Kith-Kanan’s face twisted. “I – I am too late!” he cried in anguish.
“Too late for one tragedy, but not too late to prevent another,” Sithas said. Quickly he told his twin what had happened and what was about to happen.
“I heard the hunting horns at Sithelbec,” Kith-Kanan said. “I thought there might be a clash, so I mustered the First Company. But this-if only I had stayed, kept up with Father —”
“We must have our man back, Highness,” Ulvissen insisted. His hunting party nocked arrows.
Sithas shook his head. Before he’d even finished the gesture, some of the humans loosed arrows. Kith-Kanan shouted an order, and his pikemen charged. The humans, with no time to reload, bolted. In seconds, not one human could be seen, though the sound of their horses galloping away could be heard clearly.
Kith-Kanan halted the militia and called the Wildrunners back to order. Kencathedrus had been hit in the thigh. The unfortunate Dremic had been shot by his own people and now lay dead on the grass.
“We must get back to Silvanost, quickly,” Sithas advised, “Not only to bury our father but to tell the people of war!”
Before the confused Kith-Kanan could question or protest, he was shocked to hear his own Wildrunners cheer Sithas’s inflammatory words. The humans’ cowardly flight had aroused their blood. Some were even ready to hunt down the humans in the forest, but Kith-Kanan reminded them that their duty was to their dead speaker and their comrades back at the fort.
They marched out of the woods, a solemn parade, bearing the bodies of the fallen on their horses. The dead human, Dremic, was left where he lay. A shocked and silent garrison greeted them at Sithelbec. Sithel was dead. Sithas was speaker. Everyone wondered if the cause of peace had died with the great and ancient leader.
Kith-Kanan readied his warriors in defensive positions in case of attack. Watch was kept throughout the night, but it proved to be a peaceful one. After midnight, when he’d finished his work for the day, Kith-Kanan went to the shell of the unfinished keep, where Sithas knelt by the body of their slain father.
“The Wildrunners are prepared should an attack come,” he said softly.
Sithas did not raise his head. “Thank you.”
Kith-Kanan looked down at his father’s still face. ‘Did he suffer?”
“No.”
“Did he say anything?”
“He could not speak.”
Hands clenched into fists, Kith-Kanan wept. “This is my fault! His safety was my duty! I urged him to come here. I encouraged him to go hunting.”
“And you weren’t present when he was ambushed.” said Sithas calmly.
Kith-Kanan reacted blindly. He seized his twin by the back of his robe and hauled him to his feet. Spinning him around, he snarled, “You were there, and what good did it do him?”
Sithas gripped Kith-Kanan’s fists and pulled them loose from his shirt. With angry precision, he said, “I am speaker. I am. I am the leader of the elven nation, so you serve me now, Brother. You can no longer fly off to the forest. And do not trouble me about the rights of Kagonesti or halfhuman trash.”
Kith-Kanan let out a breath, long and slow. The twin he loved was swamped by hatred and grief, he told himself as he looked into Sithas’s stormy eyes. With equal precision he answered, “You are my speaker. You are my liege lord, and I shall obey you even unto death.” It was the ancient oath of fealty. Word for word, the twins had said it to their father when they’d reached maturity. Now Kith-Kanan said it to his twin, his elder by just three minutes.
28
BURDENED BY COMMAND
SITHEL’S BODY WAS BORNE BACK TO HIS CAPITAL WITH HASTE. SITHAS felt dignity was less important than speed; he wanted to present the nation with the terrible news as quickly as possible. The Ergothians might move at any time, and the elven nation was not ready to meet them.
The dire news flashed ahead of the caravan. By the time Sithel’s body was ferried across the Thon-Thalas, the city was already in mourning. The river was so thick with boats, it could be walked across. From the humblest fisher to the mightiest priest, all elves turned out to view the speaker for the last time. By the thousands they lined the street to the Tower of the Stars, bare-headed out of respect. Waiting for the cortege at the tower was Lady Nirakina. She was so stricken that she had to be carried in a sedan chair from the palace to the tower.
There were no hails or cheers as Speaker Sithas walked through the streets, leading the funeral cortege. His father lay in state in the Temple of E’li as thousands of his subjects came to pay him a last farewell. Then, with a minimum of ceremony, Sithel was put to rest beside his own father in the magnificent mausoleum known as the Crystal Tomb.
The very next day, Sithas composed an ultimatum to the emperor of Ergoth. “We consider the death of our father Sithel to be nothing less than deliberate murder,” Sithas wrote. “The Elven Nation demands retribution for its speaker’s death. If Your Imperial Highness wishes to avoid war, we will accept an indemnity of one million gold pieces, the expulsion of all Ergothian subjects from our western territories, and the surrender of all the men present at the murder of our father, including Ulvissen.”
Kith-Kanan had had to delay his departure from Sithelbec. He arrived in Silvanost two days after his father’s funeral, incensed that Sithas had acted so precipitously with the last rites and his ultimatum to the emperor of Ergoth.
“Why did you not wait?” he complained to his twin in the Tower of the Stars. “I should have been here to see father’s last rites!” Kith-Kanan had just come from a long visit with his mother; her grief and his own weighed heavily upon him.
“There is no time for empty ceremony,” Sithas said. “War may be near, and we must act. I have ordered prayers and offerings to our father be made in every temple every night for thirty days, but for now I must rally the people.”
“Will the humans attack?” asked Hermathya anxiously from her place at Sithas’s side.
“I don’t know,” the speaker replied grimly. “They outnumber us ten to one.”
