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animals, large or small, stalked prey or were stalked in turn, no breeze wandered to disturb the listening quiet of the trees.
    One moment the Grove waited empty and still, the next Doan, the Captain of the Elite, stood before the eldest of the trees and said: “All right, you called. I’m here.”
    The tree murmured in protest as Milthra pulled herself from its heart.
    At the sight of her face, Doan winced. “You know.”
    â€œThe breezes told me when it was done,” Milthra admitted, the clear chimes of her voice flattened with worry. “But they have not returned again and I must know what is said of my son.”
    Doan shoved his thumbs behind his belt and paced about the Grove, breaking the moonlight into Doan-sized patterns. He had done little since he’d heard the news but listen for reaction to the deed. He knew this summons would come. “Those who saw,” his rough burr broke the silence of the Grove at last, “say the man deserved it. Not death perhaps, but the blow at least. Fortunately, the man was not well liked. Most admire the prince for standing up for you himself when he could’ve hidden behind the Guard. Many are impressed by his strength and are anxious to see it on the battlefield. But,” his fingers drummed on the leather around his waist, “there are those for whom it only marks his difference, and difference is always distrusted. And in everyone’s mind, although for the most part it remains unasked, is the question, ‘If he kills so easily now, when he is king, how can any of us be safe?’” He met Milthra’s eyes and smiled grimly. “It would’ve beensimpler for all concerned, Lady, had you loved a woodcutter or a farmer and not a king.”
    â€œSo you have said before, old friend, but I could no more have refused that love than I could refuse to breathe; I am sorry for the burden it places on my son.” She sighed and, behind her, her tree swayed in sympathy. “Even you, who are fully of the Elder Races, are accepted in the mortal world more easily than Rael.”
    Doan shrugged. “I play a part. And even if I convinced them of what I truly am . . .” He spread his hands. “Dwarves brought mortals fire and taught them to build; helped them to rebuild after the destruction of the wizards. We showed them a number of ways to cheat Lord Death. We’ve never been either revered or feared.”
    â€œAnd I am both?”
    â€œThey don’t know you, Lady.”
    Milthra shook her hair over her face and wept behind its silver curtain.
    Anger and pity rose in the dwarf’s breast. Anger that she who was Eldest and most beautiful should be reduced to weeping over mortal man. Pity for much the same reason. He reached out a hand and Milthra pressed her cheek into it. Then she stepped back to the safety of her tree and he held only a tear that ran down his palm. It slowed, stopped, flared suddenly, then darkened to an emerald that held all the greens of the Grove in its depths. He slipped it in his belt pouch and bowed to the silver birch before him.
    â€œI will continue to watch him, Eldest,” and his eyes glowed deeply red, “both for your sake and his. But remember, not all the Dwarves from the Mother’s blood could keep Lord Death away if he comes to claim his own and, your life mingled within or no, your son is as mortal as his father. Perhaps you should save some tears for that.”
    And then the Grove was empty, save for the silver of moonlight, the blackness of night, and the sound of the Eldest weeping for her child.

T HREE
    R ael swore as sweat rolled into his eyes and he blinked furiously to ease the burning. He used his shield to smash aside the vicious hooked blade of a Melac spearman and in the same move swung his sword around, over, and down onto the man’s arms. The meaty thunk of metal through flesh and bone was absorbed by the sounds of battle.