Paul Thompson - The Qualinesti

Lord Ambrodel glanced back at the moonlit water.

“My lord,” Verhanna continued, “we found signs that more slaves were sent on from this camp. The ones we found here were too sick to travel. I’d like to take my troop on and try to intercept the rest before they reach the Ergoth border.”

“You’re far too late for that, I’m sure,” Lord Ambrodel replied. “I want to question the leader of the slavers. Did you take him alive?” Verhanna nodded curtly. The warrior lord tugged off his leather gauntlets and slapped the sand from his mailed thighs. “Well, Captain, show him to me,” he said impatiently.

Without a word, Verhanna turned on one heel and led her commander toward the huts. The slavers lay on the ground, their heads buried in their arms in despair or else staring with hatred at their captors. Verhanna yanked a torch from the sand and held it high. She held the door flap open for Lord Ambrodel and thrust the torch inside. The face of the figure seated before them leapt into clarity.

Lord Ambrodel recoiled sharply. “It cannot be!” he gasped. “Prince Ulvian!”

“Kemian, my friend,” the prince said to the general, “you’d best have these fetters removed. I am not a common criminal, though my hysterical sister insists on treating me like one.”

“Release him,” said Lord Ambrodel. His face was white.

“My lord, Prince Ulvian was caught engaging in the forbidden commerce of slavery,” Verhanna put in quickly. “Both my father’s edicts and the laws of the Thalas-Enthia demand—”

“Don’t quote the law to me!” Lord Ambrodel snapped. “I shall bring this matter to the attention of the Speaker at once, but I will not drag a member of the royal family through the streets of Qualinost in chains! I cannot disgrace the Speaker so!”

Before she could order it, Merith was at Verhanna’s side, chisel in hand. She shoved her lieutenant’s hands aside and grasped the cold iron clamps in her own bare hands. With the strength bestowed upon her by her elven heritage, Verhanna pried the manacles apart just enough so that Ulvian could slip his arms out. Impudently he handed the empty chains to his sister.

“Captain,” Lord Ambrodel said, “return to your troop. Muster them for marching.”

“My lord! To what destination?” she answered tersely.

“Southeast—to the forest. I want you to search for other slaver camps there. Lieutenant Merithynos will remain to report on the finding of the slavers.”

Verhanna’s gaze flickered to her brother, to Merith, and back to Lord Ambrodel. She was too disciplined in the ways of the warrior to disobey her commander, but she knew Lord Ambrodel was sending her away so he could handle the delicate business of Ulvian’s crime and punishment. Kemian would not let the prince escape; he was too honest for that. But he would grant her brother every privilege, up to the moment he turned Ulvian over to Kith-Kanan himself.

“Very good, sir,” Verhanna finally responded. With a curt nod, she departed, spurs ringing as her heels struck the packed sand.

Ulvian rubbed his wrists and smiled. “Thank you, my lord,” he said. “I shall remember this.”

“Save your gratitude, my prince. I meant what I said; you will be given over to your father’s judgment.”

Ulvian maintained his smile. The ruddy light of the torch made his blond beard and hair look like copper. “I’m not afraid,” he said lightly. Indeed he wasn’t. His father had never punished Ulvian for his errant ways in the past.

As Verhanna gathered her warriors together with hoarsely shouted commands, the kender reappeared. His pockets were bulging with plunder from the slavers’ camp: knives, string, flints, clay pipes, brass-studded wristbands.

“Hail, Captain,” Rufus called. “Where to now?”

Verhanna looped her reins around her left hand. “So you came back! I thought I’d seen the last of you.”

“You paid me. I’m your scout now,” Rufus announced. “I can lead you anywhere. From which horizon will we next see the sun?” Verhanna swung into the saddle. Her eyes rested on the hut where her brother and Lord Ambrodel still tarried. Her brother, the slaver. “South,” she said, biting off the word as it left her tightly drawn lips.

The Speaker’s house was quite large, though far less grand than the Quinari Palace in Silvanost where Kith-Kanan had grown up. Built entirely of wood, it had a warmth and naturalness he felt was missing from the great crystal residence of his brother, the Speaker of the Stars. The house was more or less rectangular in shape, with two small wings radiating to the west. The main entrance was on the east side, facing the courtyard of the Tower of the Sun.

Lord Ambrodel, Lieutenant Merith, and Prince Ulvian stood in the lamplit antechamber where Kith-Kanan usually greeted his guests. As it was well past midnight, the bright moons of Krynn had already set.

Despite the late hour, the Speaker looked alert and carefully groomed as he and Tamanier Ambrodel descended the polished cherrywood staircase to the antechamber. His fur-trimmed robe swept the floor. The toes of his yellow felt slippers protruded from under the green velvet hem.

“What has happened?” he asked gently.

As senior officer present, it fell to Kemian Ambrodel to explain. When he reached the point in his story where Verhanna had discovered Prince Ulvian in the slavers’ camp, Kemian’s father Tamanier gasped in astonishment. Kith-Kanan’s gaze shifted to Ulvian, who pursed his lips and rocked on his heels in an obvious display of arrogance.

“Were the slaves you found badly treated?” asked the Speaker in clipped tones.

“They were sick, filthy, and ill-fed, Majesty. From what they told us, they were held back from a larger group of slaves sent on by river to Ergoth because they were deemed too feeble for hard work.” Kemian fought down his disgust. “A few had been whipped, Speaker.”

“I see. Thank you, my lord.”

Kith-Kanan clasped his hands behind his back and studied the floor. The maple had a beautiful grain pattern that resembled the dancing flames of a fire. Suddenly, he lifted his head and said, “I want you all to swear to keep what happens here tonight strictly secret. No one is to know of it—not even your families. Is that clear?” The assembled elves nodded solemnly, except Ulvian. “This is a delicate matter. There are those in Qualinost who would try to profit from my son’s actions. For the safety of the nation, this must remain a secret.”

Stepping down from the last stair, the Speaker stood nose-to-nose with his son. “Ullie,” he said quietly, “why did you do it?”

The prince quivered with suppressed anger tinged with fear. “Do you really want to know?” he burst out. “Because you preach about justice and mercy instead of strength and greatness! Because you waste money on beggars and useless temples instead of a proper palace! Because you were the most famous warrior of the age, and you’ve thrown all your glory away to idle in gardens instead of fighting your way to the gates of Silvanost, our rightful home!” His voice choked off.

Kith-Kanan looked his son up and down. The grief on his face was visible to all. The Speaker’s great dignity asserted itself, however, and he said, “The war and the great march west left Silvanesti with an acute shortage of farmers, crafters, and laborers. To appease the nobles and clerics, my brother, the Speaker of the Stars, has sanctioned slavery throughout his realm. A similar condition exists in Ergoth, with similar results.

But no amount of inconvenience justifies the bondage of living, thinking beings by others. I have made it my life’s goal to stamp out the evil traffic in servitude in Qualinesti, and yet my own son—” Kith-Kanan folded his arms, gripping his biceps hard through the plush velvet of his robe. “Ulvian, you will be held under close confinement in Arcuballis Tower until—until I can think of a proper punishment for you,” he declared.