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fond of the Princess?’

      Pug looked upward, as if seeking guidance from some higher source. ‘I do like her,’ he admitted with a heavy sigh. ‘But I don’t know if I care for her that special way. Sometimes I think I do –especially when I see Roland fawning over her – but other times I don’t. She makes it very hard for me to think clearly, and I always seem to say the wrong things to her.’

      ‘Unlike Squire Roland,’ prompted Calin.

      Pug nodded. ‘He’s court born and bred. He knows all the right things to say.’ Pug leaned back on his elbows and sighed wistfully. ‘I guess I’m just bothered by him out of envy as much as anything. He makes me feel like an ill-mannered clod with great lumps of stone for hands and tree stumps for feet.’

      Calin nodded understandingly. ‘I don’t count myself an expert in all the ways of your people, Pug, but I’ve spent enough time with humans to know that you choose how you feel; Roland makes you feel clumsy only because you let him.

      ‘I would hazard a guess young Roland might feel much the same way when your positions are reversed. The faults we see in others never seem as dreadful as those we see in ourselves. Roland might envy your direct speech and honest manner.

      ‘In any event, what you or Roland do will have little effect on the Princess so long as she’s determined to have her own way. She has romanticized you in much the same manner your friend has our Queen. Short of you becoming a hopeless boor, she will not be shaken from this attitude until she is ready. I think she has you in mind as her future consort.’

      Pug gaped for a moment, then said, ‘Consort?’

      Calin smiled. ‘The young are often overly concerned with matters to be settled in later years. I suspect her determination in the matter is as much a result of your reluctance as from a true appreciation of your worth. She, like many children, simply wants what she can’t have.’ In a friendly tone he added, ‘Time will decide the issue.’

      Pug leaned forward, a worried expression on his face. ‘Oh, my, I have made a hash of things. Half the keep boys think themselves in love with the Princess. If they only knew how terrifying the real thing can be.’ He closed his eyes, squeezing them tightly shut a moment. ‘My head aches. I thought she and Roland . . .’

      Calin said, ‘He may be but a tool to provoke your interest. Sadly, that seems to have resulted in bad feelings between you.’

      Pug nodded slowly. ‘I think so. Roland is a good enough sort on the whole; we’ve been friends for the most part. But since I was elevated in rank, he’s been openly hostile. I try to ignore it, but it gets under my skin after a while. Maybe I should try to talk to him.’

      ‘That would prove wise, I think. But don’t be surprised if he is not receptive to your words. He is most certainly caught up in her spell.’

      Pug was getting a headache from the topic, and the mention of spells made him ask, ‘Would you tell me more about elven magic?’

      ‘Our magic is ancient. It is part of what we are and in what we create. Elven boots can make even a human silent when walking, and elven bows are better able to strike the mark, for that is the nature of our magic. It is vested in ourselves, our forests, our creations. It can sometimes be managed, subtly by those who fully understand it . . . Spellweavers, such as Tathar. But this is not easily done, for our magic resists manipulation. It is more like air than anything, always surrounding us, yet unseen. But like air, which can be felt when the wind blows, it has substance. Our forests are called enchanted by men, for so long have we dwelled there, our magic has created the mystery of Elvandar. All who dwell there are at peace. No one may enter Elvandar uninvited, save by mighty arts, and even the distant boundaries of the elven forests cause unease in those who enter with evil intent. It has not always been so; in ages past we shared our lot with others, the moredhel, those you call the Brotherhood of the Dark Path. Since the great break, when we drove them from our forests, Elvandar has been changing, becoming more our place, our home, our essence.’

      Pug said, ‘Are the Brothers of the Dark Path truly cousin to the elves?’

      Calin’s eyes grew hooded. He paused for a moment, then said, ‘We speak little of such things, for there is much we wish were not true. I can tell you this: there is a bond between the moredhel, whom you call the Brotherhood, and my people, though ancient and long strained. We wish it were not so, but they are true cousins to us. Once in a great while one comes back to us, what we call Returning.’ He looked as if the topic were making him very uncomfortable.

      Pug said, ‘I’m sorry if—’

      Calin waved away the apology. ‘Curiosity is nothing to apologize for in a student, Pug. I just would rather not say more on this subject.’

      They spoke late into the night, of many things. Pug was fascinated by the Elf Prince and was flattered so many things he said seemed to be of interest to Calin.

      At last Calin said, ‘I should retire. Though I need little rest, I do need some. And I think you do as well.’

      Pug rose and said, ‘Thank you for telling me so much.’ Then he smiled, half in embarrassment. ‘And for talking to me about the Princess.’

      ‘You needed to talk.’

      Pug led Calin to the long hall, where a servant showed him to his quarters. Pug returned to his room and lay down for sleep, rejoined by a damp Fantus, who snorted in indignation at having to fly through the rain. Fantus was soon asleep. Pug, however, lay staring at the flickering light from his fire pot that danced on the ceiling, unable to call up sleep. He tried to put the tales of strange warriors out of his mind, but images of brightly clad fighters stalking through the forests of the westlands made sleep impossible.

      There was a somber mood throughout Castle Crydee the next morning. The servants’ gossip had spread the news about the Tsurani, though the details were lacking. Everyone went about his duties with one ear open for a tidbit of speculation on what the Duke was going to do. Everyone was agreed to one thing: Borric conDoin, Duke of Crydee, was not a man to sit idly by waiting. Something would be done, and soon.

      Pug sat atop a bale of hay, watching Tomas practice with a sword, swinging at a pell post, hacking backhand, then forehand, over and over. His blows were halfhearted, and finally he threw his sword down with disgust. ‘I’m not accomplishing a thing.’ He walked over and sat next to Pug. ‘I wonder what they’re talking about.’

      Pug shrugged. ‘They’ were the Duke’s council; today the boys had not been asked to attend, and the last four hours had passed slowly.

      Abruptly the courtyard became busy as servants began to rush toward the front gate. ‘Come on,’ said Tomas. Pug jumped off the bale and followed his friend.

      They rounded the keep in time to see the guards turning out as they had the day before. It was colder than yesterday, but there was no rain. The boys climbed on the same wagon, and Tomas shivered. ‘I think the snows will come early this year. Maybe tomorrow.’

      ‘If they do, it will be the earliest snowfall in memory. You should have worn your cloak. Now you’re all sweaty from the drill, and the air is chilling you.’

      Tomas looked pained. ‘Gods, you sound like my mother.’

      Pug mimicked an exasperated manner. In a tone that was high-pitched and nasal, he said, ‘And don’t come running to me when you’re all blue with chill, and coughing and sneezing, looking for comfort, for you’ll find none here, Tomas Megarson.’

      Tomas grinned. ‘Now you sound exactly like her.’

      They turned at the sound of the great doors opening. The Duke and Elf Queen led the other guests from the central keep, the Duke holding the Queen’s hand in a parting gesture of friendship. Then the Queen placed her hand to her mouth and sang out a musical series of words, not loud, but carrying over the noise of the crowd. The servants who were standing in the court became silent, and soon the sound of hoof-beats could be heard outside the castle.

      Twelve white horses

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