by Dragon Lance
The Speaker sat down heavily, the pain of his injured side suddenly reminding him that rash movement was better avoided for now.
“The audience is at an end,” he announced, wincing. “Depart, all of you.”
Everyone bowed and began to file out. Samcadaris inquired, “Sire? What of the prisoner?”
“Take her – take her to Hermathya’s Tower. See to her comfort and security. See to it personally, Marshal.”
“It shall be done, Great Speaker.”
*
The priests and priestesses of Silvanost released the river from its magical constraints. The process had to be done carefully. All that night and through the next day, the Thon-Thalas rose slowly, gradually. By evening, the river was well on its way to filling its banks once more.
Vixa sat in her palace room by an open window, watching the river’s return. Bathed, fed, and dressed in clean clothing, she’d stayed by the window for hours. When the day ended, she didn’t rise to light any lamps, but let the growing darkness fill the room.
The first stars were beginning to glimmer in the purple sky when a soft knock came on her door.
“Enter.” She did not turn to see who came.
“Cousin?”
Vixa recognized the Speaker’s voice. “Your Majesty,” she said, rising quickly.
“Why, Cousin, I would not know you,” Elendar said, gently mocking. Vixa had forsaken her warrior’s garb for the admittedly more comfortable flowing gown of a highborn Silvanesti lady. The golden yellow robe was a luxury she felt she’d earned.
The Speaker entered, leaning on a staff and limping slightly. Vixa brought a chair for him, and he gratefully took it. He regarded her, merriment dancing in his almond eyes.
“The resemblance is even more pronounced now,” he murmured.
“What resemblance?”
“To your grandfather, Kith-Kanan. He and my father were twins, if you recall. You have the look of him.”
Vixa was mildly embarrassed. “I confess I don’t see it. My grandmother, Suzine, was human, and sometimes that’s all people see, all I see as well.” She offered him nectar, which he politely refused. She asked, “What brings you here, Great Speaker?”
Now it was his turn to be embarrassed. “I-I would like to know your mind about certain things.”
“Such as Queen Uriona?”
“Hmm, yes,” he said, clearing his throat. “What is your opinion of her?”
“She is mad, hungry for power, and should never be allowed her freedom again.”
“Yes, yes, but what do you think of her?”
She frowned. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Cousin, is she not beautiful?”
Vixa felt her jaw dropping in surprise. So that was the way the wind was blowing. No answer came to her. Of course the Dargonesti queen was lovely to look at, but what had that to do with anything?
“You are well traveled, Cousin,” the Speaker went on. “You know the ways of the world. My counselors have been pressuring me to marry since I came to the throne. Marriage brings stability, they say. But I’ve never met any maid who interested me. The ladies of the court are all light laughter and mocking gossip. When you arrived, I considered asking you to be my wife —”
“Me!”
“Why not? You’re of royal blood, you’re brave and honest, and not bad to look at.”
“My thanks to Your Majesty,” Vixa said tartly.
He grinned, then turned serious once more. “It was only a fleeting thought. The nobles and priests would never accept a Qualinesti marriage for me. There’s too much bitterness remaining from the war, and the rivalry of Kith-Kanan and my father. Queen Uriona, however …” His voice trailed off.
This time Vixa could not conceal her astonishment. “Queen Uriona? You mean you want to marry her?” the Qualinesti princess’s voice was loud with shock.
“We cannot simply release her. What better way to keep watch on her? She’ll have no allies to plot with, no faction to support any policies of her own. She’s elven, she’s of royal lineage, and” – he shifted in his chair – “she is very beautiful. Why shouldn’t I think of marrying her?”
“Because she’s evil!” exclaimed Vixa, jumping to her feet. “Because she’s a powerful sorceress capable of any treachery!” The Speaker’s face reflected mild reproof, and Vixa struggled to rein in her temper. One did not screech at the Speaker of the Stars – even if he was talking blasted nonsense! She sat down again.
Elendar said calmly, “What better place to keep such a formidable opponent than here? There’ll be none to aid her, and the mages of Silvanost are more than a match for one Dargonesti queen.”
