Paul Thompson - The Qualinesti

Kemian, however, could not remain calm. “Silence!” the general roared. “Show respect for the Speaker!”

“Silvanesti!” someone shouted back at him, and it was like a curse. The young warrior, in an agony of embarrassment and anger, looked to his sovereign. Kith-Kanan seemed thoughtful.

“Sire,” said Kemian desperately, “I think you’d best assure them I am not to be your successor!” His voice was tight but earnest.

“Say something,” Irthenie urged from the side of her mouth.

At last the Speaker held up a hand. “Good people,” he said. “The crowd instantly fell silent, awaiting his response. “I understand your concern for the throne. Lord Ambrodel is a faithful and valiant servant. He would make an excellent Speaker—”

“No! No!” the crowd erupted. “No Silvanesti! No Silvanesti!” they chanted. In his own shock at the Speaker’s words, Kemian barely heard their insults.

“Have you forgotten that I am of the royal house of Silvanos?” Kith-Kanan said icily. “No one is more Silvanesti than I!”

“You are the Speaker of the Sun! The father of our country!” a male voice answered. “We don’t want some Silvanesti courtier’s boy to rule us. We want a ruler of your blood or none!”

“Your blood or none!” echoed a large segment of the crowd.

Kemian snatched at his reins, ready to charge into the mass of unarmed Qualinesti and put an end to these insults. Kith-Kanan leaned over and laid a hand on the warrior’s arm. Eyes blazing, Kemian stared angrily at the Speaker, but he didn’t try to evade his grasp. Reluctantly he relaxed, and Kith-Kanan let go of his mailed arm.

“Go back to the Speaker’s house, General,” Kith-Kanan said coolly. “I shall return shortly.”

“Sire!” Kemian saluted and wheeled his prancing horse in a tight half-circle. The traders and farmers scattered from his path. The general let out a yell and spurred his mount. With a loud clatter of hooves, horse and rider tore across the market square and vanished down a curving street.

The people cheered his abrupt departure. Disgusted with them, Kith-Kanan was about to follow Kemian’s exit when Irthenie abruptly got down off her horse.

“I’m too old to stay up that high for so long,” she proclaimed loudly, rubbing her backside with exaggerated care. “For seven hundred and ninety-four years, I walked everywhere I needed to go. Now that I’m a senator, I’m not supposed to walk anywhere.” Those nearest the Kagonesti woman chuckled. “One pays a price to sit in the Thalas-Enthia,” she said gruffly. More people laughed.

Kith-Kanan slackened his reins and sat still, waiting to see what the foxy senator was up to. “You people,” she said loud enough to carry to the fringes of the mob, “you stand here and say you don’t want Kemian Ambrodel as the next Speaker of the Sun. I say, who told you he would be? It’s the first I’ve heard of it.” She stepped away from her dapple-gray horse, deeper into the crowd.

“He’s a fine general, that elf, but you’re right about one thing: We don’t want a bunch of Silvanesti nobles ruling us, telling us we’re not as good as they are. That’s one reason we left the old country, to get away from so many lords and masters.”

Irthenie’s Kagonesti garb blended in well with the crowd, her leather and raw linen against their homespun wool and drab cotton. She literally rubbed shoulders with the people in the square. Irthenie was one of them. “When I was younger and better-looking—” laughter rippled across the plaza— “I was taken from the forest by warriors. They were looking for wives, and their idea of catching one was to drag a net through the bushes and see what they flushed out.” The senator stopped walking when she reached the center of the crowd. Every eye was on her. Kith-Kanan experienced a moment of nervousness at the sight of her small figure hemmed in on all sides by the mob. “I didn’t much want to be a warrior’s woman, so I ran away the first chance I got. They caught me, and this time, they broke my leg so I couldn’t run again. Vernax Kollontine was hardly a loving husband. After he beat me for not washing his clothes often enough and not cooking his supper fast enough, I killed him with a bread knife.”

There was a concerted gasp at this revelation. The Speaker of the Sun seemed just as surprised as his subjects, and he listened to the senator’s tale just as intently. Irthenie held up a hand to calm the crowd, insisting, “No, no, it was a fair fight.” Kith-Kanan smiled.

“The point of this long and boring story is that the Speaker of the Stars at that time, Sithel, ordered me sold into slavery as punishment for my crime. I lived as a slave for thirty-eight years. The great war freed me, and I was in the first band of settlers who came with Kith-Kanan to found Qualinost. This city, this country, is like no other in the world. Here every race can live and work, can worship, and can prosper or not as they please. That’s freedom. That you and I enjoy it is mostly due to that fellow on horseback you see over there. It was his wisdom and judgment that got us here. If you’re pleased with that, then you ought not doubt his wisdom regarding either his son or his successor.”

The square remained quiet after she finished speaking. Only the soft patter of rain accompanied Irthenie’s final words.

“Slavery is an evil, ugly thing,” she concluded. “It degrades not only the slave, but the master as well. Like any good father, the Speaker is trying to save his son from a terrible mistake. You should pray for him as I often do.”

Irthenie walked back through the calmed crowd to her horse. Kith-Kanan handed her the reins, and she climbed into the saddle with a grunt. “Damn leg,” she muttered. “It always gets stiff when it rains.”

The Speaker and the senator rode on across the square. The people parted, making way for them. Hats were doffed. Wool tams and felt hoods were removed in respect.

Kith-Kanan kept his gaze serenely ahead. What had been a potentially dangerous situation had been reversed by the words of his old friend.

The cool rain felt good on his face. The air smelled sweet. Though nothing had been decided or changed, Kith-Kanan felt a sudden rush of confidence. Whatever forces were at work, he felt sure they were in his favor. Hiddukel’s dire prophecies in the Tower of the Sun seemed like remote threats now.

“A question,” he said as they rode on. “Was that story you told the crowd true?”

Irthenie kicked her heels against her horse’s sides. The gelding broke into a trot.

“Some of it was,” she replied.

Steam hung in the air where the cold rain hit the baked stones of Pax Tharkas. All outside work had ceased, as it was too dangerous to cut stone or move blocks when the ground was wet. The grunt gang was not allowed to lie idle, though. Feldrin Feldspar was anxious about his rate of progress, so he put the convicts to work enlarging the tunnels being sunk into the mountainside beneath the towering citadel.

Ulvian hobbled about on a makeshift crutch. His right leg, the one that had been caught by the runaway granite block, had stiffened to the point where he needed a crutch to get around. He wasn’t excused from work however, so he limped through the dim, limestone tunnels, carrying waterskins to the other grunt gang members.

Near the end of one long gallery, barely wider than his shoulders, he came upon Dru. Ulvian paused a few feet away from the laboring elf. A small lamp burned on the tunnel floor. In its brassy light, Dru’s chalk-covered body appeared ghostly.

“Here, friend,” said the prince. “Drink while the water’s still cool.”

Dru set aside his pick and took the skin. He pointed the spout at his lips and let a stream of cold water flow into his mouth.