The Puppet King

by Doug Niles

  “The murder of a princess … the loss of an unborn child’s life,” Gilthas said, his tone softening as he found the person he sought. “Hello, my queen. I am glad to see that you are well.”

  “Hello, Gilthas,” Alhana replied with a smile. She stepped forward, taking her husband’s arm in a gesture that seemed incongruously tender in contrast to Porthios’s harsh words. “And I am glad to see you healthy as well.”

  “Tell me why you wanted to see me,” Porthios demanded, clearly vexed by his wife’s friendliness with the young elf.

  “Because I admire what you have done, and I despise what has happened in Qualinesti. You might be interested to know that your victory over a wing of the Dark Knights’ army resulted in a general’s execution. I have heard that Lord Ariakan himself found your attack embarrassing and disconcerting.”

  “And who is Lord Ariakan? Is he your new master?” The outlaw captain seemed determined to be rude.

  Gilthas stiffened. “My admiration was based on an account of your actions and a genuine interest in seeing if there was something, anything, I could do to help you. However, I have no interest in being insulted and ridiculed. I can leave right now!”

  “No,” Porthios growled, “you can’t. Not unless you know how to persuade the griffons to obey you.”

  Gilthas felt a nervous surge in his gut and knew that the other elf spoke the truth. Still, he tried to cover his anxiety with bluster. “Am I your prisoner, then? This journey was a ruse on your part to work my capture?”

  “Why should we take risks like this? You wouldn’t be worth the trouble,” Porthios said with a sneer.

  “Then why am I here?” Gilthas retorted, getting hotter by the second. “Why did you let me come?”

  “Because you know things about the Dark Knights … things that I need to know. You were right, in a sense. You might be able to help me.”

  “Come, Husband. This is not a matter to be discussed while we stand here and wait for the sun to reach its zenith,” Alhana said gently. She had not let go of his arm, and now she gently pulled him through a half circle while she turned to Gilthas. “Join us for a bite of food … and we can sit, as conferring elves should.” She looked chidingly back to Porthios. “Not stand around like human bulls getting ready to fight a duel.”

  Gilthas followed, aware that Kerian was walking behind him, still arm in arm with the glowering Kagonesti warrior. Lining their route into the forest were many other elves, and it did not escape the young Speaker’s notice that there was not a friendly face in the lot.

  All of which made Alhana’s graciousness an exceptional relief. She led them to a small clearing, merely a bare patch of forest floor surrounded by the trunks of many massive trees. It was almost as though a natural room had been formed here in the woods. Stern warriors stood at the gaps between the trees, giving some measure of privacy to the elves who entered the enclosed space.

  They included Porthios and Alhana, Gilthas, several other elven warriors, and Kerian and the Kagonesti brave who had not left her side since their arrival. Gilthas was further pleased to recognize the warrior-mage Samar, who with Tanis had aided Alhana’s escape. So far as the Speaker had known, Samar had been killed during the queen’s first, ill-fated attempt at escape.

  “No … I was saved by healer magic,” Samar explained easily. “And in our second attempt, we were more careful, though I regret that we were not able to get you away with us.”

  “Sometimes I wish you had,” Gilthas admitted, allowing himself a moment of glum honesty.

  “You tried to escape?” Porthios asked skeptically “Rashas was holding his prospective Speaker prisoner?”

  “I told you, Husband,” Alhana interjected with a touch of exasperation. “It was only the threat against my life that forced Gilthas to take on the medallion and the throne of the Speaker.”

  “It’s true,” Gilthas insisted, trying to be pleasant, though he admitted to himself that he was tired of Porthios’s scorn and irritated with the outlaw prince constantly questioning his motives. “Rashas showed me an archer, one of his Kagonesti slaves, who held a bow drawn, an arrow aimed at your wife’s heart. He made it clear that he would give the order to shoot if I showed any hesitation.”

  A question suddenly occurred to the young elf, and he fixed his eyes upon Porthios with a hint of challenge. “And that medallion still bore the enchantment of the sun … that meant that you gave it up willingly! Why?”

