Calin smiled appreciatively. “Then you are fond of the Princess?”
Pug looked upward, as if seeking guidance from some higher source “I do like her,” he admitted with a heavy sigh. “But I don’t know if I care for her that special way. Sometimes I think I do—especially when I see Roland fawning over her—but other times I don’t. She makes it very hard for me to think clearly, and I always seem to say the wrong things to her.”
“Unlike Squire Roland,” prompted Calin.
Pug nodded. “He’s court born and bred. He knows all the right things to say.” Pug leaned back on his elbows andsighed wistfully. “I guess I’m just bothered by him out of envy as much as anything. He makes me feel like an ill-mannered clod with great lumps of stone for hands and tree stumps for feet.”
Calin nodded understandingly. “I don’t count myself an expert in all the ways of your people, Pug, but I’ve spent enough time with humans to know that you choose how you feel; Roland makes you feel clumsy only because you let him.
“I would hazard a guess young Roland might feel much the same way when your positions are reversed. The faults we see in others never seem as dreadful as those we see in ourselves. Roland might envy your direct speech and honest manner.
“In any event, what you or Roland do will have little effect on the Princess so long as she’s determined to have her own way. She has romanticized you in much the same manner your friend has our Queen. Short of you becoming a hopeless boor, she will not be shaken from this attitude until she is ready. I think she has you in mind as her future consort.”
Pug gaped for a moment, then said, “Consort?”
Calin smiled. “The young are often overly concerned with matters to be settled in later years. I suspect her determination in the matter is as much a result of your reluctance as from a true appreciation of your worth. She, like many children, simply wants what she can’t have.” In a friendly tone he added, “Time will decide the issue.”
Pug leaned forward, a worried expression on his face. “Oh, my, I have made a hash of things. Half the keep boys think themselves in love with the Princess. If they only knew how terrifying the real thing can be.” He closed his eyes, squeezing them tightly shut a moment “My head aches. I thought she and Roland . . .”
Calin said, “He may be but a tool to provoke your interest. Sadly, that seems to have resulted in bad feelings between you.”
Pug nodded slowly. “I think so. Roland is a good enough sort on the whole; we’ve been friends for the most part. But since I was elevated in rank, he’s been openly hostile. I try to ignore it, but it gets under my skin after a while. Maybe I should try to talk to him.”
“That would prove wise, I think. But don’t be surprised if he is not receptive to your words. He is most certainly caught up in her spell.”
Pug was getting a headache from the topic, and the mention of spells made him ask, “Would you tell me more about elven magic?”
“Our magic is ancient. It is part of what we are and in what we create. Elven boots can make even a human silent when walking, and elven bows are better able to strike the mark, for that is the nature of our magic. It is vested in ourselves, our forests, our creations. It can sometimes be managed, subtly by those who fully understand it . . . Spellweavers, such as Tathar. But this is not easily done, for our magic resists manipulation. It is more like air than anything, always surrounding us, yet unseen. But like air, which can be felt when the wind blows, it has substance. Our forests are called enchanted by men, for so long have we dwelled there, our magic has created the mystery of Elvandar. All who dwell there are at peace. No one may enter Elvandar uninvited, save by mighty arts, and even the distant boundaries of the elven forests cause unease in those who enter with evil intent. It has not always been so; in ages past we shared our lot with others, the moredhel, those you call the Brotherhood of the Dark Path. Since the great break, when we drove them from our forests, Elvandar has been changing, becoming more our place, our home, our essence.”
Pug said, “Are the Brothers of the Dark Path truly cousin to the elves?”
Calin’s eyes grew hooded. He paused for a moment, then said, “We speak little of such things, for there is much we wish were not true. I can tell you this: there is a bond between the moredhel, whom you call the Brotherhood, and my people, though ancient and long strained. We wish it were not so, but they are true cousins to us. Once in a great while one comes back to us, what we call Returning.” He looked as if the topic were making him very uncomfortable.
Pug said, “I’m sorry if—”
Calin waved away the apology. “Curiosity is nothing to apologize for in a student, Pug. I just would rather not say more on this subject.”