Wizard of the Grove

Wizard of the Grove

Copyright © 1988, 1989, and 1999 by Tanya Huff

All rights reserved.

Published as an ebook in 2021 by Jabberwocky Literary Agency, Inc.

Originally published by DAW Books.

Cover design by Tara O’Shea

ISBN 978-1-625675-56-9

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Title Page

Copyright

Child of the Grove

Dedication

Genesis

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Interlude 1

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Interlude 2

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

End

The Last Wizard

Dedication

Acknowledgments

Progenitor

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Interlude 1

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Interlude 2

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

End

About the Author

Also by Tanya Huff

Child of the Grove

For my grandmother, who wouldn’t have understood but would have been proud of me anyway

GENESIS

In the Beginning there was Darkness and out of the Darkness came the Mother. From her flesh She formed the Earth. With her tears She filled the seas and lakes and rivers. She walked upon her creation and where She passed grew grasses, trees, and flowers. Her breath became the winds. With her right hand She created all animals that run and swim and fly. With her left hand She created all animals that slither and sting. Her laughter became the song of birds.

When She had walked all the Earth, She sat to rest in a circle of silver birch. As She was lonely, She gave form to the spirit of one of the trees that it might keep her company. And the form was that of a beautiful woman. Her name was Milthra and she was the Eldest of the Elder Races.

When the Mother left the Grove, She gave form also to the other birches that Milthra would never be lonely as She had been. It is said there is form in all trees if the Power is there to call the spirit out.

And as the Mother walked the Earth, She bled four times. From her blood came the other Elder Races, the Centaurs, the Giants, the Dwarves, and the Merfolk. And so She could see what She created, each time She bled She hung a silver light in the night sky.

Then another came out of the Darkness. His name was Chaos and He lay with the Mother and She bore him a son. And the name of the Mother’s son was Death. He was very terrible and very beautiful.

As the Elder races were of the Mother’s body and blood, they could see Death’s beauty but not his terror. Though they could be killed, they did not die; and so they had no fear of him.

Death went to the Mother and begged her to create a people he could rule.

Because She loved him, She did.

But because She loved her newest creations as well, She gave them a gift so they could keep Death in his place. She gave them the power to create. And She gave them a promise that once Death had come to them, they would return to her once more. She called them Humans, but Death called them Mortals which means to die.

Humans used the Mother’s gift to create Gods. They worshiped and made sacrifices in the hope that their Gods could keep Death away. But the powers of the Gods, being Human given, were of no use against the Mother’s true son. Soon Humankind abandoned the Gods and learned to face Death. Some even came to see his beauty.

But a God once created cannot be uncreated and so, no longer worshiped, the Gods grew bored. Those given the aspect of men by their creators took to walking the Earth in human form. Eventually, they all lay with mortal women and from those unions the race of Wizards was born.

The Wizards used the powers of the Gods to pervert the Mother’s gift and their first act was to turn on their fathers and destroy them. There would be no new Wizards. They formed a great council and for many centuries ruled the creatures of the Earth. Even the Elder Races feared them, for it appeared the Wizards had conquered Death.

Over the years, as their powers grew, so did their corruption. By forcing the breeding of man and animal, they created the Werfolk in a mockery of the Mother’s work.

And then the Wizards dared to create something using the very Earth itself. They formed mighty Dragons, giant beasts with command of fire and frost, rulers of the air or seas. But the Earth was the Body of the Mother and the Wizards could not control it. They had created their own destruction.

The Dragons turned on the Wizards and in a battle that changed the shape of the land, slew and devoured their would-be masters. The Dragons that survived returned to the Earth from which they were made.

It is said that, at the end of the Age of Wizards, Death smiled.

ONE

Mother?

There was no answer, so the tall young man reached out a slender hand and placed it gently on the bark of the silver birch before him.

Mother? he said again.

The tree stirred under his hand, as if, newly awakened, it sighed and stretched. He stepped back and waited. Slowly, very slowly, his mother drew herself out of her tree.

She was tall, with ivory skin, silver hair, and eyes the green of new spring leaves. Her name was Milthra and she was the eldest of the Sisters of the Sacred Grove. She looked barely older than her son.

She opened her arms and he came into them, then she held him at arm’s length and smiled.

You have grown, Rael. You look more like your father every time I see you. He looked so much like his father that her heart ached with the memories. Not for many years had Raen, King of Ardhan, come to the Sacred Grove, and Milthra had to be content with seeing the man she loved in the face of their son. Raen would not come to her for reasons of his own. She could not go to him for a hamadryad dies away from her tree.

She hid a sigh from her too perceptive child and brushed a lock of blue-black hair off his face. Are you well? Are you happy?

I’m both well and happy, Mother. Rael returned her smile, his eyes lit from within by green fires. Immortal eyes in the face of mortal man.

