Paul Thompson - The Qualinesti

He halted. Green-fingered elf. Elf. Greenhands was a pure-blooded elf, half Silvanesti, half Kagonesti. Humans, elves, and dwarves all lived together in peace now in Qualinesti, but there were always tensions among them. Ancient prejudices were hard to erase. What if Greenhands found favor among a majority of senators because of his purely elven heritage?

Ulvian realized he was stroking his bearded chin. The beard was just one more sign of his mixed blood, of the human heritage that flowed from the mother he had idolized.

If Greenhands were gone, everything would be all right.

So get rid of him.

Ulvian shook his head. It was as if someone had said those words in his mind.

Someone did.

“Stop it!” he said aloud. “What is happening to me? Am I bewitched?”

No, it is I who speaks to you.

“Who are you?” he yelled at the star-laden sky.

We spoke once before. The night Drulethen died, remember? You saved me from the fire.

The voice. Low and softly feminine. Inserting a hand into his shirt, Ulvian felt the onyx amulet there. It was warm from being next to his skin. He drew it out and stared at it in the red moonlight.

“Are you a spirit imprisoned in the amulet?”

I am the amulet itself. Once I served Drulethen. Now I serve you.

A slow smile spread over the prince’s face. His fingers closed tightly around the stone. “Yes! Then your power is mine?”

It will be in time.

“Tell me what to—” Ulvian broke off suddenly. He heard loud swishing noises, as if made by many legs striding through the grass. He shoved the amulet back inside his shirt.

A pair of riderless centaurs appeared. The black one who had been Ulvian’s mount said, “Ho, little cousin. We were sent to look for you. Uncle Speaker wants you back. Will you come?”

Ulvian regarded them with distaste but replied, “I will come.”

The centaur approached him, and the prince climbed on his back. They went bounding away in the grass until they caught up to the rest of the party, hardly a mile distant. The other riders were slumped forward, sleeping. Only Kith-Kanan was awake.

“There’s no reason to run away, Ullie,” he said softly. “I’m not taking you back to punish you.”

Ulvian gripped the belt that formed his centaur’s harness. He forced himself to ask the difficult question. “Why are you taking me to the city, Father?”

“Because I want you there. Putting you in prison only taught you to make friends with criminals like Drulethen. I shall try to give you the guidance I should have given you when you were younger.”

Guidance. He would give Ulvian guidance while installing that rustic on the Throne of the Sun. “That won’t be necessary, Father.” Ulvian’s voice was firm in the darkness. “I intend to pursue a different course once we get back home.” Kith-Kanan studied his son. Darkness and distance separated them from each other, and it was hard to read Ulvian’s expression.

Verhanna and Rufus had ridden ahead to prepare Qualinost for the Speaker’s return and to quell any panic at the sight of wild centaurs entering the city. Kith-Kanan, Kemian, and Ulvian rode together at the head of the little column. Behind them walked Greenhands and the other, riderless centaurs. The green-fingered elf had dismounted several hours earlier, claiming he needed the touch of the living soil on his bare feet.

They topped a treeless rise. Without being told to do so, Koth stopped. Kith-Kanan asked, “What’s the matter, my friend?”

“That place yonder. Is that your city?” asked the awed centaur, pointing ahead.

“That is Qualinost,” the Speaker replied proudly. “Have you never been to a city before?”

“Nay—the smell of so many two-legs is hard for us to bear.”

Kemian raised his hand to cover his mouth and smiled. Five days with centaurs hadn’t made any of them more used to the powerful aroma the creatures gave off.

In the clear air, the capital city of the western elves seemed close enough to touch. The soaring, arched bridges hung from the sky like silver rainbows. The Tower of the Sun was a molten gold spire, a flame leaping from the trees on the plateau. Kith-Kanan could feel the centaur’s muscles tensing.

The sight of Qualinost had brought silence to the boisterous band. A feeling of joy filled the Speaker’s heart.

“Onward, cousins,” said Koth at last, lurching into motion. They descended the rise and soon entered a band of forest land. The centaur leader broke out into song. Rufus and Verhanna would have recognized it, for they had heard it before:

“Child of oak, newly born, Walks among the mortals mild.

Kith-Kanan was intrigued. He let the centaurs sing through the entire song once before he interrupted to ask, “Did you just make that up?”

“An ancient ode, it is,” replied Koth. “Sung by uncles who died before I was a colt. Do you like it?”

“Very much.”

The forest had given way to rolling hills, many tilled by farmers. The dirt road suddenly became paved with pounded cobbles. Other travelers on the road gave the caravan of centaurs wide berth. When they recognized Kith-Kanan, many set up a cheer.

The people grew more numerous. By the time the party reached the high cliffs overlooking the river that formed the city’s eastern boundary, throngs of people had turned out to see the return of the Speaker of the Sun. The added spectacle of their Speaker riding on a centaur only increased their excitement.

The Qualinesti cheered and waved. Amused, the centaurs bellowed back their own hearty greetings. They came to the central bridge over the river, and the Guards of the Sun were drawn up in two lines, holding back the enthusiastic crowds.

“Hail, Speaker of the Sun! Hail, Kith-Kanan!”

Koth’s front left hoof stepped down on the hundred-foot-long, suspended rope bridge. It swayed dizzyingly. He looked down into the deep river gorge and rolled his dark eyes. “Not good, cousin! We Kothlolo are not squirrels, to scamper on high!”

“The bridge is quite safe,” Kith-Kanan countered. “It’s used by hundreds daily.”

“Two-legs are too foolish to be afraid,” he muttered. “But a bargain is a bargain! He threw wide his thick arms and let out a bellow that silenced the assembled Qualinesti. Kith-Kanan tightened his grip on the strap around the centaur’s waist, wondering what this yelling portended.

Still bellowing, Koth tore across the bridge at a blistering gallop, with Kith-Kanan holding on for dear life. The other centaurs set up a similar roar and, one by one, dashed across the bridge. By the time the last one reached the plateau and city gate, the crowds were cheering them on wildly.

“Who is brave? Who is strong? Who is fast?” roared Koth.

“Kothlolo!” answered the massed centaurs in deafening shouts.

Kith-Kanan slid off the horse-man’s back. “My friend, I would walk to the Speaker’s house now to be among my people. Will you follow?”

“Of course! There is a reward waiting. We traveled from Kharolis to city in five days!”

Kemian and Ulvian dismounted also. Flower petals and whole bouquets fell around them. Smiling broadly, Kith-Kanan drew Greenhands forward. “Walk with me,” he said in his son’s ear. Ulvian waited for a similar invitation, but none was forthcoming.

Arm in arm, Kith-Kanan and Greenhands went down the street, trailed by Kemian, Ulvian, and the centaurs. The upper windows in every tower stood open, and elven and human women waved white linens as the Speaker strode past. The falling flower petals became so thick on the pavement that the underlying cobbles were lost from view. Elves, humans, half-humans, dwarves, and a kender or two cheered and waved all along the sweeping route to the Speaker’s house. Kith-Kanan waved back. He looked at Greenhands. The younger elf seemed dazzled by the sheer size and magnitude of the greeting. The Speaker realized his son had never seen so many people before at once. The noise and outpouring of affection drew them on.