Dargonesti lh-3

by Paul Thompson

  Gundabyr couldn’t believe his ears. “It’s time for me to go home,” he said morosely. “I’ve heard of some strange marriages in my time, but I never heard of a bride who gained her groom by besieging his city!”

  Vixa agreed heartily. “I’ve no wish to remain and see Uriona achieve her dream. Maybe not queen of all the elves, but certainly queen of Silvanesti!”

  They went to make their good-byes to the Speaker. He was downcast when he learned they intended to depart. “The wedding will be immense,” he promised. “Ten days of feasting! Actors, jugglers, and singers are being summoned. The clerics are building a chapel of glass under the river just for the ceremony! You should remain for that at least.”

  Gundabyr was tempted. Ten days of food and drink was certainly something to consider. The presence of Uriona, however, was certain to turn the food to ashes and the nectar to vinegar. They both declined. The Speaker settled for showering his new friends with rich gifts of clothing and jewels, not forgetting the magnifying lens he had promised Gundabyr. He asked how they planned to get home.

  “Walk?” said the dwarf.

  “Ride,” said Vixa firmly. “If Your Majesty would loan us horses.”

  “I shall do no such thing. You will have a griffon from the royal stable. You can fly home faster than the wind!”

  He clasped hands with Gundabyr, and Vixa was surprised to find herself embraced. She returned the gesture warmly.

  “May the gods favor you in all things, Cousin,” Elendar said sincerely. “Master Gundabyr, you and Lady Vixa are welcome in my realm at any time.”

  They thanked him again and took their leave. Outside, the morning sun was promising a hot day. Vixa looked across the city to Tower Protector, a frown on her face.

  “I have one more errand left,” she told Gundabyr. “I’ll meet you at the royal stable in an hour.”

  “Whatever you say, Princess.”

  Vixa walked to Tower Protector and entered without challenge. Though the nobles of Silvanost might disparage her for her heritage, the warriors respected her valor. She found Samcadaris and told him she desired a favor.

  “Anything, lady,” he said simply.

  “I want to talk to Coryphene.”

  The marshal was surprised. “You’ll not harm him-he is in my charge.”

  “I won’t touch him,” Vixa promised.

  She climbed to the top floor of one of the smaller towers. There in the center of a round room a large glass box had been formed by magic, sealed tight but for some finger-sized holes along its top. The box was filled with water. It was Coryphene’s prison cell.

  He stirred when she entered. He still wore his warrior’s clothing, though without armor. Vixa came close to the thin glass barrier.

  “What do you want?” he asked, addressing her in Elvish. His voice was muffled by the water and the glass, but she could understand him.

  “I’ve come to say good-bye. I’m going home.”

  At her words his head came up, and he stared at her. “To Urione?”

  “Qualinost,” she corrected. “Why would you think otherwise?”

  “You are a sister of the sea now. The call will be irresistible.”

  She laughed. “At Thonbec, when my freedom and credibility were at stake, it wasn’t so irresistible. I couldn’t even change into a dolphin.”

  “Foolish drylander. Do dolphins live in rivers? Only seawater makes the change possible.”

  “In any event, that’s not important. I came to pass along some news no one else may have bothered to share.”

  “What news?”

  “Uriona is marrying the Speaker of the Stars in one month’s time.”

  If she had hit Coryphene with a club, she couldn’t have stunned him more. His arrested expression and sudden stillness were most gratifying.

  “You lie,” he said at last. “You say so only to wound me. Uriona is mine.”

  “In a month, you’ll be able to hear the marriage pipes from here,” Vixa said with a shrug. “Uriona never loved you. You were only a tool for her ambition. When greater power came her way, she grabbed it.” The Qualinesti princess stepped closer and raised one finger to tap the glass barrier that separated them. “Ponder that, Lord Protector. Think of Uriona in the palace with the Speaker of the Stars, as you live the rest of your days in this glass bowl.”

  The angry flush had gone, leaving his face pallid and frozen. Vixa turned to leave, her mission accomplished. Nothing disturbed her enjoyment of the moment. She had only to remember Armantaro, Harmanutis, and Vanthanoris-none of them ever to return to Qualinesti soil-and all pangs of conscience vanished instantly. Let him sit alone in his crystal prison thinking of his love marrying another.

