Ander nodded. «Splendid, Went. Back still bothering you?»
«Now and then.» The old man rubbed himself gingerly. «Age catching up to me, I guess. But I can still outwork the young ones they give me for help.»
Ander nodded once more, knowing the old man’s boast was simple truth. Went should have retired years ago, but he’d stubbornly refused to give up his duties.
As Ander made his way through the front gate, the sentries on watch nodded in greeting, and he nodded back. The guards and he had long since dispensed with formalities. Arion, as Crown Prince, might insist on being treated deferentially, but Ander’s position and expectations were somewhat less.
He followed the line of the roadway as it curved left around some decorative bushes toward the stables. Then a thunder of hooves and a shout broke the morning quiet. Ander leaped aside as Arion’s gray stallion plunged toward him, scattering gravel and rearing to a sudden halt.
Before the horse was fully at rest, Arion was off and facing his brother. Where Ander was short and dark, Arion was tall and fair, and his resemblance to their father at the same age was striking. That, together with the fact that he was a superb athlete and an accomplished weapons master, hunter and horseman made it inevitable that he should be Eventine’s pride and joy. There was also a compelling charisma about Arion — a charisma that Ander had always felt lacking within himself.
«Where bound, little brother?» Arion asked. As usual, when speaking to the younger Prince, his tone held a slight hint of mockery and contempt. «I wouldn’t bother our father, if I were you. He and I were up late working on some rather pressing matters of state. He was still sleeping when I looked in.»
«I was heading for the stables,” Ander replied quietly. «I had no intention of bothering anyone.»
Arion grinned, then turned back to his horse. With a hand on the pommel, he leapt lightly into the saddle, disregarding the stirrup. Then he turned to look down at his brother. «Well, I’m off to the Sarandanon for a few days. The people in the farming communities are all stirred up — some old fairy tale of doom overtaking us all. A lot of nonsense, but I’ve got to settle them down. Don’t get your hopes up, though. I’ll be back before father leaves for the Kershalt.» He grinned. «In the meantime, little brother, look after things, will you?»
He flipped the reins and was off in a rush that carried him through the gates and away. Ander swore softly to himself and turned back. He was no longer in a mood to go riding.
He should have been the one to accompany the King on the mission of state to the Kershalt. Strengthening the ties between the Trolls and the Elves was important. And while the groundwork had already been laid, it would still require diplomacy and careful negotiating. Arion was too impatient and reckless, with too little feeling for the needs and ideas of others. Ander might lack his brother’s physical skills — though he was capable enough — and he might lack as well Arion’s natural flair for leadership. But he possessed a gift for thorough, deliberate reasoning and the patience needed in diplomatic councils. On the few occasions when he had been called on, he’d demonstrated such abilities.
He shrugged. There was no sense in dwelling on it now, however. He had already appealed to Eventine to go on the journey and been turned down in favor of Arion. Arion would be King someday; he must have the practice at statescraft he needed while Eventine still lived to guide him. And maybe that made sense, Ander conceded.
Once, Arion and he had been close. That was when Aine was alive — Aine, the youngest of the Elessedil sons. But Aine had been killed in a hunting accident eleven years ago, and after that the bond of kinship had no longer been enough. Amberle, Aine’s young daughter, had turned to Ander for support, not to Arion, and the older brother’s jealousy had soon manifested itself in open contempt. Then when Amberle had forsaken her position as one of the Chosen, Arion had blamed his brother’s influence, and his contempt had degenerated into thinly masked hostility. Now Ander suspected their father’s mind was being poisoned against him. But there was nothing he could do about it.
Still deep in thought, he was passing through the gates down the pathway to his house when a shout brought him around.
«My Lord Prince, wait!»
Ander stared in surprise at the sight of a white–robed figure running toward him, one arm waving frantically. It was one of the Chosen, the redheaded one — Lauren, wasn’t that his name? It was unusual to see any of them outside the Gardens at this hour. He waited until the young Elf reached him, stumbling to a weary halt, face and arms streaked with sweat.
«My Lord Prince, I must see the King,” the Chosen gasped. «And they won’t let me through, not until later. Can you take me to him now?»
Ander hesitated. «The King is still asleep.»
«I must see him at once!» the other insisted. «Please! This cannot wait!»
There was desperation in his eyes and on his strained, white face. His voice was cracking with his attempt to emphasize the urgency that was driving him. Ander deliberated, wondering what could be that important. «If you’re in some kind of trouble, Lauren, maybe I…»
«It’s not me, my Lord Prince. It’s the Ellcrys!»
Ander’s indecision vanished. He nodded and took Lauren’s arm. «Come with me.»
Together they hurried back through the gates toward the manor house, the sentries staring after them in surprise.
Gael, the young Elf who served as personal aide to Eventine Elessedil, shook his head firmly — yet within his dark morning robe his slim form shifted uneasily and his eyes refused to meet those of Ander. «I cannot waken the King, Prince Ander. He told me — very strongly — not to bother him for anything.»
«Or anyone, Gael?» Ander asked softly «Not even for Arion?»
«Arion has left…» Gael began. Then he halted and looked even more unhappy.
«Precisely. But I am here. Are you really going to tell me that I cannot see my father?»
Gael did not answer. Then, as Ander started toward the King’s bedroom, the young Elf hurried past him. «I’ll wake him. Please wait here.»
It was several minutes before he came out again, his face still troubled, but he nodded toward Ander «He will see you, Prince Ander. But for now, just you.»
The King was still in his bed as Ander entered, finishing the small glass of wine that Gael must have poured for him. He nodded at his son, then slipped gingerly from beneath the warmth of the bedcovers, his aging body shivering for an instant in the early morning coolness of the room. Gael, who had come in with Ander, was holding out a robe, and Eventine drew it about him, belting it snugly at the waist.
Despite his eighty–two years, Eventine Elessedil was in excellent health. His body was trim and hard. He was still able to ride, still quick and sure enough to be dangerous with a sword. His mind was sharp and alert; when the situation demanded it, as the situation frequently did, he was decisive. He still possessed that uncanny sense of balance, of proportion — the capability of seeing all sides of an issue, of judging each on its merits, and of choosing almost without exception that which would work the greatest benefit to himself and to those he ruled. It was a gift without which he could not have stayed King — would not even have stayed alive. It was a gift Ander had some reason to believe he had inherited, though it seemed worthless enough, in his present circumstances.
The King crossed to the handwoven curtains that draped the far wall, drew them aside, and pushed outward several of the floor–length windows that opened into the forest beyond. Light flooded the chamber, soft and sweet, and the smell of morning dew. Behind him, Gael was moving silently about, lighting the oil lamps to chase the last of the gloom from the corners of the chamber. Eventine hesitated before a window, staring fixedly for an instant at the reflection of his face in the misted glass. The eyes mirrored there were startlingly blue, hard and penetrating, the eyes of a man who has seen too many years and too much unpleasantness. He sighed and turned to face Ander.
«All right, Ander, what’s this all about? Gael said something about your bringing one of the Chosen with a message?»
«Yes, sir. He claims he has an urgent message from the Ellcrys.»
«A message from the tree?» Eventine frowned. «How long has it been since she gave a message to anyone — over seven hundred years? What was the message?»
«He wouldn’t tell it to me,” Ander replied. «He insists on delivering the message to you.»
Eventine nodded. «Then deliver it he shall. Show him in, Gael.»
Gael bowed slightly and hurried out through the chamber doors, leaving them slightly ajar. A moment later a huge, shaggy dog pushed his way through and padded noiselessly to the King. It was Manx, his wolfhound, and he
