Magician (Riftware Sage Book 1)

Leon shrugged “I saw six companies, there must be others.” They had estimated a Tsurani company at twenty squads each of thirty men.

 

Tomas slapped his gloved hands together. “They would bring three thousand men back only if they were planning another crossing. They must seek to drive us deep into the forest again, to keep us from harrying their positions.” He crossed to stand over the ranger. “Do any of the black-robed ones come?”

 

“From time to time I saw one with the company I followed.”

 

Tomas again slapped his hands. “This time they come in force. Send word to the other camps. In two days’ time all the host of Elvandar is to meet at the Queen’s court, save scouts and runners who will watch the outworlders.”

 

Silently runners sprang up from the fire and hurried off to carry word to the other elven bands strung out along the banks of the river Crydee.

 

 

 

 

 

Ashen-Shugar sat upon his throne, oblivious to the dancers. The moredhel females had been chosen for their beauty and grace, but he was untouched by their allure. His mind’s eye was far away, seeking the coming battle. Inside, a strangeness, a hollow feeling without name, came into being.

 

It is called sadness, said the voice within.

 

Ashen-Shugar thought: Who are you to visit me in my solitude?

 

I am that which you are becoming. This is but a dream, a memory.

 

Ashen-Shugar drew forth his sword and rose from his throne, bellowing his rage. Instantly the musicians stopped their playing. The dancers, servants, and musicians fell to the floor, prostrating themselves before their master “I am! There is no dream!”

 

You are but a remembrance of the past, said the voice. We are becoming one.

 

Ashen-Shugar raised his sword, then lashed down. The head of a cowering servant rolled upon the floor. Ashen-Shugar knelt and placed his hand in the fountain of blood Raising fingers to his lips, he tasted the salty flavor and cried, “Is this not the taste of life!”

 

It is illusion. All has passed.

 

“I feel a strangeness, an unease that makes me . . . it makes me . . . there is no word.”

 

It is fear.

 

Ashen-Shugar again lashed out with his sword, and a young dancer died. “These things, they know fear. What has fear to do with me?”

 

You are afraid. All creatures fear change, even the gods.

 

Who are you? asked the Valheru silently.

 

I am you. I am what you will become. I am what you were. I am Tomas.

 

 

 

 

 

A shout from below brought Tomas from his reverie. He rose and left his small room, crossing a tree-branch bridge to the level of the Queen’s court. At a rail he could make out the dim figures of hundreds of dwarves camped below the heights of Elvandar. He stood for a time watching the campfires below. Each hour hundreds more elven and dwarven warriors made their way to join this army he marshaled. Tomorrow he would sit in council with Calin, Tathar, Dolgan, and others and make known his plan to meet the coming assault.

 

Six years of fighting had given Tomas a strange counterpoint to the dreams that still troubled his sleep. When the battle rage took him, he existed in another’s dreams. When he was away from the elven forest, the call to enter those dreams became ever more difficult to stem. He felt no fear of these visitations, as he had at first. He was more than human because of some long-dead being’s dreams. There were powers within him, powers that he could use, and they were now part of him, as they had been part of the wearer of the white and gold. He knew that he would never be Tomas of Crydee again, but what was he becoming . . . ?

 

The slightest hint of a footfall sounded behind him. Without turning, he said, “Good eve, my lady.”

 

The Elf Queen came to stand next to him, a studied expression on her face. “Your senses are elven now,” she said in her own language.

 

“So it seems, Shining Moon,” he answered in the same language, using the ancient translation of her name.

 

He turned to face her and saw wonder in her eyes. She reached out and gently touched his face. “Is this the boy who stood so flustered in the Duke’s council chamber at the thought of speaking before the Elf Queen, who now speaks the true tongue as if born to it?”

 

He pushed away her hand, gently. “I am what I am, what you see.” His voice was firm, commanding.

 

She studied his face, holding back a shudder as she recognized something fearful within his countenance. “But what do I see, Tomas?”

 

Ignoring her question, he said, “Why do you avoid me, lady?”

 

Gently she spoke. “There is this thing growing between us that may not be. It sprang into existence the moment you first came to us, Tomas.”