Dargonesti lh-3

by Paul Thompson

  The sun was low in the western sky when Coryphene and his escort came within sight of the city. He was amazed by its beauty. Its very strangeness, glimmering in the dry air, caused him to beam with anticipation. Soon, he and his queen would walk its streets, explore its mysteries, and fulfill their destiny. She would be its ruler, and he its defender. It would be the first of many victories.

  The Dargonesti of Urione had too long been isolated in their city. It was time for them to make their presence known. Coryphene, under the guidance of the divine Uriona, intended to remind the world that the sea was the true power on Krynn.

  He swam to the eastern side of the city, which was already in deep shadow. He and his troops watched as night closed over Silvanost and sparkling points of light appeared in its windows. Once more he marveled at the soaring towers and the strange growths called trees.

  The sight of the gracefully shaped trees brought to his mind the drylander girl, Vixa Ambrodel, who’d first explained them to Uriona. She’d been spotted among the defenders of Thonbec, and it was assumed she’d perished with them. The Protector found himself genuinely regretting her death. Brave and resourceful, she would’ve made a fine ally.

  As he stared at the drylander city, Coryphene felt excitement building in him. Soon, very soon, the land-dwellers would know that the legends were true. They would see that the Dargonesti were very real. The power of the sea would again be respected-and feared.

  Vixa and Gundabyr had been invited to dine this evening with the Speaker of the Stars. Unlike the usual state occasions, when as many as fifty might sit down with the ruler of the Silvanesti, only the three of them were present for this meal. In one of the palace’s smaller rooms a table, laden with food and drink, was set up. Three places were laid with gold plates and silken napkins.

  The Qualinesti princess felt she had spent a very unfruitful day. She had slept until nearly noon and had absolutely no duties to occupy her time. Her requests for information on the progress of the city’s defenses were met with ignorance (from the servants) or unhelpful politeness (from everyone else). Lord Agavenes had sent a barely civil request that the Qualinesti girl and her dwarven companion remain within the palace, so as not to disrupt the citizens of Silvanost by wandering about the streets. Vixa had been furious, but Gundabyr-feeling he’d earned a respite-bluntly told her to stop her grumbling. He said they should take what rest they could, since once the Dargonesti got here there’d be no sleep for any of them.

  The Speaker’s summons had been most welcome to Vixa. She assumed he would answer her many questions about the plans for Silvanost’s defense. She was wrong.

  Speaker Elendar seated himself at the table and bade his guests do likewise. He was a charming host, and with his own hand filled three slender goblets with nectar. Once these were distributed, he dismissed his attendants so he and his guests could speak in private.

  When Gundabyr tasted the nectar, his bushy black eyebrows rose. An excellent vintage. He’d never tasted better. He downed the entire contents of the goblet in one gulp, then held it out for more. Speaker Elendar smilingly refilled it. Once this amount was reduced by half, Gundabyr partook of some of the delicacies set before him. The food was a little light for his tastes, but certainly more than palatable. The dwarf gave the Speaker a puzzled look.

  “Majesty, don’t get me wrong, but I thought you Silvanesti were all like Agavenes and Druzenalis, and didn’t care for outsiders.”

  Elendar sipped his own nectar. He held the goblet in both hands, staring at the pattern of stars engraved on its slender bowl.

  “I am my father’s fourth son,” he said by way of explanation. “The previous Speaker was the last of my brothers. When he died, most unexpectedly, none of his sons was old enough to rule, so I came to the throne.” Vixa and the dwarf regarded him blankly. He sipped his nectar and went on. “My point is, it was never expected that I would become Speaker, so I wasn’t trained for the role. As I had a bent for scholarship, I spent most of my early life with tutors. I know a great deal about Qualinesti and Thorbardin, but it has all come from books. Meeting you has been the most interesting thing to happen to me in ages.”

  “Lately, my life’s been nothing but interesting,” Vixa said dryly.

  “The end is in sight, lady,” was his serene rejoinder.

  Gundabyr set his delicate goblet down so hard it rang against the tabletop. “You’re not thinking of surrendering?” he blurted.

  “Of course not.”

  “Sire, what plans have you made for the defense of the city?” Vixa asked.

  “Last night an edict went out to every corner of the realm, summoning all freeborn males to our service. In a week, two hundred thousand Silvanesti will arrive to defend their capital. Of course, an enemy that breathes water is a formidable foe. I don’t know that the levies will be of much use against the Dargonesti.”

  Vixa was silent, but her expression spoke eloquently of her inability to understand his calmness in the face of such a threat.

  “Don’t trouble yourself, Cousin,” the Speaker added soothingly. “Coryphene cannot succeed. In a week, he will either be dead or captured and Silvanost will be saved.

  This simple pronouncement was too much for the Qualinesti princess. She demanded, “How is this so, Majesty? You cannot do battle underwater!”

  The Speaker broke a round loaf of bread into three portions, handing one to each of them. He took a bite of the sweet bread, chewed, and swallowed, then said, “Once we were warned of the sea elves’ advance, any chance they had to overwhelm us disappeared. Did this Coryphene and his queen imagine they could defeat a nation of one million Silvanesti with an army of ten thousand? Coryphene is bold, I’ll grant, and we have been burdened by old fools like Druzenalis and Agavenes for too long, but Silvanost is home to some of the greatest thaumaturges on Krynn.” He nodded slowly. “The fact that the Dargonesti will most likely surround the city works to our advantage-they will be spread thin. When the blow falls, Coryphene won’t be able to rally them.”

