It was the saddest day in his life.
Taréz sat beside his father at the council table, surrounded by ambassadors of very nearly every nation in the known world, plus the dukes of the eastern- and westernmost duchies of Larmania.
Some of them were to become kings, while others were to lose their positions entirely.
The King of Zvalja pounded a gavel twice, then once in the international commencement ritual. The conversation in the room stopped immediately. "Gentlemen of royalty and gentlemen of representation: Here begins the peace proceedings for the end of the World War for the Light Vle, 968 AGM. We meet to determine the post-war boundaries of the defeated, Larmania. We begin with Undren, Ambassador of Varmacia. State your case."
Undren stepped to the world map in the wall. He indicated the red line zigzagging generally northeast-southwest across Larmania. "This is the Eastern Light Vle line of occupation." He then added a line, in green. "This is the former Varmacian border with Larmania. We propose, first: As this area was never colonized by dark Vle, this land shall return to the fiefdom of his Majesty the King of Varmacia. We propose, second: As this area has historically been occupied by Vle of both shades, and that much of said area has been ruled wisely and well by His Grace the Duke of Varabia, that this land shall be ruled by him as King, sovereign and separate from the Kingdom of Larmania. So ends the case of the Eastern Light Vle."
"You say you speak for the Eastern Light Vle? Does A'peine concur? You gain nothing in this case."
"A'peine concurs," said the ambassador from that nation. "We desire no trans-mountain territory."
"Very well. Zvalja also concurs, as we wish to return to our pre-war neutrality. Alaitna, Ambassador from Pulinea, state your case."
"I speak for Kamilea as well." He took a place by the map as the Varmacian ambassador vacated it, and indicated a line that extended east-west from Lake Sessel to the Gulf of ‘Elan. "This is the Southern Light Vle line of occupation. We propose that the peninsula, south of this line—" he drew, in green, over the Duchy of Peninsula border— "also pertain to the Kingdom of Varabia. So ends the case of the Southern Light Vle."
"Does Kamilea concur?"
"Kamilea concurs."
"Very well. Brian Worcester, Ambassador of the Human lands, state your case."
Even someone as important as Taréz had never seen many humans. On the battlefield, it had been easy to miss their relatively thick bone structure, and their strangely rounded ears and short heads. "The Humans support the formation of the Kingdoms of Varabia and Kudira, as separate and sovereign nations from Larmania. So ends the case of the Humans."
"Very well. Grfden, Ambassador of ‘Elabina, state your case."
"I speak for both Dwarven nations." Taréz (and, he supposed, many of the others in the room) had to suppress laughs at the short, stocky build of the dwarf. Grfden's accent was heavy, deepened by his low voice. He in turn took the place by the map, and indicated his line, a north-south line very near the camp. "This is the Dwarven line of occupation." He then drew two borders. "This area south of Lake Kdeet was taken into Larmania by aggression. We propose, first: that this area revert to the Kingdom of ‘Elabina. We propose, second: That the duchies of Pecivia, Kudira and Belobon be formed into the Kingdom of Kudira, with the current Duke of Kudira as its King. So ends the case of the Dwarves."
"Your partner Dwarven nation gains nothing in this case. Do you swear by the honor of these proceedings that they concur?"
"I do so swear."
"Very well. King Lajot of Larmania, how do you respond?"
Unlike the ambassadors, the King remained in his seat. Taréz winced at the slight— laziness or girth was no reason to duck protocol. "I do not accept," stated his father. "All agression was the personal agenda of our former Chief of the Army. As he and his prejudiced family has now lost their dynastical military position, Larmania is no longer a threat to any nation on the map. I recognize the formation of Varabia and Kudira as attempts to create buffer countries from further agression. I do not feel this is fair to the people or to the would-be monarchs.
"I also submit that the areas conquered by previous Gardrics were in fact too undeveloped and unprotected by their fiefs." There were a few grumbles, at which the Zvaljan king rapped his gavel once. "I therefore say that, without a prejudiced Chief of the Army, these areas will continue to enjoy great prosperity. Consider the metal industry: As part of Larmania, metals can be sold throughout the nation, tariff-free. As part of Varmacia, which is a smaller market, the metals must be carried and sold throughout more countries. So ends the case of Larmania." Taréz raised his eyebrow at his father, waiting for two more words. "... the... defeated."
"Very well. I will reach a verdict in two hours."
It was a very silent two hours.

Another two raps of the gavel, followed by one, announced the decision. "I, King Rudiga of Zvalja, do accept all propositions as stated today. Dukes Varabia and Kudira, I wish you success in your new royal duties. These peace proceedings of 968 AGM are thus concluded." With one rap, followed by three, the decision was final.
Larmania had lost more than half its territory.
Most of the crowd stood, and filed out the door, chatting quietly, but not very exuberant. "Varabia, friend," called the king softly.
The newly-made king still obeyed his friend and former liege lord. "Yes, Lajot."
"Now that you will be leading a kingdom, do you have need of an experienced chamberlain?"
"Why, yes I could. I don't think Ronnoc is up to the task."
"Very well. I imagine Yis would be uncomfortable serving with me, so, if he accepts, I would like you to hire him."
"Consider him hired. Thank you."
"Thank you."
As Varabia moved for the door, Taréz and his father finally stood. They went to the balcony, where his mother waited. They watched out the window at the departing ambassadors and Kings. The queen consoled her husband, but Taréz remained standing a bit apart from them. "Thanks a lot, Gardric," he muttered.
"No, no it's my fault, son. I should never have given him so much free rein—"
"Nonsense, Father— but please, let's not argue about this right now."
"You're right. There's something we must do." The King stood straighter, and led them down to the throne room. "Stecky! The sceptre, please! Normally, this would be done in the presence of the nobles, but there's no reason we need to wait for them. They'll concur anyway."
Stecky arrived with the sceptre, a cobilum staff topped by an eagle that held a small crystal ball in its upstretched wings. Taréz knew what his father intended to do, though he wasn't sure it was for real.
But his father's words made it real. "Taréz, you have shown great strength of character and conviction in these past months. You are involved and proactive, intelligent and thoughtful. These qualities I have found myself lacking."
"Dear," said the Taréz's mother, "please, just because of an error in judgment and a breakdown doesn't mean—"
"Fylen, my love, do not deny our son what is rightfully his. It is his turn to rule. Taréz, I have no doubt that you will return our nation to its glory."
His father cleared his throat. "And so, I, King Lajot the 24th, do hereby abdicate my throne, the Great Master be my witness, and pronounce you, my son, King Taréz the 15th of Larmania." The King passed the crown from his head to Taréz's. "Rule wisely, my son, and do all in your power to help our nation to prosper."
"In act and deed, in thought and word, I will honor this crown, and the people it represents, until death do us part. This by the Great Master I swear."
Monarch and ex-monarch then bowed to each other, and the elder generation stepped below the dais. Taréz knew this to be his cue to take the throne. It wasn't comfortable to be looking at his parents that way.
King Taréz sighed, and turned his thoughts to the future.

---

Spreak and Mecora headed as quickly as they could toward the camp. Spreak, in fact, was dancing almost as much as walking. "Free! I feel so free!"
"Spreak, you weren't even locked up!"
"No, but I was pretty much stuck in the trees. If I never treesing again, it'll be too soon!"
Mecora had to laugh, but then thought of never hearing his voice singing again...
They heard the noise of a hundred thousand voices before they reached the turn to the camp. Soon, they saw that the light Vle were celebrating their freedom as much as Spreak, and it had spilled out into the surrounding forest. Carefully, they made their way to the gate.
"How are we supposed to find anybody in all this?" asked Mecora. And then, at Spreak's rueful look, she knew the answer.
Up in a tree again, they looked down to try to find Spreak's family, and (Mecora hoped) Mereo and Ueal. But it was nearly impossible to find anyone in the sea of Vlekind.
Unless they happened to be looking up. "Mom! Dad!" yelled Spreak, and quick as he could he sang his way down, leaving Mecora on the branch.
"Spreak! Wait! Let me—" but he was too intent on getting through the crowd to see his family. Mecora allowed him the moment, the tight five-person hug. Hopefully she wouldn't notice Mereo or Ueal anytime soon, stuck as she was.
Eventually, the hug broke, and Spreak sang her down. And soon, they were on the road toward Kelwome,
and Varmacia.

The crowd thinned out as the days went by, and groups were forming by their destination. They met no other families from Varmacia, but they joined a group from Kelwome. Soon, a very familiar family joined them.
"Ueal!" Mecora darted between Vle as well as she could, into a long, long hug.
By the time they reached the light Vle army checkpoint at the border of Varabia, Mereo's family had met them as well.

Open-mouthed, a thousand or so Vle gaped at their once pretty town. Burned, empty.
Dead.
"Should we even bother to go up there?" asked a former elder.
"There might be something salvageable," answered a ladyelf.
Another asked, "I think he means, why shouldn't we just move on to Varmacia with the Annardems?"
"But this is home! All my ancestors grew up around here."
"But who's to say the King will never do that to us again?"
"Even he's not dumb enough to make the same mistake twice."
"I heard he's gone insane."
The Elder stepped in. "We're getting off the subject. Varmacia is a long way yet, and there's no guarantee they'd let us stay. Let's find out what the political situation will be first. And our neighbors might return, too. Let's give them a place to return to."
"Why should we? I mean—" began a woman, but most of the faces in the crowd gave her dirty looks.

