War Of The Wildlands (25 page)

R
eylana paced
anxiously outside the palace. Na’zora’s palace district was a far cry from her
forest home. There were few trees and only tiny gardens spread here and there.
The palace itself included a larger garden, but the winter’s chill had claimed
every plant.

“Stop pacing,” Essa said. “You’re making me
nervous.”

Halting in her tracks, Reylana took a seat next to
Essa on the stone steps of the palace. “I bet the other clans are giving too
much away,” she said, shaking her head.

“They have to negotiate for themselves. If they
stay strong, they will do as well as we have done.”

“We’re moving farther north than I had hoped,”
Reylana admitted. “I will miss the forests where I was born.”

“That forest is no more,” Essa said flatly. “There
is a healthy forest waiting for us, and our people will thrive there.”

“Everything’s going to be different,” Reylana
replied, looking at her feet. “I have no one, and I don’t even have my homeland
anymore.”

Essa looked at Reylana, her eyes sincere. “You
have your clan. We are your family, and you are needed. Together, we will make
a new life.”

Reylana nodded, trusting in Essa’s words. “Let’s
get back in there,” she said, standing.

The two elves returned to the king’s throne room
where scores of elves and humans had gathered. A large wooden table had been
brought in for the occasion, and the king sat among the elves rather than on
his throne. Choosing not to perch himself on his throne and look down upon them
was a wise choice. Reylana respected the decision, hoping it was a reflection
of the new king’s true nature. Though she doubted he truly considered the elves
his equal, at least he was making them feel as if they were.

The newly appointed Overseer for the Silver Birch
Clan was speaking forcefully, trying to convince his clansmen that his idea was
best. “That land is destroyed,” he said. “We cannot return to our former home,
so we must make do with what we’re given. The Forests of Viera are unspoiled.”

“Your former village will never be the same,”
Aelryk said. “There’s no point in trying to rebuild. The mages have ensured it
would be uninhabitable by my father’s command.”

“What will become of it?” a Sycamore clansman
asked.

“Na’zora will clear the land, and part of it will
become farms. We will not be expanding our borders very far. We only wish to
make use of the land that is now useless to you.”

Though the new king’s words sounded logical, the
elves murmured among themselves. Making a new life in a new forest could prove
difficult, but some of them were eager to take on the challenge.

“Where will Na’zora’s borders end?” Reylana asked,
lifting her voice above the noise.

“We will rebuild all of the farming villages that
were destroyed in the fighting,” Aelryk began. “That land was already ours. We
will take only the nearest sections of forest that are no longer sufficient for
your people. Those areas will be converted to farms which will feed our growing
population.”

“So basically Na’zora gives nothing, the elves
have to move, and Na’zora gains farmland.” With sarcasm, she added, “That seems
fair.”

Rising to his feet, the Sycamore Overseer spoke
again. “The Forests of Viera will make a fine home for my clan. We will accept
that land on the condition that it never be touched by Na’zora. You may not
spread your borders or build farms in its vicinity. Nor may you create
settlements between Viera and Enald.” He looked around the room proudly, hoping
the elves would no longer object.

“Agreed,” the king replied.

Sounds of approval came from the seated elves. The
Overseer nodded and sat back in his chair.

“Viera is a small forested area,” Essa said. “You
may find it inadequate someday.”

“I’m not opposed to future negotiations,” the king
declared.

“You will be too busy running your kingdom to care
about us elves,” Reylana said. “I, for one, would be happy if you just forgot
about us as long as you leave us in peace.”

“Let’s discuss the Sycamore Clan,” Aelryk
suggested. “You have stated that you’ve already returned from your new village
across the river and intend to occupy your original area. That is acceptable.”

“It had better be,” Nat replied. “I expect my clan
to be left alone in future. Na’zora will never need to extend its borders to
Al’marr. Unless, of course, you want to start a war with them. We would gladly
fight on their side.”

A hush came over the crowd upon hearing Nat’s
threat. His expression was serious, and he intended to keep his promise. He
stared at the king, expecting an angry response.

“I assure you that I have no plans to take your
land.” The king’s voice was calm, his expression revealing no dishonesty.
“Until we can learn to trust each other, we must abide by the terms spelled out
in this treaty.”

“Then make sure you add a line about staying away
from us,” Nat remarked. “I don’t want it to slip your mind.”

Aelryk made no effort to reply and turned his
attention to the parchment in front of him. After a few moments of silence, he
said, “I believe we’ve covered all of the clans and their territories. All that
remains is to draft a final copy and have all of you sign it.”