Rael could no longer be content spending whole summers with only his mother, her sisters, and the forest for company—the king’s court held more attractions for a young man of seventeen—but when he had time to spare, he spent it at the Grove. It was peaceful there and, unlike his father, his mother had time to listen. No courtiers or supplicants made demands on her, for no one found the circle of birches without her help.

Until Rael’s birth the Grove had been legend only. But when the King of Ardhan showed his son to the people in the Great Square outside the palace gates, he named Milthra as the child’s mother and placed the Grove firmly in the real world. It was fortunate the king was popular and well-liked, for many disbelieved and not a few muttered of insanity. It was also fortunate that the king was no fool and would not allow the acceptance of his son to rest on his own popularity. He called the six dukes and their households together and had them meet the infant’s eyes.

Milthra had walked with the Mother-creator as She rested after birthing the world. A fraction of that glory she passed on to her child.

It was enough.

My aunts still won’t wake to greet me? Rael asked, sprawled on the velvet grass at the foot of his mother’s tree. He dug into his pack for the food he’d cadged from a sympathetic kitchen maid.

Milthra shook her head and accepted a piece of honey cake. She had no need to eat—she drew nourishment from her tree—but did it to please her son as once she had done it to please his father. It has been a long time since the Mother walked in the forest and we wakened. My sisters are tired and want only to sleep.

Rael looked around at the trees he knew as beautiful women, women who had coddled him, fussed over him, and been as much a part of his childhood as his mother and father. He hadn’t seen them since… his forehead creased as he tried to remember. Had it really been three years? He stretched out a long arm and tugged on a low-hanging branch from a neighboring tree. Leaves rustled but no hamadryad appeared.

You’re the oldest, can’t you wake them.

Perhaps. But I will not try.

Why not? Aren’t you lonely? As much as Rael loved the Grove, he’d hate to be the only creature awake in its circle.

No, for when you are not here I also sleep. My sisters have no ties to the world of men to wake them, that is the only difference between us. If she ever regretted the ties that bound her, or acknowledged that they had brought her more sorrow than joy, it could not be heard in the music of her voice.

Rael scooped up his mother’s hands and kissed them. The only difference? he teased. I refuse to listen to such foolishness. What of your beauty? Your grace? Your wisdom? I could continue for hours…

Milthra laughed and Rael laughed with her. He’d always felt his mother laughed too seldom. In later years, Rael would recall that afternoon and her laughter when his spirit needed soothing and the shadows needed lifting from his life. He lay with his head in her lap and told her of the things he’d done since he’d been with her last—well most of the things; she was, after all, his mother—and he even told her of his feelings for the Duke of Belkar’s blue-eyed daughter, something he had confided to no one else… particularly not the Duke of Belkar’s blue-eyed daughter.

But he did not speak of why he had come to the Grove.

All too soon the thick, golden sunlight bathing the Grove began to pale. The shadows grew longer and the breezes grew chill. Rael rose lithely to his feet and extended a hand to the hamadryad. When she stood beside him, he kept her hand clasped tightly in his and stared at the ground, unsure of how to begin.

I… I won’t be back for some time.

There is to be war.

He looked up and saw she gazed sadly at him.

How did you know?

The breezes tell me. Even in sleep I hear them; they say men gather on the western border clutching steel in angry hands.

Rael spread his own hands helplessly. The King of Melac has a new and powerful counselor and the man plays the king’s weaknesses and desires like, like a shepherd plays his pipes. He’s driving the king to create an empire. Father says they begin with us because Melac hates my father for something that happened when they were young.

And my son will go to see they conquer no empire.

I have to do what I can. He tried to keep the anticipation out of his voice and wasn’t entirely successful. This war would be his chance to prove himself. His skill with weapons was his father’s heritage, but he moved with a strength and grace no man born of mere mortal could match. In his mind’s eye he saw himself a hero, returning from battle not only accepted but adulated by the people he was destined to rule. In his heart, he only hoped he would not disgrace his training.

And your father?

His voice was gentle. The king must ride at the head of his armies.

Yes. War had brought the young king to her so many years before. He had staggered, lost and wounded, into the Grove, stinking of steel and violence, Lord Death close by his side. Against the advice of her sisters, for the Elder Races did not involve themselves with mortals, she had saved him. Saved him and loved him, and Rael had come of it.

Full dusk was upon them now.

I must go, Mother.

Yes. War took her son from her, replaced her loving child with this stern young man, so ready to do violence. If he survived he would be further changed, and who knew if he would return to the Grove where nothing changed at all. She held him. Held him tightly. And then she let him go because it was all she could do.

Rael?

He turned; half in, half out of the Grove.

Tell your father, I am always here.

He knows, Mother. He waited but she said nothing more. Mother?

She shook her head, the brilliant immortal color of her eyes dimmed by a very mortal sorrow. She was the Eldest. She could not beg for the return of her love.

