A Distant Tomorrow. Bertrice Small

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       “You are silent, Rendor,” Imre of the Tormod said.

       “I am astounded,” Rendor answered him.

       “She said nothing of this to you beforehand?” Torin of the Gitta asked.

       Rendor shook his head. “Nothing. I am as surprised as you are.”

       “What think you, Roan?” Accius of the Devyn queried the horse lord.

       “I think I have been neatly and nicely outmaneuvered,” Roan chuckled. “I do not like to admit it, but Lara is right. I am the man to lead you in war, but I am not the man to lead you in or to peace. Rendor of the Felan is that man.”

       “My cousin would find it amusing that it takes two of you to replace him,” Liam told them with an engaging grin.

       His companions laughed heartily, nodding in agreement.

       “Can we agree upon this solution then,” Accius asked them. “Rendor for peace, and Roan for war?”

       “I will call the roll,” Lara said returning with a tray of nine goblets. Passing them about she took the last cup, and began. “Rendor for peace. Roan for war. Petruso of the Piaras—aye or nay?”

       Petruso, who was a mute, nodded vigorously his aye.

       Lara called the others in sequence. “Imre of the Tormod?”

       “Aye!”

       “Floren of the Blathma?”

       “Aye!”

       “Torin of the Gitta?”

       “Aye!”

       “Liam of the Fiacre?”

       “Aye!”

       “Accius of the Devyn?”

       “Aye!”

       “Roan of the Aghy?”

       “Aye!”

       “Rendor of the Felan?”

       “Aye!”

       “Then it is settled,” Lara said.

       “Not quite,” Rendor told them. “You have not given us your vote, Lara.”

       “I am not a member of the council,” Lara replied.

       “Nay, you are not,” he agreed, “but you are the founder of this council, and in a matter as important as this one I believe you should have the right to vote.”

       The other lords murmured in agreement with Rendor.

       Quick tears sprang up behind her eyelids to sting her eyes. Lara nodded her acknowledgment of the honor they were giving her. “In the matter of Roan and Rendor, the founder of the council votes aye,” she said. Then she raised her goblet. “To the Outlands,” she toasted, and they raised their goblets to join her, their voices strongly echoing hers.

       “To the Outlands!”

       The meeting broke up, the lords going to their sleeping places, but Rendor remained behind to speak with Lara.

       “You might have told me,” he said dryly.

       “If I had you would have refused me,” Lara answered him. “Your genuine surprise at my choice proved to the others there was no collusion between us. Given what has happened, Rendor, my friend, there was no time for the clan lords to debate and argue over this matter. We needed to settle the succession quickly. I have soothed Roan’s ego, and believe me that none of the others wanted the position themselves.”

       “Sometimes you frighten me, Lara. You know each of us far too well, I think.”

       “I will be leaving the Outlands soon,” she told him quietly. “I am called once again by my destiny.”

       “But we need you!” he exclaimed.

       Lara shook her head. “You flatter me, Rendor, but I will not leave you defenseless, I promise. Whatever mischief Gaius Prospero is brewing up I will counter.”

       “How?” he wanted to know. “If you are not here how can you help us?”

       “I am only going to King Archeron. Gaius Prospero is not as powerful as he believes. In the City and the Midlands, aye! But the Shadow Princes scorn him, and the Coastal Kings will not cooperate with him because it would not be in their interests to do so. As for the Forest Lords, they have their own difficulties. They may agree to support the Master of the Merchants, but their support will amount to little or nothing. Your friends and mine will protect the Outlands from any trouble.”

       “Will you remain with Archeron?”

       “I don’t know, but I do not think so,” Lara answered.

       “Where will you go?”

       “I cannot say. All I can tell you is that for now I must go to the coast,” Lara said. “But I will not go until autumn. I still have things to do to help ease the transition between Vartan’s rule and yours, and between Vartan and Liam.”

       “Your children?” he asked.

       “Are Fiacre, and will remain here,” she told him.

       He nodded. Then he said, “Rahil will be overwhelmed by this.”

       “I will speak with her when I visit you,” Lara assured him.

       “Lara, I am so sorry,” Rendor told her.

       “I am sorry, too,” she replied, putting her hand on his. “I never imagined an ending like this. Oh, I knew one day I would be called again, but I thought when that time came and I prepared to go, Vartan would grumble and complain, but in the end he would keep his promise to me for he was not a man to break his promises. My mother says it was his fate to die at Adon’s hand. I do not understand such a fate, Rendor.”

       “Nor do I, Lara,” Rendor said.

       “I suppose that lack of understanding is my human side,” Lara told him with a small smile. “But my heart has become cold and faerie again. If it had not, I should not be able to do what I must.”

       “I will lead the Outlands to the best of my abilities,” Rendor promised her.

       “I have great faith in you,” she replied. “So did Vartan.”

       The lord of the Felan began to weep softly. “I cannot believe my friend is gone,” he said. “Just weeks ago we met on the plains and spoke of the autumn’s Gathering. He wanted me to bring my finest wool cloth for you to choose from so he might have a new cloak made for you for winter.”

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