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  Leaning forward on the dais, she gripped the railing until her fingers turned white. Her glacial eyes touched every man there and left them with a touch of frigid northern air.

  “Do not patronize me, Azmath. You, or any of you, I pray. I am not, as you would have me be, my father’s child, for I am no child at all. I am the Emperor’s heiress, who has taken her rightful station. I am Empress of Izmer, your Empress, and I shall be revered and obeyed.

  “And yes, I violate the law by defying my councilors. And you, mages, have violated my laws and your very oaths by your betrayal of me. If I were to give you this scepter, my crime would be graver still, for I would be defying my conscience, my father’s will, and the good of all my people.”

  Once more, the Brotherhood of Mages rose from their seats, each one flailing his arms about, each one babbling louder than the next. Someone not familiar with this august assembly might imagine they were watching an asylum of hooded maniacs.

  “Silence! You will hear me out! I demand your silence, or I will dissolve this body at once!”

  The mages did, indeed, go silent. Each looked at one another with the same thought in mind: Can she do that? We’re in control here, are we not?

  “I fear you’ve forgotten this council was created to protect the people of Izmer, not to bend them to your will. What is your purpose here, mages? Concern for your people, or for yourselves?”

  This time it was Profion who rose to quiet the others. At his appearance, a powerful and awesome figure in his full, ceremonial wear, the gallery quieted at once. There was not a mage there—despite his conscience, despite what his true beliefs might be—who did not fear the wrath of this man. Few among them had seen the mage’s Chapel of Bones, but none were eager to be invited there. It was said to be a room that had a fine entry hall and lacked a way out.

  “And Your Majesty believes,” Profion said, “that a deadly civil war is in the interest of the people of Izmer? Are these your thoughts, My Lady?”

  “So, here he is at last,” the Empress said, pointing an accusing finger at the mage. “I expected your voice here sooner, Profion.”

  “Majesty, I would not deign to interrupt my Empress,” Profion said with a clearly mocking bow. “It is not my place to do so, as I’m sure all present here will understand.”

  “Your manners commend you, mage….”

  Savina paused and let her gaze once again sweep across the gallery. “Here, my councilors, is the man who would take the scepter from me and leave the Empire defenseless. Ask yourselves, if you will: Does a man who opposes the right of his people to prosper show concern for those people? Take care, my friends, for when he is done with me, you are surely next on his list.”

  The mages were puzzled, confused. As ever, the last words spoken seemed stronger than the ones that came before.

  Profion spread his hands and looked to heaven, as if to say, I am doing what I can against the powers of this child dressed up to play a queen.

  “Hear her, then. Do. Within days of ascending the throne, she would destroy those things upheld by her own family for generations past. She is not content to break our highest law. Now she would throw us into chaos, disorder, and war!”

  “Yes!” the Empress shouted above the crowd. “Yes, it is true Izmer has been ruled one way in the past. That does not mean it has been ruled justly. All citizens, whether commoner or mage, must have an equal chance for prosperity. As your Empress, I have decreed this is the kind of Izmer you will see.”

  Profion gave her a weary grin, as if to tell the others: See my patience, see what a burden I bear for you?

  “Pretty words, indeed. Unfortunately, they are the words of a headstrong child. Childhood is a wonderful thing, mages, but children cannot be allowed to run an Empire.” He paused and showed the Empress Savina a respectful but clearly mocking bow. “Forgive her, my brothers. She has dressed so prettily today, dressed in grown-up clothes so your eyes might mistake her for a queen.”

  The Empress flushed, a tide of color heating her face. She stood her ground, hands clamped to her sides. She would not, could not let him see her falter, not for an instant would she be anything but his Empress.

  Profion said, “Now I must apologize again, for the plain talk of adults has nearly brought our young lady to tears. That, I do greatly regret.” Profion hesitated again. “In respect for your father and the good of Izmer, I ask you once more, Empress, to abide by our ruling elders and relinquish your scepter. It is surely a burden to you now.”