“Assuming the final copy is correct,” Reylana
replied. “I’d hate to see you trying to trick us with your fancy words.”

“I assure you, my lady, that the treaty will read
exactly as promised. Everything that has been declared during these
negotiations will be upheld by Na’zora.”

The elves began to mingle as the Na’zoran scribes
busied themselves drafting the final copies of the treaty. Nat joined Essa and
Reylana, the three of them moving as far from the king as possible.

“I think we’re all losers here,” Reylana
commented. “Well, maybe not you, Nat.” She gave him a weak smile.

“We’ve lost our sense of security,” he replied.
“We still have our homes, but this war has changed us.”

“Most of the clans are moving farther from
Na’zora,” Essa pointed out. “The Silver Birch Clan is moving closer.”

“That will lead to their demise,” Nat replied.

“I hope this king keeps his promise to them, but
I’ll stand with them in battle if he doesn’t.” Reylana’s voice was determined.
She did not trust Aelryk, and she was willing to continue the fight if she had
to.

“With so many of us moving, I’m sure Na’zora will
feel free to expand,” Essa said. “They won’t get too close to us for now, but
in time I think they’ll overstep their boundaries. We must prepare our children
to fight and keep close ties with the other clans.”

“Agreed,” Nat said.

Once the documents were prepared, each clan took
its turn looking over the words for discrepancies. Finding no tricks, they
placed their signatures on the treaty. They were now free to return to the
Wildlands and make new lives for themselves. Peace had been promised, friendship
had not.

O
nce the treaty
had been completed, the people of Na’zora began preparations to crown their new
king. On that same day, he would wed Princess Lisalla, the woman who would be
their queen. Despite the massive rebuilding that lay ahead of them, the
citizens were determined to celebrate.

Aelryk intended to have his coronation and wedding
in the palace courtyard overlooking the ocean. Hundreds of citizens could
gather on the beach and still have a decent view of the ceremony. All Na’zorans
were welcome, regardless of their rank or class. This was to be a day of
celebration. The dark cloud of his father’s reign had ended, and a new era of
peace and prosperity lay ahead.

Lisalla’s maids buzzed around her, preparing her
for her wedding. The lavender gown which she had brought from Ra’jhou had been
retrieved from her carriage, and today she would finally wear it. She brushed a
hand lightly over the tiny pearls that accentuated the bodice and admired
herself in a full-length mirror.

The gown was stunning, but a sadness found its way
into Lisalla’s heart. She could not help thinking of Danna and how much she had
looked forward to this day. It pained Lisalla that her friend was gone, and she
missed her deeply. Her mind wandered back to the day Danna had been killed, the
image forever embedded in her memory.

As the maids began to decorate her hair with
ribbons and flowers, Lisalla did her best to brush off the sad thoughts and put
a smile on her face. Today was a day to celebrate, not mourn. Her new life was
about to begin.

Out in the courtyard, a huge crowd had assembled
to witness the day’s events. It was nearly midday, and the coronation was soon
to begin. The winter air was chilly, but that did not deter Na’zora’s citizens
from gathering to greet their new king. The ocean sent a warm breeze to comfort
them and bring joy to their hearts.

As Lisalla appeared in the courtyard, a silence
fell over the crowd. She walked softly to her seat, her satin shoes making no
sound against the stone pathway. Taking her seat, she looked upon the crowd and
the faces of her people. Both young and old, whether peasant or noble, returned
her gaze, and she smiled warmly at each of them. Her heart swelled with love
for her citizens. Na’zora was her true home from this day forth, and she knew
her life here would be happy.

Aelryk finally emerged from the palace to take his
seat in the courtyard. In near-perfect unison, the assembled guests dropped to
one knee. As the king took his seat, the crowd rose to observe his coronation.

General Luca, who had served as First Advisor
under King Domren, lifted a golden crown from a soft velvet cushion. His
flowing blue robe danced on the wind as he held the crown high in the air and
proclaimed, “Na’zorans, I present to you Aelryk, son of Domren, your true and
undoubted king!” With great dignity, he strode to the king and placed the crown
upon his head before kneeling in reverence. The crowd erupted in cheers and
applause.

King Aelryk stood and reached for Lisalla’s hand.
Placing her hand in his, she smiled gently at her betrothed and curtsied
respectfully. He kissed her soft, pale hand and looked deeply into her blue
eyes. From this moment he would love her, and no other woman would ever come
between them. He vowed in his heart to be a faithful and loving husband.

