It was raining the next morning when Rael came to his father's tent. He stood for a moment and stared blindly at the wet canvas, letting the water cut channels into the red-brown mud that caked his armor. The lines etched into the pale skin about his mouth and the purple bruises beneath his eyes, eyes in which the green fires had all but died, bore eloquent testimony to the night's work. He had never looked less like his mother.

The Guard before the entrance saluted and stood aside but Glinna, standing guard within the canvas walls, could not be so easily passed. She folded her arms on her chest and blocked the way.

"The king finally sleeps. Anything you have to say can wait. "

"I have news of the war. "

"No doubt, " she said dryly. "But I don't care if the war is over, you may not wake him. "

"The war is over. "

Her eyes widened. She looked down at the dried blood that stained his sword hilt, so thick in places that it filled the hollows in the ornate scrollwork, then she stepped aside.

"Don't allow him to become excited, " she cautioned as Rael passed. "If he opens the wound again... " Her words trailed off, but the meaning was clear.

When Raen had left his bed and reopened the wound, it had infected, swelling and putrefying. From a serious, although hardly fatal injury, it had grown to be dangerously life threatening. Glinna, however, refused to admit defeat, draining, cleaning, cauterizing, and pouring potion after potion down the king's throat. Three times she forced Lord Death away, and in the end she won; the king lived. But under the scented smoke that eddied around the inner room, the smell of rot remained.

"Less than a week, " thought Rael, looking down at his father, "how could he change so much in less than a week?"

As the war had aged Rael, the wound had aged Raen. Flesh hung from his bones as if it belonged to another man, and the lines of his face were now furrows.

Not even the most loving son could deny that the king had grown old.

Rael dashed a tear away with an impatient hand. You will not mourn him while he still lives, he told himself fiercely. He needs you to be strong. He dragged a chair over to the bed and perched on its edge. "Father?" Reaching out a slender hand, he placed it gently on the sleeping man's chest. The steady rise and fall seemed to reassure him. He sat quietly for a moment then called again.

With a sound that was half question, half moan, the king woke, blinked, and focused slowly on Rael's face.

"Father, the war is over. "

"You have the battle commanders. " It wasn't a question. Late in the night, Belkar had told him what Rael planned to do, indeed, was doing, for the prince had ordered the duke not to speak until he and the Elite were well on their way. "You did the right thing. The only thing. I wouldn't have stopped you. "

The boy had needed an outlet for his grief. The war had needed to be ended.

That both had been accomplished at once, and with a plan only the prince commander himself could carry out would further consolidate said commander's position with the army. That said commander was his son, and the plan placed him in mortal danger had given Raen a sleepless night. "Did they surrender?"

"Not quite. " Rael leaned forward and propped a pillow behind his father's head. "We torched their camp, destroyed half their army, and still had to knock a tent down on the commanders to get them to quit. "

"Prisoners. "

"Besides the seven commanders, about eight hundred; at least half of them wounded. "

Raen brought up a skeletal hand to stroke his beard. "Hmmm, not many. " His eyes unfocused as he considered the best course of action. "The men are rabble without the leaders. Strip them of their arms and have them taken back across the border. "

"But, Father, the pass is blocked. "

"Oh, " Raen looked momentarily confused. Had he known that? Memories of the last few days were soft edged and smoke-filled; he remembered pain clearly but not much else.

"And they don't want to go back. "

"Are you sure. "

"Very sure. " Rael shrugged wearily. "But I don't know why. "

"Well, I've a pretty good idea, " Raen snorted, suddenly more energetic as he came across something he thought he understood. "They lost. Melac and that idiot who advises him aren't likely to be very welcoming. "

"Father, about that counselor... "

"An ambitious upstart, " the king dismissed their unknown enemy with a choppy wave of his hand. "I'm not surprised someone like him showed up to grab power.

Melac was always weak. We'll keep the border guarded and have nothing more to do with either of them. "

Rael was not convinced. From things he'd overheard in the last few hours, he suspected Melac's counselor would remain a threat. But that was for the future to deal with, here and now he had other worries. "So what do we do with the prisoners?"

