Martin said, “What have you named him?”
Softly the Queen said, “Calis.” Martin nodded. In the elven tongue it meant “child of the green,” referring to life and growth. It was an auspicious name.
Leaving the baby, Martin and the others were taken to rooms within the tree-city of Elvandar, where they found tubs for bathing and sleeping mats. All were quickly clean and asleep, save Arutha, whose mind wandered from an image of Anita asleep to a silver plant growing on the shore of a black lake.
Martin sat alone, enjoying the first evening of his first visit to Elvandar in a year. As much as any place, even Castle Crydee, this was his home, for as a boy he had played and been one with the elven children.
Soft elven footsteps caused him to turn. “Galain, he said, happy to see the young elf, cousin to Calin. He was Martin’s oldest friend. They embraced and Martin said, “I expected to see you sooner.”
“I’ve just returned from patrolling along the northern edge of the forests. Some strange things are going on up there. I hear you may have some light to shed on what they may be.”
“A small candle flicker, perhaps,” said Martin. “Some evil is at play up there, have no doubt.”
He filled Galain in, and the young elf said, “Terrible deeds, Martin.” He sounded genuinely sorry to hear about Anita. “Your brother?” The question, in elvish fashion, carried a variety of nuances in the intonation, each concerning itself with a different aspect of Arutha’s trials.
“He perseveres, somehow. He puts it all out of his mind sometimes, other times he is nearly overwhelmed by it. I don’t know how he keeps from going mad. He loves her so very deeply.” Martin shook his head.
“You’ve never wed, Martin. Why?”
Martin shrugged. “I’ve never met her.”
“You are sad.”
“Arutha’s a difficult man at times, but he is my brother. I remember him as a child. Even then it was hard to get close to him. Perhaps it was his mother’s death, when he was still so young. He kept things distant. For all the toughness, for all the hard edges, he’s easily hurt.”
“You two are much alike. “
“There is that,” Martin agreed.
Galain stood quietly next to Martin awhile. “We shall help, as much as we can.”
“We must go to Moraelin.”
The young elf shivered, an unusual display even in one so inexperienced. “That is a bad place, Martin. It is called Black Lake for a reason that has nothing to do with the color of the water. It is a well of madness. The moredhel go there to dream dreams of power. It lies on the Dark Path.”
“It was a Valheru place?”
Galain nodded yes.
“Tomas?” Again the question carried a variety of meanings. Galain was especially close to Tomas, having followed him during the Riftwar.
“He will not go with you. He has a new son. Calis will be tiny for so short a time, only a few years. A father should spend that time with his baby. Also, there is the risk.” Nothing more needed to be said, for Martin understood. He had watched the night Tomas had almost succumbed to the mad spirit of the Valheru within him. It had nearly cost Martin his life. It would be some time before Tomas felt secure enough to challenge his own heritage, to again awaken that dread being contained within. And he would venture into a Valheru place of power only when he felt circumstances were grave enough to justify the risk.
Martin smiled his crooked smile. “Then we shall go alone, we humans of meager talents.”
Galain returned the smile. “You are many things, so I doubt your talents meager.” Then he lost the smile. “Still, you would do well to take counsel with the Spellweavers before you go. There is dark power at Moraelin, and magic overcomes much in the way of strength and courage.”
Martin said, “We will. We speak soon.” He looked to where an elf approached, Arutha and the others behind. “I think now. Will you come?”
“I’ve no place in the circle of elders. Besides, I have not eaten for a day. I will rest. Come talk if you need.”
“I will.”
Martin hurried to join Arutha. They followed the elf, who led the humans back to the council. When all were seated before Aglaranna and Tomas, the Queen said, “Tathar, speak for the Spellweavers: say what counsel you have for Prince Arutha.”
Tathar stepped into the center of the court circle and said, “Strange things have been occurring for some turns of the middle moon. We expected southward movement of the moredhel and goblins back to the homes they were driven from during the Riftwar, but this has not come to be. Our scouts in the north have tracked many bands of goblins heading across the Great Northern Mountains into the Northlands. Moredhel scouts have come unusually close to our borders.