The History of Krynn: Vol III

by Dragon Lance

  Sithel held up his hands. The scribe had to strike his bell four times before the crowd was quiet. “This matter requires further attention,” he proclaimed. “My son will remain here for the trials, while I will conduct the people of Trokali to the Palace of Quinari, where each shall give testimony.”

  Sithas bowed deeply to his father as an escort of twelve warriors formed in the square to convey the survivors of Trokali to the palace. The lame and sick made it a slow and difficult procession, but Tamanier Ambrodel led his people with great dignity.

  Sithel descended the steps of the Temple of E’li, with Nirakina by his side. Courtiers scrambled to keep pace with the speaker’s quick stride. The murmuring in the square grew as the people of Trokali trailed after.

  Nirakina glanced back over her shoulder at the crowd. “Do you think there will be trouble?” she asked.

  “There is already trouble. Now we must see what can be done to remedy it,” Sithel answered tersely.

  In short order they entered the plaza before the palace. Guards at the doors, responding to the speaker’s brief commands, summoned help.

  Servants flooded out of the palace to aid the injured elves. Nirakina directed them and saw to the distribution of food and water.

  Out of deference to Tamanier’s weakened condition, Sithel took him no farther than the south portico. He bade Tamanier sit, overlooking the protocol that required commoners to stand in the presence of the speaker. The tall elf eased himself into a finely carved stone chair. He exhaled loudly with relief.

  “Tell me about the brigands,” Sithel commanded.

  “There were thirty or forty of them, Highness,” Tamanier said, swallowing hard. “They came on horseback. Hardlooking, they were. The humans wore mail and carried long swords.”

  “And the Kagonesti?”

  “They were poor-looking, ragged and dirty. They carried off our women and children... “

  Tamanier covered his face with his hands.

  “I know it is difficult,” Sithel said calmly. “But I must know. Go on.”

  “Yes, Highness.” Tamanier dropped his hands, but they shook until he clenched them in his lap. A quaver had crept into his voice. “The humans set fire to the houses and chased off all our livestock. It was also the humans who threw ropes over our trees and tore off their branches. Our orchards are ruined, completely ruined.”

  “Are you sure about that? The humans despoiled the trees?”

  “I am certain, great speaker.”

  Sithel walked down the cool, airy portico, hands clasped behind his back. Passing Tamanier, he noticed the thin gold band the elf wore around his neck.

  “Is that real gold?” he asked abruptly.

  Tamanier fingered the band. “It is, Highness. It was a gift from my wife’s family.”

  “And the brigands didn’t take it from you?”

  Realization slowly came to Tamanier. “Why, no. They never touched it. Come to think of it, great speaker, no one was robbed. The bandits burned houses and broke down our trees, but they didn’t plunder us at all!” He scratched his dirty cheek. “Why would they do that, Highness?”

  Sithel tapped two fingers against his chin thoughtfully. “The only thing I can think of is they didn’t care about your gold. They were after something more important.” Tamanier watched him expectantly, but the speaker didn’t elaborate. He rang for a servant. When one appeared he told him to take care of Tamanier. “We will talk again,” he assured the tall elf. “In the meantime, do not speak of this with anyone, not even your wife.”

  Tamanier stood, leaning crookedly, favoring his wounded side. “My wife was killed,” he said stiffly.

  Sithel watched him go. An honorable fellow, he decided. He would do well to keep an eye on Tamanier Ambrodel. The Speaker of the Stars could always use such an honorable man at court.

  He entered the palace through a side door. A steady stream of servants trooped by, carrying buckets and soiled towels. Healers, who were clerics of the goddess Quenesti Pah, had arrived to tend the injured. Sithel looked over the bustle of activity. Trokali was two hundred miles from Silvanost. No human raiders had ever penetrated so far. And in the company of Kagonesti elves...

  The Speaker of the Stars shook his head worriedly.

  *

  After finishing the day’s trials, Sithas dismissed the court. Though he had listened to each case fairly, he could not keep his thoughts away from the attack on the village of Trokali. When he returned to his rooms in the palace, everyone, from his mother to the humblest servant, was talking about the raid and its portent.

