“A wise decision,” Kith-Kanan said ruefully. “Hanna would wring Ullie’s neck.”
The Speaker bade Kemian return to the field and continue the hunt for slavers. The general bowed low, first to his sovereign and then to his father, and swept out of the hall. Once he was gone, Kith-Kanan sank shakily to the steps. Tamanier swiftly knelt beside him.
“Majesty! Are you ill?”
Tears glistened in Kith-Kanan’s brown eyes. “I am all right,” he murmured. “Leave me, Tam.”
“May I escort Your Majesty to his room?”
“No, I want to sit a while. On your way now, old friend.”
Tamanier rose and bowed. The scuff of his sandals faded in the dimly lit corridor. Kith-Kanan was alone.
He realized his hands were clenched into fists, and he relaxed them. Five hundred years was not a long time to live, by elven standards, yet at that moment, Kith-Kanan felt very aged indeed. What was he to do with Ulvian? The boy’s motives were a mystery to him. Did he need money so badly? Was it the thrill of doing something forbidden? No reason could excuse his conduct this time.
Once, after Ulvian had returned home half-naked and filthy after literally losing his shirt gambling, Verhanna had cornered her father. “He’s no good,” she had said.
“Isn’t he? Who made him so?” Kith-Kanan had wondered aloud. “Can I blame anyone but myself? I hardly ever saw him till he was twelve. The war was going badly, and I was needed in the field.”
“Mother spoiled him. She filled his head with a lot of nonsense,” Verhanna said bitterly. “I can’t count the times he’s told me you were responsible for her death.”
Kith-Kanan drew a hand across his brow. He couldn’t count the times he’d told Ulvian the truth about Suzine, that she had sacrificed her life for her husband and his cause, but Ulvian never believed it.
What could he do? Ulvian was right; Kith-Kanan couldn’t have his own son executed or banished. He was the Speaker’s heir. After working so hard, sacrificing so much, to build this great nation, Kith-Kanan wondered, was it all to be lost?
A bell tolled somewhere far off. The priests of Mantis, called Matheri in old Silvanost, were ringing the great bronze temple bell, signaling the imminent dawn. Kith-Kanan raised his weary head from his hands. The sound of the bell was like a voice, calling to him. Come, come, it said.
Yes, he thought. I will meditate and ask the gods. They will help me.
3 — The Balance of Justice
The domed ceiling of the Tower of the Sun was decorated with an elaborate mosaic symbolizing the passage of time and the forces of good and evil. One half of the dome was blue sky, made up of thousands of chips of turquoise, and a brilliant sun made from gold and diamonds. The opposite half was tiled with the blackest onyx and sprinkled with diamond stars. The three moons of Krynn were represented by discs of ruby for Lunitari, silver for Solinari, and oxblood garnet for Nuitari. Dividing these hemispheres was a rainbow band set with crimsonite, topazes, peridots, sapphires, and amethysts. The rainbow was a barrier and bridge between the worlds of night and day, a symbol of the intervention of the gods in mortal affairs.
Kith-Kanan meditated on the symbolism of the dome as he lay on his back on the rostrum in the center of the tower floor. Unlike its counterpart in Silvanost, this tower was not used as the throne room. The Tower of the Sun was mainly used when Kith-Kanan wanted to, as Verhanna put it, “impress the boots off a visitor.”
Kith-Kanan pillowed his head on one hand. His silver-blond hair was loose and spread out around his head like a halo. Fixing his gaze on the ceiling of the tower, he opened his mind. The peace and balanced beauty of the Tower of the Sun calmed him, allowing him to consider difficult matters.
Rows of windows and mirrors spiraled up the height of the tower, letting in the sun and reflecting it in endless cascades. No matter where the sun was in the sky, the Tower of the Sun would always be brightly lit. The Speaker draped his free arm over his face. A cool breeze played over his arms as it whistled through the tower windows. Even that was soothing. On this day, the Speaker of the Sun needed every bit of peace he could find as he wrestled with the problem of succession.
Qualinesti must have an heir. Kith-Kanan had sworn, before the gods and the assembly at Pax Tharkas, that he would step aside when the fortress was complete. Weekly dispatches from the chief architect and master builder, the dwarf Feldrin Feldspar, kept him informed of the progress there. Pax Tharkas was ninety percent done; with good weather and no delays, the citadel would be finished in another two or three years. Kith-Kanan must name his successor soon.
For too long, the Speaker had consoled himself with the thought that his only son was merely wayward, but now there was no denying that the problems ran much deeper. His own son involved in the slave trade….
With Ulvian obviously unworthy for the position of Speaker of the Sun, Kith-Kanan pondered other candidates. Verhanna? Not a good choice. She was brave, intelligent, and as honorable as any highborn Silvanesti, but also temperamental and sometimes prone to harshness. In spite of Kith-Kanan’s dreams of equality in his kingdom, the fact that Verhanna was half-human would also weigh against her in the minds of some of his full-blooded elven subjects. These prejudices were kept carefully tucked away, out of plain sight, but the Speaker knew they existed still. Coupled with the fact that Verhanna was female, that bias would be too much to overcome.
“You could marry again,” said a quiet voice.
Kith-Kanan descended the rostrum and looked around. The tower was pitch-dark, though he knew it wasn’t yet midday. Standing to his left, between two of the pillars that ringed the chamber, was a strange elf, wreathed in yellow light.
“Who are you?” demanded Kith-Kanan.
The halo of light followed the stranger as he approached the rostrum, though the elf carried no lamp or candle. He was clad entirely in a suit of close-fitting red leather. A scarlet cape hung from one shoulder and brushed the floor. The stranger’s ears were unusually tall and pointed, even for an elf, and his long hair was a vivid ruby red.
“I am one who can help you,” the intruder said. He spoke with an air of supreme self-assurance. Now that he was closer, Kith-Kanan saw that his eyes were black and glittering, set in a face as dead white as dry bones. No lines at all touched the face; it might have been carved from purest alabaster.
“Begone from here,” Kith-Kanan said sharply. “You intrude on my privacy.” He faced the stranger, his muscles tensed for fight or flight.
“Come, come! You’re in a quandary about your son, aren’t you? I can help. I have considerable power.”
Kith-Kanan knew this elf must be, at the very least, a powerful sorcerer. The tower was wrapped in protective spells, and for any malign being to enter would require great mastery of magic. “What is your name?”
The red elf shrugged, and his cape rippled like waves in a scarlet sea. “I have many names. You may call me Dru if you like.” With one hand at his slim waist and the other held out before him, Dru made a graceful, mocking bow. “You came here seeking help from higher powers, Great Speaker, so I have answered your call.”
Kith-Kanan’s brows arched. “Are you mortal?”
“Does it matter? I can help you. Your son has offended you, and you want to know what to do about it…yes? You are Speaker of the Sun. Condemn him,” Dru said smoothly.
“He is my only son.”
“And yet you might have another, if you marry again. For a slight fee, I can procure for you the mate of your heart’s desire!” He smiled, revealing teeth as red as his hair. Kith-Kanan recoiled and moved quickly back to the rostrum, where the potent magic symbols set in the floor mosaic would protect him from evil spells.