King's Man and Thief (41 page)

He rose. "I'll take the napkin, if I may. Sorry about your goblet, Dev."

Deveren saw him to the door. For a moment they stood, then wordlessly reached and embraced each other. Pedric grinned, looking almost like his old self again, punched Deveren playfully in the shoulder, then left. Deveren's heart lifted as the sound of Pedric's whistling reached his ears.

He closed the door. "You've got a good man there, Damir," he said to his brother. "I hope you take care of him. Don't let him run any unnecessary risks."

"Risk is always necessary in that job," replied Damir. "But not in other governmental positions. Deveren, let me ask you something. During this whole dreadful affair, you behaved magnificently. You covered my absence perfectly—"

"—at the cost of an innocent life. I don't call that perfect."

Damir sobered. "I understand, and I share your regret. But you saved my life by doing so. And therefore, Castyll's life was saved. And then, you gave the great gift of healing to hundreds on a night when most men ran screaming through the streets. You've done your kingdom a service beyond belief, my brother. When Byrn and Mhar unite, King Castyll will have need of such a subject. You'd make a fine diplomat."

Deveren shook his head. He thought of Allika, asleep upstairs; of Vervain, warm and soft against him earlier that afternoon. He thought of the kindness in the faces of his thieves, of the things they could do for themselves and the city.

"No, brother. I thank you, but I'm a thief, not a king's man."

Damir chuckled. "Say what you will, Dev. But for a brief time, you were both.”

They had not spoken for over an hour, the large, strong wizard and the slim, elegant bard, and the silence lay heavily between them. Calleo paced back and forth, his human heritage of emotion revealing itself in every line of his ample body. His big hands clenched and unclenched, and he occasionally rubbed one palm across his bald pate, as if to smooth down hair that had not been there for decades.

Jencir permitted himself a touch of quiet humor. "Careful, Master Calleo," he warned. "You might rub away what little is left."

Calleo glared at the elf. "Curse the day anyone ever introduced elves to humor," he growled without real malice, then continued his pacing.

Jencir smiled, pleased that his teasing had been appreciated, and bent his head over his harp, his own golden hair as thick and full now as it had been for the last six centuries. Slim fingers floated over the strings, coaxing soothing music to fill the tense silence in the room.

The two were waiting for Prince Liandir, who had instructed them to meet him in his private quarters. The room was large and airy. Its floors, ceilings, and walls were made of the beautiful milkwhite quartz that formed the palace, home for centuries to Falarah's ruler, King Cynor, and his family. Liandir's own personal touch was evident in the bright colors of bed linens, draperies, carpets, and tapestries. In addition to exquisite elven carvings, there were also the works of human artisans. A small pool graced with a carved dolphin served as home to water lilies and small, brightly hued fish. The large window was open, and an early summer breeze made the sapphire-and-silver drapes swell and billow. The room accurately reflected its tenant—a mixture of old and new, human and elven, inanimate art and life's own works of beauty.

Lovely as his surroundings were, and soothing as the music he produced might be, Jencir's thoughts were with Prince Liandir. Away from the secluded peace of his private chambers, the youthful prince of Falarah now sat at King Cynor's side at the Council of Elvenkind. Under debate was what was pallidly called 'The Human Question," dealing with the mortal country of Byrn, just across the Falaran border. There would be no shouting, no name-calling, no half- or completely drawn weapons, things Jencir might have reason to expect had the meeting consisted of volatile humans. No, the elves, by their very nature rarely able to feel deep emotions, would simply talk.

Some wished to close the borders, have no further contact with humans. Others, like Liandir and Jencir, had learned to appreciate and enjoy mortals. Still others wanted extreme measures, to halt what they regarded as "contamination." If the extremists carried the vote, Jencir wondered, would he and his friends—human and elf, prince and minstrel and Court Wizard—pay the price? They had reached past their own deep-bred prejudices, but clearly others could not—or would not.

