ELETIANS

One morning, without warning, the citizens of Sacor City awoke to a strange sight before the outermost wall and gate: tents of all sizes and deep coloration had bloomed in a fallow field overnight, like the plantings of a flower garden that suddenly emerge from the soil after having lain dormant all winter. The silken material of the tents rippled in the breeze and their hues called to mind the azure of the summer sky, the new green of spring leaves, and the deep red of roses shining with morning dew.

The sun glowed more golden on the grouping of tents, more warm, more gentle; a light like that of the elder days when the world was new. As if in response, the grasses of the field grew a richer green; too green if one took into account the time of year. The leaves of nearby trees brightened with renewed autumnal fire, and the stream that cut through the field and beneath the large blue tent chuckled more gaily and sparkled as though it were made of gems. Birds sang in the trees and hedges like spring reborn.

How odd it was, the city’s inhabitants thought. They climbed to the battlements of the outer wall, which was usually reserved for soldiers only, to peer down on the scene. They crowded at the gate to peer out, and the more courageous among them even stepped away from the wall’s protection to take a closer look.

This was no circus or fair come to town. There were no jesters, no exotic animals, no tumblers in bright costumes. The tents did not look like the gaudy pavilions of Wayfarers, who sometimes passed by the city to deal in horses and read fortunes.

No one emerged from the tents to pronounce this or that, or to reveal their identity or purpose. No one, not even the guards at the gate, had seen the tents go up. They weren’t there one day but appeared the next, revealed with the dawn. The only clue to their identity were banners hung on poles seemingly of ivory and emblazoned with a green birch leaf against a field of stunning, snowy white. Yet the banners told the city folk little, for the device had not been seen by mortals in a thousand years.

Who were the owners of the tents, people wondered. What designs did they hold against Sacor City? Were they hiding a force of invaders come to annihilate the city? Did the tents contain magicians ready to cast evil spells on them? The populace murmured uneasily for the disruptions of the summer were still fresh in their minds.

It was the talk in every quarter of the city, these tents, their mysterious inhabitants, and what they intended. It surpassed interest in the king’s forthcoming wedding, and rumors that the Raven Mask was again prowling the fine houses at night. Why, twice this week jewels had been removed from the rooms of prominent ladies!

The guards at the gate sent word at once to the castle. Captains and colonels and generals descended from the castle, trailed by steel-wielding soldiers and accompanied by king’s messengers in green.

One by one the officers attempted to parley with the tent dwellers, but none would answer or come forth. When they tried to enter the grouping of tents, they were turned around as though repelled by some unknown force, expressions of surprise on their faces.

“Magic,” some whispered, and a pulse of fear quickened through the crowds.

Yet the tent dwellers showed no sign of aggression or evil intent—they simply showed nothing of themselves at all. Even the king came down from his castle and, surrounded by his grim, black-clad bodyguards, called out to the tent dwellers, but none replied.

The king and his guards returned up the Winding Way and he was overheard mentioning to one of his advisors, “The Elt Wood…” and the folk of Sacor City spread the rumor that the Eletians had now come forth from their mysterious realm for unknown purposes.

For four days and four nights the soldiers kept vigil over the grouping of tents. They maintained their distance, but surrounded them in a half circle, and a king’s messenger was always with them in case a tent dweller should come forth.

On the fifth day, as the novelty of the tents began to diminish and folk of the city went about their daily lives, a flap in the blue tent creased open and a hand emerged to beckon forth the king’s messenger. The Green Rider nudged her gelding forward, one hand on the hilt of her saber. This was none other than the Green Rider captain, recognizable by her red hair and the gold knot at her shoulder.

She halted her horse before the tent and sat there for some time conversing with the mysterious visitor within. No one but the captain and the one to whom she spoke knew what words passed between them, but after a short conversation, she reined her horse around and headed up the Winding Way at a swift trot.

The light that streamed through the windows of the king’s study was bright, but not the same, not as pure or as authentic, as that which shone upon the grouping of tents outside the city.

Laren Mapstone shook her head trying to keep her attention in the here and now. The king sat behind his desk and they were joined by advisors Colin Dovekey and Castellan Sperren, as well as by General Harborough.

“I don’t like it,” the general was saying. “They’ve hidden in their woods these last thousand years and suddenly they’re camped out on our threshold?”

“I would not say they’ve been hiding,” the king replied.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” the general said, “I remember well the Eletian who helped your brother in his attempt to usurp the throne, and considering that is our experience with these folk, we cannot trust them.” General Harborough was not a tall man, but his features and body were stocky and square, his neck thick, and face scarred. He was an excellent commander and oversaw the workings of all branches of Sacoridia’s military. Laren knew it was his duty to be suspicious of anything that might threaten his king or country.

