Tamanier Ambrodel was arguing heatedly with Senators Clovanos and Xixis. “Four towers have been toppled by lightning strikes!” Clovanos said, his voice becoming shrill. “A dozen of my tenants were hurt. I want to know what’s being done to stop all this!”
“The Speaker is attending to the problem,” Tamanier said, exasperated. His white hair stood out from his head as he ran his hand through it in distraction. “Go home! You are only adding to the problem by being hysterical.”
“We are senators of the Thalas-Enthia!” Xixis snapped. “We have a right to be heard!”
All through this mayhem, thunder boomed outside and flashes of lightning, mixed with the bright morning sun, gave the hall eerie illumination. Kith-Kanan glanced out a nearby window. Three columns of smoke were visible, rising from spots where trees had been set afire by lightning. After two days of lightning, the damage was mounting.
Kith-Kanan slowly rose to his feet. The crowd quickly fell silent and ceased its nervous shuffling.
“Good people,” began the Speaker, “I understand your fear. First the darkness came, weakening the crops and frightening the children. Yet the darkness left after causing no real harm, as I promised it would. Today begins our third day of lightning —”
“Cannot the priests deflect this plague of fire?” shouted a voice from the crowd. Others took up the cry. “Is there no magic to defend us?”
Kith-Kanan held up his hands. “There is no need to panic,” he said loudly. “And the answer is no. None of the clerics of the great temples has been able to dispel or deflect any of the lightning.”
A low murmur of worry went through the assembly. “But there is no threat to the city, I assure you!”
“What about the towers that were knocked down?” demanded Clovanos. His graying blond hair was coming loose from its confining ribbon, and small tendrils curled around his angry face.
From the rear of the hall, someone called out, “Those calamities are your fault, Senator!”
The mass of elves and humans parted to let Senator Irthenie approach the throne. Dressed, as was her custom, in dyed leather and Kagonesti face paint, Irthenie cut an arresting figure among the more conservatively attired senators and townsfolk.
“I visited one of the fallen towers, Great Speaker. The lightning struck the open ground nearby. The shock caused the tower to fall,” announced Irthenie.
“Mind your business, Kagonesti!” Clovanos growled.
“She is minding her business as a senator,” Kith-Kanan cut in sharply. “I know very well you expect compensation for your lost property, Master Clovanos. But let Irthenie finish what she has to say first.”
A flash of lightning highlighted the Speaker’s face for a second, then passed away. Chill winds blew through the audience hall. The banners suspended above the assemblage flapped and rippled.
More calmly, Irthenie said, “The soil near Mackeli Tower is very sandy, Your Majesty. I recall when Feldrin Feldspar erected that great tower keep. He had to sink a foundation many, many feet in the ground until he struck bedrock.”
She turned to the fuming Senator Clovanos, eyeing him with disdain. “The good senator’s towers are in the southwestern district, next to Mackeli, and they had no such deep foundations. It’s a wonder they’ve stood this long.”
“Are you an architect?” Clovanos spat back. “What do you know of building?”
“Is Senator Irthenie correct?” asked Kith-Kanan angrily. Before the fire in his monarch’s eyes and the dawning disgust evident in the faces around him, Clovanos reluctantly admitted the accuracy of Irthenie’s words. “I see,” the Speaker concluded. “In that case, the unhappy folk who lived in those unsafe towers shall receive compensation from the royal treasury. You, Clovanos, shall get none. And be thankful I don’t charge you with endangering the lives of your tenants.”
With Clovanos thus humbled, the other complainants fell back, unwilling to risk the Speaker’s wrath. Sensing their honest fear, Kith-Kanan tried to raise their spirits.
“Some of you may have heard of my contact with the gods just before the darkness set in. I was told that there would appear wonders in the world, portents of some great event to come. What the great event will be, I do not know, but I can assure you that these wonders, while frightening, are not dangerous themselves. The darkness came and went, and so shall the lightning. Our greatest enemy is fear, which drives many to hasty, ill-conceived acts.