  The prince glowered and flushed, but finally shrugged in resignation. “Rashas used the same tactic against me,” Porthios admitted. “I gave it up to spare Alhana’s life.”

  “Then take it back!” Gilthas urged suddenly, impetuously. “I would willingly return it to you, and you can have the throne again!”

  Porthios shook his head firmly. “I’m an outlaw, remember? My days of living in Qualinost, in any elven city, are behind me!”

  “If that’s the case—if you accept the judgment of the Thalas-Enthia that you’ve been exiled—then why do you choose to dwell in the Qualinesti forests?” Gilthas shot back, his chin jutting forward in challenge.

  The older elf blinked, then allowed himself a tight smile. “I see the pup is finding his bark.” His expression darkened. “But my reasons are my own, and I have no intention of justifying them to you.”

  Gilthas shrugged. “It’s not necessary that you do. But I would have expected your actions to make a little more sense, that’s all.”

  “They make sense to me.”

  “You said that I could help you, that you wanted information about the Dark Knights. What do you want to know?”

  “This Lord Salladac … you have met him?”

  “Yes.”

  “Tell me what he’s like, his strengths, especially, and any weaknesses you might have observed.”

  Gilthas tried to comply. He listed the Dark Knight leader’s grasp of strategy and tactics, his obvious mastery over his own troops. He described the speed with which the knightly army moved, the well-disciplined dragons, and the rank after rank of fierce-looking brutes, all apparently devoted to their lord. Gilthas also mentioned Salladac’s utter ruthlessness in dealing with the incompetence of his own lieutenant, the soldier who had been executed for failing to guard his camp.

  “That incompetence was highlighted only by our attack,” Porthios interjected with no attempt to conceal his pride.

  “Exactly. Salladac is a diplomat, too. In negotiations, he is unfailingly pleasant, yet he seems to get exactly what he wants.”

  “That’s because he deals from a position of strength.”

  “Perhaps … and also because, in my experience, he’s been negotiating with weaklings.” Gilthas was startled by his own frankness.

  “Do you include yourself in that assessment?” Porthios looked at him shrewdly.

  The Speaker merely shrugged. “You can, if you want. I was present, but—as I’m sure you could imagine—it was Rashas who did the talking.”

  “Gilthas—that is, the Speaker—tried to raise a company to defend the city!” Kerianseray, speaking for the first time, interrupted with surprising vehemence.

  A warm flush of pleasure flowed through the young elf at her words, though he tried to mask his emotion from Porthios and from the fierce-looking Kagonesti who glowered at Kerian’s side.

  “This is true?” asked the outlaw captain.

  Now Gilthas’s emotions shifted again toward shame as he remembered his pathetic efforts. “I tried, that much is true. But the elves of the city showed no stomach for the fight. I was able to gather about fifty old warriors, half of them lamed during the War of the Lance.”

  “They had no stomach for the fight, or for their leader?” Porthios stabbed shrewdly.

  Gilthas remained silent, biting his tongue as he glared at the outlaw.

  Porthios snorted in contempt. “I would have expected more from the son of Tanis Half-Elven. Your father was impetuous, a fool in some ways, but at least he—”

  Gilthas
had heard enough. His features twisted into a snarl and he jumped to his feet. “Listen, damn you—leave my father out of this! Tanis has more wisdom in his big toe than you, a so-called elven prince, have in your whole body! You won’t insult him in my presence, or I will fight you!”

  He dropped his tone, his voice deliberately scornful, challenging. “Are you a complete fool? Can’t you see that I don’t have any more choice in these matters than you do? If you’re too stupid to get that through your head, then send me away or kill me … whatever you plan to do.”

  With a glower of pure fury, he raised his fist—he had no weapon—and took what he assumed was a martial stance. “That is, you can try to kill me!”

  Porthios stared at him, his face darkening to a furious crimson. Then, to Gilthas’s immense chagrin and embarrassment, the outlaw prince threw back his head and laughed out loud. He bounced to his feet and, still laughing, reached forward to clasp the Speaker’s clenched fist in both of his hands.

