by Dragon Lance
“Ahem,” said the dwarf. The muttering subsided. “To my right trusty and well-loved cousin, Dunbarth of Dunbarth, greetings: I hope the elves are feeding you well, cousin; you know how meager their eating habits are... “The emissary peered over the parchment at the speaker and winked. Kith-Kanan covered his mouth with one hand to hide his smile.
Dunbarth continued: “I charge you, Dunbarth of Dunbarth, to deliver to the Speaker of the Stars and the praetor of Ergoth this proposal-that the territory lying on each side of the Kharolis Mountains, seventy-five miles east and west, be entrusted to the Kingdom of Thorbardin, to be governed and administered by us as a buffer zone between the empires of Ergoth and Silvanesti.”
There was a moment of crystalline silence as everyone in the tower took in the message.
“Absolutely preposterous!” Teralind exploded.
“Not an acceptable proposal,” said Sithas, albeit more calmly.
“It’s only a preliminary idea,” Dunbarth protested. “His Majesty offers concessions, here —”
“Totally unacceptable!” Teralind was on her feet. “I ask the speaker, what do you think of this outlandish notion?”
All eyes turned to Sithel. He leaned back against his throne, his mask of composed command perfect. “The idea has some merit,” he said slowly. “Let us discuss it.” Ehmbarth beamed. Teralind’s face got very white, and Ulvissen was suddenly at her elbow, warning her to stay calm.
At that moment Kith-Kanan felt a flash of recognition; he remembered where he’d seen Ulvissen before. It had been the day he’d rescued Mackeli from Voltorno. When the half-human had fallen after their duel, a crowd of humans from his ship had raced up the hillside. The tallest human there had had a full, red-brown beard like Ulvissen’s. And since the human had already admitted that he’d spent most of his career aboard ships.. The prince started as his twin’s voice interrupted his thoughts.
Sithas was asking the speaker what merit he had found in the dwarves’ suggestion.
Sithel paused a moment before replying, considering his words carefully. “It is not King Voldrin’s offer to rule the troublesome region that I favor,” he said. “It is the idea of a buffer zone, independent of not just our rule and the emperor’s, but of Thorbardin’s as well.”
“Are you proposing we create a new country?” Teralind said curiously.
“Not a sovereign state, a buffer state,” replied the speaker.
Ulvissen tugged on his mistress’s sleeve urgently. Feeling harassed, Teralind turned her back to Sithel for a moment to speak with the seneschal. She then asked the company for a brief adjournment. Dunbarth sat down, carefully tucking the crinkly parchment letter from his king into his brocade vest. Despite the opposition to his king’s proposal, he was quite pleased with himself.
Kith-Kanan watched all this with barely contained agitation. He could hardly denounce Ulvissen during a diplomatic meeting-not when such an accusation would violate the law of good behavior in the Tower of the Stars on his first day back in Silvanost! Moreover, could he be certain Ulvissen was the man he’d seen with Voltorno? Bearded humans did tend to look alike. In any event, the elaborate manners and elliptical conversations of the ambassadors struck him as silly and wasteful of time.
“My king suggests a division of rights among the three nations,” Dunbarth resumed when Teralind signaled herself ready. “Ergoth to have grazing rights, Silvanesti to have growing rights, and Thorbardin to have the mineral rights.”
“Any proposal that puts the territory under any one nation’s control is unacceptable,” Teralind said shrilly. A strand of dark brown hair had come loose from its confining clasp. She absently looped it behind one ear. “Unless Ergothian rights are guaranteed,” she added curtly.
The delegations, mingled as they were behind the chairs of their respective leaders, began to debate among themselves the merits of a joint administration of the disputed land. Their voices got louder and louder. After a moment, Kith-Kanan couldn’t stand it any longer. He jumped to his feet.
Sithel raised a hand for quiet. “My son Kith-Kanan would speak,” he said. The faintest trace of a smile crossed his lips.
“As you know, I have only just returned to Silvanost,” the prince said, speaking quickly and nervously. “For some time I have been living in the wildwood, far to the south, where I came to know all sorts of people. Some, like my friend Mackeli, called the forest home. Others saw it as a place to be plundered. Ships from Ergoth have been lying off the coast while their crews steal inland to cut timber.”
