The History of Krynn: Vol III

by Dragon Lance

  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.

  Chapter 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 but 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 knuck
les 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.”

  “Was this Anaya nobly born?” Nirakina delicately asked.

  “Her birth was a mystery, even to her. I suspect she was stolen from her family by the guardian before her, just as she took Mackeli from his parents.”

  “I’m not sorry she did so,” Mackeli said staunchly. “Anaya was good to me.”

  Kith-Kanan allowed his family to assume Anaya was Silvanesti, like Mackeli. He also kept from them the news of his unborn child. The loss was too recent, and he wanted to keep some memories for himself.

  Sithas broke the quiet interlude by commenting on the half-human Voltorno. “It fits with what we already suspect,” he ventured. “The emperor of Ergoth is behind the terror in our western provinces. He not only wants our land, but our timber, too.” Everyone knew that Ergoth had a sizable navy and needed wood for ships. Their own land was relatively poor in trees. Also, unlike elves, humans tended to build houses out of wood.

  “At any rate,” the speaker noted, “the emissaries have been here nearly five weeks and nothing’s been accomplished. I was ill for a few days, but since my recovery we’ve made no progress at all.”

  “I’d be glad to speak to the ambassadors of the things I saw and heard in the forest,” Kith-Kanan offered. “Men from Ergoth have been landing on our southern coast to plunder the forest. They would have taken Mackeli to Daltigoth as a slave. That’s a fact.”

  “That’s probably what the raiders have done with the other captives,” Sithas said darkly. “The wives and children of the Silvanesti settlers.”

  Kith-Kanan told of the sacked village he and Mackeli had seen on their way home. Sithel was disturbed to hear that a settlement so close to the capital had been attacked.

  “You will come to the tower tomorrow,” the speaker declared. “I want the Ergothians to hear what you have seen!”

  Sithel rose. “It is very late,” he said. “The session begins early, so we’d all better take our rest.” Mackeli was already snoring. Hermathya, likewise, was dozing where she sat, curled up in her chair.

  Kith-Kanan roused Mackeli with a shake, and the boy sat up.

  “Funny dream, Kith. I went to a great city, and people lived inside stone mountains.”

  “Not so funny,” Kith-Kanan said, smiling. “Come on, Keli, I can put you in Sithas’s old room. Is that well with you, Brother?” Sithas waved his agreement.

  Kith-Kanan kissed his mother’s cheek and said good night. Her face shone with contentment, which made her look decades younger.

  “Good night, son,” she said devotedly.

  A servant with a candelabrum arrived to conduct Mackeli to his bed. Sithel and Nirakina went out. At last, the brothers stood by the door.

  “I’ll leave you to your wife,” Kith-Kanan said, nodding toward the sleeping Hermathya. Rather awkwardly, he added, “I’m sorry I missed the wedding, Sith. I hope you two are happy.”

  Sithas stared at his wife’s sleeping form for a few seconds, then said, “It has been no bargain being married to her, Kith.” Kith-Kanan could not conceal his surprise. He asked in a whisper what was wrong.

  “Well, you know how willful she is. She takes every opportunity to make herself known to the people. She throws trinkets from the windows of her sedan chair when she goes out. People follow after her, calling her name.” Sithas’s mouth hardened to a thin line. “Do you know what the city wits call us? The Shadow and the Flower! I don’t suppose I need to explain who is who, do I?”

  Kith-Kanan suppressed a wry smile. ‘Thya always was chaos in motion.”

  “There’s more to it than that. I think —” Sithas cut himself off as a servant came down the corridor toward the open door. The yellow glow of his candles flowed ahead of him like a stolen sunrise.

  “Good night, Kith,” Sithas said suddenly. He summoned the servant and told him to guide the prince up the dark stairs to his room. Kith-Kanan regarded his twin curiously.

  “I shall see you in the morning,” he said. Sithas nodded and held the hall door. As soon as Kith-Kanan went out, Sithas shut the door firmly.

  Inside the hall, Sithas spoke sharply to Hermathya. “It’s very childish, this pretense of sleep.”

  She sat up and yawned. “Quite a compliment from the master of pretense.”

  “Lady, have you no respect for us or our position?”

  Hermathya pushed her heavy chair away from the table. “Respect is all I do have,” she replied calmly. “Heavy, thick, rigid respect.”

