He shook his head. “I only wish to make sure, but something inside tells me this is truly the end. It was the hope of peace with the sadness of defeat mingled together that I felt.”
She touched his cheek, and he said, “I will send runners to the Kingdom camp and inquire of Lord Borric what is happening.”
She said, “If it is peace, he will send word.”
Tomas looked at her. “True. We shall wait, then.” He studied her face, centuries old, but still filled with the beauty of a woman in her first bloom. “This day will doubly be remembered as a day to celebrate.”
Neither Tomas nor Aglaranna was surprised when Macros arrived in Elvandar, for they had ceased being amazed at the sorcerer after his first visit. Without ceremony he stepped forward from the trees surrounding the clearing and crossed toward the tree-city.
The entire court was assembled, including Longbow, when Macros came to stand before the Queen and Tomas. He bowed and said, “Greetings, lady, and to your consort.”
“Welcome, Macros the Black,” said the Queen. “Have you come to unravel the mystery of the outworlders’ withdrawal?”
Macros leaned upon his staff and nodded “I bring news.” He seemed to consider his words carefully. “You should know that both the King and the Lord of Crydee are dead. Lyam is now Heir.”
Tomas noticed Martin. The Huntmaster’s face was drained of blood. His features remained impassive, but it was clear to Tomas that Martin was rocked by the news. Tomas turned toward Macros. “I knew not the King, but the Duke was a fine man. I am sorry for such news.”
Macros went over to Martin. Martin watched the sorcerer, for while he had never met him, he knew him by reputation, having been told by Arutha of the meeting upon his island and by Tomas of his intervention during the Tsurani invasion of Elvandar. “You, Martin Longbow, are to go at once to Crydee. There you will sail with the Princesses Carline and Anita for Krondor.” Martin was about to speak when Macros raised his hand; those of the court paused as if taking a breath. In a near-whisper Macros said, “At the last, your father spoke your name in love.” Then his hand dropped, and all was as it had been.
Martin felt no alarm, but rather a sense of comfort from the sorcerer’s words, he knew no one else had been aware of the brief remark.
Macros said, “Now hear more glad tidings. The war is over Lyam and Ichindar meet in twenty days’ time to sign a peace treaty.”
A cheer went up in the court, and those above shouted the news to those below. Soon all of the elven forests echoed with the sound of rejoicing. Dolgan again entered the council, wiping his eyes. “What’s this? Another celebration without us while I nap? You’ll make me think we’re no longer welcome.”
Tomas laughed “Nothing of the kind, Dolgan. Fetch your brethren and have them join our celebration. The war is over.”
Dolgan took out his pipe and knocked the dottle from it, kicking the burned-out tabac over the edge of the platform. “Finally,” he said as he opened his pouch. He turned away, as if intent upon filling his pipe, and Tomas pretended not to notice the wetness upon the dwarven chief’s face.
Arutha sat upon his father’s throne, alone in the great hall. He held the message from his brother, which he had read several times, trying to understand that their father was truly gone. Grief sat heavy upon him.
Carline had taken the news well She had gone to the quiet garden beside the keep, to be alone with her thoughts.
Thoughts ran not through Arutha’s mind. He remembered the first time his father had taken him hunting, then another time when he had come back from hunting with Martin Longbow and how proudly he had listened to his father exclaim over the large buck he had taken. He vaguely recalled the ache when he had learned of his mother’s death, but it was a distant thing, dulled by time. The image of his father enraged in the King’s palace suddenly came to him, and Arutha let out a slow sigh. “At least,” he said to himself, “most of what you had wished has come to pass, Father. Rodric is gone and Guy is in disgrace.”
“Arutha?” said a voice from the other side of the hall.
Arutha looked up: stepping from the shadows of the doorway came Anita, her satin-slippered feet making no sound as she crossed the stone floor of the hall.
Lost in his thoughts, he hadn’t noticed her enter. She carried a small lamp, for evening had cast the hall into deep gloom. “The pages were reluctant to disturb you, but I couldn’t see you sitting alone in the darkness,” she said. Arutha felt pleasure at the sight of her and relief she had come. A young woman of uncommon sense and tender ways, Anita was the first person Arutha had known to see beneath his surface calm and dry humor. More than those who had known him since boyhood, she understood his moods and could lighten them, knowing the right words to comfort him.
Without waiting for him to answer, she said, “I have heard the news, Arutha. I am so terribly sorry.”