The History of Krynn: Vol IV

by Dragon Lance

  Verhanna knew she must get control of her emotions. Closing her eyes, she willed herself to be calm, willed her heart to slow its frenzied beating. Opening her eyes once more, she said with certainty, “Ulvian, Father will have your head for this. If he favors me, I’ll gladly swing the axe.”

  One pale hand adjusting the lace at his throat, Ulvian smiled. “I don’t think so, sweet Sister. After all, it wouldn’t look good for the Speaker’s heir to go around without a head, now would it?”

  The captain slapped her brother. Ulvian’s head snapped back. Slowly he turned to face his sister.

  She was four inches taller than he, and the prince tilted his head back slightly to stare directly into her eyes. The smirk was gone from his lips, replaced by cold-blooded fury.

  “You will never be Speaker if I have anything to say about it,” Verhanna swore. “You are unfit to utter our father’s name, let alone inherit his title.”

  A single bead of blood hung from the corner of Prince Ulvian’s mouth. He dabbed at it and said softly, “You always were Father’s lapdog.”

  Sweeping the door flap aside, Verhanna called, “Lieutenant Merith! Come here!” The elegant elf hustled in, scabbard jangling against his armored thigh.

  “Put Prince Ulvian in chains,” she ordered. “And if he utters one word of protest, gag him as well.” Merith stared. “Captain, are you sure? Chain the prince?”

  “Yes!” she thundered.

  Merith searched among the heaps of chain in the slave hut and found a set of manacles to fit Prince Ulvian. Abashed, he stood before Kith-Kanan’s son and held open the cold iron bonds.

  “Highness,” Merith said tightly. “Your hands, please.”

  Ulvian did not resist. He presented his slim arms, and Merith snapped the bands around his wrists.

  A hole in the latch would take a soft iron rivet. “You will regret this, Hanna,” the prince said in a barely audible voice as he stared at his manacled wrists.

  *

  By the time Verhanna’s warriors had the slavers’ camp sorted out, Lord Ambrodel and his personal escort of thirty riders had come thundering up the riverbank, summoned by fast dispatch. The elves set up a double row of torches in the sand to light the riders’ way. By the same light, they had sorted the wretched captives by race and gender. The slavers were chained together in one large band, and a guard of bow-armed warriors set to watch them.

  Lord Ambrodel rode up, sand flying beneath his horse’s hooves. He called out loudly for Verhanna. The Speaker’s daughter came forward and saluted the younger Ambrodel.

  “Give me your report,” he ordered before dismounting.

  Verhanna handed him a tally showing eight slaves found and freed, and seven slavers captured. “Three chose to fight and were killed,” she added. Lord Ambrodel slipped the parchment under his breastplate.

  “How were they moving the slaves?” he asked, surveying the cunningly concealed camp.

  “By river, sir.”

  Lord Ambrodel glanced back at the moonlit water.

  “My lord,” Verhanna continued, “we found signs that more slaves were sent on from this camp. The ones we found here were too sick to travel. I’d like to take my troop on and try to intercept the rest before they reach the Ergoth border.”

  “You’re far too late for that, I’m sure,” Lord Ambrodel replied. “I want to question the leader of the slavers. Did you take him alive?” Verhanna nodded curtly. The warrior lord tugged off his leather gauntlets and slapped the sand from his mailed thighs. “Well, Captain, show him to me,” he said impatiently.

  Without a word, Verhanna turned on one heel and led her commander toward the huts. The slavers lay on the ground, their heads buried in their arms in despair or else staring with hatred at their captors. Verhanna yanked a torch from the sand and held it high. She held the door flap open for Lord Ambrodel and thrust the torch inside. The face of the figure seated before them leapt into clarity.

  Lord Ambrodel recoiled sharply. “It cannot be!” he gasped. “Prince Ulvian!”

  “Kemian, my friend,” the prince said to the general, “you’d best have these fetters removed. I am not a common criminal, though my hysterical sister insists on treating me like one.”

  “Release him,” said Lord Ambrodel. His face was white.

  “My lord, Prince Ulvian was caught engaging in the forbidden commerce of slavery,” Verhanna put in quickly. “Both my father’s edicts and the laws of the Thalas-Enthia demand —”

  “Don’t quote the law to me!” Lord Ambrodel snapped. “I shall bring this matter to the attention of the Speaker at once, but I will not drag a member of the royal family through the streets of Qualinost in chains! I cannot disgrace the Speaker so!”

