After traveling for hours, they crossed the river west of a Tsurani enclave, and when they were safely into the elven forests, a voice hailed them from the trees. “Well met, Martin Longbow.”
Martin and Garret halted and waited as three elves appeared from among the trees, seemingly forming out of the air Galain and his two companions approached the Huntmaster and Garret. Martin inclined his head slightly back toward the river, and Galain nodded. It was all the communication they needed to exchange the fact both knew of Algavins’s death, along with the others. Garret noticed the exchange, though he was far from conversant with the subtleties of elvish ways.
“Tomas? Calin?” asked Martin.
“In council with the Queen. Do you bring news?”
“Messages from Prince Arutha. Are you bound for council?”
Galain smiled the elvish half-smile that indicated ironic humor. “It has fallen to us to guard the way. We must remain for a time. We will come as soon as the dwarves cross the river. They are due anytime now.”
The comment was not lost on Martin as he bade them good-bye and continued toward Elvandar. Approaching the clearing surrounding the elvish tree-city, he wondered at the exclusion of Galain and the other young elves from council. They were all constant companions of Tomas since he came to take up permanent residency in Elvandar. Martin had not been there since just before the siege of Crydee, but in those years he had spoken to some of the Natalese Rangers who ran messages from the Duke to Elvandar to Crydee. On several occasions he had spent hours talking with Long Leon and Grimsworth of Natal. While close-mouthed when not among their own kind, they were less guarded with Longbow, for in the Huntmaster of Crydee they sensed a kindred spirit. He was the only man not a Ranger of Natal who could enter Elvandar unbidden. The two Natalese Rangers had indicated great changes in the Elf Queen’s court, and Martin felt a strange sort of silent disquiet.
As they approached Elvandar in an easy, loping run, Garret said, “Huntmaster, will they not send someone to fetch the fallen?”
Martin stopped and leaned upon his bow. “Garret, it is not their way. They will let the forest reclaim them, for they believe their true spirits are now abiding in the Blessed Isles.” He thought a moment, then said, “Among my trackers, you are perhaps the best I’ve known.” The still young man blushed at the compliment, but Longbow said, “No flattery, but simply fact I mention it because you are the one most likely to replace me should anything happen.”
Garret’s usual hangdog expression gave way to one of close attention to what Martin was saying. Martin continued, “If something should occur that takes me from this life, I would hope that someone would continue to keep Elvandar and the human world from drifting apart.”
Garret nodded. “I think I understand.”
“You must, for it would be a sad thing for the two races to grow away from one another.” He spoke softly. “About their beliefs you must learn as you can, but a few things you should know, especially in this time of war. Do you remember how it is claimed that certain priests can recall the dead, if they are no more than an hour departed?”
Garret said, “I have heard the story, but I have never met anyone who claims to have seen it done, or even claims to know someone who has seen it.”
“It is true. Father Tully says so, and he’s not the sort to be less than forthright on matters of faith.” Martin looked down at the soil. “There is a story: an important priest—of which order I do not know—found himself grown away from the gods and caught up in the human world. He cast off his fine robes and golden ornaments and donned the simple homespun of an itinerant monk. He wandered the wilderness, seeking humility. Time and chance brought him to Elvandar, where he came upon a newly fallen elf, dead by accident but a few minutes before the priest arrived. He began to recall the elf from death, for he was a priest of great powers, and sought to share his abilities with all in need. He was halted by the elf’s wife, and when he asked her why, she said, ‘It is not our way. He is now in a far better place, and should you recall him, he will not return but against his will and to our sorrow. That is why we will not speak his name, lest he hear longing in our voices and return to comfort us at cost of his own.’ From what I know, no elf has ever been recalled from death.
“I have been told by some that no elf can be revived by human arts. Others have said that elves have no true souls, which is why they do not return. I think both are false, and they have a finer sense of where they live in the world.”
Garret was quiet for a moment while he digested this information. “It is a strange tale, Huntmaster. What brought it to mind?”
“The death of those elves and your question. It is to show you how they differ from us, and how you must work to learn their ways. You will spend time among them.”