Kith-Kanan looked at the two of them. It was so unnatural to see them where Sithel and Nirakina had been so often seated. Hermathya looked beautiful, perfectly groomed and dressed in a gown of gold, silver, and white. Yet she was cold. Whereas Nirakina could inspire respect and love with a smile and a nod, all Hermathya seemed capable of doing was looking statuesque. Of course she did not meet Kith-Kanan’s eyes.
On the emerald throne, Sithas looked strained and tired. He was trying to make fast and hard decisions, as he felt befitted a monarch in time of trouble. The burden showed on his face and in his posture. He looked far older than his twin at this moment.
The tower was empty except for the three of them. All morning Sithas had been meeting with priests, nobles, and masters of the guilds, telling them what he expected from them in case of war. There had been some patriotic words, mostly from the priests, but in all the tone of the audience had been very subdued. Now only Kith-Kanan remained. Sithas had special orders for him.
“I want you to form the Wildrunners into a single army,” he commanded.
“With what purpose?” his twin asked.
“Resist the Ergothian army, should it cross the border into the forest.”
Kith-Kanan rubbed his forehead. “You know, Sith, that the whole militia numbers only twenty thousand, most of whom are farmers armed with pikes.”
“I know, but there’s nothing else to stop the humans between their border and the banks of the Thon-Thalas. We need time, Kith, time for Kencathedrus to raise an army with which to defend Silvanost.”
“Then why in Astarin’s name are you so eager to start a war with Ergoth? They have two hundred thousand men under arms! You said it yourself!”
Sithas’s hands clenched the arms of his throne, and he leaned forward. “What else can I do? Forgive the humans for murdering our father? You know it was murder. They laid a trap for him and killed him! Is it such a coincidence that Ulvissen was
in the area and that one of his supposed foresters perpetrated the crime?”
“It is suspicious,” Kith-Kanan conceded, with less heat than before. He pulled his helmet on, threading the chin strap into its buckle. “I will do what I can, Sith,” he said finally, “but there may be those who aren’t as willing to fight and die for Silvanesti.”
“Anyone who refuses the speaker’s call is a traitor,” Hermathya interjected.
“It is easy to make such distinctions here in the city, but on the plains and in the woods, neighbors mean more than far-off monarchs,” Kith-Kanan said pointedly.
“Are you saying the Kagonesti will not fight for us?” asked Sithas angrily.
“Some will. Some may not.”
Sithas leaned back and sighed deeply. “I see. Do what you can, Kith. Go back to Sithelbec as quickly as you can.” He hesitated. “I know you will do your best.”
A brief glance passed between the twins. “I’ll take Arcuballis,” said Kith-Kanan and went quickly.
When the prince had departed, Hermathya fumed. “Why do you allow him to be so familiar? You’re the speaker. He should bow and call you Highness.”
Sithas turned to his wife. His face was impassive. “I have no doubts about Kith’s loyalty,” he said heavily. “Unlike yours, Lady, in spite of your correct language and empty flattery.”
“What do you mean?” she said stiffly.
“I know you hired Kagonesti thugs to murder Kith-Kanan because he would not dishonor me by becoming your lover. I know all, Lady.”
Hermathya’s normally pale face grew waxen. “It’s not true,” she said, her voice wavering. “It’s a foul lie-Kith-Kanan told you, didn’t he?”
“No, Lady. Kith doesn’t know you hired the elves who murdered his friend. When you employed a certain gray-robed sorcerer to contact a band of killers, you didn’t know that the same sorcerer also works for me. For gold, he will do anything-including tell me everything about your treachery.”
Hermathya’s entire body shivered violently. She rose unsteadily from her throne and backed across the platform, away from Sithas. The silver and gold hem of her heavy robe dragged across the marble floor.
“What will you do?” she gasped.
He stared at her for a long minute. “To you? Nothing. This is hardly the time for the speaker to put his wife in prison. Your plot failed, fortunately for your life, so I will let you keep your freedom for now. But I tell you this, Hermathya —” he rose and stood tall and straight before her “— if you so much as frown at my brother, or if you ever have contact with Vedvedsica again, I will shut you away someplace where you’ll never see the sun again.”
Sithas turned and strode with resolve from the tower. Hermathya remained standing for a moment, swaying to and fro. Finally, her legs gave way. She collapsed in the center of the platform and wept. The rich silver and gold of her robes gleamed in the light from the window slits.
*
The griffon’s wings beat in quick rhythm as Kith-Kanan and Arcuballis flew to the west. An array of armor and arms weighed Arcuballis down, but the powerful beast never faltered in flight. As they passed over the vast southern forest, Kith-Kanan couldn’t help but look down at the green canopy and wonder. If Anaya hadn’t changed, would he still be down there somewhere, living the free life of a wild elf? Would Mackeli still be alive? These thoughts gnawed at him. His happiest days had been the time spent with Anaya and Mackeli, roaming the wildwood, doing whatever the moment called for. No duty. No onerous protocol. Life had been an eternal, joyous spring.
And just as quickly, Kith-Kanan found himself dismissing these thoughts from his mind. It can’t always be spring, and one can’t always be young and carefree. He wasn’t an ordinary elf after all, but a prince of the blood. His life had held many pleasures and very little had ever been asked of him. Now it was time for him to earn what he had enjoyed. Kith-Kanan fixed his gaze on the distant blue horizon and steeled himself for war.
Table of Contents
Copyright
Prelude
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
Firstborn Page 32