“There have been other encounters with Eletians, General,” Laren said, “including the aid they rendered to the remnants of Lady Penburn’s delegation this past summer. I do not think we can judge all Eletians by the actions of just one.” Laren could not say that she totally trusted them herself, recalling some of the interactions Karigan had with them.

“They were our allies of old,” Zachary said. “It was their king, Santanara, who united the defenders of the free lands against the might of Mornhavon and his empire. Without them, we’d be enslaved to the will of Arcosia.”

The general crossed his arms. “That was still a thousand years ago.”

“Which they remember as yesterday.”

“It seems,” Colin Dovekey said, “we finally have the opportunity we sought with Lady Penburn’s delegation: to speak with the Eletians and learn their intentions; to find out what has stirred them from the Elt Wood.”

“Skulking about our country as though they have every right,” the general grumbled.

“Our borders are guarded,” said crusty old Sperren, “but not closed.”

“Still, it does not give them leave to—”

The king raised his hand for silence. “I appreciate your words of caution, General, but they have come to parley. If they intended harm, I suspect we’d have known it by now. I have every intention of speaking with them.”

The only one who protested was the general, but the king was adamant. “Laren,” he said, “you may tell them that I accept their invitation, that I will visit with them on the appointed day, but the time will be of my choosing.”

Laren smiled. The Eletian she had spoken with had specified the day after tomorrow, but the king was showing he would not dance according to their whims by choosing the time. “Very well, sire.”

“You will not go without your guards,” the general said.

“Never fear,” Zachary replied, “I will come to no harm.”

The appointed day came with a cold misting rain that made Laren’s joints ache. Dressed in her formal uniform, she passed the morning in her office shuffling reports, awaiting the king’s word that the time had come to descend the Winding Way. But the day wore on, the bell down in the city tolling away the hours, and still the king’s word did not come. She loosened her stock and collar.

Eventually she gave up on trying to accomplish any work, and unwound her waist sash and took off her longcoat, and propped her feet on her bed and tilted her chair back, a cup of tea warming her achy hands. The pains came on her more fiercely than ever since the summer when the awakening of Mornhavon wreaked havoc with her special ability, its voice clamoring in her head, constant and unrelenting, which drove her to the brink of madness and suicide.

In the end, one who possessed her brooch two hundred years before her came to her in spirit form and helped her regain control. And after Mornhavon had been banished to the future, thanks to Karigan, the chaos his awakening caused settled down. No longer were there reports of villages vanishing or people turning to stone, and those that had were restored. All her Riders agreed their special abilities were functioning properly, as was her own.

Still, the pain in her joints hurt more than ever when she used her special ability in service to Zachary, but she spoke to no one about it, and swore Master Mender Destarion to secrecy about her need for willowbark tea. He wasn’t happy, but he provided her with what she wanted, and it gave her some measure of relief.

She supposed a lifetime of accidents and abuses to her body, and the fact she was entering her middling years, contributed to the pain. She just wasn’t able to recover from injuries as she had in her younger days. It was rare for one to remain a Green Rider as long as she had. Most either died in the course of their duties or their brooches abandoned them, releasing them from the call. The gods must have some purpose in mind for her, keeping her bound to the messenger service for so long. Even so, she tried as best as she could to prepare her Riders for the eventuality when she would not be there for them, a day when someone else must assume the role of Rider captain.

The bell tolled two hour and the light and shadows of her quarters shifted with the movement of the cloud-shrouded sun. If the king did not proceed soon to meet the Eletians, they’d be going in the dark, and she did not think that for the best.

She had not seen much beyond those tent flaps when beckoned forth to receive the word of the Eletians, nor when she delivered to them the king’s reply. A woman stood there in the shadows of the tent flaps, nothing to be revealed in the darkness beyond, and yet…

There was the sense of vast space and movement, like trees in a wood, the rustling she heard not the tent walls only, but a breeze through the boughs of limbs and leaves. She had an inexplicable feeling of an entire world beyond her sight, or maybe of a dream just on the rim of memory.

As she sat there considering it all, a knock came on the door. Laren rose and opened the door to find a Green Foot runner there, his hands clasped behind his back.

“The king says it is time to make ready, ma’am,” he said. “He plans to leave castle grounds in half an hour.”

