by Mark Anthony
Flint thought he heard a scuffling outside and stomped to the doorway to check. But he heard and saw no one.
"Fireforge, you're growing old. Now you're imagining things," he complained as he went back to loading the sack.
He felt a warmth deep inside as he touched each of the wooden toys. Metal was good to shape; it gave one a sense of power as the cold substance submitted to the hammer and took on shape by the force of the forger's will. But wood was different, he thought, stroking a wooden whistle. One did not force wood into a shape or design, the dwarf said to himself; one found the shape that lay within it. There was no time Flint knew greater peace than when he sat with a carving knife in one hand and a piece of wood in the other, wondering what treasure lay hidden within its heart.
"It's like folks are, my mother used to say," he explained to his shop at large, which was as familiar to him by now as a close friend. "Some folks are like this metal, she'd say," and he displayed a metal flower brooch to the deserted room. "They can be forced into line. They'll adapt. Other folks are like this wood," and he held up a tiny squirrel, carved from softwood. "If you force them, they'll break. You have to work slowly, carefully, to see what's within."
"The key, my mother said," he intoned gravely to a stone bench near the door, "is to know which is which."
Flint paused as though waiting. It occurred to him that a fellow who made speeches to his furniture probably had few friends. With the exception of the Speaker and Miral and the city's children, most elves were reservedly polite with him. But there was no one to slap on the back and treat to an ale at a tavern, no one to swap stories with, no one he'd particularly trust to protect his back on the open road.
"Perhaps it is time to go home to Solace," he said softly, a look of sadness crossing his face.
Just at that moment, a thump resounded from right outside the door, followed by a quickly stifled "Oh!" He paused only a heartbeat in his movements and tiptoed to the open portal. Suddenly, he leaped through the doorway, booming, "Reorx's thunder! To the battle!" and laying about him with the carved squirrel as though it were a battle-axe. With a flurry of dust and a shriek of "Tanis, help!" a wispy figure topped with ash-blond curls sped away between the pear trees and the aspens. Her turquoise playsuit mirrored the deepening sky of twilight.
"Lauralanthalasa!" Flint called, laughing. "Laurana!" But the Speaker's daughter had disappeared.
The elf girl had called to Tanis, but Flint saw no evidence of the half-elf. Presumably, from Laurana's call, Tanis's afternoon archery lesson with Tyresian had been concluded.
Smiling, Flint went back into his shop. He was grinning still when he emerged, tossed the bag over his shoulder and bounded out the door of the shop. In the center of Qualinost, at the foot of the rise crowned by the aspen groves of the Hall of the Sky, stood an open square. It was a sunny place, bounded on one side by a row of trees that seemed to have grown especially for climbing and, on the other side, by a small brook spilling into a series of moss-lined pools. Between the two was plenty of space for running, shouting, and playing all sorts of noisy games. The square was a perfect place for children.
The sun had begun to dip into the horizon when Flint's footsteps brought him to the square. Dozens of elven children, dressed in cotton outfits gathered at neck and wrist and ankle, halted their games as the stocky dwarf stepped across the footbridge and into the clearing. The children stared at him, none daring to break the silence. Flint glowered, his bushy eyebrows drawn down almost over his steely eyes, and then he snorted, as if they were hardly anything to bother with. He marched through the square, his back turned to all their wondering eyes.
Finally, an elf girl dressed in turquoise dashed forward to tug at the dwarf's sleeve. Flint whirled, his eyes flashing like flint on steel. Oh ho! Flint thought, keeping his expression dour, so it's Laurana, is it? "You!" he exclaimed. The other children turned pale, but Laurana held her ground. He continued, "Were you spying on me?"
Laurana tilted her head, and one pointed ear tip poked out of her profusion of curls. "Well, of course," she said.
"What do you want?" he snarled. "I haven't got all day. Some folks have to work, you know, instead of playing all the time. I've got to take a very important order to the Tower, and it's nearly sundown."
The elf girl chewed on a pink lower lip. "The Tower's the other way," she said at last, green eyes sparkling.
