by Dragon Lance
“Why?” asked Samcadaris.
“For the enemy to come and face them, of course.”
The dwarf dashed into the palace to retrieve the axe he’d fashioned at Thonbec. A cadre of five hundred elves, the cream of the Silvanesti army, was drawn up and ready in the neighboring street. Samcadaris went to the center of the boulevard and called the subordinate commanders together. He apprised them of the situation, and told them what was expected. In minutes the royal guard was surging through the streets, heading for the embattled Astarin Gate. Gundabyr, axe in hand, ran by Vixa’s side.
They saw a small blaze burning outside the wall when they reached the gate, no doubt started by Gundabyr’s gift of gnomefire. Though it was full night, the glare of the fire made it easy for the oncoming warriors to see the swarm of figures crowded into the open gatehouse. The Dargonesti were easily distinguished by their greater height, and the firelight gave their blue skin an odd tint.
Vixa found herself elbowing past the Silvanesti warriors to get at the enemy first. She was finally going to meet her enslavers on dry land, with a sword in her hand.
Weapons of the fallen littered the street, and Vixa was able to add to her armament a shield. While she paused to take it up, Gundabyr rushed by her with a whoop, leaving the ordered ranks of elves behind.
From the gatehouse roof, a rain of arrows fell. Though the scene was a jumble of blue skin and white, the well-aimed arrows of the Silvanesti archers hit only enemy bodies. Their skill was marvelous to behold. The hail of missiles was all that kept the Dargonesti from breaking through the shelter of the gate and rampaging through the city streets.
Some of the sea elves formed a line of green shields across the open gate and held off the Silvanesti defenders as others started to climb the steps inside the gatehouse to get at the pesky archers on the roof. All the while, flames leapt up from the other side of the wall, bathing the scene in hellish, shifting light.
The royal guard charged, hacking at the opposing side with their swords. Vixa traded a few blows with a spear carrier. As she closed in, she realized that this sea elf looked different from those she’d encountered in Urione. Though still fully seven feet tall, his skin was a much lighter blue and his hair was silver, not green. It was bound in a thick braid that reached below his shoulder blades, the braid studded with dozens of tiny shells. A large pearl dangled from a tiny hole in his right earlobe. He and his compatriots must be the Dimernesti, or shoal elves, she’d heard were fighting alongside Coryphene’s troops.
Screams rang out above. Some of the Silvanesti archers tumbled from the gatehouse roof, thrown down by Dimernesti who’d gained the heights. Vixa saw quickly that the real battle was up there. She backed out of range and shouted to Gundabyr, “Can you climb?”
He saw the danger, too. “You bet. After you, Princess!”
She ran around to the side of the white marble gatehouse. Here, in the quiet shadows, the wounded had crawled away to suffer or die. There was no time to help them. The Qualinesti princess and the dwarf hurried to the foot of the gatehouse wall. The marble was smooth as glass, offering no handholds.
“That line of windows, up there!” Gundabyr said, pointing. “It must be a stairwell.”
Vixa made a stirrup of her hands. Shaking his head, the dwarf told her, “You may be a warrior-hero, Princess, but you couldn’t lift me. Climb on!”
He slapped his broad shoulders. Vixa wasted no time arguing. She placed one foot on his bent knee and clambered up to his shoulders. Gundabyr swayed and grunted, but he held. The added height allowed Vixa to reach the sill of the lowest window. She hauled herself up. The dwarf’s guess had been correct – she found herself in a dimly lit stairwell.
“Princess! Catch!” Vixa leaned out the window. Gundabyr extended a discarded spear. He climbed the shaft as she anchored it, throwing her weight against the pull of his. Weeks of slavery had thinned the stocky dwarf sufficiently that he was able, just barely, to squeeze into the narrow window opening.
Once they were both inside, the Qualinesti princess cried, “Let’s go!” They charged up the steps. The thumping of Gundabyr’s feet behind her was a reassuring sound. Above them, the noise of the fighting rose. As Vixa rounded the fourth bend in the stairwell, a body came tumbling down, nearly knocking her from her feet. The Silvanesti soldier slid to a lifeless stop against the curving wall.
