Firstborn

by Paul B. Thompson

  *

  Day came like the cracking of an egg. First all was smooth, unbroken night, then just a chip of sunlight showed to the east. It was enough to rouse the eager Mackeli, who splashed water on his face and announced himself ready to go.

  “Is there nothing you want to take with you?” Kith-Kanan wondered.

  Mackeli surveyed the inside of the tree. The flint tools, gourd bottles, clay-daubed baskets, none of them were worth taking, he said. Still, they needed food and water, so they loaded a pair of wicker baskets with meat, nuts, berries, and water, balancing the weight so Arcuballis could carry it all. Alone of the three of them, the griffon was still heavily asleep. When Kith-Kanan whistled through his teeth, Arcuballis raised its aquiline head out from under one wing and stood on its mismatched feet. Kith-Kanan gave the beast some water while Mackeli tied the food baskets to the back of the saddle.

  A sense of urgency spurred them on. Mackeli chattered incessantly about the things he wanted to do and see. He scrubbed the residue of paint from his face, announcing that he didn’t want the city-dwellers to think he was a savage. Kith-Kanan tested the harness fittings under the griffon’s neck and chest, and Mackeli climbed onto the pillion. At last, though, Kith-Kanan hesitated.

  “What is it?” the boy asked.

  “There is one thing I must do!” He cut across the flower-choked clearing to the slender oak that had been Anaya. He stopped two yards away and looked up at the limbs reaching toward the sky. He still found it hard to accept that the woman he loved was here now, in any form. “Part of my heart stays with you here, my love. I have to go back now; I hope you understand.” Tears welled in his eyes as he took out his dagger. “Forgive me,” he whispered, then reached up and quickly sliced off a four-inch green shoot, well laden with bright green buds. Kith-Kanan cut a small slit in the tough deerhide of his tunic, directly over his heart, and put the shoot there.

  The elf prince gazed up at the young tree, then looked around at the clearing where they had been so happy. “I love you, Anaya,” he said. “Farewell.” Turning, he walked quickly back to the griffon.

  Kith-Kanan swung onto Arcuballis’s back and settled himself into the saddle. He whistled and touched the griffon with his heels, signaling the creature to be off. As the griffon bounded across the clearing, its strong legs tearing through the new growth, great torrents of petals and pollen flew into the air. At last the mount opened its wings and, in a stupendous bound, leaped into the air. Mackeli yelped with delight.

  They circled the clearing, gaining height with each circuit. Kith-Kanan looked down for a few seconds, then he lifted his face and studied the clouds. He turned Arcuballis’s head northeast. They leveled out at a thousand feet. The air was warm, and a steady wind buoyed Arcuballis, enabling him to glide for long stretches with hardly a wingbeat.

  Mackeli leaned forward and shouted in Kith-Kanan’s ear, “HOW long will it take us to get there?”

  “One day, perhaps two.”

  They passed over a world rapidly greening. Life seemed to be bursting from the ground even as they flew by. The lower air was full of birds, from tiny swallows to large flocks of wild geese. Farther below, the forest thinned, then gave way to plain. As the sun reached its zenith, Kith-Kanan and Mackeli saw the first signs of civilization since leaving the wildwood. There was a village below, laid out in a circle, with a sod wall surrounding it for protection. A pall of smoke hung over the village.

  “Is that a city?” asked Mackeli excitedly.

  “No, that’s barely a village. It looks like they’ve been attacked.” Worry and the edge of fear set Kith-Kanan’s heart to pounding as he hauled back on the reins. Arcuballis tipped over in a shallow dive. They flew through the smoke. Coughing, the elf prince steered the griffon in a slow circle around the despoiled village. Nothing moved. He could see the bodies of the fallen lying atop the wall and in between the huts.

  “It’s terrible,” Kith-Kanan said grimly. “I’m going to land and take a look. Be on guard, Keli.”

  Arcuballis touched down lightly outside the wall, near one of the rents that had been torn in it. Kith-Kanan and Mackeli dismounted. Mackeli had a crossbow, salvaged from Voltorno’s band, and Kith-Kanan had his compound bow. His scabbard hung empty by his side.

  “You see what they did?” Kith-Kanan said, pointing to the gap in the sod wall. “The attackers used grappling hooks to pull down the wall.”

