The History of Krynn: Vol III

by Dragon Lance

  The human appeared again. This close, Sithas could see he was a mature man; his red-brown hair and full beard were sprinkled with gray. He was richly dressed in the vulgar Ergothian style – which meant he was clad in strong, dark colors, wine-red and black, with a golden torc at his throat and a fur-lined cape.

  “Well?” Sithas demanded from his lofty perch atop the turtle’s head.

  “The ambassador asks if you would care to come in out of the rain for a short time, while preparations are made to go,” said the human more solicitously.

  Using the deep creases in the skin of the creature’s neck as hand and footholds, Sithas descended the twelve feet to the ground. Once down, he glanced up at the turtle; a huge eye regarded him benignly.

  The bearded human was tall for his race. His gray eyes were hard as he bowed. “I amUlvissen, seneschal to Ulwen, praetor of the empire,” he said with dignity.

  With a sweep of his arm, Ulvissen indicated Sithas should precede him. The prince strode into the tent.

  It was the size of a largish house. The first room Sithas entered featured the imperial standard of Ergoth, a golden axe crossed with a hammer, on a field of dark crimson. The second room was larger and far mare elaborate. Thick carpets covered the ground. In the center of the room, a fire burned on a portable blackiron hearth. Smoke was carried out through a metal chimney, made of sections of bronze pipe jointed together. Couches and chairs covered with purple velvet were scattered around the room. A lap desk full of rolled maps lay open to Sithas’s left, and a table laden with decanters of drink stood on his right. Glass-globed oil lamps lit the room as bright as day. Wind howled outside, and rain drummed on the varnished silk roof.

  A flap across the room was pulled back, and four thick-armed servants entered, carrying a chair supported by rods through its armrests. Seated in the chair was an ancient human, far older than Ulvissen. His bald head was hunched deep between his shoulders. His skin was the color of egg yolks, and his rheumy eyes seemed to have no distinct color. Sithas did not need to know much about human health to recognize that this was a sick man.

  The prince was about to speak to this venerable man when another person entered, a female. She was altogether different from the frail figure in the chair. Tall, clad in a deep red velvet gown, she had dark brown hair that fell just past her shoulders. More voluptuous than any elven maiden, the human woman appeared less than half the age of the man in the chair.

  When she spoke, it was with a velvety voice. “Greetings, Prince Sithas. On behalf of my husband, Praetor Ulwen, I greet you.” She rested her hands on the back of the old man’s chair. “My name is Teralind denCaer,” she added.

  Sithas bowed his head slightly. “In the name of my father, Speaker of the Stars, I greet you, Praetor Ulwen, and Lady Teralind,” he said respectfully.

  She came out from behind the chair and went to the table where the decanters were. Teralind poured a pale white liquid into a tall glass goblet. “We did not expect anyone to meet us. Not until the storm was over,” she said, smiling slightly.

  “I received the ambassador from Thorbardin this morning,” Sithas replied. “It was only proper that I come and greet the emperor’s envoy as well.”

  The old man in the chair still had said nothing, and he remained silent as Teralind drank. Then she passed in front of Sithas, gown rustling as she walked. By lamplight, her eyes were a foreign shade of brown, dark like her hair. Teralind sat and bade-Sithas sit down, too.

  “Excuse me, Lady, but is the praetor well?” he asked cautiously. The old human’s eyes were closed.

  “Ulwen is very old,” she said with a tinge of sadness. “And it is very late.”

  “I can’t help but wonder why the emperor did not choose a younger man for this task,” Sithas ventured softly.

  Terafind combed through her thick, wavy hair with the fingers of one hand. “My husband is the senior praetor of the empire. Also he is the only member of the ruling council to have dealt with Silvanesti before.”

  “Oh? When was that?”

  “Forty-six years ago. Before I was born, actually. I believe he worked on what was called the Treaty of Thelgaard’” she said distractedly.

  Sithas tried to remember the obscure treaty, and could only recall that it had something to do with the cloth trade. “I’m sorry I did not have the pleasure of meeting the praetor then,” he said. “I must have been away.”

  Teralind looked at the elf oddly for an instant. Humans never could adjust to elven life spans. “In deference to the age of the ambassador,” Sithas added, “I would be willing to stay the night here and escort you all to the city tomorrow.”