The pair made their way to the marriage altar,
which had been placed only a few steps from the throne. A golden chalice full
of deep purple wine awaited them. Lifting the chalice before his new bride,
Aelryk said, “I vow to love you and honor you in all things. I take you as my
wife and pledge my fidelity.” After taking a long sip from the chalice, he
passed it to Lisalla.

Trying to fight her nerves, Lisalla lifted the
glass before her husband. “I vow to love and honor you in all things. I take
you as my husband and pledge my fidelity.” Pausing for a moment to take a quick
breath, she smiled playfully and drank from the goblet.

After she returned the goblet to the altar, Aelryk
took her in his arms and kissed her passionately. The warmth of his touch
soothed Lisalla, and her nerves soon melted away. Lovingly, she placed a hand
on the back of his head and gently stroked his dark hair. As they separated,
she looked into his eyes and saw kindness.

The couple once again joined hands, turning to
face the crowd. The citizens cheered for their new king and queen, raising
their voices in celebration. Together, Aelryk and Lisalla returned to the
palace along with scores of followers. A feast had been prepared to celebrate
the momentous day, and hundreds of citizens had been invited. Tonight they
would celebrate with music and dance along with fireworks presented by the
court mages.

As the couple walked slowly through the long
marble corridor of the palace, Lisalla placed her arm in her husband’s. “May I
offer you some advice, my king?” she asked, her voice soft and kind.

“Always,” he replied.

“Above all else, love your people,” she said. “Do
what is best for them, and you will be a good king.”

“I shall endeavor to do so,” Aelryk replied. “You
must also do something for me.”

“What is that, my lord?” she asked.

“You must never fear to speak your mind and offer
your advice to me,” he said. “I would have a wife who is also involved in
governing this kingdom.”

“I promise,” she replied.

A
fter spending
several days with his grandfather, Yori had finally made his way back to the
city of Enald. The town still showed signs of extensive damage from its recent
attack by the elves. People walked hurriedly through the streets, going about
various tasks. Some busied themselves repairing the damage and removing debris.

Yori continued through the streets to his uncle’s
smithy. It still stood and appeared mostly unharmed. There were new wooden
shingles to the roof, and some of the posts had been replaced, suggesting that
the shop had been damaged but was already repaired.

Inside the shop, he caught sight of his uncle at
the anvil. He was hammering away, completely unaware of Yori’s presence. Seated
at the far corner of the shop was Meladee. Her dark hair covered most of her
face as she played with a cloth doll.

Glimpsing movement at the corner of her eye, she
looked up at Yori with a start. “Yori!” she yelled, rushing past her father to
reach him.

Ren looked up and spun around in time to see Yori
kneel and grab the little girl. He lifted her high in the air before hugging
her tightly to his chest. She kissed his cheeks and giggled, throwing her arms
around his neck.

“You’ve been gone forever,” she said, scolding him
as he returned her to her feet.

“I’m sorry, Meladee,” he replied. “I had a lot to
learn. Will you forgive me?”

“Ok,” she replied, grinning.

“It’s good to see you again,” Ren said. “I didn’t
know if you’d be coming back.”

“I wasn’t really sure myself,” Yori responded
truthfully. “I’ve traveled quite a bit this winter, but it feels good to come
home.”

“You’ve probably heard that the war is over,” Ren
said. “We took some damage here, but the entire town pitched in to repair the
smithy. With all the work I have lined up to repair the town, I’ve had to hire
two new apprentices. You’re still welcome to work for me if you like.”

“Thanks, Uncle,” Yori replied. “But I should have
a job waiting for me in the palace district.” He grinned, trying to imagine
what it would be like working for the king.

“That’s true,” Ren said. “I bet that job pays much
better. With all that you’ve probably learned while you were away, I think you
might be ready to run your own smithy. I’d like to hear about these runes if
you’re going to stay a while.”

“I think I could be persuaded to stay a day or two.”

“Trella has been missing you too. No doubt she’ll
want to cook all of your favorite dishes while you’re here.”

“That’s it,” Yori replied with a smile. “You’ve
convinced me.”

“Yay!” Meladee shouted. “We’re building a new
house. It’s a big one. There’s even going to be a room for you.” She looked
cheerfully up at Yori and took his hand.

“Whenever you want to visit, our door will always
be open,” Ren said.

Yori looked down at Meladee and winked. She
giggled and tugged at his arm, leading him to the site of her new home.

* * * * *

A few days later, Yori
arrived once again at the palace district. Trella had sewn him a new red
headband, and he checked to make sure it was covering his ears. The war had
ended, but the negative sentiment toward elves remained unchanged.

