The Forest King aot-4

by Paul B. Thompson

  It didn’t take long for her to imagine a reason: If I thought I was going to be arrested or killed, I would want a large, friendly crowd at my back too!

  By the time they reached the Star Way, more than a thousand elves filled the boulevard. The pipers struck up an ancient air, “Sun and Stars,” and the crowd began to sing. Their voices made the hair on Mathi’s neck prickle. She had never heard such harmonious singing before. That was the magic of Silvanost, the city that rural elves believed was inhabited by the gods.

  Since the procession was hardly stealthy, word of Balif’s progress reached the Tower of the Stars well in advance of the general. Everyone could see the bright white pinnacle ahead, the tallest tower in the city. What no one saw until they rounded the wide, circular lane was a phalanx of royal troops drawn up before the tower gate. Ranged behind them were two companies of cavalry. Overhead, griffon riders circled. Quite a few griffon riders, in fact.

  The massed might, arrayed in perfect formation, caused the pipers leading the parade to falter. Their pipes fell raggedly silent when their lips dried. The divine chorus behind Mathi likewise sputtered and fell dumb. Everyone stopped and stared at the Speaker’s power, so openly displayed. All, that was, but one.

  Balif shouldered through the Astarin acolytes, politely excusing himself as he went. Mathi and Treskan were lost in the press until the general called out to them to follow. Feeling a bit like a rabbit racing by a dog pen, Mathi hurried to catch up.

  At the head of the troops lined up before the Tower of the Stars was a familiar face. Balif hailed his old comrade Farolenu, commanding the tower guard.

  “My lord!” said Farolenu, once a master metalsmith. “I was ordered to defend the tower against a riot. Instead I find you leading a festival parade!”

  Balif said, “Just a few well-wishers, old friend.”

  Farolenu raised his sword in salute. “Face the honor!” he cried. The commander of all elf armies was present, and the warriors had to pay homage. Blades and spears rose skyward.

  In response the crowd of Silvanesti chanted, “Balif, Balif,” in two long syllables like “Bay leaf, Bay leaf,” a pronunciation the general particularly disliked. Lofotan had advised Mathi that he preferred his name be pronounced “Bah-liff,” with the emphasis on the second syllable.

  The captain of the guard led his honor troop forward. They had to break ranks and filter through the crowd, a path they plainly resented. Mathi and the scribe came with them, filling in behind Balif like mismatched shadows.

  “The Great Speaker awaits,” Farolenu said, stepping aside. Balif mounted the shallow steps to the tower. The guard captain tried to restrain Treskan and Mathi from following.

  Balif said, “Let them be.”

  “The scribe perhaps, but a common girl cannot be admitted to the presence of the Speaker of the Stars!”

  “I am of common birth. The fact that everyone calls me ‘my lord’ doesn’t change that. So either admit us both or deny us both. Do as you will, but do it in haste. The sun grows hot and my friends restive.”

  Thinking of the crowd at his back, the captain relented. “On your responsibility, my lord,” he said grudgingly.

  Balif went on. Very quietly he told Mathi and Treskan to stay three steps behind him and say nothing. Tingling with anticipation, the girl and the scribe readily agreed.

  They climbed the steps between the enormous curled rails flanking the entrance. Made of white metal, they were brilliantly polished. Sunlight reflecting off them was almost painful. Treskan fell six steps behind when he strayed to get a closer look at the ornamentation. Without looking back, Balif urged him onward.

  “Those are solid electrum,” he said. An alloy of gold and silver, the metal was notoriously difficult to work. The entwined forms were curled as naturally as shoots of honeysuckle but made of hard metal six inches thick.

  They passed out of the bright sun into a cool antechamber. Farolenu and the guard captain were close behind. When Balif disappeared into the tower, another shout rose from the crowd. Mathi was close enough to the general to see his enigmatic expression. He might have been smiling, but his brow was deeply furrowed. Balif walked ahead, hands clasped behind his back and head lowered. Corridors passed by on either side. Court officials and favor seekers, looking cool and vastly self-important, lingered in the side halls, awaiting their chance to gain the Speaker’s ear. They stared at the elves who had the audacity-and influence-to walk directly into the monarch’s presence. For the first time, Mathi felt truly worried. Could she really stand before the Speaker of the Stars?