Vixa tried another approach. “What about the succession? The Silvanesti won’t want a half-Dargonesti as ruler after you, will they?”
“No offspring of mine will ever become Speaker – be they half Dargonesti or full Silvanesti. That was settled long ago. When my brother, the previous Speaker, died, I was asked to rule as regent for my eldest nephew, but I refused. Then the privy council offered me the throne as Speaker of the Stars, if I would designate my nephew as heir apparent, even above any children I might have later. I agreed.”
The complexities of Silvanesti politics were giving Vixa a headache. She could muster no argument to change his mind. He had obviously given this matter a great deal of consideration. Shrugging her shoulders, the Qualinesti princess said, “Sire, you must do as you see fit. As for Uriona, she will never love you, only herself. She may even try to murder you, thinking to capture the throne for herself. If you can live with that, then – well, it’s not my place to argue.”
The Speaker levered himself out of the chair. “I value your honesty, Cousin. Never doubt that my eyes are open to all Uriona’s faults. But I think I shall marry her. I will have the queen of my heart’s desire, foil the reactionary nobles, and live a long life to boot. Good night, lady!”
*
The next morning, the palace was abuzz with rumors that the Speaker of the Stars had made a marriage proposal to the Dargonesti queen. There were shocked mutterings, and several of the older courtiers were heard to say that such a thing would never have been allowed in the days of Speaker Sithas. However, since the succession was in no danger, the majority of the nobles supported their Speaker once the initial shock had worn off. The wedding would take place in a month’s time. Repairs had begun on the damaged portions of the city, and the entire capital, of stunning beauty already, would have to be made radiant for the coming nuptials. Everyone, citizen and noble alike, anticipated a grand celebration.
Gundabyr couldn’t believe his ears. “It’s time for me to go home,” he said morosely. “I’ve heard of some strange marriages in my time, but I never heard of a bride who gained her groom by besieging his city!”
Vixa agreed heartily. “I’ve no wish to remain and see Uriona achieve her dream. Maybe not queen of all the elves, but certainly queen of Silvanesti!”
They went to make their good-byes to the Speaker. He was downcast when he learned they intended to depart. “The wedding will be immense,” he promised. “Ten days of feasting! Actors, jugglers, and singers are being summoned. The clerics are building a chapel of glass under the river just for the ceremony! You should remain for that at least.”
Gundabyr was tempted. Ten days of food and drink was certainly something to consider. The presence of Uriona, however, was certain to turn the food to ashes and the nectar to vinegar. They both declined. The Speaker settled for showering his new friends with rich gifts of clothing and jewels, not forgetting the magnifying lens he had promised Gundabyr. He asked how they planned to get home.
“Walk?” said the dwarf.
“Ride,” said Vixa firmly. “If Your Majesty would loan us horses.”
“I shall do no such thing. You will have a griffon from the royal stable. You can fly home faster than the wind!”
He clasped hands with Gundabyr, and Vixa was surprised to find herself embraced. She returned
the gesture warmly.
“May the gods favor you in all things, Cousin,” Elendar said sincerely. “Master Gundabyr, you and Lady Vixa are welcome in my realm at any time.”
They thanked him again and took their leave. Outside, the morning sun was promising a hot day. Vixa looked across the city to Tower Protector, a frown on her face.
“I have one more errand left,” she told Gundabyr. “I’ll meet you at the royal stable in an hour.”
“Whatever you say, Princess.”
Vixa walked to Tower Protector and entered without challenge. Though the nobles of Silvanost might disparage her for her heritage, the warriors respected her valor. She found Samcadaris and told him she desired a favor.
“Anything, lady,” he said simply.
“I want to talk to Coryphene.”
The marshal was surprised. “You’ll not harm him – he is in my charge.”
“I won’t touch him,” Vixa promised.
She climbed to the top floor of one of the smaller towers. There in the center of a round room a large glass box had been formed by magic, sealed tight but for some finger-sized holes along its top. The box was filled with water. It was Coryphene’s prison cell.
