“Of course you fought the alfar. We all fought the alfar at Dson Balsur and nearly all of us fought the avatars,” he followed through. “We played a part in protecting Alandur from your malicious relations, but how do you thank Girdlegard? This is a mystery I can’t fathom out.” He reached for his beaker and raised it to her. “May you be the first one to explain it to me, Rejalin.”
Mallen looked at him angrily. “Stop this, Alvaro. It is obvious. The elves would have had to fight on the same side as the alfar. It would never have worked. Fire and water would be a better mix than that. They would have attacked each other and the avatars would have stormed off with the victory.”
Rejalin inclined her head. “I see you have greater insight than your friend, Prince Mallen of Idoslane. It would have been like asking you to fight alongside the same orcs who had devastated your city and slaughtered its inhabitants the previous orbit. After they had raped your women and children and consumed their bodies before your very eyes.”
“You may not believe me, but if it meant that as allies we were able to withstand a stronger enemy still, I would do it. There would be opportunities enough later on to destroy the orcs,” Alvaro went on relentlessly. “Rejalin, you elves don’t have any sense of what might be the appropriate time for action. Your turning up here is the best example: only after a full five cycles have passed does it occur to your ruler to want to share his knowledge. Five cycles! ”
“Enough, now,” said Mallen harshly. “I offer my apologies for my companion, Your Majesty,” he continued, addressing King Nate in measured tones. “He is a warrior, longing to return to battle; when there is peace he does not know what to do with his sword.” He stood up. “We will withdraw and refresh ourselves with a bath and then return rested to your presence.”
“It is forgiven,” said Nate; Rejalin nodded and met Mallen’s eyes again with her gaze. “I shall have a selection of costumes brought to your chambers.”
Mallen inclined his head and left the hall with his officer. They walked in silence, not even speaking when they reached their respective rooms. The dispute between Rejalin and Alvaro had spread to the two men.
By evening it was to be settled.
Not only was the masked ball about to begin, but the sky had suddenly changed, so when Prince Mallen awoke he found only lowering darkness as far as the eye could see.
From the window of his chamber just above the crenellated battlements he could discern the various shades of gray in the clouds, interspersed with strips of ragged black, racing across with the wind, and curtains of rain falling to the ground to soak the fields of Goldensheaf.
The wind had picked up noticeably, with the fresh breeze now a gale, undecided about whether it should get stronger still or start to die away. On the horizon lightning flashed, and Mallen heard a rumble of distant thunder.
There was a knock. “Excuse me, my prince. We are awaited,” called Alvaro from outside the door. “Put on your costume and let us go down.”
“I’ll be ready soon,” Mallen replied, looking through the selection of masks King Nate had supplied. At first he could not find anything to suit his mood. He wanted neither to be an airy fantastical form in blue floating cloth and wire contraptions, nor to represent an oversized ear of barley; nor to wear a robe of gold pieces that would be heavier than his armor.
He decided on wearing his own armor instead and with it a black and white feathered mask studded with rubies. Then he went to open the door, to be met with a surprising vision of Alvaro. He laughed out loud.
The officer had forced himself into a gnome costume. The false nose of papier-mache and a foolish cap with bells on showed how he was having to present himself at the ball. “There was no choice,” he growled. “I’ll wager this is King Nate’s idea of revenge for the quarrel at table.” He looked at his master enviously. “So what are you supposed to be?”
“I am going as my father. He wore this armor, and I’m about the size he was in the pictures,” replied Mallen, not able to suppress his grin. “If there’s a prize this evening you can be sure of my vote.”
“Too kind, my prince.” Alvaro waited until Mallen had started down the corridor, then followed him, a little to one side. “I wanted to ask you to forgive me,” he said at last. “But I couldn’t help saying what I did. You know I’ve got nothing against the elves. But as long as they can’t provide any explanation apart from the one you gave to Rejalin, I’m staying on my guard.”
“Let it go,” said Mallen, clapping him on the shoulder. “You are forgiven. Just make sure you don’t go on like that again when I’m around. Otherwise you’re free to say what you like.” He knew that many of the army veterans shared his officer’s views. Forbidding them to voice their opinions would only encourage their prejudice against the elves.
“Thank you, my prince.” Alvaro bowed. They reached the stairs down to the ballroom where the guests were assembling. The costumes were brightly colored, some eccentric, many daring in the extreme. There were animals in the throng as well as imaginary beings; even an orc or two and an alf were spotted by the visitors from Idoslane.
“Rejalin won’t like that,” grinned Alvaro, pointing to the alf.
“Now you’re a gnome, the spitefulness suits you. Mind you don’t stick like that.”
They went down the steps and their arrival was announced. They were met with applause-it was a double honor to be bowing to a hero and to a prince.
Mallen found himself looking out for Rejalin. He caught sight of her near the door, wearing a dress that could only have been woven by elves: it seemed to consist of silver threads and stars. Together with the jewel-studded coronet of plaited hair her appearance was that of an elf goddess, a constellation of the night sky come to life and wandering now among mortals.
Rejalin smiled over at him and bowed.
For the prince the world stopped turning; he only had eyes for her. Even when King Nate in the costume of a magus arrived to bid him welcome and stood directly in front of him, Mallen’s gaze slid round to where the elf maiden was. Nothing could match her immaculate beauty, not the flawless crystal on the tables, the shining gold on the walls or the wonderful paintings on the ceiling… Apart from her everything paled into ugly insignificance.
“Prince Mallen-can you hear me?” King Nate tried to get his attention. “I was telling you that you will be given an opportunity to admire the diamond.”
Now he had to tear his eyes away. “What diamond?” he asked, distractedly. Then he remembered. “Oh, you mean that diamond?”
Nate’s eyes smiled knowingly. “It is the only thing that could compete with Rejalin’s own faultless beauty.”
Mallen looked over to her again, but she had slipped from sight among the throng of guests. Disappointment filled him and he turned to Nate. “You would show me the stone? Why?”
“Do you fear a danger, Prince Mallen?” the king asked. “In this hall there are only people that I trust. None here would dare to lay a hand on my possessions.” He raised his right hand, a movement noted on the dais nearby. The soft music died away, to be replaced by fanfares, calling the attention of all the guests to their royal host. Tabain’s ruler mounted the steps to his throne. “Trusted friends! The winds may rage outside, but we shall not let them affect our welcome for our honored guest, Prince Mallen, ruler of Idoslane and hero of many battles fought to protect our land, and for whom this celebration ball is held.” The crowd clapped enthusiastically. Nate gestured toward Rejalin, who had come to where Mallen was standing. “The people of Alandur likewise have honored us by sending a wise and dazzling beauty. Rejalin is my guest and is having discussions with me about how our two realms can help each other with the knowledge we have each amassed.” The crowd applauded once more.