Paul Thompson - The Qualinesti

The elf once known as Greenhands gave her a blank look and said, “I don’t understand. I was very happy when I entered the city. The people were friendly to me. That’s all I know.”

“My son has certain gifts,” Kith-Kanan remarked. “They come from his mother’s side of the family.”

Verhanna, standing back by the wall, raised her eyebrows.

“A very useful talent,” Irthenie said. “But can he rule, Majesty? That is your plan, I know. Can this innocent in a grown elf’s body rule the nation?”

Kith-Kanan adjusted the folds of his creamy white robe distractedly. “He will learn. I—we—shall teach him.”

The rumble on the other side of the thick obsidian wall was the debate already raging about the Speaker’s new son and possible heir. The Loyalists were outraged, the New Landers were doubtful, and the Friends of the Speaker were completely in the dark about what to say or do.

“Where is Prince Ulvian?” Irthenie asked. “Why isn’t he here?”

“He’s sulking,” Verhanna snorted. “I offered to drag him here by his heels, but Father wouldn’t let me.”

“The Speaker has a kind heart and a wise mind. There is real danger in alienating Prince Ulvian and those who support him. I have not served this nation so long to see it torn apart by a dynastic war.”

“Do you think it will come to war?” asked Verhanna, sensitive to the larger issues.

“Not really,” the senator admitted. “The Loyalists want to exploit Ulvian in the name of tradition, for their own greed, but none of them would choose to die for him.”

“I pray you are right,” said the Speaker softly.

The ceremonial doors of the senate swung outward, and the steward of the chamber announced, “The Thalas-Enthia humbly requests that the Speaker of the Sun enter their house and address them.”

The ritual invitation was a signal to Kith-Kanan that the fight was at hand. Adjusting the drape of his clothing once more, the Speaker said quietly to Silveran, “Are you ready, Son?”

The young elf was quite composed, having no conception of the fight that lay ahead. “I am, Father.”

The Speaker raised an eyebrow at Irthenie. “Ready for yet another battle, my old friend?”

Hitching her wide, beaded belt off her narrow hips, the Kagonesti woman replied, “I say give them no quarter, Great Speaker.” Her eyes gleamed.

Kith-Kanan swept into the hushed senate chamber, followed by Silveran, then Irthenie. Verhanna remained outside. As the steward moved to close the huge, balanced doors, she heard the first voices rising in anger from within. Unable to bear the suspense of waiting here but having no desire to sit in on what she considered pointless arguing, Verhanna left the Thalas-Enthia tower and returned to the Speaker’s house.

There she was met by Tamanier Ambrodel, who looked harassed. “Lady,” he pleaded, “if you have any influence with these vulgar centaurs, will you please ask them to get out of the house? They’re wrecking it!”

She winked. “I’ll have a word with uncle Koth.”

The antechamber was in chaos. The centaurs had camped in the open room, changing it from an elegant greeting hall to a fancy stable. Somewhere they’d found some straw, which they had strewn about on the floor to give their hooves better purchase. All the ornamental vases and artfully grown plants had been broken, uprooted, or eaten.

When Verhanna entered, four centaurs were playing catch with a globe of flawless emerald taken from the stair baluster.

She intercepted a toss and caught the emerald. It was weightier than she expected. “Oof !” she grunted, bending low with the ten-inch sphere in her arms.

“Hail, sister cousin!” cried Koth. He sat by the far wall, his legs folded beneath him. A heap of fruit was piled up beside him. On the other side was an equally large pile of gnawed cores. Koth’s face was sticky with juice.

“Hello, uncle,” she said, setting the emerald down on the floor. “You fellows are having quite a good time, aren’t you?”

“This city of yours is paradise!”

The elder centaur burped loudly. “Why, only this morning, I went to the big open place with cousins Whip and Hennoc and found all this lovely fruit!”

She surveyed the small mountain of pears, apples, and grapes. “Did you pay for this, uncle?”

“Pay? Why, as soon as we got to the two-legs who had the fruit, he yelled and ran away! He wanted to make us a gift of this, I am sure.”

Koth polished a dusty pear against his hairy chest and bit into it.

“Look here, uncle. You can’t let all the cousins carry on like this inside the Speaker’s house. It’s, er, causing a bit of a disturbance,” Verhanna said in a kindly tone. “Why don’t you go outdoors? There’s a great deal more room.”

He regarded her with sharp, intelligent eyes. “I think Kothlolo should live under the open sky,” he declared. “City life is making us fat!”

With a few raucous words, he rounded up his band. He spoke a bit longer, and they began to file out of the antechamber.

“You’re not angry, are you?” asked Verhanna as they headed for the doors.

“No, sister cousin. Why should I be? No uncle of mine ever went to a city. I am old and have seen more than I might have seen. I am content.”

Outside, in the square before the Speaker’s house, a group of four Kagonesti elves waited with a small, donkey-drawn cart. Tamanier Ambrodel was talking with one of the Kagonesti. When Verhanna and the centaurs appeared, the castellan approached them.

“Ahem,” he said. “His Majesty Kith-Kanan would like me to present you with this gift.”

With a sweep of his arm, Tamanier indicated the four elves and cart. “These Kagonesti are farriers. They will teach you and your people about shoeing. The Speaker thought that if your people were shod with iron shoes, you could travel farther and have less problem with worn and cracked hooves.”

Koth descended the steps to the square and approached the chief farrier. “We will wear iron, like elf horses?” he asked with curiosity.

“If it pleases you,” replied Tamanier, nervously stepping back by Verhanna.

The elder centaur lifted a horseshoe from the farriers’ cart. The four Kagonesti farriers regarded the horse-man speculatively, as if already sizing him for shoes.

All at once, Koth yelled and lifted the horseshoe over his head. He spoke a long stream of centaur talk at his band, and they raised a cheer, crowding around the cart.

The four farriers got on their cart and led the band of centaurs away to their smithy. The Kothlolo followed with shouted good-byes and boisterous waves, except for one. A lone centaur remained behind. It was the dapple-gray lady centaur who had carried Rufus from the mountains to the city.

She approached Verhanna. “Sister cousin,” she said slowly, as if searching for words in the unfamiliar Elven language. “Please thank for me littlest cousin Rufus!” She smiled triumphantly but Verhanna lifted puzzled eyebrows at her.

“Thank him? For what?” asked the warrior maiden.

In reply, the lady centaur patted a yellow sash she’d wound around her muscular human waist. After staring at it for a few seconds, understanding dawned on Verhanna. It was the same sash Rufus had used as a centaur harness on their wild ride to the city. The lady centaur had admired it, and the kender must have made her a present of it.

Verhanna smiled and nodded her agreement. The lady centaur whirled in a tight circle, her long white tail swishing out behind her, and trotted off to catch up to her comrades.

The warrior maiden stared after her. For some reason, she found herself wishing she could go back to the plains or the high mountains with them. They had no worries, no responsibilities, and ran wherever the wind took them. In the wilderness, you could fight your enemies with a sword, something Verhanna understood. Here in Qualinost, foes were not so clearly defined, and the weapon of choice was words. She had never mastered that form of battle.