The first of the dark Vle refugees arrived the next day, and Mecora rushed out of Ueal's house to the edge of the platform to see if her family was among them. But they weren't.
Ueal appeared beside her. "Looking for your Mom?"
"Yeah. She's not down there."
"Bummer."
"Do you think you'll try to repair your house today?"
"No. You've seen it! I don't think even Spreak could fix it."
"It never hurts to ask."
"Ueal, I can't do that. That poor guy is so sick of tree singing. He's been doing it every day for months."
"I guess I see your point." Ueal paused. "Hey, the Lion Monk is hosting a party tonight. Do you wanna go?"
Mecora shook her head. "No, it doesn't seem like fun anymore. Like... it's a different part of my life."
"Yeah, I know what you mean. It was a few weeks before anyone was brewing in the camp, but Mereo and I... we just didn't couldn't get into it without you."
"Same here."
"Speaking of things being different, have you seen how some of the Vle are looking at each other?"
"No." Mecora looked around at some of the faces, at some of the meetings. Things definitely seemed more divided than they used to be. "I see what you're saying. But, you didn't see what Vle were like after you left."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, they didn't take too kindly to Spreak being around."
Just then, a few shouts erupted to their left, and they turned to see a pair of bartenders, one light, and one dark, in a fistfight at a pub door. Onlookers broke it up quickly.
"Maybe things will never be the same," Mecora wondered aloud. Then, footsteps came behind her, and she turned her head to see Spreak approach.
"Dad said it's time to go."
"I thought your dad wanted to take a longer break."
"I thought so, too, but we're... all feeling a little uneasy."
"Do you think we'll ever see each other again?"
"I hope so. I don't think... you should... wait for me..."
"I know. I want to, though."
The words ran out. Mecora felt tears welling out of her eyes, but rather than let them be seen, she hugged him. And then she found she really didn't want to let go.
"Spreak."
She hadn't noticed his father approach, and she quickly let go at the sound of his voice. "Come back, if you can. Please. I'll be here."
"I'll try. Bye, Mecora. Thanks for being my friend."
Mecora watched the family board the lift and go down to the ground. Ueal's arm around her shoulders couldn't completely banish the slight feeling of abandonment. Burn it! She shouldn't be feeling that anymore!
A voice called from below. "Mecora!"
She looked toward the lift, which was just beginning its ascent. "Mom!"

New stories...

A long, high horn sounded, and all activity in the camp stopped. Hyran noticed that everyone he saw was looking in the direction of the watchplatform, a beacon of direction that Hyran hadn't even noticed for hours. "What's going on?" he asked, not really expecting an answer.
"It's Yis' signal. He hasn't used it in weeks."
"What does it mean?"
"Watch and listen, is all."
And what he heard was the sound of voices, cheering, a din that grew as it approached. "FREE!" The din became deafening as a million and a half Vle exulted. But, soon, it died down, and Vle went back to their houses.
?!
"Come, Hyran. Yis even planned for this moment. When it's our turn to go out, we will be told. In the meantime, we need to prepare."
Hyran made a mental note to complement Yis, if he ever saw the Mayor again.
It turned out that it wasn't even their time to go until the next morning, but Hyran was relieved when it was time. One of the guides appeared at the door and called, "House 266! Move toward the exit now. Hyran, please meet Yis at Mayor's office. You have a visitor."
A visitor? That was intriguing. Who could it be?
It wasn't hard finding the way to the gate with so many Vle to follow. Once out, he made his way over to the watchplatform. As he exited the crowd, he saw a familiar Vle standing by the lift.
"The Great Redeemer bless this day, Hyran," said the Representative.
"The Great Master bless you, equally, Your Holiness." Hyran found he was even more intrigued, too much so to feel any animosity.
"You will be wondering what I am doing here."
"Yes, Your Eminence, that is the basis of all the questions I have."
"Walk with me. We shall return to town." They turned, and joined the southbound crowd. "The question you brought me was very well worded, Hyran. The logic is impeccable. It would seem that thanks to the Larmanian King, our faith has come upon a turning point."
Hyran put his tongue between his teeth to bite back his impatience.
"I spent weeks turning your words over and over in my mind. And the only thing I can conclude is that I was too hasty in expelling you. I was too busy watching where your logic was going to really allow for a true theological argument.
"Furthermore, I became convinced that the true role of the Representative is not to perpetuate old ideas but rather to continually search for new inspriation. So, I went to speak with the King, to perhaps do as you asked- discuss the possibility of releasing the light Vle."
"I see you were successful."
"No, thankfully, the general feeling in the palace was already toward release. I merely was the... catalyst, you might say. The fact remains that you were right. So, without further ado, I reinvest you as a monk of the Kelwome order. And, I promote you to Representative of the Great Master."
Hyran was shocked, speechless. In stopping, a family nearly ran him over with their wagon.
"Do you not wish to be reinvested?" the elder Vle asked once Hyran had recovered.
"Y- yes, of course. I just... had thought of that part of my life closed behind me. But Representative! That's quite a jump. And aren't you concerned that my theological writing may be even more challenging than before?"
"That's exactly why I want you to lead us. To challenge us. Once I allowed myself to follow your logic, much of the rest of your theology, as I could discern from your writing, made so much more sense than my own. In short, you've made a convert."
"Your Holiness, may I ask a question?"
"Of course. And remember, you are ‘Your Holiness', now."
"How is it that you are here? Was there no resistance to your leaving? And what of the battle on the peninsula?"
"No, there was no resistance, and the flag of Kezantopil was enough to ensure my safe passage."
"You risked much in coming here."
"I did. But you showed me it was necessary. I know your vows mean a lot to you. Could I do any less?"
Hyran surpressed a smile. "You honor me greatly. Yes, I suppose I might be able to fulfill His Mandate in this world. I accept."

They stayed overnight in the apartments of the High Priest of Dronac, and parted company in the morning. Hyran had two weeks before he had to take up his new duties in Kezantopil, so he took his place in the crowd, and made his way back to Kelwome.
Sadly, the town had not fared well, as if perhaps it had been a prize in a battle. Hyran had to use the monastery's lift all the way from the ground. At the top, a novice greeting him, surprise on his face. "Hyran! You've returned! What brings you back?"
"Now, novice, do you not know how to properly address your elders?" Hyran allowed the statement to sink in before announcing, "I've been reinvested!"
"That is great news. We have missed you." The young Vle reached over and rang the bell of announcement.
Soon, the abbot's face peered over a ledge above them. "Hyran! It is good to see you well. I got the message from Grinden, so I know you don't need my permission to enter anymore."
"Thank you, Abbot. It is good to see you as well."
"Please wait a moment. I will come down."
Hyran waited, and noticed that other passing monks had noticed him as well and coming over to see him. But the Abbot took precedence, of course, and reached Hyran first. "Your Holiness, I greet you on behalf of all our brothers. Come, tell me about these past months..."

Gardric did actually appear late the next day. From the royal chamber window, Taréz watched him climb out of his carriage, and walk proudly to the palace, a smirk on his face. Was that pride for what he had accomplished? Taréz hoped so— Gardric had enough listeners to know if something against him was afoot, and ending the war by decree like this would not be agreeable to him.
The three Vle met in the grand hall. Taréz thought about being the first to speak, but decided to see just what his father would do. This, after all, would be the argument to end all arguments between them.
Gardric was first. "I have great success to report, Your Majesties," he announced. "Do you call for an accounting of them?"
"No, I call for an explanation of your tactics. I have heard some very interesting reports."
"Oh, Sire, my tactics are much too numerous to enumerate here. Shall we—"
"No, we shall not. I'm only concerned about one tactic in particular. Something about stealing the energy of the enemy?"
Gardric chuckled. "Ah, the exultations of the victor, the excuses of the loser. Our troops are so skilled, it may well seem that way. We can fight all day without losing spirit, because we are defending our homeland!"
"Don't lie to me Gardric. I know you've been using mages to do the energy stealing."
"Fabrications of the enemy! Undoubtedly they wish to undermine my trustworthiness."
It was finally Taréz's turn. "By planting said mages in your cellar? And one in the command tent at every battlefield? I highly doubt it. Tsk, tsk, Gardric, lying to your liege lord. You taught me better than that."
For a fleeting moment, Gardric appeared as frantic as the cornered rat. Then, as any animal would, he struck back, head held proudly. "I did it for Larmania, Your Majesties! Century after century, those light Vle have been draining our resources to our enemies, and it was time to bring it to an end! My line has been waiting for the time to strike back, and the time has come! I thought I had made you see that, King Lajot! But now I see you're too weak to do anything about it. Weak as a lightie! You must not rule anymore!" With that, he unsheathed his sword.
But Taréz jumped between them, his own sword raised and ready. "Weak, my foot! Wiser than you, I'd say! My only regret is that we allowed your line's prejudice to last so long. I hereby remove you as Chief of the Army."
"Hah! You can't! I'm your superior officer!"
"I can, and I do. Guards, arrest this Vle!"
This time, the guards obeyed, infuriating Gardric. "Fools! What do you think will happen without me to win the war? What to you think will happen to Larmania? You need me to lead us to victory."
"Not your way anymore, Gardric. We have sent alms of peace to our neighbors. The fighting will stop."
"You're insane! Insane! Insane!" the former chief screamed repeatedly as he was dragged to the dungeon.