"Divide them up and scatter them amongst the dukes. " The crease between the king's eyes deepened as he remembered the mass graves that held the flower of Ardhan's youth. "We'll all be a little shorthanded for a while. I'm sure they can find ways to put them to use. If they truly don't want to go home, they can begin to work off the lives they owe us. "

"And the battle commander and his officers?"

The king sighed. "Well, they can't go home. Melac can always get more spear-carriers and crow-fodder, but returning his officers would be asking to do this all over again. Have them take the standard oath about laying down arms and ever after cleaving to the soil of the land they invaded. "

"They won't. " Rael sighed as well, and rubbed a grimy hand across the bridge of his nose. "They say they've taken blood oaths to fight for Melac and the Empire until death. "

"Empire!" Raen snarled and tried to sit up. "What Empire?"

Rael pushed him gently back. "The one we were supposed to be the first part of. They're fanatics, Father. When we took away their weapons they attacked with bare hands. We practically had to bury them in chains before they stopped. They fought like men possessed. " He paused and his eyes narrowed in memory. "Or men in mortal terror. "

"They'll have to die. "

"Father!"

"How many men did you kill last night?" Raen asked gently.

"I told you, we torched the camp. It's likely hundreds died. "

Raen held his son's eyes with his own. "No. How many did you kill? Yourself?"

Rael yanked his gaze away and stared at the carpet. "I don't know. Eighteen.

Twenty maybe. I lost count. "

"And Rutgar's still dead. "

The terror; the reaching hand; his name screamed.

"Yes. "

"It didn't bring him back, so the killing is over. " Rael lifted his head and green embers stirred. He'd fought last night blinded by anger and pain and with every life he sent to Lord Death the anger bled away until there was only the pain. "Yes, " he said. "There's been enough. "

"Unless those seven die, the war isn't over and we've won nothing. Rutgar died for nothing. The men you killed last night died for nothing. " Raen lifted a hand and touched his son's arm. "A king has no conscience, lad, he gives it to his people. "

"That's garbage, Father, and you know it. The people do what you say. "

Raen let his hand fall back onto the blanket. "Then do as I say, Rael, and carry out my command. "

Rael searched the stern, closed face on the pillow for his father but saw only the king. He stood so quickly his chair tipped and fell and he almost kicked it out of the way as he spun and headed for the door.

"Rael. "

He paused but didn't turn.

"Last night you let your anger define the thin line between justice and murder; a king never has that luxury. "

"A lesson, Father?"

"If you wish, and here's another. You'd rather I gave this task to one of the dukes, but the king must be willing to carry out the king's justice. As I am not able, you must stand in for me. "

"I don't think I'm ready to be king. " Raen's teeth flashed white amid the dusky gray of his beard and the lines of his face lifted with the smile.

"Good. "

Doan was waiting when Rael left the king's tent. The night's work had added a limp and several new scars to the Elite Captain's inelegant appearance. He fell into step beside the younger man. "You were right, " Rael said at last.

Doan kept silent. He appeared to be watching the rain drip off the edge of his helmet.

"We're to divide the men amongst the dukes, but the commander and his captains die. I'm to see that it gets taken care of. "

Doan merely pulled his cloak tighter to stop the rain from running down his neck.

Rael's laughter sounded a great deal like choking. "Life would certainly be a lot easier if my father was a woodsman or a farmer. "

The captain grunted, there being little he could say to his own words.

"If it must be done, then let's do it now. "

"I'll call for volunteers, Commander. " As Rael's head jerked around to face him, he added. "You must only be present, Highness. You don't strike the blows yourself. And it's not a job you can command a man to do. "

By the time the Guard was formed, the rain had stopped. The sun came out, and seven men died.

And the war was over.

"At least I never enjoyed it, Mother, " Rael whispered as the breeze lifted his hair from his forehead and blood soaked into the ground at his feet. "At least I never enjoyed it. "

The fire reached the grimy foot of the elderly woman tied to the stake and began to lick daintily at the blistering skin.

"'Ware the child, " she screamed in a mad voice raw with much shrieking.