Despite the layer of snow on the ground, the
marketplace was bustling with its usual activities. As Yori walked along the
streets, his spirits were high, reflecting the general atmosphere of the city.
Everyone seemed to be smiling.

Moving unnoticed among the crowd, he stopped at
the palace gates to request an audience with the king. Two guards in shining
chainmail stood proudly, watching as the people went about their duties.

“Excuse me,” Yori said to them. “I was sent on a mission
by the prince, and now I have returned. I need to report back to him.”

The guards looked him up and down. One of them
replied, “The prince is now the king.”

Yori smiled knowingly. “Yes, I’ve heard the news.
May I see him?”

“You can wait inside, but the king is very busy.
One of his councilors might come and speak to you.” Opening the gate, the guard
waved him through.

Within the stone walls of the palace, Yori felt
trapped. Having spent time in the forests, he no longer felt as comfortable
indoors as he once did. Despite his uneasiness, he stood with his back
straight, trying to appear dignified. He felt a bit silly, but he didn’t want
to be mistaken for a servant or dismissed without the chance to see the king.

After nearly an hour, a gray-haired councilor in a
yellow robe strutted down the hallway. “You have a report for the king, I’m
told,” he said. Staring at Yori with disdain, he awaited a response.

“Yes,” Yori said. “A few months ago he sent me to
learn a special craft. I have returned to offer him my service.”

“The king himself sent you?” the councilor asked
suspiciously.

“He was the prince at the time, and yes, he sent
me himself.” Yori returned the stare, showing the old man that he was not
intimidated by his tone.

“What was this craft?” the councilor asked,
narrowing his eyes.

“That is between the king and myself,” Yori
replied. Growing impatient, he added, “He’s not going to be pleased when he
learns you’ve kept me from my duties.”

The old man snorted. “What name shall I give to
the king?”

“My name is Yori,” he replied. “I am the
blacksmith he pardoned and sent on a mission.”

“Wait here,” the man said. He turned and strode
back down the hallway, disappearing through a tall wooden door.

Yori sighed and continued to wait. Several minutes
later, the councilor once again appeared at the end of the hallway. He beckoned
for Yori to follow him.

The doorway led into the king’s throne room, where
a large number of people had gathered. Apparently Yori was not the only one who
had business with the king. The councilor motioned for him to take a seat among
the crowd, but a voice commanded him differently.

“Yori,” Aelryk said. “I didn’t actually expect you
to return.”

Yori stood dumbfounded, unsure how to address a
king. Their previous meeting had been so informal that he had not stopped to
consider how he should behave in the king’s presence.

Waving frantically, the old councilor summoned
Yori up to the front. With a tilt of his head, he signaled Yori to stand in
front of the king. Yori obeyed, standing awkwardly before the throne. Silence
ensued, and he glanced back at the councilor who was lowering his head,
apparently trying to tell Yori to bow.

Yori bowed awkwardly before the king, trying to
fight his own embarrassment. The king suppressed his laughter, understanding
how out of place the young half-elf must feel.

“Have you completed the task I gave you?”

“I have, Your Majesty.”

“Good,” the king replied. “Have you mastered the
craft of rune carving?

“I have.”

“And have you come here to fulfill your promise to
work for me?”

“Yes, Your Majesty, but I have a condition.”

Aelryk raised an eyebrow. “Oh? What might that
be?”

Yori took a deep breath and let it out. He knew he
was in no position to make demands of a king, but his conscience would not
allow him to remain silent. “I will work for you on the condition that the
weapons I craft will not be used to harm the elves of the Wildlands.”

The king nodded, a faint smile on his lips. “I
have every intention of upholding the peace treaty. I understand your request,
and I give you my word.”

Yori gave a single nod. “Then I am at your
service, Your Majesty.”

“Good,” Aelryk replied. “I will have quarters
arranged for you here in the palace.”

“If you don’t mind,” Yori began, “I would prefer
to live on the north side of town near the large grove of trees. I prefer to
remain close to nature.”

“I will have a home constructed for you,” the king
said. “The palace armory is now yours. I trust you to oversee its daily
operations and produce quality weapons and armor for my troops.”

Yori felt a surge of pride. Being placed in charge
of a king’s armory at his young age was no small accomplishment. “Thank you,
Your Majesty,” he said.

“You may encounter some prejudice while the war is
still fresh in everyone’s minds. In time, I hope we can move beyond that. You
are dismissed.”

He bowed again before taking his leave. Exiting
the palace, he followed the dirt path around to the armory, where a dozen
smiths were hard at work. These men were now under his supervision. As he
entered the army, he noticed a small purple flower had lifted its head and
pushed its way through the snow.