“So I urge you again: Be of stout heart! We have all faced terror and death during the great Kinslayer War. Can’t we bear a little gloom and lightning? We are not children, to cower before every crack of thunder. I will use all the wisdom and power at my command to protect you, but if you all go home and reflect a bit, you’ll soon realize there is no real danger.”
“Unless you have Clovanos for a landlord,” muttered Irthenie.
Laughter rippled in the ranks around her. The Kagonesti woman’s soft words were repeated through the ranks until everyone in the hall was chortling in appreciation. Clovanos’s face turned beet red, and he stalked angrily out, with Xixis on his heels. Once the two senators were gone, the laughter increased, and Kith-Kanan could afford to join in. Much of the tension and anxiety of the past few days slipped away.
Kith-Kanan sat back down on his throne. “Now,” he said, stilling the mirth swelling across the hall, “if you are here to petition for help due to damage caused by the darkness or the lightning, please go to the antechamber, where my castellan and scribes will take down your names and claims. Good day and good morrow, my people.”
The Qualinesti filed out of the hall. The last ones out were the royal guards, whom Kith-Kanan dismissed. Irthenie remained behind. The aged elf woman walked with quick strides to the window. Kith-Kanan joined her.
“The merchants in the city squares say the lightning isn’t in every country as the darkness was,” Irthenie informed him. “To the north, they haven’t had any at all. To the south, it’s worse than here. I’ve heard tales of ships being blasted and sunk, and fires in the southern forests all the way to Silvanesti.”
“We seem to be spared the worst,” Kith-Kanan mused. He clasped his hands behind his back.
“Do you know what it all means?” the senator asked. “Old forest elves are incurably curious. We want to know everything.”
He smiled. “You know as much as I do, old fox.”
“I may know a deal more, Kith. There’s talk in the city about Ulvian. He’s missed, you know. His wastrel friends are asking for him, and rumors are rampant.”
The Speaker’s good humor vanished. “What’s being said?”
“Almost the truth – that the prince committed some crime and you have exiled him for a time,” Irthenie replied. A sizzling lightning bolt hit the peak of the Tower of the Sun, just across the square from the Speaker’s house. Since the strange weather had begun, the tower had been struck numerous times without effect. “His exact crime and place of exile remain a secret,” she added.
Kith-Kanan nodded a slow affirmation. Irthenie pursed her thin lips. The yellow and red lines on her face stood out starkly with the next lightning blast.
“Why do you keep Ulvian’s fate a secret?” she inquired. “His example would be a good lesson to many other young scoundrels in Qualinost.”
“No. I will not humiliate him in public.”
Kith-Kanan turned his back to the display of heavenly fire and looked directly into Irthenie’s hazel eyes. “If Ulvian is to be Speaker after me, I wouldn’t want his youthful transgressions to hamper him for the rest of his life.”
The senator shrugged. “I understand, though it isn’t how I would handle him. Perhaps that’s why you are the Speaker of the Sun and I am a harmless old widow you keep around for gossip and advice.”
He chuckled in spite of himself. “You are many things, old friend, but a harmless old widow is not one of them. That’s like saying my grandfather Silvanos was a pretty good warrior.”
The Speaker yawned and str
etched his arms. Irthenie noticed the dark smudges under his eyes and asked, “Are you sleeping well?” He admitted he was not.
“Too many burdens and too many anxious dreams,” Kith-Kanan said. “I wish I could get away from the city for a while.”
“There is your grove.”
Kith-Kanan clapped his hands together softly. “You’re right! You see? Your wits are more than a little sharp. My mind is so muddled that I never even thought of that. I’ll leave word with Tam that I’m spending the day there. Perhaps the gods will favor me again, and I’ll discover the reason behind all these marvels.”
Kith-Kanan hurried to his private exit behind the Qualinesti throne. Irthenie went to the main doors of the audience hall. She paused and looked back as Kith-Kanan disappeared through the dark doorway. Thunder vibrated through the polished wooden floor. Irthenie opened the doors and plunged into the crowd still milling in the Speaker’s antechamber.
