by Dragon Lance
“I’m not any smith or scribe, much less a wild elf,” Sithas said. He spoke quietly, but his words carried as clearly as Kith-Kanan’s loud pronouncements. “I am firstborn to the Speaker of the Stars, and my duty is my duty.”
Kith-Kanan stopped circling and slumped against the table. “It’s the old story, isn’t it? Wise Sithas and rash Kith-Kanan,” he said. “Don’t pay me any heed, I’m really glad for you. And I’m glad for me, too. At least I can choose my own wife when the time comes.”
Sithas smiled. “Do you have someone in mind?”
Why not tell Sithas? he thought. His twin would never give him away.
“Actually,” Kith-Kanan began, “there is —”
The rear door of the hall opened, and Sithel entered, with Nirakina at his side.
“Hail, Father,” the brothers said in unison.
The speaker waved for his sons to sit. He held a chair out for his wife, then sat himself. The crown of Silvanesti, a circlet of gold and silver stars, weighed heavily on his brow. He had come to the time in his life when age was beginning to show. Sithel’s hair had always been white, but now its silky blondness had become brittle and gray. Tiny lines were etched around his eyes and mouth, and his hazel eyes, the sign of the heritage of Silvanos, betrayed the slightest hint of cloudiness. All these were small, outward signs of the great burden of time Sithel carried in his lean, erect body. He was one thousand, five hundred years old.
Though past a thousand herself, Lady Nirakina was still lithe and graceful. She was small by elven standards, almost doll-like. Her hair was honey brown, as were her eyes. These were traits of her family, Clan Silver Moon. A sense of gentleness radiated from her, a gentleness that soothed her often irritable husband. It was said about the palace that Sithas had his father’s looks and his mother’s temperament. Kith-Kanan had inherited his mother’s eyes and his father’s energy.
“You look well,” Nirakina said to Kith-Kanan. “Was your trip rewarding?”
“Yes, Lady. I do love to fly,” he said, after kissing her cheek.
Sithel gave his son a sharp glance. Kith-Kanan cleared his throat and bid his father a polite greeting.
“I’m glad you returned when you did,” Sithel said. “Has Sithas told you of his upcoming marriage?” Kith-Kanan admitted he had. “You will have an important part to play as well, Kith. As the brother of the groom, it will be your job to escort the bride to the Tower of the Stars —”
“Yes, I will, but tell us who it is,” insisted the impatient prince.
“She is a maiden of exceptional spirit and beauty, I’m told,” Sithel said. “Well-educated, well-born —”
“Father!” Kith-Kanan pleaded. Sithas himself sat quietly, hands folded on his lap. Years of training in the Temple of Matheri had given him formidable patience.
“My son,” Sithel said to Sithas, “Your wife’s name is Hermathya, daughter of Lord Shenbarrus of the Oakleaf Clan.”
Sithas raised an eyebrow approvingly. Even he had noticed Hermathya. He said nothing, but nodded his acceptance.
“Are you all right, Kith?” Nirakina asked. “You look quite pale.”
To her surprise, Kith-Kanan looked as if his father had struck him across the face. The prince swallowed hard and nodded, unable to speak. Of all the eligible daughters, Hermathya was to marry Sithas. It was incomprehensible. It could not happen!
None of his family knew of his love for her. If they knew, if his father knew, he’d choose someone else.
“Ah,” Kith-Kanan managed to say, “who – who else knows of this?”
“Only the bride’s family,” said Sithel. “I sent Shenbarrus acceptance of the dowry this morning.”
A sinking feeling gripped Kith-Kanan. He felt like he was melting into the floor. Hermathya’s family already knew. There was no going back now. The speaker had given his word. He could not, in honor, rescind his decision without gravely offending Clan Oakleaf.
His parents and brother began to discuss details of the wedding. A tremor passed through Kith-Kanan. He resolved to stand up and declare his love for Hermathya, declare that she was his and no one else’s. Sithas was his brother, his twin, but he didn’t know her. He didn’t love her. He could find another wife. Kith-Kanan could not find another love.
He rose unsteadily to his feet. “I —” he began. All eyes turned to him.
Think, for once in your life! He admonished himself. What will they say to you?
