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  “Whereas every elf is without the slightest imperfection,” Hallvarth said without a smile. “We can be most grateful for that.”

  “All right,” Norda said, “it wasn’t a nice thing to say. You have an elf’s apology, and that’s not easily given.”

  “I accept, though I—” Marina stopped and stared. “Ridley? Oh, Ridley, you’re back!”

  “Am I?” Ridley blinked his eyes and yawned. “Where am I back from? Where have I been?”

  “We are pleased to have you among us again,” Hallvarth said, clasping his hands together in a circle over his patient’s chest. “You will get better quickly now, my friend. Your energy is flowing in the proper direction now. Singing in just the right key, as it were.”

  Marina leaned closer and grasped his hand. “I was—That is, we were greatly concerned. I thought you were—No, now I didn’t say that. I didn’t say anything at all.”

  Ridley smiled. “I feel as if I’ve been on a long trip somewhere. It wasn’t very pleasant.”

  Hallvarth nodded, as if he knew exactly where Ridley was talking about.

  “I was dreaming, dreaming about dragons. I’m almost certain that yesterday I came upon a—”

  “—a dragon being born?” Hallvarth finished. He smiled at the expression on Ridley’s face. “We sensed her birth, but you, you were privileged to witness this thing.”

  Marina drew in a breath. “Truly, Ridley? This wasn’t part of the dream?”

  “Truly, yes. It was a magic thing. Nothing I can ever explain, but something I’ll never forget.”

  “Life withers, as it must,” Hallvarth said, “in the ever-changing cycle. But the cycle is a natural thing. It has a rhythm, a pulse of its own, and when it is changed, disrupted by an unnatural thing…” Hallvarth looked at Ridley with a deep and penetrating gaze. “What do you suppose happens when the balance of nature is disturbed in this manner? What do you think would happen if, for some reason, many, many dragons were suddenly to die?”

  Ridley felt a chill. “I don’t know the answer to that, but I think you’re going to tell me.”

  “I will tell you this: You and your people are very close to irrevocably shredding the very fabric of nature with this—this rod you seek. The Rod of Savrille is a thing forged by man, a dark and terrible thing that was never intended to be.”

  Marina looked puzzled. “But how can it be so wrong to use this thing in a righteous cause? If we do not—?”

  “Yes, of course.” Hallvarth cut her off with a painful smile. “A righteous cause. They are all righteous causes, are they not? And the saddest, most sorrowful thing of all is that as lost and foolish as you are, you humans with your great, natural gifts of knowledge, your infinite curiosity, you have within your power more potential to gain perfect harmony with nature than any other creature.”

  The healer suddenly looked old and very weary. “Instead of using these gifts to bring you wisdom, you are slaves to your petty needs and fears. There is no cause so righteous that it can intrude without harm on nature’s ways. You must learn to live with the world, my friends. Turn against it, and it will most surely turn upon you in ways too terrible to imagine.”

  Hallvarth swept his hand gently over the length of Ridley’s body. “Your healing is under way. Rest and a peaceful mind is all you need now. The latter will be harder for you to attain, but it, too, will come to you in time.”

  It was something Ridley wanted very much to believe, but he wondered, with all that had gone before and all that might come again, if it could ever truly be.

  CHAPTER

  29

  Sleep, as the healer said, worked its special brand of magic, and when Ridley woke at last, he felt as if he’d truly been reborn, that the Ridley who had come so close to death, had perhaps stepped through some nether door, had shed his weary flesh and emerged brand-new again.

  Moreover, when he looked at the spot where Damodar’s blade had torn a ragged hole through his chest, all he could find was a rough pinkening of the skin. The wound, it seemed, was healing itself. Some force he couldn’t name had filled him with new energy and strength, sent a surge of power through his veins.

  Elven folk do not require spells to work their magic. You must learn to be a part of the magic itself.

  Ridley couldn’t remember hearing the words, but he knew they came from the healer, and that they were graven forever on his mind.