Accustomed to thinking of the hamadryad as his mother, and mothers as always strong, Rael had never noticed before how young Milthra looked, or how frail. He suddenly wanted to protect her, to take her in his arms and tell her everything would be all right, but as he watched she faded and dissolved back into her tree. Only the breezes remained and he had never learned to hear what they said.

* * *

Although dark had fallen over Melac, the building of the counselor’s tower continued. In the flickering light of torches, long lines of naked and sweating men struggled with block and tackle to lift massive slabs of marble into position. As each slab reached its zenith, a slave was removed from the coffle staked at the work site and placed beneath it. Some screamed, some sobbed, some lay limp and resigned, pushed beyond terror. The slab dropped, then the whole process was repeated for the next. The tower was to be the tallest in the city.

If the men who built it felt anything at all, it was, for the most part, relief that they were not beneath the stones themselves.

This night, as most nights, the king’s counselor watched the construction from the wooden dais that gave him an unobstructed view of the work. This night, the king stood beside him, leaning into each death, his tongue protruding slightly, his breathing ragged and quick.

A new slave was unchained; a young man, well formed, who, in spite of lash marks striping his back from neck to knees, fought so viciously that four men were needed to escort him to the stone. He screamed, not in terror but in defiance.

The king started at the sound and actually saw the slave. His eyes widened and he clutched at the blue velvet of his counselor’s sleeve.

That looks to be Lord Elan’s son.

It is.

But you can’t…

He spoke against me, Majesty, and so spoke against you. To speak against the lawful king is treason. The penalty for treason is death. The golden-haired man smiled and removed the king’s hand from his arm. At least this way his death serves a purpose. Life makes the strongest mortar.

On the stone, Lord Elan’s son strained against invisible bonds, muscles standing out in sharp relief. He threw back his head and howled as the slab above him fell.

On the dais, the king swayed and he moaned deep in his throat.

* * *

Rael stretched the two-hour ride home from the Grove to nearly four, dismounting to sit for a time in the moonlight. To his left, waited the shadow that was the forest. To his right, a ribbon of brown led to the distant lights of the town that spread like a skirt outside the palace walls. The Lady’s Wood. King’s Road, King’s Town.

His horse nickered and lipped at his hair, more interested in returning to the comfort of stable and stall than in philosophy.

Grasping the gelding’s mane, Rael pulled himself to his feet, mounted, and kicked the horse into a trot. He had always known that someday he would be king. He enjoyed the power and privilege, and even the responsibilities, of being prince and heir. But sometimes, in the moonlight, he wished he had a choice.

Hoofs thudded onto packed earth, and Rael turned up the King’s Road.

The watch had just called midnight when Rael reached town. Because the King’s City was so close to the center of Ardhan, miles from any invading army and surrounded on all sides by loyal subjects of the king, it had no wall. The scattered farms and cottages of the countryside merely moved closer together along the road until they gave way to the houses, shops, and inns of the city. At the Market Square—well lit even at this hour, for when business in booths and stalls shut down, business in taverns and wineshops began—Rael turned, avoiding the light, preferring to remain unseen in the residential neighborhoods where the inhabitants had long since sought their beds. He told himself he avoided the trouble that would arise if anyone recognized the young man tucked deep in the worn cloak as the prince and heir, riding alone, unescorted. He told himself he didn’t need his pocket picked, an unprovoked fight, or an escort back to his father.

He had just passed silently through the merchants’ quarters and crossed the invisible but nonetheless real line that separated their homes from the only slightly larger ones of the nobles, when the dark and quiet were snatched from around him.

Bertram, aren’t we home yet?

Very nearly, sir.

I’m sure it wasn’t this far before.

The whiny, self-indulgent voice belonged to a minor official of the court, one Diven of House Tannic. Rael had endured too many hours of petitions to mistake it, even distorted as it was by drink.

The torchbearer rounded the corner first, followed by an overdressed man leaning heavily on the arm of his body servant. A City Guard, hired as evening’s escort, brought up the rear.

Rael kept his horse walking. With luck they would be too interested in gaining their beds to pay any attention to him.

Luck was busy elsewhere.

Awk, Bertram! Brigands!

Bertram looked to the heavens, exasperation visible even to Rael, and patted his master comfortingly on the shoulder. It’s only a single rider, sir.

Oh. So it is. Any other would have been content to leave it at that. Diven stepped forward, past the torchbearer and directly into Rael’s path. Drink made him determined to erase the embarrassment of his fright. You there, state your business in this neighborhood. Speak up, or I’ll call the patrol.

Rael reined in. The torchbearer grinned, obviously looking forward to telling his cronies of how the drunken noble had accosted one of his equally noble neighbors and threatened him with the patrol. Bertram, now up behind his master, was thinking much the same thing, but not with amusement. The guard looked bored.

Well, boy, do you tell me your business or do I call the patrol? I will, you know, don’t think I won’t.

Rael wondered how a voice could whine and be shrill at the same time. He had no doubt the idiot would do exactly as he said, and wake the neighborhood doing it. And that would be the end of the dark and quiet, no mere interruption. He sighed, made his smile as friendly as he was able, and pulled back his hood.