  *

  The Palace of Quinari was sleeping, nearly everyone within it walls exhausted by the homecoming of Kith-Kanan. But in the gallery leading away from the central tower, two figures met in the dark and broke the silence with their whispers.

  “He’s come back,” said the female voice.

  “So I have heard,” answered the male. “It’s not a problem.”

  “But Prince Kith-Kanan is a factor we hadn’t considered.” In her distress the female spoke louder than was necessary-or prudent.

  “I considered him,” said the male voice calmly. “If anything, his return will be to our advantage.”

  “How?”

  “Kith-Kanan enjoys a certain popularity with all those who find his brother cold and uninspiring-elves such as the royal guard, for example. Moreover, my evaluation of the errant prince tells me he is more open and trusting than either his father or brother. And a trusting person is always more useful than a doubter.”

  “You are clever. My father chose well when he picked you.” The female voice was once more calm and soft. There was the sound of heavy cloth being crushed and a kiss. “I wish we didn’t have to meet in shadows like this.”

  “Von’t you think it’s romantic?” murmured the male voice.

  “Yes... but it annoys me that so many think you are harmless.”

  “My best weapon. Would you take it away from me?”

  “Oh, never....”

  There was silence for a while, then the female voice said, “How long till sun-up?”

  “An hour or so.”

  “I’m worried.”

  “What about?” he asked.

  “The whole affair is getting too complicated. Sometimes when I’m sitting in the audience hall I want to scream, the tension is so great.”

  “I know,” the male voice said soothingly, “but our task is quite simple. We have only to delay and dissemble and keep the elves talking. Daily, our numbers swell. Time is our ally, my darling. Given enough time, the mighty elven nation will fall!”

  Their slippered feet made only the slightest whisper on the cool marble floor as the conspirators stole down the gallery to the steps. They had to get back to their rooms before the palace stirred. No one must see them together, not even the members of their own delegation.

  Chapter 24

  THE DAY FOLLOWING

  The entrance of Kith-Kanan into the Tower of the Stars the next day created a stir. Gone were Kith-Kanan’s tattered green buckskins. Now he wore smooth white robes and a silver circlet on his head. With great ceremony he was introduced to Lord Dunbarth. The dwarf doffed his floppy hat and said, “It is a great honor to meet you, Prince. I’ve heard much about you.”

  “Perhaps we shall be friends anyway,” was the wry reply.

  Meeting the human delegation was more forced. Praetor Ulwen sat in his portable chair like a wax image. Only the slight rise and fall of the blanket over his chest testified he was alive. Lady Teralind accepted Kith-Kanan’s hand, holding it for a long minute as she assessed this newest addition to the conference. He noted the dark circles under her eyes. The lady ha
dn’t slept very well the night before.

  Ulvissen saluted, human fashion. Kith-Kanan imitated his gesture.

  “Have we met before?” the elf prince asked, looking carefully at the bearded human.

  “I don’t think so, noble prince,” Ulvissen replied coolly. “I served most of my military career on ships. Perhaps Your Highness met another human who looked like me. I understand it is hard for elves to distinguish one bearded man from another.”

  “There is much in what you say.” Kith-Kanan walked away, but the idea that he’d seen Ulvissen before troubled him still. He paused before his father, bowed, and took his old seat on the speaker’s right. A human with a full, red-brown beard-where had he seen him?

  “The fifteenth session of the Conference of Three Nations will now begin,” said Sithas, acting as his father’s herald. “Seated for Silvanesti is Prince Kith-Kanan.” The scribes at their tables wrote busily.

  Dunbarth stood up-which had the effect of making him shorter, as his chair’s legs were longer than his own. “Great speaker, noble princes, Lord Praetor, Lady Teralind,” he began. “We have been here many days, and the principal obstacle in the way of peace is this question: Who rules the western plains and the forest? The noble speaker and his heir present as proof of their claim ancient treaties and documents. Lady Teralind, on behalf of the emperor of Ergoth, makes her claim from the point of view of the majority, claiming that most of the people who live in the disputed territory are Ergothians.” Dunbarth took a deep breath. “I summarize these positions as I have presented them to my king. I have this day received his reply.”

  Murmurs of interest rose. Dunbarth unfolded a heavy piece of parchment. The golden wax seal of the king of Thorbardin was visible.