Krondor: The Betrayal

  ‘‘Many things,’’ said Gorath. ‘‘My own people have become . . .’’ He sighed, long and as if releasing something held back a long time. ‘‘Many years ago, we were much the same people, those of us who became the moredhel, eldar, eledhel, glamredhel. We were the people in our tongue. Most of our names were given by our enemies. Eledhel is a word that was coined by my people in contempt, the ‘elves of light’ in the human tongue. It was a mocking name, hurled at those who sought to make themselves better than the rest of us. They called us ‘dark ones,’ or moredhel. We named the glamredhel, the ‘mad ones.’

  ‘‘We, who were once one race, are now so different one from another, that I think we have lost any sense of what we once were.’’

  Dolgan nodded, but said nothing as he listened closely.

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  ‘‘Did you know that we cannot father a child on an eledhel or glamredhel woman?’’

  Dolgan shook his head.

  ‘‘It is thought by our healers that something is needed between a man and woman of our race, something that has changed so profoundly we are as different now as dwarf or human to our own cousins.’’

  Dolgan said, ‘‘That is most passing strange.’’

  ‘‘I am old by the measure of my people,’’ said Gorath. ‘‘Two hundred sixty summers will I see next Midsummer’s Day. My birthright is three times that; only our cousins in Elvandar reach those spans of years, Dolgan. And that is because they have found one thing we have never known in the North: peace.’’

  Dolgan sighed. ‘‘Peace is a wonderful thing to find, either for one’s people . . .’’ He looked Gorath in the eyes. ‘‘Or within your own heart.’’

  Gorath looked out at the serene tableau before him, and said,

  ‘‘We live behind walls. Our villages are fortresses. No woman goes to herd sheep or cattle without a sword at her hip and a bow across her back. Our children play with weapons.’’ He hung his head, looking down at the dirt. ‘‘We let them cut themselves so they learn early lessons. I despair for my people, Dolgan.’’

  Dolgan again was silent, then he said, ‘‘I think you need to go to Elvandar. For more reasons than simply to take a message to Tomas.’’ He stood up. ‘‘But right now I think you could use a long draught of ale. And I happen to know where we can find one.’’

  Gorath managed a slight smile, and said, ‘‘You treat an enemy with hospitality, Dolgan.’’

  Dolgan shook his head as he said, ‘‘You’re no enemy of mine, Gorath of the Ardanien. That’s as plain as the beard on my chin.’’

  Dolgan led Gorath inside.

  Owyn awoke to the sound of laughter and walked to the common room, to find Gorath and Dolgan and a half dozen other dwarves all drinking and telling stories. One of the 269

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  dwarves not known to Owyn said, ‘‘Aye, goblins will do that, if you convince them it’s a good idea.’’

  Peering out the window, Owyn saw that it was morning, and said, ‘‘You’ve been drinking all night?’’

  Dolgan said, ‘‘Welcome, my friend.’’ He put his feet down from where he had had them on the table and looked out the window. ‘‘Aye, so it seems. Care to drain a flagon?’’

  ‘‘It’s a little early for me, and besides, we must head for Elvandar.’’

  Dolgan said, ‘‘True. Well, then, some food to break your fast, then on your way.’’ The old dwarf pounded on the table. ‘‘Food!’’

  Soon the other dwarves had taken up the chant and were pounding the tables with their pewter flagons, shouting,

  ‘‘Food! Food! Food!’’

  An old dwarven woman in a grey dress with her hair tucked up under a white linen cap entered from the kitchen, with a large wooden spoon. Waving it like a weapon, she said, ‘‘Keep your armor on, you lazy louts!’’

  A half dozen other dwarves followed, each carrying a platter of food. There were spiced fruits, hot sausages, loaves of steaming bread, jars of butter and honey, and savory flat cakes.

  And more ale.

  Owyn sat, and said, ‘‘I am astonished at how much ale you can consume without any ill effect.’’

  ‘‘A hearty constitution is a dwarf’s heritage,’’ said Dolgan.

  ‘‘Aye,’’ agreed Gorath. ‘‘That’s the truth. Try chasing one for three or four days.’’

  All the dwarves fell silent, then suddenly they all erupted into raucous laughter. Then with a wry, self-deprecating smile, Gorath added, ‘‘Or running from one.’’