There was a landing ahead, clogged with wounded and dead from both sides. From there, the steps passed through a narrow opening and wound in a tighter spiral to the roof. Vixa stepped carefully over the fallen fighters. Just as she did, a Dimernesti with a long silver braid of hair loomed out of the darkness. His eyes widened in surprise. He backed a step and brought up his barbed spear. Vixa batted it aside with the flat of her blade, pushing forward all the time. Gundabyr crouched nearby, waiting for an opening.
The shoal elf hefted his spear and hurled it at Vixa. She easily deflected it with her shield, but while she was busy doing so, the Dimernesti’s hands flashed to his waist. They came away with a weighted throwing net studded with gleaming fishhooks.
“Vixa! Look out!” roared the dwarf. The Dimernesti swung the net once and let fly. Instinctively, Vixa put up her shield. The weighted net wrapped around it and her. The fishhooks took hold. She tried to back away from her advancing foe, but tripped on the fallen warriors.
As the Dimernesti brought out a short-handled trident, Gundabyr bellowed a war cry and swung his axe. The nimble shoal elf leapt over the low swing. The dwarf’s intervention allowed Vixa to struggle to her knees. She tried to discard her encumbered shield, but the fishhooks had pierced her clothing and, quite painfully, her skin.
The Dimernesti closed in. He kicked at Vixa’s netted shield, and the blows sent her reeling once more. Her side exposed, he lunged with the trident. Vixa, flat on her back, flung up Druzenalis’s short sword. As she thrust it at her opponent, she felt a surge like lightning flow from the hilt and travel along the blade. A flash of light jumped from the blade tip. In the next instant, the astonished Dimernesti found himself impaled on the blade. The trident fell from his webbed fingers. He collapsed sideways, taking the sword with him.
Gundabyr was at her side. “Get this damn net off me!” she fumed. The dwarf wound the net around the trident, like noodles on a fork.
As he worked to untangle the barbed net, Gundabyr demanded, “What just happened? I’d swear that little sword of yours just reached out and – and grabbed him!”
“There is certainly some power in it,” she agreed, wincing from the pain of the fishhooks. “Trust the marshal of Silvanost to carry a magical weapon!” Her arm was free at last, and she impatiently flung her shield aside.
They ran up the last few turns of the stairs and emerged onto the roof. As Gundabyr was fond of saying, the luck was with them – and it was all bad. They faced eight Dimernesti, and no Silvanesti archers remained to help them.
“Uh, suggestions?” Vixa asked as the seven-foot-tall enemy turned to face them.
“Trust the gods and have at’em!” cried the dwarf, rushing forward.
Caught by surprise, she gathered herself and followed him. “Great plan!” she shouted as they raced across the rooftop.
The mercenaries were used to fighting elves of their own stature, and the axe-wielding dwarf was new to them. By the time they figured him out, Gundabyr had knocked two down with great sweeps of his axe. Vixa accounted for a third very quickly by rushing in and allowing her magical sword to do its stuff. In a flash, the opposition had shrunk from eight to five – a definite improvement.
The Dimernesti separated, trying to surround their attackers. Vixa and Gundabyr closed together, standing back to back. As their opponents sized them up, Vixa said to the dwarf, “I like this sword. Maybe I’ll keep it.”
“The marshal doesn’t strike me as the generous type,” commented Gundabyr, trying to keep a wary eye on two Dimernesti simultaneously.
With keening yells, the five shoal elves rushed them. V
ixa parried one spear, thrust through the belly of the Dimernesti wielding it, snatched back her weapon, and parried her other opponent’s attack. Gundabyr, fighting three foes, shoved the axe head into one fellow’s chest, knocking him down. As he fell, another elf speared the dwarf in the shoulder. Roaring from pain and anger, Gundabyr chopped the spear off, and his attacker’s hands as well. The third elf swung his spear at the dwarf, catching him on the side of the head. The dwarf staggered forward, trying to ward off further attacks with wild swings of his axe.
“Vixa!” he cried, falling to his knees.
The Qualinesti princess was busy defending her own life. Her opponent jabbed his spear at her face and chest. Her sword tip flashed under his nose. He backed to the edge of the roof. Suddenly, he gave a cry and toppled. A Silvanesti arrow had sprouted from his back.
