Tanis decided it was time for a change of subject. "If you can't decide between wood and steel, why not mix them?" His voice was muffled with berries.
Flint nodded, not paying much attention. Then he turned to Tanis. "What was that you said?" he demanded.
"Why not mix…"
But Flint had already pulled out another sheet of parchment and was sketching away furiously. He mumbled to himself, but Tanis couldn't catch the words. The half-elf sighed. It was just as well; with the day's stultifying heat, Tanis was ready for a nap anyway. Five minutes later, the half-elf was curled up on Flint's cot, sound asleep.
The dwarf worked on.
It was early afternoon when Flint finally raised his head from the page. "Look at these, lad. I need your opinion." He looked over at Tanis, but the half-elf barely stirred. "Well!" Flint gazed again at his design, then rolled the sheet into a cylinder, leaving the others on the table, and departed, closing the door quietly.
Thirty minutes later, Flint had unrolled the paper on the Speaker's marble-topped table in the Tower. Solostaran leaned over to examine the dwarf's suggestion.
"I've decided to mix gold, silver, steel, antler, red coral, and malachite," the dwarf said excitedly. "And aspen wood."
The sketch showed a medallion about the size of a child's fist. The medal depicted a woodland scene, with an aspen in the foreground and a path leading back through spruce trees to a hill. Above the hill were two moons. "I'll make the medal by sandwiching a back plate of steel with a fore plate of gold. Into the gold fore plate I'll cut out the figures-the trees, the moons, the path."
Solostaran nodded. It was a clever plan. "What of the coral and malachite?" he asked. "Where do they fit in?"
"I'll inlay the piece," Flint explained. "Once I've sandwiched the two plates together, I'll fill in the outline of the trees-green malachite for the leaves and branches and brown antler for the trunk. The path will be of antler and steel. One moon, Lunitari, will be of red coral. The other, Solinari, will be formed of silver."
But the Speaker looked dubious. "It's beautiful, but it's so elaborate. Are you sure you can fashion this in two weeks?"
Flint winked, and dipped a handful of dried figs and glazed almonds from the silver bowl on the desk. The bowl always seemed to be full whenever the dwarf arrived, but Flint never paused to consider the significance of that; he merely congratulated himself on his good fortune in having a friend whose taste in snacks mirrored his own. 'The hard part is the thinking," the dwarf said. "The rest comes easily.
"Is the design all right?" Hint waited confidently, knowing the Speaker would be pleased but wanting to hear him say it.
"It's perfect." Solostaran said.
A smile split the dwarf's face. "Good. Then I'll get working right away." He reached for his drawing.
Solostaran's voice stopped him. "Master Fireforge. Flint."
The dwarf looked at his friend.
"What are people saying in the aftermath of Lord Xenoth's death?" the Speaker asked quietly.
Flint's hand remained suspended above the parchment. Then he slowly rolled up the sketch. "Well, you know I don't have much business with many of the courtiers now." Especially since he'd taken Tanis's side after the tylor hunt, he might have added.
"What are the common folk saying, then?"
Flint tied a string around the rolled paper and exhaled slowly. "Lord Xenoth wasn't much liked by many people, especially those he considered… lower-class," he said carefully. "But many elves also approved of his views about keeping Qualinesti apart from the rest of Krynn." He decided to plunge on ahead. 'Those same elves don't approve of my being here, and they're not overly fond of allowing half-elves to live in the city, either."
'There are fanatics on every issue," Solostaran murmured. "The question is, how prevalent are they?"
"That I don't know, sir."
Solostaran smiled wanly. "Call me 'Speaker,' " he said. "Remember when I told you that, the day you arrived in Qualinost?"
"Remember?" The dwarf hooted. "How could I forget? How many folks get lessons in court decorum from the Speaker of the Sun himself?"
Solostaran didn't speak, and eventually his smile and Flint's grin faded. "Many of the courtiers are not pleased, Flint. They say… they say I am protecting Tanthalas because he is my ward. They say I should banish him."
Banish Tanis? "That's absurd," Flint said. "He didn't kill Xenoth. Didn't Miral explain how the burst of magic might have diverted the second arrow?"
"Flint," Solostaran said, "I have talked to a number of magic-users in the past weeks, and they all agree. Circumstances such as those Miral painted are extremely unlikely. His explanation would call for the tylor's powerful magic to 'ricochet' off a weak mage like Miral and somehow force one small arrow off course to land in an elf's chest. They say it's not impossible, but not probable, either. For one thing, such an occurrence most likely would have killed any but a powerful mage.
"For the past weeks, I've been going from expert to expert, hoping to find one who will say, 'Yes, that's probably what happened.' "
Solostaran pushed his leather chair away from the massive table and turned to face the huge windows. "It can't be done, Flint. No one who understands magic will say that." Despite the blazing heat outside, the marble and quartz building stayed cool inside. Flint shivered.
"What will you do. Speaker?"
"What can I do?" Solostaran demanded, his angry movements rustling his robe of state. "I am left with a situation in which the closest eyewitness-and someone I trust absolutely-says that the most obvious explanation-that Tanis aimed badly-simply is not true. The other explanations that would exonerate my ward are deemed virtually impossible by elves who should know.
"That leaves me with one conclusion. What happened to Xenoth could not have happened. Yet it obviously did." The Speaker paced before the window wall. "My courtiers feel I should 'do something,' but the result they want appears morally indefensible to me. I cannot banish Tanthalas solely because some hidebound members of court resent his presence and have found a way to get rid of him. And yet…"
He returned to his chair, where he slumped backward. "Somehow I always get back to 'and yet…' "
Flint cast about for a reply, but none was forthcoming. All he could promise to do was to think on the subject, and to keep his ears open to gauge elven opinion on the matter.
When Flint emerged from the Tower of the Sun moments later, prepared to walk slowly down the blue and white tiled streets to his shop, a familiar figure was waiting on the steps of the Tower. A small crowd of admiring children had gathered around Fleetfoot, who lifted her graying muzzle and brayed enthusiastically as Flint drew near. A ragged length of rope hung from the collar that Flint had fashioned for her-his latest attempt to clip her wings.
"You doorknob of a mule!" the dwarf huffed. "Only a kender could be a bigger pest." He grabbed the chewed length of rope and hauled the infatuated animal along the street.
Chapter 20
The scorching weather, so unusual for Qualinost forced even calm sleepers into nightmares. And Miral was no exception.
He was back in the cavern. Stalactites, glowing with some inner light-the only illumination in the cave-dripped from the ceiling. Stalagmites had grown up from the damp floor. He could barely keep his balance on the slippery surface.