  The arched passage opened abruptly into a great open area, the hall of the Tower of the Stars. The scale of the place diminished everyone. Mathi looked up and saw that the awesome height of the tower was lined with a spiral row of windows reaching all the way to the domed roof. The tower walls were faced with black basalt. The only light came from an open skylight, the Moonlight Shaft, at the very peak of the dome. There were two rows of galleries above the hall, capacious enough to hold the assembled lords of the realm if need be.

  Amazing as the tower was, the floor was positively breathtaking. The floor of the great hall was covered with the finest mosaic Mathi had ever seen. Thousands of pieces of polished black jet were laid out to mimic the sky. Stars rendered in gold or silver dotted the floor in exactly the positions occupied by their heavenly counterparts. Most astonishing of all, tracks allowed models of the three moons to travel around the floor. A hidden mechanism under the floor kept them moving in the same place as the moons in Krynn’s sky. The floor of the Tower of the Stars was a giant orrery, an astronomical device by which the seasons could be tracked and the days of the year numbered. Such a complex mechanism was no less magical to Mathi than the invisible spells she knew protected the place.

  Balif approached to where the orbit of Solinari crossed the floor. There he stopped. He went down on one knee, facing the throne.

  “Great Speaker, I have come.”

  Mathi raised her eyes from the amazing instrument at her feet. Silvanos Goldeneye looked down at them from his throne atop a two-level dais. Lined up on the lower level were five solemn figures, richly dressed and wearing silver-star headbands. They were the Speaker’s counselors, heads of the five noblest families in Silvanost. On the second level, at the Speaker’s right, were the high priests of the major temples-Astarin, E’li, Matheri, Quenesti Pah, and the Blue Phoenix. Standing at Silvanos’s left were two females. One was young and very beautiful. The other was older, quite handsome, but more modestly dressed than the other. Mathi assumed the elder female must be the Speaker’s wife, and the younger, his daughter.

  “Balif Thraxenath, Chosen Chief of House Protector, First Warrior of the Great Speaker, son of Arnasmir Thraxenath of the Greenrunners clan, and loyal servant of the Great Speaker of the Stars, I greet you,” Silvanos said. His voice was deep and booming, though a lot of its power came from cunning acoustics in the hall.

  Though the place was dim, the Moonlight Shaft cast its light on the Speaker’s throne. Mathi got her first good look at the founder of Silvanesti. He was, as his epithet said, golden eyed. Silvanos’s famous eyes were large and almost red in color. His hair was also red-gold and worn very long. He had a strong face but not a handsome one. Silvanos’s nose was long and aquiline, his chin sharp. The height of his ears was truly dramatic. Long of limb, his hands appeared half again as big as Balif’s, who was well built. Mathi got a good impression of the strength of will of the elf, who had forged the proud old line of the elves into a nation. Everything about Silvanos seemed typically elflike but taken to unexpected heights. Even his powerful voice befitted a monarch with an almost godlike command over his people.

  “May I pay homage to your sister, the Votress of the Greenwood, and your royal wife?” said Balif. The younger woman smiled winningly. The elder one moved not a muscle.

  Mathi felt a strong hand on her shoulder. Before she knew it, she was forced to her knees. Farolenu pushed her down alon
g with Treskan then knelt between them.

  “Avert your gaze,” he whispered. Mathi stared at the black floor.

  “I have summoned you to undertake a new task of great importance to the nation,” Silvanos said.

  “As the Great Speaker commands, so shall I do.”

  From her place Mathi was puzzled. How could anyone as wise as Balif agree to a task he hadn’t heard about yet?

  “Word has come that an invasion is under way in the eastern lands.”

  Silvanos was referring to the land east of the Thon-Tanjan river. A mix of wild woodland and open plains, it was bound on the north by desert and on the east and south by the sea. It had no native population. Silvanos claimed the land for Silvanesti when he first took the crown, but little had been done to enforce the claim. The elves’ attention had been focused on the west, where nomadic humans constantly encroached on Silvanos’s claims to the great central plains.