"'Ware the creation of Lord Death's children. "

"Lord Death's children?" Lord Elan half turned, enough so he could see the king's counselor but not so much that he must look at the king. That pain at least he would spare himself. "What does she mean, Lord Death's children?"

The golden-haired man lounged back in his chair and sighed. "The race of Man was created for Lord Death's benefit. Thus Man, " he inclined his head toward the stake with chilling courtesy, "and Woman also, are Death's children."

"It burns! Brilliance within! Brilliance without!" And then not even madness was enough to overcome the effects of the flames. The old woman sagged against the ropes and prophesied no more.

The king shifted on his throne, hips rotating with each spasm of the body on the pyre.

"She wasn't very clear, " Lord Elan grunted. Full lips molded themselves into a smile. "She was clear enough earlier and more than willing to repeat the entire prophecy as often as I chose to listen. " Even the most obscure prophet could be convinced to find clarity and while there was no real need in this instance, the convincing had filled a few otherwise tedious hours.

"Then what does it mean?" The old lord sounded tired. The greasy smoke stung his eyes and coated his throat. He hated executions, even the most necessary. and had attended this one only because he'd vowed that the king would spend as little time alone with his counselor as possible. Others of the nobility, those who had not died with the army-he saw their faces wide-eyed in the firelight-seemed to be taking their idea of pleasure from what pleasured their liege. He gritted his teeth and glanced quickly at the king.

He was beginning to lose interest now that the body had stopped moving.

The voice of the king's counselor was closer to content than it had been in years. He lifted his face to let the evening breeze cool skin flushed by the heat. "It means, Lord Elan, that I have something to look forward to. "

"But we're going back to Ardhan. " "No. "

"But... " Lord Elan jerked as sapphire eyes caught his and held. A thin rope of drool fell from one corner of suddenly slack lips. He jerked again as he was released and would have fallen had he not clung, panting, to the arm of the king's throne.

"I said no, " the counselor repeated quietly. He stared past the pyre, out over the remains of the army. So clever of him to have kept the cavalry back; they would replace the officers killed and, well, one could always get more peasants. South and east, he thought. I will create an Empire to the south and east, giving Ardhan enough time to fulfill the prophecy. Glancing down at the smoldering pile of meat and bone, he rubbed long fingers against the silk covering his thighs. "Well, " he purred in a voice barely audible over the sizzle and crackle of burning fat, "almost enough time. "

The army returned triumphant to the city, although the king did not ride proudly at its head but was carried on a litter. Rael, with the Elite behind him, led the army home.

The war quickly became a thing of the past. Men went back to holdings and fields, battle armor was polished and put away, and Rael received a most unexpected welcome home from the Duke of Belkar's blue-eyed daughter-who had supposedly ridden to the palace to meet her father. Rael was pleasantly surprised to find that blue eyes held depths as well as green and that the eyes of mortal women also glowed.

The king did not recover.

Glinna now slept in the room next to the royal bedchambers, when she slept at all. The infection had returned and spread, and now the king's whole lower body strained against its increasingly heated covering of skin. She did what she could but finally, no longer able to deny what training and common sense told her, she admitted defeat.

"His life is now in the hands of Lord Death, " she told the prince. "I can do nothing more. "

"My father doesn't believe in Lord Death, " said Rael bitterly.

"Well, Lord Death believes in him, " replied the surgeon and left Rael alone with his thoughts and his dying father.

But Lord Death, never predictable, stayed his hand and the king did not die; although he didn't exactly live. Affairs of state were left in the hands of the council and royal decisions increasingly fell to the prince, for the king tired easily and Glinna demanded he rest.

"Why have a council, " she snapped, prying dispatches from his hand and shoving them at an embarrassed Belkar, "if you don't use it?"

Raen raged against the weakness that held him to his bed, and the raging left him weaker still, until he was only a shadow of the man he had been.

"I am no longer a man. "

"You're more of a man than anyone in the kingdom, " Rael told him, his eyes filling with tears he refused to shed.

