Paul Thompson - The Qualinesti

This revelation stunned the already woozy Merith. “By the gods,” he breathed. “I had no idea who or what I was dealing with! My only thought was to save the prince!”

“No harm done, young warrior.” Feldrin put a hand on Merith’s shoulder. “The Speaker of the Sun and the King of Thorbardin made a bargain to put the evil Drulethen to work. Personally, I would have struck his head off, but my royal master believes he can use the sorcerer’s knowledge for his own benefit, and the great and wise Kith-Kanan thinks he can actually reform Drulethen!” Feldrin shook his head. “The Speaker is always trying to improve his enemies.”

“Aye,” Merith agreed. “Ofttimes I have heard him say, ‘I used to kill my foes; now I make them my friends. A warrior needs as few enemies as possible, but a Speaker needs as many friends as he can make’.”

The barracks were quiet, save for the coughs of sleeping grunt gang members trying to expel the dust they’d breathed all day. Ulvian lay on his side, wide awake. Aside from some scrapes and an aching right leg, he was essentially unharmed by his brush with death, yet he could not sleep. Over and over he replayed the scene—the block teetering above him, Dru pushing it aside with his bare hands, the awesome presence of the power in the black crystal.

The prince sat up, wincing as his wrenched muscles protested. He padded on bare feet to Dru’s bed. Peering through the darkness, the prince realized his savior was not lying down but sitting with his knees drawn up to his smooth chin.

“Dru?” he whispered. “I need to talk to you.”

“If you answer one question for me. Are you in truth the son of Speaker Kith-Kanan?” Ulvian admitted he was. “I knew the Speaker had some half-human children,” Dru, said softly. A gruff voice nearby rumbled a demand for silence. The sorcerer rose and took Ulvian by the arm. He led the prince to the relatively open area by the water barrel, where they could talk more freely.

“I won’t forget your deed,” Ulvian began.

“I should hope not.” Dru said dryly. He smiled, his teeth showing white in the darkness. “We are a natural pair of allies, are we not? A prince and a sorcerer, both sentenced to labor on this ridiculous mausoleum, both required to hide their true identities.”

Dru lifted a dipperful of water to his lips. Once he’d taken a long drink, he asked, “What did you do to end up in such a place, Your Highness? Why did your infamously just father send you here to work like a dog?”

With some hemming and hawing, Ulvian explained his activities as a slave trader.

“It was a harmless diversion,” he insisted. “A few wealthy traders approached me and asked for my patronage. I had influence and knew warriors who could be bribed to look the other way. It was a mere lark, an adventure to keep boredom at bay, but my enemies in Qualinost used my capture as an excuse to exile me!” His voice rose until Dru had to quiet him. “I will reclaim what is rightfully mine,” the prince finished darkly. “I will fulfill my destiny!”

Dru squatted and began to idly trace elaborate designs in the dirt floor. Curving lines, loops, and squares took shape. “What enemies do you have, my prince? Who are they?”

Ulvian hunkered down across from his friend and said, “There is my sister, Verhanna, for one. The old castellan, Tamanier Ambrodel, thinks I’m immoral and wicked, and his son, General Lord Kemian Ambrodel, believes he is better suited to be Speaker than I. There is an old Kagonesti senator, Irthenie by name, who—”

“I see.”

Dru brushed the designs away with his hand. “I think we should make common cause, Your Highness. Your father and the king of the dwarves put me here. I’ve had to keep my true identity hidden because some of the elves and dwarves we work alongside would kill me if they knew who I really was.” The sorcerer thrust his face close to Ulvian’s. “Together we can escape this place and regain the power and position we are destined to have.”

“Escape?” Ulvian echoed weakly. “I-I can’t. My father will declare me an outlaw if I flee the country.”

“Who said anything about fleeing the country? You and I will go to Qualinost. There must be nobles, senators, and clerics who favor you, my prince. We’ll rally them round you and demand a pardon. What do you say?”

Ulvian rubbed his palms together. Despite the cool mountain air, his hands were damp with sweat. “I-I don’t know,” he said faintly. Much as he loathed his current situation, the prince realized that such a plan was risky at best. “When would we leave?” Ulvian asked hesitantly.

“This very night,” Dru said, and Ulvian actually started at the abrupt words. “Both parts of my amulet are in camp. We can break into Feldrin’s tent and get them. Then no power within a hundred miles can stop us.”

The prince sank back slowly on his haunches. Bracing himself with his hands, he said, “Feldrin won’t just hand—”

“With your help, I’ll kill the old stonebreaker,” the sorcerer snapped.

“No.” Ulvian stood up, looking around nervously. “I can’t do that. I can’t murder Feldrin. I plan to be vindicated and pardoned. I won’t murder my way to freedom.”

Dru stood and shrugged expressively. “As you wish, my prince. I’ve been here for many years, you only a short time. After you’ve broken your back working on this damn fortress for a while longer, perhaps you’ll change your mind.”

Ulvian was about to reply when Dru’s head suddenly snapped around, as if he’d heard a strange noise. He held up one hand to forestall Ulvian’s words. “Wait,” he said. “Something’s amiss.”

Ulvian followed the sorcerer to one of the two windows in the barracks. It seemed brighter outside than it should be this late at night. As they watched, it grew brighter still. The outline of the camp became clearer. Silhouetted tents gained distinct features. To Ulvian’s astonishment, the sun appeared in the sky directly overhead. At first, only a faint red glow was visible, but then it blazed more and more brilliantly until the mountain pass was bathed in the full light of noon.

“What—what’s happening?” Ulvian cried, shading his squinting eyes from the sudden glare.

Dru stroked his dirty, pointed chin. “Someone is tampering with the balance of nature,” he said coolly. “Someone—or something—very powerful.”

Men and dwarves emerged from their huts to stare at the bright sky and scratch their heads in wonderment. By the water clocks, it was still two hours till sunrise, yet sunlight flooded the tents.

Dust from the landslide tinted the sky over the Kharolis Mountains rusty red. The gritty fog hung in the still air, unmoving. The day after the avalanche, the sun burned like an orange ball through the haze. It hung fixed at the peak of the heavens. As measured by notched candles and water clocks, several hours had passed, yet the sun had never budged.

“Master Lugrim, what o’clock is it?” called Ulvian to the overseer, whose face was hidden by a dripping dipper of cool water.

Lugrim poured the last few drops on his brow, which was already wet with sweat. “Nigh time to work again,” he growled. “Are you men or camels? How much do you plan to drink?”

“I’m no man,” Splint said acidly, “and I’ll drink how I please.”

“ ‘Tis fearful hot,” added a human named Brunnar in a thick Ergothic accent.

Six hours had passed since the sun’s abrupt appearance, and the temperature had been growing steadily warmer. The air was unusually dead; no breeze wafted through the pass, and no clouds shielded the workers from the sun. Only the ever-present dust diffused the sunlight, coating the workers’ sweltering bodies.