Dunbarth bowed his head, not in agreement, but in recognition of Sithel’s admirable powers of restraint. The mixed-race issue was a very sensitive one, as the dwarf well knew. His own people were race-proud too, and no dwarf had ever been known to intermarry with another race.
“I met many half-humans among the refugees who lately came to our city for shelter from bandits,” Lady Nirakina said gently. “They were such sad folk, and many were quite presentable. It seems wrong to me to blame them for the follies of their parents.”
“Their existence is not something we can encourage,” Sithel countered with noticeable vigor. “As you say, they are known to be melancholy, and that makes them dangerous. They often figure in acts of violence and crime. They hate the Silvanesti because we are pure in blood, while they languish with human clumsiness and frailty. I suppose you in Thorbardin have heard of the riot we had in late summer?”
“There were mutterings of such an event,” said Dunbarth casually.
“It was all due to the violent natures of some humans and half-humans we had unwisely allowed on the island. The riot was quelled, and the troublemakers driven away.” Nirakina sighed noticeably. Sithel ignored his wife as he continued to make his point. “There can never be peace between Silvanesti and human, unless we keep to our own borders—and our own beds.”
Dunbarth rubbed his red, bulbous nose. He had a heavy ring on each of his fingers, and they glittered in the candlelight. “Is that what you will tell the emissary from Ergoth?”
“It is,” Sithel said vehemently.
“Your wisdom is great, Sithel Twice-Blest. My king has given me almost exactly the same words to speak. If we present a united front to the humans, they will have to accede to our demands.”
The dinner ended quickly. Toasts were made to the health of the king of Thorbardin and to the hospitality of the Speaker of the Stars. That done, Lord Dunbarth and Drollo withdrew.
Sithas strode to the door after it closed behind the ambassador. “That old fox! He was trying to make an alliance with you before the humans even arrive! He wants to promote a conspiracy!”
Sithel dipped his hand in a silver bowl of rosewater held by a servant. “My son, Dunbarth is a master of his craft. He was testing our eagerness to compromise. Had he behaved otherwise, I would have thought King Voldrin a fool to have sent him.”
“This all seems very confusing to me,” complained Lady Nirakina. “Why don’t you all speak the truth and work from there!”
Sithel did a rare thing. He burst out laughing. “Diplomats tell the truth! My dear Kina, the stars would fall from heaven and the gods would faint with horror if diplomats started speaking the truth!”
Later that night came a knock on Sithas’s door. A storm-drenched warrior strode in, bowed, and said in a ringing voice, “Forgive this intrusion, Highness, but I bring word of the emissary from Ergoth!”
“Yes?” said Sithas tensely. There was so much talk of treachery, he feared foul play had befallen the humans.
“Highness, the ambassador and his party are waiting on the bank of the river. The ambassador demands that he be met by a representative of the royal house.”
“Who is this human?” Sithas asked.
“He gave his name as Ulwen, first praetor of the emperor of Ergoth,” replied the soldier.
“First praetor, eh? Is the storm worse?” Sithas questioned.
“It is bad, Highness. My boat nearly sank crossing the Thon-Thalas.”
“And yet this Ulwen insists on crossing immediately?”
The soldier said yes. “You will pardon me, sire, for saying so, but he is very arrogant, even for a human.”
“I shall go,” Sithas said simply. “It is my duty. Lord Dunbarth was met by me, and it is only just that I greet Praetor Ulwen likewise.”
The prince left with the soldier, but not before sending word to the clerics of E’li, to ask them to begin working their spells to deflect the storm. It was unusual for so strong a storm to come before the winter season. The conference promised to be difficult enough without the added threat of wind and water.
16 — While the Storm Raged
How wonderful this time is, Kith-Kanan thought. Not only did he have his growing love for Anaya, which was sweeter than anything he’d ever known, but his friendship with Mackeli, as well. They had become a family—Anaya, his wife, and Mackeli, like a son.
It was not an easy life, by any means. There was always work to be done, but there was time to laugh too, to swim in the pool, to take short flying excursions on Arcuballis, to tell stories around the fire at night. Kith-Kanan had began to understand the Silvanesti who had left Silvanost to start new lives in the wilderness. The days ran their own course in the forest. There were no calendars and no clocks. There was no social hierarchy either; there were no rich and no poor. You hunted for yourself, provided for your own needs. And no one stood between an elf and the gods. As he looked over a forest glade, or knelt by a brook, Kith-Kanan felt closer to the gods than he ever had in the cold, marble precincts of Silvanost’s temples.
No priests, no taxes, no protocol. For a long time, Kith-Kanan had believed that his life had ended the day he’d left Silvanost. Now he knew it had been a new beginning.
As the weeks went by, hunting grew poorer and poorer. Anaya went out, sometimes for two or three days at a time, and returned only with a brace of rabbits, squirrels, or other small game. At one point she had been reduced to catching pigeons, a poor return for her days in the woods.
Nothing like this had ever happened before, according to Mackeli. Usually, Anaya went out and set a snare or trap and a likely prize would practically fall into it. Now, the animals were nowhere to be seen. In hopes of adding to the meager hunting, Kith-Kanan worked harder to develop his woodland skills. He hunted frequently, but had yet to bring anything back.
This day a lone hart moved slowly through the forest, its small hooves sinking deep into drifts of fallen leaves. Its black nose twitched as the wind brought smells from far away.
Kith-Kanan, wedged ten feet off the ground into the fork of a linden tree, was motionless. He willed the deer not to smell him, not to see him. Then, as slowly as possible, the prince drew his bow and swiftly let fly. His aim was true. The hart leaped away, but only for a few yards before it collapsed into the leaves.
Kith-Kanan let out a yell of triumph. Eight months in the wildwood, and this was his first hunting success. He skittered down the tree and ran to the fallen deer. Yes! The arrow had hit the beast right in the heart.
He dressed the carcass. As he slung it over his shoulder, Kith-Kanan realized that he couldn’t stop grinning. Wouldn’t Anaya be surprised?
The air was chill, and under his burden Kith-Kanan panted, sending little puffs of vapor from his nostrils and mouth. He walked quickly, making a lot of noise, but it didn’t matter now. He had made a kill! He’d been walking for some time when the first flakes of snow began to fall. A sort of steady hiss pervaded the forest as the light flakes filtered down through the bare tree limbs. It wasn’t a heavy fall, but as the prince’s trek continued, the brown leaves on the forest floor gradually acquired a thin frosting of white.
He climbed the hill to the clearing, meeting Mackeli on the way.
“Look what I have!” Kith-Kanan exclaimed. “Fresh meat!”
“Congratulations, Kith. You’ve worked hard to get it,” the boy said, but a frown creased his forehead.
“What’s the matter?”
Mackeli looked at him and blinked. “It’s snowing.”
Kith-Kanan shifted the weight of the carcass to a more comfortable position. “What’s wrong with that? It is winter, after all.”
“You don’t understand,” said the boy. He took Kith-Kanan’s quiver and bow, and together they proceeded up the hill. “It never snows in our clearing.” They gained the crest of the hill. The clearing was already lightly dusted with snow.