  Vixa descended to say farewell to Samcadaris. Halfway down the long staircase, she heard a crash above, followed by the sound of rushing water. Rivulets flowed down the steps behind her. She stood immobile for an instant, then another sound filled the air. It was a scream, which stopped abruptly.

  The Qualinesti princess’s face was blank. On the ground floor hall of the tower, she found the warriors rushing outside. She followed them. At the door stood Samcadaris.

  “It’s Coryphene!” he exclaimed. “Somehow he erupted out of his cage and threw himself from the window!”

  “Is he dead?” Samcadaris nodded, and she said flatly, “Good.”

  He stared at her. “What did you say to him?” the marshal demanded.

  “I only told him of the Speaker’s coming marriage.”

  Samcadaris looked shocked. “You told him-”

  “Coryphene chose his own path from Watermere to this tower,” she responded in a cold voice. “I will not grieve for him.”

  The Marshal of Silvanost regarded her in silence for several seconds, then he did an odd thing. He saluted. Vixa returned the gesture. Her coldness melted, and she said warmly, “You are a fine elf, Samca. Thank you for believing in me back on that beach.”

  They said their good-byes, and Vixa made her way to the royal stables. A fine, large griffon was saddled and ready. It had the magnificent head, neck, and wings of an eagle and the torso and hindquarters of a lion. A plumed lion’s tail fanned the air behind it. Panniers hung down on each flank, loaded with fine gifts and provisions. Gundabyr stood off to one side, regarding the beast dubiously.

  “Are we supposed to ride this thing?” he asked. Since the high-backed saddle was even now being cinched on the griffon’s back, his question was obviously rhetorical.

  Vixa smiled. “What’s the matter, afraid of flying?”

  “So long as we stay dry, I can handle anything.” The dwarf climbed onto a tall mounting block and was assisted into the saddle. Vixa mounted in front of him. The great animal shifted under their weight, turning its fierce head to regard them silently. The handler gave Vixa the reins. There was no bit, of course. The reins were connected to a leather halter. The Qualinesti princess had never flown a griffon before, but she wasn’t about to let the Silvanesti know it. She took the reins confidently.

  “What’s his name?” she asked the handler.

  “Her name is Lionheart, lady,” was the smooth reply.

  Vixa nodded as the handler stepped back. Looking over her shoulder, she said, “Ready, Gundabyr?” He grunted an affirmative, and Vixa snapped the reins. “Away, Lionheart!” she cried.

  The beast spread its great wings, took a few steps forward, and leapt into the air.

  Chapter 25

  Homecoming

  Vixa and Gundabyr flew straight to Thorbardin, where Lionheart landed at Northgate. Vixa tied the beast’s reins to a handy outcropping of rock, and she and Gundabyr descended into the underground city. At Gundabyr’s clan home in Daewar City, all of his family-and there were a lot of them-turned out to welcome him back and meet the Qualinesti princess. There was sadness, however, when Gundabyr relayed the news of his twin’s death.

  The two friends parted on the best of terms, each promising to visit the other. Gundabyr’s multitudinous
family all began planning a trip to Qualinost, hounding the poor fellow to give Vixa a firm date for the visit. Their attention grew so vexing, he drew Vixa aside and murmured, “Maybe I’ll just come visit you now-alone!”

  Vixa laughed and bade them all farewell. She returned to the patient Lionheart. They ascended high over the mountains, flying northwest toward Qualinost. Their route took them directly over Pax Tharkas, the great fortress guarding the pass between Qualinesti and Thorbardin. It had been built jointly by the two countries to celebrate their peaceful coexistence. Vixa’s grandfather, the famous Kith-Kanan, had overseen its construction, and his tomb was deep inside it.

