Paul Thompson: The Qualinesti

He passed the velvet-wrapped burden to Kith-Kanan. The Speaker of the Sun whisked the cover away, revealing a large iron hammer, wrought in traditional dwarven style but made larger to fit the hands of an elf. The octagonal iron handle was banded with silver, and the sides of the massive flat hammerhead were gilded.

“It is called Sunderer,” Glenforth explained. “Our priests of Reorx forged it in a slow fire, and quenched it in dragon’s blood to give it a worthy temper.”

“It is magnificent,” Kith-Kanan said in awed tones. He turned the great hammer in his hands. “This is the tool of a demigod, not a mortal such as I.”

“Well, as long as it’s good enough,” the dwarf king said with a wry smile. He waved a beringed hand, and another Hylar thane came to him. This dwarf bore one of the long iron chisels banded with silver. He gave it to his king, then he and Gendrin Dunbarth withdrew.

Kith-Kanan and Glenforth walked in matched step to the boulder that lay in the center of the pass. As they proceeded with appropriate dignity, Kith-Kanan said softly, “Will you make the announcement, or shall I?”

“This was your idea.” Glenforth replied in a low voice. “You do it.”

“It’s a joint project, Your Highness.”

“Yes, but I’m no speechifier,” said the dwarf. They stood by the boulder. “Besides, everyone knows elves are better talkers than dwarves.”

“First I’ve heard of it,” Kith-Kanan muttered.

The Speaker of the Sun turned to face the delegations. King Glenforth stood resolutely beside him, his hands resting on the long chisel as a warrior rests on his sword pommel.

Kith-Kanan listened for a moment to the stillness of the valley. The mist was vanishing, burned off by the rising sun. A flock of swifts darted and wheeled overhead. Somewhere in the distance, a dove made its mournful call.

“We have come here today,” he began, “to erect a fortress. Not a stronghold for war, for we have too long followed that path. This fortress, which we of Qualinesti and our friends of Thorbardin shall build and occupy together, shall be a place of peace, a place where people of all races can seek haven and find protection and rest.”

The Speaker paused as the first direct rays of the sun lanced over the mountain peaks into the valley. He was facing east, and the sunbeams warmed his face. A surge of resolution, of the rightness of what they were beginning here today, passed through Kith-Kanan.

“This boulder will be the cornerstone of Pax Tharkas, the Citadel of Peace. King Glenforth and I will carve it out ourselves, as a symbol of the cooperation and friendship between our countries.”

He turned to the rock and set the great hammer Sunderer on his shoulder. Glenforth butted the chisel against the rock and steadied it with both of his thick, powerful hands.

“Swing true, Speaker,” he said, half-jesting.

Kith-Kanan raised the hammer. Ulvian and Verhanna, standing with the Qualinesti nobles, stepped forward to get a better view of their father’s work.

Sunderer came down on the chisel. A torrent of sparks fell across the boulder, spraying the dwarf king with fire. Glenforth laughed and urged Kith-Kanan to strike again. The third blow Kith-Kanan delivered was a mighty stroke indeed. It echoed through the valley like a roll of thunder and was quickly followed by the dry crack of cleaving rock. An entire side of the boulder fell away, leaving the rock with a face clean and straight. Cheers erupted from the onlookers.

Sweating in the cool mountain air, Kith-Kanan said to Glenforth, “Your hammer strikes nothing but true blows, Thane of Thanes.”

“Your hammer, Great Speaker, like all tools, strikes only as its wielder aims,” replied the dwarf thoughtfully. He blew on his hands and rubbed them together.

“What do you think of that, Ullie?” Kith-Kanan called, looking to his son. The boy had his head down, a hand pressed to his right cheek. The Speaker frowned. “What’s wrong, son?”

Ulvian looked up slowly to meet his father’s eyes. The boy’s face showed pain. When he took his hands away, a small cut could be seen on his cheek. Gazing at the blood staining his fingers, Ulvian said softly, “I bleed.”

“A rock chip hit you,” Verhanna said matter-of-factly. “Some landed on me, too.” She shook the folds of her boyish clothes and bits of stone and grit fell out.

Prince Ulvian’s face twisted in anger. “I bleed!” he cried. He backed away from his father and bumped into a wall of courtiers and nobles. They parted for him, and the panicked prince fled into the crowd.

“Ulvian, come back!” Kith-Kanan shouted. The boy did not heed him.

“Want me to catch him?” Verhanna offered, sure in the knowledge that she was swifter than her brother.

“No, child. Stay here.”

Kith-Kanan summoned his castellan, the elf in charge of his household, Tamanier Ambrodel. The elderly, gray-haired elf, dressed in a gray doublet and mauve cape, stepped out of the crowd.

“Find my son, Tam, and take him to a healer if he needs one,” said the Speaker.

Tamanier bowed. “Yes, Highness.”

Kith-Kanan watched his castellan disappear into the crowd. Hefting the great hammer, he said, “Ullie will be all right.” Glenforth cleared his throat and pretended to be studying the boulder before him.

Verhanna and the rest of the crowd stood back as the Speaker of the Sun and the King of Thorbardin resumed their places at the stone. The valley rang with the sound of iron on rock.

In short order, the stone became a cube, square on four sides and rough on top. King Glenforth wasn’t tall enough to bring the chisel to bear on the top of the boulder, so his thanes formed themselves into a living stair, that he might climb onto the rock. It was quite a sight, all the richly bedecked dwarves of Clans Hylar and Daewar, their thick arms locked together, bent over and braced against the cornerstone. Glenforth set aside the chisel and climbed up their backs. Once he was atop the stone, the thanes passed the chisel to him.

“Well, Great Speaker,” said the dwarf from his lofty perch, “now I am higher than you! Will your councilors elevate you as mine did me?”

Kith-Kanan tossed the hammer to the top of the boulder, then faced his people. “You heard the Thane of Thanes! Will the nobles of Qualinesti stoop so that their Speaker can rise to the occasion?”

Half a hundred elves and men surged to the rock, ready to aid Kith-Kanan. Laughing, the Speaker ordered them back, then chose three elves and three humans. They looped their arms around each others’ waists and bent to the rock. As the others cheered, Kith-Kanan climbed nimbly atop the boulder. He and Glenforth stood side by side, and the cheering continued. Finally Kith-Kanan raised his hands and waved for silence.

“My good and loyal friends!” he cried. “Many times in the recent past I have wondered if our coming to this new land was wise. Many times I have asked myself, should I have stayed in Silvanost? Should I have fought to establish in our old homeland the ideals we now share?”

There were shouts of “No! No!” from the crowd.

“And now—” Kith-Kanan again waved for quiet. “And now, I see us here today—men, elves, and dwarves—working together where once we fought, and I know I could have done nothing less than lead you to this new land, to make this new nation. You have all suffered and struggled and bled for Qualinesti. So have I. We did not fight to make a country like my father’s, where tradition and age count for more than truth and justice. I do not want to rule for centuries and see all my ideals grow hoary with time. Therefore, on this rock, with this great hammer, Sunderer, in my hand, I will make you this pledge: The day this fortress is finished, I shall abdicate in favor of my successor.”