“Baladore,” he said, greeting him in a weary voice.
He frowned. “By the gods, you look red as beet, and you are all out of breath. Please, sit down, old friend.
Here, have some wine and tell me what brings you out to the Cairn in such a state.”
” Great news, milord,” said Baladore, sinking down gratefully into a chair. “Wonderful news!
Miraculous news! Prince Michael is alive and well, as is your son!”
Lord Tieran stared at him with disbelief, as if he weren’t sure he’d heard correctly. “By Haelyn! Can it be true?” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
Baladore took a quick gulp of wine before replying. “I have just this morning received a message from your son,” he said, “written in his own hand, which your lordship is aware I know as well as I do my own. And there is an added postscript from the prince, with his signature appended. Here, see for yourself.”
“A message?” said Lord Tieran, his eyes lighting up as Baladore passed him the scroll. ‘But how? By what means?”
“Delivered by a halfling, milord, sent from Tuarhievel by Prince Fhileraene himself,” Baladore replied. “What transpired is all contained therein, in your son’s own hand.” And he waited, slaking his thirst with wine while Lord Tieran read the message, which was an account of how the boys had been captured by the goblins and then rescued by the elves,
led by the mage, Gylvain Aurealis, and how they had been received by Prince Fhileraene.
“Bless you, Baladore, for bringing me this news!”
Lord Tieran said. “I must bring this to the empress at once! She was convinced that Prince Michael had died, as I fear I was as well. I had dared hope they still lived, but I did not really think we would ever see them again. This message will restore her spirits.” He paused as something else occurred to him.
“Baladore, this note makes no mention of any ransom,” he said, uncertainly. “Surely, Prince Fhileraene must want something for their safe return?”
Baladore shook his head. “If he does, milord, neither the message nor the messenger made mention of it.”
“Hmm. Does this halfling messenger wait for word to be sent back?”
“He awaits back at the college, milord, where I have seen to it he shall be fed and rested well.”
“It is good,” Lord Tieran said. “Oh, it is so very good, indeed. I feel, good Baladore, a tremendous weight has been lifted from my chest, a weight that had been crushing me. Come, come with me. We must go tell the empress together. I am certain she will want to see the message and read it for herself.
Then we must compose a reply and send it back to Tuarhievel with this halfling. Prince Fhileraene must know the empire will be grateful for the safety of Prince Michael….” He paused. “No, by Haelyn, Emperor Michael! The succession is no longer in doubt.”
He clenched his fist around the scroll. “Arwyn of Boeruine will find he has gravely overreached himself. Claim regency, will he? Well, he shall have a
hard time justifying his claim to power now. And if he persists, all will see his bold ambition for what it truly is. Come, Baladore, let us go tell the empress the great news. And my wife, of course. She has cried tears of grief for long enough. She will now cry tears of joy, and it will do my heart no end of good to see it.”
“Is that the best you can do?” the elf girl said as she easily parried Aedan’s attack. “You will surely never slay your enemy if you come at him so gin gerly.”
“I did not wish to hurt you,” Aedan replied.
Sylvanna raised her thin and gracefully arched eyebrows. “Indeed? And what makes you think you could?”
“The fact that I might, even though unintentionally, is enough to give me pause,” said Aedan. “I owe my life to Gylvain Aurealis, and it would be a poor show of gratitude if I were to injure his own sister.”
“Ah, I see,” Sylvanna replied. “So a sense of obligation to my brother makes you exercise caution and hold back, is that it? Well, in that case, perhaps I should seek another opponent to help me in my practice, for you are not providing any challenge.”
“As you wish,” said Aedan. He swept his borrowed sword out to the side and bowed to her, then turned and left the practice ring to sit by Michael while another opponent, an elf, stepped up to take his place.
“I think you have annoyed her,” Michael said as Aedan sat down on a log beside him.
“Better that I cause her some annoyance than an injury,” said Aedan.
“We are guests here, and I do not need to shore up my pride or endanger our position by besting a female in a practice match.”
“You may be rating yourself too highly, and her not highly enough,”
Michael replied as he watched Sylvanna cross swords with her next opponent. “She knows what she’s about.”
As other elves watched, they moved around each other inside the practice circle. Each held a dagger in one hand and a sword in the other. They used no shields, and the blades were sharp. Sylvanna’s new opponent did not share Aedan’s hesitancy about engaging her. He darted in quickly and did not hold back in the least. The blades clanged against each other, and the daggers flashed, steel striking upon steel; then both combatants sprang apart and started circling once again.
Aedan frowned as he