Highness!

For a moment the smile held them—they began to return it—then the torchlight flared in his eyes.

The guard saluted and all four men began to back away.

Respectfully, and nervously, they backed away.

From the torchbearer and the guard, it was almost understandable for they met the prince and heir for the first time. Bertram also; for all he served in a noble house he was not accustomed to facing royalty so closely and so informally. But Diven of Tannic saw the prince almost daily. And still he backed away.

Rael held the smile until his horse carried him out of the circle of torchlight. Once he would have said something, tried to find the camaraderie his father seemed to share with every man, woman, and child in the kingdom. Once. But all the words had been said and still the people moved away. Not rejecting, not exactly, but not accepting either.

Let them move if they will, he told himself wearily, replacing his hood. I have enough who stand by me. Then he moved back into the dark and quiet.

* * *

At the smaller of the palace gates, he allowed the guard to get a good look at him, and passed unchallenged through the outer wall. Except for a sleepy groom waiting to take his horse, and the men on watch, it appeared the palace slept. It didn’t, of course, for within its walls the palace was almost a city in itself and the work needed to keep it running smoothly continued day and night.

He walked quickly across the outer courtyard, slipped in a side door, and began to make his way silently through the maze of stone to the tower where he had his chambers. Once, he froze in shadow and an arguing pair of courtiers passed him by.

At the cross-corridor leading to the king’s rooms, Rael noticed the royal standard still posted, the six swords on a field of green hanging limp and still against the wall. His father had not retired for the night. Wide awake himself, Rael turned toward the royal bedchamber, hoping the king would not be too busy to speak with him.

The guards saluted as he approached and moved aside to give him access to the door.

Is he alone? asked the prince.

Aye, sir, he is, replied the senior of the two.

Rael nodded his thanks and pushed the door open.

Father?

The king sat at his desk studying a large map, one hand holding down a curling edge, the other buried in his beard.

Rael was thinner than his father, his eyes an unworldly green, but aside from that the resemblance was astounding. Both were handsome men, although neither believed it. They shared the same high forehead over black slashes of brow, the same angular cheeks and proud arch of nose, even the determined set to their jaws and slightly mocking smiles matched. Those who had known the king as a young man said to look at the prince was to look at a piece of the past. The people of Ardhan might wonder at the identity of his mother, and they did, but none could doubt that Rael was the king’s son.

Raen looked up as the door opened and his face brightened when he saw who it was.

Come in, lad, he called. And shut the damn door before it blows out my lamp.

Rael did as he was bid and approached the desk, collapsing with a boneless, adolescent grace into the sturdy chair across from his father.

The Western Border?

The king nodded. And you’d best get familiar with it yourself. We march as soon as the armies are assembled.

Rael leaned forward to study the map. You’re surely not assembling all six provinces here? He wondered where they’d put everyone. The six dukes and their households jammed the palace to the rafters during seventh year festivals. The six dukes and their armies…!

No, only Cei and Aliston will come here to Belkar. We’ll join with Hale on the march. He traced their route with a callused finger. Lorn and Riven meet us on the battlefield. His mouth twisted. And it’s to be hoped those two hotheads will concentrate on fighting the enemy instead of each other. I’m thankful you’ve no rival for your lady’s hand.

Rael felt his ears redden.

You can keep no secrets in this rabbit warren, lad. It’s a good match; her father and I both approve. You’re lucky I’ve no need to join you to some foreign princess to tie a treaty.

Join? Rael repeated weakly. He’d barely gotten beyond worshiping from a distance and his father spoke of joinings?

The older man laughed. You’re right, he mocked, but kindly, it’s bad luck to talk of joining on the eve of war. He turned again to the map. And on the eve of war we are; I want the armies on the road in two weeks.

In two weeks? Father, it can’t be done. The Elite, the Palace Guard and the Ducal Guards that made up the standing army, yes, and, he supposed, most City Guards could adapt fast enough, but when Rael thought of the chaos involved in turning farmers and craftsmen into soldiers his head ached.

It’s going to have to be done, the king said shortly. We have no choice. Melac’s moving very fast; he wants those iron mines in Riven badly and has had plans to invade us for years. Though he’s a fool if he thinks he’s in charge, not that madman he has for a counselor. He looked down at the map and shook his head. Still, madman or not, he’s a brilliant leader. I’ve never heard of anyone getting an army into the field so quickly. Teeth gleamed for an instant in the lamplight. If I didn’t know all the wizards were dead.…

The wizards had destroyed themselves before there was an Ardhan or a king to rule it. Their dying convulsions had reshaped the face of the world.

Father! You don’t think…?

Don’t be ridiculous, boy. I was joking. Raen leaned back in his chair and looked fondly at his son. His expression hardened. You’re not wearing your sword.

Rael’s hand jerked to his belt and he flushed.