  Ridley realized he’d slept throughout the day. Only a few dim lights blinked above and below. He rose, stretched his limbs, and stepped out of his quarters to lean on the balcony railing and enjoy the pleasant night air.

  “How could we be so different?” he wondered aloud. “Was it always this way, or did humankind and other folk take a different path in some far and distant time?”

  “Talking to yourself? I thought you were getting well.”

  Ridley turned, as Marina appeared across the bridge of twisted vines that linked his quarters to hers. She was dressed in an elven robe, a garment of some strange material that shifted shades of green as she walked.

  “I’m glad to see you’re up. Feeling better, I hope?”

  “Depends upon what kind of better you’re talking about, I guess.”

  “Snails… yes. I’m very sorry, Ridley.”

  “Thank you. I appreciate that.”

  “I don’t suppose it helps to know he died for a worthy cause, for the good of Izmer and—” The look in Ridley’s eyes silenced her at once. “No, I don’t suppose it does.”

  “What cause are we talking about, Marina? The Empress’ cause against Profion? The fight for control of Izmer? That’s not a cause. It’s politics. The rich fighting the rich, so one of them can make it up the ladder a notch.” Ridley shook his head. “You remember what the healer said about righteous causes? He’s right. There aren’t any. I’m finished with that, Marina. Snails gave his life away for nothing that did anyone any good—just like my father, tossed out like the daily garbage. Those people in their high towers don’t even know some of their garbage has a name.”

  Marina looked away. “That isn’t so. He did die for something worthwhile.”

  Ridley turned on her, fury mixed with sorrow in his eyes.

  “You’re a mage! You’re one of them, Marina. Of course you think it’s worthwhile because you live on the other side. Snails didn’t want any part of this mess. If I’d listened to him, he’d still be alive.”

  “Oh, fine, how did I guess I’d hear that?” Marina’s anger matched his own. She was so close now, he could see the veins pulsing in her throat. “It’s easy, isn’t it? Something awful happened to your father, something the mages did. So now, when anything bad happens to you, you can be certain there’s a mage behind it somewhere. All dogs bark, and all magicians are as mad as Profion and Damodar. Like Vildan, for instance? Like Pellius of Aston, and Littian the Great, who fought and died to bring Izmer up from a patch of mud huts by a river? You don’t know all their names, but I do.

  “I’m a mage, Ridley. Am I another Profion to you? Do you really know what Savina’s fighting for? For change. To make life better for people—for people like you and Snails.”

  “I don’t need her,” Ridley said, “and she’s a little late for Snails.”

  “She’s risking her life to change things for all of us. People in those so-called lofty towers and down in Oldtown, too. That’s what Snails died for, whether you’re too ignorant to see it or not!”

  When Marina stopped, an awkward silence lay between them. The intensity of her anger had taken Ridley aback. He couldn’t buy her warped sense of reason, her total belief in a cause worth the life of his friend. Still, he didn’t want to fight her, didn’t feel right about the distance that kept growing between them. He couldn’t help but think she didn’t want that, either.

  Damnation! If only she weren’t so stubborn, he was sure she’d see his side of things. The world wasn’t the same looking down from Sumdall City, as it was looking up.

  Ridley wan
ted to talk to her, to make her understand, but he didn’t know how. He stood at the edge of the great branch, leaned on a railing over the bridge, and peered down into the endless thicket of leaves. Now and then he saw a shadow, a bright flash of green, heard a hint of soft laughter—colors and sounds that turned, for an instant, into an elven form.

  “You know, Ridley,” Marina said, “when Vildan told me what the Empress was facing, that Profion’s demands would bring her down and destroy the Empire as well, I wanted to do what I could to help her. Still, I—I couldn’t understand why she wanted commoners to be equal to us. That wasn’t the way the world was supposed to be. It had never been that way.

  “I didn’t want to change, and I didn’t want to give what I had to someone else. Now, though, after I’ve… after I’ve been with you and seen what you truly are, I know that you do believe in the same freedoms Savina wants for her people.”

