Douglas Niles - The Kinslayer Wars

“I am indeed honored, My lord,” said Quimant, with a deep bow.

“Thank you,” Kith replied, studying his face. “My brother tells me that your aid has been invaluable in supporting the war effort.”

“The Speaker is generous,” the lord said to Kith-Kanan modestly. “My contribution pales in comparison to the sacrifices made by you and all of your warriors. If we can but provide you with reliable blades, that is my only wish.” For a moment, Kith was struck by the jarring impression that Lord Quimant, in fact, wished for a great deal more out of the war. That moment passed, and Kith noticed that his brother seemed to place tremendous confidence and warmth in Hermathya’s cousin.

“What word from our esteemed ambassador?” asked Sithas.

“Than-Kar will attend our court, but not until after the noon hour,” reported the lord. “He seems to feel that he has no pressing business here.”

“That’s the problem!” snapped the Speaker harshly. Quimant changed the topic. To Sithas and Kith-Kanan, he described some additional expansions of the Clan Oakleaf mines, though the general paid little attention. Restlessly his eyes roamed the crowd, seeking Hermathya. He felt a vague relief that she was not present. He had felt likewise when she didn’t attend the previous night’s banquet, pleading a mild illness. The evening passed with excruciating slowness. Kith-Kanan stood tersely as he was plied with invitations to banquets and hunting trips. Some of the ladies gave him other types of invitations, judging from the suggestive tilts of their smiles or the coy lowerings of demure eyelashes. He felt like a prize stag whose antlers were coveted for everybody’s mantel.

Kith found himself, much to his astonishment, actually looking back with fondness on the grim, battle-weary conversations he had most nights with his fellow warriors. They might have squatted around a smoky fire for illumination, caked with mud and smelling of weeks of accumulated grime, yet somehow that all seemed so much more real than did this pompous display. Finally the fanfare of trumpets announced the arrival of the dwarven ambassador and his retinue. Kith-Kanan stared in surprise as Than-Kar led a column of more than thirty armed and armored dwarves into the hall. They marched in a muddy file toward the throne, finally halting to allow their leader to swagger forward on his own.

The Theiwar dwarf bore little resemblance to the jovial Dunbarth Ironthumb, of the Hylar Clan, whom Kith-Kanan had met years before. He found Than-Kar’s wide eyes, with their surrounding whites and tiny, beadlike pupils, disturbing—like the eyes of a madman, he thought. The dwarf was filthy and unkempt, with a soiled tunic and muddy boots, almost as if he had made a point of his messy appearance for the benefit of the elven general.

“The Speaker has demanded my presence, and I have come,” announced the dwarf in a tone ripe with insolence.

Kith-Kanan felt an urge to leap from the Speaker’s platform and throttle the obscene creature. With an effort, he held his temper in check.

“My brother has returned from the front,” began Sithas, dispensing with the formality of an introduction. “I desire for you to report to him on the status of your nation’s involvement.”

Than-Kar’s weird eyes appraised Kith-Kanan, while a smirk played on the dwarf’s lips. “No change.” He said bluntly. “My king needs to see some concrete evidence of elven trustworthiness before he will commit dwarven lives to this . . . cause.”

Kith felt his face flush, and he took a step forward. “Surely you understand that all the elder races are threatened by this human aggression?” he demanded.

The Theiwar shrugged. “The humans would say that they are threatened by elven aggression.”

“They are the ones who have marched into elven lands! Lands, I might add, that border firmly against the northern flank of your own kingdom!”

“I don’t see it that way,” snorted the dwarf. “And besides, you have humans among your own ranks! It almost seems to me that it is a family feud. If they see fit to join, why should dwarves get involved?”

Sithas turned in astonishment to Kith-Kanan, though the speaker remained outwardly composed.

“We have no humans fighting on the side of our forces. There are some—women and children, mostly—who have taken shelter in the fortress for the siege. They are merely innocent victims of the war. They do not change its character!”

“More to the point, then,” spoke the ambassador, his voice an accusing hiss,

“explain the presence of elves in the Army of Ergoth!”

“Lies!” shouted Sithas, forgetting himself and springing to his feet. The hall erupted in shouts of anger and denial from courtiers and nobles pressing forward. Than-Kar’s bodyguards bristled and raised their weapons.

“Entire ranks of elves,” continued the dwarf as the crowd murmured. “They resist your imperial hegemony.”

“They are traitors to the homeland!” snapped Sithas.

“A question of semantics,” argued Than-Kar. “I merely mean to illustrate that the confused state of the conflict makes a dwarven intervention seem rash to the point of foolishness.”

Kith-Kanan could hold himself in check no longer. He stepped down from the platform and stared at the dwarf, who was a foot or more shorter than himself.

“You distort the truth in a way that can only discredit your nation!” He continued, his voice a growl. “Any elves among the ranks of Ergoth are lone rogues, lured by human coin or promises of power. Even the likes of you cannot blur the clear lines of this conflict. You spout your lies and your distortions from the safety of this far city; hiding like a coward behind the robes of diplomacy. You make me sick!”

Than-Kar appeared unruffled as he stepped aside to address Sithas. “This example of your general’s impetuous behavior will be duly reported to my king. It cannot further your cause.”

“You set a new standard for diplomatic excess, and you try my patience to its limits. Leave, now!” Sithas hissed the words with thick anger, and the hall fell deathly silent.

If the dwarf was affected by the speaker’s rage, however, he concealed his emotions well. With calculated insolence, he marched his column about and then led them from the Hall of Audience.

“Throw open the windows!” barked the Speaker of the Stars. “Clear the stench from the air!”

Kith-Kanan slumped to sit on the steps of the royal dais, ignoring the surprised looks from some of the stiff-backed elven nobles. “I could have strangled him with pleasure,” he snarled as his brother came to sit beside him.

“The audience is over,” Sithas announced to the rest of the elves, and Kith-Kanan sighed with concern as the last of the anonymous nobles left. The only ones remaining in the great hall were Quimant, the twins, and Nirakina.

“I know I shouldn’t have let him get under my skin like that. I’m sorry,” the general said to the Speaker.

“Nonsense. You said things I’ve wanted to voice for months. It’s better to have a warrior say them than a head of state.” Sithas paused awkwardly.

“What he did say—how much truth was there to it?”

“Very little,” sighed Kith-Kanan. “We are sheltering humans in the fortress, most of them the wives and families of Wildrunners. They would be slain on sight if they fell into the hands of the enemy.”

“And are elves fighting for Ergoth?” Sithas couldn’t keep the dismay from his voice.

“A few rogues, as I said,” Kith admitted. “At least, we’ve had reports of them. I saw one myself in the human camp. But these turncoats are not numerous enough that we have taken notice of them on the field.” He groaned and leaned backward, remembering the offensive and arrogant Theiwar dwarf. “That lout! I suppose it’s a good thing I didn’t have my sword at my side.” “You’re tired,” said Sithas. “Why don’t you relax for a while. This round of banquets and courts and all-night meetings, I’m sure, takes an adjustment. We can talk tomorrow.” “Your brother is right. You do need rest,” Nirakina added in a maternal tone. “I’ll have dinner sent to your apartments.”