  They stepped over the rubble of dried sod and entered the village. It was eerily quiet. Smoke eddied and swirled in the shifting wind. Where once people had talked and argued and laughed, there was now nothing but empty streets. Broken crockery and torn clothing were strewn here and there. Kith-Kanan turned over the first body he came to-a Kagonesti male, slain by sword. He could tell the elf had died not very long before, a day or two at most. Turning the fellow facedown once more, Kith-Kanan paused and shook his head. Horrible. During the Call he had sensed from Sithas that there was trouble in the land, but this? This was murder and rapine.

  As they continued through the silent village, all the other dead they found were Kagenesti or Silvanesti males. No females, no children. All the farm animals were gone, as was practically everything else of value.

  “Who could have done this?” Mackeli asked solemnly.

  “I don’t know. Whoever it was, they didn’t want their identity known. Do you notice, they took their own dead with them?”

  “How can you tell?”

  Kith-Kanan pointed at the scattering of dead villagers. “These fellows didn’t just lay down and die. They died fighting, which means they must’ve taken a few of their enemies with them.”

  On the west side of the village, they found a mass of footprints-horses, cattle, and people. The raiders had taken their elven and animal captives and driven them out onto the great plain. Mackeli asked what lay in that direction.

  “The city of Xak Tsaroth. No doubt the raiders will try to sell their prizes in the markets there,” said Kith-Kanan grimly. He gazed at the flat horizon as if he might catch a glimpse of the bandits who had committed this outrage. “Beyond Xak Tsaroth is the homeland of the Kagonesti. It’s forest, much like the wildwood we just left.”

  “Does your father rule all this land?” Mackeli said curiously.

  “He rules it by law, but out here the real ruler is the hand that wields the sword.” Kith-Kanan kicked the dry plains soil, sending up a gout of dust. “Come, Keli. Let’s go.”

  They trudged back to the griffon, following the outside curve of the village wall. Mackeli dragged his feet and hung his head. Kith-Kanan asked what was troubling him.

  “This world beyond the forest is a dark place,” he said. “These folk died because someone wanted to rob them.”

  “I never said the outside world was all marble cities and pretty girls,” Kith-Kanan replied, draping an arm across the boy’s shoulders. “Don’t be too discouraged, though. This sort of thing doesn’t happen every day. Once I tell my father about it, he will put an end to this brigandage.”

  “What can he do? He lives in a far away city.”

  “Don’t underestimate the power of the Speaker of the Stars.”

  *

  It was twilight of the second day when the white tops of the city towers first appeared. Arcuballis sensed the end of their journey was near; without Kith-Kanan’s urging, the beast quickened its wingbeat. The land raced by. The broad Thon-Thalas, mirroring the deep aquamarine of the evening sky, appeared, approached, and then flashed beneath the griffon’s tucked-in feet.

  “Hello! Hello down there!” Mackeli called to the boaters and fishers on the river. Kith-Kanan shushed him.

  “I may not be coming back to the warmest of welcomes,” he cautioned. “There’s no need to announce our return, all right?” The boy reluctantly fell silent.

  Kith-Kanan found himself experiencing great doubt and no small amount of trepidation. How would he be received? Could his father forgive his outrage? One thing he knew, he was certainly not the
same elf he had been when he left here. So much had happened to him, and he found himself looking forward to the time when he could share it with his twin.

  Kith-Kanan had noticed the beginning of a settlement on the western bank of the river. From the grid layout, it looked like a town was being built on the river, opposite the piers and docks of Silvanost. Then, as they approached the city from the south, he saw that a large section of the Market was a blackened ruin. This alarmed him, for if the city had been attacked it might not be his father and twin who would be waiting for him when he landed. The prince was only a little relieved when he saw that the rest of the city appeared normal.

  For his part, Mackeli leaned far to the side, staring with unabashed amazement at the wonders below. The city glittered in the sunlight. Marble buildings, green gardens, and sparkling pools filled his eyes. A thousand towers, each a marvel to the forest-raised boy, jutted above the artfully manicured treetops. Rising higher than all the rest was the Tower of the Stars. Kith-Kanan circled the great pinnacle and recalled with a pang the day he’d done it last. The number of days was small compared to an elf’s entire life, but the gulf it represented seemed as great as one thousand years.