  “That is acceptable. Ulvissen will find you a suitable place to rest,” Teralind agreed. She rose suddenly to her feet. “Good night, Your Highness,” she said courteously, then snapped her fingers. The servants hoisted Ulwen up, turned ponderously, and carried him out.

  *

  Sithas was given a bed in a private comer of the great tent. The bed itself was large enough to sleep four grown elves and far too soft for the prince’s taste. It seemed strange to him that humans should prize comfort so excessively.

  The rain struck the roof of the tent with a rhythmic beat, but that did not lull Sithas to sleep. Instead, his mind wandered to thoughts of Hermathya. He would have to work harder to reconcile their differences, he decided. But his wife’s face did not remain long in Sithas’s thoughts. Kith-Kanan soon pushed to the forefront. His twin would probably have enjoyed Sithas’s little gesture of bringing turtle and barge to the ambassador’s very door.

  Kith was a long way off now, Sithas thought. So many miles and so much time lay between them. As the prince closed his eyes, he felt the faint but persistent tie that had always existed between him and Kith-Kanan, but now he concentrated on it. The rain grew louder in his ears. It was like a pulse, the beat of a living heart. Feelings began to come to him – the smell of the woodland, the sounds of night animals that no longer lived in the more settled parts of Silvanesti. He opened his mind further, and a flood of sensations came to him.

  He saw, as in shadow, a dark elven woman. She was strong and deeply connected to the Power, even as the high clerics and the Speaker of the Stars were said to be. But the dark woman was part of an ancient group, different from the gods, but almost as great. Sithas had an impression of green leaves, of soaring trees, and pools of still, clear water. And there was a battle raging inside this woman. She was trying to leave the Power, and it did not want her to go. The reason she wished to leave was clear, too. She loved Kith, and he loved her. Sithas felt that very strongly.

  A word came to him. A name.

  “Anaya,” he said aloud.

  The link was broken when he spoke. Sithas sat up, his head swimming with strange, unexplained impressions. There was a struggle going on, a contest for possession of the dark elf woman. The struggle was between Kith-Kanan and the ancient powers of nature. The storm... not the work of human magicians, or any magicians. The storm was a manifestation of the struggle.

  As Sithas lay back on the ridiculously large bed, a twinge of sadness entered his heart. The short connection had only emphasized how truly far from home his twin had journeyed.

  And Sithas knew he dare tell no one what he’d learned.

  Chapter 18

  IN THE FOREST,

  YEAR OF THE RAM

  (2215 PC)

  The changes in the keeper continued. Anaya’s toes and fingers, then the points of her elbows, became light green. She felt no pain and suffered no loss of movement, though it did seem she was becoming less sensitive all the time. Her hearing, formerly so acute, became duller and duller. Her eyesight lost its uncanny focus. Her stealthy tread grew slow and clumsy. At first she was short-tempered with the changes, but her spirits gradually lightened. Things the Forestmaster had told her during her long sojourn away from Kith-Kanan were now making more sense, she said. These changes, Anaya believed, were the price of her life joined to Kith-Kanan’s. While
she might bemoan the loss of her preternatural agility and hunting skill, her new life did make her very happy.

  The winter was long and, as the forest was no longer Anaya’s to command, very hard. She and Kith-Kanan hunted almost every day that it wasn’t actually snowing, They had some success; there were rabbits and pheasants and the occasional deer to be had. But they more often ate Mackeli’s nuts and berries. As their bellies shrank and their belts tightened, conversation diminished, too. When the wind howled outside and the snow drifted so high the door became hard to open, the three sat within the hollow tree, each wrapped in his or her own thoughts. Days went by without any of them speaking a single word.

  Mackeli, too, was changing, though his metamorphosis was more easily understood. He had reached the time in a young elf’s life when the physical limitations of childhood give way to an adult physique. Compared to the great life span of an elf, these changes take place rather quickly. Even without an abundance of food, he grew taller, stronger, and restless – and often rude, as well. The boy’s impatience was so high that Kith-Kanan forbade him to accompany them hunting; Mackeli’s fidgeting scared off the already scarce game.