When he returned to the castle, Stecky came running. "Your Highness! A message from Yis for you."
"Really?" Taréz took the scroll, wondering what the news was. He hardly heard Stecky excuse himself to attend to a visitor's ring.
The prince hadn't heard much from Yis recently, partly because he was so busy. It contained surprising news: dark Vle were now interned in the camp, having been arrested by the army as ‘light Vle sympathizers.' Yis was relating the story of one ex-monk in particular who had led many such groups, right up to Dronac.
"Your Highness?" said Stecky nervously. "An important visitor...."
"Prince Taréz, attend me," said a benevolent voice from below the grand staircase.
Taréz looked over the landing to see the Representative of the Great Master climbing the steps, and dropped to his knees. "Your Holiness! I am not worthy to receive you." He paused. "May I inquire as to the purpose of your visit? I have not known the Representative to leave Kezantopil for reasons other than Deschule celebrations."
"Unusual times call for unusual measures. Is your father available?"
"He is."
"Please, stand, my son."
Taréz did, and nodded in excusal to Stecky, who moved off on a new errand. Then, the prince noticed the two young Vle behind the Representative, but wasn't sure how to phrase the question in his mind.
But the question was answered anyway. "Let me introduce you to these two youngsters I just met. This is Mecora, who lost two of her best friends to the camp. And, if you'll excuse me my presumption, my dear, is half light."
The boy appeared astonished, while the girl stammered. "Y- you can tell?"
"I am a student of Vlekind, Mecora. Even though you may be dark enough to escape internment, it is clear that one of your parents was light."
"You never told me that!" said the boy.
A discussion seemed about to follow, but the Representative preempted that. "And this is Stecky. He and his parents are Varmacian, and were unfortunate enough to be visiting our country when the Proclamation was made."
"My father will definitely want to hear this. Please, follow me, Your Holiness."
Taréz turned and walked at an easy pace for the chambers. It wasn't his custom to walk so slowly, but now he felt himself to be in the chamberlain's place, in comparison with so holy a person as this. He even used some of the procedure for announcing a guest to the King in the royal chambers.
"Father, a very important guest has arrived. May I show him in?"
The king gave a look askance at his son, then checked himself over. "Yes, please, who is it?"
"May I present the Representative of the Great Master. He wishes to speak to us regarding the internment of the light Vle."
Taréz father did an admirable job concealing his surprise, and, groaning, he knelt. "Your Holiness! I am not worthy to receive you."
"That remains to be seen. Please, let us sit at the table."
"Yes, please, do." Taréz led the pontiff to the head of the small meeting table; the children continued to stand.
"There are some facts I would like you to know. My investigation showed that Gardric made accusations about strikes, riots, and even a dock burning?
"Yes. The strikes and the riots threatened the security of our nation."
"I submit, King Lajot, that the security of your nation is very undermined anyway."
"So it has turned out."
"Worse, however, is that many of Gardric's accusations were manufactured. A private stationed in Hantas confessed to starting the dock fire. The strike riots were by a small minority, less than one hundred Vle at a time. The light Vle are a very sensible race, you know."
"I know. My chamberlain has shown that. But what of the bank strikes? If we hadn't been able to take them over, our nation would be bankrupt and taken over by now."
"Also manufactured. That Gardric is a wily one. Again, through confessional, we learned that he paid a few of his troops to intercept the mining audits so he could make it appear to the bankers that the miners weren't being paid enough, when in fact they were receiving competitive pay. Quite simply, the light Vle were never a danger to Larmania."
The king whimpered, and fell ignominiously onto his voluminous belly. "No, no... How could I have been so blind..." he whimpered.
The Representative contnued to converse with Taréz. "I am gratified to learn that His Majesty's heart is indeed pure of intention. Did you know that even dark Vle and non-citizens have been rounded up to be sent to the camp?"
Taréz felt sick. "Perhaps it would be healthier for Gardric to never arrive."

Prince

His mind quieted somewhat by the time Taréz arrived back at the town where his mount waited. Perhaps he was overstepping his bounds, but he wrote out an Return to Report order to be delivered to Gardric. Normally, it was the King who would do that, but to wait until he got home to give the King his own report would mean that Gardric would be free to use the mages for another sixteen days.
The four days necessary for travel were too much as it was.
He gave the order to the solitary town sentry, with the instruction that Gardric be told it had been issued from the palace, if he asked. Then, Taréz headed north at the horse's best speed.

Without an idea how much longer it would be until Gardric would arrive at the palace, Taréz just jumped off his horse as soon as he arrived three days later. The horsemaster wouldn't appreciate the hard riding the prince had forced the horse to, but the horsemaster had to expect such things in such times.
Taréz found his parents in the royal chambers, as usual. "Father, you won't believe what I discovered."
"What is it?"
"Magic. Gardric is actually employing mages at the battlefield!"
"Against the War Convention of 573? ‘Prohibited: Using magic to create an unfair advantage.' Even I know it, by heart! Has he forgotten?!"
"Father, you know he didn't forget."
"So, it is those mages who somehow make the light Vle forces tired, and ours strong?"
"Apparently so. A good idea, but decidedly unfair if the other side chooses to abide by the Convention. Imagine if they decided to break the Convention in the same way."
"Taréz, this war has to stop, before we lose the Convention altogether."
"Agreed."
"And now we have to deal with a Gardric who has gotten far too big for his britches! I wish I had a mage to send me there right now to give him a piece of my mind..."
"Well, you'll have an opportunity to. I issued a Return to Report order. He should arrive tomorrow, at the earliest."
The King seemed taken aback. "You issued the order? You don't really have that power."
"I know, Father, but I knew you'd want to talk to him as soon as possible."
"Gardric might not recognize it."
"Worth the risk, I think. If he doesn't, we've only lost a day. Better yet, perhaps we can insist he meet us at some point between here and the battle lines."
"Yes, yes. My son, you'll make a fine ruler. Just in case he doesn't show, though, we'd better send a message to meet us halfway. Stecky! Parchment!"
"You also might let the ‘enemy' kings know you intend to end the war."
"I do?"
The queen spoke up. "Dear, don't you think we should? I mentioned that... demonstration, I think they called it.... in Dronac. The people want the light Vle free, too."
"We should ask for a peace council. We won't be able to hold the battle lines after removing the mages, so our best bet would be to make peace where the lines are now. In the meantime, Father, I thought I'd consult with the Librarian, and anyone else who might know about where Gardric found those mages. If there is a secret school somewhere we don't know about, it could bode even worse for us. Especially if the light Vle overrun the country."
"Very well. Go."

In the Library, Furns was at the top of a ladder, busy reshelving some books on the top shelf. Taréz made sure his footfalls were loud enough to not startle the old Vle. "Oh, hello, Your Highness. Is there something I can help you with?"
"I need to track down some mages. Could you tell me what has happened to them since the use of magic went out of style?"
"I assume you mean Powerists, not alchemists or treesingers."
"Yes, exactly."
"Well, let's see..." Furns climbed down from the ladder and moved past Taréz to a shelf at floor level. "Ah, here we go. Now, if I remember right..." He pulled out two books and kept talking as he flipped though one. "...the mages didn't stop practicing, but went into hiding. This book is a secret report about a small society of them that banded together to support each other...." He came to the end of the book. "... but they were forced to disband by the local townspeople. That seems to have been the pattern for the last three hundred fifty years. Why the interest, may I ask?"
Taréz whispered the reason into Furns' ear, hoping the old Vle could hear.
"Ah. That is a concern. Well, maybe Gardric heard about a school somehow, and convinced them to stay on his land holdings."
That must be it! "Thanks, Furns. You may just have saved the kingdom!" Taréz hurried out, back to the stables and headed east across the meadow.
The family Gardric's importance to the kingdom had afforded them their own holdings, a piece that had once been part of the King's Private grounds. On a lower end of the ridge, and still a ‘safe' distance from the forest, sat the cottage-style castle where Gardric lived. It would have seemed quite large to most Vle, but it of course could not rival the royal palace.
It seemed almost ridiculous, but typical of Gardric, that there were guards at the cottage. They saluted as soon they recognized their prince.
"At ease, guards. I came to visit with the servants."
"The servants, Your Highness?"
"Yes. Are you questioning your liege lord?"
"No, Sire."
"I hope not." Taréz resumed his progress toward the door.
But he found his way blocked by two lances. "We are acting on orders to not allow anyone inside."
"Did Gardric specify me or the King in those orders?"
"No, Sire."
"Then I countermand that order. Allow me in."
The guards looked at each other, and Taréz could see the silent discussion. Finally, they shrugged and returned to their at attention position. Taréz noticed a lack of apology, but let it go. More important was what he might find inside. The greeting he just received seemed to confirm Furns' guess so far.
The butler was shocked when he entered. "Your Highness! It is.. such an honor to have you as our guest. However, the master is gone..."
‘Which is a perfect time for me to visit. I intend to look around in every room until I find what I'm looking for. I will not be refused in this. Clear?"
"Uh, yes, Your Majesty." Taréz almost smiled at the butler's obvious confusion, but he held it in. There were quite a few servants, who seemed very surprised at his presence. They were hurrying about, but as Taréz looked around, it appeared that nothing much was actually being done. A guard stood in the main hallways, as if maybe he was Gardric's watcher? A spy to make sure the servants were doing their jobs properly even in the master's absence?
Then he realized that another guard was standing in front of a door. It was the only door, in fact, that no servants used. Taréz strode right up to him, a little bit daunted. He had a trained Vle trapped like a badger with no escape route. If it came to a fight, it wasn't the best situation.
Precisely Gardric's idea, of course.
"Excuse me, I need to use that door."
"I'm sorry, Your Highness, that isn't possible."
"I'm sorry, that's the wrong answer. By the authority of the King, you are to step aside and allow me passage."
"With all due respect, Sire, I cannot violate the oath I took."
"And this oath was...?"
"That I would not let any Vle in or out without express verbal permission of Gardric himself."
"And what did you swear on?"
"I swore my life. Gardric will end my life if I leave this door."
Taréz paused to think. "Then you must never allow yourself to be in his presence. If you do not step aside, I will be forced to injure or kill you. If you do, you will accompany me to the palace, and your life will be protected."
"We are talking about Gardric here."
"Yes, I know. You may have to serve strictly in the kitchen, or on the construction project, but you will not be harmed by Gardric."
"I accept your promise, Your Highness." The guard stepped and turned, his left side to the door. "You may not like what you find down there."
"I already have an idea what that might be." Taréz pressed ahead, through the door into a well-lit spiral staircase going down.
He half-expected to spend a long time on that staircase, but the cellar proved to be just below the cottage. The room he found was just as nicely adorned as the cottage itself, but instead of hurrying servants clad in simple brown and white, the Vle he found were all in brightly colored cloaks. "I thought so," he announced himself.
They all turned to look at him, and Taréz measured them even as they seemed to measure him. Were they going to protect the knowledge of their existence by killing or harming their prince?
"I'm not stupid enough to think that I can place you all under arrest for practicing unlawful magic, but I am going to order you to leave. Gardric's plan has been discovered, and we are going to end the plan. That may mean our enemies may take over the palace. I imagine you will not want to be here when they do. And it will be much worse for the kingdom if they discover you here."
"You're seriously going to jeopardize your own kingdom by ending such a successful plan?" asked one. "That hardly sees wise."
"Perhaps not, but the war has been fought under false pretenses. I can't allow that and still be heir apparent."
"You may lose your life."
"I may. Or may not. Royals always have a way out. And then I can fight to reclaim my throne. But I will not fight an agressive war against the whole world for a false ideal. Now, are we going to stand here discussing personal philosophy, or are we going to obey a direct royal order?"
The room full of powerful Vle obeyed their prince, many of them by simply disappearing. The rest climbed the stairs behind Taréz.

