Chapter 6: BETRAYAL PT 2

They emerged among trees.
	Seeing that the lights of the elven city were not far off, they cut
through a field of long weeds, emerging at last at the base of a fantastically
large tree.

	Owyn gaped.
Awash in light Elvandar glistened, its circuitous faerie walkways decked in
glowing lanterns of brushed gold and crystal. Above, a canopy of silver white
leaves arched over the whole of the tree-top city, masking from view whether sun
or moon reigned in the skies beyond.
	"Gorath, isn't this the most perfect place you've ever seen ?" Owyn
exclaimed. "I've never dreamt of anything like this!"
	"Squire, if you can hold your tongue for a moment," Gorath said, "it
might behoove you to bow to their Queen."
	Flushed with embarrassment Owyn turned heel, shriveling as he noticed
the cloaked figures who waited patiently upon their thrones. Quickly he folded
in obeisance, hoping sincerely that human manners would be appropriate in the
elven court.
	"We have come from Krondor with news about Pug of Stardock," Owyn said.
"We were in hopes..."
	"Silence, child." Queen Aglaranna spoke gently, her pale blue eyes
glowing in the shadows. "Though we would hear of our dear friend, Pug, we first
must attend to the unraveling of eons." Inclining her head towards Gorath, her
voice and composure took on a grave edge. "You have come before us as a
Moredhel, but never may you leave Elvandar as such. Are you willing to return to
us, your ancient kin, cousin?"
	Rage flashed in his eyes. Trembling with emotion Gorath advanced on the
Queen, his hand darting to the hilt of his sword.
	"No, Gorath!" Owyn gasped, knowing his voice was too small to stay his
friend's wrath. "You can't!"
	"I was Gorath of the Clan Ardanien," he spat, his voice thick with an
ageless contempt. Color drained from his face as he gripped ever more tightly
the sword at his side. "I am Gorath and I formally return to the Eledehel and
swear fealty to Aglaranna, Queen of Elves and to Tomas, Prince Consort and
Warleader." Falling to one knee, he knelt low before Aglaranna's feet. "I am
yours to command, lady."
	His heart hammering an unsteady tattoo in his chest, Owyn stared in
frank appraisal of the elves before him. Except for a glazed expression
lingering on Prince Consort Tomas' face, he saw no evidence that any of them had
witnessed anything unusual.
	"Rise. From this day forward, you are no longer Moredhel, Gorath,"
Aglaranna said. "You are a member of the family of Elvandar and of the Eledhel.
When your quest is done, you will return here to be one with us. That is our
desire."
	"What is this news of... Pug?" As if wakening from a dream, the elven
Warleader spoke the magician's name with great concern, his dark eyebrows rising
in interest as Owyn began to elaborate the details. At times he would request
that certain details be repeated, but always his glassy eyes became sharply
focused when Owyn spoke the names of Pug and members of Arutha's court.
	"By the moons that means trouble," Tomas coughed as the boy finished his
tale. "The Book of Macros is not a book but instead a gift that Pug gave to me
long ago. I was to use it to come to him if ever he left that message for me. I
must go."
	"You cannot, love. Even now I can sense the effects of the painkilling
herbs beginning to wear off," Aglaranna said, laying a pale hand on Tomas'
shoulder. As if broaching a delicate subject, she continued quietly. "Three days
ago the Warleader was struck with a poisoned blade. Only last evening did his
fever abate but he demanded to be brought here when he heard that a Moredhel was
returning. He hasn't the strength for the trip. You must go in his stead."
	"Don't try my patience, Aglaranna. Pug needs my help and I shall go!"
Struggling to gain his feet, he blanched with the effort, standing straight only
by groping the back of his throne.
	"How many of our kin carried you here, my Warlord?" the Queen asked, her
voice laced with concern. "Was it five or six? You are no longer possessed by
the soul of Ashen-Shugar and you are not gifted with immortality! None doubt
your strength or loyalty, Tomas, but you owe it to Pug to send able help."
	"As always my love, you are wise," Tomas whispered, his strength
beginning to fail him. Reaching beneath the seat of his throne, he brought forth
a leather tome covered with dust.

GORATH:
We may not be the strongest or the fastest, Tomas, but we are able and we are
here. Send us to him.

TOMAS:
I have little choice. You, Gorath, shall be my emissary in this. May the
blessings of Elvandar go with you... and tell Pug I am sorry.

GORATH:
We shall.