Douglas Niles: The Kinslayer Wars

“At least you don’t lack for diversion,” remarked Kith-Kanan with a smile, settling beside the dwarf commander at a low bench that several other dwarves had swiftly vacated for him.

Dunbarth chuckled. “It’ll do until we can get back to the real war. Here, I’ve had some wine heated for you.”

“Thanks.” Kith took the proffered mug while Dunbarth hefted a foaming tankard of ale. How the dwarves, who marched with a relatively small train of supplies, maintained a supply of the bitter draft was a mystery to Kith, yet every time he visited this winter shelter he found them drinking huge quantities of the stuff.

“And how do our elven comrades weather the storm?” inquired the dwarven commander.

“As well as could be expected. The griffons seem unaffected for the most part, while the Windriders and other elves have sufficient shelter. It could be a long winter.”

“Aye. It could be a long war, too.” Dunbarth made the remark in a lighthearted tone, but Kith-Kanan didn’t think he was joking.

“I don’t think so,” the elf countered. “We have the remnants of the humans trapped to the west. Surely they can’t move any more than we can in the midst of this storm.”

The dwarf nodded in silent agreement, so the elf continued. “As soon as the worst of the winter passes, we’ll head into the attack. It shouldn’t take more than two months to push the whole mass of them off the plains and back within the borders of Ergoth where they belong!”

“I hope you’re right,” replied the dwarven general sincerely. “Yet I’m worried about their commander, this Giarna. He’s a resourceful devil!”

“I can handle Giarna!” Kith’s voice was almost a growl, and Dunbarth looked at him in surprise.

“Any word from your brother?” inquired the dwarf after a moment’s pause.

“Not since the storm set in.”

“Thorbardin is disunited,” reported his companion. “The Theiwar agitate for a withdrawal of dwarven troops, and it seems they might be winning the Daergar Clan over to their side.”

“No wonder, with their own ‘hero’ joining ranks with the Army of Ergoth.” The reports had been confirmed in late autumn: After Sithas had driven him from Silvanost, Than-Kar had delivered his battalion over to General Giarna. The Theiwar dwarves had helped protect the retreating army during the last weeks of the campaign before winter had stopped all action.

“A shameful business, that,” agreed Dunbarth. “The lines of battle may be clear on the field, but in the minds of our people, they begin to grow very hazy indeed.”

“Do you need anything here?” inquired Kith-Kanan.

“You wouldn’t have a hundred bawdy dwarven wenches, would you?” asked Dunbarth with a sly grin. He winked at the elf. “Though perhaps they would merely sap our fighting spirits. One has to be careful, you know!” Kith laughed, suddenly embarrassed about his own circumstances. The presence of Suzine in his house was common knowledge throughout the camp. He felt no shame about that, and he knew his troops liked the human woman and that she returned their obvious affection. Still, the thought of her being regarded as his “bawdy wench” he found disturbing. They talked for a while longer of the pleasures of homecomings and of adventures in more peaceful times. The storm continued unabated, and finally Kith-Kanan remembered that he needed to finish his rounds before returning to his own house. He bade his farewells and continued his inspection of the other elven positions before turning toward his cottage.

His heart rose at the prospect of seeing Suzine again, though he had been gone from her presence for mere hours. He couldn’t bear the thought of this winter camp without her. But he wondered about the men. Did they see her as a “wench” as Dunbarth seemed to? As some sort of camp follower? The thought would not go away.

A bodyguard, an immaculate corporal in the armor of the House Protectorate, threw open the door of his house as he approached. Kith quickly went inside, enjoying the warmth that caressed him as he shook off his snow-covered garb. He passed through the guardroom—once the parlor of the house, but now the garrison for a dozen men-at-arms, those trusted with the life of the army commander. He nodded at the elves, all of whom had snapped to attention, but he quickly passed through the room into the smaller chambers beyond, closing the interior door behind him.

A crackling blaze filled the fireplace before him, and the aroma of sizzling beef teased his nostrils. Suzine came into his arms and he felt completely alive. Everything would wait until the delights of reunion had run their course. Without speaking, they went to the hearth and lay down before the fire. Only afterward did they slowly break the spell of their silence.

“Did you find Arcuballis in the pasture?” Suzine asked, lazily tracing a finger along Kith-Kanan’s bare arm.

“Yes. He seems to prefer the open field to the barn,” the elf replied. “I tried to coax him into a stall, but he stayed outside, weathering the storm.”

“He’s too much like his master,” the human woman said tenderly. Finally she rose and fetched a jug of wine that she had warmed by the fireplace. Huddled together under a bearskin, they each enjoyed a glass.

“It’s odd,” said Kith-Kanan, his mood reflective. “These are the most peaceful times I’ve ever spent, here beside the fire with you.”

“It’s not odd,” replied the woman. “We were meant to know peace together. I’ve seen it, known it, for years.”

Kith didn’t dispute her. She had told him how she used to watch him in the mirror, the enchanted glass that she had crashed over Giarna’s skull to save his life. She carried the broken shards of the glass in a soft leather box. He knew that she had seen the griffons before the battle yet hadn’t told her commander about this crucial fact. Often he had wondered what could have made her take such a risk for one—an enemy!—she had met only once before. Yet as the weeks became months, he had ceased to ask these questions, sensing—as did Suzine—the rightness of their lives together. She brought to him a comfort and serenity that he thought had been gone forever. With her, he felt a completeness that he had never before attained, not with Anaya nor Hermathya.

That she was a human seemed astonishingly irrelevant to Kith. He knew that the folk of the plains, be they elf or dwarf or human, had begun to see the war break the barriers of racial purity that had so long obsessed them. He wondered, for a brief moment, whether the elves of Silvanost would ever be able to appreciate the good humans, people like Suzine.

A schism was growing, he knew, among his folk. It divided the nation just as certainly as it would inevitably divide his brother and himself. Kith-Kanan had made up his mind which side he was on, and in that decision, he knew that he had crossed a line.

This woman with him now, her head resting so softly upon his shoulder, deserved more than to be considered a general’s “bawdy wench.” Perhaps the fumes from the fire wafted too thickly through the room, muddling his thoughts. Or perhaps their isolation here on the far frontiers of the kingdom brought home to Kith the truly important things in his life. In any event, he made up his mind. Slowly he turned, feeling her stir against his side. Sleepily she opened an eye, brushing aside her red hair to smile at him.

“Will you become my wife?” asked the general of the army.

“Of course,” replied his human woman.

The Kinslayer War spewed blood across the plainslands for nearly forty years. It was a period of long, protracted battles, of vast interludes of retrenchment, of starvation, disease, and death. Savage blizzards froze the armies camped in winter, while fierce storms—lightning, hail, and cyclonic winds—ripped capriciously through the ranks of both sides during the spring season. From the historian’s perspective, there is a dreary sameness to the war. Kith-Kanan’s Wildrunners pursued the humans, attacked them, seemed to wipe them out, and then even more humans took the places of the slain. General Giarna maintained complete control of the Ergothian troops, and though his losses were horrendous, he bore them without regret. The pressure of his sudden attacks chipped away at the elves, while reinforcements balanced out the general’s losses. A stalemate evolved, with the forces of Silvanesti winning every battle, but with the humans always averting complete defeat. Despite this monotonous pattern, the course of the war had several key junctures. The Siege of Sithelbec must be considered a decisive hour. It seemed the last chance for General Giarna to attain an undiluted victory. But the Battle of Sithelbec turned the tide and will always be ranked among the turning points of the history of Krynn.