"Were you serious about making sure all the light Vle are let go?" Mecora asked in the morning.
"Well, yes. I thought we ought to go to the palace and ask to see the King."
"And just how do you expect to get past the palace guards? They'll arrest you on sight!"
"I know. I haven't figured out that part yet. But I want to get going, and think it over on the way."
"Would you like me to take the road again?"
"Sure. Maybe you'll meet someone friendly to our cause."
So, once again, their traveling pattern was resumed, and they headed back to Dronac. The sky, what they could see of it, was very, very dark, affording little light for the journey, but they pressed on anyway. There was almost no way of telling how long they'd been going when they passed a large group of dark Vle headed the other direction. The ones on foot had their heads down, all but one.
Hyran?!
Mecora didn't believe it was possible, but then neither was the whole situation. A small troop of mounted Vle followed the group, as if said group was light. The sight put Mecora into a spiral of wondering: Just what was going on in this Kingdom?!
On they walked, and the darkness continued. Mecora felt as though she ought to be hurrying more, but she just didn't feel energetic enough. Maybe it was because she had skipped breakfast. More of the same fruits when the Vle in the camp were possibly enjoying real food hadn't been very appealing.
Finally, night fell, and they rested for the night.

The morning came fast, and they went directly toward the palace, going around to the north of the city of Dronac. And that was the end of the road, as it were, for the tree-bound Spreak. They still had not come up with a good plan, other than to just openly walk up to the palace gates and ask to enter, hoping against hope that they would be allowed in just on the strength of their story.
They were virtually alone as they walked the path across the meadow, up the hill to where the palace sat. Only one other figure was on that path, a rather regal figure about fifty yards behind them.
The guards were well trained, not even blinking at their arrival. "Today is not grievances day. Grievances of the public are heard only on fifthday."
"Please, we have to speak to the King! He'll want to hear our story, I know he will."
"You will have to return on fifthday, ma'am. In the meantime, your light friend—" did Mecora hear a sneer in the way he said that? "...will go with the guards standing behind you."
But then the other traveler made his presence known. "No, he shall not. By right of the clergy I ask entry to the palace of all who stand here in application. I am Grinden, The Representative of the Great Redeemer."

It was very tempting to not look around Dronac, easily the biggest city either of them had seen. Even from the ground they could see some of its magnificent buttresses, arches, and even spires.
But being so close to their goal, they kept going. As the driver had told them, the camp wasn't hard to find. It was in the afternoon when they arrived at the widening in the road. All of a sudden, there it was, the massive wooden wall, an unnatural beige rectangle sectioning off the forest. And it was time to face the question they'd manage to avoid for the entire journey.
Mecora went over to Spreak's tree, placing it between her and as many army eyes as she could. "Now what?" she said into the waiting hole.
"I was about to ask you the same thing. They have the trees in there surrounded with fence, so no one can ‘sing themselves in or out. I'd been wondering about that."
"Couldn't we sing ourselves just to the top of a fence?"
"And then what? We can't risk opening a hole and jumping out. It's too far. Plus, we couldn't get back into the tree."
"There's no way to ‘sing dead wood?"
"No, because the magic uses the tree's life force. Dead wood has none, or else it wouldn't be dead."
"Maybe they'll let you in. I'll try to find your parents, and bring them to a certain tree. Then, we could talk from there."
"No, still too risky. Wait, I'm getting an idea."
Mecora found herself holding her breath, waiting for the idea.
"I think I can get a tree to force a hole in the fence. And we can go in at night. I will need you to go in now, to find them while there's still sunlight, then tell them to come to the nearest tree. Then, I need you to show me which tree to come to."
"Okay. Now, how do I get in."
"You're a dark. Why couldn't you go in?"
"They might say it's dangerous for me. Or maybe the King said no visitors. The King did seem to want us to not mix."
"Well, do something. There isn't much daytime left."
"Right. Wish me luck."
Spreak reached out to take her hand in his. "Good luck."
The touch surprised her, but Mecora was already thinking out what to say. She stepped away from the hole, and marched right up to the gate. "Hi. Can I come in?"
"What?" asked the gatekeeper incredulously.
"Can I come in? There's some friends in there I want to see."
"You have lightie friends?!" Chuckles came from up above.
"Yeah. You know, two months ago, that wasn't a crime, and its no burning crime now. So you better let me in! I'm still a subject of the King, after all!"
More chuckles were followed by her answer. "Sure, why not?" The gate swung open, to reveal a small, empty space fronted by more of the wooden wall.
"No, I mean all the way in!"
"You don't think we'd just open up both doors at the same time, do you?! Come in the first door, and when it's closed, we'll open the second door. Got it?"
"Got it." Mecora didn't really trust their word, but figured that if they were to capture her, they'd probably just keep her in the camp with everyone else. Only she had a rescuer. With a collecting of her bravery, she marched into the small space.
The main gates closed. A moment passed. Finally, the gates before her opened. Inside was a scene she could never have imagined.
A city— on the ground! Free-standing houses, people milling about on earth worn bare by thousands of feet. There was commerce going on here, bartering much like back home in Kelwome. A cloud of dust from those feet rose into the air above the houses, whitewashing the normal green of a dense forest.
All these Vle... in a city possibly even bigger than Dronac itself! Mecora felt a wave of despair wash over her. How was she ever to find Spreak's parents in all this?!
Suddenly, a pair of arms caught her. "Whoa, what's the matter?" asked a friendly female voice.
"I came.. I came to find my friends, but... but..."
"Oh, we've created a registry. Lots of Vle want to find their friends and family when they arrive. Come with me." The relatively plump woman with unusually dark blond hair put her arm around Mecora's shoulder and led her to the nearest house on the right. On the way, she introduced herself as Lara'i. Inside, they passed between a few bunk beds, and arrived at one converted into a desk. A small lamp sat on it, and boxes of paper with tags sticking out. Above, on the wall, a sign said something about a fee.
"Uh... will this cost me?"
"Oh, for you? Probably not. Most people who come here are without money, too, and there is no money in here, anyway. We charge a small percentage of a person's first profit if they're new, but I imagine you'll get to leave."
"I hope so."
"So, who are you looking for?"
Mecora was about to say Mereo and Ueal, but realized that she only had a certain amount of time before Spreak would be looking for her. What had he thought it would be so easy in this mess? "Well, actually, I don't know their names. See, I met this light Vle named Spreak, and he somehow got away when his family was captured, but they're not from Larmania. They're from Varmacia."
"We have quite a few Varmacian nationals. What else do you know of them?"
Mecora tried to think over what else Spreak had told her, but he really hadn't said much. "Well, his father can treesing. He has a sister who's older, and a younger brother."
"Well, that's a good start. We have a listing by skill, too. It will take some work, but we just need to cross-reference—"
"Cross what?"
"Cross reference. It means I'm going to look at my listing of treesingers for Varmacian men, and then look up all those names for ones who have a daughter and a son, and might be expecting another son to arrive. We light Vle are very organized, you know."
"I know. My friend, Mereo, used to arrange her clothes by color."
"Perfect example! Now, let me see..."
Mecora waited while the woman searched the files. When her feet got tired, she sat on the nearest bunk; before long, she was lying down and dreaming.
Next thing she knew, she was pulled out of a gentle dream by an equally gentle shaking. "Mecora? I've found them."
"You did? How do I get there?"
"We have guides. And since it's late and I'd have to pay them, I'll guide you myself."
Mecora realized it was already dark. "Oh my gosh! Spreak will be worried! Or angry."
"Sorry, but these things take time."
"I know. And at least you're here to help. I really appreciate this."
"No problem. Now let's go find your friend's family."
The haphazard layout of the camp served to get Mecora entirely lost in just a few minutes. How could anyone find their way around here? she wondered. Maybe it was part of the King's plan- overwhelm the Vle when they arrived, perhaps? She longed for the simple tree-centric plan of a normal town.
Finally, Lara'i stopped at a house, totally indistinguishable from the others Mecora had seen so far, and knocked.
A woman came to the door. "Oh, hi, Lara'i! Are you working so late?"
"Yes, a special case. I'm here for the family of Spruoit Annardem."
The woman at the door turned her head and yelled for Spruoit. "Is it his son?"
"Well, no," Lara'i replied with a smile.
A large man took the place in the door. "What do you mean?"
Lara'i indicated Mecora, motioning her to step up and introduce herself. "My name is Mecora. Spreak appeared in my town one day, and we've been... living in trees ever since."
"Is he here? Now?"
"He's up in the trees still, waiting. He has a plan to get you out of here, actually."
"If he means to treesing us out, I'm afraid they have fencing to prevent that..."
"He said he thought he could get the tree to poke a hole in the fence somehow. Anyway, he's up there, now, waiting for me to show him which tree to come to. He wanted me to show him in the daylight, but..."
"Well, we'd better go, then." He turned inside. "Alinna, tell my family Spreak is here and I'm going to see him, will you?" Then, he turned to Lara'i. "Since Mecora here can't pay you, I'll cover your costs. What was the fee? One percent?"
"Oh, Spruoit, I won't take anything for this. I decided that when I met her."
Spreak's father seemed on the edge of arguing the point, but he shook his head. "We'll discuss it later. Let's go to the nearest tree, Mecora."
"Thank you so much, Lara'i!" said Mecora, energized by the thought of the reunion to come, and her part in it. Then, she looked for the nearest tree, and headed there.
Said tree wasn't too far, but even so she doubted she'd be able to get back to Spruoit's house. And once there, it was a matter of waiting. How long would it take Spreak to find them in the dark?
Not as long as she thought. She and Spreak's father hadn't even quite run out of conversation (discussing what she and Spreak had been doing since they'd met) when some odd crackling sounds came from behind them. They turned, and watched as small holes, arranged in a circle about 15 hands wide, were formed in the fence. Finally, the piece simply fell out. Spruoit caught it, and let it down gently so as not to make a sound. There, behind it, was Spreak.
Mecora stepped back and let the reunion run its course, only belatedly remembering to look around for trouble. But, it being night time, few people were out, and not even one dark soldier could be seen. Not that she could see very far.
The conversation heated up, and she turned her attention back to it, even as she continued to watch. "What do you mean, you can't come?"
"Spreak, think a moment. We may be trapped, but if we were to leave, even if we're not caught, there will always be the danger. What are the chances we could get to the border without getting caught? And how in the forest would we cross the battle lines safely?"
Spreak didn't respond right away. "I guess you're right. But I can't join you."
"I know, son. I know. At least we know you're okay. We will get out someday."
"I'm going to make sure of it. Come on, Mecora."
Mecora wasn't expecting to be addressed. "What?"
"Come on, we have to go now."
"Well... I thought we could stay in the house tonight. Something other than a tree for a change."
"But what are the chances we could get back out in the morning? The longer we stay, the more likely we'll be discovered."
"Spreak, I'm beginning to hate it when you're right." She sighed. "Okay, well, it's been nice meeting you, Mr. Annardem. I hope you all get out soon."
He chuckled. "If my son has anything to say about it, it'll be tomorrow morning. Good night, and may the Great Redeemer watch over you."
"Good bye," she said, and climbed into the tree. Spruoit put the fence section back even as Spreak sang the hole shut. As quietly as they could, they tree hopped away from the camp to sleep for the night.