  The hilarity redoubled, the dwarves fell to the breakfast fare with vigor.

  After the meal the horses were brought, and Owyn discovered they had been stocked with enough food for weeks. The animals had been fed and watered, and all the tack had been cleaned and repaired. Owyn said, ‘‘Dolgan, my thanks.’’

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  Gorath. ‘‘You gave me a rare chance to know this fellow, and it was my pleasure.’’

  Gorath extended his hand to Dolgan, and they shook. ‘‘Your hospitality is unmatched, friend dwarf.’’

  ‘‘And you are always welcome in Caldara, Gorath of the Ardanien.’’

  ‘‘I thank you,’’ said Gorath, and he mounted his horse.

  A group of young dwarves approached, armed and armored, and Dolgan said, ‘‘I’m sending some of the lads with you to the River Crydee. They’ll make sure you get there in good order.’’

  ‘‘Again, thanks,’’ said Owyn. They set out at a walk, with the dwarves moving out on foot. Owyn turned to Gorath, and asked, ‘‘You fit to ride?’’

  Gorath laughed, and said, ‘‘No, but let’s go anyway.’’

  ‘‘You are in an unusually cheerful mood, Gorath.’’

  ‘‘Yes,’’ said the dark elf. ‘‘It’s been too long since I’ve had the company of other warriors, good ale, and stories of valor and courage.’’ He lost his smile. ‘‘Far too long.’’

  They were silent as they rode out of the dwarven village.

  Travel through the woodlands of the Green Heart and the eastern edge of Crydee Forest was uneventful. A week after having left Caldara, they reached the banks of a river. The leader of the dwarves, a warrior named Othcal, said, ‘‘We will part company here.’’ He pointed. ‘‘That is the River Crydee.

  On the other bank is Elvandar.’’

  Gorath said, ‘‘I could sense it since yesterday.’’ He spoke softly.

  Othcal pointed down a trail. ‘‘A bit more than a mile down there is the ford we use. Go there and wait.’’

  They bid the dwarves farewell and rode on. ‘‘Wait for what?’’ Owyn asked.

  ‘‘You will see,’’ said Gorath.

  They reached the ford, a large bar of sand held by stone which had caused the river to widen and run fast, but one which the horses could navigate without trouble. They waited.

  ‘‘I don’t mean to nag,’’ said Owyn, ‘‘but what are we waiting for?’’

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  ‘‘To be invited to enter. None may enter the elven forests unbidden.’’

  ‘‘What happens if you try?’’

  ‘‘Bad things.’’

  ‘‘I won’t try. What do we do to let them know we’re here?’’

  ‘‘Nothing. They know.’’

  A few minutes later a voice called from the other bank, in a language Owyn didn’t understand. Gorath replied in the King’s Tongue. ‘‘Two who seek entrance to Elvandar. We carry a message for Warleader Tomas from the Lady Katala, Pug’s wife.’’

  There was a momentary pause, then a figure appeared on the other side of the river. ‘‘I would know your name and line.’’

  Gorath said, ‘‘I am Gorath of the Ardanien, chieftain of my clan.’’ He glanced at Owyn.

  Owyn said, ‘‘I am Owyn, son of the Baron of Timons.’’

  ‘‘Enter,’’
said the elf.

  They rode their horses across the ford and halted as a half dozen elves appeared from behind the trees. The leader approached, and said, ‘‘We are a full day’s ride to the edge of the elven glades, and another day to the Queen’s court.’’ Without saying anything else, he set off at an easy run, while two other elves fell in behind. The remaining elves stayed behind.

  Owyn studied them as he trotted along beside the elves and realized he could not tell the difference between them and Gorath’s people by casual appearance. But there was a subtle difference in their manner and bearing.

  Gorath was tall, broad-shouldered, and powerful. Owyn had seen him move, quick and deadly. These elves appeared more slight, less broad of shoulder and chest, yet equal to Gorath in height. But the biggest difference appeared to be how they moved. There was ease in their movement, as if they were one with the surrounding forest, and it was what Owyn could only label grace. They were graceful.

  They ran for an hour, apparently without tiring, then halted to rest a few minutes. Gorath studied his distant kin and said nothing.