The king laughed humorlessly and stared down at his wasted body. "That doesn't say much for the other men in the kingdom. "

The king was dying and everyone knew it. Already a funereal hush hung over the land. The dukes, down to crippled Lorn and ten-year-old Hale, gathered in the King's City, waiting. Rael went numbly about the task of learning to rule. He knew he should go to the Grove and tell his mother that the mortal man she loved lay dying, but he couldn't. He just couldn't. He told himself that Milthra, being who and what she was, probably already knew. That didn't help very much.

One morning, in the quiet hours just past dawn, some five weeks after the war had ended, the Duke of Belkar came to the king. The two men shared an age, but the man on the bed made the other seem obscenely healthy.

Belkar looked down at his liege and his friend and wondered where to begin.

Raen spoke before he got the chance, anger turning the words to edged steel.

"It would have been so much easier had Lord Death collected me on the battlefield. Then those I love would not have had to watch me die by inches. And I would not have had to watch their pain as they watched me. "

"Raen, I'm sorry, I... "

"No. " The word was faint but still very much a king's command. "It is I who should be sorry. You didn't need that on top of everything else. I was feeling sorry for myself and you bore the brunt of it. " His face twisted in a skeletal caricature of a smile. "Forgive me?"

Belkar nodded, not trusting his voice, although what he thought to hide when tears ran unheeded down his face, he had no idea.

"So, " Raen's voice became as light as he was still capable of making it. "To what do I owe your presence so early in the day?"

More than anything in his life, the duke wanted to follow Raen's lead, to try to banish the darkness for just a little while, but he was desperately afraid there was no time for even that small amount of comfort. "The people talk. "

"They always have. Death, taxes, and the people talking, the three things you can count on. " Raen shifted into a different but no more comfortable position. "Sit down, Belkar, and tell me what they say. " Belkar sat, spread his hands and stared at their backs. It was easier than meeting the king's eyes. "They're speaking against the prince, saying he isn't human. "

"They always knew that; I told them who his mother was when I declared him my heir. "

"To most of them, the Lady is something to fear. The Elder Races have never been friendly to man. People fear and distrust her power and they fear and distrust her power in him. "

"He proved himself in the war. " "Yes, but the war is over. And... " Belkar sighed. "... he proved himself different. " "He won the war!"

"He used his mother's power to do it. Half of the talkers see the danger in that alone. The other half wonder why he waited so long to use it and ask what game he played. "

Tendons in Raen's neck stood out as he ground his teeth. "And those titled vultures who circle about my deathbed?"

"The dukes, " Belkar reminded him gently, "have the right to see the crown passed. " Raen dipped his head a barely perceivable amount, as much of an apology as he was willing to make. Belkar continued: "They worry about his mother as well, and the effect her blood will have on the way he rules. "

"They've never worried before. "

"He's never been so close to being king before. "

Raen squinted up at his oldest friend. "They remember that soldier? The one my son killed?"

Belkar nodded.

"And what do they say about me?" The king's eyes held a dangerous glint.

"They say you don't heal because he bewitched you as his mother did. "

"And what do you believe?"

"I, " Belkar pointed out, "have met his mother. " Once, many years before, the duke had gone with Raen to the Grove. He still held the memory of the hamadryad like a jewel in his heart. Occasionally, he held it up to the light to rejoice in its beauty.

"Then, " said the king, "you shall stand with me when I speak to the people. "

Belkar shot a startled glance at the surgeon, sure she would not allow such a thing.

Glinna shrugged.

"He is dying. Let it at least be where and how he chooses. "

Raen smiled, his first real smile in weeks. "An honest woman, Belkar. Every dying man should have one. " And then the smile slipped and his eyes looked into the future. "At least the Elite will stand by him. We've seen to that, he and I. "

"They'd follow him into the bedchamber of Lord Death, " Belkar agreed. "But would you throw your country into civil war if people decide he is not to have the crown?"

"He is my son and my heir. Five generations ago my house was chosen to rule. We gave our name to the land. He was trained to rule and there is no one else. "

"If you'd only had more children... "

"He would still be eldest and my heir. "

The two men locked eyes. Belkar's gaze dropped first.