“What?” said his father. “Are you ill, boy? You don’t look well.”
“I don’t feel too well,” Kith-Kanan said hoarsely. He wanted to shout, to run, to smash and break things, but the massive calm of his mother, father, and brother held him down like a thick blanket. He cleared his throat and added, “I think all that flying has caught up with me.”
Nirakina stood and put a hand to his face. “You do feel warm. Perhaps you should rest.”
“Yes. Yes,” he said. “That’s just what I need. Rest.” He held the table edge for support.
“I make the formal announcement when the white moon rises tonight. The priests and nobles will gather in the tower,” Sithel said. ‘You must be there, Kith.”
“I – I’ll be there, Father,” Kith-Kanan said. “I just need to rest.”
Sithas walked with his brother to the door. Before they went out, Sithel remarked, “Oh, and leave your horn at the palace, Kith. One act of impudence a day is enough.” The speaker smiled, and Kith-Kanan managed a weak grin in reply.
“Shall I send a healer to you?” asked Nirakina.
“No. I’ll be fine, Mother,” Kith-Kanan said.
In the corridor outside, Sithas braced his brother’s shoulders and said, ‘Looks as if I’m to be lucky; both brains and beauty in my wife.”
“You are lucky,” Kith-Kanan said. Sithas looked at him in concern. Kith-Kanan was moved to say, “Whatever happens, Sith, don’t think too badly of me.”
Sithas frowned. “What do you mean?”
Kith-Kanan inhaled deeply and turned to climb up the stairs to his room. “Just remember that nothing will ever separate us. We’re two halves of the same coin.”
“Two branches of the same tree,” Sithas said, completing the ritual the twins had invented as children. His concern deepened as he watched Kith-Kanan climb slowly up the stairs.
Kith-Kanan didn’t let his brother see his face contort with pain. He had only a scant two hours before Solinari, the white moon, rose above the trees. Whatever he was going to do, he had to think of it before then.
*
The great and noble of Silvanesti filed into the open hall of the Tower of the Stars. Rumors flew through the air like sparrows, between courtier and cleric, noble clan father and humble acolyte. Such assemblies in the tower were rare and usually involved a matter of state.
A pair of young heralds, draped in bright green tabards and wearing circlets of oak and laurel, marched into the hall in perfect step. They turned and stood on each side of the great door. Slender trumpets went to their lips, and a stirring fanfare blared forth. When the horns ceased, a third herald entered.
“Free Elves and True! Give heed to His Highness, Sithel, Speaker of the Stars!”
Everyone bowed silently as Sithel appeared and walked to his emerald throne. There was a spontaneous cry of “All hail the speaker!” from the ranks of the nobles; the hall rang with elven voices. The speaker mounted the steps, turned, and faced the assembly. He sat down, and the hails died.
The herald spoke again. “Sithas, son of Sithel, prince heir!”
Sithas passed through the doorway, bowed to his father, and approached the throne. As his son mounted the seven steps to the platform, Sithel held out his hand, indicating his son should stand to the left of the throne. Sithas took his place, facing the audience.
The trumpets blared again. “Lady Nirakina, wife, and Prince Kith-Kanan, son of Sithel!”
Kith-Kanan entered with his mother on his arm. He had changed to his courtly robes of sky-blue line
n, clothing he rarely wore. He moved stiffly down the center aisle, his mother’s hand resting lightly on his left arm.
“Smile,” she whispered.
“I don’t know four-fifths of them,” Kith-Kanan muttered.
“Smile anyway. They know you.”
When he reached the steps, the pommel of Kith-Kanan’s sword poked out from under his ceremonial sash. Nirakina glanced down at the weapon, which was largely concealed by the voluminous folds of his robe.
“Why did you bring that?” she whispered.
“It’s part of my costume,” he replied. “I have a right to wear it.”
“Don’t be impertinent,” his mother said primly. “You know this is a peaceful occasion.”
A large wooden chair, cushioned with red velvet, was set in place for the speaker’s wife on the left of Prince Sithas. Kith-Kanan, like his twin, was expected to stand in the presence of his father, the monarch.