  Before she could order it, Merith was at Verhanna’s side, chisel in hand. She shoved her lieutenant’s hands aside and grasped the cold iron clamps in her own bare hands. With the strength bestowed upon her by her elven heritage, Verhanna pried the manacles apart just enough so that Ulvian could slip his arms out. Impudently he handed the empty chains to his sister.

  “Captain,” Lord Ambrodel said, “return to your troop. Muster them for marching.”

  “My lord! To what destination?” she answered tersely.

  “Southeast – to the forest. I want you to search for other slaver camps there. Lieutenant Merithynos will remain to report on the finding of the slavers.”

  Verhanna’s gaze flickered to her brother, to Merith, and back to Lord Ambrodel. She was too disciplined in the ways of the warrior to disobey her commander, but she knew Lord Ambrodel was sending her away so he could handle the delicate business of Ulvian’s crime and punishment. Kemian would not let the prince escape; he was too honest for that. But he would grant her brother every privilege, up to the moment he turned Ulvian over to Kith-Kanan himself.

  “Very good, sir,” Verhanna finally responded. With a curt nod, she departed, spurs ringing as her heels struck the packed sand.

  Ulvian rubbed his wrists and smiled. “Thank you, my lord,” he said. “I shall remember this.”

  “Save your gratitude, my prince. I meant what I said; you will be given over to your father’s judgment.”

  Ulvian maintained his smile. The ruddy light of the torch made his blond beard and hair look like copper. “I’m not afraid,” he said lightly. Indeed he wasn’t. His father had never punished Ulvian for his errant ways in the past.

  As Verhanna gathered her warriors together with hoarsely shouted commands, the kender reappeared. His pockets were bulging with plunder from the slavers’ camp: knives, string, flints, clay pipes, brass-studded wristbands.

  “Hail, Captain,” Rufus called. “Where to now?”

  Verhanna looped her reins around her left hand. “So you came back! I thought I’d seen the last of you.”

  “You paid me. I’m your scout now,” Rufus announced. “I can lead you anywhere. From which horizon will we next see the sun?” Verhanna swung into the saddle. Her eyes rested on the hut where her brother and Lord Ambrodel still tarried. Her brother, the slaver. “South,” she said, biting off the word as it left her tightly drawn lips.

  *

  The Speaker’s house was quite large, though far less grand than the Quinari Palace in Silvanost where Kith-Kanan had grown up. Built entirely of wood, it had a warmth and naturalness he felt was missing from the great crystal residence of his brother, the Speaker of the Stars. The house was more or less rectangular in shape, with two small wings radiating to the west. The main entrance was on the east side, facing the courtyard of the Tower of the Sun.

  Lord Ambrodel, Lieutenant Merith, and Prince Ulvian stood in the lamplit antechamber where Kith-Kanan usually greeted his guests. As it was well past midnight, the bright moons of Krynn had already set.

  Despite the late hour, the Speaker looked alert and carefully groomed as he and Tamanier Ambrodel descended the polished cherrywood staircase to the antechamber. His fur-trimmed robe swept the floor. The toes of his yellow felt slippers
protruded from under the green velvet hem.

  “What has happened?” he asked gently.

  As senior officer present, it fell to Kemian Ambrodel to explain. When he reached the point in his story where Verhanna had discovered Prince Ulvian in the slavers’ camp, Kemian’s father Tamanier gasped in astonishment. Kith-Kanan’s gaze shifted to Ulvian, who pursed his lips and rocked on his heels in an obvious display of arrogance.

  “Were the slaves you found badly treated?” asked the Speaker in clipped tones.

  “They were sick, filthy, and ill-fed, Majesty. From what they told us, they were held back from a larger group of slaves sent on by river to Ergoth because they were deemed too feeble for hard work.” Kemian fought down his disgust. “A few had been whipped, Speaker.”

  “I see. Thank you, my lord.”

