“Strange weather,” Ulvissen remarked as Sithas looked out over the scene.
“We seldom get snow or ice here, but these storms blow in from the southern ocean many times each winter,” explained the Silvanesti prince.
The river was alive with small craft taking advantage of the lull. Ulvissen turned up the flaps of his thick, woolen cape as he asked Sithas if river traffic was usually interrupted for the duration of the storm.
“Oh, no. The fishers and barge runners are accustomed to bad weather. Only the very worst winds will keep them tied to the dock.”
Sithas’s escort and the ambassador’s guards lined up as Ulwen and Teralind came out. The old ambassador looked even worse by daylight. His skin was sallow, with blue veins boldly visible. He moved so little that Sithas might have taken him for a corpse, were it not that his eyes blinked now and then.
The gang of servants fell to and struck the tent. While the windy air resounded with mallet strikes and the thud of falling canvas, Sithas went to the barge. The giant turtle had drawn in his head and legs during the night, and he was still asleep. Sithas rapped on the hull of the barge.
“Ferry master!” he called. “Are you there?”
The elderly elf’s head popped out over the bulwark. “Indeed I am, Highness!” He hopped up on the bulwark with a spryness that belied his advanced age. A long pry bar rested on the boatman’s shoulder, and he twirled it slightly as he went to where the chains hooking the turtle to the barge were looped over enormous iron hooks, spiked to the bow of the barge. Positioning the flat end of the pry bar under the chain links, he shouted, “Clear away All!”
The soldiers of both races perked up. Sithas, who was walking back to stand with Ulvissen, halted and spun around. The ferry master leaned on his bar, and the first chain slipped off its hook. He shouted to clear the way again and popped the other chain free. The elf prince saw that the humans were watching with rapt interest. He hoped the ferry master knew what he was doing.
The giant shackles fell against the shell of the turtle. This woke the beast, for the front hinge of its carapace, that part that closed in the giant animal’s head, opened. The huge green head slowly emerged.
The ferry master raised his trumpet to his lips and sounded a single note. The turtle’s legs came out, and he stood up. The rear of the turtle’s shell bumped the barge, and the craft began to move.
“Look sharp!” sang out the ferry master.
With rapidly increasing speed, the fifty-foot barge slid down the muddy hill. It already had a natural groove to follow—the one it had made coming up the hill the night before. Churning a wave of mud before it, the barge accelerated down the slope. The ferry master played a cavalry charge on his horn.
“Madness!” exclaimed Teralind. “He’ll smash himself to bits.”
Sithas glanced over his shoulder and saw that the human woman had come forward, leaving her chair-bound husband with Ulvissen. As politeness dictated, he assuaged her fears as best he could. “It is a common thing. Do not fear, Lady, the craft is stoutly built.” He prayed to Matheri that this was indeed so.
The flat stern of the barge hit the water, throwing up a tremendous wave. Then the barge slid completely off the bank into the river, leaving a cloud of mud in the water around it.
The turtle swung around ponderously. The humans who had been dismantling the tent scattered as the great beast swung toward them. With utmost placidity the giant turned and walked down the hill. The incline and slippery mud bothered him not at all. As the ferry master commanded him with trumpet calls, the turtle slid quietly into the river and allowed the chains to be re-attached to the barge.
In another hour, the ambassador’s party was ready to board. By the time they moved down a marble-paved path to the water’s edge, the wind had slowed and died out completely.
The captain of the elven soldiers shook his head. “The lull’s ending,” he noted, resignation coloring his comment.
“More rain?” asked Ulvissen.
“And more wind,” replied Sithas.
The ambassador’s party made it to the island without incident. Waiting for them were three large sedan chairs and two horse-drawn wagons. Spray broke over the dock, soaking the poor porters who stood by the sedan chairs. With scant attention to protocol, the ambassador was bundled into one chair, Lady Teralind into another, and Sithas into the third. The wagons were for the baggage. Everyone else had to walk.
Sithas was surprised when he entered his private rooms in the palace. The window shutters were drawn against the rain, and waiting for him in the dim, unlit room was Hermathya.
“So you’re home,” she said with irritation. “Was it worth it?”
Her tone was arch, close to anger. Though he had no reason, Sithas felt his own emotions hardening, a fact that surprised him.
“It had to be done,” he said smoothly. “As it is, things turned out rather well. We showed the humans of what stuff elves are made.”
She trembled and strode past the prince to the shuttered window. Rain was seeping through the slats, pooling on the cool marble floor.
“And what are you made of?” she demanded, temper flaring.
“What do you mean? What’s the matter?”
“You risked your life for etiquette! Did you give any thought to me? What would happen to me if you had been killed?”
Sithas sighed and sat in a chair made of intertwined maple saplings. “Is that what’s bothering you? It’s unworthy of you, Thya. After all, I was in no real danger.”
“Don’t be so damned logical! You’ve no idea what I meant.” Hermathya turned to the speaker’s heir. Through clenched teeth, she said, “I’ve passed my first fertile time. It’s gone, and we missed it.”
Sithas finally understood. Even though an elven couple might live as husband and wife a thousand years, they might only be fertile three or four times in their entire lives. These times were very irregular; even the healing clerics of Quenesti Pah couldn’t predict a fertile time more than a day or two in advance.
“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” Sithas asked, his voice softening.
“You weren’t here. You were sleeping by yourself.”
“Am I so unapproachable?”
She fingered the edge of her embroidered collar “Yes, you are.”
“You have no problem getting what you want from others,” Sithas went on heedlessly. “You collect gifts and compliments as a child picks flowers in a field. Why can’t you speak to me? I am your husband.”
“You are the elf I married,” she corrected, “not the elf I loved.”
Sithas stood quickly. “I’ve heard enough. In the future you.”
She moved toward him. “Will you listen to me for once? If you insist on risking your life on foolish errands, then you must give me a child. Our marriage can mean something then. An heir needs an heir. You want a son; I need a child.”
The prince folded his arms, annoyed at her pleading tone. That emotion confused Sithas somewhat. Why did her pleading irritate him? “Perhaps it is the wisdom of the gods that this happened,” he said. “It is not a good time to start a family.”
“How can you say that?” she asked.
“It is Matheri’s own truth. My life is not my own. I have to live for the nation. With all this trouble in the West, I may even have to take up arm for the speaker’s cause.”
Hermathya laughed bitterly. “You, a warrior? You have the wrong twin in mind. Kith-Kanan is the warrior. You are a priest.”
Coldly Sithas told her, “Kith-Kanan is not here.”
“I wish to Astarin he was! He would not have left me last night!” she said harshly.
“Enough!” Sithas went to the door. With unmatched politeness, he said, “Lady, I am truly sorry to have missed the time, but it is done and no peace will come from dwelling on lost chances.” He went out. Behind him, Hermathya dissolved in furious tears.