“What would you have him be?”
The Elf Queen found herself unable to answer. Macros placed his hand lightly on her shoulder. She felt calm flow from his fingers and heard herself say, “I would wish nothing of trouble upon my people, but the sight of him fills me with longing. I long for a man . . . a man with his . . . might. Tomas is more like my lost lord than he will ever know. And I fear him, for once I make the pledge, once I place him above me, I lose the power to rule. Do you think the elders would allow this? My people would never willingly place the yoke of the Valheru upon their necks again.”
The sorcerer was silent for a time, then said, “For all my arts, there are things hidden from me, but understand this: there is a magic here fey beyond imagining. I cannot explain save to say it reaches across time, more than is apparent. For while the Valheru is present within Tomas now, so is Tomas present within the Valheru in ages past.
“Tomas wears the garb of Ashen-Shugar, last of the Dragon Lords. When the Chaos Wars raged, he alone remained upon this world, for he felt things alien to his kind.”
“Tomas?”
Macros smiled. “Think not upon this overly long, lady. These sorts of paradox can send the mind reeling. What Ashen-Shugar felt was an obligation to protect this world.”
Aglaranna studied Macros’s face in the twinkling lights of Elvandar. “You know more of the ancient lore than any other man, sorcerer.”
“I have been . . . given much, lady.” He looked over the elven forests and spoke more to himself than to the Queen: “Soon will come a time of testing for Tomas. I cannot be sure what will occur, but this much I do know. Somehow the boy from Crydee, in his love for you and yours, in his simple human caring, has so far withstood the most powerful member of the most powerful mortal race ever to have lived upon this world. And he is well served in withstanding the terrible pain of that conflict of two natures by the soft arts of your Spellweavers.”
She looked hard at Macros. “You know of this?”
He laughed with genuine amusement. “Lady, I am not without some vanity. I’m stung you’d think you could fashion so fine a spellweaving without my observing. Little magic in this world escapes my notice. What you have done is wise and may tip the balance in Tomas’s favor.”
“That is the thought I plead to myself,” said Aglaranna quietly, “when I see in Tomas a lord to match the King of my youth, the husband taken too soon from my side. Can it be true?”
“Should he survive the time of testing, yes. It may be the conflict will prove the end of both Tomas and Ashen-Shugar. But should Tomas survive, he may become what you most secretly long for.
“Now I shall tell you something only the gods and I know, I can judge many things yet to come, but much is still unknown to me. One thing I know is this: at your side Tomas may grow to rule wisely and well and, as his youth is replaced by wisdom, grow to be the lord of your wishes, if his power can somehow be tempered by his human heart. Should he be sent away, a terrible fate may await both the Kingdom and the free peoples of the West.”
Her eyes asked the question, and he continued. “I cannot see into that dark future, lady; I can only surmise. Should he come into his powers with the dark side in preeminence, he will be a terrible force, one that must be destroyed. Those who see the battle madness come upon him see but a shadow of the true darkness bound up within him. Even if a balance is struck and Tomas’s humanity survives, but still you send him away, then humanity’s capacity for anger, pain, and hate may come forth. I ask you: should Tomas be driven away and someday raise the dragon standard in the north, what would occur?”
The Queen became frightened and openly showed it, her mask of control lost completely. “The moredhel would gather.”
“Aye, my lady. Not as bands of troublesome bandits, but as a host. Twenty thousand Dark Brothers, and with them a hundred thousand goblins, and companies of men whose dark nature would seek profit in the destruction and savagery to follow. A mighty army under the steel glove of a warrior born, a general whom even your own people follow without question.”
“Do you advise me to keep him here?”
“I can only point out the alternatives. You must decide.”
The Elf Queen threw back her head, her red-gold locks flying and her eyes moist, looking out over Elvandar. The first light of day was breaking. Rosy light lanced through the trees, casting shadows of deep blue. The morning songs of birds could be heard around the glades She turned to Macros, wishing to thank him for his counsel, and found him gone.