  Arcuballis was ready for home. The beast banked away from the tower with only a minimum of direction from Kith-Kanan and headed for the rooftop of the Quinari Palace. A line of torches burned along the flat roof, the flames whipped by a steady wind. The rosy palace tower was tinted a much deeper shade of red by the last rays of the setting sun.

  Mackeli held tightly to Kith-Kanan’s waist as the angle of descent steepened. A single white-robed figure stood beside the line of torches. The griffon raised its head and wafted its wings rapidly. The mount’s forward speed diminished, and its clawed forelegs touched down on the roof. When its hind legs found purchase, Arcuballis folded its wings.

  The figure in white, a dozen yards away, lifted a torch from its holder and walked toward the grounded griffon. Mackeli held his breath.

  “Brother,” Kith-Kanan said simply as he dismounted.

  Sithas held up the torch. “I knew you would come back. I’ve waited here every night since I called you,” said his twin warmly.

  “I am glad to see you!” The brothers embraced. Seeing this, Mackeli threw a leg over and slid down the griffon’s rump to the roof. Sithas and Kith-Kanan drew apart and clapped each other on the shoulders.

  “You look like a ragged bandit,” Sithas exclaimed. “Where did you get those clothes?”

  “It’s a very long story,” Kith-Kanan replied. He was grinning so widely his face ached; Sithas’s expression mirrored his. “And you, when did you stop being a priest and become a prince?” he exclaimed, thumping Sithas’s back.

  Sithas kept smiling. “Well, a lot’s happened since you left. I —” He stopped, seeing Mackeli come up behind Kith-Kanan.

  “This is my good friend and companion Mackeli,” Kith-Kanan explained. “Keli, this is my brother, Sithas.”

  “Hello,” said Mackeli casually.

  “No,” Kith-Kanan chided. “Bow, like I told you.”

  Mackeli bent awkwardly at the waist, bending nearly double. “Sorry, Kith! I meant, hello, Prince Sithas,” he said ingenuously.

  Sithas smiled at the boy. “You’ve plenty of time to learn court manners,” he said. “Right now, I’ll wager you’d both like a hot bath and some dinner.”

  “Ah! With that, I could die happy,” Kith-Kanan said, placing a hand over his heart. Laughing, he and Sithas started toward the stairwell, with Mackeli following a pace behind. Kith-Kanan suddenly halted.

  “What about father?” he asked apprehensively. “Does he know you called me?”

  “Yes,” said Sithas. “He was ill for a few days, and I asked him for permission to use the Call. He consented. A healer brought him through, and he’s well now. We’ve been dealing with ambassadors from Ergoth and Thorbardin, too, so things have been quite busy. We’ll go to him and mother as soon as you’re presentable.”

  “Ambassadors? Why are they here?” Kith-Kanan asked. “And, Sith, what happened to the Market? It looks as though it was sacked!”

  “I’ll tell you all about it.”

  As the twins reached the steps, Kith-Kanan looked back. Stars were coming out in the darkening sky. The weary Arcuballis had dropped into a sleeping crouch. Kith-Kanan looked from the star-salted sky to the nearby bulk of the Tower of the Stars. Without really thinking about it, his hand went to the sprig of oak he’d snipped from Anaya’s tree and drew it out. It had changed. Where there had been tight buds, now the shoot was furnished with perfect green leaves. Even though it had been cut from the tree two days past, the sprig was green and growing.

  “What is that?” asked Sithas curiously.

  Kith-Kanan drew a deep breath and shared a knowing glance with Mackeli. “This is the best part of my story, Brother.” Tenderly he returned the oak shoot to its place over his heart.

  23

  NIGHT OF REUNION

  FRESHLY BATHED, CLOTHED, AND FED, KITH-KANAN AND MACKELI followed Sithas to the Hall of Balif. There the speaker, Lady Nirakina, and Lady Hermathya were having a late, private dinner.

  “Wait here,” Sithas said, stopping his twin and Mackeli just outside the hall door. “Let me prepare them.”