“This is outrageous!” Teralind exploded. “What has this to do with the current question? Worse, these charges have no proof behind them!”
For once Sithel cast aside his assumed air of impartiality. “What my son tells you is true,” he said icily. “Believe it.” The force in his words stifled Teralind’s reply, and the speaker bade Kith-Kanan continue.
“The heart of the matter is that while kings and emperors wrestle over problems off national pride and prestige, people-innocent elves and humans-are dying. The gods alone know where the true blame lies, but now we have a chance to put an end to the suffering.”
“Tell us how!” said Teralind sarcastically.
“First, by admitting that peace is what we all want. I don’t have to be a soothsayer to know there are many in Daltigoth and Silvanost who think war is inevitable. So I ask you, is war the answer?” He turned to Lord Dunbarth. “You, my, lord. Is war the answer?”
“That’s not a proper diplomatic question,” countered the dwarf uncomfortably.
Kith-Kanan would not be put off. “Yes or no?” he insisted.
The entire company was looking at Dunbarth. He shifted in his chair. “War is never the answer, where people of good will —”
“Just answer the question!” snapped Teralind. Dunbarth arched one bushy eyebrow.
“No,” he said firmly. “War is not the answer.”
Kith-Kanan turned to the silent, crippled praetor and his wife. “Does Ergoth think war is the answer?”
The praetor’s head jerked slightly. As usual, his wife answered for him. “No,” Teralind replied. “Not when peace is cheaper.”
He turned at last to his father. “What do you say, great speaker?”
“You’re being impudent,” Sithas warned.
“No,” his father said simply, “it’s only right he ask us all. I don’t want war. I never have.”
Kith-Kanan nodded and looked around at the entire group. “Then, can’t some way be found to rule the land jointly, elves, humans, and dwarves?”
“I don’t see what the dwarves have to do with this,” said Teralind sulkily. “Hardly any of them live in the disputed land.”
“Yes, but we’re speaking of our entire land border,” Dunbarth reminded her. “Naturally, we are concerned with who is on the other side of it.”
Sunlight filtered into the hall through the hundreds of window slits up the walls of the tower; a mild breeze flowed in through the doorway. The day beckoned them out of the stuffy debate. Sithel rubbed his hands together and announced, “This is a good time to pause, not only for reflection on the question of peace, but also to take bread and meat, and stroll in the sunshine.”
“As ever, Your Highness is the wisest of us all,” said Dunbarth with a tired smile.
Teralind started to object, but the speaker declared the meeting adjourned for lunch. The hall rapidly emptied, leaving Teralind, Praetor Ulwen, and Ulvissen by themselves. Wordlessly, Ulvissen gathered the frail praetor in his strong arms and carried him out. Teralind worked to master her anger, tearing one of her lace handkerchiefs to bits.
*
It was a fine day, and the delegations spilled out the huge front doors into the garden that surrounded the mighty tower. Servants from the palace arrived bearing tables on their shoulders. In short order the processional walkway at the tower’s main entrance was filled with tables. Snow-white linen was spread on the tables, and a pleasant array of fruit and meats was set out for
the speaker’s guests. A cask of blush nectar was rolled to the site, its staves making booming noises like summer thunder as the barrel rolled.
The ambassadors and their delegations crowded around the tables. Dunbarth took a brimming cup of nectar. He tasted the vintage, found it good, and wandered over to inspect the food. From there he spied Kith-Kanan standing at the edge of the garden by himself. Food in hand, the dwarf strolled over to him.
“May I join you, noble prince?” he asked.
“As a guest you may stand where you want,” Kith-Kanan replied genially.
“An interesting session this morning, don’t you think?” Dunbarth pulled apart a capon and gnawed at a leg. “This is the most progress we’ve made since we first convened.”
Kith-Kanan took a large bite from an apple and regarded the dwarf with some surprise. “Progress? All I heard was a lot of contentious talk.”
