Rage of a Demon King. Raymond E. Feist

      King Redtree, Aron Earanorn in the elves’ language, spoke. ‘In the years since we abandoned the Northlands to return, we have attempted to understand our cousins.’ The leader of the glamredhel, the ‘mad’ elves, those left to fend for themselves in the Northlands beyond the Kingdom ages ago, fixed Queen Aglaranna with a steady stare. ‘We bow to you as ruler, here, lady’ – he made an all-encompassing gesture with his right hand – ‘in Elvandar. But we do not accept any suggestion that you rule us, absolutely.’

      Tomas glanced at his wife. The ruler of the Elves of Elvandar turned her softest smile on the warrior who had ruled over his followers for almost as many years as she had reigned in the elven glades. ‘Earanorn, no one here is suggesting anything,’ she countered. ‘Those who chose to come to Elvandar, by the call of ancient blood or as guests, are free to leave at any time. Only those who chose to remain here of their own accord are subject to our rule.’

      The former King tapped his chin. ‘That’s the rub, isn’t it?’ He looked at the assembled elves in the Queen’s Council: Tathar, her senior adviser; Tomas, the half-human Warleader and prince consort; Acaila, leader of the eldar who had remained on the world of Kelewan until the human magician Pug had found them; and others, including Pug and his current companion, Miranda. After a long silence, the old king asked, ‘Where would we go? Back to the Northlands and our less generous cousins?’

      Tomas glanced at Pug, his boyhood companion, foster brother, and ally in the Riftwar, and his eyes revealed that he, too, knew the answer: there was nowhere else for these ‘wild’ elves to go.

      Tomas turned his attention to Acaila, whose knowledge and power never failed to astonish Pug, and raised a finger so slightly the human magician barely noticed it. Acaila inclined his head but a fraction of an inch, yet the Queen returned the barely perceptible nod.

      ‘Why leave at all?’ asked the leader of the Eldar, those ancient elves who were closest to the Dragon Lords, and who kept their lore and knowledge. ‘You have found your lost kindred after centuries of isolation and no one seeks to return you to slavery, yet you seem ill at ease. May one ask why?’

      Redtree let out a long sigh. ‘I’m an old man.’ At this, Tathar, Acaila, and some others laughed, without malice but with genuine amusement. ‘Very well, so I’m merely three hundred seventy years of age, while some here are twice that, but the truth is the Edder Forest of the Northlands is a harsh place, rife with enemies and scant of food. You have little sense of that here, in the midst of Elvandar’s bounty.’ He hugged himself slightly as if memory of the Edder was chilling. ‘We numbered no spell weavers and the healing magic of Elvandar did not exist. Here a mild wound heals with rest and food; there festering can take a warrior as surely as an enemy’s arrow.’ He held out his hand in a balled fist, anger coloring his words. ‘I have buried my wife and my sons. By my people’s experience, I am a very old man.’

      To Pug, Miranda whispered, ‘And a long-winded one, too.’ She stifled a yawn. Pug tried not to smile on the heels of the old king’s emotional words, but he, like Miranda and the others, had heard the tale of Redtree’s battles and losses many times in the months they had lived with the elves.

      Calin, Aglaranna’s older son and heir to her throne, spoke. ‘I think over the last thirty years we have demonstrated our goodwill, King Redtree. We mourn your losses’ – others of the council nodded agreement – ‘yet here rests your people’s best chance to thrive, returned to the heart of our race.

      ‘During the Riftwar and the Great Uprising, we lost many who now rest in the Blessed Isles, yet we have gained, by your having found your way here. In the end, all of elvenkind are profited.’

      Redtree nodded. ‘I have considered my people’s choices.’ He seemed to let go of something, a hint of pride. ‘I have no sons.’ Looking at Calin, he said, ‘I need an heir.’

      A young warrior of the glamredhel stepped to his King’s side, handing over a bundle wrapped in leather and tied in thongs. ‘This is the mark of my rank,’ said Redtree, untying the bundle. As much as elves could display surprise, the assembled council was surprised. Inside the skins was a belt of marvelous beauty: silken threads that Pug judged were something more alien than silk held gems of stunning brilliance in a pattern both lovely and compelling. ‘Asle-thnath!’ proclaimed Redtree.

      Pug studied the belt, shifting his perceptions. To Miranda he whispered, ‘This is a thing of power.’

      ‘Really?’ she asked dryly.

      Pug glanced at her and saw her smile, as she tried to keep from laughing at him outright, and again he was visited by the certainty that her power and knowledge were more than she revealed.

      Acaila stepped down from the circling benches and came to stand before Redtree. ‘May I?’ he asked.

      Redtree handed him the belt.

      He examined it and then turned to Tathar. ‘This is a great and wonderful magic. Did you not know it was here?’

      Tathar, senior among the Queen’s Spellweavers, shook his head. With a hint of irritation, he said, ‘Did you?’

      Acaila laughed, as he had often laughed when teaching Pug for the year the magician had lived with the eldar, in Elvardein, Elvandar’s twin forest, magically hidden under the ice-cap on the world of Kelewan. There was no mockery in that laugh, ever, but with a hint of irony, Acaila said, ‘There is that.’ He turned back toward Redtree and the ruler of the glamredhel nodded slightly. Acaila turned as Tathar stepped down from his place in the Queen’s circle. Even though Acaila was the undoubted leader in age and experience among the Queen’s advisers, he was a newcomer, and Tathar was Aglaranna’s seniormost adviser.

      As Tathar took the belt and turned to present it to Calin, Redtree spoke. ‘The belt is worn in high council and is passed from the King to his son. As he who was my father gave the belt to me to mark my position as heir, so I give this to you, Prince Calin.’

      The Elven Prince bowed his head as Acaila handed him the belt. He took it and touched his forehead to it, and said, ‘Your nobility is unquestioned. I accept your generosity with humility.’

      Then Aglaranna rose and said, ‘Again our people are one.’ To Redtree she said, ‘You are truly Aron Earanorn.’ She bowed her head to him. An elf appeared behind him with a new robe, and at the Queen’s bidding, he placed it over the armor and furs Redtree wore in the fashion of his people. ‘You would honor our council by accepting a place in it.’

      The old King said, ‘The honor is mine.’

      Acaila put out his hand and led Redtree to a place between Tathar and himself.

      Pug smiled and winked at Miranda. By placing the glamredhel above himself in council, yet behind Tathar, the wise leader of the Eldar avoided years of possible resentment by the glamredhel. Redtree would stand second only to Tathar in council.

      Miranda motioned with her head for Pug to move away from the council and when they were safely away from the discussion, she said, ‘How long is this going to continue?’

      Pug shrugged. ‘Redtree’s people first came here about thirty years ago, twenty years or so after Galain and Arutha ran into him after the fall of Armengar.’

      ‘They’ve been arguing who’s in charge for thirty years?’ asked Miranda, her face showing disbelief.

      ‘Discussing,’ said Tomas, appearing behind them. ‘Come with me.’

      Tomas led Pug and Miranda to a private area, screened from the Queen’s court by cleverly arrayed branches. On the other side, he could look out over the tree city of Elvandar.

      Pug asked, ‘Do you ever get used to it?’ He studied his friend, again finding the echoes of his foster brother in the alien etched features of the tall warrior.

      Even in his ceremonial robes, Tomas radiated strength and power. His pale blue eyes, nearly colorless, gazed across the vista of Elvandar as he said, ‘Yes, but its beauty never fails to move me.’