“By Astra!” she exclaimed. “That was close!”
The next one was closer still. With no warning, a column of blue-white fire slammed into the ground less than fifty paces from Verhanna, Rufus, and the remaining warriors. The horses screamed and reared, some falling back on their startled riders. Verhanna, still on the ground, kept a tight hand on her straining mount’s bridle. Rufus had just remounted, and when his horse began to snort and dance, the kender climbed onto its neck to get a better hold. His cape flopped over the horse’s eyes, a fortuitous accident, and the beast calmed.
The shock of the lightning strike passed, and the elves slowly recovered. One warrior lay moaning on the ground, his leg broken when his horse fell on him. Verhanna and the others set to binding his shattered limb. Rufus, not being needed, wandered over to the crater gouged by the lightning.
The hole was twenty feet across and nearly as deep. The sides of the pit were black and steaming. Tiny flames licked the dry prairie grass around the rim of the hole. Rufus stamped on the fires he saw and gazed with awe at the gaping pit. A shadow fell over him. He turned to see that Verhanna had joined him.
“Someone’s hurling thunderbolts at us, my captain,” he said seriously.
“Rot,” was her reply, though her tone was uncertain. “It was just an act of nature.” The next flash of lightning came in an instant. Verhanna uttered a brief warning cry and threw herself down. The bolt struck some distance away, and she sheepishly raised her head. Rufus was shading his eyes, staring at the southern horizon.
“It’s moving that way,” he announced.
Verhanna stood up and brushed dirt and grass from her haqueton. Her cheeks were stained crimson with embarrassment, and she was grateful that the kender ignored her nervous dive for cover. “What’s moving away?” she asked quickly.
“The lightning,” he replied. “Three strikes we’ve seen, each one farther south than the last.”
“That’s crazy,” said Verhanna dismissively. “Lightning is random.”
“Ain’t no ordinary lightning,” the kender insisted.
The warriors made their injured comrade comfortable, and when Verhanna and Rufus rejoined them, she ordered one of the warriors to remain with the injured elf to help him back to Qualinost.
“Now we are four,” she remarked as they formed up to resume their hunt. A glance at Rufus caused her to amend her statement. “Four and a half, I mean.”
“Not good odds, captain,” one of the warriors said.
“Even if I were alone, I’d go on,” stated Verhanna firmly. “These criminals must be caught, and they will be.” To the south, where the plain seemed to stretch on endlessly, the flash and crack of lightning continued. It was in that direction the little band rode.
The audience hall of the Speaker’s house was crammed with Qualinesti, all talking at once. The breeze stirred up by the roiling crowd had set the banners hanging from the high ceiling to waving gently. The scarlet flags were embroidered in gold, hand-worked by hundreds of elven and human girls. The crest of Kith-Kanan’s family—the royal family of Qualinesti, not the old line in Silvanost—was a composite of the sun and the Tree of Life.
In the midst of this maelstrom, the Speaker of the Sun sat calmly on his throne while his aides tried to sort out the confusion. However, his inner conflict showed in the small circular movements of his thumbs on the creamy wooden arm of his throne. The wood was rare, a gift from an Ergothian trader who called it vallenwood and said it came from trees that grew to enormous size. Once polished, the vallenwood seemed to glow with an inner light. Kith-Kanan thought it the most beautiful wood in the world. It felt smooth and comforting under his nervously moving fingers.
Tamanier Ambrodel was arguing heatedly with Senators Clovanos and Xixis. “Four towers have been toppled by lightning strikes!” Clovanos said, his voice becoming shrill. “A dozen of my tenants were hurt. I want to know what’s being done to stop all this!”
“The Speaker is attending to the problem,” Tamanier said, exasperated. His white hair stood out from his head as he ran his hand through it in distraction. “Go home! You are only adding to the problem by being hysterical.”
“We are senators of the Thalas-Enthia!” Xixis snapped. “We have a right to be heard!”
All through this mayhem, thunder boomed outside and flashes of lightning, mixed with the bright morning sun, gave the hall eerie illumination. Kith-Kanan glanced out a nearby window. Three columns of smoke were visible, rising from spots where trees had been set afire by lightning. After two days of lightning, the damage was mounting.
Kith-Kanan slowly rose to his feet. The crowd quickly fell silent and ceased its nervous shuffling.
“Good people,” began the Speaker, “I understand your fear. First the darkness came, weakening the crops and frightening the children. Yet the darkness left after causing no real harm, as I promised it would. Today begins our third day of lightning—”
“Cannot the priests deflect this plague of fire?” shouted a voice from the crowd. Others took up the cry. “Is there no magic to defend us?”
Kith-Kanan held up his hands. “There is no need to panic,” he said loudly. “And the answer is no. None of the clerics of the great temples has been able to dispel or deflect any of the lightning.”
A low murmur of worry went through the assembly. “But there is no threat to the city, I assure you!”
“What about the towers that were knocked down?” demanded Clovanos. His graying blond hair was coming loose from its confining ribbon, and small tendrils curled around his angry face.
From the rear of the hall, someone called out, “Those calamities are your fault, Senator!”
The mass of elves and humans parted to let Senator Irthenie approach the throne. Dressed, as was her custom, in dyed leather and Kagonesti face paint, Irthenie cut an arresting figure among the more conservatively attired senators and townsfolk.
“I visited one of the fallen towers, Great Speaker. The lightning struck the open ground nearby. The shock caused the tower to fall,” announced Irthenie.
“Mind your business, Kagonesti!” Clovanos growled.
“She is minding her business as a senator,” Kith-Kanan cut in sharply. “I know very well you expect compensation for your lost property, Master Clovanos. But let Irthenie finish what she has to say first.”
A flash of lightning highlighted the Speaker’s face for a second, then passed away. Chill winds blew through the audience hall. The banners suspended above the assemblage flapped and rippled.
More calmly, Irthenie said, “The soil near Mackeli Tower is very sandy, Your Majesty. I recall when Feldrin Feldspar erected that great tower keep. He had to sink a foundation many, many feet in the ground until he struck bedrock.”
She turned to the fuming Senator Clovanos, eyeing him with disdain. “The good senator’s towers are in the southwestern district, next to Mackeli, and they had no such deep foundations. It’s a wonder they’ve stood this long.”
“Are you an architect?” Clovanos spat back. “What do you know of building?”
“Is Senator Irthenie correct?” asked Kith-Kanan angrily. Before the fire in his monarch’s eyes and the dawning disgust evident in the faces around him, Clovanos reluctantly admitted the accuracy of Irthenie’s words. “I see,” the Speaker concluded. “In that case, the unhappy folk who lived in those unsafe towers shall receive compensation from the royal treasury. You, Clovanos, shall get none. And be thankful I don’t charge you with endangering the lives of your tenants.”
With Clovanos thus humbled, the other complainants fell back, unwilling to risk the Speaker’s wrath. Sensing their honest fear, Kith-Kanan tried to raise their spirits.