The last Dimernesti, realizing he was alone, ceased his attacks on Gundabyr and sprinted for the steps. Vixa let him go, rushing to where Gundabyr lay.
The tough dwarf was still breathing, but his shoulder was bleeding freely. Vixa tore a wide strip from the hem of her kilt and jammed it against Gundabyr’s wound.
“Aaah!” he moaned. “You’re killing me!”
“Shut up!” she said fiercely. She pressed the bleeding wound harder.
From below came scraping and vibration as the ponderous gates were swung shut. That told her that the Silvanesti had prevailed, and the gate was now secure. A few moments later, Samcadaris and a score of fresh archers spilled onto the roof of the gatehouse.
“Lady! Are you well?” he called. His lean face was blackened by soot and streaked with blood – green Dimernesti blood. His red cape was bloodied as well.
“I’m all right, but Gundabyr needs a healer,” she told him.
Samcadaris surveyed the carnage on the rooftop. “The sisters of Quenesti Pah are in the street below. Here, you two, take Master Gundabyr to them. Take him with all care and honor!”
Two elves carried the grumbling dwarf away. Vixa picked up Druzenalis’s magic sword and shoved it through her belt.
“That was magnificent,” Samcadaris told her when they were alone. “I never saw a finer fight. Two against eight – and they larger than you!”
“It was stupid,” she said flatly. “Barging up here, just me and Gundabyr. Suppose there had been twenty instead of eight? I’d’ve ended up on the pavement down there, like your brave archers. I might have anyway, if not for this sword.” She patted the pommel of the marshal’s weapon.
“Ah, yes, Balif’s sword. Longreacher.”
Vixa stared at him and then at the sword. “Balif? This weapon belonged to him?”
“Yes, indeed. Great Silvanos had it wrought specially for his friend. He wanted the kender general to have a weapon that would make up for his lack of height. The sword has always been carried by the first soldier of the realm, the marshal of Silvanost.”
Vixa withdrew it reverently from her belt and held it out to him. “I feel privileged to have held it, much less borne it into battle. But it’s not right. Druzenalis should have it.”
Samcadaris put his hand on the hilt, gently pushing it away. “Druzenalis has served the nation long and honorably. Of late, he has quarreled openly with the Speaker. His Majesty took the sword from him for good reason. He loaned it to you as a sign of favor.”
Before she could say anything, runners appeared in the street below, crying out a summons from the Speaker of the Stars. All warriors not engaged in active defense were commanded to gather back at the Quinari Palace immediately.
With weary steps, Samcadaris and Vixa left the rooftop. In the street, scores of Silvanesti were being treated by healers from the temple of Quenesti Pah. A small band of Dimernesti, looking sullen and dejected, were under guard by Samcadaris’s troops. Their gills were shriveled, and most of them swayed weakly where they stood.
“Better give those fellows water,” Vixa advised the captain. “They’ll perish in the dry air.”
Samcadaris ordered that water be brought for the captives, and he appointed half his contingent to remain at the gate for its defense. The rest, somewhat less than two hundred elves, would march back to the Quinari as ordered.
Vixa found Gundabyr sitting up on the pavement, his left arm in a sling. Though pale, he was lively enough to curse the pain as he struggled to his feet.
“Keep still,” she said genially.
He insisted on walking back to the palace with her, and Vixa was glad for his company. The fire in the south had gone out, and clouds obscured the stars. By the time they reached the front steps of the Quinari, the street was alive with torchbearers and armed elves, standing in eerily silent ranks.
“What’s going on?” muttered the dwarf.
Vixa replied out of the side of her mouth, “Nothing good, I’ll wager.”
Samcadaris and his warriors took their places in the ranks, leaving Vixa and Gundabyr at loose ends. Tired and aching, the dwarf lowered himself to sit on the fine stone steps.
“I must find Druzenalis and return his sword,” Vixa said.
“Do that. I’ll stay here and catch forty winks.” He lay down, pillowing his head on his good arm, and sighed. Vixa mounted the steps. She approached several Silvanesti officers and asked for the marshal. None of them said a word, but one pointed to the palace door.
Vixa went inside. She wandered back toward the audience chamber, and as she drew near, the sound of weeping reached her ears. At the entrance to the throne room, she realized that the weeping came from within. Something had happened. Someone important must be dead. An icy hand closed on her heart. Surely it wasn’t the Speaker of the Stars!