Tremendous self-possession, Flint thought, for a youngling; must be the royal blood. Or else it was the figure of Tanis lounging in the background that gave Laurana courage.
"Well?" he demanded again. "What do you want of me?"
"More toys!"
Flint looked amazed. "Toys? Who has toys?"
She started to giggle and pulled on his sleeve. "In the sack. You've got toys in the sack, Master Fireforge. Admit it. You do, now."
He growled, "Not possible." But the cries of the children— "Yes." "Toys!" "Last time, I got a carved minotaur." "I want a wooden sword."—drowned out his reply. They swirled around him like a multicolored maelstrom. "Oh, all right," he muttered loudly. "I'll take a look, but the sack's probably full of coal. Just what you deserve." He peered inside, hiding the contents from the children, who crept closer.
About twenty feet away, Tanis sighed loudly and selected a new pear tree to lean against. His face held the bored look of the adolescent—although he did remain at the scene.
"Bent nails," Flint said, rummaging in the sack. "That's what I've got in here. And rusted curry combs and worn-out horseshoes and a month-old loaf of quith-pa. That's all."
The children waited for Laurana to take the lead. "You always say that," she pointed out.
"All right," he sighed. "Here's an idea. You put your arm inside the sack and pull something out."
She nodded. "Fine." She placed one hand near the opening. "Just watch out for the baby sea dragon," the dwarf said. "It bites."
She snatched back her slender hand and glared at Flint. "Want me to do it?" Flint finally offered.
Laurana nodded again.
He pulled something from deep in the corner of his sack, a gleeful grin on his face. She gasped, clapping her hands, and suddenly she wasn't the Speaker's royal daughter, but an ordinary elven girl. Frowning still, he laid the object in her hand.
It was a flute, no longer than the span of the elf girl's hand, but perfect in every respect, carved of a bit of vallenwood that Flint had brought all the way from Solace. But he knew its tone would be sweeter than any other wood, and this was proved true as Laurana raised the flute to her lips. The tones that bubbled forth were as clear as the water in the brook.
"Oh, thank you!" Laurana exclaimed, and, ran over to Tanis, who stooped to examine her treasure. Laurana's brother, the elf boy called Gilthanas, and the other elven children pressed about Flint, begging him to please look and see if there was anything in his sack for them, too.
"Now, stop shoving," Flint said testily, "or I'm liable to leave at any second, you know." But somehow, despite the dwarf's grumbling, when the bag was empty every child in the square held a new, perfect toy. There were tiny musical instruments, like Laurana's flute, and small puppets that could be made to dance on the palm of the hand, and miniature carts pulled by painted horses, and wooden disks that rolled up and down on the end of a string tied to a finger.
All of the toys were made of wood, each carved lovingly by the light of the fire. Flint would work for weeks in his spare moments, filling up the cabinet, and then, when he'd made enough, he would find some excuse to pass through the square. Not that he'd ever admit it was anything other than chance that sent him when he just happened to have toys in his sack. He would merely scowl.
As he folded up the empty bag, Flint searched the gathering of children with his eyes. The dwarf saw Tanis, now sitting on the edge of the square, apart from the others near one of the pools. He sat cross-legged, staring silently into the water, where Flint could see the faint shadows of fish drifting by. In the midst of all t
his elven loveliness, there was something about Tanis, with his human qualities, that seemed decidedly familiar to Flint. The elves were a good people, but once in a while he found his thoughts turning to the times he had spent with folk a bit less distant. At any rate, he had come to the square like this four or five times now, and always Tanis had hung back from the other children when the dwarf was giving out the wooden toys. Tanis was growing old for youngsters' fripperies, but still . . . He wasn't all grown up yet. Not that Tanis hadn't seemed interested. Nearly every time the dwarf had arrived at the area to pass out toys, Flint had looked up to see the youth's not-quite-elven eyes upon him, as if he were studying the dwarf. Flint would motion for the boy to come forward, but he never would. He would just keep watching with that thoughtful gaze of his, and then, when the dwarf would look for him again, he would be gone.
