The History of Krynn: Vol IV

by Dragon Lance

  “Hello,” Gusar said cheerfully. “Is someone crying?”

  “We can’t find our house,” wailed an elf girl. “We looked and looked, but we couldn’t see the daisies that grow by our door!”

  “Daisies, eh? I know that house. It’s only a few steps more. I’ll take you there.” Gusar extended a gnarled hand. The elf children regarded him with misgiving.

  “Are you a troll?” asked the smallest boy, his blue eyes huge in his tiny face.

  Gusar cackled. “No. I’m just an old, blind man.” He pointed a thumb over his shoulder. “My friend has a torch to help light your way.”

  Kith-Kanan was surprised. He hadn’t realized the old man knew he was still there.

  The girl who’d spoken got up first and took the human’s hand. The two boys followed their sister, and together the children and the old human wandered down the lane. Kith-Kanan followed at a distance, until the little girl turned and announced, “We don’t need you, sir. The old one can see us home.”

  “Fare you well, then,” Kith-Kanan called. The bowed back of the aged human and the flaxen hair of the elf children quickly vanished in the inky air.

  For the first time in days, the Speaker smiled. His dream of a nation where all races could live in peace was truly taking hold when three children of pure Silvanesti blood could fearlessly take the hand of a gnarled old human and let him lead them home.

  Chapter 4

  THE LIGHTNING AND THE ROCK

  On the morning of what would have been the fourth day of darkness, a ball of red fire appeared in the eastern sky. The people of Qualinost swarmed into the streets, fearfully pointing at the dangerous-looking orb. Within minutes, dread turned to relief when they realized that what they were seeing was the sun, burning through the gloom. The darkness lifted steadily, and the day dawned bright and cloudless.

  Kith-Kanan looked out over his city from the window of his private rooms. The rose-quartz towers sparkled cleanly in the newborn sunlight, and the trees seemed to bask in the warmth. All over Qualinost, in every window and every gracefully curving street, faces were upturned to the luxurious heat and light. As the Speaker looked south across his city, the songs and laughter of spontaneous revelry reached his ears.

  The return of light was a great relief to Kith-Kanan. For the past three days, he had done nothing but try to hold his people together, reassuring them that the end of the world was not nigh. After two days of darkness, emissaries had arrived in Qualinost from Ergoth and Thorbardin, seeking answers from the Speaker of the Sun as to the cause of the fearful gloom. Kith-Kanan had his own ideas, but didn’t share them with the emissaries. Some new power was rising from a long sleep. Hiddukel had said it was a power older even than the gods. The Speaker did not yet know what its purpose was, and he didn’t want to spread alarms through the world based on his own flimsy theories.

  From all over his realm, people poured into Qualinost, clogging the bridges and straining the resources of the city. Everyone was afraid of the unknown darkness. Fear made allies of the oldest enemies, too. From outside Kith-Kanan’s enlightened kingdom came humans and elves’ who had fought each other in the Kinslayer Wars. During the darkness, they had huddled together around bonfires, praying for deliverance.

  From his window overlooking the sunlit city, Kith-Kanan mused. Perhaps that was the reason for it – to bring us all together.

  There was a soft, firm knock at the door. Kith-Kanan turned his back on the city and called, “Enter.” Tamanier Ambrodel appeared in the doorway and bowed.

  “The emissaries of Ergoth and Thorbardin have departed,” the castellan reported, hands folded in front of him. “In better spirits than when they arrived, I might add, sire.”

  “Good. Now perhaps I can deal with other weighty matters. Send Prince Ulvian and the warrior Merithynos to me at once.”

  “At once, Majesty” was Tamanier’s quiet reply.

  As soon as the castellan had departed, Kith-Kanan moved to his writing table and sat down. He took out a fresh sheet of foolscap. Dipping the end of a fine stylus into a jar of ink, he began to write. He was still writing when Ulvian and Merith presented themselves.

  “Well, Father, I hope this ridiculous business is over,” Ulvian said with affected injury. He was still clad in the crimson doublet and silver-gray trousers he’d been captured in. “I’ve been bored silly, with no one to talk to but this tiresome warrior of yours.”