Once the royal family was in place, the assembled notables lined up to pay their respects to the speaker. The time-honored ritual called for priests first, the clan fathers of House Cleric next, and the masters of the city guilds last. Kith-Kanan, far to the left of Sithel, searched for Hermathya in the press of people. The crowd numbered some three hundred, and though they were quiet, the shuffling of feet and the rustle of silk and linen filled the tower. The heralds advanced to the foot of the speaker’s throne and announced each group as they formed up before Sithel.
The priests and priestesses, in their white robes and golden headbands, each wore a sash in the color of their patron deity-silver for E’li, red for Matheri, brown for Kiri Jolith, sky blue for Quenesti Pah, and so on. By ancient law, they went barefoot as well, so they would be closer to the sacred soil of Silvanesti.
The clan fathers shepherded their families past the speaker. Kith-Kanan caught his breath as Lord Shenbarrus of Clan Oakleaf reached the head of the line. He was a widower, so his eldest daughter stood beside him.
Hermathya.
Sithel spoke for the first time since entering the Tower of the Stars. “Lady,” he said to Hermathya, “will you remain?”
Hermathya, clad in an embroidered gown the color of summer sunlight, her striking face framed by two maidenly braids – which Kith-Kanan knew she hated – bowed to the speaker and stood aside from her family at the foot of the throne platform. The hiss of three hundred whispering tongues filled the hall.
Sithel stood and offered a hand to Hermathya. She went up the stair without hesitation and stood beside him. Sithel nodded to the heralds. A single note split the air.
“Silence in the hall! His Highness will speak!” cried the herald.
A hush descended. Sithel surveyed the crowd, ending his sweep by looking at his wife and sons. “Holy clerics, elders, subjects, be at ease in your hearts,” he said, his rich voice echoing in the vast open tower. “I have called you here to receive joyous news. My son, Sithas, who shall be speaker after me, has reached the age and inclination to take a wife. After due consultation with the gods, and with the chiefs of all the clans of House Cleric, I have found a maiden suitable to be my son’s bride.”
Kith-Kanan’s left hand strayed to his sword hilt. A calm had descended over him. He had thought long and hard about this. He knew what he had to do.
“I have chosen this maiden knowing full well the disappointment that will arise in the other clans,” Sithel was saying. “I deeply regret it. If this were a barbarian land, where husbands may have more than one wife, I daresay I could make more of you happy.” Polite laughter rippled through the ranks of the nobles. “But the speaker may have only one wife, so one is all I have chosen. It is my great hope that she and my son will be as happy together as I have been with my Nirakina.”
He looked at Sithas, who advanced to his father’s side. Holding Hermathya’s left hand, the speaker reached for Sithas’s right. The crowd held its breath, waiting for him to make the official announcement.
“Stop!”
The couple’s fingers were only a hairsbreadth apart when Kith-Kanan’s voice rang out. Sithel turned in surprise to his younger son. Every eye in the hall looked with shock at the prince.
“Hermathya cannot marry Sithas!” Kith-Kanan declared.
“Be silent,” Sithel said harshly. “Have you gone mad?”
No, Father,” Kith-Kanan said calmly. “Hermathya loves me.”
Sithas withdrew his hand from his father’s slack fingers. In his hand he held a starjewel, the traditional betrothal gift among elves. Sithas knew something had been brewing. Kith-Kanan had been too obviously troubled by the announcement of his bride-to-be. But he had not guessed at the reason.
“What does this mean?” demanded Lord Shenbarrus, moving to his daughter’s side.
Kith-Kanan advanced to the edge of the raised floor. “Tell him, Hermathya. Tell them all!”
Sithas looked to his father. Sithel’s gaze was on Hermathya. Her cheeks were faintly pink, but her expression was calm, her eyes cast down.
When Hermathya said nothing, Sithel commanded, “Speak, girl. Speak the truth.”
Hermathya lifted her gaze and looked directly at Sithas. “I want to marry the speaker’s heir,” she said. Her voice was not loud, but in the tense silence, every sound, every word was like a thunderclap.
“No!” Kith-Kanan exclaimed. What was she saying? “Don’t be afraid, Thya. Don’t let our fathers sway you. Tell them the truth. Tell them who you love.”
Still Hermathya’s eyes were on Sithas. “I choose the speaker’s heir.”
