Samara, Queen of the Huryl, sat on the throne that had once belonged to her captors. She glanced down at the rows of nobles and courtiers who, at one time, had denied her everything. It amused her to see them now, scraping and fawning to give her everything her heart desired. She permitted herself a slight smile at her reversal of fortune, and cleared her throat.
"Bring forth the Commander of my armies," she said.
Jorge, always present at her right side, repeated the order so that it reverberated off the smooth walls of the columned chamber. The guards at the doors scrambled to fulfill her desire, and Samara smiled again.
As the doors opened, an elderly warrior came in, holding his horned helmet in his hands. He had a massive axe strapped to his back, the typical weapon of the Huryl tribe, and his armour was dirty and dented. He walked heavily, his footsteps echoing off the polished floor and he bowed awkwardly when he reached the throne. Samara smiled at him pleasantly, and he blushed.
"The people demand justice, Commander...?" she began.
"Roric, Majesty," the warrior muttered.
"Commander Roric," Samara repeated. "We must find the murderers of our beloved King Cedrik."
Roric paled slightly. He fiddled with the helmet in his hands as the Queen continued to speak.
"I have been informed that, among the escaped prisoners, was a traitor to the Huryl. Do you know anything about this, Commander?"
Roric stammered something incoherent, a thin sweat forming on his brow. The Queen watched him closely, wondering what role he played in allowing the prisoners to flee. All reports said that he had stopped them at the gate and exchanged words with them. If anyone knew of the traitor's guilt, it would be him.
"It must have been the traitor who slew our king," Samara continued. "I will have justice! Commander Roric, I need to know who Cedrik had imprisoned in the citadel."
"W-well, Majesty," the newly appointed Commander stammered, "there was the Dyrel Prince and one of his soldiers, the Woodwalker and the Warrior Leila, and..."
"And?" the Queen fixed the Commander with a stern gaze.
"And," Roric swallowed hard. "There was the traitor you spoke of, Majesty. A former soldier named Will."
"Is that everyone, Commander?"
Roric hesitated again and nodded. Queen Samara watched him carefully for another moment, in case he decided to amend his story, before leaning back in her seat and smiling. She gestured to one of her soldiers to come forward, and he hurried to do so, carrying a scroll. Samara took it from him, along with a long feathered quill, and signed her name with a flourish. Rolling up the paper, she handed it back to the soldier, who bowed deeply and disappeared through a small door behind the throne.
"Thank you, Commander. Names were all that were missing from my message to the Dyrel Prince. The time for war is past, and I will have peace during my reign. Should the Dyrel accept these generous terms, our two kingdoms can one again live side by side," Samara rose to her feet and look out across the sea of faces. "Court is over. You are all dismissed."
The Queen swept from the hall, vanishing through the same small door that the messenger had used moments earlier. Roric was left standing in front of an empty throne, his hands trembling. He took a deep breath to calm himself and turned to leave. He may have condemned Leila, but he hoped he had saved Jakob. The gesture may come too late, but if his son was truly happy among the Dyrel, then perhaps everything that happened to their family was for the best.
*****
I walked through the leafy Elven forest with Xair. These morning strolls had become a habit for the two of us, although Fynn was always a step behind, as silent as a shadow. He had scarcely left my side since I had taken the White Lady's hand. I was still a little hazy on the details myself, but I could feel the power I had accepted bubbling within me, similar to the sensation I had felt when I had first met the spirits. The mark on my hand was gone too, but I could still see and hear the spirits around me, even in the Elven Forest. I hadn't realized it earlier, but they were here, just hidden from the eyes of the elves.
The Elven Queen had been kind to us. She had given us new clothes, food, and weapons to replace those lost in the Huryl citadel. I wore a white tunic that went to my knees over white hose, with soft white boots on my feet. A white cape was on my shoulders, fastened with a golden broach, and Clothis' sword rested comfortably on my back. I was grateful for its presence, and occasionally I could sense the slumbering spirit of my friend within the weapon.
"Tell me about the elves," I asked Xair.
The old elf nodded and sat down on a tumbled tree. I sat next to him, watching Fynn out of the corner of my eye. Although it had been several days since I had spoken to the White Lady, Fynn had barely said three words to me. He was always watching, and I thought I saw a hint of regret and sadness in his eyes.
