Macros said, “Much is possible.” He looked pointedly from the Queen to Tomas.
Aglaranna slowly sat down, masking her discomfort. “Are you the sorcerer?”
Macros nodded. “So I am called, though there is more in the tale than can be told now. Will you heed me?”
Tathar nodded to the Queen. “Long ago, this one came to our aid. I do not understand how it can be the same man, but he was then a true friend to your father and mine. He can be trusted.”
“What, then, is your counsel?” asked the Queen.
“The Tsurani magicians have marked your sentries, knowing where they hide. At first light they will come, breaking across the river in two waves, like the horns of a bull. As you meet them, a wave of the creatures called cho-ja will come through the center, where your strength is weak. They have not thrown them against you yet, but the dwarves can tell you of their skill in warfare.”
Dolgan stepped forward. “Aye, lady. They are fearsome creatures and fight in the dark as well as do my people. I had thought them confined to the mines.”
Macros said, “And so they were, until the raids. They have brought up a host of them, which ready themselves across the river, beyond the sight of your scouts. They will come in numbers. The Tsurani tire of your raids and would put an end to the warring across the river. Their magicians have worked hard to learn the secrets of Elvandar, and now they know that should the sacred heart of the elven forests fall, the elves will be a force no longer.”
Tomas said, “Then we shall hold back, and defend against the center.”
Macros sat quietly for a moment, as if remembering something. “That is a start, but they bring their magicians with them, anxious as they are for an ending. Their magic will let their warriors pass through your forests unchecked by the power of your Spellweavers, and here they will come.”
Aglaranna said, “Then we shall meet them here and stand until the end.”
Macros nodded. “Bravely said, lady, but you will need my aid.”
Dolgan studied the sorcerer. “What can one man do?”
Macros stood. “Much. Upon the morrow, you shall see. Fear not, dwarf, the battle will be harsh, and many will travel to the Blessed Isles, but with firm resolve, we shall prevail.”
Tomas said, “You speak like one who has already seen these things happen.”
Macros smiled, and his eyes said a thousand things, and nothing. “I do, Tomas of Crydee, do I not?” He turned to the others and with a sweep of his staff said, “Ready yourselves. I shall be with you.” To the Queen he said, “I would rest; if you have a place for me?”
The Queen turned to the elf who had brought Macros to the council. “Take him to a room, bring him whatever he requires.”
The sorcerer bowed and followed the guide. The others stood in silence, until Tomas said, “Let us make ready.”
As night gave way to dawn, the Queen stood alone near her throne. In all the years of her rule, she had never known a time like this. Her thoughts ran with hundreds of images, from times as long ago as her youth, and as recently as two nights ago.
“Seeking answers in the past, lady?”
She turned to see the sorcerer standing behind her, leaning on his staff. He approached and stood next to her.
“Can you read my mind, sorcerer?”
With a smile and a wave of his hand, Macros said, “No, my lady. But there is much I do know and can see. Your heart is heavy, and your mind burdened.”
“Do you understand why?”
Macros laughed softly. “Without question. Still, I would speak to you of these things.”
“Why, sorcerer? What part ,do you play?”
Macros looked out over the lights of Elvandar “A part, much as any man plays.”
“But you know yours well.”
“True. It is given to some to understand what is obscure to others. Such is my fate.”
“Why have you come?”
“Because there is need. Without me Elvandar may fall, and that must not be. It is so ordained, and I can only do my part.”
“Will you stay if the battle is won?”
“No. I have other tasks. But I will come once more, when the need is again great.”
“When?”
“That I may not tell you.”
“Will it be soon?”
“Soon enough, though not soon enough.”
“You speak in riddles.”
Macros smiled, a crooked, sad smile. “Life is a riddle. It is in the hands of the gods. Their will shall prevail, and many mortals will find their lives changed.”
“Tomas?” Aglaranna looked deep into the sorcerer’s dark eyes.
“He most visibly, but all who live through these times.”
“What is he?”