But this time would be different. Flint thrust a hand in his pocket, making sure the one last toy he'd been saving—a wooden pea-shooter—was still there.
The rest of the children had dissipated, gone home to suppers of venison with fruit sauce, basted fish, or quith-pa with roasted fowl. The only figure in sight was Tanis. The Speaker's ward sat by the pool, arms clasped about his knees, resting his chin on them, watching Flint with his hazel eyes. He wore a loose white shirt and tan deerskin breeches, clothing reminiscent of that of the Que-Shu plainsmen, quite unlike the flowing tunics and robes that full elves preferred. He stood, unfolding his husky frame without the sense of grace that the other elves carried. Tanis brushed back a wing of reddish brown hair.
"Tanthalas," Flint said, nodding.
The half-elf echoed Flint's nod. "Master Fireforge."
They stood, both seemingly waiting for the other to make the first move.
Finally, Flint gestured at the pond. "Watching the fish?" he asked. Brilliant start, he thought.
Tanis nodded.
"Why?"
The half-elf looked surprised, then thoughtful. His answer, when it finally came, was delivered in a nearly inaudible tone. "They remind me of someone." The half-elf didn't meet his gaze. Flint nodded. "Who?"
Tanis looked up sullenly. "Everybody here."
"The elves?"
The half-elf signaled assent.
"Why?" Flint pressed again.
Tanis kicked a clod of moss. "They're satisfied with what they've got. They never change. They never leave here except to die."
"And you're different?" Flint asked.
Tanis drew his lips into a straight line. "Someday I'm leaving here."
Flint waited for the half-elf to say something else, but Tanis seemed to consider his part of the conversation over. All right, Flint thought; I'll give it a try. At least he's not slipping away into the shadows, for once. "How was today's archery lesson?" the dwarf asked.
"All right." The boy's voice was a monotone, and his eyes were focused on the pool again. Children chattered and screamed delightedly in the distance. "Tyresian and Porthios and their friends were all there," he added.
It sounded appalling, given the way Porthios's friends felt about the half-elf. Flint wondered what he could say to cheer up the Speaker's ward. "It's suppertime," he said, thinking, Sparkling conversation, Master Fireforge. What was there about this lad that rendered him conversationally inept?
Tanis smiled thinly and nodded his agreement. Yes, indeed, it was suppertime. The half-elf moved three paces to lean against another pear tree.
Flint tried again. "Care to join me for"—What did one offer elven children? Although Tanis's thirty years would make him a young man in human years, a thirty-year-old elf was years away from being considered grown up—"some supper?"
"With elvenblossom wine, perhaps?" the half-elf asked.
Flint wondered if the Speaker's ward were laughing at him. The dwarf had become able to sip the perfumey drink without gagging—for state occasions, for example, when sharing the elven wine was part of court decorum. "Ah, Reorx's beard," Flint muttered, and he shuddered.
Tanis examined Flint, a half-smile still playing on his lips. "You dislike that wine," the half-elf finally said.
"No. I loathe it."
"Why do you drink it, then?" Tanis asked.
Flint surveyed the half-elf; he seemed sincerely curious. "As a stranger, I'm trying to fit in here."
Off in the distance, a child's shrill laugh accompanied the shriek of a wooden whistle. At least one parent was going to be less than thrilled with Flint this evening. Tanis sneered. "Are you trying to be 'one of the elves'?" he asked, almost contemptuously.
Flint debated. "Well. . ." he said, "when in Qualinost, do as the Qualinesti do. My mother used to say that, or something very similar." He caught a whiff of baking venison, and his stomach growled, but he maintained his stance. Oh, how he wanted his supper. Oh, how he wished he'd never started this conversation. The half-elf kept sneering, but his eyes seemed to beg for reassurance, and the dwarf suddenly thought that maybe the sneer was directed, not at him, but at Porthios and Tyresian and the others. "Don't try. Master Fireforge," Tanis said.
"What?" Flint asked.