"I know. I will support him and do what I can, but the people will make up their own minds. "

"Then I'll just have to convince them. Now, " he waved the duke over to his desk, "write me a proclamation and see that the criers get it immediately. I want everyone, from the lowest beggar to all six dukes, in the People's Square by noon. " His voice grew quieter and he sank back on his pillows, exhausted.

"I must ensure the succession for my son. "

And how can you do that when such little speech as you've had with me nearly kills you, Belkar wondered. But all he said aloud was: "Shall I have the prince sent to you?"

"Not now. Let him have this morning to himself. Send him at noon. "

Noon.

The people gathered in the Square.

Rael entered his father's chamber slowly, his heart so heavy it sat like a lump of coal in his chest. This would be good-bye, he knew it. It took a moment to penetrate his grief, but instead of his father lying wasted on the bed he saw the king being dressed in royal purple. Even the crown, massive and ugly, stood close at hand.

He grabbed Glinna's arm and dragged her out of the milling crowd of servants.

"What's going on? Is he better?"

"No. If anything, he's worse. " The surgeon's tone made it quite clear that she took the king's condition as a personal affront. "But he insists on speaking to the people. "

"Why?"

"The people say they won't have you as king. "

"I don't care what the people say. " "He does. "

Rael studied his father standing supported between two burly footmen as a valet pushed his feet into boots. Raen's skin was gray and his eyes had sunk deep in indigo shadows. The column of his throat stood out in a bas relief of ridges and hollows. "Will he survive it?" "No. "

"And you're just letting him die?!" "Yes. " She held up a hand and stopped Rael's next words. "Before you say anything, consider this: he is still the man he was. Would you have that man die in bed?"

Rael released her arm and shook his head. His father might have no fear of Lord Death, but he would refuse to meet the Mother-creator's true son lying helpless in bed.

"I thought not. Now, go to him. He needs you. " Dressed, the king reached for the crown, but his hands shook so they couldn't grasp it. Rael's hands covered his. Together they lifted it from the table.

"A crown, " said Raen as it settled on his brow, "is a heavy burden. " He grinned a death's head grin as he struggled to straighten his neck under the weight.

"There's more than a little truth in these old cliches. "

"Yes, Father. "

"I'm going to see that this burden goes to you. Perhaps I'm doing you no favor. " He sighed. "A king has no conscience, my son, he gives it to the people. " "I will remember, Father. "

Raen snorted. "They're not likely to let you forget. "

Attendants moved the king to a litter and carried him through the halls of the palace, Rael keeping pace alongside. Although they tried, it was not always possible to keep the litter even and once, when it jerked on a stair, Raen bit back a pained cry. Choking back a cry of his own, Rael reached out a hand and his father's wasted fingers closed gratefully around it.

Belkar, in the formal, ornate robes of a Duke of Ardhan, stood by the Great Door.

"My liege. " He knelt and kissed the shadow of a hand stretched out to him.

"Just help me off this thing, " Raen snapped. Friendship could weaken him now as easily as pain and he still had much to do. "I'm not dead yet!"

The king had not stood unassisted since he had been carried off the battlefield for the second time, but when he was on his feet he shook off the supporting hands of his son and his friend.

"This I must do alone, " he said through gritted teeth. "Let it begin, Belkar."

Belkar shook his head at the prince's pleading look, a look that said as loudly as if Rael had spoken, You can't let him do it alone!, and gave the signal. Trumpets called and the great doors swung open.

The People's Square was full and overflowing with the entire population of King's City and, as commanded, all six dukes. They represented only a small percentage of the population of Ardhan, but they would spread the news and by the end of the week, the whole country would know. And then the people would judge.

Raen did not call up deep reserves of hidden strength so that he walked proudly, shoulders back and head erect to the edge of the dais-he had no reserves to call. He tottered that twenty feet, sweat running and lips snarling against the pain. One foot went in front of the other by strength of will alone.

The people saw what it cost him and began to cheer. First those near the dais and then the noise moved back through the crowd until the walls shook with it and Raen felt it through the stones under his feet. He stopped and raised his hands for silence, but the crowd refused to quiet until he swayed and collapsed.

