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. Vixa 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 Majesty, 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.
“Why don’t you keep it, lady? I think you are as much a warrior as any other present. And you are of royal blood.”
“No, Sire!” she hissed fiercely. “Do you want a civil war? Choose a Silvanesti!”
“Who do you suggest?”
Vixa was furious with him for asking such an inappropriate question, for not acting as she thought a Speaker ought. Then she saw the twinkle in his eyes. He was teasing her! She went along with him, saying, “I know few of your officers, Great Speaker, but Captain Samcadaris seems both wise and brave.”
He raised an eyebrow, surprised perhaps that she had actually ventured a choice. However, he considered the idea with a thoughtful expression. “So? Captain to marshal in one bound? Agavenes will expire.” His hazel eyes danced.
The Speaker leaned back in his throne, held up a hand. The tumult in the Tower subsided. When all was quiet, Elendar declaimed, “Summon Captain Samcadaris to our presence!”
The captain entered, looking more than a little surprised. He’d been detailed to stand guard with the royal watch. The summons from the Speaker was most unexpected.
Elendar held out a hand to Vixa. Into it, she placed the hilt of Balif’s sword. She stepped back, and the Speaker bade Samcadaris approach. The captain complied.
“Accept this sword, sir, with my love and trust,” said the Speaker. “Bear it with honor and justice in my name.”
Samcadaris stiffened visibly, realizing what was being asked of him. He took Longreacher in a hand that trembled, then raised the sword in a salute. “I accept the honor and the responsibility, Great Speaker. I shall not fail you or my country,” he said, his voice breaking.
“Loyal subjects, I present to you the Marshal of Silvanost!”
Speaker Elendar had barely pronounced these words when Agavenes exploded into anger. Casting a look of pure hatred at Vixa, the chamberlain cried, “Do foreigners choose our leaders now? Is this girl to be our master? I would rather take my chances with the blue-skinned barbarians. At least they fight openly, elf to elf!”
“Shut up, Lord Chamberlain,” the Speaker said pleasantly. “You seem to forget you are addressing my blood cousin. And me.”
“I am of a house no less ancient and noble, Majesty. I will not be passed over, like an incompetent underling!”
“Lord Agavenes, none of your stratagems has worked. You convinced me Druzenalis could destroy the enemy-but he lost the better part of our army and his own life. You said the Dargonesti attack on Thonbec was a diversion, that the true threat would come from the west. You were wrong there as well. I cannot afford your mistakes, Agavenes. Go from my sight.”
All this was said in a patient, even voice, but to proud Agavenes it was as though the Speaker had slapped him. The color drained from his face, leaving him a waxen ghost. Jaw clenched in fury, the chamberlain whirled and stalked out of the Tower, his rich blue robes flapping. Several of the nobles went with him.
“They’re showing their true loyalties,” Samcadaris said angrily.
The Speaker stated, “Let them go. When this is over, there will be time to reckon with them.”
He stood to address the assembly. “An edict has been issued calling all freeborn Silvanesti males to the defense of the city. Until they arrive, we must maintain our vigilance. More precise orders will be issued later from Marshal Samcadaris.”
The elves began to file out. Gundabyr and Vixa shook hands with the new marshal, who was still reeling from his sudden elevation. Behind them, the Speaker, seated once more on his elegant throne, watched impassively. At last he commanded, “Go, Marshal, and see to the defenses. Remember, too, a great rise is sometimes followed by a great fall.”
Samcadaris exited with a low bow. The Qualinesti princess and the dwarf likewise bowed to the ruler of Silvanost and followed on the marshal’s heels.
Chapter 21
Escalade!
Queen Uriona impatiently drummed her long blue fingers on the arm of her throne. The seaweed canopy that shielded her during the day had just been removed.
The sun was sinking beneath the western horizon. Despite the attentiveness of her loyal servants, Uriona was angry.
“Where is Lord Protector Coryphene?” she demanded for the fifth time in thirty minutes. “Why hasn’t he been summoned?”
“He has, Divine Majesty,” said one of the servants, patiently. He kept his eyes downcast.
More time dragged by. At last, a swirl of mud and sand in the water presaged the arrival of newcomers from the river. Coryphene swept into his queen’s presence. He bowed deeply.
“My eternal regret for keeping Your Divinity waiting,” he said.
“I summoned you hours ago.”
“Apologies, Majesty. The river is murky and strange to us. It is difficult to move quickly through it.”
The strain of the invasion showed on Coryphene’s face and in his posture. He’d fought all the night before in the dry forest south of the city, fought and slain a dozen foes single-handed. He had intended to launch another strike on the city this night. The peremptory summons from the queen had delayed the attack.
“When do you expect the city to fall?” Uriona asked.
“Soon, Beloved Goddess. Thousands of drylanders were lost in the forest and at the city gate last night. There cannot be many left to defend the walls. We were to attack again this evening, but-” He paused. “Our people need time to recover. Tomorrow, at dusk, we will resume the assault, this time most heavily from the west. The drylanders will expect us to charge their gatehouses again, but we will not. With the timbers we took from Brackenost, we have made scaling ladders. We shall storm the wall between their towers. There will not be enough defenders to meet us, and the city will be ours.”
“Be sure of it, Lord Protector! The tide of affairs is turning-I feel it. My fellow gods bestir themselves for our enemies’ sake. My destiny is to be crowned in the Tower of the Stars. I will achieve my destiny! Do you hear?”
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