Girl

The days slipped by, mired in a routine intended to keep their minds off the outside world. Wake, gather fruits for breakfast, fish for lunch, maybe swim or climb a tree, hunt for dinner, stare into the campfire, curl into their treehole. Day after day they did this, and Mecora had the sense that this should have been the best time of their lives (it was such a carefree style of existence!), but of course the outside world wouldn't leave their minds. Mom and family were gone from both of them, a big question mark on whether or not they'd ever see their respective families again.
With only words of the business at hand spoken, the days slipped by. Only the weather provided a change, though it was never cold enough to affect their routine, and the rain didn't matter.
One hot afternoon Mecora waded into the lake, but like other days, it afforded little pleasure. As she settled to sit on the bottom, turned her head to look back at Spreak, fishing from the shore. "Why do I bother?"
"Bother to what?"
"Swim. It's not fun."
"Because it's cooler than being out of the water?"
"I don't even care any more."
"Habit, then."
"Hard to believe I have a habit that most Vle wouldn't come close to doing." "You mean, Vle that you know."
"Light Vle swim a lot?"
"No, just Vle that live near water. My parents have a home overloooking a lake. We even have a rope that swings way out over the water, and we jump off it." "Sounds like fun."
"It was."
"I'd like to go there sometime."
"Me too."
It was clear to Mecora that Spreak didn't think he'd ever get home. And then she realized something. "Why don't you go?"
"What?"
"Why don't you just go home? You have relatives there, at least."
"I don't want to just abandon my family here!"
"Well, how would going home be different than just sitting on our duffs here?" Spreak stared into thin air a moment. "Mecora, you're right."
"I'm right? We're going to your home?"
"No! We're going to the camp."
"What in the burning forest do you think we're going to do there?"
"I dunno. Maybe we can at least find out if my family is alive."
"But there will be guards all over! As soon as you show your lily face, they'll arrest you!"
"Maybe that's preferable to being stuck out here, living a humdrum existence." Mecora felt a bit of insult at that, the idea that life with her was boring, but realized it wasn't meant that way. "And just what am I supposed to do?"
"Join my mother."
"Okay, and just how do you propose we do that? We don't know where the camp is or how far away it is."
"We can ask."
"Well, you can't. But I can. Maybe, if we travel along the road, I can find someone to ask."
"Maybe so. But I can't travel on the road with you." "Could you shadow me in the trees above? You can watch over me. It's dangerous to travel a road alone."
"For a young girl like you? Yes, it is. Shall we?"
"Let's."
Hand in hand, they went to their treehole, to go via branch nets to the nearest road. Though it was the major road across the kingdom, the road by Kelwome was not very busy. Mecora realized just how much of the road traffic before the war began had been army. They did pass some wagons full of ore.
Spreak whistled, and she looked to her right. Spreak had a hole in the tree open, and was beckoning her. "There's a phalanx of trolls up ahead!"
"Trolls?! Trolls have taken over this much of the country?!"
"I doubt it, but why else would they be here?" He closed the hole and sang them up to a same watching position. Below, the trolls trundled down the road, taking up the entire space between the trees. Even from their perch in the second canopy they could smell the unwashed humanoids. "Their weapons sure look strange."
"Those aren't weapons. They're mining tools. Your King must be desperate." "He's no king of mine."
"No, I suppose not."
They waited out the parade of trolls, letting them pass over the next low hill before returning to the ground.

Another day passed, and they arrived at a major fork in the road. The sign pointed to Hame to the left, and Dronac to the right, but neither of them had ever heard of Hame. So, they waited for someone (hopefully not a troll) to come along.
The wait wasn't long before a small coach came rumbling along the right-hand fork. Mecora didn't know it it would work, but she stepped out into the middle and waved her arms. The coach did slow, the driver looking nervously about. "How can we help you, miss?"
"I just want to know which way to where the light Vle are being kept."
The driver looked disdainfully down his nose. "And why should you want to go there?"
"My friends are there."
"Friends?! Hmph! Very well. Take the road I just came down, and follow it past Dronac. You won't fail to notice the camp."
"It's that easy?"
"It's that easy. Happy travels," the driver said with a shake of the reins. The horses resumed their work.
"Happy travels to you, too, sir," she replied, but she doubted the driver heard. She turned to look at the tree where Spreak hid. "That way," she pointed, and started up the road.
He opened the hole. "Wait! Don't you think we should wait overnight? It's getting dark."
"I suppose you're right. I'm hungry all of a sudden. Do we have anything left over?"
"No, and the hunt will be difficult near such a large road. The game will be wary."
"Well, if we only have fruits tonight, it won't harm us."
"You want to sleep tonight, right? Otherwise, my growling stomach will keep us awake." He stepped out, and trekked into the dense forest to start the hunt.

On foot, the capital of Larmania was a very long journey. Mecora tried to imagine the same trip made with her family and some of her friends, dogged by mounted Vle behind, weighted down by push wagons ahead.
"What's wrong?" asked Spreak from a tree.
"What do you mean?"
"Your head's low, you're shuffling your feet, and you're going about five trees per hour."
"Oh, I was just imagining what it must have been like for Mereo and Ueal and everybody."
"From the looks of it, you've succeeded. But we're on a mission. We'll never get there at this rate."
"Oh, right, sorry."

The next morning, Hyran woke before sunrise. It was an auspicious day already— rain! With a spring in his step and a folded barkpot in his hand, he took the lift down to the first level, and went to the west edge of town. As he'd guessed, there was an extension of the platform along the edge of the forest, looking out at the bare hill where the royal palace stood. Hyran shook his head at the magnificent alienness of the thing. Built entirely of stone. Though its carved details evoked treesung structures even from this distance, the grey color and the open sky behind seemed to proclaim its oddity, its unnaturalness. Much like the very proclamation issued there.
"Morning," said a voice behind him, and Hyran turned to see a youngish Vle, huddled against the cool morning rain. "I must be in the right place. Are we actually going to meet in this weather?"
"Rain is a gift, my friend. It provides us with the trees and our food. What better weather to greet us on such an important day?" "If you say so." The rain did delay everyone's arrival. Hyran had intended to get the protest going by midmorning, but it was noon before most everyone actually showed up. Some uniformed Vle also stood warily by.
Hyran put the barkpot down and stood on it, making him head and shoulders taller than everyone. "My friends! It has come down to us. Twice our movement has met the King's troops, intent on silencing our message, but here we stand before the King's window! We are here to tell him that his policy is wrong! Say hear hear!"
"Hear hear!" the crowd responded.
"It is time to face the facts- that his proclamation has placed our great nation's very survival in jeopardy! Hear hear!"
"Hear hear!"
"The King must reverse his decision or face the loss of a kingdom, the loss of a great era!"
"Hear hear!"
"We will protest here every morning until he heeds our call!"
"Hear hear!"
The troops, which had grown in number during his speech, finally moved, to surround them. Thus Hyran knew it was his turn to join his comrades in the camp. The troops escorted them efficiently to the lifts and down to the ground. As they set out, north again but no longer under free will, Hyran wondered how long it would be until his pace turned sluggish. Then he realized it didn't have to. His head up, he looked forward with as much confidence as he could, and made each step count.
On foot, the camp was most of a day's walk away. The soldiers weren't particularly mean, just insistent enough that many in the group did lose their spirit. Hyran wished he could say something, or sing, to lift their spirits, but the soldiers strongly discouraged any self-expression.

The second day was dark. The tiny patches of sky visible above were not light blue but rather a purplish grey. On they pushed through the nearly lightless forest, past towns with all their glow-worms lit up. Eventually, they neared the camp— Hyran knew they were close not by sight, but by hearing. Roughly two million Vle manage to make quite a sound. The road passed a tree and branched— and there was a wall rivaling the one surrounding Dronac. The difference: Only one platform could be seen above, and that was on a tree outside the wall. The troops brought them right up to the gate. "Ho! We bring sympathizers!" called the commander. "Enter and be counted," replied the gatekeeper, and the gate swung toward them. But instead of the scene of cramped living conditions that Hyran expected to see, there was instead another wall. Prodded, he and the others moved in.
The gate shut behind them, and then another gate in front of them opened out into the camp. Now there was a scene: ground dwellings, and Vle milling about, doing business. It was a pleasant surprise, really: those he saw were healthy, and he saw many straight backs, even a number of smiles. The new arrivals weren't permitted to just roam freely yet, though. A young man officiously strode out of a hut beside the wall, quill, tablet and three-legged stool in hand. "Ah, more sympathizers, I see. Very well!" He put down the stool, stepped on it, and the troops pressed in closer. Hyran shifted his weight from one foot to the other, earning him an evil eye; So it was apparently that he and the other newcomers were to stay still.
"Sixty-four!" pronounced the counter, and stepped down to return to the hut. With that, the troops broke away and went out the gate, which swung shut behind him.
"Welcome," said a female voice. Hyran turned to see the plumpish light Vle who addressed them. "My name is Lara'i. Normally, another woman would be here to welcome you, but she's busy with another group.
"We were told you're light Vle sympathizers, and we very much appreciate your support. While we're sorry you had to come here, we are happy to have the chance to meet you. If any of you are particularly attached to someone, we will try to make sure you are accommodated together, but we can't make any guarantees. We are very near capacity. "If there is someone in here you'd like to find, you may come to me at any time and ask me to find them for you, for we have records on everybody who has passed through these gates. There is no upfront fee, but we do ask a percentage of your first profit from whatever position you take here. Any questions? No? Okay, let's go check you in."
The process was very much like entering the army, Hyran noted. He gave his name, height, former profession, and other skills. They issued him bedsheets and a house number. Finally, there was a guide to take him and a group to their houses.
Along the way, Hyran marveled at the what the light Vle had: in a matter of weeks, they had built one of the world's biggest cities. There seemed to be no rhyme or reason to their placement; he got entirely confused after passing just five or so houses. Since there were no actual commercial buildings, Vle were trading goods with each other right in front of their houses. As if an answer from the Creator, his wondering what they did in the rain was followed by the beginning of a shower. Quickly and efficiently, the products were gathered and taken inside.
The rest of the group hurried too, forcing him to hurry so he wouldn't get lost. Or too muddy: the denuded forest floor quickly turned soft. Rain he enjoyed; mud he didn't. But the people at the house he was shown to had a warm foot bath waiting at the door, making for an unusual but warm welcome.