  “I prayed for your wisdom, your awakening to truth,” the Empress said, her voice now cold as winter breath. “I do not see that wisdom here. Know that you have not beaten me, mage. I fear you not. And know, all of you, that your Empress will prevail.”

  For a long moment, she looked out over the gallery, pausing at each and every man there. She saw, as she already knew, that most of these faces, hidden by hooded robes, were lined with age, that the hair on their heads was either silver or no longer there at all.

  She felt a great sorrow, a pain in her heart, for she knew that she was indeed a child in their eyes, that nothing she could say or do would change that. They had forgotten whom they’d been. Now, it was inconceivable to them that the young had wisdom, too.

  The Empress Savina turned without a word, turned and walked back the way she’d come. The aura of the sun was still there, still a path of gold that led her from the great Council Hall. This time, though, fifteen mages rose and followed in her path.

  Profion’s blood nearly boiled at the sight of the treachery of his brothers. Still, he would not let the rage within him show. Instead, he smiled and started a round of mocking applause, joined by the mages who had stayed.

  “What a fine performance by our Empress. I warned you of her intentions. Now you have seen and heard them for yourselves. If Lord Damodar, our faithful Commander of the Crimson Brigade, were with us this day, he would tell you again how he witnessed the girl’s crimes firsthand. Is there anything more I can say? Do we sit back and wait for her to destroy Izmer?”

  Profion paused. His features fairly glowed with pleasure, and his dark eyes were full of dancing lights.

  “Do we rest? Go back to our books? Or is this indeed the time for us to act?”

  The answer was not in doubt among the mages facing Profion. They rose as one, shook their fists, and cheered their leader, cheered until the very stones of the great hall resounded to their cries.

  CHAPTER

  28

  Even at the height of the day, the deep forest of immense and ancient oaks near mimed the dark of night. Marina and Norda left their mounts and joined Elwood at the hammock strapped to the dwarf’s horse, the sling that held the nearly lifeless body of Ridley Freeborn.

  “We must do something to help him,” Marina said. “If we don’t, I think he’ll die before the day is gone.”

  “Don’t go talkin’ about dying,” Elwood told her. “Talkin’ death is close enough to bein’ there. The dwarves know that, and I expect the elves do as well.”

  Elwood looked at Norda for a nod, but Norda was kneeling over Ridley, one hand against his brow.

  “We’ll not rest here,” she said softly. “The forest can be a place of peace, and the creatures in it benign. It is not such a place at this time. The elves of the Verdalf clan live not too far from here.” She looked at Marina. “The Verdalf have great healing powers. We will take the man there.”

  No one spoke, but Elwood and Marina clearly agreed. Whether there were truly such things as healing elves, they knew Norda was right about this part of the forest. There was something so heavy and oppressive here that neither of the two were anxious to stick around.

  Marina rode with the others a while, then let them get ahead—never out of sight, but far enough away to be alone.

  There was so much sorrow in her heart that she could scarcely stand the company of her friends. Ridley, perhaps dead, surely dying before they could leave the frightening woods. They had never mana
ged to know one another, never let themselves forget the barriers that stood between them. Now, whatever might have been would likely never be…

  Ridley near death, Vildan coldly murdered, and the kind and cheery Snails as well.

  “I lost them all,” she said aloud, her eyes finally filling with tears. “I brought them all here, and nearly all of them have died.”

  “No, you can’t do this, Marina. You cannot take the weight of the world upon your shoulders. No mortal creature is capable of that.”

  Marina ran a sleeve across her eyes to dry her tears. Norda was suddenly there, riding close beside her.

  “We all grieve. You for your love, and me for his kind-hearted friend, but you can’t blame the Fates for who they leave and who they take away. They only do what greater powers have set them forth to do.”

  Marina nodded but couldn’t face the elf. She looked away into the darkness of the woods.