  Hermathya waited for him in their room. No sooner had he entered than she jumped to her feet and exclaimed, “Did you hear about the raid?”

  “I did,” Sithas said with deliberate nonchalance, shrugging off his dusty outer robe. He poured cool water into a basin and washed his hands and face.

  “What’s to be done?” she prodded.

  “Done? I hardly think that’s our concern. The speaker will deal with the problem.”

  “Why do you not do something yourself?” Hermathya demanded, crossing the room. Her scarlet gown showed off the milky paleness of her skin. Her eyes flashed as she spoke. “The entire nation would unite behind the one who would put down the insolent humans.”

  “The ‘one’? Not the speaker?” asked Sithas blandly.

  “The speaker is old,” she said, waving a dismissive hand. “Old people are beset with fears.”

  Dropping the towel he’d used to dry his hands, Sithas caught Hermathya’s wrist and pulled her close. Her eyes widened, but she didn’t shrink back. Sithas’s eyes bored into hers.

  “What you say smacks of disloyalty,” he rumbled icily.

  “You want what is best for the nation, don’t you?” she replied, leaning into him. “If these attacks continue, all the settlers to the west will flee back to the city, as did the elves of Trokali. The humans of Ergoth will settle our land with their own people. Is that good for Silvanesti?”

  Sithas’s face hardened at the thought of humans encroaching on their ancient land. “No,” he said firmly.

  Hermathya put her free hand on his arm. “How then is it disloyal to want to end these outrages?”

  “I am not the Speaker of the Stars!”

  Her eyes were the deep blue of the sky at dusk as Hermathya moved to kiss her husband. “Not yet,” she whispered, and her breath was sweet and warm on his face. “Not yet”

  Chapter 8

  LATE SPRING, IN THE FOREST

  Mackeli had been gone three days when Anaya showed Kith-Kanan where she had secreted his sword and dagger. There could be no question now that something had happened to him and that they had to go to his rescue.

  “There is your metal,” she said. “Take it up. You may have need of it.”

  He brushed the dead leaves off the slim, straight blade of his sword and wiped it with an oily cloth. It slid home in its scabbard with only a faint hiss. Anaya kept back when he held the weapons. She regarded the iron blades with loathing, as if they were the stinking carcasses of long dead animals.

  “Mackeli’s been gone so long, I hope we can pick up his trail,” Kith-Kanan said. His eyes searched the huge trees.

  “As long as Mackeli lives, I will always be able to find him.” declared Anaya. “There is a bond between us. He is my brother.”

  With this pronouncement she turned and went back to the hollow tree. Kith-Kanan followed her. What did she mean – brother? Were the two siblings? He’d wondered at their relationship, but certainly hadn’t noticed any family resemblance. Anaya was even less talkative on the subject than Mackeli had been.

  He went to the door of the tree and looked in. Squatting before a piece of shiny mica, Anaya was painting her face. She had wiped her cheeks clean – relatively clean, anyway – with a wad of damp green leaves and now was applying paint made from berries and nut shells. Her brush was a new twig, the end of which she’d chewed to make it soft and pliable. Anaya went from one
gourd full of pigment to another, painting zigzag lines on her face in red, brown, and yellow.

  “What are you doing? Time is wasting,” Kith-Kanan said impatiently.

  Anaya drew three converging lines on her chin, like an arrowhead in red. Her dark hazel eyes were hard as she said, “Go outside and wait for me.”

  Kith-Kanan felt anger rising at her casual tone of command. She ordered him about like a servant, but there was nothing for him to do but stew. When Anaya finally emerged, they plunged into the deep shade of the woods. Kith-Kanan found his anger at her dissolving as he watched her move gracefully through the wood. She never disturbed a leaf or twig, moving, as Mackeli had said, like smoke.

  They finally paused to rest, and Kith-Kanan sat on a log to catch his breath. He looked at Anaya as she stood poised, one foot atop the fallen log. She wasn’t even breathing heavily. She was a muscular, brown-skinned, painted Kagonesti – quite savage by Silvanesti standards – but she was also practical and wise in the ways of the forest. Their worlds were so different as to be hostile to each other, but he felt at that moment a sense of security. He was not so alone as he had believed.