  Merith’s hand tightened on the pommel of his sword. His cobalt-blue eyes stared daggers at the prince. Kith-Kanan forestalled the lieutenant’s offended retort.

  “That’s enough,” the Speaker said firmly. He finished writing, melted a bit of sealing wax on the bottom of the sheet, and pressed his signet ring into the soft blue substance. When the seal was cool, he rolled the foolscap into a scroll and tied it with a thin blue ribbon. This he likewise sealed with wax.

  “Lieutenant Merithynos, you will convey this message to Feldrin Feldspar, the master builder who directs the work at Pax Tharkas,” said the Speaker, rising and holding out the scroll. Merith accepted it, though he looked perplexed.

  “Am I to give up guarding the prince, Majesty?” he asked.

  “Not at all. The prince is to accompany you to Pax Tharkas.”

  Kith-Kanan’s eyes met his son’s. Ulvian frowned.

  “What’s in Pax Tharkas for me?” he asked suspiciously.

  “I am sending you to school,” his father replied. “Master Feldrin is to be your schoolmaster.”

  Ulvian laughed. “You mean to make an architect out of me?”

  “I am putting you in Feldrin’s hands as a common laborer – a slave, in fact. You will work every day for no wage and receive only the meanest provender. At night, you will be locked in your hut and guarded by Lieutenant Merithynos.”

  Ulvian’s confident smirk vanished. Hazel eyes wide, he backed away a few steps, falling to one of the Speaker’s couches. His face was pale with shock.

  “You can’t mean it,” he whispered. More loudly, he added, “You can’t do this.”

  “I am the Speaker of the Sun,” Kith-Kanan said. Though his heart was breaking with the punishment he was visiting on his only son, the Speaker’s demeanor was firm and unyielding.

  The prince’s head shook back and forth, as if denying what he was hearing. “You can’t make me a slave.” He leapt to his feet and his voice became a shout. “I am your son! I am Prince of Qualinesti!”

  “Yes, you are, and you have broken my law. I’m not doing this on a whim, Ullie. I hope it will teach you the true meaning of slavery – the cruelty, the degradation, the pain and suffering. Maybe then you will understand the horror of what you’ve done. Maybe then you’ll know why I hate it, and why you should hate it, too.”

  Ulvian’s outrage wilted. “How – how long will I be there?” he asked haltingly.

  “As long as necessary. I’ll visit you, and if I’m convinced you’ve learned your lesson, I’ll release you. What’s more, I will forgive you and publicly declare you my successor.”

  That seemed to restore the prince somewhat. His gaze flickered toward Merith, who was standing at rigid attention, though his expression reflected frank astonishment. Ulvian said, “What if I run away?”

  “Then you will lose everything and be declared outlaw in your own country,” Kith-Kanan said evenly.

  Ulvian advanced on his father. There was betrayal and disbelief in his eyes, and rage as well. Merith tensed and prepared to subdue the prince if he attacked the Speaker, but Ulvian stopped a pace short of his father.

  “When do I go?” he asked through clenched teeth.

  “Now.”

  A roll of thunder punctuated Kith-Kanan’s pronouncement. Merith stepped forward and took hold of the prince’s arm, but Ulvian twisted out of his grasp.

  “I’ll come back, Father. I will be the Speaker of the Sun!” the prince vowed in ringing tones.

  “I hope you will, Son. I hope you will.”

  A second crash of
thunder finished the confrontation. Merith led the prince reluctantly away.

  Hands clasped tightly behind his back, Kith-Kanan returned to his window. Melancholy washed over him in slow, steady waves as he gazed up at the cloudless sky. Then, even as his mind was far away, from the corner of one eye, he spied a bolt of lightning. It flashed out of the blue vault and dove at the ground, striking somewhere in the southwestern district of Qualinost. A deep boom reverberated over the city, rattling the shutters on the Speaker’s house.

  Thunder and lightning from a clear sky? Kith-Kanan’s inner torment was pushed aside for a moment as he digested this remarkable occurrence. The time of wonders was indeed at hand.