"Father!"

Rael, Belkar, and the king's attendants rushed for-ward, all expecting the worst, but the king still clutched at life.

"Get me on the litter, " he rasped, "and raise it so I can see and be seen. I must say what I have come to say. "

"Father, it isn't important, I... "

"This isn't just for you. I will not have my country torn by civil war!"

With gentle hands, Rael lifted his father and laid him carefully on the litter. Some of the crowd hissed at this show of his strength-wasted or not, the king was a large man still-but Rael didn't care. His only thought was for the man he loved who lay dying.

Two of the attendants hoisted one end of the litter to their shoulders. Raen stared out at the Square from the dark hollows his eyes had become.

"I am still your king!" he cried in a voice surprisingly strong.

The people cheered.

"This, " he continued, taking Rael's hand, "is my son. "

Only a few cheered. Most muttered sullenly and one, a weaver, apparently the chosen spokesman, twisted his cap in his hands and called out: "We don't doubt you are his father, Sire, but we have concerns about his mother. "

"You know who his mother is. "

The weaver squirmed and reddened but he persisted. "And that's the problem, Sire. He isn't human and who's to say with you gone that he won't turn on us.

You can't trust the Elder Races, they've never had what you'd call good will toward man. If he should take after his mother... "

'If you knew his mother, " Belkar's voice rang out over the muttering that signified agreement with the weaver's words, "you wouldn't... "

His last words vanished under the noise that rose from the far side of the Square. There was no need to strain to see the cause of the commotion, for Milthra's silver head shone like a star amongst suddenly drab browns and reds and yellows.

"The Lady, " ran the awed whisper as the crowd parted before her. "The Lady of the Grove. " Those who had lost their ability to believe in the wondrous found it again. Those who had doubted, couldn't remember why. A young woman reached out and let a lock of the Lady's shining hair caress her fingers and then stood gazing at her hand in amazement as if it belonged to another. Peace walked with the Lady and the smell of a sun-warmed forest grove filled the air. She looked neither to the left nor the right as she approached the palace, her eyes never moved from the man on the litter or the youth standing beside him. At the steps of the dais she paused, as if gathering strength-the fragrance of the forest became stronger and a breeze danced through her hair-then she lifted her skirts in her hand and climbed the steps.

With a strangled cry, Rael threw himself into her arms. She held him to her heart for a moment, stroking his hair, and then gently pushed him away. Green eyes gazed into green.

Rael wondered how he could ever have thought of his mother as young. He saw wisdom, understanding, compassion to a degree most mortal minds could not accept, let alone achieve, resting in the depths of her eyes. She had walked with the Mother-creator at the beginning of the world. She had seen the creation of man. And she loved him. Rael felt her love wrap around him, a warmth, a protection he would always wear.

Milthra saw that her son would make a fine king. His heart sang with courage and pride and his eyes were filled with hope. He might stumble and fall, but he would try and no mother could ask more. She had no regrets.

The people in the Square saw only the Lady of the Grove and the young man she claimed as her son, but it was enough. The unworldliness of their future king turned from a thing to be feared to one to be treasured. Not one of them realized what Milthra had done in leaving the Grove.

"Mother, " Rael's voice grew heavy with a new anguish, "you've left your tree."

"I have left my tree. " She touched his cheek softly. "How could I live when my love died? My sisters sleep and someday a child of your children's children will wake them, but my day is done. " She kissed him and turned to the king.

Raen looked up at her with such a mixture of longing and pain that those in the crowd who saw it, wept. "Why have you come?" he cried. "You would not come to me, beloved, so I have come to you. " "Then you will die. "

"Yes. But what is my life without you?" She tried a smile, but it faltered and the brilliant green of her eyes dimmed for an instant as they filled and overflowed. Her hands were caught in his, fingers too tightly woven to be parted, so she let the tears drop where they would.

