Wizard of the Grove by Tanya Huff Page A

us. You can’t trust the Elder Races, they’ve never had what you’d call good will toward man. If he should take after his mother . . .”
    â€œIf you knew his mother,” Belkar’s voice rang out over the muttering that signified agreement with the weaver’s words, “you wouldn’t . . .”
    His last words vanished under the noise that rose from the far side of the Square. There was no need to strain to see the cause of the commotion, for Milthra’s silver head shone like a star amongst suddenly drab browns and reds and yellows.
    â€œThe Lady,” ran the awed whisper as the crowd parted before her. “The Lady of the Grove.” Those who had lost their ability to believe in the wondrous found it again. Those who had doubted, couldn’t remember why. A young woman reached out and let a lock of the Lady’s shining hair caress her fingers and then stood gazing at her hand in amazement as if it belonged to another. Peace walked with the Lady and the smell of a sun-warmed forest grove filled the air.
    She looked neither to the left nor the right as she approached the palace, her eyes never moved from the man on the litter or the youth standing beside him. At the steps of the dais she paused, as if gathering strength—the fragrance of the forest became stronger and a breeze danced through her hair—then she lifted her skirts in her hand and climbed the steps.
    With a strangled cry, Rael threw himself into her arms. She held him to her heart for a moment, stroking his hair, and then gently pushed him away. Green eyes gazed into green.
    Rael wondered how he could ever have thought of his mother as young. He saw wisdom, understanding, compassion to a degree most mortal minds could not accept, let alone achieve, resting in the depths of her eyes. She had walked with the Mother-creator at the beginning of the world. She had seen the creation of man. And she loved him. Rael felt her love wrap around him, a warmth, a protection he would always wear.
    Milthra saw that her son would make a fine king. His heart sang with courage and pride and his eyes were filled with hope. He might stumble and fall, but he would try, and no mother could ask more. She had no regrets.
    The people in the Square saw only the Lady of the Grove and theyoung man she claimed as her son, but it was enough. The unworldliness of their future king turned from a thing to be feared to one to be treasured. Not one of them realized what Milthra had done in leaving the Grove.
    â€œMother,” Rael’s voice grew heavy with a new anguish, “you’ve left your tree.”
    â€œI have left my tree.” She touched his cheek softly. “How could I live when my love died? My sisters sleep and someday a child of your children’s children will wake them, but my day is done.”
    She kissed him and turned to the king.
    Raen looked up at her with such a mixture of longing and pain that those in the crowd who saw it, wept.
    â€œWhy have you come?” he cried.
    â€œYou would not come to me, beloved, so I have come to you.”
    â€œThen you will die.”
    â€œYes. But what is my life without you?” She tried a smile, but it faltered and the brilliant green of her eyes dimmed for an instant as they filled and overflowed. Her hands were caught in his, fingers too tightly woven to be parted, so she let the tears drop where they would.
    They fell almost slowly, taking form and beauty in the air, and then lay shimmering like jewels on his breast. Instead of drying in the sunlight, they caught it, bound it, and gave it back. Their light grew and grew until everyone save Raen and Milthra covered their eyes. Even Rael stepped back and shielded himself from the glory.
    When eyes could see again, an old and dying king no longer lay on the dais. In his place was a young man with hair of jet and smooth golden skin over corded muscle.
    â€œThe king,” sighed the