  *

  Twenty riders followed the dusty trail through the sparse forest of maple saplings, most no taller than the horses. Twenty elven warriors, under Varhanna’s command and guided by their new kender scout, Rufus Wrinklecap, rode slowly in single file. No one spoke. The muggy morning air oppressed them – that, and the cold trail they were trying to follow. Four days out of Qualinost, and this was the only sign of slavers they’d found. It hadn’t helped that they’d had to flounder on in three days of total darkness. Rufus warned the captain that the tracks they were tracing were many weeks old and might lead to nothing.

  “Never mind,” she grumbled. “Keep at it. Lord Ambrodel sent us here for a reason.”

  “Yes, my captain.”

  The kender eased his big horse a little farther away from the ill-tempered Verhanna. Rufus was a comic sight on horseback; with his shocking red topknot and less than four feet of height, he hardly looked like a valiant elven warrior. Perched on a chestnut charger that was bigger than any other animal in the troop, he resembled a small child astride a bullock.

  During their brief stopover in Qualinost, while the troops were reprovisioned and a horse was secured for him, the kender had bought himself some fancy clothes. His blue velvet breeches, vest, and white silk shirt beneath a vivid red cape made quite a contrast to the armor-clad elves. Atop his head perched an enormous broad-brimmed blue hat, complete with a white plume and a hole in the crown to allow his long topknot to trail behind.

  They had passed through the easternmost fringe of the Kharolis Mountains onto the great central plain, the scene of so many battles during the Kinslayer War. Now and then the troop saw silent reminders of that awful conflict: a burned village, abandoned to weeds and carrion birds; a cairn of stones, under which were buried the bodies of fallen soldiers of Ergoth in a mass grave.

  Occasionally their horses’ hooves turned up battered, rusting helmets lodged in the soil. The skulls of horses and the bones of elves shone in the tall grass like ivory talismans, warning of the folly of kings.

  Once every hour Verhanna halted her warriors and ordered Rufus to check the trail. The nimble kender leaped from his horse’s back or slid off its wide rump and scrambled through the grass and saplings, sniffing and peering for telltale signs.

  During the third such halt of the morning, Verhanna guided her mount to where Rufus squatted, busily rubbing blades of grass between his fingers.

  “Well, Wart, what do you find? Have the slavers come this way?” she asked, leaning over her animal’s glossy neck.

  “Difficult to say, Captain. Very difficult. Other tall folk have passed this way since the slavers. The trails are muddled,” muttered Rufus. He put a green stem in his mouth and nibbled it. “The grass is still sweet,” he observed. “Others came from the east and passed through during the days of darkness.”

  “What others?” she said, frowning.

  The kender hopped up, dropping the grass and dusting off his fancy blue pants. “Travelers. Going that way,” he said, pointing to the direction they’d come from Qualinost. “They were in deeply laden, two-wheeled carts.”

  Verhanna regarded her scout sourly. “We didn’t pass anyone.”

  “In that darkness, who knows what we passed? The Dragonqueen herself could’ve ridden by clad in cloth o’ gold and we wouldn’t have seen her.”

  She straightened in the saddle and replied, “What about our quarry?”

  Rufus rubbed his flat, sunburned nose. “They split up.”

  “What?” Verhanna’s shout brought the other troopers to attention. Her second-in-command, a Kagonesti named Tremellan, hurried to her side. She waved him off and dismounted, slashing through the tall grass to Rufus. Planting her mailed hands on her hips, the captain demanded, “Where did they split up?”

  Rufus took two steps forward and one sideways.

  “Here,” he said, pointing at the trodden turf. “Six riders, the same ones we’ve been chasing all along. Two went east. They were elder folk, like the Speaker.” By this, the kender meant the two were Silvanesti. “Two others went north. They smelled of fur and had thick shoes. Humans, I’d say. The last two continued south, and they’re tricky. Barefoot, they are, and they smell just like the wind. Dark elders, and wise in the ways of the chase.”

  “What does he mean?” Verhanna muttered to Tremellan.

  “Dark elders are my people,” offered the Kagonesti officer. “They probably work as scouts for the other four. They find travelers, or a lonely farm, and lead the slavers there.”

  Verhanna slapped her palms together with a metallic clink. “All right. Gather the troop around! I want to speak to them.”