The dwarf flipped up the brim of his hat in order to hoist his golden goblet high. He drained the nectar and wiped the sticky liquid from his mustache. “Reorx bless me, Highness! Diplomacy is not like a hunt. We don’t track down our quarry, pot him, and cart him home to be eaten. No, noble prince, diplomacy is like an old dwarf combing his hair-every hair that comes out in his comb is a defeat, and every one that stays in his head is a victory!”
Kith-Kanan chuckled and looked around the garden. He missed the weight of a sword at his hip. And even more, he missed the sights and smells of the forest. The city seemed too bright, the air tinged with too much smoke. Odd, he’d never noticed those things before.
“What are you thinking, Highness?” asked Dunbarth.
What was he thinking? He returned his gaze to the dwarf. “The praetor’s wife is rather short-tempered, and the praetor himself never speaks. You’d think the emperor would have more able representatives,” Kith-Kanan commented. “I don’t think Lady Teralind does their cause much good.”
Dunbarth looked for a place to throw the capon leg bone, now that he had cleaned it of meat. A servant appeared as if summoned and collected the refuse. “Yes, well, smooth and subtle she’s not, but a lot can be accomplished by sheer stubbornness, too. Prince Sithas —” Dunbarth quickly recalled to whom he spoke and thought the better of what he had been about to say.
“Yes?” Kith-Kanan prompted him.
“It’s nothing, Highness.”
“Speak, my lord. Truth is not to be feared.”
“I wish I had Your Highness’s optimism!” A passing servitor refilled Dunbarth’s cup. “I was going to say that Prince Sithas, your noble brother, is a match for Lady Teralind in stubbornness.”
Kith-Kanan nodded. “It is only too true. They are much alike. Both believe they have right always on their side.”
He and Dunbarth exchanged some further pleasantries, then the dwarf said an abrupt good-bye. He wanted to mingle with the others a bit, he said, and wandered off aimlessly. But Kith-Kanan could read the purpose in his stride. He shook his head. Dwarves were supposedly bluff and hearty, but Dunbarth was more subtle than a Balifor merchant.
The prince strolled off on his own, among the head-high hedges of flowering vines and the artfully molded sculptures of boxwood and cedar.
The vigorous spring seemed to have followed him from the wildwood to Silvanost. The garden was a riot of bloom.
He thought of the clearing where he and his little family had lived. Had the bees built their hives in the hollow oak yet? Were the flowering trees dropping their blossoms into the pool that was the entrance to Anaya’s secret cave? In the midst of all the splendor and majesty that was Silvanost, Kith-Kanan remembered wistfully the simple life he had shared with Anaya.
His reverie was broken when he rounded a corner in the hedges and found Hermathya seated alone on a stone bench.
Kith-Kanan briefly considered turning and avoiding his former lover, but he decided that he couldn’t hide from her forever. Instead of leaving, he went up to her and said hello.
Hermathya did not look up at him, but gazed off into the blossoms and greenery. “I woke up this morning thinking I had dreamed you returned. Then I asked my maidservant, and she said it was true.” Her voice was low, controlled, and her hair shone in the sunlight. She wore it pulled back in a jeweled clasp, as befitted a high-born, married elf woman. Her pale arms were bare, her skin smooth and unblemished. He thought she was even more beautiful than when he’d left Silvanost.
She asked him to sit. He declined.
“Are you afraid to sit next to me?” she said, meeting his eyes for the first time. “It was once your favorite place to be.”
“Let’s not bring up the past,” Kith-Kanan said, keeping his distance. “That’s over and done with.”
“Is it?” Her eyes, as always, caught and held him.
He was intensely aware of her, as near as he was, and she stirred him. What elf could be so close to her flame-bright loveliness and not be moved? However, Kith-Kanan no longer loved Hermathya; he was certain of that.
“I’ve been married,” he said pointedly.
“Yes, I heard that last night. Your wife is dead, isn’t she?”
No, only changed, he thought. But he replied, “Yes, she is.”
“I thought about you a great deal, Kith.” Hermathya said softly. “The longer you were away, the more I missed you.”
“You forget, Thya, I asked you to flee with me-and you refused.”
She seized his hand. “I was a fool! I don’t love Sithas. You must know that,” she exclaimed.