  “Well said, young nephew. You are your mother’s—and your father’s—son after all. And you’re right to talk to me like that. I apologize for my rudeness.”

  Utterly flustered now, Gilthas followed the other’s lead and sat back down. He regarded Porthios warily, surprised to realize that the outlaw now seemed to be in a fine mood, for he was chuckling and shaking his head in amusement.

  “You were telling me about this Dark Knight lord … painting a rather formidable picture, I must admit. Does he have any weaknesses?”

  Gilthas had actually given this question some thought, and he had an answer prepared. “If he has a weakness, and I am not certain that he does, it is that Lord Salladac is convinced—is too convinced—that he cannot fail. He exhibits a sense of arrogance that might lead to his undoing.”

  “In what way?” Porthios was listening intently.

  “He has been ordered to send his dragons and half his army to aid in the campaign against Silvanesti, for example, but he’s decided to remain here, fully confident that he and his regime are safe.”

  “As to the city, is it true that the Thalas-Enthia is allowed to meet, to conduct business as usual?”

  “Yes … up to a point. The most radical members have fled, and their houses have been given over to the knightly garrison. There is a curfew now, but of course that doesn’t mean much to elves—it’s not as if we carouse like dwarves until all hours—though the knights have many guards patrolling the city at night.” He flashed a smile at the Kagonesti woman across the campfire. “Fortunately Kerianseray didn’t seem to have much trouble in leading us past them.”

  “My daughter has been trained to know the stealth of the deer and the speed of the rabbit,” declared the tattooed warrior who sat so protectively beside the wild elf maid.

  “Your daugh—of course, yes,” Gilthas said, flustered. Alhana’s eyes sparkled at his discomfort, though he tried manfully to maintain his composure. Nevertheless, he was almost giddy with delight at the news. Though the wild elf brave was clearly mature, his tattooed elven face gave no hint that he was anything more than a grown male, so the Speaker had naturally formed a mistaken impression about him

  “Forgive me,” Porthios said. “This is Dallatar, chieftain of the Kagonesti in these woods. His warriors have allied themselves with ours in defense of our homeland.”

  “I’m glad,” Gilthas said sincerely. “And you should know that there are those in the city who would be your allies as well.”

  “I believe you,” the dark elf said, and Gilthas was surprised at the wave of relief those words sent through him.

  “Now that we’ve gotten some of this business out of the way,” Alhana suggested, with a pointed look at her husband, “why don’t we move to the council fire. There we can eat—not a palace feast, of course, but we make do with the humble fare that the forest provides—and perhaps our guest might get a taste of our hospitality instead of our suspicions.”

  “Agreed,” Porthios said cheerfully.

  The elves made an informal procession as they left the enclosed space between the tree trunks. Gilthas was surprised to find, a few paces deeper in the forest, a wide, open space in which were gathered hundreds of elves and griffons. A few tall trees grew here and there, with broad upper branches sweeping outward, interconnecting enough to deny any glimpse of the sky. More significantly, he realized, this huge encampment was consequently invisible to discovery from the air.

  The “humble fare” of the forest was a dazzling array of foods, centering around roast venison, stuffed game hens, and fish fillets spitted and grilled over hardwood coals. There were fruits and tubers in accompaniment, including berries that had been whipped into a light froth and then spread over thin strips of bread. The outlaws even had wine, though Porthios cheerfully admitted that it was not of their own making. Instead, they had taken it from an outbound caravan. Many jugs had been cached near here, so that when the blue dragons had driven them out of their previous camp, they had still maintained a ready supply of the beverage so favored by the elves.

  The atmosphere was convivial, and Gilthas found himself envying these elves of the forest. In his opinion, they paid but a small price by sleeping on the ground, making do without the dancing lights, the elegant surroundings of Qualinost. Porthios tried to point out that a great deal of work went into gathering the food, and even more time was spent guarding themselves against attack, but even these deterrences seemed merely like an adventurous aspect to what must be an idyllic life.