As Vixa hurried into the darkened audience hall, she could see shadowy figures standing around the room’s perimeter. Her eyes were drawn to the throne dais. A bier was set up on it, and a corpse laid out, covered by a shroud of blazing red silk. A single figure stood at the bier, with his back to Vixa. She slowed her hurried approach.
“My lord?” she said, her voice weak and uncertain.
The figure turned. It was Agavenes, the chamberlain.
“So, the Qualinesti princess. You live. Not surprising.”
“Who lies there?”
Without a word, Agavenes flicked back the shroud from the corpse’s face.
“Druzenalis!” Vixa exclaimed.
“Yes, the Marshal of Silvanost is dead.” Agavenes’s voice was icy.
“How did it happen?”
“After his humiliation by the Speaker, Druzenalis left the palace and placed himself at the head of his troops. They marched out of Red Rose Gate to confront the enemy in the southern forest. A fire was burning there, and Druzenalis wanted to extinguish it, lest it threaten the city. But it was a trap. The enemy attacked on three sides with fire and sword. Very few Silvanesti escaped.”
“Five thousand brave elves went out. Less than five hundred returned.”
Vixa was horrified. It was a terrible defeat, and it far outweighed their small success at Astarin Gate. She whispered, “Where is the Speaker?”
“With the army at Red Rose Gate. He has taken personal command.” Agavenes held out a skeletal hand. “The sword. Give it to me.”
Vixa drew Longreacher, then hesitated. “No,” she finally said. “I will return it to the Speaker.”
“Impudent girl! Isn’t it enough that you caused the marshal’s death? Or is that your purpose, to weaken and disunite us so that we fall to these barbarians? Are these water-breathing creatures part of some Qualinesti plot to overthrow Silvanost?”
Vixa shoved Longreacher back into her belt. “I have shed blood for your country,” she growled. “Do not trifle with me. I am a princess of the blood of Kith-Kanan. I did not ask for this sword, nor did I steal the marshal’s wits and send him into an obvious trap. This sword belongs to the Speaker of the Stars, and I will not soil it by placing it in your hands!”
She spun on her heel and strode away. Agavenes called after her. “You may have the favor of His Maj
esty, but this land will not tolerate mongrels and outlanders, no matter how noble some of their ancestors may have been. I will see the end of you, lady!”
Without looking back or raising her voice, Vixa replied, “You may try, Lord Chamberlain.”
*
Dawn broke, and the city settled into an uneasy rest as the sea elves withdrew into the Thon-Thalas.
Speaker Elendar held a council in the Tower of the Stars. Looking very tired, the Speaker sat, in full martial panoply, on his emerald throne. Clustered on the raised platform before him were clerics representing the great temples. The priests and priestesses wore golden headbands, white robes, and a sash in the color of their patron deity – silver for E’li, red for Matheri, sky-blue for Quenesti Pah, and so on. By ancient law they went unshod, so as to be closer to the sacred soil of Silvanesti. Gathered in the audience hall were high officers of the army, heads of the city guilds, servants, and courtiers. It was easy to see who’d been involved in the battle of the previous night. Gundabyr’s was not the only bandage in evidence.
The Speaker began to talk in a low, even voice. He’d been up all night, conferring with his warlords and sages. There were plans to save Silvanost, he said, but he was not yet ready to reveal the details.
Vixa stepped out of the crowd and asked permission to approach. The Speaker nodded. She drew Longreacher slowly.
“Great Speaker, I would like to return this sword. It is not mine to carry,” she said.
“I am told you acquitted yourself with honor at Astarin Gate, lady. Why shouldn’t you carry the sword of Balif?” he responded, weariness not lessening the deep tone of his voice.
Vixa shook her head firmly. Couldn’t he see the disapproval on the faces of his own people? Agavenes was positively livid.
“This is the blade of the marshal of Silvanost,” she insisted. “It should not be given to another.”
“Today there is no marshal.”
Agavenes spoke out. “Name one, Sire! Give us a new marshal!” Others around the circular chamber took up the cry. The various factions called out suggestions. As the noise increased, the Speaker leaned forward and spoke softly to Vixa.