  By the next morning, Vixa and Lionheart were circling Qualinost. The city was built on a plateau bounded by two rivers that flowed through deep gorges. The rivers merged at the northern point of the triangular plateau. Four silver-inlaid marble towers marked the cardinal points around the city. The towers were connected by arched bridges that encircled the city. The city’s buildings were built of rose quartz, which reflected the morning sun in a dazzling display. As Lionheart came to a gentle landing beside the golden Tower of the Sun, crowds of Qualinesti began to fill the city’s quartz-lined streets.

  The last word any in Qualinost had received of Vixa and her party had been brought by Ambassador Quenavalen, who’d finally made it home himself only a week before. The ambassador, after speaking to Ergothian refugees at the mouth of the Greenthorn River, carried home the news that Evenstar had been lost, with all hands aboard, in a strange fog. Vixa was saddened to know the ship had never returned. It must have gone down when the kraken submerged beneath it.

  Vixa walked up the grand steps and into the Speaker’s house, a huge, happy crowd trailing behind her. Kemian Ambrodel and Verhanna Kanan were waiting. Still in mourning for their youngest child and only daughter, they could barely credit her amazing arrival. The three had a joyous reunion. Speaker Silveran himself came out and greeted his niece, to the tumultuous cheers of the crowd.

  Eventually the whole story was told. A banquet was given, and the celebrations lasted four days. Throngs of celebrants-highborn, lowborn, elven, human, dwarven-filled the feasting hall to hear Vixa relate her tale. Scribes took down every word, and copies were posted throughout the city for the benefit of those who didn’t hear the story firsthand.

  When she finished recounting her adventures, Vixa was embraced by her mother. Tears sparkled in Verhanna’s dark brown eyes. “You were magnificent, Daughter! I’ll give you command of your own regiment-no, two regiments!”

  “Thank you, Mother, but no.” Vixa sat down, holding out her goblet for more nectar. “I’ve seen enough war for a dozen lifetimes.”

  “But, Vixa, you’ve proven yourself fit for higher command. The army-”

  “Do you know what I really need, Mother?” Verhanna shook her head. “I need to disappear into a quiet forest glade for at least a month!”

  Most of those assembled at the banquet laughed when they heard that, even the Speaker of the Sun, who was usually very solemn. Verhanna, however, was not at all amused. She returned to her place between the Speaker and her husband. For the rest of the evening she maintained an ominous silence.

  Some time later, Vixa found herself alone in her old room. She was wandering around, reacquainting herself with her familiar possessions, when a knock came at the door.

  “Enter,” she called.

  The door opened to reveal her father. “Am I disturbing you?” he asked.

  She smiled at him. “No, Father, please come in.”

  Kemian Ambrodel was a handsome elf of some four hundred years. From him Vixa had inherited her fair coloring and her introspective nature. Verhanna was more likely responsible for Vixa’s temper and strong will.

  Her father pulled up a chair and sat down. Without preamble, he stated, “I want you to make peace with your mother. She was nearly mad with grief when we thought you lost. She blamed herself for everything. When you came back, it was as though she lost a century off her age.” Kemian brushed a hand through his daughter’s fair hair. “She sees so much of herself in you, you know.”

  Vixa took his hand. “I always wanted to be more like you.”

  “After all you’ve been through, you can’t deny that you have your mother’s courage and passionate nature. She and I are very different, yet here we are, married all this time. No one thought it would work.”

  “She married you after you bested her in a duel!” Vixa said indignantly. Kemian’s almond-shaped blue eyes twinkled, and she added, “Very well, Father. I’ll take what command she offers-but I need some time to rest and reflect.”

  “That’s fine. Verhanna won’t object to that. It will be good to have you close to home for a while.”

  Vixa slept in her own bed that night. Her dreams were filled with a kaleidoscope of images: Armantaro’s familiar face; the battle for Silvanost, fought side by side with Gundabyr; and most strongly of all, the endless sea. She dreamt she was racing through the waves in dolphin form. The sensation was so powerful that she awoke breathless. Coryphene’s words came back to her: “You are a sister of the sea now. The call will be irresistible.”

  Rolling over to a more comfortable position, Vixa banished the ghostly echo from her mind. Sister of the sea? No longer. Not here in Qualinost.