  Kith-Kanan clasped his hands behind his back and studied the floor. The maple had a beautiful grain pattern that resembled the dancing flames of a fire. Suddenly, he lifted his head and said, “I want you all to swear to keep what happens here tonight strictly secret. No one is to know of it – not even your families. Is that clear?” The assembled elves nodded solemnly, except Ulvian. “This is a delicate matter. There are those in Qualinost who would try to profit from my son’s actions. For the safety of the nation, this must remain a secret.”

  Stepping down from the last stair, the Speaker stood nose-to-nose with his son. “Ullie,” he said quietly, “why did you do it?”

  The prince quivered with suppressed anger tinged with fear. “Do you really want to know?” he burst out. “Because you preach about justice and mercy instead of strength and greatness! Because you waste money on beggars and useless temples instead of a proper palace! Because you were the most famous warrior of the age, and you’ve thrown all your glory away to idle in gardens instead of fighting your way to the gates of Silvanost, our rightful home!” His voice choked off.

  Kith-Kanan looked his son up and down. The grief on his face was visible to all. The Speaker’s great dignity asserted itself, however, and he said, “The war and the great march west left Silvanesti with an acute shortage of farmers, crafters, and laborers. To appease the nobles and clerics, my brother, the Speaker of the Stars, has sanctioned slavery throughout his realm. A similar condition exists in Ergoth, with similar results.

  But no amount of inconvenience justifies the bondage of living, thinking beings by others. I have made it my life’s goal to stamp out the evil traffic in servitude in Qualinesti, and yet my own son —”

  Kith-Kanan folded his arms, gripping his biceps hard through the plush velvet of his robe. “Ulvian, you will be held under close confinement in Arcuballis Tower until – until I can think of a proper punishment for you,” he declared.

  “You don’t dare.” The prince sneered. “I am your son, your only legitimate heir! Where will your precious dynasty be without me? I know you, Father. You’ll forgive me anything to keep from being the first and last Speaker of the Sun from the House of Silvanos!.”

  The aged Tamanier Ambrodel could contain himself no longer. He had been friend to Kith-Kanan ever since the Speaker was a young prince in Silvanost. To listen to this spoiled pup jeering at his father was more than mortal flesh could bear. The gray-haired castellan stepped forward and struck Ulvian with his open hand. The prince rounded on him, but Kith-Kanan moved swiftly, placing himself between his son and castellan.

  “No, Tam. Stop,” he said, his voice shaking. “Don’t justify his hatred.” To Ulvian, he added, “Fifty years ago you might have earned a beating for your insolence, but now I will not ease your conscience so readily.”

  Tamanier stepped back. Kith-Kanan beckoned to Merith, standing quietly behind Kernian Ambrodel.

  “I have a charge for you, Lieutenant,” Kith-Kanan said gravely. The Speaker’s gaze unnerved the anxious young elf. “You will be my son’s keeper. Take him to Arcuballis. Stay with him. He must see and speak to no one – no one at all. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Great Speaker.” Merith saluted stiffly.

  “Go now, while it is still dark.”

  Merith drew his sword and stood beside Ulvian. The prince glared sullenly at the naked blade. Speaker, castellan, and general watched the two leave for the tower keep that guarded the city’s northeastern corner. When the great doors of the house closed behind them, Kith-Kanan asked Kernian where Verhanna was. Lord Ambrodel explained how he’d thought it best to separate brother and sister at such a crisis.

  “A wise decision,” Kith-Kanan said ruefully. “Hanna would wring Ullie’s neck.”

  The Speaker bade Kemian return to the field and continue the hunt for slavers. The general bowed low, first to his sovereign and then to his father, and swept out of the hall. Once he was gone, Kith-Kanan sank shakily to the steps. Tamanier swiftly knelt beside him.

  “Majesty! Are you ill?”

  Tears glistened in Kith-Kanan’s brown eyes. “I am all right,” he murmured. “Leave me, Tam.”

  “May I escort Your Majesty to his room?”

  “No, I want to sit a while. On your way now, old friend.”

  Tamanier rose and bowed. The scuff of his sandals faded in the dimly lit corridor. Kith-Kanan was alone.

  He realized his hands were clenched into fists, and he relaxed them. Five hundred years was not a long time to live, by elven standards, yet at that moment, Kith-Kanan felt very aged indeed. What was he to do with Ulvian? The boy’s motives were a mystery to him. Did he need money so badly? Was it the thrill of doing something forbidden? No reason could excuse his conduct this time.

