Authors: Nancy Springer
He took Alan and Rosemary each by one hand, and urged them to their feet. Wordlessly he presented them to the multitude in the courtyard; then be turned and led them into his castle.
That afternoon, Alan once more tried to make occasion to speak with Hal, but he was missing. The old nurse Nana had taken him aside. “I have something for you,” she told him, “something your mother left you.” She led Hal to a sealed and forgotten garret where there stood a small chest. He was startled to see, emblazoned on its lid, the emblem of the half-sun. “I do not know what is in it,” the old woman said as she handed him the key. “I confess I tried to open it once, but it stung my fingers. Yet I know your mother opened it often. She was always careful to keep it from the King and from you, so I have done the same until I was certain you were quite grown. It came from Welas, with your uncle Gildur,” Nana added.
“Gildur!"
“Ay. He stayed here in great secrecy for almost a year and a half after the capture of Weldon. He whiled away the hours by teaching music to your mother. ’Tis a strange thing, but I could almost swear that your instrument is the one he played .... In the end, of course, the King caught wind of him, and he had to flee. This was all before your birth.” The ancient woman paused thoughtfully. “There is a great deal I should explain to you, my child, now that you are King. But perhaps something in that chest will tell it better than I can. I shall leave you with it now. But if you wish to speak with me, call me back."
He did call her back after several hours, and sent her out again after a long talk. Alan and Rosemary grew anxious when he missed the evening meal, and went to wait for him on the garret steps. It was almost dark when he emerged, but they could see that his face was pale and distraught. “Alan,” he said abruptly, “will you ride with me in the morning? Rosemary, love, I need time to be alone and think. Do not be troubled for me. I shall see you tomorrow.” He strode off into the twilight, leaving them puzzled and worried.
The next day, Hal and Alan rode at random over the rolling wealds that surrounded Nemeton. Hal seemed to be in no hurry to reveal his concern, and Alan had decided to postpone his own difficulty until Hal's was done. Their talk was as wandering as their track. They spoke of people they had known, of fun they had shared in the years past, and of the troubles they had shared, too. But those hard days were over now; the goal was attained. They felt a vague sorrow, and did not know how to comfort each other.
In time, the talk turned to Blain. “I was blood-blind and crazed with rage,” Alan said. “But when my fury calmed, I was full of doubt. I knew what I had to do, and yet I felt like a murderer."
“You did me a great service,” Hal told him, “which I might not have had the strength to do for myself."
“I did not feel strong, but weak and helpless,” Alan muttered. “My bloodthirst is cured, Hal. Never again will I reproach you for squeamishness."
Hal startled Arundel by banging his fist into the saddle, gesticulating wildly. “Mother of mercy, Alan!” he cried, “you did not have to say that! Time was, when...” He choked back his words.
“When a glance would have been enough.” Alan finished the thought with his heart in his voice, and looked up with aching eyes. “Hal —"
How he had longed for that warmth. But Hal could not yet bear to hear what Alan had to say. Staring straight ahead, he cut him off with a crisp statement. “Alan, we leave for Laueroc on the morrow. For the wedding and coronation."
“Laueroc!” gasped Alan, startled. “But why?”
“Ten hundred years ago, the Very King Bevan took his beloved that way, and perhaps wedded her on a Midsummer's Eve, as I will mine. Folk will be there from throughout the realm.” His hesitation was barely perceptible, but Alan, who knew him well, sensed it at once. “The elves will meet us there, though I would never ask them to come all the way to Nemeton. Adaoun is performing the ceremonies.” Hal looked at his gaping brother in carefully affected anxiety. “You do not begrudge me the use of your town, I hope?"
But Alan was not fooled. “You have laid a trap for me,” he said, and his voice was low and dangerous.
“Destiny is no trap, but most often a blessing,” Hal replied. “The course of our lives was set, Alan, long before either of us was born."
“Destiny be damned!” Alan shouted. “I will not go!”