I saw Mother today, to tell her I wouldn’t be back to the Grove for some time. You know how steel upsets her.

Well, your guards were armed, I hope?

Rael looked at the cold hearth, the hunting tapestry on the wall, the great canopied bed, everywhere but at his father.

You took no guards. The king’s voice was sharper than Rael’s missing sword.

The guards won’t go into the Grove.

The guards will go where I tell them. And then he thought of Milthra’s reaction to heavily armed men tearing up her peace and reconsidered. Gods, he missed her. Well, they can wait with your horse at the edge of the forest, then. They needn’t go into the Grove.

An uncomfortable silence fell as both considered another who would not go into the Grove.

You’ll take them with you next time, Raen said finally. I don’t want a dead son.

Rael turned the brilliant green of his eyes on the king. Who would want to kill me, Father?

Balls of Chaos, boy, how should I know? Raen looked away from the Lady’s eyes. Melac’s men. Madmen. You’re prince and heir, my only son. When you ride from now on, you ride with guards. King’s command, not father’s. I don’t care where you’re going. I will not lose you.

Yes, sir. Suddenly, Rael made a decision. He was tired, he decided, of bouncing from the pain of one parent to the pain of the other and tired too of pretending he didn’t see that pain because they both so obviously tried to keep it from him. He took his courage in both hands and asked what he’d never dared ask before. Father? Why don’t you go to the Grove?

Raen stared at the map without seeing it. He remembered ivory and silver and green, green eyes and strong smooth limbs wrapped around him. He remembered a love so deep he could drown in it.

How did your mother look when you left her this afternoon? he asked hoarsely.

Rael thought about his last sight of the hamadryad as she merged back into her tree.

As always, beautiful; but worried and sad.

And her age?

Her age? He remembered how he’d wanted to protect her. She seemed very young.

Now look at me.

Sir?

LOOK AT ME! Raen stood so suddenly that his chair overturned. His hands clenched to fists and his voice rose to a roar. Once my hair was as thick and black as yours. You’ll notice that what I have left, and there isn’t much, is gray. There was a day I could defeat any man in Ardhan with my bare hands, but no longer. I used to be able to follow the flight of a hawk in the sun. Now I’m lucky if I can see the damned bird at all! I grew this beard to hide the lines of age! He paused, drew a shuddering breath and his voice fell until it was almost a whisper. Your mother hasn’t changed, but I am growing old. She must not see me like this.

Rael was on his feet as well, staring at his father in astonishment. You’re not old!

The king’s smile was not reflected in his eyes. Fifty-two years weigh heavily on a man, and your mother is ageless. He raised a hand to stop the next protest. I appreciate your denials, lad, but I know what I see.

Unfortunately, there was nothing to deny. His father was a mortal man and his mother stood outside of time.

Mother loves you. It wouldn’t matter to her.

It would matter to me. Let her love me as I was.

Rael ached with the pain in his father’s voice that was a twin to the pain in his mother’s.

Father…

No, Rael. Raen put his hands on his son’s shoulders but avoided the leaf-green glow of his eyes. There is nothing you can do. Go to bed. We have a busy time ahead of us.

Yes, sir.

Is he too old for me to hold? Raen wondered, looking for his child and seeing only a young man.

Am I too old to be held? Rael asked the dignity of his seventeen years.

No.

It comforted them both greatly.

If I can only get him to the Grove, Rael thought as he left his father’s room. If I can only get him to the Grove, everything will be all right.

TWO

Out of bed, milord. The Duke of Belkar and some of his men rode in last night and your father wants to see you in the small petition room.

Rael buried his head under the pillow as the middle-aged man, who had been his servant/companion since before he could remember, pulled back the heavy curtains and let in the weak early morning light. Oh, go away, Ivan, it’s barely dawn.

It’s an hour past. Strong hands dragged the blankets away with the familiarity of long service. Get up or you won’t have time for a wash and bite before you see the king.

There was time for the wash but not the bite and Rael’s stomach complained bitterly as he slipped into the room where the daily business of the kingdom was most often conducted. Raen looked up at the sound, pushed the remnants of his own breakfast across the table, and turned his attention back to the document he studied. More than a little embarrassed, Rael took a chunk of bread and slid into the only vacant chair. The Duke of Belkar smiled at him and the other man, who by his armor could only be one of Belkar’s two captains, raised an edge of his lip in what have been either a greeting or a grimace.

Finally the king scrawled his signature at the bottom of the document, set his seal in wax, and gave the paper to the Messenger standing patiently at his elbow. Then he looked up at his son.

Belkar and I have talked it over and it’s been decided that you’ll command the Elite.

Rael choked on the bread. The men of the Elite were the best fighters in Ardhan. Every young man who could use a sword dreamed of joining their company. And he was to command them. He suddenly thought of something. But, sir, the king commands the Elite.

