Douglas Niles - The Kinslayer Wars

The younger twin sighed. “No. My studies always emphasized the outdoor skills. I’m afraid the ancient writing wouldn’t make much sense to me.” Sithas smiled wryly. “I used to resent that. You were always out riding horses or hunting or learning swordsmanship, while I studied the musty tomes and forgotten histories. Well, now I’m going to put that learning to use.

“We’ll both go,” Sithas concluded.

Kith-Kanan stared at him, realizing the outcry such a plan would raise. Perhaps, he had to admit, this was the reason the scheme appealed to him. Slowly, Kith relaxed, settling back into his chair.

“The trip won’t be easy,” Kith warned sternly. “We’re going to have to explore the largest mountain range on Ansalon, and winter isn’t far away. In those heights, you can be sure there’s already plenty of snow.”

“You can’t scare me off,” answered Sithas purposefully. “I know that Arcuballis can carry the two of us, and I don’t care if it takes all winter. We’ll find them, Kith. I know we will.”

“You know,” Kith-Kanan said ironically, “I must still be dreaming. In any event, you’re right. The sons of Sithel ought to make this quest together.” With a final mug of wine, as the sky grew pale above them, they began to make their plans.

Kith-Kanan and his mother rode through the tree-lined streets of Silvanost for several hours, talking only of fond memories and pleasant topics from many years before. They stopped to enjoy the fountains, to watch the hawks dive for fish in the river, and to listen to the songbirds that clustered in the many flowered bushes of the city’s lush gardens.

During the ride, it seemed to the elven warrior that his mother slowly came to life again, even to the point of laughing as they watched the pompous dance of a brilliant cardinal trying to impress his mate.

In the back of Kith’s mind lurked the realization that his mother would soon learn of her sons’ plans to embark on a dangerous expedition into the Khalkist Mountains. That news could wait, he decided.

“Are you going to join your brother at court?” asked Nirakina as the sun slid past the midafternoon point.

Kith sighed. “There’ll be enough time for that tomorrow,” he decided.

“Good .” His mother looked at him, and he was delighted to see that the familiar sparkle had returned to her eyes. She spurred her horse with a sharp kick, and the mare raced ahead, leaving Kith with the challenge of her laugh as he tried to urge his older gelding into catching up.

They cantered beneath the shade of towering elms and dashed among the crystal columns of the elven homes in a friendly race toward the Gardens of Astarin and the royal stables. Nirakina was a good rider, with the faster horse; though Kith tried to spur the last energy from his own steed, his mother beat him through the palace gates by a good three lengths.

Laughing, they pulled up before the stables and dismounted. Nirakina turned toward him, impulsively pulling him into a hug, “Thank you,” she whispered.

“Thank you for coming home!”

Kith held her in silence for some moments, relieved that he hadn’t discussed the twins’ plans with her.

Leaving his mother at her chambers, he made his way to his own apartments, intending to bathe and dress for the banquet his brother had scheduled for that evening. Before he reached his door, however, a figure moved out of a nearby alcove.

Reflexively the elven warrior reached for a sword, a weapon that he did not usually carry in the secure confines of the palace. At the same time, he relaxed, recognizing the figure and realizing that there was no threat—at least, no threat of harm.

“Hermathya,” he said, his voice oddly husky.

“Your nerves are stretched tight,” she observed, with an awkward little laugh. She wore a turquoise gown cut low over her breasts. Her hair cascaded over her shoulders, and as she looked up at him, Kith-Kanan thought that she seemed as young and vulnerable as ever.

He forced himself to shake his head, remembering that she was neither young nor vulnerable. Still, the spell of her innocent allure held him, and he wanted to reach out and sweep her into his arms.

With difficulty, he held his hands at his sides, waiting for Hermathya to speak again. His stillness seemed to unsettle her, as if she had expected him to make the next move.

The look in her eyes left him little doubt as to what response she was hoping for. He didn’t open the door, he didn’t move toward his room. He remained all too conscious of the private chambers and the large bed nearby. The aching in his body surprised him, and he realized with a great deal of dismay that he wanted her. He wanted her very badly indeed.

“I-I wanted to talk to you,” she said. He understood implicitly that she was lying.

Her words seemed to break the spell, and he reached past her to push open his door. “Come in,” he said as flatly as possible. He walked to the tall crystal doors, pulling the draperies aside to reveal the lush brilliance of the Gardens of Astarin. Keeping his back to her, he waited for her to speak.

“I’ve been worried about you,” she began. “They told me you had been captured, and I feared I would go out of my mind! Were they cruel to you? Did they hurt you?”

Not half so cruel as you were once, he thought silently. Half of him wanted to shout at her, to remind her that he had once begged her to run away with him, to choose him over his brother. The other half wanted to sweep her into his arms, into his bed, into his life. Yet he dared not look at her, for he feared the latter emotion and knew it was the worst treachery.

“I was only held prisoner for a day,” he said, his voice hardening. “They butchered the other elves that they held, but I was fortunate enough to escape.”

He thought of the human woman who had—unwittingly, so far as he knew—aided his flight. She had been very beautiful, for a human. Her body possessed a fullness that was voluptuous, that he had to admit he found strangely attractive. Yet she was nothing to him. He didn’t even know her name. She was far away from him, probably forever. While Hermathya ... Kith-Kanan sensed her moving closer. Her hand touched his shoulder and he stood very still.

“You’d better go. I’ve got to get ready for the banquet.” Still he did not look at her.

For a second, she was silent, and he felt very conscious of her delicate touch. Then her hand fell away. “I . . .” She didn’t complete the thought. As he heard her move toward the door, he turned from the windows to watch her. She smiled awkwardly before she left, pulling the door closed behind her. For a long time afterward, he remained motionless. The image of her body remained burning in his mind. It frightened him terribly that he found himself wishing she had chosen to remain.

Kith-Kanan’s reentry into the royal court of Silvanost felt to him like a sudden immersion into icy water. Nothing in his recent experience bore any resemblance to the gleaming marble-floored hall, and the elegant nobles and ladies dressed in their silken robes, which were trimmed in fur and silver thread and embellished with diamonds, emeralds, and rubies. The discussions with his family, even the banquet of the previous night, had not prepared him for the full formality of the Hall of Audience. Now he found himself speaking to a faceless congregation of stiff coats and noble gowns, describing the course of the war to date. Finally his report was done, and the elves dissolved smoothly into private discussions.

“Who’s that?” Kith-Kanan asked Sithas, indicating a tall elf who had just arrived and now made his way to the throne.

“I’ll introduce you.” Sithas rose and gestured the elf forward. “This is Lord Quimant of Oakleaf, of whom I have spoken. This is my brother, Kith-Kanan, general of the elven army.”