Dargonesti

Chapter 20

Under the wind-tossed waves near the mouth of the Thon-Thalas, the Dargonesti were gathering. Queen Uriona’s servants erected a seaweed canopy to protect their queen from the sun’s rays in the relatively shallow water. Uriona’s throne, laboriously borne here from the distant city, was set under the canopy. The throne itself was a low, four-legged, backless chair carved of blood coral and inlaid with precious stones. Its wide seat curved up slightly on each side into arms shaped to resemble leaping dolphins.

Coryphene escorted Uriona to the place prepared for her. The queen, her face covered by a soft silver mask, seated herself.

“When will you be ready to attack?” she asked in the shrill, clicking tones of the water-tongue.

“Soon, Divine One,” Coryphene replied. “The army even now moves to encircle Silvanost. Once I join them, we shall begin the assault.”

She nodded. Her lavender eyes-all that was visible beneath her mask-stared absently at the pearls stitched down the sleeve of her robe. After a moment, Uriona murmured, “I should be with you at the ancient capital. I should be ready to enter my city once the land-dwellers are defeated.”

“Majesty, we have discussed this. You must not be placed in danger unnecessarily. Wait, just a little while, until the enemy is conquered.”

“Are you so certain they will be overcome? Your army is few. The drylanders are many.”

“They cannot stand against us!”

“Perhaps,” she replied. “But it is well I have brought the Shades of Zura with me. If the fight proves too much for you, their magic can be brought to bear on the Silvanesti.”

“I have no need of them,” he said angrily. “I shall conquer by spear and lance, not by veils of clouds.”

All at once her abstracted expression vanished, and she turned a penetrating look upon him. “Victory is within our grasp, Coryphene,” she said softly. “I see the city in our hands. I hear Quoowahb cheers ringing through the Tower of the Stars as I am crowned queen of the ancient race. Go, Lord Protector. Liberate my city.”

“Silvanost will soon be yours, Divine One. I swear it on my life!”

Coryphene sprang up, his powerful legs sending him racing through the water. Once he was lost from sight, Uriona waved a hand, dismissing her hovering attendants. The mask moved slightly as the queen smiled.

“Soon, my brother gods, soon Uriona Firstborn will sit upon the most ancient throne of the elves,” she whispered. “Once I am crowned in the Tower of the Stars, my destiny will be complete. No power on Krynn will be able to oppose me. No power on Krynn!”

None of the Dargonesti had ever been in fresh water before, nor so close to land. A few were made ill, but the nausea and light-headedness passed quickly. The great majority found it exhilarating, like swimming through water churned up by a great storm. Coryphene was among the latter. The Protector of Urione, with a small escort, moved swiftly through the river. Once he had joined his troops, the battle for Silvanost would begin.

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 the 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.

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.