"The elves you see today are all that is left of a once proud race," Xair began in a slow, steady voice. "Hundreds of years ago, before the tribes of man, there were clans of elves that roamed all the forests of the world. The noblest were our rulers, the clan of our Queen, who were said to be able to speak with the other worlds."
He spoke the last words with such sadness, that I nearly reached out to hold his hand. Before I could move, he regained his composure and continued.
"The elves have since lost much of the old ways. We live in the forest, but no longer have the power of our ancestors."
"What could your ancestors do?" I asked, curiously.
Xair smiled. "It would have taken a single elf to hold the shield that shelters us, back then. We could speak to the animals and treated them like brothers, not slaves. We had no need for an alliance with the human tribes, forgive me for saying so. We were strong."
The old elf look at Fynn. "The old clans may not have completely vanished, if I can believe my old eyes. I thought our Queen was the last, but another stands before me, one I had not expected to see during my life. Is it not so, my lord?"
Fynn was taken aback by the statement. "I don't know what you're talking about, ancient one. I am a creature of Faerie."
Xair shook his head sadly. "For a time perhaps, but you were not born to them. You were sold, or taken, I would guess. Your true self remains a mystery, even to you."
"Fynn is from the same clan as the Queen?" I asked softly.
"Don't be ridiculous," Fynn said. "I'm not an elf."
"Not an elf, not a faerie. What are you?" Xair questioned.
Fynn stared at the old elf for a moment, then turned on his heel and disappeared into the forest. I watched him, my heart fluttering with worry as he stalked off. Clearly the old elf's words had struck a chord, and I debated whether or not to go after him. My decision was made for me when another elf suddenly appeared, bowing to me.
"My Lady," he said. "A messenger from the Huryl has come, and seeks an audience with you and the Dyrel Prince."
Glancing at Xair, the old elf nodded at me. Quickly, I followed the guide back to the Elven village, wondering what the Huryl had to say to me.
*****
I followed my guide into the elven village, ducking through a low doorway as we entered the small house the elves had prepared for us. It sat on the outskirts of town, far from the curious eyes of the elven villagers, but it was comfortable and richly furnished. As I entered, I could see Damaeon in the sitting room, where we often gathered after meals for quiet conversation. He did not look as relaxed as he had after those meals. Cyrus stood protectively next to him, along with some Dyrel warriors whom the elves had rescued after the fall of Oponoe. I saw at the other side of the room was a man dressed in a typical Huryl fashion, although he had been disarmed and had two Dyrel soldier standing next to him. Damaeon saw me as I entered and smiled slightly.
“I’m glad they found you,” the prince said as I sat next to him. He gestured to the Huryl with his chin. “Repeat your message.”
The Huryl looked very uncomfortable, staring at me as if I had just appeared out of thin air. He cleared his throat noisily.
“Her Majesty, Queen Samara of the Huryl tribes, proposes a peace between our two kingdoms,” the messenger said. “She will withdraw her troops from Dyrel land, abandoning the Spirit Wood and Oponoe. No borders will be changed, and no reparations will be paid. Trade and commerce will begin between our two kingdoms, and it is her Majesty’s wish that both lands prosper.”
Damaeon listened grimly. I wondered why he was so agitated. This peace treaty sounded more than fair to me. The messenger cleared his throat again, and continued.
“Queen Samara asks only a small token; that the murderers of the former King Cedrik return to the citadel and answer for their crimes. The Queen calls for Leila, the Warrior of the Huryl, and the traitor known as Will appear before her for punishment. If Prince Damaeon of the Dyrel will comply, the breach between our two kingdoms can be repaired.”
Damaeon gestured with one hand and the two soldiers dragged the Huryl messenger from the room. When it was quiet again, the prince looked at me with large eyes.
“It sounds too good to be true,” I said encouragingly. “Everything will be restored to how it was before the war.”
He sighed deeply. “She’s asking that I turn you and Will over to her. We don’t know this self-proclaimed Queen. She could be worse than Cedrik was. She could have you killed.”
He fell silent, lost in thought. I looked down at my hands, folded on my lap, and turned over the peace treaty in my mind. The White Lady has asked me to repair the damage done to this world, which included stopping this war. Should I go with the Huryl messenger and speak to this new Queen? Or should I remain safely with the elves, and find another path to peace? I sighed almost as deeply as Damaeon. It seemed that finding the power of the White Lady had done nothing to ease my decisions.