“You shall go!” Hal commanded icily. He faced Alan with gray eyes gone cold and hard, gleaming eerily with elfin power. Alan's blue eyes blazed just as bright with mortal wrath, and did not waver for an instant. For a full minute the two wills clashed with all the force of physical combat. On a hilltop the horses stood rigid as statues, the young men sitting them silent as the wealds all around; but legend was to remember the flash of bright metal and the ring of steel in the air.
Slowly, like the soft dusk of dawn, Hal smiled, and the shining steel of his gaze turned to glowing love, a love welling up from so deep in his soul that Alan continued to stare, lost in a trance of astonishment. “Your power is the equal of mine,” Hal murmured. “It is well."
“Name of Aene,” Alan whispered. Suddenly he realized that Hal was aged beyond his years, battered and agonized by the death he had dealt, tired and sad; yet his back was straight and his face filled with honest joy.
“It is well,” he repeated. “Alan, if you love me —"
“Hal!” pleaded Alan wretchedly.
“Nay,” he continued, as if agreeing with something Alan had said, “you are right. I will not do that. Once you made me swear an oath that nearly tore my heart to shreds, for my own sake. But I will bind you by no such oath. I know you, Alan of Laueroc, and I know that you do not need my bidding to keep the law that springs from love. Farewell, Alan. Let your heart guide you well.” He wheeled Arundel and sped away toward Nemeton.
“Hal!” Alan called after him. “Hall Wait —” But Hal had disappeared over a rise of the rolling wealds, and Alan got no answer except the lonesome cries of straying sea birds.
Chapter Four
“He was not back all night,” Rafe told Hal the next morning.
“I expected as much,” he answered. “Well, let us go."
It did not take them long to make ready, for they were all accustomed to traveling light. For the first time since Rosemary had known him, however, Hal needed a pack horse to carry something he wished to take along.
They were all saddled and waiting when Cory appeared, looking distressed. “I cannot find Alan anywhere!” he exclaimed.
“Alan will be coming later, I dare say,” Hal replied. “We must go on without him."
“I will wait for him here,” Cory decided.
Hal shook his head. “You shall come with us. He must make his journey alone.” The youth gaped in startled protest, but Hal shot him a glance that made him quickly take his place in line. For the first time in their acquaintance, Hal had chosen to command.
The castle folk merrily wished the company a good journey and great happiness. Nevertheless, it was a silent cavalcade which made its way out from Nemeton toward Laueroc. There were Hal and Rosemary, Cory, Robin and Roran, Craig and Rafe and a few maids. Not a word was spoken among them; they all felt the presence of the unseen watcher on the wealds.
That night Robin came to Hal. Concern for his tow-headed friend blotted out fear of Hal's wrath. “Hal, whatever is the matter? You must tell Cory something. He is so miserable."
Hal sighed. “I cannot tell Cory what is happening,” he explained, “or you, or anyone else—not even my lady. For, if Alan's journey does not go as I expect, no one must ever know.” He shook his head fretfully. “Tell Cory that Alan is in no danger or hardship. He knows that Alan can take care of himself. Tell him—I miss him, too ...."
“Are you quarreling?” Robin asked gently. “His quarrel is more with himself than with me. Robin, what more can I say? I know him well; he will fight dragons, if need be, to—to come to me. All will be well."
Robin returned to Cory with these words of dubious comfort. But if Hal's reassurances sounded confident, his restless sleep that night belied him. There had been a time when he thought he knew Alan's heart. But his brother had been distant for so long, and he did not know why ....
Still, it was impossible for Hal to remain unhappy for long with Rosemary. He was on his way to his wedding, at long last! Within a few days, the spirits of the entire party had lifted. They traveled in easy stages, taking pleasure in the journey. In each village the excited folk called greetings and good wishes, pelting them with flowers.
When they came to Laueroc at last, a great throng awaited them, not only townsfolk but many old friends. One of the first they saw was Pelys in his litter. Rosemary ran to him and embraced him, whispering, “Father, pardon.” But Pelys answered gently, “Tush, tush, daughter, I expected you would be off,” and kissed her absently.
