“My father was not…” began Faerlthann, but Baerauble raised a warning hand. Interrupting a lord among the elves simply was not done.
“Your father was the leader of your people, regardless of his own denials. When those of Suzail needed direction, they turned to him. When they needed strength, to him. When they needed wisdom, to him. He may not have carried the title of king or prince or duke, but he was your people’s leader, and now he is no more. And he left no one ready to take his place. Typically shortsighted. Typically human.”
Faerlthann started to growl another protest, but Baerauble raised his hand once more, this time adding a sharp glare. Let the elf speak, he seemed to say, and listen. Faerlthann nodded and held his tongue.
“So now we have a town full of humans, not the few dozen he told us of a mere twenty years back. A town almost in our midst, full of humans without a leader, without a master, without written law. Held together for the shortest period by one honest human. And now that human is no more.” He raised a hand in what might almost have been a salute-or a gesture of resignation.
“We few of the elven court have become divided, even as your kind multiply,” the elf lord continued, the smallest of smiles flickering across his face. He motioned to the armored elf on his right. “Othorion Keove, here, believes that with Ondeth’s passing, our agreement is null and void, and Ondeth’s people should be driven into the sea.”
He motioned to his left. “Alea Dahast, who once hunted men in this forest, now believes you should be allowed to remain, but confined to your current warren. Were you to spread farther or increase your numbers beyond reasonable bounds, you would have to be destroyed, or else we would be destroyed.”
Faerlthann put his rage aside and started to listen to the elf-not just to the words, heavy with foreboding, but to the tone. Iliphar sounded old and tired, like Faerlthann’s father after an evening of arguing with his mother.
Others have pressured him into this, Faerlthann thought. Probably the chain-clad one on the right. That one had a hungry hunter’s look to him. He appeared to be looking for any excuse to put Suzail to the torch.
Yet the choices they spoke of were abhorrent. Even if Faerlthann had wanted to, he could not abandon Suzail, nor could he prevent it from growing. More people were arriving each month. Now there were tales of plague and lurking sea monsters in Marsember, and boats were passing that city by, to moor at smaller but cleaner Suzail. Deciding not to grow might be an elven solution, but it could not be a human one.
“There is another possibility,” announced Baerauble. “You could recognize the sovereignty of Lord Iliphar in all things and allow appointment of a minister to oversee your community. You could therefore remain in the Land of the Purple Dragon.”
Baerauble turned his head briefly to the trifold throne. The woman on the left favored him with a radiant smile. Faerlthann saw what was going on here. Baerauble would be that minister and would run things as the elves saw the world and as these forest folk desired. No Suzailan townsman would stand for that.
Faerlthann was about to speak when there was a disturbance behind him, outside the pavilion. Ondeth’s son considered the time it would take for a band of men to organize and ride out to the elven pavilion. He almost let a grim smile creep onto his face. Even the densest Suzailan would be able to figure out where Baerauble Elf-friend had disappeared to with Ondeth’s only son and heir.
They charged into the main area, men in leathers with swords already drawn. The elven nobles fell back without argument or threat. Faerlthann saw some of them smiling indulgently at the humans, as a man might smile at the antics of a yapping puppy.
The humans came in a tight group, Arphoind in the lead, he was flanked by the two elder Silvers, each with his oldest boy, and several Turcassans and Merendils brought up the rear. These latter were recent arrivals from the south, where folk held low opinions of both elves and wizards.
Upon seeing Faerlthann, Arphoind raised a shout, echoed by the others. The young Obarskyr held up both hands for silence. The group quieted and slowly sheathed their blades. None retied the peace bonds that would prevent their swords from being swiftly drawn again.
Turning back to the throne, Faerlthann saw that the warrior-elf was on his feet with his sword drawn. As he glared over it at the intruding humans, the elven blade shimmered with its own light, and small arcs of lightning sizzled along its blade. Iliphar put a hand on Othorion’s shoulder, and the armored elf slowly sheathed his weapon and sank back into his seat. The fury in his sky-blue eyes remained.
