The War of the Lance

IV

Then to the North an evil arose in the cloud-wracked skies, for the Dragon Highlords sent sword and messenger, firebrand and word to the Tower of Stars, to rapt Silvanesti, to the dwindling porches of the elf king's ear, promising peace and the forest's asylum in the discord of armies, promising Silvanost free in exchange for the promise of silence, inaction, for a nodding head on the Green Throne.

And Lorac agreed, his eye on the hooded orb, where miraculous silence promised a blessing of spears, an end to all promise, the dragons by summer.

And so Silvanesti was emptied of silver, emptied of lives and the long dreaming blood of its last inhabitants as they took to the boats, to the skiffs, to the coracles, aimless on water as cloudy as oracles and the Wildrunners fought in the wake of the water, where their last breath billowed in the spreading sails.

Alhana Starbreeze, the Speaker's daughter, stood at the helm in the silver passage as they sailed to the South on the Paths of Astralas, on the bard's memory, on history's spindrift, and Lorac behind them ordered his soldiers to leave the unraveling land in the last of the ships, for there in the dark called the forest, called Silvanost, the elm and aeterna choiring like nightingales, singing this song to his turning ear,

After the last test

There is no other. o the tests are behind you

Speaker of suns and the song of the orb

Is the song of your mind in this ancient tower

Hollow and loveless with long departures.

O the tests are behind you speaker of suns

But I shall lie here as history folds

In these flourishing walls as the tower crumbles

And with it the mind the first high battlements

The house of the Gods but I shall lie here

As the forest withers as the plains descend

Into winter and nothing unless the song of your thoughts

Which is everything, is the world, controls and subdues

And informs the mystery.

Keep me in Silvanost speaker of suns, keep me in freedom

It lay in the chambers secret in stars, above it the Tower and a labyrinth of legends, and the freedom it promised at its crystalline heart was green ice beckoning, flame of the distant voice.

And drawn by its music, by the unearthly chiming of crystal and shifting thought the Speaker of Suns descended alone to the heart of the Tower where time and the forest and a shaft of moonlight collapsed on the orb, and he reached for the crystal as a thousand voices rose from its brimming fire, all of them singing the lure of the possible, all of them singing the song he imagined, and his thoughts were a fortress, phantasmal ramparts of maple and ash and belief, in his daylit dreams the armies were breaking, the edge of the forest bristled with leaf and invention, and summoned, he reached for the crystal as the globe and the world dissolved in his terrible grasp.

He knew when the bones of his fingers ignited, when green fire danced on the back of his hands, in the damage of arteries, and he knew at once that the fire was the heart of his error, that neither the strength nor the words nor the mind could govern the magic.

But the shadows of Silvanost faded from green into red, into brown and untenable gold, the orb was a prison and above Thon-Thalas the long wingbeat of the dragon approached, and the trees bent and bowed in a sinister wind as Lorac beheld this all through the light of the orb, and the dragon, the Bloodbane, came with its whispers, and under its words the old stones tilted, and the Tower of Stars, as white as a sepulchre, twisted and torted as the trees rained blood and the animals shrieked their cries like torn metal in a charmed and perpetual midnight.