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  Owyn noticed was Gorath nodding slightly, the elves stood and waited while Gorath and Owyn remounted. They rode until sundown, then the elf who had bid them enter the elven woods said, ‘‘We will camp.’’

  By the time Owyn had his horse unsaddled and tended to, there was a fire burning in the clearing. A waterskin was passed, and food appeared from hip packs. The elves sat upon the ground, or lay upon hip and elbow, and remained silent.

  After eating, Owyn spoke to the one whom he considered the leader, the first who had spoken, and said, ‘‘Might I know your name?’’

  ‘‘Caladain,’’ said the elf. He pointed to the other two, and said, ‘‘These are Hilar and Travin.’’ They inclined their heads toward Owyn in turn.

  Owyn suddenly realized he didn’t have any idea of what to say, so he remained silent. Gorath finally said, ‘‘The eledhel aren’t given to idle chatter, like you humans.’’

  The elves smiled politely, as if they didn’t feel quite the same way, but Owyn could see they were amused by the comment. ‘‘I see,’’ was all Owyn said.

  He finally got out his bedroll, laid it out, and lay down without comment. Soon he was asleep under the bowers of the elven forest.

  The journey continued with almost no conversation, but late in the second day, Owyn noticed the woodlands darkening off to his left. ‘‘Is there something over there that’s different from where we are now?’’

  Caladain asked, ‘‘Have you some magic skills?’’

  ‘‘Yes, why?’’

  ‘‘Because most of your race would not notice the difference.

  Yes, that is one of the sleeping glades. Those who come here unbidden would be opposed by more than our warcraft. These very woods are our allies, and we have many such places. In that stand of woods you would find yourself wanting to sleep and it is a sleep from which you would not awaken without magic.’’

  Owyn glanced at Gorath, and said, ‘‘The bad things you mentioned?’’

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  Gorath nodded. ‘‘Our legends warn of many such dangers in the home of our’’—he glanced at his escorts—‘‘. . . cousins,’’

  he finished.

  Owyn couldn’t be certain, but he thought the elves looked troubled by the reference.

  They moved across a tiny stream, and then up a rise, then entered a vast clearing. Owyn and Gorath reined in.

  Separated from where they stood by an open meadow, a huge tree city rose upward. Massive trunks, dwarfing the most ancient oak, rose to stunning heights. They were linked by graceful branches, forming bridges that were flat across the tops. Most of the trees were deep green, but here and there could be seen one with leaves of gold, silver, or even white foliage, sparkling with a faint light. A soft glow bathed the area, and the sight of it warmed Owyn in a way he couldn’t explain.

  Elves could be seen moving along the branches, or at the base where fires burned as cooks labored, smiths worked metal, and other crafts were undertaken. It was the most beautiful place Owyn had ever seen. He could hardly pull his eyes away, until Caladain said, ‘‘Elvandar.’’

  Owyn looked at Gorath and saw his companion sitting in rapt amazement. His eyes were wide and shining, moisture gathering in them. He said something softly, as if to himself, in a language Owyn didn’t understand. Owyn looked at Caladain, who said, ‘‘He said, ‘How could we know?’ ’’

  ‘‘Gorath?’’ asked Owyn.

  Gorath dismounted, and said, ‘‘It’s a legend. Barmalindar, the golden home of our race.’’

  Caladain said, ‘‘We will take your horses. Walk to that tree with the white leaves, and others will meet you and guide you to our queen.’’

  Owyn and Gorath moved across the clearing, and as they neared the trees, they saw elven children playing. Elven women sat in a circle carding wool, and in another area elven bowers and fletchers worked on bows and arrows.

  Three elves approached, and said, ‘‘Welcome to Elvandar. I am Calin, son of Queen Aglaranna.’’

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  Owyn said, ‘‘Highness. I am Owyn Belefote, son of the Baron of Timons.’’

  ‘‘I am Gorath of the Ardanien.’’

  ‘‘What brings you to our home?’’

  ‘‘I bring a message from the Lady Katala, Pug’s wife, to Tomas,’’ replied Owyn.

  ‘‘Then follow me,’’ said the Prince. He sent one of the others ahead as he walked with Owyn and Gorath.