  The elven warriors made a circle around their captain and the kender scout. Verhanna grinned at them, arms folded across her chest.

  “The enemy has made a mistake,” she declared, rocking on her heels. “They’ve split themselves into three groups. The humans and Silvanesti are headed for their homelands, probably carrying the gold they made selling slaves. Without their Kagonesti scouts, they don’t stand a chance against us. Sergeant Tremellan, I want you to take a contingent of ten and ride after the Silvanesti. Take them alive if you can. Corporal Zilaris, you take five troopers and follow the humans. They shouldn’t give you much trouble. Four warriors will come with me to find the Kagonesti.”

  “Excuse me, Captain, but I don’t think that’s wise,” Tremellan said. “I don’t need ten warriors to catch the Silvanesti slavers. You should take more with you. The dark elders will be the hardest to catch.”

  “He’s right.” chimed in Rufus. His topknot bobbed as he nodded vigorously.

  “Who’s captain here?” Verhanna demanded. “Don’t question my orders, Sergeant. You don’t imagine I need numbers to track the woods-wise Kagonesti, do you? No, of course not! Stealth is what’s needed, Sergeant. My orders stand.”

  A rumble of thunder rolled across the plain and was ignored. Without further discussion, Tremellan collected half the warriors and redistributed food and water among them. He formed his group around him while Verhanna gave him final orders.

  “Pursue them hard, Sergeant,” she urged. Her blood was up, and her brown eyes were brilliant. “They’ve a week’s head start, but they might not yet know anyone is after them, so they won’t be moving fast.”

  “And the border, Captain?” asked Tremellan.

  “Don’t talk to me about borders,” snapped the captain. “Get those damned slavers! This is no time for faint hearts or half measures!”

  Tremellan suppressed his irritation, saluted, and spurred his horse. The troop rode off through the maple saplings as thunder boomed at their backs.

  Verhanna felt a tug on her haqueton. She turned and looked down, seeing Rufus standing close beside her. “What is it?”

  “Look up. There are no clouds, “he said, turning his small face heavenward. “Thunder, but no clouds.”

  “So the storm is over the horizon,” Verhanna replied briskly. She left the kender still staring at the clear-blue sky. Corporal Zilaris took his detachment and headed north after the human slavers. Verhanna was watching them recede in the distance when suddenly a bolt of lightning lanced down a scant mile away. Dirt flew up in the air, and the crack of thunder was like a blow from a mace.

  “By Astra!” she exclaimed. “That w
as close!”

  The next one was closer still. With no warning, a column of blue-white fire slammed into the ground less than fifty paces from Verhanna, Rufus, and the remaining warriors. The horses screamed and reared, some falling back on their startled riders. Verhanna, still on the ground, kept a tight hand on her straining mount’s bridle. Rufus had just remounted, and when his horse began to snort and dance, the kender climbed onto its neck to get a better hold. His cape flopped over the horse’s eyes, a fortuitous accident, and the beast calmed.

  The shock of the lightning strike passed, and the elves slowly recovered. One warrior lay moaning on the ground, his leg broken when his horse fell on him. Verhanna and the others set to binding his shattered limb. Rufus, not being needed, wandered over to the crater gouged by the lightning.

  The hole was twenty feet across and nearly as deep. The sides of the pit were black and steaming. Tiny flames licked the dry prairie grass around the rim of the hole. Rufus stamped on the fires he saw and gazed with awe at the gaping pit. A shadow fell over him. He turned to see that Verhanna had joined him.

  “Someone’s hurling thunderbolts at us, my captain,” he said seriously.

  “Rot,” was her reply, though her tone was uncertain. “It was just an act of nature.” The next flash of lightning came in an instant. Verhanna uttered a brief warning cry and threw herself down. The bolt struck some distance away, and she sheepishly raised her head. Rufus was shading his eyes, staring at the southern horizon.

  “It’s moving that way,” he announced.

  Verhanna stood up and brushed dirt and grass from her haqueton. Her cheeks were stained crimson with embarrassment, and she was grateful that the kender ignored her nervous dive for cover. “What’s moving away?” she asked quickly.

  “The lightning,” he replied. “Three strikes we’ve seen, each one farther south than the last.”