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treatment of him
that one day. Even after twelve years some people still regarded
Martin Longbow as being different and, as such, worthy of distrust.
    Tomas said, “I’m sorry,
Martin.”
    Martin nodded in acknowledgment, but
without humor. “I understand, Tomas. I may not have had to
endure your uncertainty, but I have seen many others wait for the day
of Choosing. And for four years I myself have stood with the other
Masters, so I know a little of your worry.”
    A thought struck Pug and he blurted,
“But you’re not with the other Craftmasters.”
    Martin shook his head, a rueful
expression playing across his even features. “I had thought
that, in light of your worry, you might fail to observe the obvious.
But you’ve a sharp wit about you, Pug.”
    Tomas didn’t understand what they
were saying for a moment, then comprehension dawned. “Then
you’ll select no apprentices!”
    Martin raised a finger to his lips.
“Not a word, lad. No, with young Garret chosen last year, I’ve
a full company of trackers.”
    Tomas was disappointed. He wished more
than anything to take service with Swordmaster Fannon, but should he
not be chosen as a soldier, then he would prefer the life of a
forester, under Martin. Now his second choice was denied him. After a
moment of dark brooding, he brightened: perhaps Martin didn’t
choose him because Fannon already had.
    Seeing his friend entering a cycle of
elation and depression as he considered all the possibilities, Pug
said, “You haven’t been in the keep for nearly a month,
Martin.” He put away the sling he still held and asked, “Where
have you kept yourself?”
    Martin looked at Pug as the boy
instantly regretted his question. As friendly as Martin could be, he
was still Huntmaster, a member of the Duke’s household, and
keep boys did not make a habit of questioning the comings and goings
of the Duke’s staff.
    Martin relieved Pug’s
embarrassment with a slight smile. “I’ve been to
Elvandar. Queen Aglaranna has ended her twenty years of mourning the
death of her husband, the Elf King. There was a great celebration.”
    Pug was surprised by the answer. To
him, as to most people in Crydee, the elves were little more than
legend. But Martin had spent his youth near the elven forests and was
one of the few humans to come and go through those forests to the
north at will. It was another thing that set Martin Longbow apart
from others. While Martin had shared elvish lore with the boys
before, this was the first time in Pug’s memory he had spoken
of his relationship to the elves. Pug stammered, “You feasted
with the Elf Queen?”
    Martin assumed a pose of modest
inconsequence. “Well, I sat at the table farthest from the
throne, but yes; I was there.” Seeing the unasked questions in
their eyes, he continued. “You know as a boy I was raised by
the monks of Silban’s Abbey, near the elven forest. I played
with elven children, and before I came here, I hunted with Prince
Calin and his cousin, Galain.”
    Tomas nearly jumped with excitement.
Elves were a subject holding particular fascination for him. “Did
you know King Aidan?”
    Martin’s expression clouded, and
his eyes narrowed, his manner suddenly becoming stiff. Tomas saw
Martin’s reaction and said, “I’m sorry, Martin. Did
I say something wrong?”
    Martin waved away the apology. “No
fault of yours, Tomas,” he said, his manner softening somewhat.
“The elves do not use the names of those who have gone to the
Blessed Isles, especially those who have died untimely. They believe
to do so recalls those spoken of from their journey there, denying
them their final rest. I respect their beliefs.
    “Well, to answer you, no, I never
met him. He was killed when I was only a small boy. But I have heard
the stories of his deeds, and he was a good and wise King by all
accounts.” Martin looked about. “It approaches noon. We
should return to the keep.”
    He began to walk toward the path, and
the boys fell