Douglas Niles - The Puppet King

During other passages, he was staggered by a sense of bitter irony. The Emperor of Ansalon, the Highlord Ariakas, had fought for five years, slowly expanding the swath of his conquest across Krynn until, under the leadership of generals such as Gilthas’s mother Laurana, the dragonarmies had been swept backward, finally scattered when their queen had deserted them and their foul temple. Now it was Ariakas’s son, the Lord Ariakan, who led the Knights of Takhisis on a fast and efficient campaign. In a matter of weeks, he had conquered territories that his father had never been able to reach, and now held such firm sway on Ansalon that it was difficult to conceive of any kind of organized resistance.

And then there were times where Gilthas was simply lost in a story of high adventure, when he marveled at the exploits of dragons of gold and silver, of brave warriors—including not only his mother, but also his uncle, Gilthanas, and legendary heroes such as Flint Fireforge—and of the desperate battles that culminated in the magnificent victory at Margaard Ford, a key crossing of the Vingaard River. In the end, he admitted that this was the reason he enjoyed reading the book, for it carried him away with its epic sweep and its dazzling rendition of people, dragons, places, and events.

He wondered if his mother had received his invitation, if she planned to come here. He missed her, longed for her presence and her guidance. It was better for her safety, he told himself, though he realized that her presence would do more to ease his own loneliness than it would for Laurana’s security.

An hour later Kerian knocked, and it was with a rush of pleasure that he closed the leather covers and called for her to enter.

“Hello,” he said, rising and stretching his arms over his head. “I was reading... got lost in the past for a little while.”

“I am glad,” the Kagonesti woman said. “I came to see if you would like some wine before dinner.”

“Yes, that would be splendid.” He noticed that she had brought a pitcher, and she advanced into the room at his answer. “Would you care to have a glass with me?”

“Yes... I would.”

He waited while she poured them each a mug of the pale liquid. When she brought his glass over to his chair, he took it, then followed her to sit beside her on the couch.

“I have had word from my... from the forest,” Kerianseray said. “It arrived just this afternoon.”

“Word from the wild elves? How?” Gilthas asked. He wasn’t aware of any messengers coming to the house.

“I am sorry, my lord, but I am not permitted to discuss that part of my duties.”

Gilthas was surprised by her refusal. Only then did he stop to consider the extraordinary trust she had placed in him merely by revealing the fact that she was able to maintain some sort of surreptitious contact with her tribe.

“Of course. Forgive me for asking,” he said, though a part of him was desperately curious and thought that, if she really did trust him, she should be willing to reveal the details he sought. Still, he decided to let the matter rest for now. “What did you learn?”

“Porthios Solostaran has agreed to meet with you, provided you come to the meeting alone.”

“Yes, of course! That’s wonderful!” he cried, elated.

“I’m glad you’re pleased,” Kerian said, looking happy herself.

Impulsively he put his hands on her shoulders, and this time pulled her close before she could lower her face. His lips found hers, and their kiss was like a bond sealed in fire. Her mouth was slightly open, and Gilthas felt a whirlwind of emotions, new experiences assaulting him, tantalizing him, reaching deep into his soul.

As if he were mired in a dream—a fantastic, wondrously arousing dream—he felt her arms reach around his shoulders, and then she was pulling him closer. She welcomed his kiss, reciprocated with warmth and fire.

And then that fire was everywhere, pouring through Gilthas’s veins, clouding his thoughts, pounding a savage drumbeat in his heart. He drew a breath, the sweetest air he had ever tasted, and pressed harder against her, feeling her falling back as his weight bore her down upon the couch.

Their surroundings disappeared, and he was only aware of the two of them, each wrapped in the other, in bliss and warmth and desire. And for a time, too short a time, Gilthas forgot his throne, forgot the Thalas-Enthia, and was one with the woman he loved.

“Finally the blues did come again for me, three of them. They threatened to kill me if I did not leave.”

“Did you have to fight them?” asked Silvanoshei.

Aeren puffed out his chest. “I was prepared to, as I told you. But they were too many, and they promised to kill me—a promise I knew they would keep.

“So instead, I claimed that I needed time to gather my hoard, that I would leave in a few days and let them have my cave.”

“What happened then?”

“I emerged at the appointed time and flew high and wide, seeking the new tenants of my lair. The air was hot and thick by then, but I looked for a long time.”

“But you didn’t find them?”

“No. I searched, expecting to see them... but it seemed that the blues were gone.”

They left the Speaker’s house in the predawn hours, when the night was at its darkest and activity in the city had almost completely ceased. There were a few patrols of Dark Knights wandering the streets, but by elven standards, these humans made so much noise and their night vision was so feeble that Gilthas and Kerianseray had no difficulty evading the sentries in the vicinity of the Tower of the Sun.

Of course, the magical lights that danced through the city during the night hours were still in evidence, but it seemed to Gilthas that their brilliance had somehow been muted since the coming of the conquerors. Whereas in the past the entire city had seemed to sparkle with brightness, now each lantern existed in a small island of illumination, but the contrast only served to heighten the shadows in the majority of the city that remained unlighted.

Once they had passed into the darkened reaches of elven homes, the pair hid in the shadows for several minutes while a party of armored men marched past. The young Speaker was acutely conscious of the woman’s presence beside him. He placed a protective arm around her shoulders and relished the warmth as she seemed to melt into his side. Even so, she seemed considerably less frightened than he did, and he found himself wondering how many times she had left the house in the dark of the night to wander Qualinost on some mysterious purpose.

But those thoughts vanished as the guards turned a corner. Instantly she was up, pulling him by the hand, leading him in a sprint down a lane shaded by thick borders of overhanging aspen trees.

He tried to keep up, but he was embarrassed to realize that he was gasping for breath after a short run. Tugging on her hand, he tried to slow her headlong pace, but instead she pulled him along urgently, all but dragging him as he stumbled the last two dozen paces to the end of the lane. Here again she pushed him into the shelter of roadside shrubbery, still holding his hand as she knelt beside him and studied the wide roadway before them.

Gilthas sensed affection in the touch of her dry fingers on his moist hand, but he also felt the competence, the confidence of this woman he knew so little about. Though he strained to control his rasping breaths, she pressed a finger to his lips, and he forced himself to be utterly silent. Here, too, there were Dark Knights. Indeed, he was startled to find out how fully Qualinost was garrisoned by its new conquerors. His guess would have been that there were only a few dozen of the human warriors in the city, but if that were the case, they had seen half of them in the past few blocks—and that at the darkest hours of night!