Jencir's sharp features saddened, the music he played shifting to a minor key.
Falarah was the most populous of the four elvenlands. Liandir's father, King Cynor, was among the oldest and most respected rulers. When, two centuries ago, the elven goddess known as The Lady had reduced the mountains between Byrn and Falarah to mere foothills, the Falarans knew that Her desire was for peace, not war. It was simple, logical, obvious; so obvious that Lord Cynor betrothed his daughter Ariel to the human prince Tach. Though Tach had died long ago, Ariel yet lived in her husband's country, the honored Queen-mother of Byrn, she and her part-elven descendants a living tribute to interracial peace.

The Falarans were proud of her, of the elven blood that mingled with human in Byrn. Others, including King Kertu of Sali, found such a union obscene.

"If you ask me," said Calleo, though no one had, "King Kertu and the Sa elves shouldn't have any say in what to do about the border. It's Falarah's border, not Sali's."

'Theoretically, you are correct. But the elves have thought and moved as one for millennia. Two centuries of contact with humans is not likely to change that."

The door opened, and Prince Liandir entered. Jencir leapt to his feet, and Calleo stopped in midstride. Liandir closed the door behind him and did not speak for a moment, but his expression told his friends what had happened.

"Sweet Lady Death, they're going to war, aren't they?" exclaimed Calleo.

Liandir held up a slender, beringed hand. A faint smile tugged at his weary face. "Patience, friend Calleo! It is a good thing indeed that we elves do not often have strong emotions. There would be none of us left if we all fretted as you do!" There was only affection in his voice; the rebuke was affectionate.

The prince walked slowly into the room. The highly formal robes he was required by etiquette to wear to the Council, heavy, fur-trimmed, and embroidered, threatened to overwhelm his slender frame. He shrugged off the cloak, laying it on the bed. His prince's coronet, encrusted with rubies and one great, winking sapphire, blatantly declared his nobility to those who could not see it, far more subtly stated, in his kind face. Sighing, he rubbed at his eyes, eyes that were gray as a morning mist and half again as large as a human's. Handsome in a race that was, to an individual, uncommonly beautiful, Liandir would have seemed the perfect Falaran prince of legend had it not been for the unnatural weariness and pain on his face. He suddenly looked old, Jencir thought; as old as King Cynor.

The bard and the wizard waited, the former with the patience of his race, the latter with the agitation of his. Liandir's voice was deep with regret when he at last spoke.

"The Sa carried the vote. Falarah was the only elvenland willing to actively protest King Kertu's desire. The Kir did not wish to become involved and yielded their vote. And the Ilsi!" Liandir's musical voice grew rough with displeasure. "The Ilsi are too afraid of the big, blundering mortals to—how was it phrased?—risk contact with them. They think Kertu's desire to show a hostile mien will discourage humans from traveling to our lands. They do not see that if this road does lead to war, then they may get far more human contact than they expected."

Calleo's bearded face flushed and he swore violently. Jencir shook his golden head sadly. He hadn't cared for humans when he was younger, but two centuries of contact had worn down his prejudices. Now, he found he enjoyed the company of the blunt-spoken, lively Calleo, and others of his race. The thought that Kertu would prefer to murder humans rather than try to understand them—

"How long do the humans have?" he asked.
"Long enough, perhaps," Liandir replied. His face was thoughtful, his gaze directed inward. Jencir recognized that look. It meant the prince was planning something. "Kertu first wants to assemble an army of elven troops along the border between Byrn and Falarah, where the Kyras used to be. „We no longer have a wall of stone,' said he, 'so we shall make a wall of steel.' Then ... I do not know. Perhaps he will openly attack the Byrnians."

"Elves will lose a war against humans," advised Calleo. "We've got the emotions, remember. We know how to hate, how to channel bloodlust properly. You elves don't have that. And Byrn has a standing army, well trained and used to killing. Those damned Ghil in the north provide mighty fine practice bodies."

Liandir turned his gray eyes to his friend. "Perhaps Kertu is not capable of true hatred. But he does believe in the purity of elven bloodlines, and in the wrongness of associating with humans. And the Sa have had as much practice in attacking the Ghil as have humans. It could be a closer battle than you think, and if the humans are not prepared, they might be the losers after all."

