Paul Thompson - Firstborn

The third level of windows—actually the sixth floor above ground level—was where his private room was located. Once he’d gained the narrow ledge where his hook had wedged, Kith-Kanan stood with his back flat against the wall, pausing to catch his breath. Around him, the city of Silvanost slept. The white temple towers, the palaces of the nobles, the monumental crystal tomb of Silvanos on its hill overlooking the city all stood out in the light of Krynn’s two visible moons. The lighted windows were like jewels, yellow topaz and white diamonds.

Kith-Kanan forced the window of his room open with the blade of his dagger. He stepped down from the sill onto his bed. The chill moonlight made his room seem pale and unfamiliar. Like all the rooms on this floor of the tower, Kith-Kanan’s was wedge-shaped, like a slice of pie. All the miscellaneous treasures of his boyhood were in this room: hunting trophies, a collection of shiny but worthless stones, scrolls describing the heroic deeds of Silvanos and Balif. All to be left behind, perhaps never to be seen or handled again.

He went first to the oaken wardrobe, standing by an inside wall. From under his breastplate he pulled a limp cloth sack, which he’d just bought from a fisher on the river. It smelled rather strongly of fish, but he had no time to be delicate. From the wardrobe he took only a few things—a padded leather tunic, a pair of heavy horse-riding boots, and his warmest set of leggings. Next he went to the chest at the foot of his bed.

With no concern for neatness, he stuffed spare clothing into the sack. Then, at the bottom of the chest, he found something he hadn’t wanted to find. Wrapped in a scrap of linen was the starjewel he’d bought for Hermathya. Once exposed, it glittered in the dim light.

Slowly he picked it up. His first reaction was to grind the delicate gem under his heel, but Kith-Kanan couldn’t bring himself to destroy the beautiful scarlet gem. Without knowing exactly why, he slipped it into the fisher’s bag.

From the rack by the door he took three items: a short but powerful recurved bow, a full quiver of arrows, and his favorite boar spear. Kith-Kanan’s scabbard hung empty at his side. His sword, forged by the priests of Kiri Jolith, he’d left in the Tower of the Stars.

The prince put the arrows and the unstrung bow in the sack and tied it to the boar spear. The whole bundle he slung from his shoulder. Now for the door.

The latch whispered backward in its slot. Kith-Kanan pulled the door open. Directly across from his room was Sithas’s sleeping chamber. A strip of light showed under his brother’s door. Kith-Kanan lowered his bundle to the floor and reached out for the door handle.

Sithas’s door opened silently. Inside, his white-robed twin was kneeling before a small table, on which a single cut rose lay. A candle burned on the fireplace mantle.

Sithas looked up. “Come in, Kith,” he said gently, “I was expecting you.” He stood, looking hollow-eyed and gaunt in the candlelight. “I felt your presence when you returned. Please, sit down.”

“I’m not staying,” Kith-Kanan replied bitterly.

“You need not leave, Kith. Beg Father for forgiveness. He will grant it.”

Kith-Kanan spread his hands. “I can’t, Sith. It wouldn’t matter if he did forgive me, I can’t stay here any longer.”

“Because of Hermathya?” asked Sithas. His twin nodded. “I don’t love her, Kith, but she was chosen. I must marry her.”

“But what about me? Do you care at all how I feel?”

Sithas’s face showed that he did. “But what would you have me do?”

“Tell them you won’t have her. Refuse to marry Hermathya.”

Sithas sighed. “It would be a grave insult to Clan Oakleaf, to our father, and to Hermathya herself. She was chosen because she will be the best wife for the future speaker.”

Kith-Kanan passed a hand over his fevered eyes. “This is like a terrible dream. I can’t believe Thya consented to all this.”

“Then you can go upstairs and ask her. She is sleeping in the room just above yours,” Sithas said evenly. Kith-Kanan turned to go. “Wait,” Sithas said. “Where will you go from here?”

“I will go far,” Kith-Kanan replied defiantly.

Sithas leaped to his feet. “How far will you get on your own? You are throwing away your heritage, Kith! Throwing it away like a gnawed apple core!”

Kith-Kanan stood still in the open doorway. “I’m doing the only honorable thing I can. Do you think I could continue to live here with you, knowing Hermathya was your wife? Do you think I could stand to see her each day and have to call her ‘Sister?’ I know I have shamed Father and myself. I can live with shame, but I cannot live in sight of Hermathya and not love her!”

He went out in the hall and stooped to get his bundle. Sithas raised the lid of a plain, dark, oak chest sitting at the foot of his bed.

“Kith, wait.” Sithas turned around and held out his brother’s sword. “Father was going to have it broken, he was so angry with you, but I persuaded him to let me keep it.”

Kith-Kanan took the slim, graceful blade from his brother’s hands. It slid home in his scabbard like a hand into a glove. Kith-Kanan instantly felt stronger. He had a part of himself back.

“Thank you, Sith.”

On a simultaneous impulse, they came together and clasped their hands on each other’s shoulders. “May the gods go with you, Brother,” said Sithas warmly.

“They will if you ask them,” Kith-Kanan replied wryly. “They listen to you.”

He crossed the hall to his old room and prepared to go out the window. Sithas came to his door and said, “Will I ever see you again?”

Kith-Kanan looked out at the two bright moons. “As long as Solinari and Lunitari remain in the same sky, I will see you again, my brother.” Without another word, Kith-Kanan stepped out of the window and was gone. Sithas returned to his sparsely furnished room and shut the door.

As he knelt again at his small shrine to Matheri, he said softly, “Two halves of the same coin; two branches of the same tree.” He closed his eyes. “Matheri, keep him safe.”

On the ledge, Kith-Kanan gathered up his rope. The room just above his, Sithas had said. Very well then. His first cast fell short, and the hook came scraping down the stone right at his face. Kith-Kanan flinched aside, successfully dodging the hook, but he almost lost his balance on the narrow ledge. The falling hook clattered against the wall below. Kith-Kanan cursed soundlessly and hauled the rope back up.

The Tower of Quinari, like most elven spires, grew steadily narrower as it grew taller. The ledges at each level were thus correspondingly shallower. It took Kith-Kanan four tries to catch his hook on the seventh floor ledge. When he did, he swung out into the cool night air, wobbling under the burden of his sack and spear. Doggedly he climbed. The window of the room above his was dark. He carefully set the bundle against the outside wall and went to work on the window latch with his dagger.

The soft lead of the window frame yielded quickly to his blade. He pushed the crystal panes in.

Already he knew she was in the room. The spicy scent she always wore filled the room with a subtle perfume. He listened and heard short sighs of breathing. Hermathya was asleep.

He went unerringly to her bedside. Kith-Kanan put out a hand and felt the soft fire of her hair. He spoke her name once, quietly. “It is I, my love.”

“Kith! Please, don’t hurt me!”

He was taken aback. He rose off his knees. “I would never, ever hurt you, Thya.”

“But I thought—you were so angry—I thought you came here to kill me!”

“No,” he said gently. “I’ve come to take you with me.”