  While his wife and friend changed in outward, tangible ways, Kith-Kanan grew, too, but inside. His values had changed since coming to the forest, certainly, and now his entire attitude toward life was undergoing fundamental change. All his life he had played at being prince. Since his brother Sithas was the heir, Kith-Kanan had no real responsibilities, no true duties. He took up warrior training and hunting as hobbies. He taught Arcuballis tricks and practiced aerial maneuvers. These activities had filled his days.

  But it was different now. He could glide through the forest, silent as a wraith. He didn’t have to rely on Mackeli’s gathering skills or Anaya’s hunting any longer. In fact, more and more, they relied on him. This was a good life, the prince decided, and he could now bless the day his father had taken Hermathya from him. Though he had cared for her, Hermathya was much better suited to his twin – both of them so correct, proper, and dutiful. And with his forgiveness of his father came a sense of loss. He found himself missing his family. Still, he knew that his life was in the forest, not the city.

  Another, more natural, change had come to Anaya. She was pregnant. She and her husband had been staring dreamily into the fire one night when she had told him. At first Kith-Kanan was stunned. His astonishment gave way to a great, heartfilling joy. He embraced her so hard that she squealed in protest. The thought that a new life, one he had helped create, was growing inside of her made Anaya that much more precious to the prince. It made their life together that much richer. He showered her with kisses and declarations of his love until Mackeli grumbled for them both to shut up, since he was trying to sleep.

  The day came, not too long after, when the first icicles began to melt off the oak’s bare branches.

  The sun came out and stayed for a week, and all the ice melted and ran off the tree. The snow retreated to the deep shadows around the rim of the clearing.

  They emerged from the tree, blinking at the bright sunshine. It was as if this was the first sunny day they’d ever experienced. Anaya moved stiffly, rubbing her arms and thighs. Her hands and feet were fully colored green by this time.

  Kith-Kanan stood in the center of the clearing, eyes shut, face turned to the sky. Mackeli, who was nearly as tall as Kith-Kanan now, bounded around like a deer, though certainly not as gracefully.

  “We’ve never had such a winter,” Anaya stated, gazing at the snow still hiding at the base of the trees.

  “If the weather holds, the hunting will be good,” Kith-Kanan noted confidently. “All the hibernating animals will be coming out.”

  “Free! Ha, ha, free!” Mackeli rejoiced. He grabbed Anaya’s hands and tried to dance her around in a circle. She resisted and pulled her hands away with a grimace.

  “Are you all right?” asked Kith-Kanan worriedly.

  “I am stiff and sore,” she complained. She stopped rubbing her arm and stood up straight. “I’ll work the cold out of my bones, don’t worry.”

  The novelty, but not the pleasure, of the first spring day wore off, and the trio returned to the tree to eat. In honor of the fine day, Kith-Kanan cut down their last haunch of venison. Kith-Kanan had been teaching Arcuballis to hunt for game and bring back what it caught. The griffon could cover a much wider range than they, and it grew more adept with each hunt. The last time the creature had brought back the very deer Kith-Kanan was carving.

  Now, Kith-Kanan took Arcuballis from its hide tent and, with whistles and encouraging words, sent the beast off on another expedition. When the griffon was lost from sight, the elf prince built a fire outside, not an easy task with all the damp wood. He sliced off a sizeable roast from the hard, smoked haunch. While it cooked, Mackeli came out with his usual fare; arrow root, walnuts, dried blueberries, and wild rice. He looked at the brown assortment in his basket, then at the deer roast, sizzling and dripping fat into the fire. He squatted by Kith-Kanan, who was turning the meat on a rough spit.

  “Could I have some?” asked Mackeli tentatively. Kith-Kanan gave him an astonished look. “It smells awfully good. Just a small piece?” the boy pleaded.

  Kith-Kanan sliced off a thin strip of cooked meat, speared it with his dagger, and put it in Mackeli’s basket. The elf boy eagerly picked it up with his fingers – and promptly dropped it again. It was quite hot. Kith-Kanan gave him a sharpened twig, and Mackeli snagged the piece of meat and raised it to his mouth.

  A look of utter concentration came over his face as he chewed. Kith-Kanan inquired, “Do you like it?”