He stirred when she entered. He still wore his warrior’s clothing, though without armor. Vixa came close to the thin glass barrier.
“What do you want?” he asked, addressing her in Elvish. His voice was muffled by the water and the glass, but she could understand him.
“I’ve come to say good-bye. I’m going home.”
At her words his head came up, and he stared at her. “To Urione?”
“Qualinost,” she corrected. “Why would you think otherwise?”
“You are a sister of the sea now. The call will be irresistible.”
She laughed. “At Thonbec, when my freedom and credibility were at stake, it wasn’t so irresistible. I couldn’t even change into a dolphin.”
“Foolish drylander. Do dolphins live in rivers? Only seawater makes the change possible.”
“In any event, that’s not important. I came to pass along some news no one else may have bothered to share.”
“What news?”
“Uriona is marrying the Speaker of the Stars in one month’s time.”
If she had hit Coryphene with a club, she couldn’t have stunned him more. His arrested expression and sudden stillness were most gratifying.
“You lie,” he said at last. “You say so only to wound me. Uriona is mine.”
“In a month, you’ll be able to hear the marriage pipes from here,” Vixa said with a shrug. “Uriona never loved you. You were only a tool for her ambition. When greater power came her way, she grabbed it.” The Qualinesti princess stepped closer and raised one finger to tap the glass barrier that separated them. “Ponder that, Lord Protector. Think of Uriona in the palace with the Speaker of the Stars, as you live the rest of your days in this glass bowl.”
The angry flush had gone, leaving his face pallid and frozen. Vixa turned to leave, her mission accomplished. Nothing disturbed her enjoyment of the moment. She had only to remember Armantaro, Harmanutis, and Vanthanoris – none of them ever to return to Qualinesti soil – and all pangs of conscience vanished instantly. Let him sit alone in his crystal prison thinking of his love marrying another.
Vixa descended to say farewell to Samcadaris. Halfway down the long staircase, she heard a crash above, followed by the sound of rushing water. Rivulets flowed down the steps behind her. She stood immobile for an instant, then another sound filled the air. It was a scream, which stopped abruptly.
The Qualinesti princess’s face was blank. On the ground floor hall of the tower, she found the warriors rushing outside. She followed them. At the door stood Samcadaris.
“It’s Coryphene!” he exclaimed. “Somehow he erupted out of his cage and threw himself from the window!”
“Is he dead?” Samcadaris nodded, and she said flatly, “Good.”
He stared at her. “What did you say to him?” the marshal demanded.
“I only told him of the Speaker’s coming marriage.”
Samcadaris looked shocked. “You told him —”
“Coryphene chose his own path from Watermere to this tower,” she responded in a cold voice. “I will not grieve for him.”
The Marshal of Silvanost regarded her in silence for several seconds, then he did an odd thing. He saluted. Vixa returned the gesture. Her coldness melted, and she said warmly, “You are a fine elf, Samca. Thank you for believing in me back on that beach.”
They said their good-byes, and Vixa made her way to the royal stables. A fine, large griffon was saddled and ready. It had the magnificent head, neck, and wings of an eagle and the torso and hindquarters of a lion. A plumed lion’s tail fanned the air behind it. Panniers hung down on each flank, loaded with fine gifts and provisions. Gundabyr stood off to one side, regarding the beast dubiously.
“Are we supposed to ride this thing?” he asked. Since the high-backed saddle was even now being cinched on the griffon’s back, his question was obviously rhetorical.
Vixa smiled. “What’s the matter, afraid of flying?”
“So long as we stay dry, I can handle anything.” The dwarf climbed onto a tall mounting block and was assisted into the saddle. Vixa mounted in front of him. The great animal shifted under their weight, turning its fierce head to regard them silently. The handler gave Vixa the reins. There was no bit, of course. The reins were connected to a leather halter. The Qualinesti princess had never flown a griffon before, but she wasn’t about to let the Silvanesti know it. She took the reins confidently.
“What’s his name?” she asked the handler.
“Her name is Lionheart, lady,” was the smooth reply.