They fell almost slowly, taking form and beauty in the air, and then lay shimmering like jewels on his breast. Instead of drying in the sunlight, they caught it, bound it, and gave it back. Their light grew and grew until everyone save Raen and Milthra covered their eyes. Even Rael stepped back and shielded himself from the glory.

When eyes could see again, an old and dying king no longer lay on the dais. In his place was a young man with hair of jet and smooth golden skin over corded muscle.

"The king, " sighed the crowd. "His youth has returned " Rael's eyes widened, joy beginning to surface, but

Milthra shook her head.

"It is an appearance only, my child, " she said. "Death is the true son of the Mother and not even I can stop him. " And then she looked beyond Rael, to the young man who stood in his shadow. The young man that only she, of all the hundreds in the Square, could see.

Under the weight of her regard, Lord Death bowed his head and when he raised it again said softly: "I would spare you both if my nature allowed it, Eldest."

Raen looked down at his body and raised his hands to his face.

"It's true!" His voice throbbed with passion. "I'm a man again. I am as I was in my prime!" He held out his arms and Milthra lay down beside him, her head pillowed on his chest.

"As you always were to me, beloved, and as you always will be now. "

He kissed her once, softly, and then together they died.

The silence was so complete, the crowd so quiet and still, that the sunlight bathing the bodies in golden luminescence could almost be heard. From the distance, from the forest, came the sound of thunder.

Belkar stepped forward and three times opened his mouth to speak. Finally, his voice got past his grief and filled the Square.

"The king is dead!"

And then he dropped on one knee before the tall young man with eyes the green of new spring leaves.

"Long live the king!"

Rael buried his mother and father in the Sacred Grove under the remains of his mother's tree. It had been hit by lightning and then consumed by fire until only a charred stump remained. Not one of the other trees, or even so much as a blade of grass, had been touched.

"This stump shall be your headstone, " he said softly, patting the last bit of earth into place. "And I will see that none disturb your rest. "

"I won't cry for them, " he had told Belkar, "for they're together at last and even in death that is no cause for grief. "

As the young king left the Grove, he thought he heard women's voices, lamenting, soft with sorrow, hut when he turned, he saw only the wmd moving through the circle of trees and leaves falling to cover the grave.

Interlude One

Rael joined with the Duke of Belkar's blue-eyed daughter and their years together were filled with love and laughter and children. He never found the common touch that had so endeared his father to the people, but he ruled well and was always after remembered as just.

For all the years of Rael's reign, Doan, the Captain of the Elite, stood by his side. His unaging presence became a part of the king: two arms, two legs, and the captain. And when he buried his sword in Rael's grave and vanished from mortal lands, that too was accepted with no surprise. It could not be imagined he would serve another.

The death of the Eldest became the subject of a thousand songs and in her honor, or perhaps to save her sisters from a like fate, Rael, as his first act as Lord of Ardhan, forbid all mortals entry to the Grove, swearing those who knew its direction to oaths of secrecy. Over forty years later, when his son took the throne, time had erased the reality of both the Lady and the circle of silver birch and left only the songs.

The dwarf stepped back from the sapling and nodded once. "Just like you said."

The great black centaur that stood beside him returned the nod, although both kept their eyes on the tiny tree. Around them, the Sacred Grove was silent and still. No leaf rustled, for no breeze dared to intrude. "Can They hope to succeed?" the centaur asked at last.

Doan shrugged. "I don't see why not. This, " he waved a hand about the Grove,

"is the oldest magic in the world and They've woven themselves into it.

Sacrificed Themselves to do it. They've succeeded, C'Tal, that tree holds a life as real as any in this place. But after... "

"So much rests on the Mother's youngest children. " C'Tal folded his arms across his massive chest, the black beard flowing like silk over them. "And the Mother's youngest children have never been strong. "

"Strong enough to begin this mess, " Doan snorted. His gaze dropped to the lichen covered mound the young birch grew from, all that remained of Milthra's tree. "Strong enough to draw out the Eldest and take her from us. "

"True, " murmured the centaur and the trees around them stirred and moaned.

"But you must never forget, she chose her path. "

"Forget!" Doan whirled and his eyes blazed red, not with power but pain. "As if I could!" He turned again to the sapling. "I could end this, here and now.