  “Why do you look at me that way?” Anaya asked, frowning.

  “I was just thinking how much better it would be for us to be friends, instead of enemies,” said Kith-Kanan sincerely.

  It was her turn to give him a strange look. He laughed and asked, “Now why are you looking at me like that?”

  “I know the word, but I’ve never had a friend before,” Anaya said.

  *

  Kith-Kanan would not have believed it, but the place Anaya led him through was even thicker with trees than any part of the forest he’d seen so far. They were not the giants of the old forest where she lived, but of a size he was more accustomed to seeing. They grew so close together, however, that it soon became impossible for him to walk at all.

  Anaya grasped an oak tree trunk with her bare hands and feet and started up it like a squirrel. Kith-Kanan gaped at the ease with which she scaled the tree. The leaves closed around her.

  “Are you coming?” she called down, “I can’t climb like that!” he protested.

  “Wait then.” He saw a flash of her red leg paint as she sprang from an oak branch to a nearby elm. The gap between branches was more than six feet, yet Anaya launched herself without a moment’s hesitation. A few seconds later she was back, flitting from tree to tree with the ease of a bird. A twined strand of creeper, as thick as the prince’s two thumbs, fell from the oak leaves and landed at his feet. This was more to his liking. Kith-Kanan spat on his palms and hauled himself up, hand over hand. He braced his feet against the tree trunk and soon found himself perched on an oak limb thirty feet from the forest floor.

  “Whew!” he said, grinning. “A good climb!” Anaya was patently not impressed. After all, she had made the same climb with no vine at all. Kith-Kanan hauled up the creeper, coiling it carefully around his waist.

  “It will be faster to stay in the treetops from now on,” Anaya advised.

  “How can you tell this is the way Mackeli went?”

  She gathered herself to leap. “I smell him. This way.”

  Anaya sprang across to the elm. Kith-Kanan went more slowly, slipping a good deal on the round surface of the tree limb. Anaya waited for him to catch up, which he did by grasping an overhead branch and swinging over the gap. A dizzy glimpse of the ground flashed beneath his feet, and then Kith-Kanan’s leg hooked around the elm. He let go of the oak branch, swung upside-down by one leg, and gradually worked his way onto the elm.

  “This is going to take a long time,” he admitted, panting for breath.

  They continued on high in the treetops for most of the day. Though his hands were by no means soft, accustomed as they were to swordplay and his griffon’s reins, Kith-Kanan’s palms became scraped and sore from grasping and swinging on the rough-barked branches. His feet slipped so often that he finally removed his thick-strapped sandals and went barefoot like Anaya. His feet were soon as tender as his hands, but he didn’t slip again.

  Even at the slow pace Kith-Kanan set, they covered many miles on their lofty road. Well past noon, Anaya called for a rest. They wedged themselves high in a carpeen tree. She showed him how to find the elusive fruit of the carpeen, yellow and pearlike, hidden by a tightly growing roll of leaves. The soft white meat of the carpeen not only sated their hunger, it was thirst-quenching, too.

  “Do you think Mackeli is all right?” Kith-Kanan asked, the worry clear in his voice.

  Anaya finished her fruit and dropped the core to the ground. “He is alive.” she stated flatly.

  Kith-Kanan dropped his own fruit core and asked, “How can you be certain?”

  Shifting around the prince with careless ease, Anaya slid from her perch and came down astride the limb where he sat. She took his scraped hand and held his fingertips to her throat.

  “Do you feel the beat of my heart?” she asked him.

  “Yes.” It was strong and slow.

  She pushed his hand away. “And now?”

  “Of course not. I’m no longer touching you,” he replied.

  “Yet you see me and hear me, without touching me.”

  “That’s different.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “Is it? If I tell you I can feel Mackeli’s heart beating from far off, do you believe me?”

  “I do,” said Kith-Kanan. “I’ve seen that you have many wonderful talents.”

  “No!” Anaya swept a hand through the empty air. “I am nothing but what the forest has made me.

  As I am, so you could be!”

  She took his hand again, holding his fingertips against the softly pulsing vein in her neck. Anaya looked directly in his eyes. “Show me the rhythm of my heart,” she said.