Vixa nodded as the handler stepped back. Looking over her shoulder, she said, “Ready, Gundabyr?” He grunted an affirmative, and Vixa snapped the reins. “Away, Lionheart!” she cried.
The beast spread its great wings, took a few steps forward, and leapt into the air.
Chapter 25
HOMECOMING
Vixa and Gundabyr flew straight to Thorbardin, where Lionheart landed at Northgate. Vixa tied the beast’s reins to a handy outcropping of rock, and she and Gundabyr descended into the underground city. At Gundabyr’s clan home in Daewar City, all of his family – and there were a lot of them – turned out to welcome him back and meet the Qualinesti princess. There was sadness, however, when Gundabyr relayed the news of his twin’s death.
The two friends parted on the best of terms, each promising to visit the other. Gundabyr’s multitudinous family all began planning a trip to Qualinost, hounding the poor fellow to give Vixa a firm date for the visit. Their attention grew so vexing, he drew Vixa aside and murmured, “Maybe I’ll just come visit you now – alone!”
Vixa laughed and bade them all farewell. She returned to the patient Lionheart. They ascended high over the mountains, flying northwest toward Qualinost. Their route took them directly over Pax Tharkas, the great fortress guarding the pass between Qualinesti and Thorbardin. It had been built jointly by the two countries to celebrate their peaceful coexistence. Vixa’s grandfather, the famous Kith-Kanan, had overseen its construction, and his tomb was deep inside it.
By the next morning, Vixa and Lionheart were circling Qualinost. The city was built on a plateau bounded by two rivers that flowed through deep gorges. The rivers merged at the northern point of the triangular plateau. Four silver-inlaid marble towers marked the cardinal points around the city. The towers were connected by arched bridges that encircled the city. The city’s buildings were built of rose quartz, which reflected the morning sun in a dazzling display. As Lionheart came to a gentle landing beside the golden Tower of the Sun, crowds of Qualinesti began to fill the city’s quartz-lined streets.
The last word any in Qualinost had received of Vixa and her party had been brought by Ambassador Quenavalen, who’d finally made it home himself only a week before. The ambassador, after speak
ing to Ergothian refugees at the mouth of the Greenthorn River, carried home the news that Evenstar had been lost, with all hands aboard, in a strange fog. Vixa was saddened to know the ship had never returned. It must have gone down when the kraken submerged beneath it.
Vixa walked up the grand steps and into the Speaker’s house, a huge, happy crowd trailing behind her. Kemian Ambrodel and Verhanna Kanan were waiting. Still in mourning for their youngest child and only daughter, they could barely credit her amazing arrival. The three had a joyous reunion. Speaker Silveran himself came out and greeted his niece, to the tumultuous cheers of the crowd.
Eventually the whole story was told. A banquet was given, and the celebrations lasted four days. Throngs of celebrants – highborn, lowborn, elven, human, dwarven – filled the feasting hall to hear Vixa relate her tale. Scribes took down every word, and copies were posted throughout the city for the benefit of those who didn’t hear the story firsthand.
When she finished recounting her adventures, Vixa was embraced by her mother. Tears sparkled in Verhanna’s dark brown eyes. “You were magnificent, Daughter! I’ll give you command of your own regiment – no, two regiments!”
“Thank you, Mother, but no.” Vixa sat down, holding out her goblet for more nectar. “I’ve seen enough war for a dozen lifetimes.”
“But, Vixa, you’ve proven yourself fit for higher command. The army —”
“Do you know what I really need, Mother?” Verhanna shook her head. “I need to disappear into a quiet forest glade for at least a month!”
Most of those assembled at the banquet laughed when they heard that, even the Speaker of the Sun, who was usually very solemn. Verhanna, however, was not at all amused. She returned to her place between the Speaker and her husband. For the rest of the evening she maintained an ominous silence.
Some time later, Vixa found herself alone in her old room. She was wandering around, reacquainting herself with her familiar possessions, when a knock came at the door.
“Enter,” she called.
The door opened to reveal her father. “Am I disturbing you?” he asked.