  These were the thoughts on Gilthas’s mind as he rose to visit the latrine long after the meal had been supped. The wine left a pleasant taste on his tongue and a mild buzz in his head as he wandered through the woods.

  It was so peaceful here, he thought as he heard birdcalls in the dark woods. He strolled through the dark, coming back to the firelit clearing by a roundabout path. At the edge of the illuminated swath, he almost stumbled over a figure crouching in the bushes.

  “Excuse me,” stammered Gilthas, embarrassed by his clumsiness. He assumed that this was merely another elf who, like himself, had wandered off to relieve himself in private. Then he caught a glimpse of the sharp, angry features.

  “You!” gasped the young Speaker.

  Immediately the other elf, who had recognized Gilthas at the same time, spat a curse and snatched at something he held in his hand. The Speaker saw a golden ring, twisted by frantic fingers. With a single muffled word, the figure disappeared. Gilthas lunged forward, groping through empty space, knowing that the other elf had teleported away.

  “Porthios! Alhana!” he cried, lunging into the clearing, pointing to the place where the other elf had crouched.

  “What? What’s wrong.”

  “There, in the woods—a spy was watching!”

  “How do you know he’s a spy?” demanded the outlaw captain, drawing his sword and racing toward the empty patch of shrubbery.

  “Because I recognized him. His name is Guilderhand, and he’s loyal only to Rashas!”

  “I’ll have to return to the city immediately,” Gilthas said. “Guilderhand is probably there already, but perhaps I can try to minimize the damage.”

  “How?’ Porthios asked scathingly. “He saw you here, he knows the location of our camp, and you claim that he’s loyal to our staunchest enemy. Our only alternative is to flee from here and take you with us!”

  He looked at Gilthas closely. “Which is a shame, my young prince, because I had realized that with you on the Speaker’s throne, we could in fact be very useful to each other.”

  “It might not be as bad as we fear,” Samar reported as he came to join them. The warrior-mage had been investigating the place where Guilderhand had disappeared. “Perhaps we can send someone after him and get to him before he makes a report.”

  “How?” asked Porthios.

  “I have a device of teleportation myself, which is the same enchantment that Guilderhand obviously had on his ring.” Samar produced a small vial from his pouch. “It is co
ntained here, in a bit of mint. It can be used to send someone to Qualinost, to try to intercept—and to silence—the spy.”

  “I’ll go,” Gilthas said quickly. “It has to be me. I can move around the city, and no one will be surprised to see me there.”

  “Then perhaps we do have time,” the outlaw captain said. He looked at Gilthas. “Do you know what needs to be done?”

  “To go after Guilderhand?” Gilthas asked, his mind still taut with the fear and excitement of the encounter.

  “You’ll have to kill him if you can find him before he reports to Rashas,” Porthios declared grimly. “But if you’re too late, then flee the city, or suffer the consequences of having the senator and the Thalas-Enthia know about our alliance.”

  “I understand,” Gilthas said, and he did—up to a point.

  The one thing he didn’t know was how in Krynn he would go about trying to commit a murder.

  PART III

  CHAOS

  Prologue

  25 SC

  “The blues left … and you stayed,” said Silvanoshei, standing to stare directly into one of Aerensianic’s huge, golden eyes. “When the storms came, you could have stayed hidden, remained in this lair your cherished so much. Samar has told me that you did not. But what is it that drew you out of your cave?”

  The dragon snorted in amusement. “Something came to me—something that I could never have expected—but once I found it, I could never turn my back.”

  The dragon paused in his story for a moment, lifting his head and fixing his eyes toward the mouth of the cave. “Wait,” he said.

  The two elves watched as he lifted the great body onto his four legs and crept, catlike, out of the corner of his lair. Aeren’s eyes were fixed upon the trough in the floor of the cave, where the tide had advanced in a gently surging wave of seawater. Something splashed in that wetness, and then a sleek body vanished beneath the surface.

  “A seal,” whispered Samar, holding up his hand to halt Silvanoshei as the younger elf started to move. Instead, they both sat still and watched.