“I like little the tone of your words. I thought you said the war was finished.”
“On the day of the meeting between Lyam and the Emperor, you must marshal the elves and dwarves to the west of the field. When the monarchs meet in the center of the field, then will there be treachery.”
“What treachery?” Tomas’s face showed his anger.
“I may say little more, save that when Ichindar and Lyam are seated, you must attack the Tsurani with all your forces. Only this way can Midkemia be saved from utter destruction.”
A look of suspicion crossed Tomas’s face. “You ask much for one unwilling to give more.”
Macros stood tall, holding his staff to one side, like a ruler his sceptre.
His dark eyes narrowed, and his brows met over his hooked nose. His voice stayed soft, but his words were hot with anger. Even Tomas felt something akin to awe in his presence.
“More!” he said, biting off the word. “I gave you all, Valheru! You are here by dint of my actions over many years. More of my life than you will know has been given to preparing for your coming. Had I not bested, then befriended Rhuagh, you would never have survived in the mines of Mac Mordain Cadal. It was I who prepared the armor and sword of Ashen-Shugar, leaving them with the Hammer of Tholin and my gift to the dragon, so that centuries later you would discover them. It was I who set your feet upon the path, Tomas. Had I not come to aid you, years past, Elvandar would now be ashes. Do you think Tathar and the other Spellweavers of Elvandar were the only ones to work on your behalf? Without my aid over these last nine years, you would have been destroyed utterly by the dragon’s gifts. No mere human could have withstood such ancient and powerful magic without the intervention only I could make. When you were swept along upon your dream quests to the past, it was I who guided you back to the present, I who returned you to sanity.” The sorcerer’s voice rose. “It was I who gave you the power to influence Ashen-Shugar! You were my tool!” Tomas stepped back before the controlled fury of the sorcerer’s words. “No, Tomas, I have not given you much. I have given you everything!”
For the first time since donning the armor in Mac Mordain Cadal, Tomas felt fear. In the most basic fiber of his being he suddenly was aware of how much power the sorcerer possessed, and that should Macros choose, he could brush him aside like a nettlesome insect “Who are you?” he asked quietly, controlled fear in his voice.
Macros’s anger vanished. He leaned once again upon his staff, and Tomas’s fears fled and with them all memory of his fears. With a chuckle, Macros said, “I tend to forget myself upon occasion. My apologies.” Then he grew serious once again. “I do not ask this thing from any demand of gratitude. What I have done is done, and you owe me nothing. But know this: both the creature called Ashen-Shugar and the boy called Tomas shared an abiding love of this world, each in his own way, incomprehensible to each other as that love was. You possess both aspects of the love of land: the desire of the Valheru to protect and control, and the desire of the keep boy to nurture and nourish. But should you fail in this task I set before you, should you stint in resolve when the moment is nigh, then know with dread certainty, this world upon which we stand shall be lost, lost beyond recalling. This on my most holy oath is the truth.”
“Then I shall do as you instruct.”
Macros smiled. “Go then to your wife, Prince Consort of Elvandar, but when it is time, marshal your army. I go to Stone Mountain, for Harthorn and his soldiers will join you. Every sword and war hammer is needed.”
“Will they know you?”
Macros gazed at Tomas. “Indeed they will know me, Tomas of Elvandar, never doubt.”
“I shall gather all the might of Elvandar, Macros.” A grim note entered his voice. “And for all time, we will put an end to this war.”
Macros waved his staff and vanished. Tomas waited alone for a time, struggling with a newfound fear, that this war would last forever.
THIRTY-TWO - Betrayal
The armies stood facing one another.
Seasoned veterans eyed each other across the open valley floor, not quite ready to feel at ease in the presence of an enemy they had fought for nine years and longer. Each side was composed of honor companies, representing the nobles of the Kingdom and clans of the Empire. Each numbered in excess of a thousand men. The last of the Tsurani invasion army was now entering the rift, returning home to Kelewan, leaving only the Emperor’s honor detachment behind. The Kingdom army was still camped at the mouths of the two passes into the valley and would not leave the area until the treaty was finalized. There was still a cautious aspect to the newfound trust.