The king also makes the rules, and I’ve changed this one. As prince and heir, you must have a command. I thought of creating a company for you out of the Palace Guard. You’ve trained with them and most of them know you, but the Elite is already a self-contained unit, used to serving under a royal commander. Black brows rose. Or don’t you want to command the Elite?

Yes, sir! The Elite, Rael thought.

As prince and heir, the king continued, a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth, you’ll be obeyed, but I hasten to point out that, training aside, you know little of actual warfare, so defer to the captain.

Yes, sir. Rael had every intention of deferring to the captain. He’d been terrified of the thickset little man for as long as he could remember.

Before you head down to the barracks, stop off at the armorers and get fitted for a new helmet, breastplate, and greaves. Your sword’s fine.

Yes, sir.

Well, get going.

Yes, sir!

He’ll be in the thick of the fighting with the Elite, Belkar pointed out as the prince dashed out of the room.

Aye, agreed the king grimly. But they’ll have to go through the Elite to get to him. It’s the safest place I can think of.

You could order him to remain here, suggested the duke, not at all pleased to have both the king and his only heir in such danger.

I could, but I’ll be damned if I’ll chain my son to the walls. Raen smiled ruefully. And that’s what I’d have to do to keep him here.

* * *

By the time Rael arrived at the Elite’s training yard, the euphoria was beginning to fade. Though the news of his appointment had obviously preceded him, the Elite weren’t yet ready to change their allegiance from captain and king/commander to captain, king, and prince/commander. Every one of them, soldier and servant, politely ignored him as he made his way to the practice ring.

Doan, the captain, perched on the top rail of the fence surrounding the ring, looking like a well-armed gargoyle. He welcomed the prince with a grunt and slapped the rail in invitation, never once taking his eyes off the men training.

Rael climbed up and sat down, a little farther from Doan than was strictly polite. He couldn’t help himself; something about the captain put him on edge. It wasn’t the man’s appearance—although the barrel chest, bandy legs, and habitual scowl made him far from appealing—it was more the feeling of tremendous power just barely under control that he seemed to project. Palace rumor whispered Doan had dwarf blood and Rael believed it. When he looked at the captain through his mother’s eyes, he felt the same strong belonging to the land that he felt in the Grove but none of the peace or serenity.

Wood cracked on wood and then wood on bone and then one of the men in the ring was down, blood streaming from a cut on his forehead, his quarterstaff lying useless on the sand beside him.

Get him out of there, grunted Doan. He turned to the prince and pointed at his sword with a gnarled finger. The swordmaster says you know how to use that thing.

Rael’s back stiffened. He’d never trained with the Elite, for theirs was a very close fraternity, but Doan had seen him work with the Palace Guard often enough to know he could use his sword. And his strength and speed were common knowledge.

Show me.

As regally as he was able, Rael shrugged and slid off the fence. He drew his sword and tossed his scabbard to one side.

Suddenly, every Elite not on duty surrounded the ring.

Rael looked around at the grinning faces, swallowed nervously, and met the eyes of the captain. They reflected the early morning light in such a way they appeared to glow deeply red. Rael swallowed again and his chin went up. So the new commander had to prove he was worthy, did he? Well, he’d show them.

Who do I fight?

A slow smile spread over the guard captain’s face. Me, he said. Your Highness. And he dropped into the ring.

Doan’s attack came so quickly, the fight almost ended before it truly began. To Rael’s astonishment, his strength and speed alone were not enough and he was forced to use every bit of skill the swordmaster had drilled into him over the years. The prince was a slender flame tipped with steel. Doan stood solid, each movement deliberate and so slow next to the Lady’s son that it seemed he must be cut to shreds. But Rael could not get past his guard, and when their swords met he had to use all of his unworldly strength to block the blow.

Less than three minutes later it was finished.

Doan bent and retrieved Rael’s sword. You’ll do, he said as he handed it over. Commander.

A cheer went up from the surrounding Elite and Rael became aware that a great deal of coin was changing hands. Snatches of conversation drifted back from the dispersing men.

…told you he’d get his own in…

…expected the captain to beat him to his knees…

…four coppers, you jackass, but then I’ve seen him fight before…

And echoed from more than one direction: He’ll do.

They’d follow the prince because they had to, Doan grunted as Rael sheathed his sword. Better you make them want to.

Rael straightened his shoulders. And how do I make them want to?

You’ve started already. Doan hacked and spit in the sand. You’ve proven you can fight.

But you beat me.

I know. I beat them, too. But you showed them you could’ve made the company on your own.

Rael flushed with pleasure. I could’ve?

Just said so, didn’t I? Doan hooked his thumbs behind his broad leather belt and headed out of the practice ring. Now if you’ll come with me… The pause was barely audible. …Commander, I’ll fill you in on your command.

* * *

…but the strength of the Elite lies in flexibility. We fight on any terrain, on any terms. It all depends on the lay of the land, the enemy, and the Duke of Hale, who runs mostly cavalry. We’ve fought beside his horsemen before though, and it… am I going too fast for you, Commander?

