Calin’s face remained impassive, but his eyes mirrored Tomas’s anger. His words came forth quietly. “I am Warleader of Elvandar. I would not leave our forests unprotected. But should the outworlders mount a major offensive against the dukes, they will not leave sufficient soldiers along the river to menace our forests. They have not come against us since we defeated them with the sorcerer’s aid and their Black Robes were killed. But should they battle Lords Borric and Brucal, and should the battle be a close thing, our numbers might tip the balance, especially as we can strike against their weaker flank.”
Tomas maintained his self-control, standing rigidly for a moment, then in icy tones he said, “The dwarves follow Dolgan, and Dolgan follows my lead. They will not come unless I call them to battle.” Without another word he left the council circle.
Martin watched Tomas leave. His skin crawled as he felt for the first time the power contained within this strange blend of man and whatever else lived inside the boy from Crydee. He had caught only a glimpse of what was within Tomas, but it had been enough Tomas was a being to be feared.
Martin then saw a flicker of expression on Aglaranna’s face. She rose and said, “I had better have words with Tomas. He has been overwrought of late.”
As she left, Martin was struck by a certainty. Whatever else he had seen, he had witnessed a conflict between the Elf Queen’s son and her lover, and a deep conflict within herself, as well. Aglaranna had worn the expression of one caught in a hopeless fate.
When the Queen had left, Calin said, “You have come at a propitious time, Martin. We have need of your wisdom.”
Martin nodded. He sent Garret away to get something to eat, and when he was gone, Martin studied the Elf Prince, then the others in the council. Tathar stood at his usual place, to the right of the Queen’s throne. Others he knew, all old and trusted advisers of the Queen. Many were ancient Spellweavers.
Martin sat down, patiently waiting for Calin to speak. The Elf Prince remained silent for a time. Martin studied Calin, for he knew him and could sense his disquiet. As a boy, Martin had thought the Elf Prince the finest embodiment of all elven virtues. While his boyish hero worship had passed, he still regarded Calin with undiminished respect.
Calin said, “Martin, of all here you are the only one to have known Tomas before this change. What can you say of the transformation you’ve seen?”
Martin spent time considering his reply. “I have only glimpsed these changes over the years, until this day. That they are great is obvious. But as to what they herald, I cannot begin to guess. He was a good enough boy; one not overly given to mischief, though with enough curiosity to find it. He had a tender side and did not hold back in his affections. His temper was moderate, though he could lose control when a friend was threatened or struck. In all, he was much like other boys, a dreamer.”
“And now?”
Martin was troubled and took no pains to hide this. “He is something beyond my understanding.”
Tathar said, “Your words are clear to us, Martin, and true, for he has also gone beyond our understanding.”
Calin spoke softly. “Of men, you know our history more than any. You know of our hatred for the ages spent in bondage to the Valheru. You know we reject the Dark Path they trod. We fear the return of that power as much as we do this invasion of outworlders and their Black Robes. You have seen Tomas. You must know what we are forced to consider.”
Martin nodded. “Yes. You weigh his life.”
“Many of the younger elves follow him blindly,” said Tathar. “They lack the maturity and wisdom to withstand the subtle influence of the Valheru magic with him. And while the dwarves do not follow blindly, still they follow, for they have none of our heritage of fear, and they put great faith in his leadership. He has proved the means of their survival for eight years now, saving many of them from death repeatedly.
“But while Tomas has been a boon to us in this struggle against the invaders, we may have to put aside all other considerations save one: will this half man, half Valheru attempt to become our master?” Tathar frowned. “If so, he must be destroyed.”
Martin felt cold inside. Of all the boys he had known at Crydee, he had held special affection for three, Garret, Tomas, and Pug. He had mourned silently when Pug had been taken by the Tsurani, and had often wondered if it had been to his death or captivity. Now he mourned for Tomas, for whatever else might occur, Tomas would never again be as he once was.
Martin said to Calin. “Can nothing be done?”
Calin indicated Tathar should answer the question. The old Spellweaver looked around the circle, gaining silent agreement from the other Spellweavers. To Martin he said, “We do what we can to bring this to a good ending. But should the Valheru come forth in his might, we would not withstand, so we are fearful. We harbor no hatred for Tomas. But even as you pity a rabid wolf, you must kill it.”
Martin looked grimly out at the lights of Elvandar, as darkness deepened. As long as he remembered, it had been a comforting sight. Now he felt only cold bitterness. “When shall you decide?”