  “What blow?” asked Gundabyr, mystified.

  “My friends, you must be patient. I am not yet ready to reveal all.” The Speaker would say no more. Instead, he filled his plate from the bounty before them. Vixa and Gundabyr exchanged helpless looks, but had to content themselves with talking of other things. They answered the Speaker’s questions about their homelands and the other places they’d seen. A peaceful hour sped by.

  At the conclusion of the meal, the Speaker of the Stars rose and offered his arm to Vixa-a great honor. “Would you like to see the Tower of the Stars?” he asked. “It’s always beautiful, but at night it is particularly so.”

  They accepted with enthusiasm. Not even Vixa’s worry over the coming invasion could keep her from taking advantage of such a generous invitation. She might very well be the only living Qualinesti to enjoy such an opportunity.

  The sun had set a short while before. As they crossed the plaza that separated the palace from the Tower of the Stars, Gundabyr kept up a steady stream of questions and comments. The dwarf fell silent once they entered the main hall in the Tower. The aura of power and majesty in the great structure made any noise at all seem sacrilegious.

  The Tower of the Stars was basically a hollow shaft six hundred feet high. Three levels of small chambers ringed its base. Lines of window openings and precious jewels spiraled up the interior walls. This evening the jewels reflected the light of the red moon, Lunitari, and the white, Solinari, filling the interior with flashing rainbows. The Tower’s domed ceiling was dark and unadorned, pierced by a single opening that allowed a shaft of pearly moonlight to reach the floor far below.

  Vixa and Gundabyr stared, their heads thrown back to take it all in. No columns supported the interior, and the vast open breadth of this central chamber was awe-inspiring. Vixa had thought the golden beauty of the Tower of the Sun in Qualinost could never be equaled, but this white and shining monument left her gasping.

  Ahead of them, at th
e rear of the audience hall, seven steps led up to a raised platform. Three additional, wider steps led from this platform to the throne dais. The emerald Throne of the Stars sat in silent splendor on the dais.

  The beauty of the Tower still moved the Speaker. When he spoke, it was in a whisper. “Behind the throne is a small door. It leads to a tightly spiraling stair that reaches to the battlements near the Tower’s apex.”

  “Can we go up?” asked Gundabyr eagerly.

  Before the Speaker could reply, an interruption occurred. “Sire, may I enter?” a voice called from the doorway.

  They turned and saw an elf standing in the Tower’s main entrance. The Speaker told the newcomer to enter. When he stepped into the moonlight illuminating the hall, they saw he wore the green tabard of a herald. His clothing was muddied, and he obviously had been running hard. His breathing was labored.

  “I beg to report attacks, Sire, the first attacks on the city!” he panted.

  As these dreadful words rang out, a group of elves appeared in the entrance behind the courier. They crowded into the audience hall. In the group were Druzenalis, Agavenes, and several priests and warriors, Samcadaris among the latter.

  Druzenalis boomed, “Majesty, I have received reports that the city is under attack!”

  “I have just heard the same news,” the Speaker said dryly. “Herald, where is the enemy?”

  “They have attacked from the east, Great Speaker, at the Gate of Astarin.” This was the point at which Vixa and Gundabyr had entered the city. “They have slain the sacred turtle that drew the eastern ferry, and stormed the gatehouse itself,” the herald replied.

  The Speaker thrust a finger at Samcadaris. “You,” he said, “take half the royal guard and go to the Astarin Gate. Drive the enemy from our city.”

  The young captain saluted crisply. “It shall be done, Great Speaker, or I will not return alive!”

  “Sire? Cousin?” Vixa said quickly. “May I join the fight?”

  Speaker Elendar smiled faintly. “By all means. I hear your parents are most formidable warriors-especially Lady Verhanna. I welcome her daughter to our ranks. But you cannot meet the enemy unarmed. Druzenalis, give her your sword.”

  “Majesty!” The marshal was obviously taken aback. When Vixa had asked to join the battle, he hadn’t bothered to hide his displeasure. His Speaker’s command, however, caused Druzenalis’s pale face to flush. “You cannot mean it. Give up my sword to this … this outsider?”

  The loathing in those words stung her. Vixa held out her hand. The marshal did not move.

  One of the Speaker’s silver-white brows rose questioningly. In a calm voice, he said, “Loan my cousin your sword, Marshal. Oblige me.”

  Druzenalis yanked the brilliant blade from its scabbard. It was only two feet long-obviously ceremonial. For a moment, Vixa thought she was going to receive it point-first. But he reversed his grip and handed the hilt to her.

  “I promise to do it honor, my lord,” Vixa said gravely, though Druzenalis pointedly ignored her. She looked to Gundabyr, who was grinning. “How about you? Want to come?”

  He winked. “I got nothin’ better to do right now.”

  Vixa, Samcadaris, and the dwarf rushed from the Tower of the Stars, preceded by the mud-spattered herald. Vixa heard heated words flash between the Marshal of Silvanost and his Speaker.

  Outdoors, an orange glow lit the night sky. A fire was burning, a big one, in the wooded park that covered much of the south end of the island. Silvanesti elves ran to and fro in the streets, clutching bundles and sometimes weapons. Nevertheless, it was remarkably orderly.

  “If Thorbardin were under attack, every dwarf in the kingdom would be at his front door, yelling at the top of his lungs,” Gundabyr said.

  “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.