  “Do you truly believe that? That the Fates, whatever they are—old hags or angels—do you believe that’s why we live or die, at the whim of creatures who dwell in the sky?”

  “As I said, Marina, a greater power than that. It isn’t easy for mortals to comprehend. And—take no offense in this—I should think a student of the magic arts would have more understanding of these things.”

  “I was obviously not a good student,” Marina said, “and—no offense, as you put it—you’re not a mortal. You’re an elf. You live longer than humans, and you don’t see death as we do.”

  Norda lowered her eyes. “I saw death today, child. I have seen it before, and I live with a pain within me, one you cannot see. I was forbidden to interfere with the horrors that occurred back there. I cannot tell you why, for I do not know myself. I know only that there are times when we must let the Fates do as they will. Sometimes a great wrong, a great darkness, must show itself to allow a better thing to occur. We cannot know why this is so.”

  Marina shook her head. “I cannot understand such things, Norda. I’m sorry. I can’t see why good men must die to bring about some better day that they will never see.”

  “No, nor can I. I only know that sorrow is ever with us, but so is laughter as well. You have a life to live. You’re a mage, and you have much to offer others.”

  “I’m not that certain that I want to be a mage anymore.”

  “Because others have used those arts for evil?”

  “That’s one reason, yes.”

  Norda leaned over her saddle and gently touched Marina’s hand. “Don’t you see? If there are those who practice the dark ways, there is all the more reason to expand the ranks of those for work for the light.”

  Marina didn’t answer. Elwood, up ahead, turned his mount quickly and trotted back to the pair.

  “There’s someone out there,” he said, gripping the haft of his axe. “Can’t tell who, but there’s more of them than us.”

  “Yes, I see.” Norda looked past Marina and Elwood, studied the woods a moment, then quickly dismounted. She then took two steps toward the trees and stood perfectly still.

  A figure stepped out of green shadow and looked at Norda. Elwood was startled. He was no stranger to the forest, but this particular creature had simply walked out of nothing, as if he were part of the shadow, part of the trees themselves.

  He knew this was an elf, but not one of the ordinary breed. This one was clearly a hunter, a slender being with a nut-brown face, dark eyes, and pointy ears, a creature with hard and corded muscle, muscle wound up like a spring. His clothes, like the forest, were a hundred shades of green, and his strong, intelligent features were tattooed with the patterns of vines and leaves, marks that twisted across his brow, down his cheeks, and onto a bare shoulder. His eyes were the color of berries, his hair a shade of brown and ocher lichen that grows on the bark of trees.

  Elwood watched, fascinated by this newcomer, who had come close enough to slay them all. The dwarf was even more astonished when seven more hunters appeared, each bearing arms.

  “If one of them pesky elves tries to haul you off,” the dwarf whispered to Marina, “he’ll have to go through me.”

  The elves, who could hear a mouse sneeze a good mile away, grinned at the dwarf’s remark.

  “These are friends,” Norda said. “Their clanmaster, Hallvarth Fyrlief, has offered us the hospitality of his village.”

  “We should be most grateful for their help.” Marina drew in a breath. “Do you know them well, Norda? I mean, are they always so… silent and intense?”

  “Scary” was the word she had in mind, but she didn’t say that.

  “I know them quite well, Marina, and the reason they are, indeed, intense, is because they have sensed the coming of war in the human world. They know that when humans slaughter one another—as they are accustomed to do—that other beings will die as well.”

  “Yes, I see.”

  Marina looked at the hunter who stood before Norda. She tried, with a gentle smile, to let him know that she was not one of the humans who wantonly killed each other and anything else in their way. The elf held her glance but showed no expression at all.

  * * *

  Marina would have passed the elven village by, certain there was nothing there to see. Even Elwood, whose folk were as different from humans as elves themselves, sensed the presence of life but saw no dwellings, no paths where the grass was beaten down, no smell of campfires or food.