“Please inform Lieutenant Connly as well.” Laren thanked the boy and hastened to tighten her stock. It was of the blue-green plaid like that worn by the First Rider so long ago, and so was her waistcoat. The present day Riders had adopted the colors into their uniforms to connect them to their heritage. She knotted her gold sash back into place and buckled on her swordbelt. Over her shoulder she slung the horn of the First Rider.

Before she left her quarters, she removed from a corner the ancient banner of the Green Riders, wrapped carefully about its staff, which had been presented to the First Rider by King Santanara of Eletia a millennium ago. Laren hoped these reminders of long ago friendship would not be overlooked by the Eletians.

The members of the delegation, for that’s what it was, had been handpicked by the king. He brought with him two of his most important advisors: Laren and Colin Dovekey. Castellan Sperren remained on duty in the castle to take charge if anything went awry. General Harborough, as top commander of the military, also joined them, as well as Lord-Governor Coutre to represent the interests of the provinces and that of the future queen.

Their ranks were filled out by standard bearers and armed guards, including no few Weapons who surrounded the king. All branches of the military were represented, even the navy, but the most impressive, most stunning banner of all was that borne by Connly, of the gold winged horse on a field of green rippling with life, even in the mist and against the gray sky. It was bordered with gold, and the gold embroidered with Eletian runes, which Laren had not yet had translated.

Raised highest and foremost, however, was the silver and black banner of Sacoridia, of the firebrand and crescent moon. Right behind it came Zachary’s clan banner of a white Hillander terrier on a field of heather. Slightly lower was the cormorant banner of Clan Coutre.

Folk on the Winding Way parted to the sides of the street to gawk at the grand procession making its way through the city. All members of the delegation were attired in their formal and best, the steel of weapons, buckles, and mail polished bright. The king wore black with the firebrand and crescent moon embroidered with silver threads upon his chest, a long black cloak flowing off his shoulders, and he wore the silver fillet upon his brow. Colin, too, wore black, as was his right as the chief of the Weapons. Lord Coutre was attired in the cobalt of his clan.

A shining group they were, as they rode in formation and silence down the street, the hooves of horses ringing upon the paving stones. There was scattered cheering and applause from the street, and waves of bowing citizens as the king passed by. Laren decided it was high time the citizens got to see some pageantry, which occurred too rarely during Zachary’s reign. She knew it was reticence on his part, but the populace needed to be reminded now and then of the glory of their homeland.

She looked fondly upon Zachary who, when he was a boy, was like a little brother to her. Now he was a man full grown who had truly come into his kingship, every inch of him, his expression grave and his chin set.

When finally the delegation exited the city and came upon the encampment, they found it as quiet and empty as before, but here the drizzle became less penetrating and the sky lighter, the colors around the tents richer.

Neff the herald rode forth and his voice rang out against the city wall: “His Excellency King Zachary, lord and clan chief of Hillander Province, and high king of the twelve provinces, from the eastern shores to the plains of the west, from the forests of the north to the islands of the southern coast; leader of the clans of Sacor and bearer of the firebrand, supplicant to the gods only, comes forth to meet with the lords of Eletia.”

Silence. Nothing moved among the tents, no beckoning hands appeared, no Eletian heralds emerged to welcome them. Was it the intention of the Eletians to mock them? Were they insulted the king refused to come at the time they designated? Did they hold such contempt for those other than themselves that they would ignore the presence of King Zachary and his folk?

Just as General Harborough began to whisper his disgust to the king and Colin, the flaps of all the tents parted nearly in unison. Eletians emerged bearing wreaths of flowers and laurels, and trailing garlands that were presented to members of the delegation. As Laren received a garland of lilies and roses and columbine, she marveled to see such flowers in bloom at this time of year, and so fresh and fragrant. General Harborough’s stunned expression at receiving a wreath of white flowers from a slim Eletian girl with golden hair almost made Laren laugh.

When the flowers were all handed out, a tall, slender woman emerged from the large blue tent. Her flaxen hair was pulled back into many braids, snowy feathers bound into them. Her simple dress was of ocean colors, of foamy blues and greens. She bowed slightly to the king.

“We greet you, Firebrand, great lord of the Sacor Clans,” she said in a voice that rang like music. Laren was certain this was the woman to whom she had spoken before. “If you would bring those closest to you, we may meet within.” She gestured to the blue tent.

The king chose Laren, the general, Colin, Lord Coutre, and Fastion, one of his Weapons, to accompany him. When the general argued he should take more bodyguards, Zachary said to him, “I have no need if you are there to protect me.”

General Harborough could only scratch his head, unable to come up with a response.

The chosen companions of the king followed the woman into the tent.