  Once, after Ulvian had returned home half-naked and filthy after literally losing his shirt gambling, Verhanna had cornered her father. “He’s no good,” she had said.

  “Isn’t he? Who made him so?” Kith-Kanan had wondered aloud. “Can I blame anyone but myself? I hardly ever saw him till he was twelve. The war was going badly, and I was needed in the field.”

  “Mother spoiled him. She filled his head with a lot of nonsense,” Verhanna said bitterly. “I can’t count the times he’s told me you were responsible for her death.”

  Kith-Kanan drew a hand across his brow. He couldn’t count the times he’d told Ulvian the truth about Suzine, that she had sacrificed her life for her husband and his cause, but Ulvian never believed it.

  What could he do? Ulvian was right; Kith-Kanan couldn’t have his own son executed or banished. He was the Speaker’s heir. After working so hard, sacrificing so much, to build this great nation, Kith-Kanan wondered, was it all to be lost?

  A bell tolled somewhere far off. The priests of Mantis, called Matheri in old Silvanost, were ringing the great bronze temple bell, signaling the imminent dawn. Kith-Kanan raised his weary head from his hands. The sound of the bell was like a voice, calling to him. Come, come, it said.

  Yes, he thought. I will meditate and ask the gods. They will help me.

  Chapter 3

  THE BALANCE OF JUSTICE

  The domed ceiling of the Tower of the Sun was decorated with an elaborate mosaic symbolizing the passage of time and the forces of good and evil. One half of the dome was blue sky, made up of thousands of chips of turquoise, and a brilliant sun made from gold and diamonds. The opposite half was tiled with the blackest onyx and sprinkled with diamond stars. The three moons of Krynn were represented by discs of ruby for Lunitari, silver for Solinari, and oxblood garnet for Nuitari.

  Dividing these hemispheres was a rainbow band set with crimsonite, topazes, peridots, sapphires, and amethysts. The rainbow was a barrier and bridge between the worlds of night and day, a symbol of the intervention of the gods in mortal affairs.

  Kith-Kanan meditated on the symbolism of the dome as he lay on his back on the rostrum in the center of the tower floor. Unlike its counterpart in Silvanost, this tower was not used as the throne room. The Tower of the Sun was mainly used when Kith-Kanan wanted to, as Verhanna put it, “impress the boots off a visitor.”

  Kith-Kanan pillowed his head on on
e hand. His silver-blond hair was loose and spread out around his head like a halo. Fixing his gaze on the ceiling of the tower, he opened his mind. The peace and balanced beauty of the Tower of the Sun calmed him, allowing him to consider difficult matters.

  Rows of windows and mirrors spiraled up the height of the tower, letting in the sun and reflecting it in endless cascades. No matter where the sun was in the sky, the Tower of the Sun would always be brightly lit. The Speaker draped his free arm over his face. A cool breeze played over his arms as it whistled through the tower windows. Even that was soothing. On this day, the Speaker of the Sun needed every bit of peace he could find as he wrestled with the problem of succession.

  Qualinesti must have an heir. Kith-Kanan had sworn, before the gods and the assembly at Pax Tharkas, that he would step aside when the fortress was complete. Weekly dispatches from the chief architect and master builder, the dwarf Feldrin Feldspar, kept him informed of the progress there. Pax Tharkas was ninety percent done; with good weather and no delays, the citadel would be finished in another two or three years. Kith-Kanan must name his successor soon.

  For too long, the Speaker had consoled himself with the thought that his only son was merely wayward, but now there was no denying that the problems ran much deeper. His own son involved in the slave trade....

  With Ulvian obviously unworthy for the position of Speaker of the Sun, Kith-Kanan pondered other candidates. Verhanna? Not a good choice. She was brave, intelligent, and as honorable as any highborn Silvanesti, but also temperamental and sometimes prone to harshness. In spite of Kith-Kanan’s dreams of equality in his kingdom, the fact that Verhanna was half-human would also weigh against her in the minds of some of his full-blooded elven subjects. These prejudices were kept carefully tucked away, out of plain sight, but the Speaker knew they existed still. Coupled with the fact that Verhanna was female, that bias would be too much to overcome.