allies from the Shadow World and the assistance of humanoid armies, yet I would know more of the prince’s activities. I caution vigilance and readiness.”
Tieslin nodded. “You and I are of the same mind. I will say only that I have taken steps to learn what takes place in Reilmirid.”
“Sire, if you delay …” Brechian was on his feet, but he was silenced by a wave of the king’s hand.
“The time will come when we know the truth,” Tieslin said, and he strode out of the chamber.
Lerien frowned, afraid he had failed in his mission and wondering what more he could have done. Czrak had set the limits on his tale, fearing that making it too dire might destroy credibility. Lerien could not place the blame for any failure on the awnshegh. His master was perfect and could not have been wrong. If the court did not accept his tale, the fault must be his.