  Marina paused, and after a moment Ridley turned to face her.

  “Ridley, will you help me? Let me show you that we’re not that far apart, that we just might be working for the very same thing?”

  Ridley looked at her. She had never stood this close to him before, never so close that he could breathe in the sweet scent of her skin, discover that her hair smelled exactly like rain.

  “I… think I could manage that,” he said, his throat too dry to talk.

  “Really talk to each other, Ridley? Learn that we’re not too far apart?”

  “I think I can guarantee that we’re not too far apart.”

  “Oh.” A slight smile wavered on her lips before she pushed it back down. “We’re not, are we?”

  “We’re doing all right. We could do a little better, though.”

  “Ridley—”

  “I know.”

  She laid her hands against his chest, let them slide up about his neck. “I can’t believe this is happening. Not you and me. Not us.”

  “Me neither. Don’t think about it.”

  “I don’t think I will.”

  Ridley remembered putting his arms about her, tilting her chin, remembered her eyes wide with wonder as her lips touched his. He remembered it was night, remembered they were there, together, in a very big tree, remembered he stopped thinking completely after that….

  * * *

  Norda sat alone on a very high branch in a thicket of oak leaves. A night bird called. A squirrel turned over in his sleep. Ants paraded over mountains of bark in a dizzy caravan.

  If she tried, Norda could hear a great many things that few other beings could. Now though, she had shut out every sound, every tiny rustle nearby or far away. In her present state of being, she could not feel her breath or the beat of her heart.

  She was only aware of the glowing crystal in her hand and the image of Savina therein.

  “May I hope you have news for me, Norda? Something I long to hear?”

  “Majesty, we have reclaimed the map that will lead us to the Rod of Savrille. We will begin our search with the sun.”

  “That is good to hear, my friend. Norda, I must tell you that I have refused to give the scepter to Profion. A few councilors have supported me, but many more have not. Profion and his followers will move against me now. There is no way we can avoid a civil war, a war that I fear we will lose.”

  “Lady, you need me there. I’ll return to Izmer at once.”

  “No. There’s nothing you can do here. Find the rod if you can. If I fail here, then you’re our last hope.”

  “If I was there, there are things I could do—”

  “No. Do not come, Norda. You must finish what I set you out to do.”

  “I won’t fail, Savina. I promise you that.”

  “I pray that is a promise you can keep.”

  Savina’s image faded. Norda stared out into the night.

  “I pray it is, too, my Empress,” she whispered. She was glad that Savina was far away, for even an elf can’t always hide the fear that wells up from the heart.

  CHAPTER

  30

  He met her at the bridge at first light, marveling in the strange understanding that he had never truly seen her before. Closer, it was clear her thoughts mirrored his. They covered their surprise with a quick and cautious morning kiss. Both, searching each other’s eyes for the right message there, the message that said this is fine, this is good. Both glad of heart, keenly aware that such a fragile thing might shatter and come apart with a word, with a look, and simply vanish in the first mornings light.

  After a near silent breakfast with the others, trying not to look each other’s way—and fooling no one at all—they found their mounts ready at the base of the great tree. Packs, waterskins, and food were checked and checked again, until finally Norda was satisfied. She left them there with a silent farewell and walked back toward the tree. They were all true companions now, and there was little they could say to one another that could not be conveyed with their eyes.

  The hunter elves were on hand to bid them farewell. At least two were from the group they’d met on the trail the day before.

  “May all the gods watch over you this day,” an elf named Derika said, and another named Claferion added, “It is a fine day to travel, but also a day to take a special care.”

  “Thank you,” Ridley said, “and please tell Hallvarth I am ever grateful to him for giving me back my life. Especially now,” he added, with a quick glance at Marina.

  Claferion showed him a rare elvish grin. “He would be here himself, but he is off somewhere. One says of Hallvarth, ‘He is always here; he is always gone.’”

  Claferion walked a few steps back to the great tree and returned with a long object wrapped in pale green cloth as fine as a spiders veil. Drawing the veil aside, he handed the object to Ridley.

