Flint’s face flushed. He opened his mouth to reply, but Tasslehoff beat him to it.
‘Isn’t that odd?’ remarked the kender cheerfully, having missed the serious portent of the conversation. ‘According to kender law, if there is a kender law, everybody sort of owns everything.’ (This was quite true. The kenders’ casual attitude toward the possessions of others extended to their own. Nothing in a kender house remained there long, unless it was nailed to the floor. Some neighbor was certain to wander in, admire it, and absentmindedly walk off with it. A family heirloom among kenders was defined as anything remaining in a house longer than three weeks.)
No one spoke after that. Flint kicked Tas under the table, and the kender subsided in hurt silence which lasted until he discovered his neighbor, an elvenlord, had been called from the table, leaving his purse behind. Rummaging through the elflord’s possessions kept the kender happily occupied throughout the rest of the meal.
Flint, who ordinarily would have kept an eye on Tas, did not notice this in his other worries. It was obvious there was going to be trouble. Derek was furious. Only the rigid code of the Knights kept him seated at the table. Laurana sat in silence, not eating. Her face was pale beneath her tanned skin, and she was punching small holes in the finely woven table cloth with her fork. Flint nudged Sturm.
‘We thought getting the dragon orb out of Ice Wall was tough,’ the dwarf said in an undertone. ‘There we only had to escape a crazed wizard and a few walrus-men. Now we’re surrounded by three nations of elves!’
‘We’ll have to reason with them,’ Sturm said softly.
‘Reason!’ The dwarf snorted. ‘Two stones would have a better chance of reasoning with each other!’
That proved to be the case. By the Speaker’s request, the companions remained seated after the other elves left, following dinner. Gilthanas and his sister sat side by side, their faces drawn and worried as Derek stood up before the Speaker to ‘reason’ with him.
‘The orb is ours,’ Derek stated coldly. ‘You have no right to it at all. It certainly does not belong to your daughter or to your son. They traveled with me only by my courtesy, after I rescued them from the destruction of Tarsis. I am happy to have been able to escort them back to their homeland, and I thank you for your hospitality. But I leave tomorrow for Sancrist, taking the orb with me.’
Porthios stood up to face Derek. ‘The kender may say the dragon orb is his. It doesn’t matter.’ The elflord spoke in a smooth, polite voice that slid through the night air like a knife. ‘The orb is in elven hands now, and here it will stay. Do you think we are foolish enough to let this prize be taken by humans to cause more trouble in this world?’
‘More trouble!’ Derek’s face flushed deep red. ‘Do you realize the trouble this world is in now? The dragons drove you from your homeland. They are approaching our homeland now! Unlike you, we do not intend to run. We will stand and fight! This orb could be our only hope—’
‘You have my leave to go back to your homeland and be burned to a crisp for all I care,’ Porthios returned. ‘It was you humans who stirred up this ancient evil. It is fitting that you fight it. The Dragon Highlords have what they want from us. They will undoubtedly leave us in peace. Here, on Ergoth, the orb will be kept safe.’
‘Fool!’ Derek slammed his fist on the table. ‘The Dragon Highlords have only one thought and that is to conquer all of Ansalon! That includes this miserable isle! You may be safe here for a time, but if we fall, you will fall, too!’
‘You know he speaks truly, Father,’ Laurana said, greatly daring. Elven women did not attend war meetings, much less speak. Laurana was present only because of her unique involvement. Rising to her feet, she faced her brother, who glowered at her disapprovingly. ‘Porthios, our father told us in Qualinesti that the Dragon Highlord wanted not only our lands but also the extermination our race! Have you forgotten?’
‘Bah! That was one Dragon Highlord, Verminaard. He is dead—’
‘Yes, because of us,’ Laurana shouted angrily, ‘not you!’
‘Laurana!’ The Speaker of the Suns rose to his full height, taller even than his oldest son. His presence towered over them all. ‘You forget yourself, young woman. You have no right to speak to your elder brother like that. We faced perils of our own in our journey. He remembered his duty and his responsibility, as did Gilthanas. They did not go running off after a half-elven bastard like a brazen, human wh—’ The Speaker stopped abruptly.
Laurana went white to the lips. She swayed, clutching the table for support. Gilthanas rose swiftly, coming to her side, but she pushed him away. ‘Father,’ she said in a voice she did not recognize as her own, ‘what were you about to say?’
‘Come away, Laurana,’ Gilthanas begged. ‘He didn’t mean it. We’ll talk in the morning.’
The Speaker said nothing, his face, gray and cold.
‘You were about to say “human whore”!’ Laurana said softly, her words falling like pins on nerves stretched taut.
‘Go to your lodgings, Laurana,’ the Speaker ordered in a tight voice.
‘So that is what you think of me,’ Laurana whispered, her throat constricting. ‘That is why everyone stares and stops talking when I come near them. Human whore.’
‘Sister, do as your father commands,’ Porthios said. ‘As for what we think of you—remember, you brought this on yourself. What do you expect? Look at you, Laurana! You are dressed like a man. You proudly wear a sword stained with blood. You talk glibly of your “adventures!” Traveling with men such as these—humans and dwarves! Spending the nights with them. Spending the nights with your half-breed lover. Where is he? Did he tire of you and—’
The firelight flared before Laurana’s eyes. Its heat swept over her body, to be replaced by a terrible cold. She could see nothing and remembered only a horrifying sensation of falling without being able to catch herself. Voices came at her from a great distance, distorted faces bent over her.
‘Laurana, my daughter...’
Then nothing.
‘Mistress...’
‘What? Where am I? Who are you? I—I can’t see! Help me!’
‘There, mistress. Take my hand. Shhhh. I am here. I am Silvara. Remember?’
Laurana felt gentle hands take her own as she sat up.
‘Can you drink this, mistress?’
A cup was placed to her lips. Laurana sipped at it, tasting clear, cold water. She grasped it and drank eagerly, feeling it cool her fevered blood. Strength returned, she found she could see again. A small candle burned beside her bed. She was in her room, in her father’s house. Her clothes lay on a crude wooden bench, her swordbelt and scabbard stood near, her pack was on the floor. At a table, across from her bed, sat a nursemaid, her head cradled in her arms, fast asleep.
Laurana turned to Silvara, who, seeing the question in her eyes, put her finger to her lips.
‘Speak softly,’ the Wilder elf replied. ‘Oh, not for that one’—Silvara glanced at the nurse—‘she will sleep peacefully for many, many hours before the potion wears off. But there are others in the house who may be wakeful. Do you feel better?’
‘Yes,’ Laurana answered, confused. ‘I don’t remember—’
‘You fainted,’ Silvara answered. ‘I heard them talking about it when they carried you back here. Your father is truly grieved. He never meant to say those things. It is just that you hurt him so terribly—’
‘How did you hear?’
‘I was hiding, in the shadows in the corner there. An easy thing for my people to do. The old nurse said you were fine, you just needed rest, and they left. When she went to fetch a blanket, I put the sleep juice in her tea.’