Panax frowned. “What might these small controversies be, Hunter Predd?”
The Wing Rider shrugged rather too casually, Bek thought. “For one thing, Walker feels we have too many members assigned to the expedition. Space and supplies won’t support them all. He wants to reduce by as many as four or five the number that will go.”
“Our new King, on the other hand,” Ard Patrinell added softly, “wants to add one more.”
What you are asking is not only unreasonable, it is impossible,” Walker repeated patiently, stymied by Kylen Elessedil’s intransigence on the matter, but fully aware of its source. “Thirty is all we can carry. The size of the ship will allow for no more. As it is, I have to find a way to cut the number who expect to go.”
“Cut that number to twenty-nine, then add one back in,” the Elven King replied with a shrug. “The problem is solved.”
They stood in what had been Allardon Elessedil’s private study, the one in which he had perused the castaway’s map for the first time, but more to the point the one in which he had conducted business with those with whom he did not want to be seen on matters he did not wish to discuss openly. When the Elven King desired a public audience or a demonstration of authority, he held court in the throne room or the chambers of the Elven High Council. Allardon Elessedil had been a believer in protocol and ceremony, and he had employed each in careful and judicious measure. His son, it appeared, was inclined to do the same. Walker rated courtesy and deference, but only in private and only to the extent to which the old King had obligated his son before dying.
Kylen Elessedil understood what must be done regarding the matter of Kael Elessedil and the Elves who had disappeared with him. There was to be a search, and the Druid was to command it. The Elves were to assign funds for the purchase of a ship and crew, secure supplies and equipment for the journey, and provide a command of Elven Hunters to ensure the ship’s safety. It was the command of a dying King, and his son was not about to challenge it as his first official act of office.
This did not mean, however, that he viewed the idea of a search for ships and men gone thirty years as a sane one, the appearance of the castaway, the Elessedil bracelet, and the map notwithstanding. Kylen was not his father. He was a very different sort. Aliardon Elessedil had been tentative, careful, and unambitious in his life’s goals. His son was reckless and determined to leave his mark. The past meant little to Kylen Elessedil. It was the present and, to an even greater extent, the future that mattered to him. He was an impassioned youth who believed without reservation that the Federation must be destroyed and the Freeborn made victorious. Nothing less would guarantee Elven security. He had spent the last Six months fighting aboard airships over the Prekkendorran and had returned only because his father was dead and he was next in line for the throne. He did not particularly want to be King, except to the extent that it furthered his efforts to crush the Federation. Imbued with the fever of his commitment to a victory over his enemies, he wanted only to remain on the front in command of his men. In short, he would have preferred it if his father had stayed alive.
As it was, eager to return to the battle, he was chafing already at the delay his coronation had occasioned. But he would not go, Walker knew, until this matter of the search for Kael Elessedil was resolved and, even more important, until he was certain the Elven High Council was settled on the terms of his succession. This last, Walker was beginning to understand, was at the source of his insistence on adding his younger brother’s name to the ship’s roster.
Kylen Elessedil stopped pacing and faced the Druid squarely. “Ahren is almost a man, nearly fully grown. He has been trained by the man I personally selected to command your Elven Hunters on this expedition. My father arranged for my brother’s training five years ago. Perhaps he foresaw the need for it better than you or I.”