“Gentlemen,” said Baerauble, “we were discussing the fate of this land, called by some Cormyr, by others the Wolf Woods, and by still others the Land of the Purple Dragon. So far the following suggestions have been put forth: a purge of all humans, a containment of all humans, or a recognition of elvish sovereignty under a minister.”
The gathered humans started shouting at once, primarily to reject all the offered options. Faerlthann held up a hand, and once more they grew quiet. “I have heard two options from elves and one from an elf-friend. What of a human solution? Did not Ondeth agree to care for this land placed in his trust?”
“He did so,” admitted Baerauble, speaking for the elves.
“And how long have we been in this land?”
“Twenty summers,” said the mage.
“My father saw sixty ere he died,” said Faerlthann, “so he spent a third of his life here, farming and helping other farmers. True?”
Baerauble made an exaggerated nod.
“Lord Iliphar,” Faerlthann asked calmly, “may I ask your age?”
The elf lord permitted himself the briefest of smiles. “I see your point. No, this land is not as it was a third of thy lifetime ago. In many ways it is tamer, with many of the more dangerous beasts hunted out, never to return. The forest buffalo were diminished before you even arrived, and Ondeth himself proved his mettle against one of the last giant owlbears. Even the dragons are not what they were, the greatest sleep their lives away far from contact with any of us. And we, too, grow fewer, as more elves travel north to rejoin our cousins of Cormanthor. The wolves survive, of course, and the deer and the great cats, but, no, the land is not as it was. It would be folly to deny that.”
“So we have been suitable caretakers of the small patch of land entrusted to us?”
“Ondeth was, but Ondeth is no more.”
“Ondeth lives on in me,” said Faerlthann firmly. “And I am prepared to take on his responsibilities.”
“We offered a crown to your father, human,” spat the warrior-elf Othorion. “He threw it back in our faces.”
There was muttering behind Faerlthann. The young Obarskyr knew of the offer, as did the Silvers, but they had kept much of what had occurred that day quiet. “He rejected an offer of the elves to be the keeper of humans. He did not want to be a puppet dancing to an elven tune. Did I quote him correctly, mage?”
“Sufficiently closely,” the lean wizard agreed. Baerauble had an anxious, excited expression on his face. Faerlthann took that as a good sign.
“A rulership demanded from the elves is as weak as a rulership offered by the elves,” Iliphar responded calmly.
“I am not demanding this of you,” said Faerlthann, turning to the other assembled men. “Good gentles, these elves will not deal with us seriously unless I hold some sort of power in our community. You’ve known me almost all my life. If you must have an official leader, is there any better available, any you’d rather serve than I?”
Arphoind was the first to reply. The youth strode forward and stood before Faerlthann. He drew his sword as he did so, and drove it into the soft earth before him point first. Kneeling by the blade, he said, “I pledge my loyalty to House Obarskyr, to the memory of Ondeth, and the blood that runs in your veins.” His thin voice cracked and quaked, but the words rang clearly throughout the pavilion.
Faerlthann pulled Mondar’s blade free of the earth and gently tapped the youth on the shoulder. “Arise, Sir Bleth, first of those who serve me.”
Arphoind’s kneeling pledge was followed by those of the Silver brothers and their sons. Then the Turcassans and the Merendils knelt, and one of the Rayburtons. All swore their fealty to House Obarskyr and named Faerlthann their lord.
Faerlthann turned back to the throne, a lump in his throat, and saw that Iliphar had left his throne and was now gliding down the wide steps toward him. The elder elf moved effortlessly, his robes billowing like the sails of a great sailing ship as he drifted down to earth.
At last the ancient elf stood face-to-face with the young human. Iliphar towered over Faerlthann. His sallow, hollow-cheeked face was stern as he gazed down upon the younger man. Faerlthann tried to keep awe from his
