Tomas said, “I’m sorry, Martin.”
Martin nodded in acknowledgment, but without humor. “I understand, Tomas. I may not have had to endure your uncertainty, but I have seen many others wait for the day of Choosing. And for four years I myself have stood with the other Masters, so I know a little of your worry.”
A thought struck Pug and he blurted, “But you’re not with the other Craftmasters.”
Martin shook his head, a rueful expression playing across his even features. “I had thought that, in light of your worry, you might fail to observe the obvious. But you’ve a sharp wit about you, Pug.”
Tomas didn’t understand what they were saying for a moment, then comprehension dawned. “Then you’ll select no apprentices!”
Martin raised a finger to his lips. “Not a word, lad. No, with young Garret chosen last year, I’ve a full company of trackers.”
Tomas was disappointed. He wished more than anything to take service with Swordmaster Fannon, but should he not be chosen as a soldier, then he would prefer the life of a forester, under Martin. Now his second choice was denied him. After a moment of dark brooding, he brightened: perhaps Martin didn’t choose him because Fannon already had.
Seeing his friend entering a cycle of elation and depression as he considered all the possibilities, Pug said, “You haven’t been in the keep for nearly a month, Martin.” He put away the sling he still held and asked, “Where have you kept yourself?”
Martin looked at Pug as the boy instantly regretted his question. As friendly as Martin could be, he was still Huntmaster, a member of the Duke’s household, and keep boys did not make a habit of questioning the comings and goings of the Duke’s staff.
Martin relieved Pug’s embarrassment with a slight smile. “I’ve been to Elvandar. Queen Aglaranna has ended her twenty years of mourning the death of her husband, the Elf King. There was a great celebration.”
Pug was surprised by the answer. To him, as to most people in Crydee, the elves were little more than legend. But Martin had spent his youth near the elven forests and was one of the few humans to come and go through those forests to the north at will. It was another thing that set Martin Longbow apart from others. While Martin had shared elvish lore with the boys before, this was the first time in Pug’s memory he had spoken of his relationship to the elves. Pug stammered, “You feasted with the Elf Queen?”
Martin assumed a pose of modest inconsequence. “Well, I sat at the table farthest from the throne, but yes; I was there.” Seeing the unasked questions in their eyes, he continued. “You know as a boy I was raised by the monks of Silban’s Abbey, near the elven forest. I played with elven children, and before I came here, I hunted with Prince Calin and his cousin, Galain.”
Tomas nearly jumped with excitement. Elves were a subject holding particular fascination for him. “Did you know King Aidan?”
Martin’s expression clouded, and his eyes narrowed, his manner suddenly becoming stiff. Tomas saw Martin’s reaction and said, “I’m sorry, Martin. Did I say something wrong?”
Martin waved away the apology. “No fault of yours, Tomas,” he said, his manner softening somewhat. “The elves do not use the names of those who have gone to the Blessed Isles, especially those who have died untimely. They believe to do so recalls those spoken of from their journey there, denying them their final rest. I respect their beliefs.
“Well, to answer you, no, I never met him. He was killed when I was only a small boy. But I have heard the stories of his deeds, and he was a good and wise King by all accounts.” Martin looked about. “It approaches noon. We should return to the keep.”
He began to walk toward the path, and the boys fell in beside him.
“What was the feast like, Martin?” asked Tomas.
Pug sighed as the hunter began to speak of the marvels of Elvandar. He was also fascinated by tales of the elves, but to nowhere near the degree Tomas was. Tomas could endure hours of tales of the people of the elven forests, regardless of the speaker’s credibility. At least, Pug considered, in the Huntmaster they had a dependable eye witness. Martin’s voice droned on, and Pug’s attention wandered, as he again found himself pondering the Choosing. No matter that he told himself worry was useless: he worried. He found he was facing the approaching of this afternoon with something akin to dread.