  “Humans?” asked Balif. The east was a long way from the heaviest concentration of barbarians. It was unlikely humans could have migrated across the elves’ northern territory without notice, nor could they cross the desert in any numbers.

  “Not just humans,” Silvanos said, leaning back. “Another race … of small stature. My governor says the land is thick with them.”

  “Send the army,” Balif said flatly. His tone made the Speaker of the Stars’ face harden like a marble statue.

  “The army is engaged elsewhere,” Silvanos snapped. Balif did not shrug, but he might as well have. “I want you to go. Take a small band with you and survey the situation. Having just concluded a twenty-year fight for the west, I do not propose to lose the east by negligence.”

  “Is that your order, Great Speaker?”

  “It is. Go at once. Find out the truth of the situation, and bring your considered word back to me.”

  Balif bowed his head. “It shall be done, Great Speaker. May I draw on the royal stores for supplies?” Silvanos said Farolenu would provide whatever Balif needed for the journey.

  “Leave tomorrow,” Silvanos said. “I am anxious to have true knowledge of what’s going on.”

  “Is tomorrow soon enough? I can leave tonight, if it please the Great Speaker. Better to meet the invaders as far from the royal city as can be done.”

  Silvanos snapped, “You presume a great deal on my affection, my lord general! Save your sharp tongue for others worthy of it. I am not spoken to thus!”

  “Forgive me, royal master. I meant no disrespect.”

  Balif said the words, but Mathi did not believe him at all. He was mocking Silvanos’s pretense of importance. The mission could be done by any of a thousand reliable warriors. Why send the first general of the realm?

  She heard whispers from the throne dais. Peering in that direction, Mathi saw the elder of the two elf women conferring quietly with the Speaker.

  Silvanos shifted forward, perching tensely on the edge of his golden chair. “My noble sister reminds me that your wit, like your sword, is in my service too,” he said, trying to control his annoyance and only partially succeeding. “I trust you will use both as I command. Go with the sun, my lord general. May Astarin guard your steps.”

  “I thank you, Great Speaker, and the noble votress as well.” Balif bowed low. “I shall return before long with what intelligence I can gather. Health and long life to you, Great Goldeneye.”

  “And to you, Balif Thraxenath.”

  There was something in the Speaker’s tone that made Mathi’s blood run cold. Anyone could hear the hostility between Balif and Silvanos sparking the very air in the Tower of the Stars. His farewell to the general dripped with irony. Mathi had been awed to enter the Tower of the Stars and look upon the face of the Speaker. After their exchange, what she wanted most of all was to get away, and the sooner the better.

  Balif withdrew, shooing the girl, the scribe, and the captain of the guard ahead of him. By the time he’d backtracked to the entrance, Silvanos was deep in conversation with his counselors, ignoring the general’s departure.

  When Balif emerged from the tower, the crowd was still there. They roared when he reappeared. Smiling, he raised his hand in greeting.

  “Is it wise to encourage such disloyalty here?” asked Farolenu in a low voice.

  “These people saved my life,” he replied. “This is gratitude, not disloyalty.”

  They descended the steps. The mob surged forward, crushing the royal guards back. Fearing his soldiers would be trampled, the captain ordered his guards to shoulder their arms and give way. Cheering, the elves poured through the sullen warriors like floodwater.

  Raising his voice to be heard over the din, Balif said, “I will send over a list of the supplies I need!” Farolenu nodded.

  A slim elf girl, dressed all in white, emerged from the tower and darted down the steps. She slipped through the crowd with easy grace and pressed a note into Balif’s hand. Though she came from inside the tower, she continued on past Balif, melting into the throng. Balif cupped his hand around the missive and gave it a quick glance.

  “Any answer, my lord?” Treskan asked, stylus poised.

  “No. Go home, both of you. Tell Lofotan to prepare for a land voyage of three months’ duration. Have him send his list of needed supplies to Farolenu at House Protector.”