The next day, Hyran sat on his bed, discussing the appalling internment of foreigners with three of his bunk neighbors and the foreigner in question. "So, how many are there in your fami-" He broke off when a knock came at the door. The house president, a woman named Aliana, answered it before any of the men could stand. "Mayor!" she exclaimed. "It is an honor and a privilege."
"Oh, Aliana, please. I've told you you may call me Yis at any time. Now, I understand there is a dark Vle named Hyran here?"
"That's me," Hyran volunteered. "Nice to meet you, Spruoit," he said by way of excusing himself. Nearing the door, he asked, "What can I do for you?" The light Vle with a regal bearing motioned Hyran to come outside. "I understand you've been leading groups to protest the King's policy."
Hyran stepped into the light, and breathed in the aroma of a freshly washed forest. Vle of various sizes raked the ground, smoothing out the ruts and footprints made during the rain.
"Well, I was. I got away from the troops once, but wasn't so lucky this time. I just wish I knew if I made a difference."
"Well, it did make a difference to us. When news of your gathering in Dronac reached us, it raised spirits considerably. We now know people out there care about us." "Glad I could be of service," Hyran said humbly, "though it didn't get you freedom."
"No, but the Queen noticed. I got a note from her. It would have been better if the Prince had been around to see your demonstration, but at least one royal saw."
"Stop it, you're discouraging me."
"Oh, sorry!" Yis smiled. "We still appreciate the effort. What did you do before your campaign?"
"I was a monk, at Kelwome. But the vow of political non-interference got in the way."
"Were you excommunicated?"
"Eventually, by the Representative when I got to see him."
"Hyran, the prince must know about this. Would you come with me and recite your story? I'll send the message to the castle post haste."
"If you think it would help, sure."

Hyran re-entered the camp accompanied by a dark soldier after writing his ‘story.' It felt somewhat immodest to write it, and he hoped he didn't compensate too much by making it dry and very factual. (Even he had yawned while writing it.)
Once inside again, he realized there was no way he would find his house. But, luckily, there was Lara'i again, seated near the building where they'd been processed the previous night. He went over to her, noticing the sign behind her: Friend and Family Finders. That's what he'd meant to do today!
"Lara'i, I need to find a friend. Allega."
"Certainly. Come with me."

With another real breakfast inside him and a fresh batch of Exian-style trinkets in his pocket, Hyran headed for the north end of town again. Butterflies fluttered, disturbing said breakfast— would he find another set of troops surrounding another set of protesters?
But as he reached the northernmost lift, he could see below that there was (as yet) no reason to be worried. Nine Vle, three of them women, stood on the road below, looking about. By the time he joined them, two more were approaching.
Hyran introduced himself to all before giving his spirit speech. "I thank you for being here this morning. Now, some of you may be worried about the risk of being arrested for treason. I assure you that this is not treason, but I'll be honest— there is no guarantee we won't be arrested. WE are here to be loud, and to be heard, and to be noticed. How else are we to get the King's attention? He must be made aware of his error! And we are going to tell him!"
The small crowd gave a hurrah, and all turned north with a spirited step. Town after town. Along the way, Hyran explained what to do in each town.
"We'll split up, and go into all the inns and pubs. Talk to the bartender or whoever might listen to you. The more open a person is, the better. You might not actually recruit that person, but anyone in earshot will know of our plans. Now, I caution you: Do not just start with an explanation of our intentions. Find an angle. Look for some discontent with the way things are. Then bring them into the fold, almost as if we're a big secret. BUT the more people hear of it, the less they'll want it to stay a secret! We want to be open, so encourage the spreading of the news."
"But what if someone doesn't like what we're saying?" asked one, who was slight and graying with age. Hyran guessed him to be about 90 years old.
"Then apologize and move away. There's no sense in getting hurt, and there are other people to talk to. Still, we never know who we might meet, do we? This is a dangerous business.
"But necessary."
The next town was equally ‘productive.' With the help of the protesters, the town was covered fairly quickly. And they were anxious, too- one of the women asked him, "So, when do we move on to the next town?"
"Tomorrow."
"Why not today? Shouldn't we move as fast as possible?"
"No. For one thing, moving faster would probably alert the authorities faster. We want to get to the palace, or as near as possible, before that happens. Plus, half our complaint is that this rounding-up now apparently extends to dark Vle. It makes sense to not move too far ahead of them, so that we have proof when the time comes."
The next morning, Hyran had a pleasant surprise: Among the 41 Vle gathered, five wore the robes of Redemption clergy, including a (ex?)monk! With gusto, he introduced himself, and watched the clergymen's expression. He delighted in their surprise and recognition... until he chided himself for losing his modesty. Oh Great Master, please deliver me through this time of trial, so that I may once again return to the ideals you have laid out for us!, he prayed.
Then, with flourish, he stepped north, the pack of protesters behind him.
They hit three more towns before trouble caught up with them. One morning, Hyran was dismayed to see about 2/3 of the now 67 protesters surrounded by troops. Hyran knew the pattern (arrive in town, announce the morning gathering openly, meet on the north end of town at daybreak) was a bit of a problem. But this time, he didn't hide and watch. He knew a number of the protesters were still up on deck, so he merely stood by the lift, and caught the faces he knew. Those others were able to catch some of the recruits from the day before.
"The risk we take," Hyran announced. "The risk we live with, for the privilege of delivering our message. The King either doesn't know about this, or he doesn't care about his own people. My friends, our mission's importance increases with each arrest! Now, I caution you: Let us not make it obvious that we are in any way connected with those being marched north, lest our movement die. Let us march forth!"
Even as the arrested were being marched north, the remaining third filed onto lifts to begin their journey. It took a league to catch up with and pass the march, because the spirits of those arrested were still high, but the passing went without a hitch.
The crusade went on.
By the time they reached the gates of Dronac, Hyran's group once again numbered in the sixties. Understandably, the gatekeepers seemed a bit concerned as they passed through under their watchful eyes.
Hyran couldn't help but gape with the others. No less than 20 trees, with as many as eight levels each, made up the capital city. Hyran was anxious to get up and examine the architecture. "Let's spilt up here," he suggested. "Take a different lift, so we're not all waiting for one lift. Spread throughout, and do the same as always. We'll meet on the palace observation platform, lowest level, unless you hear from me otherwise. Good luck!"
His heart pounded as he stepped onto the lift nearest him. Security would be tight here, but this was also where they could make the biggest splash for the King to see. Would they be allowed to splash the next morning?
To his gratification, there was a map of the lowest level next to the lift landing. He studied it for a while, marveling at its complexity. He looked around, wondering at the differences between the architecture here and back in Kelwome. (His heart panged with that thought.) Here, the structures had darkened with age, and were considerably rougher, less finished, bulkier. Window frames were simple circles, without crossbeams. Houses were also just ‘sung out without a plan, sometimes with lots of space between them, sometimes with four stacked in what would be an unsteady pile, had they been standing free.
But there was work to be done. With a lump in his throat, he headed for the first pub he saw, with only a red tree on its sign.

Monk

Exians led.
The ‘free the light Vle' crusaders followed.
The soldiers took up the rear on horseback.
And to Hyran's relief, those soldiers hadn't looked back for nine leagues. He didn't really have a plan, he realized. Was he really just going to plod along at this mind-numbing pace, only to arrive at the walls of the camp with nothing more to do?
But for another nine leagues or so, the answer was yes. He shadowed them in every way. When they stopped to let the soldiers eat, Hyran ate from the rations he'd bought with all the trinkets he had. At night, Hyran camped within sight of their campfire, but didn't build one of his own. When they stopped for nature calls, Hyran even took the same opportunity.
Another night came, and the troops prodded their mob into the forest. Hyran pitched his tent, Exian style, almost by rote. Then, he pulled out some more of his rations, growing more and more meager by the league. Thoughtlessly, he took a bite.
Boredom. He was down, and it was because of boredom.
He realized just how alive he'd felt, going from town to town, debating with bartenders and barflies over the King's folly. He was doing something! There was hope!
So, why not go out and find that again?
When he woke, it was still dark, and not a sound came from the small encampment nearby. Quietly, he struck camp and headed north.

He eased onto the stool at the first inn he spotted in the first town he arrived at. (He hadn't even checked out the name.)
"What'll it be?" asked the bartender, a youngish looking guy with a crooked smile.
"Breakfast. I broke camp early this morning."
"Breakfast is gruel," was the reply. "Hope ya like it."
"It's fine."
From a medium-size pot hung over the fire, the bartender ladled up a generous serving. "Normally, I'd ask, ‘What news of the road?', but I imagine you didn't run into anyone so early."
"Well, I did see something odd. I'm sure you're used to light Vle marches coming through."
"Yeah. I thought they were all rounded up."
"I wouldn't know about that, but this time everyone being marched was dark."
"Dark?! What in the burning forest? The King isn't content to wage war on half his subjects, but has to wage war on all of them?!"
"I talked to the troops, who explained that these were Vle who were openly protesting the King's will. And creating a public nuisance." Hyran had no idea if that's how the troops would have put it, had he actually asked, but it sounded good.
The bartender lowered his voice. "I wish I knew a way to get that idiot off the throne."
"Actually, I was thinking we could do something to at least change his mind. Maybe those dark Vle being marched to the camp had the right idea."
"Pfft! It can't be the right idea if they got caught!"
"If enough people know about this, and get angry enough to make a nuisance, he'll have to do something, right? We're fighting a war- he can't spare the troops to quench a country-wide riot, right?"
"Good point! Let's spread the word."
Hyran smiled. His life had a purpose again.

