the belt, shifting his perceptions. To Miranda he whispered, ‘This is a thing of power.’
‘Really?’ she asked dryly.
Pug glanced at her and saw her smile, as she tried to keep from laughing at him outright, and again he was visited by the certainty that her power and knowledge were more than she revealed.
Acaila stepped down from the circling benches and came to stand before Redtree. ‘May I?’ he asked.
Redtree handed him the belt.
He examined it and then turned to Tathar. ‘This is a great and wonderful magic. Did you not know it was here?’
Tathar, senior among the Queen’s Spellweavers, shook his head. With a hint of irritation, he said, ‘Did you?’
Acaila laughed, as he had often laughed when teaching Pug for the year the magician had lived with the eldar, in Elvardein, Elvandar’s twin forest, magically hidden under the ice-cap on the world of Kelewan. There was no mockery in that laugh, ever, but with a hint of irony, Acaila said, ‘There is that.’ He turned back toward Redtree and the ruler of the glamredhel nodded slightly. Acaila turned as Tathar stepped down from his place in the Queen’s circle. Even though Acaila was the undoubted leader in age and experience among the Queen’s advisers, he was a newcomer, and Tathar was Aglaranna’s seniormost adviser.
As Tathar took the belt and turned to present it to Calin, Redtree spoke. ‘The belt is worn in high council and is passed from the King to his son. As he who was my father gave the belt to me to mark my position as heir, so I give this to you, Prince Calin.’
The Elven Prince bowed his head as Acaila handed him the belt. He took it and touched his forehead to it, and said, ‘Your nobility is unquestioned. I accept your generosity with humility.’
Then Aglaranna rose and said, ‘Again our people are one.’ To Redtree she said, ‘You are truly Aron Earanorn.’ She bowed her head to him. An elf appeared behind him with a new robe, and at the Queen’s bidding, he placed it over the armor and furs Redtree wore in the fashion of his people. ‘You would honor our council by accepting a place in it.’
The old King said, ‘The honor is mine.’
Acaila put out his hand and led Redtree to a place between Tathar and himself.
Pug smiled and winked at Miranda. By placing the glamredhel above himself in council, yet behind Tathar, the wise leader of the Eldar avoided years of possible resentment by the glamredhel. Redtree would stand second only to Tathar in council.
Miranda motioned with her head for Pug to move away from the council and when they were safely away from the discussion, she said, ‘How long is this going to continue?’
Pug shrugged. ‘Redtree’s people first came here about thirty years ago, twenty years or so after Galain and Arutha ran into him after the fall of Armengar.’
‘They’ve been arguing who’s in charge for thirty years?’ asked Miranda, her face showing disbelief.
‘Discussing,’ said Tomas, appearing behind them. ‘Come with me.’
Tomas led Pug and Miranda to a private area, screened from the Queen’s court by cleverly arrayed branches. On the other side, he could look out over the tree city of Elvandar.
Pug asked, ‘Do you ever get used to it?’ He studied his friend, again finding the echoes of his foster brother in the alien etched features of the tall warrior.
Even in his ceremonial robes, Tomas radiated strength and power. His pale blue eyes, nearly colorless, gazed across the vista of Elvandar as he said, ‘Yes, but its beauty never fails to move me.’
Miranda said, ‘No one who’s alive could not feel something.’
It was evening and Elvandar was ablaze with a hundred cooking fires, some on the ground below, others on platforms erected in the branches of the trees. Throughout the community, glowing lanterns had been ignited, but rather than the harsh yellow flame of a city lamp, these glowed with a softer, blue-white light: elven globes, part natural, part magic, and unique to this place. But the trees themselves also were alight, branches illuminated with a soft glow, a faint bluish or greenish haze, as if the leaves were phosphorescent.
Tomas turned, the golden trimmed red robe flaring slightly, and said, ‘Is it time for me to don my armor, old friend?’
‘Soon, I fear,’ said Pug.
Almost wistfully Tomas said, ‘When we were victorious at Sethanon, I hoped we were done with this business.’
Pug nodded. ‘Hoped. But we knew sooner or later the Pantathians would come again for the Lifestone.’ Pug’s forehead furrowed, as if he was about to say something additional, but he halted himself. ‘So long as your sword rests within the stone, and so long as the Valheru are not finally vanquished, we did but buy time.’
Tomas did not reply, but he continued to stare out over the railing at the splendor of Elvandar. ‘I know,’ he said at last. ‘There will come a time when I must retrieve that sword and finish what we started that day.’ He had listened with keen interest when Miranda had recounted what she and his son had discovered on their last voyage to the southern continent. Tathar, Acaila, and the other Spellweavers had questioned her repeatedly over the months since she had come, ferreting out details she had forgotten. While Miranda’s patience had been worn thin on many occasions, the long-lived elves took the interminable investigation as a matter of course.
The sounds of voices announced that Aglaranna and her advisers were coming to join her husband in their private quarters. The Queen, followed by Tathar, Acaila, Redtree, and Calin, entered.
Miranda and Pug bowed their heads, but the Queen said, ‘Court is over, my friends. We are here to discuss important issues in an informal fashion.’
Miranda said, ‘Thank the gods.’
Redtree scowled. ‘My familiarity with your race is limited,’ – he glanced at Acaila, who mouthed a word – ‘milady.’ He pronounced the word as something alien. ‘But this rushing to action I’ve observed in humans … it’s incomprehensible!’
‘Rushing!’ said Miranda, allowing her astonishment to show openly.
Pug said, ‘We have been dealing with the Pantathians for fifty years, Redtree.’
The old elf took an offered goblet of wine and said, ‘Well, you should have come up with some sense of the enemy, then.’
Suddenly Pug realized that the old elf had his own sense of humor. It was different from Acaila’s, while just as dry: it had a mocking edge. Pug grinned. ‘You remind me of Martin Longbow.’
Redtree smiled and years dropped from his face. ‘Now, there’s a human I like.’
‘Where is Martin?’ asked Tomas.
‘Here,’ came a voice as the old former Duke of Crydee climbed into view, mounting a flight of steps from below. ‘I don’t move quite as spryly as I once did.’
‘You’re still a fair hand with a bow, Martin,’ said Redtree. Then he added, ‘For a human.’
Martin was the oldest