  Treskan dutifully took down his commands. When he looked up to ask for more instructions, Balif was gone. The crowd didn’t seem to notice. They cheered the elves remaining on the tower steps. When at last they noticed their hero was gone, the elves peacefully dispersed.

  CHAPTER 4

  Dreams

  Mathi and Treskan returned to Balif’s desolate mansion. It was not a comfortable journey. She had never been in Silvanost before, and though Treskan vowed he could backtrack on the route they had taken readily enough, they lost their way more than once. On the way to the Tower of the Stars, no one bothered to look at them because they were in the shadow of the great Balif. Going back, they felt like everyone they passed could tell they were strangers in the city. Because they were obviously not from the city, many elves shunned them, ignoring their painfully polite queries for directions. Treskan’s awkward gait and rather coarse appearance caused an arched eyebrow or two, and Mathi’s rustic clerical gown gained looks of aesthetic disapproval, but no one challenged them. No one helped either.

  By guess and by luck, they found the villa. It was more empty than usual. Lofotan was nowhere to be found. The scribe retired to an empty room off the main hall to transcribe his notes on Balif’s audience with the Speaker. Mathi roamed the vast halls, calling the majordomo without success. In the end she found her way to the kitchen. From far down the hall, she heard Artyrith laboring mightily, clattering cutlery and pans. He punctuated his struggle now and then with high-flown Elvish oaths. What elf obscenity lacked in earthy vigor it made up for with poetic ferocity. After hearing a few barrages from the cook, Mathi halted outside the kitchen, fascinated and horrified at the same time. What was that he said? Put the mixing spoons how deeply where?

  The door shielding her from the cook flew open.

  “The country girl! Why are you lurking in dark hallways?” Artyrith exclaimed.

  “I am looking for Lofotan,” she replied. “Have you seen him?”

  “I’ve seen no one since you two came down to collect the general’s breakfast.” His belligerent tone softened. “Did he like it, by chance?”

  Mathi honestly could not remember. She said, “He liked it very well.”

  “Strange, he usually eats like a songbird. Maybe feeling like a condemned convict improved his appetite.”

  Artyrith grabbed a broom from the corner outside the door. Mathi noticed that the broom, like most artifacts she’d seen in Silvanost, was impossibly elegant for such a homely tool. The handle was made from a long, white bone, a wing or leg bone of some unidentifiable creature. At the other end, the broom’s head looked like a solid block of some kind of soft, gray material.

  She follow
ed Artyrith. The kitchen was well lit by assorted luminars-proof Balif never came down there. A transparent vase lay smashed on the floor. Saffron dust spilled out in drifts from the point of impact. Sighing, Artyrith started sweeping up the spill. He muttered something about how much gold per ounce the spilled powder cost.

  “Why do you call the general a convict?” Mathi asked.

  “Because death or exile hangs over his head like a sword. Have you not heard?”

  “I’ve not been in Silvanost long, my lord.”

  Having his pretensions polished made Artyrith beam. “Of course. You are a hopeless provincial.” She must have frowned, for the handsome cook explained, “No offense, my dear. One is either from Silvanost or not.”

  So far the distinction did not seem much of an honor to Mathi. She saw Artyrith start to dump a pan full of broken glass and golden-red powder in a waste bin. Mathi objected. Why not sieve it, filtering out the bits of glass?

  Artyrith was delighted. “Trust a practical peasant to know how to squeeze a coin!”

  He placed a large copper bowl on the table and laid a slightly smaller sieve of the same metal on top of it. Dumping the spilled powder in the sieve, he noted with satisfaction that it passed through, leaving slivers of glass behind.

  “Tell me about Lord Balif,” Mathi said. “I know the songs they sing about his courage and generalship. Who is the real one I owe my rescue to?”

  The cook tapped the sieve to speed the powder through. “Ah, the general. No one is so talked about in Silvanost as our lord! Time was Balif was the second most powerful person in the kingdom, and without doubt the most respected. But something happened to change all that. It was that rogue, Vedvedsica.”