Change of site

Sorry for the lack of updates. I've been reworking this project to more of a webcomic style, rather than a blog style. I think it'll work better, even though it's more work.
And it's going live on Tuesday, Sept. 8th! http://proclamation.webs.com/
But if by chance, you've read this far, keep reading. Tomorrow I'll post the pieces I should have posted the last two weeks, and go ahead and finish here.
Hope you've enjoyed it!
Kevin

When the sun once again kissed the treetops, the spy rose and pulled out some more of his rations. “You really don’t trust me, do you? You were awake all night. Under present circumstances, I guess I could understand.”
Taréz still didn’t respond, but shook the fuzziness out of his head. A few his own rations, and he felt ready for the day.
Well, almost. For a normal day, maybe, but not this day.
They put on their tree claws again, but while Taréz was ready to go down the outside of the tree, the spy sang a few notes. A hole formed in the bark, just as Taréz had seen him do a few days before.
But he wasn’t quite sure of being inside a tree alone with an enemy of the state. “If you don’t mind, I think I’ll use the conventional route.”
“Oh, by the Great Master! Buy a clue! You’re much easier to kill going down than inside a tree! What am I going to do inside that I couldn’t have done already?”
“I don’t know, and that’s the problem.”
“You can’t follow me if you’re outside and I’m inside. Come on, don’t be stupid.”
“Very well.” Taréz followed the spy into the hole. They moved up, and crossed a number of branch nets, and finally moved inside a hole again to go back down. Carefully, the spy opened the hole, and, deciding it was safe, made it large enough to get out of. They dropped low to a branch net, and looked down.
Tents were less than practical in the dense forest, but camouflaged tarps were unbiquitous. Their pattern of leaf shapes just didn’t quite match the real-life pattern, and couldn’t obscure the sharp edge of the tarps themselves. Good enough to hide from third canopy eyes, but not second canopy. Still, it was impossible to tell the Chief’s tarp. “How do you know this is command central?”
“Watch.”
The watching lasted some moments. Just before Taréz ran out of patience, a dark Vle walked smartly up to the tarp below, and saluted before heading under it. “Ah. Troops wouldn’t salute at their own tent.”
“Details, details.”
“Is our Chief really that full of himself? He hammers on the details all the time.”
“If lack of attention to detail is an indication, then yes, I’d say he is.”
Then, to Taréz’s amazement, an Vle in a colorful robe stepped out. He raised his arms, and chanted in a language Taréz had never heard before. But it was haunting, beautiful, full of impure vowels and fricative consonants. He looked over at his ‘partner.’
“See...?” said the spy, eyes half-mast. His grip on their branch net loosened.
Taréz considered reaching out to grab him, but he couldn’t. Not in light of his decision the previous night. Instead, he just watched as the spy fell from their perch, the haunting chant like a narrative as he fell to the ground.
Only instinct told Taréz to hurry to the top canopy at top speed.
Away from that encampment.
Away from that illegal, immoral mage.
Away from the Vle he’d resolved to kill.

Taréz stood on a high hill over looking a broad meadow. He felt exposed, but he knew he was safe. Below, a battle raged, the red forces vastly outnumbered by theirs in the various blue, purple and yellow of the western kingdoms. It would have been beautiful if not for the fact that the red forces were battling to perserve his throne.
But the sounds were not beautiful. They never were. Elfmen were not meant to scream, but scream they did on both sides as they suffered mortal wounds. Beneath the screams was the clank of metal on metal, a random jumble of sounds
          that slowly became
                    more insistent,
                              regular
                                        and singular.
As he awoke, he realized that the clanging was the announcement of the approach of a rider. How long had the sun been up? He rolled his head to look at Pimber, but she wasn’t there. No surprise; she probably slipped away to her coach to head for the inn under cover of darkness.
It wasn’t very light outside. He pulled aside the covers and got out of bed. “Iyo?”
A rather short Vle entered the room with the royal robe. “Good morning, Sire. Did the bell wake you?”
“Yes, but it’s just as well. My dream was going sour. What’s going on?”
“I don’t know, Sire. Stecky is bringing a message to your father.”
“Hmm. News at this time of the morning is never good.” He went out the door toward his father’s chambers. Halfway there, Stecky came up the stairs. “What’s the news?”
“Good news, Sire. Gardric sent a report about his engagement with the humans.”
“Oh?” He followed the acting chamberlain into the room.
“Good news at this time of the morning?” asked the King. “Let us see.”
Stecky handed the scroll to the King, and Taréz read over his father’s shoulder.

Your Majesty,
I am pleased to report my success in repelling the humans. Their strategy had been to harry our coast with ships, and the large boomers mounted on them. The sea is quite shallow some distance out on both sides of the bottleneck, so I commandeered some merchant ships and attacked theirs by night. Their mission: to capture some of the boomers and leave the human ships in ruins. Success on both measures! I then had the boomers brought to the bottleneck.
I also loaded our forces on the commandeered ships and sailed to the western and eastern shores of the bottleneck, where the soldiers disembarked and attacked. Though outnumbered, we won by using the boomers against the rear of the human forces. We were thus able to prevent reinforcements from joining the battle.
I expect to have the peninsula retaken within two weeks.
Your Servant,
Gardric

“Well, the only thing worse than a Gardric is a Gardric with recent victories to brag about! I wonder how instrumental his secret weapon was.”
“It probably wasn’t,” answered Taréz. “It could be that those ‘boomers’ Gardric mentioned were a very good tool to use from outside the range of our secret weapon. That would then be threat number one.”
“So, maybe now that we have weapons, we won’t need the secret weapon?”
“That’s a good thought. I’m glad I’m leaving today.”
“So am I.”

Once again, Taréz found himself near the peninsula. But he had further to go this time; rumors he heard put the battle line anywhere from ten to forty leagues south of the narrowest point of the isthmus. This time, he rode into Hume. That would allow him to walk the main road south, quizzing whomever he might find going the opposite way. Plus, Gardric had mentioned sea battles in the message; maybe Taréz could watch a few.
But neither panned out. He saw no ships at all, and there wasn’t a soul on what should have been a very busy road. He’d expected the battle to reduce traffic, but not so completely!
Then he remembered that the territory he was walking in was more than 80% light Vle, and that most of them were already at the camp.
The sound of thunder was his first clue of his approach to a battle, this time. Since the sky was cloudless, he reasoned that he was hearing the ‘boomers’. Still, he continued on the road for another two leagues before heading into the forest.
He had a different reconnaissance plan this time. When he felt he was as close to the battlegreound as he dared get, he chose a tree. In his pack was a set of tree cleats, which he strapped to his hands and feet. Spread eagle, he headed up the chosen tree.
The trees over the battlefield would be crawling with spies, but only at the second canopy. He would need to be at the third canopy to be relatively safe. Fit as he was, he was breathing heavily by the time he got up that high. The next step was much more time consuming: Finding the command center. On his last foray, he’d walked right past it and never did find it. This time at least, he knew he was still behind it.
The branches overlapped well here, he noted, to his benefit. He started searching in a spiral pattern, always looking out for other Vle. If he met any at this level, he’d know he was close. And, sure enough, he did see an Vle on the ninth tree.
A light Vle.
That was significant. A dark Vle up at this level would be looking for counterspies trying to get around the second canopy spies. The humans weren’t known to be aware of the tree spying tactic, however, plus their physical form made climbing trees next to impossible for them. So, finding a human up here would be unlikely. But the presence of the light Vle meant that they were aware of the tactic.
He spotted another light Vle in the adjacent tree, but what the first lightie did surprised him: he came around to the prince’s side of the tree and hid.
Taréz crept up the tree toward the hiding Vle, who seemed unaware of the approach. Then came another surprise: with a few soft vocal notes, the bark of the tree opened. The hiding Vle further ensconced himself in the hole, and then the hole closed.
Taréz froze. A treesinger. Conceivably, the light Vle could move the hole to where the prince perched, open the hole, and attack! Three hundred heartbeats later, however, no attack had come, and he felt safe again. He looked around carefully, and, seeing no evidence of the second light Vle, he continued his spiral pattern.
The sound of battle began to fade with the light in the forest. Far above him, the sun still lit the highest leaves, but on the ground below, it was getting difficult to see. So, Taréz headed upward to the very highest canopy. There, he slung his tent and sleeping bag, to wait out the night.
At least he wouldn’t have to worry about curious humans in the early morning.

He woke with the sun, long before any of the light reached the ground. But, as was the pattern, the battle had already begun. Quickly, and without breakfast, he struck his hanging camp and headed down. Right then would be best time to see the secret weapon at work, if he was lucky. He continued his spiral pattern.
There were no spies at first, but as his oppportunity slipped by, he did come across some. Mostly, they preferred to remain as hidden as the the prince himself.
He also noted that the spiral was getting very ineffective at the north end, and even less effective at the south end. So, he adjusted it, so that he was now traveling in ovals, going a little bit further south each time.
Still nothing.
When the sun was at its northernmost point, he finally decided to take a break. This he did in the fourth canopy. It was a simple meal of dried thaleberries and rabbit jerky, but it sufficed to quiet his stomach.
Just as he was repacking his backpack, a hole in the tree opened.
He froze.
The light Vle inside came out, almost cavlierly. “I’ve been watching you,” he began.
“That is what spies do.”
“Yes. But I found your behavior interesting. Trained spies don’t move in patterns.”
“I was pressed into service.” Taréz maintained calm in his voice, but couldn’t keep out the skepticism. If he was so predictable, why didn’t this light Vle kill him? In a forest battle, it wasn’t unusual to see a spy come crashing to the ground, dead.
“I don't think so. I think you’re a counterspy, of some sort. You’re looking for something.”
“What is it to you?”
“I was thinking we might work together.”
“Sorry, I’m not a traitor.”
“No, but you don’t hate light Vle. You don’t kill them.”
Taréz refused to be prodded for information. “Again, I ask, What is it to you?”
“I want to find out why our troops can’t fight for more than two hours without getting lethargic. To do that, I have to find command central. And you’re searching for that, as well.”
Right then Taréz wished he hadn’t been the only person available for the job. “Now tell me why I shouldn’t just kill you for a spy.”
“Because you're untrained. You need my help, however loyal you wish to be.”
Burn it! This Vle was good. “And if I’m so untrained, what help can I be?”
“You can identify who’s who.”
“You know you’re asking too much. You’ll just return with assassins.”
The light Vle didn’t respond at first, which was all the affirmation Taréz needed.
“What if you only identify the mage for me?”
“The what?!” Tarez's eyes felt as if they were popping out. How much did the light elves know, how did they know, and most of all, that a mage existed among the dark Vle...
“Oh, come now, you can’t tell me you don’t know what’s been going on.”
The spy was right. Taréz couldn’t tell him that, even though it was true. “You have a deal.”
“Glad to hear it. Come.”
As Taréz followed, he mulled over what this spy had said. Not that a spy could be trusted, but it fit the facts. Magic! The Great Master himself had proclaimed against its use. While no one was ever stoned for using magic any more, it was illegal, and contrary to all codes of war.
Where would Gardric have found even one mage, let alone enough for every front?!
Taréz was glad for his impatience— for it helped him keep up his ‘partner’s’ pace. Until he actually saw the mage, however the Vle might look, he couldn’t quite believe it to be true.
It was a long path to the command center, especially since the spy refused to travel in even an approximately straight line. Suddenly, as the sunlight began to fade below, the spy stopped. “We’ll camp here and look in the morning.”
“What?! I have a mission to accomplish!”
“Well, you’re not going to accomplish it in the dark.”
“What kind of spy are you? Now’s the perfect time.”
“Wrong! This is the worst time. Their- your- spies get thicker, because they think this is the perfect time. Not to mention all the troops coming back to report, and such. More eyes and ears. By the Great Master are you lucky I came along!”
Taréz couldn’t disagree, but it darkened his heart. There was a prayer to be said, a dilemma to be solved tonight. The spy tried to make whispered conversation, over dinner, but the prince spared no thought for response.
He hardly slept a wink.