Huh? Rael flushed and dragged himself out of a pleasant daydream where the enemy had been falling back in terrified disorder before his charge. I’m sorry, Captain. I, I didn’t hear.

Obviously. Doan smiled, an expression that lessened neither his ugliness nor his ferocity. Drink your ale.

The mug was at his lips before Rael realized he’d followed the order without thinking. As it was there, he drank. The chain of command definitely needs work, he thought, putting the empty mug down amid the ruins of lunch. When he looked up, he saw by Doan’s expression that the thought had clearly shown on his face. He reddened, then raised his chin and met the captain’s eyes squarely. To his surprise, Doan merely nodded in what seemed to be satisfaction.

Excuse me, Captain, Commander. The Elite First sketched a salute intended to take in both his superior officers. Rael had observed his father with the Elite often enough to realize that the First’s apparent disregard for royal rank was, in fact, a form of acceptance and his heart swelled with pride. The lad’s been found. He’s waiting in the guardroom.

Send him in.

Did you lose someone? Rael asked as the First left the room.

Did I lose someone? Doan’s brow furrowed as he turned to stare at the prince. Did I lose someone? And then he chuckled, a friendly sound so at odds with his appearance that it was Rael’s turn to stare. He was still chuckling when the lad in question entered the room.

The young man, in the full uniform of the Palace Guard, was the prince’s age or possibly a year or two older. He carried his helmet on his hip but, as his pale hair was damp, he’d probably just removed it. He had a strong face with high cheekbones, a thin-lipped mouth, and deep-set, light blue eyes. The glint on his upper lip may or may not have been the beginning of a mustache. He stood self-consciously at parade rest, his eyes regulation front and center, his gaze locked on a spot some three feet above Doan’s head. Every achingly correct inch of him fairly trembled to know why he’d been called into such exalted presence—the exalted presence obviously being the captain of the Elite and not the prince and heir.

Rael wondered what the guardsman had done to bring him to the notice of the Elite Captain. There were no openings in the company. And besides, he was too young.

Rutgar, Hovan’s son, from Cei. Doan had stopped chuckling.

Yes, sir. It wasn’t a question but it seemed to need a response.

Joined your Duke’s Guard at fifteen and moved to the Palace Guard last year.

Yes, sir.

You’re moving again. He pointed with his chin across the table. The commander needs an armsman. You’re it.

Sir? This from both young men. It was enough to drag the young guard’s eyes off the wall. They studied one another for a heartbeat and then Rutgar went back to looking at nothing and the prince turned to Doan.

But I’ve already got a servant.

I didn’t say he was to be your servant. He’s your armsman. The men fight in pairs, live in pairs, the officers can’t. He’ll take care of your armor and your horse—trust me, you won’t have time—and guard your back if it needs guarding. Red-brown eyes raked over the newly appointed armsman. He’s young but, he added pointedly, so are you. You can learn together. Anyway, he’d have made the company himself before this war’s over.

A small explosion of air escaped from the pressed line of Rutgar’s mouth.

Did you say something, Armsman?

No, Captain.

Good. Get outfitted. Meet us on the reviewing square in half an hour.

Yes, sir. Only the gleam in his eye showed the young man’s emotion as he wheeled and exited the room.

Rael shook his head and his brow furrowed.

Problems, Commander?

It just happened so fast… Rael squared his shoulders. What if I wanted someone else as my armsman?

Earth-colored eyebrows rose. Do you?

Well, no, it’s just…

A good commander should have faith in his officers. The tone was not quite sarcastic. Now, if you’re ready, Commander, we’ll review the troops.

* * *

The men of Belkar, farmers and herdsmen for the most part, began to gather outside the city. Soon they were joined by the fishermen of Cei and the shepherds of Aliston. Most of these men were skilled with a quarterstaff or spear and some were fine archers, but very few of them could use a sword. In less than two weeks, they had to be an army. It would have been impossible had they not wanted to be an army so badly. Raen was a good king, more importantly he was a popular king, but they wouldn’t be fighting for him. They’d be fighting for their land.

Riven and Lorn know the mountains and they take care of border raids every winter, Raen said, jabbing at the map with a dagger. They’ll do. We can count on Hale to supply cavalry out of those crazy horsemen of his. He sucked his teeth and looked grim. They say Melac can field tens of thousands of trained soldiers.

Impossible, scoffed Cei. Mere rumor.

But none of the men in the room looked very happy.

The palace bulged with the three dukes and their retinues, officers and couriers, clerks and servants, until it resembled an anthill more than a royal residence.

Rael was up at dawn and in bed long past dark but still there weren’t enough hours in the day.

He had training.

You just removed the ears from your horse, Commander. Try it again and swing wider.

He had fittings for new armor in the plain, cold steel of the Elite.

Stop squirming, Highness.

You’re tickling.

I assure you, Highness, it’s unintentional.