" He grabbed a tender leaf and ripped it free. The small tree shuddered.

"They've risked it all on this one toss, and if I destroy Their vessel it's over. "

"Perhaps for us as well. "

Doan's arched eyebrows invited C'Tal to continue.

"He has no checks on his power this time. Who is to say when he is done with the mortals he will not turn at last to the Elder Races?"

"So that's why you finally stuck your noses in. " Doan's laugh was bitter.

"Fear. "

"Unlike other races, we do not become involved in that which does not concern the centaurs. " C'Tal's voice remained calm, but the points of his ears lay back against his head and for an instant great slabs of teeth showed startlingly white against the black of his beard. "Nor, given the evidence, is it unreasonable for us to fear what he may do and wish to stop him. "

Doan looked thoughtful. He rubbed another leaf between thumb and forefinger, but this time the action was almost a caress. "I could end it now, " he murmured, his voice unusually gentle.

"But you will not. " A huge black hand reached down and engulfed the dwarf's shoulder.

"No. " He pulled himself out of the other's grasp and stood flexing the shoulder the centaur had held. "And you needn't snap bones to convince me either, " he added peevishly. "For the little of her that's woven here and greater part of her yet to come, I'll let Them try to right the wrong Their brothers did. "

"You must do more than that. " C'Tal ignored both glare and clenched fists and continued. "As you infer. They cannot protect themselves now; if you can destroy Them, so too could another. Until the seed is sown, They must have a protector. "

"Go on. " Doan's voice was the rasp of moving rock.

C'Tal looked surprised. "You have been protector once before. "

"And I don't choose to be again. I am needed in the caverns. "

"Your brothers can guard what the caverns hold. You are needed here. "

"No. " A muscle jumped in his cheek; the Lady lost to love, her son to Mortal time and he could protect them from neither. "Do it yourself. " Moving jerkily, stamping indentations into the velvet grass, Doan pushed past the centaur and out of the Grove.

C'Tal stood quietly, an ebony monument, framed by green and gold. He did not appear distressed by the refusal of his chosen guardian. He merely waited.

"All right. " The pain was safely masked by irritation. "But only until the seed is sown. I've raised one child and I don't care to repeat it. "

"Until the seed is sown, " C'Tal agreed as Doan stomped back and stood snarling down at the tree. "Then we will return to the mortals' ranges... "

"Big of you, " Doan interjected sarcastically.

"... and as we did with the others, we will instruct the child. "

"Yeah? Well, get it right this time. "

It was C'Tal's turn to glare, but all he said was: "We shall. "

"If there is a child. "

"You think the Eldest's line will not be able to accomplish what they must to fulfill the prophecy?"

The dwarf threw his hands in the air, then, catching sight of C'Tal's face, he closed his mouth on the cutting remark that had risen to his tongue. The centaur was truly worried. "You want my opinion?"

"Yes. "

Doan remembered. He'd been standing in the Square, with the rest of the Elite when Milthra had given herself to Death so many years before. He would never, for the eternity he might yet live, forget the look on her face.

"The Mother gave each of the Elders one role to play in the lives of her youngest. "

"She did, " agreed C'Tal.

"Dwarves guard. Centaurs teach. But the Eldest... "

The sapling's roots were deep in the remains of Milthra's tree, deep in the earth where Milthra and her beloved had been returned to the arms of the Mother.

"... but the Eldest loved. And the Youngest were strong enough to bear that.

In my opinion They have not sacrificed in vain. The weapon will be forged.

There will be a chance to defeat the ancient enemy and maybe, just maybe, we'll have peace for a time. "

The centaur sighed and once again the great hand closed on the dwarf's shoulder.

"Thank you, " said C'Tal, and almost the trees around echoed him. Then, with the uncanny speed of his kind, the centaur was gone.

For a moment, Doan stood quietly, looking down at the miniature silver birch, considering the life within it. The moment passed, his face fell back into its accustomed scowl, and he kicked at a nodding buttercup.

"Seeds, bah! They need a gardener not a guardian. "