“Thya!” Kith-Kanan would have rushed to her, but Nirakina interposed herself, pleading with her son to be still. He gently but firmly pushed her aside. Only Sithas stood between him and Hermathya now.
“Stand aside, Brother,” he said.
“Be silent!” his father roared. “You dishonor us all!”
Kith-Kanan drew his sword. Gasps and shrieks filled the Tower of the Stars. Baring a weapon in the hall was a serious offense, a sacrilegious act. But Kith-Kanan wavered. He looked at the sword in his hand, at his brother’s and father’s faces, and at the woman he loved. Hermathya stood unmoving, her eyes still fixed on his twin. What hold did they have on her?
Sithas was unarmed. In fact no one in the hall was armed, except for the flimsy ceremonial maces some of the clan fathers carried. No one could stop him if he chose to fight. Kith-Kanan’s sword arm trembled.
With a cry of utter anguish, the prince threw the short, slim blade away. It skittered across the polished floor toward the assembled clerics, who moved hastily out of its way. It was ritually unclean for them to touch an edged weapon.
Kith-Kanan ran from the tower, blazing with frustration and anger. The crowd parted for him. Every eye in the hall watched him go.
Sithas descended to the main floor and went to where Kith-Kanan’s sword lay. He picked it up. It felt heavy and awkward in his unpracticed hand. He stared at the keen cutting edge, then at the doorway through which Kith-Kanan had departed. His heart bled for his twin. This time Kith had not merely been impudent or impetuous. This time, his deeds were an affront to the throne and to the gods.
Sithas saw only one proper thing to do. He went back to his father and bride-to-be. Laying the naked blade at Sithel’s feet, he took Hermathya’s hand. It was warm. He could feel her pulse throbbing against his own cool palm. And as Sithas took the blue starjewel from the folds of his robe, it seemed almost alive. It lay in his hand, throwing off scintillas of rainbow light.
“If you will have me, I will have you,” he said, holding the jewel out to Hermathya.
“I will,” she replied loudly. She took the starjewel and held it to her breast.
The Tower of the Stars shook with the cheers of the assembled elves.
Chapter 2
LATER THAT NIGHT
Sithel strode with furious energy down the corridors of the Palace of Quinari. Servants and courtiers backed away from him as he went, so fierce was the anger on his face. The assembly
had ended on a triumphant note, but the Speaker of the Stars could not forget the outrage his own son had committed.
The corridor ended at the palace’s great central tower. Sithel approached the huge bronze doors that closed off the private rooms of his family from the rest of the palace. The doors were eighteen feet high, inlaid with silver runes that kept a protective spell on them. No one not of the blood of Silvanos could open the doors. Sithel hit one door with each palm. The immense portals, delicately balanced, swung inward.
“Where is he? Where is Kith-Kanan?” he demanded, setting his feet wide apart and planting his fists on his hips. “I’ll teach that boy to shame us in front of a public assembly!”
Within the chamber, Nirakina sat on a low, gilded couch. Sithas bent over her, proffering a goblet of sweet nectar. The prince straightened when his father entered, but neither he nor his mother spoke.
“Well?” demanded Sithel.
Nirakina looked up from her goblet. Her large amber eyes were full of sadness. “He is not in the palace,” she said softly. “The servants looked for him, but they did not find him.”
Sithel advanced into the room. His hard footsteps were lost in the deep carpets that covered the center of the floor, and his harsh words were muffled by the rich tapestries covering the cold stone walls.
“Servants, bah, they know nothing. Kith-Kanan has more hiding places than I’ve had years of life.”
“He is gone,” Sithas said at last.
“How do you know that?” asked his father, transferring his glare to his eldest son.
“I do not feel his presence within the palace,” Sithas said evenly. The twins’ parents knew of the close bond that existed between their sons.
Sithel poured a goblet of nectar, using this simple task to give himself time to master his anger. He took a long drink.
“There is something else,” Sithas said. His voice was very low. “The griffon, Arcuballis, is missing from the royal stable.”
Sithel drained his cup. “So, he’s run away, has he? Well, he’ll be back. He’s a clever boy, Kith is, but he’s never been out in the world on his own. He won’t last a week without servants, attendants, and guides.”