  Kith-Kanan tapped a finger of his other hand against his leg. “Yes,” she coaxed. “You have it. Continue.”

  Her gaze held his. It was true – between them he felt a connection. Not a physical bond, like the grasp of a hand, but a more subtle connection – like the bond he knew stretched between himself and Sithas. Even when they were not touching and were many miles apart he could sense the life force of Sithas. And now, between Anaya’s eyes and his, Kith-Kanan felt the steady surge of her pulse, beating, beating...

  “Look at your hands,” urged Anaya.

  His left was still tapping out the rhythm on his leg. His right lay palm up on the tree limb. He wasn’t touching her throat any longer.

  “Do you still feel the pulse?” she asked.

  He nodded. Even as he felt the surging of his own heart, he could feel hers, too. It was slower, steadier. Kith-Kanan looked with shock at his idle hand. “That’s impossible!” he exclaimed. No sooner had he said this than the sensation of her heartbeat left his fingertips.

  Anaya shook her head. “You don’t want to learn,” she said in disgust. She stood up and stepped from the carpeen tree to the neighboring oak. “It’s time to move on. It will be dark before long, and you aren’t skilled enough to treewalk by night.”

  This was certainly true, so Kith-Kanan did not protest. He watched the wiry Anaya wend her way through the web of branches, but the meaning of her lesson was still sinking in. What did it mean that he had been able to keep Anaya’s pulse? He still felt the pain of his separation from Hermathya, a hard, cold lump in his chest, but when he closed his eyes and thought of Hermathya for a moment – a tall, flame-haired elf woman with eyes of deepest blue – he only frowned in concentration, for there was nothing, no bond, however slight, that connected him with his lost love. He could not know if she was alive or dead. Sadness touched Kith-Kanan’s heart, but there was no time for self-pity now. He opened his eyes and moved quickly to where Anaya had stopped up ahead.

  She was staring at a large crow perched on a limb near her head. When the crow spied Kith-Kanan, it abruptly flew away. Anaya’s shoulders drooped.

  “The corvae have not seen Mackeli since four days past,” she explained. �
�But they have seen something else – humans.”

  “Humans? In the wildwood?”

  Anaya nodded. She lowered herself to a spindly limb and furrowed her brow in thought. “I did not smell them sooner because the metal you carry stinks in my nose too much. The corvae say there’s a small band of humans farther to the west. They’re cutting down the trees, and they have some sort of flying beast, of a kind the corvae have never seen.”

  “Arcuballis! That’s my griffon! The humans must have captured it,” he said. In fact, he couldn’t imagine how; as far as he could determine they were miles from the spot where he’d first landed, and it would have been very difficult for strangers, especially humans, to handle the spirited Arcuballis.

  “How many humans are there?” Kith-Kanan inquired.

  Anaya gave him a disdainful look. “Corvae can’t count,” she stated contemptuously.

  They started off again as twilight was falling. For a brief time it actually brightened in the trees, as the sinking sun lanced in from the side. Anaya found a particularly tall maple and climbed up. The majestic tree rose even above its neighbors, and its thick limbs grew in an easy step pattern around the massive trunk. Kith-Kanan had no trouble keeping up with the Kagonesti in the vertical climb.

  At the top of the tree Anaya stopped, one arm hooked around the gnarled peak of the maple. Kith-Kanan worked his way around beside her. The maple’s pinnacle swayed under his additional weight, but the view was so breathtaking he didn’t mind the motion.

  As far as the eye could see, there was nothing but the green tops of trees. The horizon to the west was darkening from pink to flame red. Kith-Kanan was enchanted. Though he had often seen great vistas from the back of Arcuballis, his appreciation for such sights had been increased by the weeks he’d spent in this forest, where a glimpse of sky was a rare treat.

  Anaya was not enraptured. She narrowed her sharp eyes and said, “There they are.”

  “Who?”

  “The intruders. Do you not see the smoke?”

  Kith-Kanan stared in the direction she pointed. To the north, a faint smudge of gray marred the sky’s royal blue. Even as he stared at it, Kith-Kanan wasn’t sure the smoke was really there. He blinked several times.