Will was not with Pelys. He had been killed at Gaunt; Rafe sorrowed to hear it. The warlords were not present either, for already they were fighting among themselves. But old Margerie was there, cackling in coquettish shock as Hal kissed her. The King of the Gypsies was there, a tiny man, gnarled as an ancient thorn tree, and stone blind. His hands traced Hal's face reverently, as if he touched the carved features of an idol. Ket was there too, his blazing hair still out of control under a leather cap. His brown eyes glowed warmly when Rosemary greeted him. Then, like everyone else, he asked Hal, “Where is Alan?"
“Thinking,” Hal grumbled. “Say no more about it, Ket."
And then there was Adaoun, with all the People of Peace. It was indeed the closing of the Age, and perhaps the hearts of men had been purged for the new beginning to follow. Whatever the reason, they greeted their earth-brothers the elves with joyful wonder, though they could not communicate their gladness with words. But Rosemary trembled when she faced Adaoun, even though she was not afraid, and Hal put his arms around her. Adaoun gazed deeply into her unflinching eyes and set kindly hands on each side of her head.
He spoke to her softly,
"Laifrita thae, Kellea,"
which is to say, “Greetings, Kellea.” Her elfin name meant “the faithful one.” Rosemary responded in the Ancient Tongue,
"Laifrita thae, Adaoun."
["Fair peace to thee, Elf-Father."] With the Old Language, there came to her the understanding of many mysteries, so that she looked at Hal and saw that he was Mireldeyn. He gazed at her with loving pride, and she answered with happy tears; at last she knew him entirely.
“She is the one,” Adaoun told Hal.
“Did you ever doubt it?"
A spark of light glowed deep in Adaoun's ancient, youthful eyes as he shook his head.
“Where is Elwyndas?” asked Lysse.
“Wrestling with his pride,” Hal replied. “And yet, he may hardly know with what he fights. There are many things he does not fully understand, and the very thoughts of his mind take arms against him. But I depend on his great heart to bring him here in time."
“I will go out and wait for him until he comes,” said Lysse, and in a moment she was gone.
Cory and Rafe searched the crowd for the elf they knew, but did not find him. Soon Hal brought them confirmation of their fears: Anwyl had been killed at Welden. “He was one of only a few of us who fell,” Adaoun explained, “for most of the lordsmen fled from us rather than fighting us. But Anwyl was overbold for your sake, Hal, eager to wrest Veran's treasure from the ancient hold of Welden, and he met with men to whom the panic had not yet spread. He was not afraid to die, but it grieves me that we did not find what he sought."
“I have it with me!” Unbuckling the canvas of his pack beast's load, Hal exposed a small, strongly built chest, plain except for the half-sun emblem shining from its metal top. “Torre's youngest son, Gildur, brought it to my mother's keeping before I was born. I knew nothing of it until three weeks ago, when my old nurse showed it to me."
“Let us see,” Adaoun said in a hushed voice.
The chest seemed to open itself to Hal's touch, so quick and silent was the task. He stood aside, and Adaoun stooped and reverently took from it a crown of shining silver, beautifully simple and unadorned, the bright metal molded in graceful pointed shafts like the rays of a sunburst. “This is the ancient crown of Eburacon,” Adaoun explained softly. “Veran brought it with him when he came to us over the waves of the Western Sea. It was all he had left of that former Age of greatness."
Next he took from the chest a crown of gleaming gold, pure and graceful of design as the first. “This he fashioned like the first, out of gold freely taken from the streams of our mountain valley, and in a mold newly made by his own hands, to signify the dawning of the new Age."
Then he brought forth a velvet pouch, and carefully shook from it two golden rings, plain and unadorned, but of a brightness that almost pulsed. “These rings, also, Veran made from the gold of the Eagle Valley, and with them he and my daughter Claefe plighted their troth."
Once more Adaoun stooped, and he removed from the chest a leather-bound tome of parchment pages, ancient, but with golden fastenings and tooled scarlet designs still glowing. Adaoun held it aloft, and the light flashed on strange golden runes for all to see. “And this,” he said vibrantly, “is
The Book of Suns
. In the time of our despair, the One offered us words of prophecy and comfort. They are written in this book, by Veran's hand, and almost all are now come to pass."