  Marina was sure there came a time when she was somehow invited to see what there was to see, for the hidden to be revealed. For in that instant a great elven village appeared in the trees. Lights she would have taken for tiny stars were not stars at all, but lights from dwellings twinkling amidst the thick canopy of leaves. The closer she looked, the more there was to see.

  The village was a maze of twisted walkways, ladders, balconies, and stairs, not a one that wouldn’t pass to the unschooled eye as a cluster of vines or the gnarled branch of a tree. There was no aspect of elven life that intruded on nature—every home, every window, every bridge, and even the elves themselves— seemed as if they were meant to grow here.

  If Marina was awed by this glimpse of a hidden world, she was stricken and dazed by the great, towering oak that stood at the center of the village, a tree Norda said was called the Tree of Life. Marina couldn’t imagine its height or believe its massive girth. Standing in silence below, she could see the tree swarmed with life, with beings on every towering branch. If she listened for a while, she could hear a thousand whispered voices, like the rustling of the wind through the leaves.

  “It is our heart, our soul,” Norda told her. “The Tree is our creator, and we are its children, as surely as its acorns and its leaves.”

  Even to a student of magic, Norda’s words seemed more a fanciful tale than a part of the world Marina knew. It was near impossible to believe such a wondrous place was real.

  Still, she thought, maybe this is much closer to reality than the noisome and chaotic world of humankind.

  * * *

  The truth of that thought was brought home to Marina early the next day, high in the branches of the Tree of Life itself. A gentle breeze touched the curtain of green, filling the morning with trembling medallions of light. Ridley lay pale and unmoving on a bed of last year’s leaves. It broke Marina’s heart to see him like this. He seemed hardly alive, not like the Ridley she’d come to know, but a poor, insubstantial imitation of a man.

  If he lives, he carries with him forever the image of how his friend died—as I must always see Vildan, murdered before my eyes…

  Marina caught herself holding her breath as she watched Hallvarth Fyrlief kneeling at Ridley’s side. She was puzzled by the ways of the clanmaster healer, for he never touched Ridley, but silently passed his hand over Ridley’s still form. His long fingers seemed to have a life of their own as they wavered above the patient’s arms, his legs, or his chest, pausing now and then to give special attention to some particular place.

  “I’ve seen nothing like this b
efore,” Marina said quietly to Norda. “Can you tell me what he’s doing? I confess I haven’t seen him do much of anything except this—” she made a fluttering motion in imitation of the elven healer. “Is he going to give him any medication? Will he use a spell?”

  Hallvarth smiled softly without turning her way. “Our folk do not require spells to work their magic, lady. We do not use the ways of humankind. Humans think they need to capture and harness bits and pieces of magic’s power.”

  “Humans use magic,” Norda added. “The elven folk know what you have forgotten: that life is a part of the magic itself.”

  Marina frowned, looking from Norda to Hallvarth and back. The healer was small and slender, a creature with fine silver hair that trailed loosely down his back. His eyes were a strange and startling shade of blue, eyes that spoke of an incredible number of years.

  “I don’t understand this,” Marina said. “Using magic is one thing, but being a part of it? That makes little sense to me.”

  “You are a part of it, though, you and all living creatures—even dragons,” the clanmaster added, guessing her thoughts. “Humans see only the dragons’ power to destroy, but they are a creative force as well, for they live in perfect harmony with the magic all around them.”

  Marina shuddered. She glanced up at the canopy of sheltering leaves, at the patterns of golden light. “I’m sorry, but I cannot think of dragons as… creative forces of any kind. To me they are horrid, ugly creatures who live to destroy our kind.”

  “I mean no offense by this,” Norda said. “I hope you understand, but many beings of other races feel the same about humans: Large, rude, insensitive, and loud.”

  Norda’s mischievous smile took the edge off her remark. Marina couldn’t help but laugh.

  “I wont take offense, because I have to say it’s true. Only some of us aren’t as rude—or as loud—as others, you have to admit.”