*
There were no straight streets in Qualinost. The boundary of the city, laid out by Kith-Kanan himself, was shaped like the keystone of an arch. The narrow north end of the city faced the confluence of the two rivers that protected it. The Tower of the Sun and the Speaker’s house were at that end. The wide portion of the city, the southern end, faced the high ground that eventually swelled into the Thorbardin peaks. Most of the common folk lived there.
In the very heart of Qualinost was the city’s tallest hill. It boasted two important features. First, the top of the hill was a huge flat plaza known as the Hall of the Sky, a unique “building” without walls or roof. Here sacred ceremonies honoring the gods were held. Convocations of the great and notable Qualinesti met, and festivals of the seasons were celebrated. The huge open square was paved with a mosaic of thousands of hand-set stones. The mosaic formed a map of Qualinesti.
The second feature of this tall hill, lying on its north slope, was the last bit of natural forest remaining within Qualinost. Kith-Kanan had taken great care to preserve this grove of aspens when the rest of the plateau was shaped by elven spades and magic. More than a park, the aspen grove had become the Speaker’s retreat, his haven from the pressures of ruling. He treasured the grove above all features in his capital because the densely wooded enclave reminded him of days long past, of the time when he had dwelt in the primeval forest of Silvanesti with his first wife, the Kagonesti woman Anaya, and her brother Mackeli.
His time with Anaya had been long ago... four hundred years and more. Since then he had struggled and loved, fought, killed, ruled. The people of Qualinost were afraid of the darkness and lightning that had fallen upon them. Kith-Kanan, however, was troubled by the impending crisis of his succession. The future of the nation of Qualinesti depended on whom he chose to rule after him. He had to keep his word and step aside. More than that, he really wished to step aside, to pass the burden of command on to younger shoulders. But to whom? And when? When would Pax Tharkas be officially completed?
The grove had no formal entrance, no marked path or gate. Kith-Kanan slowed his pace. The sight of the closely growing trees already calmed him. No lightning at all had touched the grove. The aspen trees stood bright white in the morning sun, their triangular leaves shivering in the breeze and displaying their silvery backs.
The Speaker slipped the hood back from his head. Carefully he lifted the gold circlet from his brow. This simple ring of metal was all the crown Qualinesti had, but for his time in the grove, Kith-Kanan did not want even its small burden.
He dropped the crown into one of the voluminous pockets on the front of his monkish robe. As he passed between the tree trunks, the sounds of the city faded behind him. The deeper he went into the trees, the less the outside world could intrude. Here and there among the aspens were apple, peach, and pear trees. On this spring day, the fruit trees were riotous with blossoms. Overhead, in the breaks between the treetops, he saw fleecy clouds sailing the sky like argosies bound for some distant land.
Crossing the small brook that meandered through the grove, Kith-Kanan came at last to a boulder patched with green lichen. He himself had flattened the top of the rock with the great hammer Sunderer, given to him decades before by the dwarf king Glenforth. The Speaker climbed atop the boulder and sat, sighing, as he drank in the peace of the grove.
A few paces to his right, the brook chuckled and splashed over the rocks in its path. Kith-Kanan cleared his mind of everything but the sounds around him, the gently stirring air, the swaying trees, and the play of the water, It was a technique he’d learned from the priests of Astra, who often meditated in closed groves like this. During the hard years of the Kinslayer War, it had been moments like this that preserved Kith-Kanan’s sanity and strengthened his will to persevere.
Peace. Calm. The Speaker of the Sun seemed to sleep, though he was sitting upright on the rock.
Rest. Tranquility. The best answers to hard questions came when the mind and the body were not fighting each other for control.
A streak of heat warmed his face. Dreamily he opened his eyes. The wind sighed, and white clouds obscured the sun. Yet the sensation of heat had been intense. He lifted his gaze to the sky. Above him, burning like a second sun, was an orb of blue-white light.
It took him only half a heartbeat to realize he was staring at a lightning bolt that was falling directly toward him.
Shocked into motion, Kith-Kanan sprang from the boulder. His feet had hardly left its surface when the lightning bolt slammed into the rock. All was blinding flash and splintered stone. Kith-Kanan fell face down by the brook, and broken rock pelted his back. The light and sound of the bolt passed away, but the Speaker of the Sun did not move.
