Bearers of the Black Staff - Terry Brooks [99]
“Many Elves,” the Troll said quietly at one point. “Thousands?”
“Thousands and more,” Pan answered. “More Elves than Men in the valley. More than any of the other Races.”
The Troll nodded, looking uneasy. “Dislike Trolls?”
Pan shook his head. “They like them well enough. But the Trolls choose to live apart.”
Arik Sarn looked away. “Trolls always live apart.”
Their escort grew larger, walling them away from those who crowded close enough to shout questions or to have a cautious look. That the Princess was among the newcomers must have raised a few eyebrows, but no one tried to speak with her, not even those in the Home Guard escort.
They reached the palace and were taken into one of the reception rooms, a chamber situated well back in the complex, windowless and dark until the smokeless lights were ignited and dominated by a large table and some twenty seats arranged around it. The walls were draped with tapestries portraying Elven legends and flags embroidered with the personal insignias of the Kings and Queens. Light seeped through skylights glassed over and screened with fabric, and paneled walls and flooring gleamed with fresh polish. Panterra felt out of place, ragged and unwashed, but he took a chair with the others to wait.
The Home Guard left them, save two, who took up positions outside the double doors leading in. Sider made a point of asking Arik Sarn to remain in their company.
Only moments passed before Oparion Amarantyne appeared, storming through the doors and slamming them shut behind him. He moved to the head of the table and stood glaring at the assembled. But when he met Sider Ament’s gaze, he saw something in the latter’s eyes that caused him to tamp down his anger.
He shifted his gaze to his daughter. “I am going to assume that things were not exactly as you described them to me earlier, Phryne. I would appreciate an explanation for that and a full accounting of what has transpired.” His gaze shifted again as he took a seat. “My Elves, young Panterra, the Lizard visitor sitting outside the doors of this room, and the Gray Man. An odd company. And a story behind its making, I imagine. Sider Ament. Perhaps you should be the one to start?”
The Gray Man did so, telling the King everything. Pan saw Phryne wince once or twice at what she was hearing, and he would have winced, as well, if he hadn’t been so busy trying to think of what he could add that might make a difference in the King’s thinking. But Sider was thorough, and left nothing unsaid. The King did not interrupt, sitting back in his chair and taking in the story with rapt attention.
“There is no mistake about the protective barriers?” the King asked when the Gray Man had finished. “The walls are down? All of them?”
“All of them. The passes are open.”
The King looked dismayed. “And now we are threatened by a Lizard army. Excuse me. By a Troll army. So then. Today is the first appearance of the quarter moon in the cycle leading to full. We have perhaps twenty days in which to act. Not a lot of time.”
“Time enough,” Sider replied quietly. He looked around the room. “I’m done talking. Does anyone care to add anything?”
The Orullians and Phryne all started speaking at once, then sorted themselves out and took turns. Phryne took full responsibility for everything, blaming herself for what had happened to Prue. She begged her father in full view of all assembled for a chance to make it right. The brothers spoke at length about the threat from the Troll army and Taureq Siq, arguing for an immediate mobilization of Elven Hunters to defend the passes. Pan wanted to speak, to say that they had to do something about Prue, that they had to save her. But such a demand would have sounded selfish and redundant in light of what had already been said, so he kept quiet.
Instead, he watched the faces of the others. He noticed the surreptitious looks that passed between Sider Ament and the King, glances that were furtive and expressionless and seemed to escape the others.
He noticed that Sider, when not appearing to