  “Well, it’s different.” The slice was gone. “Could I have some more?” The elf prince laughed and cut a larger piece.

  Anaya came out of the tree, dragging their furs and bedding into the sun. The red and yellow lines she had painted on her face enhanced the already startling green of her eyes. The elf woman glanced over at the two males, crouched by the fire, and saw Mackeli nibbling a slice of venison. She ran over and slapped the meat from his hand.

  “It is forbidden for you to eat meat!” she said heatedly.

  “Oh? And who forbids me? You?” demanded Mackeli defiantly.

  “Yes!”

  Kith-Kanan rose to pull them apart, but as one Mackeli and Anaya shoved him back. He sprawled on the wet turf, astonished.

  “You did not kill the animal, Keli, so you have no right to eat it!” Anaya said fiercely.

  “You didn’t kill it either! Kith did!” he countered.

  “That’s different. Kith is a hunter, you’re only a boy. Stick to your nuts and berries.” The “boy” Anaya snarled at was now a head taller than she.

  “Are those eyes of yours blind?” Mackeli argued. “Nothing is as it was. The spirits of the forest have turned their backs on you. You’ve lost your stealth, your keen senses, and your agility. You’ve turned green! I’ve gotten bigger and stronger. I can shoot a bow. You —” Mackeli was sputtering in his rage “— you don’t belong in the forest any longer!”

  Within the sharply painted lines, Anaya’s eyes grew large. She made a fist and struck Mackeli smartly on the face. He fell on his back. Kith-Kanan realized things had gone too far.

  “Stop it, both of you!” he barked. Anaya had advanced over Mackeli, ready to hit him again, but Kith-Kanan pushed her back. She stiffened, and for a moment he thought she would take a swing at him. After a moment, the anger left her and she stood aside.

  The prince helped Mackeli to his feet. A smear, of blood showed under the boy’s nose.

  “I know we’ve been cooped up together too long, but there’s no reason for fighting,” Kith-Kanan said severely. “Mackeli is reaching his adulthood, Ny, you can’t hold him back.” He turned to the boy, who was dabbing at his bleeding nose with his sleeve. “And you have no right saying things like that to her. Not even the Forestmaster herself has said Anaya doesn’t belong in the wood any more. So guard your tongue, Keli. If you wish to
be a warrior, you must learn self-control.”

  Suddenly they heard a pair of hands clapping behind them and a voice exclaiming, “Well said.”

  Kith-Kanan, Anaya, and Mackeli turned abruptly. A score of men holding swords or crossbows flanked the hollow tree. Standing by the door, dressed in elegant but impractical crimson, was the half-human Voltorno – as strong and healthy as ever, from the look of it.

  “You!” hissed Anaya.

  “Stand very still,” cooed Voltorno. “I would hate to perforate you after such a touching performance. It really was worthy of the finest playhouse in Daltigoth.” He nodded, and the humans fanned out carefully, surrounding the trio.

  “So you survived your wound,” Kith-Kanan said tersely. “What a pity.”

  “Yes,” he said with calm assurance. “We had a first-rate healer on the ship. We returned to Ergoth, where I made known your interference in our operation. I was commissioned to return and deal with you.”

  Voltorno flipped back his hip-length cape, exposing a finely wrought sword hilt. He walked to Anaya, looking her up and down. “Bit of a savage, isn’t she?” he said with a sneer to Kith-Kanan and turned to Mackeli. “Could this be our wild boy? Grown a bit, haven’t you?” Mackeli kept his hands at his sides, but he was breathing hard. Voltorno shoved him lightly with one gloved hand. “You’re the one who shot me,” he said, still smiling pleasantly. “I owe you something for that.” He pushed Mackeli again. Kith-Kanan gathered himself to spring on Voltorno. As if he were reading the prince’s mind, Voltorno said to his men, “If either of them moves, kill them both.”

  The half-human grasped the gilded hilt of his sword and drew the slim blade from its scabbard. He held it by the blade; the pommel bobbed just inches from Mackelis chest. The boy stared at the sword hilt as he backed away. Mackeli’s heels crunched in some of the late snow until his back bumped a tree at the edge of the clearing.