*
It was after sunset before Kith-Kanan was missed. When the Speaker was late for dinner, Tamanier Ambrodel sent warriors to the grove to find him. Kemian Ambrodel and his four comrades searched through the dense forest of trees for quite a while before they found the Speaker lying unconscious near the brook.
With great care, Kemian turned Kith-Kanan over. To his shock and surprise, the Speaker’s brown eyes were wide open, staring at nothing. For one dreadful instant, Lord Ambrodel thought the monarch of Qualinesti was dead.
“He breathes, my lord,” said one of the warriors, vastly relieved.
Eyelids dipped closed, fluttered, then sprang open again. Kith-Kanan sighed.
“Great Speaker,” said Kemian softly, “are you well?”
There was a pause while the Speaker’s eyes darted around, taking in his surroundings. Finally he said hoarsely, “As well as any elf who was nearly struck by lightning.”
Two warriors braced Kith-Kanan as he got to his feet. His gaze went to the blasted remains of the boulder. Almost as if he was talking to himself, the Speaker said softly, “Some ancient power is at work in the world, a power not connected with the gods we know. The priests and sorcerers can discern nothing, and yet.... “
Something fluttered overhead. The elves flinched, their nerves on edge. A bird’s sharp cry cut through the quiet of the aspen grove, and Kith-Kanan laughed.
“A crow! What a stalwart band we are, frightened out of our skins by a black bird!” he said. His stomach rumbled loudly, and Kith-Kanan rubbed it. There were holes burned through his clothing by bits of burned rock. “Well, I’m famished. Let’s go home.”
The Speaker of the Sun set off at a brisk pace. Lord Ambrodel and his warriors fell in behind him and trailed him back to the Speaker’s house, where a warm hearth and a hearty supper awaited.
5
THE CITADEL OF PEACE
THE BLAZING SUN PROVIDED LITTLE HEAT IN THE THIN AIR OF the Kharolis Mountains. Under that dazzling orb, twenty thousand workers labored, carving the citadel of Pax Tharkas out of the living rock. Dwarves, elves, and humans worked side by side on the great project. Most of them were free craftsmen – stonecutters, masons, and artisans. Out of the twenty thousand, only two thousand were prisoners. Those with useful skills worked alongside their free comrades, and they worked wel
l. The Speaker of the Sun had made them this bargain: If the prisoners performed their duties and kept out of trouble, they would have their sentences reduced by half. Outdoor work at Pax Tharkas was far preferable to languishing in a tower dungeon for years on end.
Not all the convicts were so fortunate. Some simply would not conform, so Feldrin Feldspar, the dwarf who was master builder in charge of creating the fortress, collected the idle, the arrogant, and the violent prisoners into a “grunt gang.” Their only task was brute labor. Alone of all the workers at Pax Tharkas, the grunt gang was locked into its hut at night and closely watched by overseers during the day. It was to the grunt gang that Prince Ulvian was sent. He had no skill at stonecarving or bricklaying, and the Speaker had decreed that he should be treated as a slave. That meant he must take his place with the other surly prisoners in the grunt gang, pushing and dragging massive stone blocks from the quarry to the site of the citadel.
Ulvian’s one meeting with Feldrin had not gone well. The chained prince, now dressed in the green and brown leathers of a forester, had been led by Merith to the canvas hut where the master builder lived. The dwarf came out to see them, setting aside an armful of scrolls covered with lines and numbers. These were the plans for the fortress.
“Remove his chains,” Feldrin rumbled. Without a word, Merith took Ulvian’s shackles off. Ulvian sniffed and thanked the dwarf casually.
“Save your thanks,” replied Feldrin. His thick black beard was liberally sprinkled with white, and his long stay in the heights of the Kharolis had deeply tanned his face and arms. He planted brick-hard fists on his squat hips and skewered the prince with his blue eyes. “Chains are not needed here. We are miles from the nearest settlement, and the mountains are barren and dry. You will work hard. If you try to run away, you will perish from hunger and thirst,” the dwarf said darkly. “That is, if my people don’t hunt you down first. Is that clear?”
The Qualinesti Page 7