Douglas Niles - The Kinslayer Wars

“Many of my people have been hurt by the elves of Silvanost. My people are the Kagonesti and the elves of the plains! Those who live in that crystal city of towers are no more my kin than are the dwarves of Thorbardin!”

“Do you wish to see the elven nation destroyed?”

“I only wish for the wild elves to be left alone, to regain our freedom, and to have nothing to do with the causes of governments that have made our lands a battleground!” The elf had gasped his beliefs with surprising vehemence, struggling to sit up until Suzine eased him back down.

“If the Emperor of Ergoth treats us ill after this war is won, then shall we struggle against him with the same fortitude! But until that time, the human army is our only hope of throwing off the yoke of Silvanesti oppression!” She had been deeply disturbed by the elf’s declarations, for it did not fit her idea of Kith-Kanan to hear such tales of injustice and discrimination. Surely he didn’t know of the treatment accorded to Kagonesti by his own people!

Thus she had convinced herself of his innocence and looked upon the Kagonesti elves with pity. Those who had joined the human army she befriended and tried to ease their troubled hurts.

Now her two guards held open her tent flap for her and waited silently outside. They would stand there until dawn, when they would be relieved. As always, this knowledge gave her a sense of security, and she lay down, totally exhausted, to try to get some sleep.

But though she lay wearily upon her quilt, she couldn’t sleep. An odd sense of excitement took hold of her emotions, and suddenly she sat up, aroused and intrigued.

Instinctively she went to her mirror. Holding the crystal on her dressing table, she saw her own image first, and then she concentrated on setting her mind free.

Immediately she espied that handsome elven face, the visage she had not looked upon for nearly eight months. Her heart leaped into her throat and she stifled a gasp. It was Kith-Kanan.

His hair flew back from his face, as though tossed by a strong wind. She remembered the griffon, only this time, instead of flying away from her, he was returning!

She stared at the mirror, breathless. She should report this to her general immediately. The elven general was returning to his fortress!

Yet at the same time, she sensed a decision deep within her. The return of Kith-Kanan stirred her emotions. He looked magnificent, proud and triumphant. How unlike General Giarna! She knew she would say nothing about what she had seen.

Swiftly, guiltily, she placed the mirror back inside of its velvet-lined case. Almost slamming the engraved ivory lid in her haste, she hid the object deep within her wardrobe trunk and returned to her bed.

Suzine had barely stretched out, still tense with excitement, when a gust of wind brushed across her face. She sensed that the flap of her tent had opened, though she could see nothing in the heavy darkness.

Instantly she felt fear. Her elven guards would stand firm against any illicit intruder, but there was one they would not stop—did not dare stop—for he held their fates in his hands.

Giarna came to her then and touched her. She felt his touch like a physical assault, a hurt that would leave no scar that could be seen. How she hated him! She despised everything that he stood for. He was the master slayer. She hated the way he used her, used everyone around him. But now she could bear her hatred because of the knowledge of a blond-haired elf and his proud flying steed—knowledge which, even as General Giarna took her, she found solace in, knowledge that was hers alone.

Kith-Kanan guided Arcuballis through the pitch-dark skies, seeking the lanterns of Sithelbec. He had passed over the thousands of campfires that marked the position of the human army, so he knew that the elven stronghold lay close before him. He needed to find the fortress before daylight so that the humans wouldn’t learn of his return to the plains.

There! A light gleamed in the darkness. And another!

He urged Arcuballis downward, and the griffon swept into a shallow dive. They circled once and saw three lights arranged in a perfect triangle, glimmering on the rooftop. That was the sign, the signal he had ordered Parnigar to use to guide him back to the barracks.

Indeed, as the griffon spread his wings to set them gently atop the tower, he saw his trusted second-in-command holding one of the lights. The other lantern-bearers were his old teacher, Kencathedrus, and the steadfast Kagonesti elf known as White-lock.

The two officers saluted smartly and then clasped their commander warmly.

“By the gods, sir, it’s good to see you again!” said Parnigar gruffly.

“It is a pleasure and a relief. We’ve been terribly worried.” Kencathedrus couldn’t help but sound a little stern.

“I have a good excuse. Now let’s get me and Arcuballis out of sight before first light. I don’t want the troops to know I’ve returned—not yet, in any event.” The officers looked at him curiously but held their questions in check while arrangements were made with a stable master to secure Arcuballis in an enclosed stall. Meanwhile, Kith-Kanan, concealed by a flowing, heavy robe, slipped into Kencathedrus’s chamber and awaited the two elven warriors. They joined him just as dawn was beginning to lighten the eastern horizon. Kith-Kanan told them of the quest for the griffons, describing the regiment of flying troops and the coming of the dwarves and detailing his battle plans.

“Two weeks, then?” asked Parnigar, scarcely able to contain his excitement.

“Indeed, my friend—after all this time.” Kith-Kanan understood what these elves had been through. His own ordeals had been far from cheery. Yet how difficult it must have been for these dynamic warriors to spend the winter and the spring and the first few weeks of summer cooped up within the fortress.

“Fresh regiments are on the march to Sithelbec. The Windriders will leave in a few days, making their way westward. The dwarves of Thorbardin, too, are preparing to move into position.”

“But you wish your own presence to remain secret?” asked Kencathedrus.

“Until we’re ready to attack. I don’t want the enemy to suspect any changes in our defenses. When the attack develops, I want it to be the biggest surprise they’ve ever had.”

“Hopefully the last surprise,” growled Parnigar.

“I’ll stay here for a week, then fly west at night to arrange the rendezvous with the forces arriving from Silvanost. When I return, we’ll attack. Until then, conduct your defenses as you have in the past. Just don’t allow them to gain a breach.”

“These old walls have held well,” Parnigar noted. “The humans have tried to assault them several times and always we drove them back over the heaped bodies of their dead.”

“The spring storms, in fact, did us more harm than all the human attacks,” Kencathedrus added.

“I flew through some of them,” Kith-Kanan said. “And I heard Dunbarth speak of them.”

“Hail crushed two of the barns. We lost a lot of our livestock.” Kencathedrus recounted the damage. “And a pair of tornadoes swept past, doing some damage to the outer wall.”

Parnigar chuckled grimly. “Some damage to the wooden wall—and a lot of damage to the human tents!”

“True. The destruction outside the walls was even worse than within. I have never seen weather so violent.”

“It happens every year, more or less,” Parnigar, the more experienced plainsman, explained. “Though this spring was a little fiercer than most. Old elves tell of a storm three hundred years ago when a hundred cyclones came roaring in from the west and tore up every farm within a thousand miles.” Kith-Kanan shook his head, trying to imagine such a thing. It even dwarfed war! He turned his attention to other matters. “How about the size of the human army? Have they been able to replace their losses? Has it grown or diminished?”