  ‘‘You are the first of your people to come to us in many summers,’’ said Calin to Gorath.

  A flurry of footfalls on the ground alerted them to a band of young male elves running after one who held a token. The one in the lead was blond, fair to the point of having almost white hair, and he was looking over his shoulder when he almost ran into Calin.

  With a laugh, Calin caught him, spinning him in a full circle, saying, ‘‘Cautiously, little brother.’’

  The boy stopped and saw Owyn and Gorath, and said,

  ‘‘Now I see why you speak the tongue of the Kingdom.’’ He stopped and said, ‘‘Your pardon.’’

  ‘‘None needed,’’ said Calin with a laugh.

  ‘‘We were playing hound and hare, and I was the hare.’’

  ‘‘You were on the verge of being caught.’’

  The boy shook his head. ‘‘I let them stay close so they don’t get discouraged.’’

  Calin said, ‘‘This is Owyn, from the human city of Timons, and this is Gorath of the Ardanien.’’

  The Prince turned, and said, ‘‘This is my younger brother, Calis.’’

  The boy nodded, and said, ‘‘Welcome Owyn of Timons.’’ To Gorath he spoke in a different language, and at the end he seemed to be waiting. Then Gorath stepped forward and they shook hands. Then Calis looked over his shoulder at his friends, who were standing silently, watching Gorath with in-tense curiosity. He shouted, ‘‘Catch me!’’ and was off.

  A moment later, the others were in pursuit. Owyn said to Gorath, ‘‘What did he say to you?’’

  Gorath looked genuinely unsure of himself. ‘‘He said, ‘I will fight you if I must, but I would rather you were my friend.’ ’’

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  Looking at Calin, he said, ‘‘Your younger brother is a most remarkable youth.’’

  Calin nodded. ‘‘More than you realize. Come, we have a short walk ahead.’’

  He led them up a flight of steps cut into the side of a huge tree. Calin warned, ‘‘Don’t look down if you have a fear of heights, Owyn.’’

  They moved deeper into Elvandar and the closer they got to the Queen’s court, the more wonderful the place became.

  Soon they reached a large platform, upon which rested a half circle of benches, an
d at the apex of the arc sat two thrones.

  Calin said, ‘‘My mother, may I present two visitors: Owyn, son of the Baron of Timons, and Gorath, Chieftain of the Ardanien.’’ He turned to the two travelers and escorted them to stand before a stunning woman who sat on her throne. ‘‘My friends, my mother, Queen Aglaranna.’’

  The queen was a regal beauty, with arching eyebrows atop wide-set eyes of pale blue. Her hair was reddish gold and she was serene in her ease. ‘‘Welcome,’’ she said, with a musical note in her voice. To Owyn she said, ‘‘Our human friends are always welcome in Elvandar.’’ To Gorath she said, ‘‘As are our kin who come to us in peace.’’

  She motioned, and said, ‘‘Our ranks lack only your presence, Gorath.’’ He looked where she indicated and saw her advisors, a tall elf of many summers, next to whom stood one who was known to Gorath. ‘‘Earanorn!’’

  The leader of the glamradhel nodded. His expression was cold, but he held his place. ‘‘Gorath,’’ he said.

  Another elf, one who looked as old as the first, said, ‘‘I am Aciala, of the Eldar, and am most pleased to see you here.’’

  Gorath was silent for a long time, and Owyn was convinced some sort of communication was passing among the elves, silent but apparent to them. Then, in a strange gesture, Gorath pulled his sword from its scabbard. He moved toward the Queen, and Owyn was suddenly alarmed. But he noticed no discomfort on the part of the others.

  Gorath placed his sword at the Queen’s feet and knelt before her. Looking up, he said, ‘‘Lady, I have returned.’’

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  Tasks T HE QUEEN STOOD.

  She stepped down to stand before Gorath, then she leaned over and placed her hands on his shoulders. ‘‘Rise,’’

  she said gently.

  Gorath did so, and the Queen studied his face. ‘‘When those of our lost cousins return to us, there is a recognition of this change within them.’’ Her smile was reassuring and her tone conciliatory, as she said, ‘‘But in you I sense something different.

  You have not returned to us yet, Gorath, but you are returning.