  Most of Mackeli’s attention was focused on his surroundings. Since entering the palace, he’d touched the stone walls and floor, felt bronze and iron fittings, and goggled at the courtiers and servants that passed by. He was dressed in one of Kith-Kanan’s old outfits. The sleeves were too short for him, and even though his ragged hair was combed as neatly as possible, he still looked like a well-costumed scarecrow.

  Servants who recognized Kith-Kanan gaped in astonishment. He smiled at the elves, but admonished them in a low voice to go about their business as he stepped close to the hall door and listened. Hearing his father’s voice, even so indistinctly, brought a lump to his throat. Kith-Kanan peered around the door, but Sithas held a hand out to him. Straight as an arrow, he walked proudly into the now-silent hall. Then there was a gasp, and a silver spoon rang on the marble floor. Hermathya bent to retrieve the lost utensil.

  Sithas stopped Mackeli so that Kith-Kanan could approach the table alone. The wayward prince of the Silvanesti stood across the oval table from his parents and former lover.

  Nirakina rose halfway to her feet, but Sithel commanded her tersely to sit back down. The lady sank back into her chair, tears glistening on her cheeks. Kith-Kanan bowed deeply.

  “Great speaker,” he began. Then: “Father. Thank you for letting Sithas call me home.” Both elf women snapped around to stare at Sithel, for they had not known of the speaker’s leniency.

  “I have been angry with you a long time,” Sithel replied sternly. “No one in House Royal ever shamed us as you did. What have you to say?”

  Kith-Kanan dropped to one knee. “I am the greatest fool who ever lived,” he said, looking down at the floor. “I know I shamed you and myself. I have made peace with myself and the gods, and now I want to make peace with my family.”

  Sithel pushed back his chair and stood. His white hair seemed golden in the candlelight. He’d regained some of the weight he’d lost while ill, and the old fire in his eyes was renewed. He strode with firm, even steps around the table to where his younger son knelt.

  “Stand up,” he said, still in his commanding speaker’s voice.

  As Kith-Kanan got up, Sithel’s stern countenance softened. “Son,” he said when they were face to face.

  They clasped hands about each other’s forearms in soldierly fashion. But it wasn’t enough for Kith-Kanan. He embraced his father with fervor, a fervor returned by Sithel. Over the speaker’s shoulder, Kith-Kanan saw his mother, still weeping, but now the tears tracked down on each side of a radiant smile.

  Hermathya tried to maintain her aloofness, but her pale face and trembling fingers betrayed her. She dropped her hands to her lap and looked away, at the wall, at the ceiling, at anything b
ut Kith-Kanan.

  Sithel held the prince at arm’s length and studied his sunbrowned features. “I cannot deny you,” he said, his voice breaking with emotion. “You are my son, and I am glad to have you back!”

  Nirakina came and kissed him. Kith-Kanan brushed away her tears and let her walk him back around the table to where their places were set. They came to Hermathya, still seated.

  “You are looking well, Lady,” Kith-Kanan said awkwardly.

  She looked up at him, blinking rapidly. “I am well,” she replied uncertainly. “Thank you for noticing.” Seeing Kith-Kanan at a loss for words, Sithas moved to intervene. He ushered Mackeli forward and introduced him. Sithel and Nirakina found the boy’s rustic manners both charming and amusing.

  Now that the news was out, servants were roused from their work, even from bed, and whole troops of them filed into the hall to pay their respects to the returned prince. Kith-Kanan had always been popular with the members of House Servitor for his lively manner and kind heart.

  “Quiet, all of you! Quiet!” Sithel shouted, and the throng became still. The speaker called for amphorae of fine nectar, and there was a pause as cups of the sweet beverage were passed through the crowd. When everyone had a share, the speaker raised his goblet and saluted his newly restored son.

  “To Prince Kith-Kanan,” he exclaimed. “Home at last!”

  “Kith-Kanan!” answered the great assembly. They all drank.

  All but one. Hermathya held her cup tightly until her knuckles were as white as her face.

  *

  The servants finally dispersed, but the family remained. They surrounded Kith-Kanan and talked for hours, telling him what had happened during his absence. He, in turn, regaled them with his adventures in the wildwood.

  “You see me now, a widower,” Kith-Kanan said sorrowfully, gazing at the dregs of nectar in his cup. “Anaya was claimed by the forest she had served so long.”