Prince

Back in the royal stable, Taréz finally dismounted, with not a little pain. “Greetings, Your Highness,” said the horsemaster. “Did you get lost?”
Taréz allowed a chuckle. “No, though I did occasionally wonder what I was doing there.”
“He seems to have been well cared for,” said the elder Vle. “You must have paid the stablehand something equaling my salary.”
Always trying for a raise, especially now that there was no promotion left. “Actually, it was ten times as much.” Fight the absurd with absurd. And with that comment, Taréz headed for the castle.
His father was waiting for him at the door, showing uncharacteristic anxiety. “Did you learn anything?”
“Well, yes and no.” Taréz wasn’t sure he should go further in the earshot of the servants.
“Come on up to my chambers and we’ll discuss it.” Turning, the King continued as they walked upstairs. “Was it an easy journey?”
“Very easy. We have a peaceful interior, father. I guess that’s something to thank the Great Master for.”
“Indeed.”
Taréz closed the door to the royal chamber behind them. “I wish I could say I was successful. It was a rather long ride to take for nothing.”
“You said, ‘yes and no,’ so you learned something, right?”
“Yes, though it just deepens the mystery. I actually spent the nights on the battlefield—”
“You what?! That’s insane!”
“It made for dangerous mornings,” Taréz acknowledged with a nod. “But it enabled me to see that the human troops start out just as ready for battle as our troops. But within a few hours of attack, the humans can hardly stand, while our troops are even more robust than when they woke.”
“Almost as if their life force is being stolen.”
Taréz was stunned. How could his father conceive such an idea? It fit the facts... “But what agent would create such an effect?”
“You’ve got to try to find out. Again.”
“Not try. Will. I will find out, Father. Any news of the war effort?”
The King grumbled. “No, but the eastern nobles claim to have broken away. They’re siding with the dwarves, and no longer allowing the trolls through.”
“You don’t mean they’re now aiding the dwarves on that war front?!”
“No, thankfully. We no longer have their troop support in the war effort, but it does mean we have one less war front to fight.”
Stecky tapped on the door as he stepped into the chamber. “Your Majesty, it’s about that time.”
“Ah, yes, I should start my bath. Is the water ready?”
“It will be right about the time you are.”
“Thank you, Stecky. Anything else to report?” Normally, a bath was not in the chamberlain’s scope of duties.
“Yes, Sire. We’ve received confirmations from all the invited guests—”
“Even the eastern nobles?” Taréz interrupted.
Stecky smiled. “Yes, even Pimber will be attending. Also, the orchestra has announced they will doing some original music.”
The King's good mood had returned. “Excellent. Excellent! Stecky! Send a message to Baldia- I think it’s safe for Fylen to come back!” The King bounced as much as such a portly Vle could as he left for the bathing room, leaving his son to chuckle quietly.

Only a few hours later, Taréz watched the jumble of carriages from a new vantage point: Up on the balcony with his father. Below, it seemed as chaotic as it had before the flaming Proclamation. Back then, that would have peeved him a bit, but now he realized the jumble was a little different: There was actually less posturing and more graciousness. He watched more closely, and saw that the only ones posturing with their carriages were the westernmost nobles.
Odd.
Nonetheless, he was tickled and his anticipation for the evening to get under way rose. He headed toward the stairs, to go down and greet the guests. The protocol was a bit different, this time: Instead of a welcome from the stairs, the King would be giving the welcome from the head of the table. So, everyone filed into the dining hall, and waited.
The doors opened. The King stepped in. Everyone, standing, bowed. He walked slowly to the head of the table (at the end of the room). A servant pulled out his chair. He took his spot. “Lords and ladies, I welcome you to this joyous occasion, as we mark the establishment of our hierarchical monarchy.” He picked up his fork. He tapped his wine glass. He sat.
As the most esteemed noble in attendance beside the King, Lord Varabia was obliged to begin the conversation. “So, Your Majesty, when do you expect to let the light Vle out?”
Leave it to Varabia to be direct even with the conversation opener. “Well, as soon as the war is over, I suspect.”
“Will that be soon?”
“By the Great Master, I hope so.”
The Lord of Creaz took his turn. “Do you intend to expand our borders beyond the Western Rib?”
“No,” replied the King, shaking his head sharply. “The last thing I want to do is take on more citizens with a grudge. The rib served as a pretty good border against that grudge before, so I really think we ought to keep it.”
“I hear the Chief intends to extend Larmania all the way to the coast, and thin the population as he goes,” said the Lord of Lacigia.
He was a little early with his turn, but the boldness of such a military move obscured that fact. “No, he won’t go that far. If I have to, I’ll remove him from his position.”
“How far do you intend to go?” Varabia again.
“Well, he has told me that we need to strike out onto the plains somewhat, to show that we’re still strong and not to be trifled with. And given his successes, I think we probably could. Even so, fighting through the mountains would be dangerous, I think.”
“What about Zvalja?”
“The not-so-neutral-after-all former fence-straddlers? I must admit, I don’t know yet. My Librarian is preparing a report on precedence. Not that there is much.”
Taréz looked around the table. It was a tricky thing for a King to say he didn’t know, but some of the most remembered, wise kings of history took time to make their decisions. So maybe the next day his father would actually have his librarian work on such a report, or maybe not. In the meantime, the guests seemed satisfied with his answers and ready to move on to cheerier, lighter subjects. And the matter of the light Vle had just possibly been forgotten completely.
“Your Majesty, may I inquire about another matter?” asked Opar, Lord of Percivi.
“Of course.”
“We’ve had a surprising number of trolls come through, but all had invitational papers. Is there something I don’t know about?”
“Apparently so,” replied the King.
The Lords of Percivi were known to be aloof from the events going on in their holdings, so Taréz knew this to mean there were huge numbers of trolls moving through. And this would really unsettle the people there, given many years of past trouble along that border. “We’re sending them to the mines. It’s a very large part of our financial future— our banks posted new gains just today, in fact. We pay them with the metals they mine, and also buy more weapons.”
“Oh.”
“Excuse me, Your Majesty,” Hilonia interjected, “but my... meager economic studies tell me that raw materials are far less valuable than the finished product. How can we afford all this?”
“Because one of the metals involved is thale, which we can also sell, and we still have workable gold mines. Those humans love gold, for some reason.”
Most of the nobles chuckled at the irony. Humans still held the peninsula quite strongly... and then they sobered. Neither The Most Reverend Harras, Lord of Kezantopil, nor Thekla, Lord of the Peninsula, could be there that evening.
“Gardric will free the Peninsula from the Humans soon,” the King offered. “At last report, he was bringing his secret strategy to bear on the bottleneck.”
“Do you know the nature of this secret strategy? No intelligence of mine can divine it,” asked Lacigia.
“No, I don’t. If he feels it’s important to keep it a secret, then I’ll let him have the secret until war’s end. His family has been known for the dramatic.”
Taréz kept a smile off his face, so as not to betray his own work to uncover the secret.
“Well,” said Varabia, dropping a cleaned bone onto his plate. “I for one, am worried. But, let’s not let that worry get in the way of a great celebration, shall we?”
“Not at all, Varabia. I suggest we adjoin this dinner, and ready ourselves for an evening of dancing and music. All in favor say Aye?”
“Aye!” was the staggered but enthusiastic response.

The small orchestra played very enthusiastically that evening, and even included some energetic peasant music. Balls in the past had included some peasant music before, but never had participation been so high. Taréz floated around the room, as he usually did, choosing whoever caught his fancy, but he only danced twelve danced before meeting Pimber again.
With a warm smile, she said, “Good evening, Your Highness.”
“Good evening. Would you care to dance?”
“Only if that is an invitation for the rest of the evening.”
“You drive a hard bargain. You might make a good queen.” He pulled her out onto the dance floor, grateful for the slower, more familiar tlora music. He’d need the brain power for the verbal dance that was starting.
She laughed lightly. “Your Highness! You should know better than to speculate on such matters.”
“It is the male mind. Our very dreams are speculation.”
“It is useless to speculate without parental involvement.”
“You know as well as I that the prince can elope whenever he wishes.”
“Ah! So, the Prince wishes to elope with me, is that it? Under the circumstances, that may not be wise.”
Taréz chose not to allow politics into his enjoyment of the evening. “No comment,” he replied with a mischievous grin.
Just then, the orchestra kicked in with another peasant dance number, and the dance shifted back to their feet. The rest of the evening flew by, until the dance shifted one more time... into the prince’s personal quarters.