Paul Thompson - The Qualinesti

The smith hardly wanted to contradict his sovereign, but he said sullenly, “Then why don’t they do something about it?” He gestured to the half-dozen young clerics facing him.

“Have you tried?” Kith-Kanan asked the acolyte of Astra.

The cleric frowned. “None of our banishing spells worked, Highness. The darkness is not caused by mortal or divine magic,” he said. The other clerics behind him murmured their agreement.

“How long do you think it will last?”

The young elf could only shrug helplessly.

The coppersmith snorted, and Kith-Kanan turned to him. “You ought to be grateful, my friend, for this darkness.”

That caught the fellow off guard. “Grateful, Majesty?”

“It’s pitch-black on a working day. I’d say you have a holiday.” The crafters laughed nervously. “If I were you, I’d hie on over to the nearest tavern and celebrate your good fortune!” A broad grin brightened the coppersmith’s face, and the disputants began to disperse.

Kith-Kanan continued on his way. Passing a side street on his right, he halted when he heard weeping coming from the dim alley.

The Speaker turned into the side street, following the sound of sobbing. Suddenly a hand reached out of the dark and pressed against his chest, stopping him.

“Who are you?” he said sharply, thrusting the torch toward the one who’d halted him.

“I live here. Gusar is my name.”

The weak torchlight showed Kith-Kanan an old human, bald and white-browed. Gusar’s eyes were white, too. Cataracts had taken his sight.

“Someone is in trouble down there,” said the Speaker, relieved. An old blind man was hardly a threat.

“I know. I was going to help when you blundered up behind me.”

Kith-Kanan bristled at the man’s bluntness. “Get that brand out of my face, and I’ll be on my way,” the blind man continued.

The monarch of Qualinesti drew his torch back. Gusar moved off with the easy confidence of one used to darkness. Kith-Kanan trailed silently behind the blind man. In short order, they came upon a trio of elf children huddled by the closed door of a tower home.

“Hello,” Gusar said cheerfully. “Is someone crying?”

“We can’t find our house,” wailed an elf girl. “We looked and looked, but we couldn’t see the daisies that grow by our door!”

“Daisies, eh? I know that house. It’s only a few steps more. I’ll take you there.” Gusar extended a gnarled hand. The elf children regarded him with misgiving.

“Are you a troll?” asked the smallest boy, his blue eyes huge in his tiny face.

Gusar cackled. “No. I’m just an old, blind man.” He pointed a thumb over his shoulder. “My friend has a torch to help light your way.”

Kith-Kanan was surprised. He hadn’t realized the old man knew he was still there.

The girl who’d spoken got up first and took the human’s hand. The two boys followed their sister, and together the children and the old human wandered down the lane. Kith-Kanan followed at a distance, until the little girl turned and announced, “We don’t need you, sir. The old one can see us home.”

“Fare you well, then,” Kith-Kanan called. The bowed back of the aged human and the flaxen hair of the elf children quickly vanished in the inky air.

For the first time in days, the Speaker smiled. His dream of a nation where all races could live in peace was truly taking hold when three children of pure Silvanesti blood could fearlessly take the hand of a gnarled old human and let him lead them home.

On the morning of what would have been the fourth day of darkness, a ball of red fire appeared in the eastern sky. The people of Qualinost swarmed into the streets, fearfully pointing at the dangerous-looking orb. Within minutes, dread turned to relief when they realized that what they were seeing was the sun, burning through the gloom. The darkness lifted steadily, and the day dawned bright and cloudless.

Kith-Kanan looked out over his city from the window of his private rooms. The rose-quartz towers sparkled cleanly in the newborn sunlight, and the trees seemed to bask in the warmth. All over Qualinost, in every window and every gracefully curving street, faces were upturned to the luxurious heat and light. As the Speaker looked south across his city, the songs and laughter of spontaneous revelry reached his ears.

The return of light was a great relief to Kith-Kanan. For the past three days, he had done nothing but try to hold his people together, reassuring them that the end of the world was not nigh. After two days of darkness, emissaries had arrived in Qualinost from Ergoth and Thorbardin, seeking answers from the Speaker of the Sun as to the cause of the fearful gloom. Kith-Kanan had his own ideas, but didn’t share them with the emissaries. Some new power was rising from a long sleep. Hiddukel had said it was a power older even than the gods. The Speaker did not yet know what its purpose was, and he didn’t want to spread alarms through the world based on his own flimsy theories.

From all over his realm, people poured into Qualinost, clogging the bridges and straining the resources of the city. Everyone was afraid of the unknown darkness. Fear made allies of the oldest enemies, too. From outside Kith-Kanan’s enlightened kingdom came humans and elves’ who had fought each other in the Kinslayer Wars. During the darkness, they had huddled together around bonfires, praying for deliverance.

From his window overlooking the sunlit city, Kith-Kanan mused. Perhaps that was the reason for it—to bring us all together.

There was a soft, firm knock at the door. Kith-Kanan turned his back on the city and called, “Enter.” Tamanier Ambrodel appeared in the doorway and bowed.

“The emissaries of Ergoth and Thorbardin have departed,” the castellan reported, hands folded in front of him. “In better spirits than when they arrived, I might add, sire.”

“Good. Now perhaps I can deal with other weighty matters. Send Prince Ulvian and the warrior Merithynos to me at once.”

“At once, Majesty” was Tamanier’s quiet reply.

As soon as the castellan had departed, Kith-Kanan moved to his writing table and sat down. He took out a fresh sheet of foolscap. Dipping the end of a fine stylus into a jar of ink, he began to write. He was still writing when Ulvian and Merith presented themselves.

“Well, Father, I hope this ridiculous business is over,” Ulvian said with affected injury. He was still clad in the crimson doublet and silver-gray trousers he’d been captured in. “I’ve been bored silly, with no one to talk to but this tiresome warrior of yours.”

Merith’s hand tightened on the pommel of his sword. His cobalt-blue eyes stared daggers at the prince. Kith-Kanan forestalled the lieutenant’s offended retort.

“That’s enough,” the Speaker said firmly. He finished writing, melted a bit of sealing wax on the bottom of the sheet, and pressed his signet ring into the soft blue substance. When the seal was cool, he rolled the foolscap into a scroll and tied it with a thin blue ribbon. This he likewise sealed with wax.

“Lieutenant Merithynos, you will convey this message to Feldrin Feldspar, the master builder who directs the work at Pax Tharkas,” said the Speaker, rising and holding out the scroll. Merith accepted it, though he looked perplexed.

“Am I to give up guarding the prince, Majesty?” he asked.

“Not at all. The prince is to accompany you to Pax Tharkas.”

Kith-Kanan’s eyes met his son’s. Ulvian frowned.

“What’s in Pax Tharkas for me?” he asked suspiciously.

“I am sending you to school,” his father replied. “Master Feldrin is to be your schoolmaster.”