Hermathya’s hand was smooth and warm, but Kith-Kanan still pulled his hand free of hers. “He is your husband and my brother,” he said.
She didn’t hear the warning in his statement. She leaned her head against him. “He’s a pale shadow of you, as a prince... and a lover,” she said bitterly.
Kith-Kanan moved away from the bench. “I have no intention of betraying him, Thya. And you must accept the fact that I do not love you.”
“But I love you!” A tear trickled down her cheek.
“If that’s true, then I pity you. I have passed into another life since we loved each other, years ago. I’m not the headstrong young fool I once was.”
“Don’t you care for me at all?” she asked, her face anguished.
“No.” he said truthfully, “I don’t care for you at all.”
One of Dunbarth’s dwarven servants came running through the maze of hedges. “Great prince!” he said breathlessly. “The speaker is recalling the assembly.”
Kith-Kanan walked away and did not look back at Hermathya, though he could hear her crying until he reached the entrance to the Tower of the Stars.
When he was out of earshot, Hermathya clenched her eyes shut, squeezing the tears from them. “So be it,” she hissed to herself. “So be it.” She picked up the golden goblet Kith-Kanan had left nearby and bashed the soft metal against the marble bench. The goblet was soon a twisted, misshapen lump.
*
The afternoon session dragged on as the three sides tried to decide who would govern the proposed buffer state. It was a tricky question, and every suggestion that came up was debated and discounted. Clerics and guildmasters from the city grew tired of the endless discussion and drifted away, thinning the crowd in the audience hall. After a time, Praetor Ulwen’s head nodded forward. His wife looked like she wanted a long nap herself.
“I can’t agree to give away mineral rights or crop-growing rights,” Teralind said testily, for the third time. “How do you expect our people to live? They can’t all herd cattle.”
“Well, your idea to have enclaves belonging to different nations is no solution,” Sithas said, tapping the arm of his chair to emphasize each word. “Instead of one large disputed territory, we’ll have scores of tiny ones!”
“Separate communities might be the answer,” mused Dunbarth, “if they are able to trade with each other.”
“They would fight over the choicest land,” the speaker said. He rubbed a hand against his left temple. “This i
s getting nowhere. Surely one of us can come up with a fair and adequate solution.”
No one said anything. Kith-Kanan shifted nervously in his seat. He had said virtually nothing during this session. Something Anaya had mentioned to him once was nagging at him. “I don’t meddle with the forest. I just protect it.” Perhaps that was the answer.
The prince stood quickly. The sudden movement startled everyone; they’d practically forgotten he was there. Sithel looked at his son questioningly, and Kith-Kanan self-consciously straightened the folds of his white robe.
“It seems to me,” he said with dignity, “that the entire problem with the western provinces comes from the fact that new settlers are pushing the old ones out. No one here, I think, would defend such activity.” Sithas and Dunbarth glanced at Teralind. She put her nose in the air and shrugged.
Kith-Kanan moved to the center of the floor. Sithas shifted restlessly as all eyes fixed on his brother. “If everyone is agreed upon the principle that all persons, regardless of race, have a right to settle on empty land, then the problem becomes a simple one-how to protect the legitimate settlers from those who seek to drive them off their land.”
“I sent soldiers once,” said the speaker flatly. “They were betrayed and slaughtered.”
“Forgive me, Father,” Kith-Kanan said, “but from what I have heard of the incident, they were too few and not the right kind of soldiers. If we are going to share the bounty of these lands, then the burden of protecting them must be shared. Soldiers from the city have no stake in the area; they simply obey the orders of the speaker.” The prince looked around at the company. “Do you not see? What’s needed is a local force, a militia, in which the farmer has his own shield and spear with which to protect his land and that of his neighbor.”
“Militia?” said Teralind with interest. Ulvissen was suddenly at her elbow trying to tell her something.
“Arm the farmers?” asked Dunbarth. The brim of his hat had lost its snap and drooped down over his eyes. He brushed it back.
“Peasants with spears would never stand up to mounted bandits,” asserted Sithas.
“They would if they were trained and led by experienced soldiers,” Kith-Kanan countered. He was thinking on his feet now. “One sergeant for each company of twenty; one captain for each band of two hundred.”