The door slammed behind her before he could ask what she meant.
To walk among the green trees, to smell the sunwashed air, to eat what came to hand, and to sleep under the stars—that was the good life. The best life. For all his deeds and wisdom, it was this simple woodland existence that Kith-Kanan always hungered for. The myth makers, the legend builders, had elevated him into a hero, a demigod, in his own lifetime. No doubt after he was dead, their exaggerations would grow larger with each passing century. Perhaps Kith-Kanan might become a god someday in the eyes of his descendants. He did not wish it. A far more suitable tribute would be the continued happy existence of the nation he’d founded, Qualinesti.
Kith-Kanan walked in the shade of oaks. It was a remarkable dream he was having. Dreams were usually thin things, flashes in his mind’s eye. This one, though, was magnificent. The smells, sounds, and textures of the forest were all around him. Wind whispered in the leaves high overhead. He heard birds and small animals calling and scampering in the dead leaves on the ground. Sunlight made sparkling patterns in the air. Remarkable.
Truly remarkable.
“Not so remarkable.”
He stopped, as if rooted to the spot. Leaning against a tree, not five paces away, was his first wife and dearest love.
“Anaya,” he sighed. “You visit my wonderful dream.”
“This is not a dream, Kith.”
She straightened and walked toward him. The green eyes, the dark hair, the Kagonesti face paint—it was all so real. As she scrutinized his face, he rejoiced in her every feature.
“This is not a dream,” she repeated. “You are in a shadowed realm between the light of life and the darkness of death. Our son struck you down with a dwarven hammer, but it was not his will that put the weapon in his hand. Your other son used the Amulet of Hiddukel to bring him down, and you with him.”
Sadness appeared in her eyes. “No one could prevent this destiny for you, my husband, but I have come back to tell you these things. Your son Ulvian must not sit on the Throne of the Sun. He has opened his soul to evil to further his ambition, and he will be the death and ruination of thousands if he is not stopped.”
Kith-Kanan looked past her at the serene wildwood, feeling removed and remote from the terrible tale she’d just related. He didn’t feel as if he’d been struck a mighty blow; instead, he felt as young and strong as he had when he’d first met Anaya. Tentatively he took her hand in his. It was warm and suntanned, and the tips of the fingers were delicately green. “How is it possible, my love? How can I be here with you?”
She lifted her free hand and caressed his cheek. “The gods you worship do not interfere with the ebb and flow of life. They are apart from it, and they allow life to follow its own course. But this place, and my existence, are not part of life or death. The power rules here in eternal balance with Chaos. Now, as a boon to me, the power allows me to see you and tell you the truth.”
“What is this power?” he asked, pressing her hand to his lips.
“It cannot be named, like a flower or a beast. It is the property of order in all things, the counterpart of Chaos. That is all I can say.”
Wind rustled through the closely growing oaks. Kith-Kanan held Anaya’s hand. “Will you walk with me?” he asked gently. She smiled and said yes.
As they strolled down the path, he wondered aloud, “Will I be with you always?”
Green moss softened their footfalls, and the wind lifted Kith-Kanan’s long hair.
“As long as you remember me, I shall be with you,” she replied. “But you cannot remain here much longer. Even as we speak, your mortal body grows cold. You must go back and tell those you love and trust the true story of your death.”
“My death?”
Kith-Kanan mused over the idea, normally so frightening. “I’ve seen many people die, for all sorts of reasons. Is it a sad thing to be dead?”
Anaya shrugged and said with her characteristic bluntness, “I don’t know. I’ve never died.”
He found himself smiling. “Of course not. I’m not frightened, though. Perhaps I will find all those who have gone before me. My father Sithel, my mother, Mackeli, Suzine….”
A large boulder appeared in the path, completely blocking it. Kith-Kanan touched the stone, feeling the lichen and watching a stream of tiny black ants march over it like soldiers conquering a mountain peak.
“This is the end, isn’t it?” he said, turning to face her.
“The end of your time here.” She regarded him solemnly. “Are you sad, Kith?”
He smiled and said, “No. I said good-bye to you long ago. This visit is a wonderful gift. It would be ungrateful to be sad.”
Kith-Kanan leaned over and kissed Anaya softly. She returned his kiss, but already she was beginning to pale. Not daring to end the moment, he whispered into her mouth, “Farewell, my dearest. Farewell ….”
The forest became dark wooden walls and beams. Pain flooded his limbs, and he gasped loudly. There was a pressure on his cheek. Kith-Kanan opened his eyes and realized his daughter was kissing his face.
She drew back. “By Astra!” Verhanna cried. “You’re awake!”
“Yes.” Merciful gods, his throat was raw. “Water,” he gasped.
Verhanna looked distressed. “Water? Will nectar do?”
She had a bottle of nectar beside her that she’d apparently been drinking from. Kith-Kanan croaked his assent, and she carefully put the bottle to his parched lips.
“Ah. Daughter, get some people in here. Witnesses. Tam, the guards…anyone. As fast as you can.”
Verhanna called for help, and guards threw open the door. “Run and get Tamanier Ambrodel!” she said. “The rest of you, come in here. The Speaker has something to say, and he wants you to hear it!”
Seven warriors crowded into the modest bedchamber. Verhanna raised her father up and stuffed a pillow under his back so he could see the warriors. Then she lifted the nectar to his lips once more.
“My good warriors,” Kith-Kanan rasped. The thick white bandage that covered the horrible wound on his forehead didn’t dip low enough to cover his bloodshot eyes. “These are my last commands.”
The elves all leaned forward to catch every sound he made. “My son,” said the Speaker weakly, “is innocent. Silveran is not…responsible…for my death.”
The guards exchanged looks of puzzlement. Verhanna, heedless of the tears that had once more begun to flow down her cheeks, prompted, “Go on, Father.”
“He was bewitched…by the onyx amulet. The evil talisman struck a bargain with…Ulvian.”
Puzzlement gradually turned to anger. Muttering, the warriors fingered their sword hilts.
“Ulvian will die for this, Father, I swear it!” Verhanna said. The guards seconded her vow.
“No!” Kith-Kanan said strongly. “I forbid it! Few are…the mortals who can withstand the sweet words…of Hiddukel. Ulvian—” He coughed hard, and fresh blood began to trickle down his face from under his bandage. “Do not harm…him. Please!”
Verhanna buried her face against her father’s chest. “Father, don’t die!” she pleaded.
“I am…not afraid. Is Silveran…well?”
She lifted her tear-streaked face. “Yes, yes! He has lost his magic, but he is himself again. The madness has left him!”
“I want to see…him.”
Verhanna ordered a guard to fetch Silveran. He was gone several long minutes, so she dispatched two more. When they hadn’t returned after quite a long wait, and Kith-Kanan’s eyelids had begun to flutter closed, she got to her feet and stormed out of the room. Down the corridor at Silveran’s door, she found the three guards she’d dispatched and the three watching the chained prince. Half of the warriors were howling for Ulvian’s blood, the other half were protecting him.
“Get out of the way!” Verhanna said, shoving guards left and right. “The Speaker wants his son!”
“I’ll go to him,” Ulvian said quickly.
“Not you! Silveran!”