Bearers of the Black Staff

THE REVERIE LOST FOCUS and the memory faded. Panterra Qu, who was watching surreptitiously from where he had been gazing out the window toward the hills east of the castle, could tell. The thousand-yard stare shifted as Sider Ament looked down at the slow-burning fire in the old stone hearth of the reception chamber, and then glanced quickly at the boy. Pan pretended not to notice. The Gray Man preferred things that way. He did not like revealing too much of himself.

It was evening, the shadows lengthening with the sun’s departure, the air cool and the breezes dropped off into stillness. The Gray Man and the boy were returning from their weeklong pilgrimage to the villages and towns south and east of Glensk Wood. The response to Sider’s warnings had been much as expected. In some instances it was complete disbelief mixed with denial; in others, shock leading to vague promises of help. Most indicated that they would need to secure their own borders first, sending scouts into the passes south to determine if the walls had failed there, as well.

As if that would make a difference if the valley was already open to the north, Panterra thought darkly.

But Sider had warned him going in that help would not be given readily from any of these worthies. Their best chance for finding what was needed would be found where they were now, in the large, fortified town of Hold-Fast-Crossing where Hadrian Esselline ruled as King. An anomaly among the communities of Men, it was the only one that had embraced the Elven model of government by sovereignty. Esselline’s direct bloodline could be traced back two centuries, and before then through any number of divergent bloodlines that embraced offshoots of various sorts. The leaders of Hold-Fast-Crossing had settled on choosing a King within the first ten years after the Hawk had brought the survivors of the Great Wars into the valley. They had already seen what they perceived to be the benefits—leadership that promised stability, strength, and organization. The first hints of threats from neighbors had already surfaced, and they were a smaller community than several others living close by. What they lacked in numbers, they would make up for in training and skill. A King would lead and an army would protect. It was a form of government that had worked for the Elves, so there was no reason it could not work for them.

Hadrian Esselline was the sort of King that justified this line of thinking. A seasoned veteran of skirmishes with his neighbors, a warrior and a statesman, he embodied all the best of what people expected in a ruler. Esselline was the strongest of the southern community leaders and the one to whom the others were most likely to look for direction—which was why Sider Ament was here. If Esselline were to agree to send soldiers to help defend the pass at Declan Reach, the other communities would be more inclined to do the same.

And if he did not agree …

But Sider pointedly refused any consideration of that possibility, and so Panterra did, too.

Coming to Esselline last was a calculated risk, Sider admitted, confiding in the boy the nature of his strategy. It could be argued that going to Hold-Fast-Crossing first made more sense since its influence among the southern towns and villages was strongest. But Sider believed they would get only one chance at this, and he wanted to come to Esselline without any other commitment in place, giving the King the opportunity to lead by example. The King had a vain side, a sense of pride in his stature, and Sider wanted to play off that in making his case. Esselline would be given a chance at assuming the pivotal role in this matter; to a measurable degree, Sider believed, this would influence his decision, whether he recognized it or not.

But time was slipping away, and whatever impact Esselline might have on the leaders of the other communities must be brought to bear quickly. Still, some things could not be rushed. Having arrived at Esselline’s home and been placed in this room, which they had now occupied for the better part of two hours, the man and the boy could only wait patiently for the King’s appearance.

It came in dramatic fashion, with Hadrian Esselline bursting through the doors unannounced, robes billowing out behind him, arms extended in greeting.

“Sider Ament!” he boomed out, his voice filling the room. He went to the other man and embraced him warmly. “Look at you! No grayer than the day we met, in spite of all those ugly rumors of your association with wraiths! Sorry to keep you waiting! Matters of state keep me constantly occupied and much less pleasantly so!”

Hadrian Esselline was a big man, tall and broad through the shoulders, a shock of dusky hair falling down about his shoulders, a beard of the same color, eyes as quick and bright and lethal as arrowheads. He was wearing all black with the blood-red crest of his family’s coat of arms emblazoned on his chest. Everything about him was bigger than life and twice as real, and when he entered a room it seemed as if he took up all the available space.

“Thank you for agreeing to grant me an audience,” Sider replied, gripping the other in return. “I know you are busy.”