He glanced over at Jencir, hesitated, and then uttered the news that he knew would hit the performer the hardest. "Kertu and the Sa have officially stated that they do not believe The Lady partially destroyed the Kyras."

"No," breathed Jencir. "How can they?"

"Well, it's a big tale to swallow, if you didn't see it," commented Calleo. "And it was only the Falarans and the Byrnians who witnessed it."

Jencir turned to the wizard, his color high, filled with the closest approximation of fury he was capable of experiencing.
"I
saw it, Calleo! I was there, fighting against the dreadful things that the Nightlands King had sent against us. I was there, when the sun went out. I was there when She appeared to elf and human alike, promising a new chance at peace for all races of Aertha.

"I watched as the mountains crumbled before Her words. Crumbled to bring humans and elves together, to learn from each other. And if Kertu and the Sa deny this, then they deny the lesson She was trying to teach."

"I pray it will not come to war, but. . ." Liandir's voice trailed off.
"If it does, will the other elven nations fight with Sali?" asked Calleo.
"I do not believe so, but I could be wrong. Most likely, Sali will stand alone."

"Will it?" pressed the wizard. "What about the People of the Sea? They have little reason to love my race."

"But they will not fight you," countered Liandir. 'The conflicts of those on land do not much concern them."

"What about the Changers, or the Hidden Folk?"

"Changers? I have not heard of anyone encountering one in my lifetime," replied the prince. "They may not exist any more. Even if they do, they have never sided with elf or human in any struggle. There is no reason for them to do so now. And as for the Hidden Folk, they are as shy as the Ilsi. No, we have little fear that Kertu will find allies for actual warfare."

Jencir spoke up. "But the Sa alone, as Liandir said, will be formidable enough if they are allowed to surprise the humans."

Liandir took a deep breath, and shook his head. "This is wrong, terribly wrong. I know it. We must warn your people, Calleo. They must know what is going on
before
Kertu has a chance to gather an army. Could you perhaps send a message to Queen-mother Ariel?"

Calleo reluctantly shook his bald head. "My strengths lie in hand magic, not mind magic." Liandir sighed in exasperation. "I would go myself, but I would be recognized, and Kertu will be watching me."

They sat in distressed silence, their minds working furiously. Suddenly an idea occurred to Jencir.

"Highness . .. I could carry a message for you."
Both Liandir and Calleo stared at him.

"I am but one of many bards in the castle," Jencir pointed out, "and it is not uncommon for us to travel to other cities, even other lands. If you, or Calleo, or even a royal squire were to attempt to carry a message, he or she would be suspected at once. Music, however, knows no borders."

"It damn well knows the Byrnian border, as far as Kertu and his ruffians are concerned!" Calleo exploded. Gently, Liandir touched the human's sleeve, and Calleo composed himself.

Jencir was touched by the wizard's concern. "There are ways for one lone musician to slip past the Sa border guards," he insisted. Kertu's plan must not be allowed. All it could possibly lead to would be horrifically high casualties on both sides, casualties that called to the bard's mind song and tales of centuries before, in which both human and elves nearly slew one another down to the last child....

Jencir had been witness to the most recent war between the races. It could not be permitted to happen again.

"I could take some kind of message that might be passed along to the Queen-mother even if I am stopped," Jencir pressed. "Come, Highness, you know this is the only way to save
all
of us!" "Yes," said Liandir, his beautiful face lighting up with a new sense of hope. "And perhaps Calleo
can
help."

Two pairs of gray elven eyes fastened on Calleo. He was confused at First, but when Liandir began to explain, the wizard started to smile.

It just might work, after all.

Award-winning and six-time
New York Times
bestselling author Christie Golden has written over forty novels and several short stories in the fields of science fiction, fantasy and horror. Among her many projects are over a dozen Star Trek novels, nearly a dozen for gaming giant Blizzard's World of Warcraft and StarCraft novels, and three books in the nine-book Star Wars series, Fate of the Jedi, which she co-wrote with authors Aaron Allston and Troy Denning.