Ondeth shrugged and turned to the carrion pile. He offered a prayer to Lathander and Tyche and all the old gods for the safe passage of those slain “to their fitting final fates.”
Baerauble bowed his head along with everyone else, muttered a few quiet phrases, and stretched out his hands. A gout of fire burst from his outstretched palms.
The wood beneath the bodies caught in an instant, and in the space of a few breaths, the entire pyre was ablaze. A new column of smoke rose into the Cormyrean sky.
The settlers and the wizard watched the flames catch hold of Mondar’s shirt and flesh, then crackle along his beard. “What do you mean, ‘not directly’?” asked Ondeth at last.
“Iliphar’s court has been debating the fate of this farm for some time,” said Baerauble.
“This farm has been here for six years,” said Ondeth sharply.
“A pleasant day for an elf,” said Baeraubie calmly. “The briefest slumber for a dragon. Elves decide things slowly.”
“And act quickly,” said Ondeth. “So quickly you had no chance to warn us?”
Ondeth expected a denial, one that would have shattered the last remains of their friendship. Instead Baerauble sighed. “Would a warning have helped? Would it have been better for you to have died here, sword in hand, helping an ally who was clearly in the wrong?”
“‘Twas six years, man!” said Ondeth hotly, his brows coming together in a fierce line.
“Aye, and I would have thought you could talk some sense into the man in that time,” Baerauble replied. “You know the elves only allow slow growth, and only where we have permitted it. Now the rest of the human settlers will stay closer to Suzara’s town and leave the elves to their hunting.”
“You think that?” said Ondeth. “You honestly think that my people will not seek revenge? You honestly think they’ll agree to protect your precious forests out of fear?”
The two older men, with young Faerlthann beside them, watched the flames dance among the dead. Mondar and his family were little more than black lumps among leaping red and orange fiery tendrils now, only vaguely human in form.
“No, I do not,” said the mage at length. “But my voice does not carry the weight it once did in Iliphar’s court. There are those who point to my human blood and call me your puppet and spy. Some were expecting me to ride with a warning to you, and so betray myself.” He looked at the grim, watching men with their hands on their swords, and then back to Ondeth. “Tell me, are these men loyal?”
Ondeth looked at the mage and said nothing.
“Are these men loyal to you?” Baerauble asked again. “Will they do as you ask?”
Ondeth looked at the others. The Silver brothers, Rayburton, Jolias Smye the smith. Faerlthann. Without thought to the choosing in his haste, he’d chosen them to ride here with him.
“Yes, they are loyal,” he said slowly, eyes narrowing as he looked at the wizard.
“Loyal enough to kill for you?” pressed Baerauble, “Or, more importantly, not to kill?”
“What are you getting at, wizard?” snapped Ondeth.
“I could not stop this attack, but we can stop the war,” said the elf-friend. “The elves have no argument with you and your settlement in general, though it now grows large enough to worry some in the court. Only Mondar, who broke the covenant, was punished. If you and your men tell your people that elves did this, they’ll attack the court and their hunters, and this-” he waved one hand around the smoldering battlefield, ending at the pyre- “will befall Suzail and all of you. Do you want that?”
Ondeth was silent.
“But if orcs did this,” the mage continued, “If the pig faces were responsible, then your settlement continues. Will your men tell that lie to save your people?”
Ondeth’s brows did not rise. “Why would they want to lie?”
Baerauble ignored the question. “If you told them to, would they obey you?”
Ondeth thought about it for a moment, looking at the others. The Silvers already had a large and growing brood in the settlement, Rayburton a daughter, and Smye a wife heavy with their first child. They had all argued with Mondar about the wisdom of settling beyond the walls. Yes, they would-reluctantly-agree, if the alternative was explained to them.
“Aye,” said Ondeth. “They would obey.”
“Let this be the work of the goblin-kin, then,” said Baerauble. “I will go back and work peace among the discontented elves. But there is another matter: Why will these men obey you?”
Ondeth blinked. “Because they choose to. They’re reasonable men, and they know they cannot take on the elves themselves and have any hope of victory.” Yet, he added to himself.
Baerauble shook his head. “They follow you because they choose to, but also because you choose to lead. You are the founder of your town, and the strongest voice in it. Were I to ask them to do this thing, regardless of the soundness of my arguments, they would ignore me, even though it would mean their own deaths. You they will listen to.”
“What are you saying, mage?” Faerlthann asked, looking from his father to the elf-friend and back.
“You are their leader in truth,” said Baerauble. “I want you to be leader in name as well. Declare yourself king, or duke, or whatever rank you so choose. I can offer the support of Iliphar and the court in this matter. With Mondar dead now, there is no other strong voice. Marry your Minda if you want to seal the matter.” He ignored the younger Obarskyr’s sharp intake of breath at the mention of Minda’s name.
Ondeth did not look at his son, but instead regarded the wizard. The elven attack had come when Minda was not present and had silenced the only man in a hundred miles who could challenge Ondeth’s tacit leadership of Suzail. If it were blamed on orcs or goblins, the peaceful lives of Suzailans could continue alongside the elves with the threat of death under elven arrows helping the town elders keep the secret of the assault.
How much did Baerauble know of this massacre?
Ondeth watched the crackling flames, aware of the scrutiny of both the mage and his own son. If he were to agree, that would mean Faerlthann would gain everything upon his death. More than a farm, more than a name, Faerlthann would have a kingdom. Would that be enough for the young man to forgive him his affair with Mondar’s sister?
At length, Ondeth opened his mouth and said deliberately, “No.”
The mage protested, “But-“
“No,” repeated the farmer. “Many of us have seen kings, and in general they are a bad lot. If I command these men, it is by their choice, not mine. If they obey the strictures you and the elves have laid down, it is through loyalty to me, not fear of you. If they hide this foul deed, it will be through their own desire to remain, not any order I enforce upon them.”
He looked at the pyre, where the Bleths were barely recognizable as things that had been human. “No, I cannot be your puppet king, dancing to elven tunes,” Ondeth continued. “You have no authority to offer me such a title. These men do, and they have had their fill of monarchs and official leaders. I will see that your secret is kept, because it is in all our best interests to keep it secret. But I will not take a crown born out of a massacre.”
The flames were beginning to die now, thick smoke pouring from the pyre. The smell of burned flesh hung heavily in the air.
At length, Baerauble spoke. “I will convey your refusal back to Iliphar’s court. Know, Ondeth Obarskyr, that the elves are concerned about the growth of your little settlement. If you will not take the reigns of leadership in an official form, they will have to decide what to do about the humans in their wolf woods.”
With that, he turned away from the pyre.
Ondeth shouted after him, “And how long will this decision take?”
Baerauble paused, then turned. “Ten years. Perhaps twenty. The elves are slow to decide…”
“And swift to act,” finished the farmer. “And will you warn us when they choose to eliminate us as they did this farmstead?”