Paul Thompson - Riverwind

Vvelz entwined his fingers and regarded them beneficently. “Here in Hest we wrest the finest metals from the ground. We make everything we require in these foundries.”

Ramps and stairs of stone led from the Avenue of Foundries, as Vvelz called it, to the next, higher terrace, the Avenue of Artificers. The diggers were just as numerous here, but instead of smoke and fire, the street resounded with hammer strikes and the clatter of machinery. Again, the sorcerer bade the Que-Shu men look in any window. They saw elves making chain, drawing wire, and hammering bronze and copper into thin plates.

“Do you notice,” Catchflea said in the barest whisper, “there are few children about?”

“There's Di An.”

“She's no child, whatever she says. I mean little ones.”

Riverwind knew the old soothsayer was right. He asked Vvelz about the lack of children.

“There have not been many children born these past years,” the sorcerer said thoughtfully. “I believe it's due to-”

“Mind your tongue,” Karn said, tersely. “Her Highness will tell the outlanders what she wants them to know.”

The third terrace was the Avenue of Weavers. There, fine wire was woven into copper or tin “cloth.” By brushing on certain chemicals, the metal cloth could be colored. Riverwind saw mounds of black-dyed copper, the universal wear of the diggers.

Soldiers became more numerous as they ascended the city levels. The common soldiers showed great deference to the officers. Karn was evidently a high personage, as ranks parted for him and armed elves stood at attention while he passed.

The sixth terrace was called the Place of Swords. Here there were no diggers at all, only soldiers in bright steel or burnished brass. Vvelz explained that the differences they saw in armor and helmets was due to the different regiments in the army, or Host.

“I don't like this,” Riverwind muttered. “All these swords, and us with only our bare hands.”

“Be easy, tall man. There's no obvious threat yet,” said Catchflea.

'Tell that to Di An.”

The girl was trembling so badly now that Riverwind had to brace her with his arm. Vvelz and Karn led the little band to the center of the street of the sixth terrace. There, guards with drawn swords stood on each side of a monumental gate, its supporting columns made from naturally formed, gigantic quartz crystals. They raised their short-bladed swords in salute as Karn approached.

“Inform Her Highness that I have returned, with prisoners,” Karn announced.

“Guests,” Vvelz corrected.

Karn glared. “We shall see.”

One guard departed with Karn's message. He returned a few minutes later with a single-word answer: “Come.”

“I am afraid!” Di An declared, trying to pull back.

Catchflea ruffled her short, stiff hair with one hand. “The gods are merciful,” he said, looking down into her frightened eyes.

“So men say,” Riverwind said. “I hope it's true.”

Through the gate was a long colonnade of quartz crystals, open to the air. Honor guards lined the way, their closed visors embossed to resemble the faces of lions. The elves' metal shoes clanked loudly on the brilliant mosaic floor, which was made up of millions of tiny garnets, peridots, and amethysts. A second gate, twenty feet tall and made of riveted iron plates, swung inward as they came near.

Within, the palace was dim, as a heavy vaulted stone ceiling blotted out the brazen “sun.” Statues of Hestite warriors filled the entry hall, all larger than life and wearing complete suits of armor. Each statue bore the name of a dead warrior: Ro Drest, Teln the Great, Karz the Terrible, Ro Welx. All looked stern and soldierly. None looked sympathetic.

The entry hall ended with a vaulted passage that led into the next hall. A blazing hearth, ten feet in diameter, dominated the far end of the room. More curious were the scores of blue globes mounted on carved stone pedestals on each side of the walkway. The tallest pedestals were nearer the walls, the shortest close to the center path. The display was solemn and arresting.

“What are these things?” Riverwind said. “I thought they were lamps.”

“Perhaps they are, and this is some kind of shrine,” Catchflea said. Di An was too frightened to say anything.

“What are you mumbling about there?” Karn asked.

“These globes, they are lamps, yes?”

Karn laughed unpleasantly. “This is just a collection of old relics,” he said. He laughed scornfully.

Vvelz frowned. “They are lights indeed,” he remarked, not looking at Karn. “Very old, some of them.”

“Why are some dark?” asked the plainsman.

The sorcerer's gaze slanted at him. “In time, all lights go out,” was all he said.

At the hearth Riverwind noticed that, while the fire blazed as high as his chest, it did not crackle, spark, or hiss like all the fires he'd ever seen. Moving closer still, he discovered it gave off no heat. In the midst of the flames were bright, glowing piles of coals.

“What sort of fire burns without heat or smoke?” Riverwind queried.

“This is the Hall of Light,” Vvelz said. “The sorcerers of Hest created this magic fire centuries ago. In all that time it has not diminished.”

“What does it burn?” Catchflea wondered aloud.

“I do not know,” Vvelz confessed. “The parchments upon which the secret was written decayed long ago. Only the fire remains, silent and cold.” An expression like sadness or pain passed quickly over his face, vanishing when Karn called after them.

“Come along,” the soldier said impatiently. “Her Highness awaits.”

They circled the hearth, and behind it was another huge door. Lion-faced guards opened the door for them. The room beyond was circular, thirty paces wide, and the ceiling was domed. The surface of the dome was a vast mosaic, showing a heroic figure leading a haggard group of elves from a shattered town to a hole in the ground.

“Karn? Is that you? Come forward.” It was a light voice, female, that came from no certain direction, yet filled the domed room. Karn replied with great courtesy, and preceded the others into the room.

They entered to the sound of chimes and splashing water. Neither chimes nor water was visible. A delicate aroma drifted in the air, not like flowers exactly, more like the freshness that sunlight imparted to morning air. The center of the room was screened from view by a circular wall of golden drapes, hanging from linked brass posts. Riverwind could just see over the top of the curtains. Something glittering and golden moved inside the screened area.

Karn drew aside a drape. Vvelz, Riverwind, Catchflea, and Di An entered. The elf girl immediately threw herself on the polished floor, face pressed against the cold mosaic. Riverwind looked straight at the figure before them, but it took him a few seconds to realize what he was seeing.

Seated on a sculpted stone couch was a beautiful elven woman. Her milk-white face was framed by a golden hood that fell to her shoulders, covering her hair. The hood was cut out to reveal her ears, which were high and tapering. Gold beads of decreasing size studded the shell of each ear. Her lips were painted deep red. The rest of her figure was lost in the elaborate folds of her golden garment, a loose clerical robe woven of hair-thin gold wire.

Karn dropped to one knee. “Gracious Highness,” he said with verve, “I have brought you these prisoners, whom I captured deep in the southern caves.”

“Lost foreigners,” Vvelz said smoothly. “Innocent travelers, who perchance fell into your realm, Li El.”

Absolutely emotionless eyes passed over the Que-Shu men. “Which is it, then? Intruders or victims?” Karn opened his mouth to give an opinion, but Li El transfixed him with a single upraised finger. Her eyes fastened on Riverwind. “Speak, giant. You alone.”