He had Royal Obligations.

But I don’t want to have dinner with the dukes, Ivan. Why can’t I eat with my men?

You eat with the dukes, milord, Ivan finished fastening the red velvet jacket and stepped back to view his handiwork, because your father commands your presence. He picked the gold belt off the bed and slung it artfully around the prince’s hips. And because, milord, he continued, firmly removing Rael’s hands when he tried to hitch the belt higher, it is good policy for you to get to know the dukes.

I know the dukes. Rael held out a foot so Ivan could force it into a tight red leather boot. Aliston will pay attention only to his food and perhaps grunt once or twice if Father addresses him directly. Cei will worry out loud and continuously. And Belkar… A violent shove almost tore the second boot from Ivan’s hands. I haven’t anything to say to Belkar. Belkar’s daughter had been left at home.

Then the dukes must get to know you, milord.

They know me, Ivan. His voice was suddenly bleak and his eyes flared. And only Belkar looks at me.

The older man met the brilliance of the prince’s gaze without fear. Someday they will see you, milord. And when they do, they will stop looking away.

Rael let the green burn brighter. And what will they see, he asked softly.

Ivan smiled. All that you are. All that you can be. All that you are not.

The unearthly fires were abruptly banked.

You’re talking in riddles again, Ivan. Grumbling, Rael went to have his dinner with the dukes.

He had new people to know.

What I don’t understand, he asked as Rutgar unbuckled his practice breastplate, is why it’s such an honor to be an armsman. The armor came free and he took a deep breath; the morning’s maneuvers had been particularly strenuous as the Elite honed itself for the battles to come. I mean, you were moving up in the Palace Guard and now, he shrugged himself free of the padded undertunic, now, you’re just a well-armed servant. He winced. Uh, no offense, Rutgar.

None taken, Commander. The armsman bent so Rael could reach his buckles in turn. Perhaps you haven’t noticed, but all the officers of the Elite were armsmen once. It is, after all, the best position to observe and learn in. Only the best are chosen to be armsmen.

Rael’s jaw dropped and the corners of Rutgar’s mouth twitched.

If you’ll sit down, Commander, I’ll get those greaves.

And still the day to day governing of the land must go on.

Your Highness, please inform your father that unless something is done soon, the water situation in the camps will become desperate.

Prince Rael, I must have more men if I am to make all the arrows ordered by the king.

Young sir, a moment of your time. The men of the camps have been tearing the town apart and I can’t get near the king.

Rael! Haven’t you got something to do?

Yes, Father, but…

Then do it, lad!

Yes, sir.

There could be no letting up of the pressure, no thought of taking more time to prepare. Not only was there an invasion to meet, but so many men in so little space would become a serious problem if the army lingered too long.

Although it seemed as if he’d done enough work for two years, only two short weeks later Rael heard his father tell the dukes and the captains that they would march with the dawn.

And tonight, milord? inquired a captain, one of Aliston’s by his badge.

Tonight, replied the king, hitching up his broad leather belt to get at an elusive itch, I will ride amongst the men.

They’ll be glad to see you, Sire.

I certainly hope so. Would you like to ride with me, son? he asked, turning to Rael.

Me, sir? Rael felt as if he hadn’t been out of the palace in months.

Yes, you. If I have another son in this room I haven’t been told.

One of the captains snickered and Rael felt himself turning pink. Yes, sir, I’d like to go with you.

When the king and the heir rode out that evening, they wore plain armor and took only two of the Palace Guard, but everyone in the camp knew the iron-haired warrior and the young man with the fire-green eyes.

Rael drank in the sights and sounds and smells: the kraken pennant of Cei, blood red against the gray of evening; two men cursing genially as they diced; sweat and leather and steel. Here was a different world from those he had known—the forest and the court—cruder, less disciplined, more rawly sensual.

Raen watched the tall young man riding beside him with pride, and some amusement, as his son tried to take in everything without appearing to notice anything at all. He submerged the thought that in war young men die and he buried the fear that this one he loved so dearly could be taken from him.

The men were in good spirits and some called out to the riders as they passed. They had a long march ahead with Lord Death waiting at the end of it and a soldier, even a temporary soldier, makes merry when he can. Many of the sentiments were not those normally heard in the presence of the king and the heir to the throne. A grizzled archer bellowed out a riddle so coarse that the prince blushed, but the King roared with laughter and gave back the answer.

Aye, the king knows his women, slurred a loud voice from the crowd. Pity he can’t find a real one to get a son on.

Raen stopped laughing. Silence fell. So complete a silence it was possible to hear the soft whistle of the horses’ breath. He held up a hand to stop the Guard from riding forward, and watched his son. He remembered how Milthra had handed him the squalling, naked babe, the love in her eyes lighting up the whole Grove. When Rael looked up, he nodded.

A pulse beat in Rael’s throat like a wild thing held prisoner, but it was the only movement visible. His eyes flamed and one by