  “This sword Hallvarth would have you carry into whatever awaits you back in the human world. It is elven-made, and it will protect you from harm.”

  “I thank you, and I thank Hallvarth for his gift.”

  Derika stepped forward again. “Hallvarth would have me remind you: Let yourself become free of those things within you that bring you fear. Cherish honor and strength. Do this, and you will find your true path, Ridley.”

  Ridley gazed into the elven hunter’s eyes and felt at that instant that the power of the Tree of Life itself was a part of him now, that the wisdom of these folk would be with him, whatever he might face in the days to come.

  “I thank you once more. And in answer, I will tell you that your spirit is already in my heart.”

  * * *

  The two elven hunters stood beneath the great tree until Ridley, Elwood, and Marina disappeared in the green shadows of the forest. None of the party would ever know that the bowmen would follow them like a silent, invisible army until they were safely on their way.

  “He is not who he was,” Claferion said. “The violent colors of his spirit have gentled to more thoughtful hues.”

  Derika closed his eyes. “Do you think he knows? Does he understand the extraordinary qualities within him?”

  “Not yet. All he knows is that he has been changed, that he perceives the world and the people in it in a different way.”

  “I believe that this human will live to discover who he is.”

  “If this is so,” Derika answered, “our own kind and the others of this world may survive another thousand years. It is as Hallvarth has said: ‘The great cycle is a mole within the soil of time. One can easily tell where the mole has been, but even the mole itself cannot imagine where it will be.’”

  * * *

  Those who studied weather in a serious manner watched the day begin in Sumdall City with great trepidation. An immense cloud, black as the parting night itself, held to the rim of the earth, smothering the sun beneath its mass.

  For an hour past the dawning, only pale, feeble shafts of light escaped into the sky, and when the sun dared to struggle free, that dreadful cloud refused to let it go. It was no more than a pale and sickly eye, a bloodied
orb with veins of gray, a thing that might suddenly swell, bloat and give birth to some horror that would swallow up the earth.

  Even common folk, who lacked the vision, the parchment, and the pen to immortalize their thoughts in proper prose, peered at the sky that day and liked not what they saw….

  * * *

  The Empress Savina, clad in armor of golden scales, stood in silence on the battlements of the royal palace. There was little warmth from the errant sun, and the scepter she held was winter-cold to the touch.

  With all the strength and courage she could muster, Savina sought to keep the dreaded instrument from trembling in her hand. The heavy, golden shaft was the Scepter of Dragon Control, an instrument of such great power that no leader of Izmer had even imagined using it before.

  Now though, Savina’s enemies had forced the issue, pushing her into an action that could save her people or set the world afire.

  “How do they dare,” she said in a voice that reached only the man at her side. “It is insane to pursue this thing. Don’t they know what I do may be the end of themselves as well as me?”

  “They do, Lady, but greed closes their minds to the truth. Profion has convinced them only he and the mages are fit to rule.”

  The Empress sighed. General Nitadis spoke truly, of course. “Right” wasn’t the issue here, and perhaps, in a way, it seldom was among men.

  “What would a victory give him that he does not have now? Why this hunger to rule? It is a burden, Nitadis, one that any person in their senses would gladly forgo.”

  “Not if you are mad, Highness, and madness is what you face here.”

  Savina didn’t answer. She glanced at her general and the officers who stood behind him, their armor dull in the lifeless sun. So few… so pitifully few offered their loyalty to her, knowing that they would almost certainly lose privilege, honor, and even their very lives.

  Past the battlements, she could see the rebellious mages and the more than adequate soldiers who waited upon their call. They were gathered far, far below, atop the school of magic. She couldn’t see their faces from this distance, but she knew what they were doing at this very moment, that all eyes were upon her, waiting for her to begin the dreadful act, waiting to use that moment to seize control of the Empire themselves, waiting to see if she would, indeed, defy them and loose the power she held tightly in her hand.