Laurana regarded each knight with a look that was not so much seeking approbation as simply waiting for an acknowledgement of her leadership. For a moment, she appeared so like Tanis in the firm set of her jaw and the calm, steady deliberation in her eyes that Sturm smiled. But Derek was not smiling. He was infuriated and frustrated, the more so because he knew there wasn’t a thing he could do.
Finally, however, he snarled a muttered reply that he supposed they must make the best of it and angrily stalked over to pick up the chest. Flint and Sturm followed, the dwarf sneezing until he nearly sneezed himself off his feet.
Laurana walked back to her brother, moving quietly along the sand in her soft leather boots. But the Wilder elf heard her approach. Raising her head, she gave Laurana a fearful look and crept backward as an animal cringes at the sight of man. But Tas, who had been chatting with her in an odd mixture of Common and elven, gently caught hold of the Wilder elf’s arm.
‘Don’t leave,’ said the kender cheerfully. ‘This is the elflord’s sister. Look, Laurana. Gilthanas is coming around. It must be that mud stuff she stuck on his forehead. I could have sworn he’d be out for days.’ Tas stood up. ‘Laurana, this is my friend—what did you say your name was?’
The girl, her eyes on the ground, trembled violently. Her hands picked up bits of sand, then dropped them again. She murmured something none of them could hear.
‘What was it, child?’ Laurana asked in such a sweet and gentle voice that the girl raised her eyes shyly.
‘Silvart,’ she said in a low voice.
‘That means “silver-haired” in the Kaganesti language, does it not?’ Laurana asked. Kneeling down beside Gilthanas, she helped him sit up. Dizzily, he put his hand to his face where the girl had plastered a thick paste over his bleeding cheek.
‘Don’t touch,’ Silvart warned, clasping her hand over Gilthanas’s hand quickly. ‘It will make you well.’ She spoke Common, not crudely, but clearly and concisely.
Gilthanas groaned in pain, shutting his eyes and letting his hand fall. Silvart gazed at him in deep concern. She started to stroke his face, then—glancing swiftly at Laurana—hurriedly withdrew her hand and started to rise.
‘Wait,’ Laurana said. ‘Wait, Silvart.’
The girl froze like a rabbit, staring at Laurana with such fear in her large eyes that Laurana was overcome with shame.
‘Don’t be frightened. I want to thank you for caring for my brother. Tasslehoff is right. I thought his injury was grave indeed, but you have aided him. Please stay with him, if you would.’
Silvart stared at the ground. ‘I will stay with him, mistress, if such is your command.’
‘It is not my command, Silvart,’ Laurana said. ‘It is my wish. And my name is Laurana.’
Silvart lifted her eyes. ‘Then I will stay with him gladly, mis—Laurana, if that is your wish.’ She lowered her head, and they could barely hear her words. ‘My true name, Silvara, means silver-haired. Silvart is what they call me.’ She glanced at the Silvanesti warriors, then her eyes went back to Laurana. ‘Please, I want you to call me Silvara.’
The Silvanesti elves brought over a makeshift litter they had constructed of a blanket and tree limbs. They lifted the elflord—not ungently—onto the litter. Silvara walked beside it. Tasslehoff walked near her, still chattering, pleased to find someone who had not yet heard his stories. Laurana and Elistan walked on the other side of Gilthanas. Laurana held his hand in hers, watching over him tenderly. Behind them came Derek, his face dark and shadowed, the chest with the dragon orb on his shoulder. Behind them marched a guard of Silvanesti elves.
Day was just beginning to dawn, gray and dismal, when they reached the line of trees along the shore. Flint shivered. Twisting his head, he gazed out to sea. ‘What was that Derek said about a—a ship to Sancrist?’
‘I am afraid so,’ Sturm replied. ‘It is also an island.’
‘And we’ve got to go there?’
‘Yes.’
‘To use the dragon orb? We don’t know anything about it!’
‘The Knights will learn,’ Sturm said softly. ‘The future of the world rests on this.’
‘Humpf!’ The dwarf sneezed. Casting a terrified glance at the night-dark waters, he shook his head gloomily. ‘All I know is I’ve been drowned twice, stricken with a deadly disease—’
‘You were seasick.’
‘Stricken with a deadly disease,’ Flint repeated loudly, ‘and sunk. Mark my words, Sturm Brightblade—boats are bad luck to us. We’ve had nothing but trouble since we set foot in that blasted boat on Crystalmir Lake. That was where the crazed magician first saw the constellations had disappeared, and our luck’s gone straight downhill from there. As long as we keep relying on boats, it’s going to go from bad to worse.’
Sturm smiled as he watched the dwarf squish through the sand. But his smile turned to a sigh. I wish it were all that simple, the knight thought.
3
The Speaker of the Suns.
Laurana’s decision.
The Speaker of the Suns, leader of the Qualinesti elves, sat in the crude shelter of wood and mud the Kaganesti elves had built for his domicile. He considered it crude—the Kaganesti considered it a marvelously large and well-crafted dwelling, suitable for five or six families. They had, in fact, intended it as such and were shocked when the Speaker declared it barely adequate for his needs and moved in with his wife—alone.
Of course, what the Kaganesti could not know was that the Speaker’s home in exile became the central headquarters for all the business of the Qualinesti. The ceremonial guards assumed exactly the same positions as they had in the sculptured halls of the palace in Qualinost. The Speaker held audience at the same time and in the same courtly manner, save that his ceiling was a mud-covered dome of thatched grass instead of glittering mosaic, his walls wood instead of crystal quartz.
The Speaker sat in state every day, his wife’s sister’s daughter by his side acting as his scribe. He wore the same robes, conducted business with the same cold aplomb. But there were differences. The Speaker had changed dramatically in the past few months. There were none in the Qualinesti who marveled at this, however. The Speaker had sent his younger son on a mission that most considered suicidal. Worse, his beloved daughter had run away to chase after her half-elven lover. The Speaker expected never to see either of these children again.
He could have accepted the loss of his son, Gilthanas. It was, after all, a heroic, noble act. The young man had led a group of adventurers into the mines of Pax Tharkas to free the humans imprisoned there and draw off the dragonarmies threatening Qualinesti. This plan had been a success—an unexpected success. The dragonarmies had been recalled to Pax Tharkas, giving the elves time to escape to the western shores of their land, and from there across the sea to Southern Ergoth.
The Speaker could not, however, accept his daughter’s loss—or her dishonor.
It was the Speaker’s elder son, Porthios, who had coldly explained the matter to him after Laurana had been discovered missing. She had run off after her childhood friend—Tanis Half-Elven. The Speaker was heartsick, consumed with grief. How could she do this? How could she bring disgrace upon their household? A princess of her people chasing after a bastard half-breed!
Laurana’s flight quenched the light of the sun for her father. Fortunately, the need to lead his people gave him the strength to carry on. But there were times when the Speaker asked what was the use? He could retire, turn the throne over to his eldest son. Porthios ran almost everything anyway, deferring to his father in all that was proper, but making most decisions himself. The young elflord, serious beyond his years, was proving an excellent leader, although some considered him too harsh in his dealings with the Silvanesti and the Kaganesti.