Tanis pulled a half-ripe pear from the tree, dropped it to the moss, and ground it under the heel of his oiled leather moccasin. "Don't try. They'll never accept you. They don't accept anyone who's not just like them." He kicked the fruit off to one side and stalked off without another word. Soon his figure was lost in the trees.
Flint walked slowly back into his shop, closed the door, and put the empty sack in the hutch. Somehow he wasn't in the mood for supper anymore.
Chapter 4
A Lesson
A.C.288, Early Fall
Tanis strode along the road from Flint's shop, his moccasins scuffing against the blue and white tile. He cursed himself for his stupidity. Why had he been so curt with the dwarf? Flint Fireforge seemed to have the best of intentions; why hadn't the half-elf responded in kind?
Without paying much attention to where he was going, Tanis found himself pacing across the Hall of the Sky in central Qualinost. Patterned into the tile of the open area, now shrouded in twilight, lay a mosaic showing the region of Ansalon centering on the elven city; the map detailed lands from Solace and Crystalmir Lake at the northwest to Que-Shu at the northeast and Pax Tharkas at the south.
The half-elf stared at only one point on the map, however: Solace, the dwarf's adopted home. What kind of place was it?
"Imagine, to live in a house in a tree," he said, his whisper swallowed by the silence hanging over the deserted square. He thought of the elves' stone buildings, which never quite lost their chill. Would a wooden house in a tree be so warm?
He kicked at a loose tile that marked the position of the village of Gateway, between Qualinost and Solace; the movement sent the shard spinning. Contrite, and hoping no one had seen him deface the sacred map, he bounded after the chip and returned to replace it, kneeling. Then he sank back on his haunches and surveyed the open area.
The chilly twilight air carried delicious scents of supper and warm echoes of dinnertime chatter. Tanis stood slowly and stared around the Hall of the Sky; around him, the purplish quartz spires of elven homes, rectangles of lamplight along their curved sides, poked like the beaks of baby birds above the rounded tops of trees. Girdered all around by the arched bridges, with the gold of the tall Tower of the Sun still reflecting the sun's rays in the evening sky, the city was a remarkable sight; understandably, the Qualinesti elves believed it was the most beautiful city in the world. But how could elves bear it, living and dying in the same place?
Did his dissatisfaction, Tanis wondered, come from his father? From his human side?
Tanis raised his gaze to the deepening sky; almost as he watched, the evening darkened and stars began to appear directly overhead. He wondered about the myth that the Hall of the Sky once had been a real structure, guarding some rare and precious object, and that Kith-Kanan had magically raised building and object into the sky to hide them, leaving only the map that had formed the build
ing's floor. As a toddler, he'd been told by the other young elves that the exact center of the map was a 'lucky spot"; stand there and wish very hard and you would get what you desired, they claimed.
"I'd like to go up there, to see that hidden place in the sky," he whispered fervently now. "I'd like to see all of Ansalon. I'd like to travel, like Flint. . . to have adventures . . . and friends . . ."
Looking around embarrassedly, hoping no one had seen or heard him, Tanis nonetheless continued to wait—not really hoping, of course, that a magical being would appear to grant his wish. Naturally not, he told himself. That was a child's dream, not a young man's. Still, he waited a few minutes more, until a breeze through the pear trees raised goose flesh on his arms and reminded him that it was time to go home.
Wherever that was, he thought.
* * * * *
"History," Master Miral told Tanis the next morning, "is like a great river."
The half-elf looked up. He knew better than to ask the tutor what he meant. Miral would either explain his point or make Tanis figure it out himself. Either way, questions would gain the half-elf nothing but an irritated wave of the hand.
Today, however, in the dim light of Miral's rooms in the Speaker's palace, the mage was inclined to be garrulous.
"A great river," he repeated. "It begins with small, clear streams, single voices, rushing quickly past their banks until they join their waters with other streams, growing larger and larger as they mingle again and again, until the small voices of a thousand tiny streams have been collected into the roaring song of a great river." He gestured widely, caught up in his metaphor.