  Vixa spent the remainder of the summer in the city, home with her parents. Her sleep continued to be troubled by dreams of the sea. To divert herself, she composed a long letter to Samcadaris, which she sent by the simple expedient of tying it to Lionheart’s saddle and sending the griffon home.

  Summer heat gave way to the gold-and-red chill of autumn. Vixa assumed command of the Wildrunners, the rangers of Kagonesti ancestry who’d served Kith-Kanan so well during the Kinslayer War. Her duties kept her in the northern woods for many weeks at a time. After her adventurous summer, she thought all she wanted was the peace and quiet of a remote outpost, yet she never felt at ease in the forest, not as she once had. Her nights were more disturbed now, the dreams of the sea frequently leaving her agitated and unable to sleep.

  Winter was gray and silent, as woodland winters usually are. Vixa spent nearly a month sick with fever, hot bricks in her bed to ward off the chills. She talked wildly in her delirium, raving about Urione, Nissia Grotto, Naxos, and other things that confounded the healers. Her fever would lessen for a short time, but hope was dashed as the illness took hold of her once more. At times they despaired for her life, but she was young and strong, and by the time the snows melted, she was on her feet again, unusually thin, with dark hollows beneath her eyes.

  The arrival of spring brought a courier from Qualinost. Among the other papers he carried was a strange letter addressed to Vixa. It had come, so the courier told her, when a griffon appeared over the city. The beast dropped a small scroll, upon which was written Vixa’s name. The letter had finally found its way to her, deep in the northern forest.

  Vixa untied the silk cord that bound the scroll. Tiny, elegant Silvanesti script filled the page. The letter read:

  To Her Royal Highness

  Princess Vixa Ambrodel

  Greetings:

  I regret not being able to respond sooner to your letter, but my duties have kept me quite busy. I am no longer marshal of Silvanost. That honor has fallen to Eriscodera, whom you met as a colonel last summer. An unlikely alliance has grown up between Eriscodera, Lord Agavenes, and the Speaker’s wife, Lady Uriona. They have opposed the Speaker’s attempts to restore contact with Qualinost. I fear Silvanost grows ever more insular. The Speaker has told me he hopes to abdicate in favor of his nephew. Uriona will oppose that, of course.

  I trust you are well, Princess. Though it saddens me to say it, I sometimes feel all our fighting was for naught, as we are ruled by Uriona anyway. At least the succession is assured and the line of Silvanos will continue. I remain

  Your friend,

  Samca

  A shudder ran through the Qualinesti princess. Perhaps Uriona’s pro
phecy had been right all along-at least in part. She had indeed been crowned in the Tower of the Stars, and now occupied the most ancient elven throne in the world.

  Vixa put a hand to her head, attempting to massage the ache from her temples. The pain would not go away. It had been with her, off and on, for a week.

  She called her lieutenant. “I’m turning over command to you,” she told him, writing out her orders on a scrap of parchment. “As of today, you lead the Wildrunners.”

  The Kagonesti was stunned. “By why, lady? Is your health still poor?” he asked.

  “No, but I can’t stay here. If I do, I’ll go mad.”

  She packed a single cloth bag with a few necessities, as Kerridar stood by helplessly, at a loss to explain his commander’s sudden departure. “What shall I tell the Speaker? What shall I tell your mother?” he asked weakly.

  “I’ve left letters for them. They’ll understand.” She didn’t intend to bandy words with Kerridar all day. “I’ll probably return some day to visit, but I’ll never command the Wildrunners again. You’re a good soldier, Kerridar. I’ve been proud to serve with you.”

  She gripped his hand, ignoring his bewilderment. Vixa tied her bag to her saddle and mounted. The chestnut horse fretted in a circle. “Good-bye, Kerridar,” she called.

  “Fare you well, Lady Vixa. Astra go with you!”

  She rode for days, stopping only for the horse’s sake. The rest periods had to be brief, because whenever she stopped, the ache in her head grew unbearable. Once she was moving again, the pain would subside. She avoided roads and villages, not wanting to meet anyone. By the evening of her third day of travel, she arrived at the ocean shore. There was nothing before her now but sand and rolling waves.