“I thank you for bringing me through those doors,” Sithas said with a chuckle. “Sometimes I need to be reminded.”
“Your father, too, needed a subtle reminder now and then. I tried to give him that when it became necessary.”
For a moment, Sithas felt a wave of melancholy. “I miss him now more than ever. I feel so ... unready to sit on his throne.”
“You are ready,” said Nirakina firmly. “Your wisdom is seeing us through the most difficult time since the Dragon Wars. But since you are about to become a father, you must realize that your life cannot be totally given over to your nation. You have a family to think about, as well.”
Sithas smiled. “The clerics of Quenesti Pah are with Hermathya at all times. They say it will be any day now.”
“The clerics, and her sisters,” Nirakina murmured.
“Yes,” Sithas agreed. Hermathya’s sisters, Gelynna and Lyath, had moved into the palace as soon as his wife’s pregnancy had become known. They were pleasant enough, but Sithas had come to feel that his apartments were somehow less than his own now. It was a feeling he didn’t like but that he had tried to overlook for Hermathya’s sake.
“She has changed, Mother, that much you must see. Hermathya had become a new woman even before she knew about the child. She has been a support and a comfort to me, as if for the first time.”
“It is the war,” said Nirakina. “I have noticed this change you speak of, and it began with the war. She, her clan of Oakleaf, they all thrive upon this intensity and activity.” The elven woman paused, then added, “I noticed Lord Quimant leaving before I entered. You speak with him often. Is he proving himself useful?”
“Indeed, very. Does this cause you concern?”
Nirakina sighed, then shook her head. “I—no-no, it doesn’t. You are doing the right thing for Silvanesti, and if he can aid you, that is a good thing.” Sithas stopped at a stone bench. His mother sat while he paced idly below overhanging branches of silvery quaking aspen that shimmered in the light breeze.
“Have you had word from Tamanier Ambrodel?” Nirakina asked. Sithas smiled confidentially. “He has arrived at Thorbardin safely and hopes to get in touch with the Hylar. With any luck, he will see the king himself. Then we shall find out if this Than-Kar is doing us true justice as ambassador.”
“And you have told no one of Lord Ambrodel’s mission?” his mother inquired carefully.
“No ” Sithas informed her. “Indeed, Quimant and I discussed the dwarves today, but I said nothing even to him about our quiet diplomat. Still, I wish you would tell me why we must maintain such secrecy.”
“Please, not yet,” Nirakina demurred.
A thin haze had gradually spread across the sky, and now the wind carried a bit of early winter in its caress. Sithas saw his mother shiver in her light silken garment.
“Come, we’ll return to the hall,” he said, offering his arm as she rose.
“And your brother?” Nirakina asked tentatively as they turned back toward the crystal doors. “Can you send him more troops?”
“I don’t know yet,” Sithas replied, the agony of the decision audible in his voice. “Can I risk arousing the city?”
“Perhaps you need more information.”
“Who could inform me of that which I don’t already know?” Sithas asked skeptically.
“Kith-Kanan himself.” His mother stopped to face him as the doors opened and the warmth of the tower beckoned. “Bring him home, Sithas,” she said urgently, taking both of his arms in her hands. “Bring him home and talk to him!”
Sithas was surprised at his own instinctive reaction. The suggestion made surprisingly good sense. It offered him hope—and an idea for action that would unite, not divide, his people. Yet how could he call his brother home now, out of the midst of a monstrous encircling army?
The next day Quimant again was Sithas’s first and primary visitor.
“My lord,” began the adviser, “have you made a decision about conscription of additional forces? I am reluctant to remind you, but time may be running short.”
Sithas frowned. Unbidden, his mind recalled the scene at the riverbank when the first column departed for war. Now more than half those elves were dead. What would be the city’s reaction should another, larger force march west?
“Not yet. I wish to wait until . . .” His voice trailed off. He had been about to mention Ambrodel’s mission. “I will not make that decision yet,” he concluded. He was spared the necessity of further discussion when Stankathan, his palace majordomo, entered the great hall. That dignified elf, clad in a black waistcoat of wool, preceded a travel-stained messenger who wore the leather jerkin of a Wildrunner scout. The latter bore a scroll of parchment sealed with a familiar stamp of red wax.
“A message from my brother?” Sithas rose to his feet, recognizing the form of the sheet.
“By courier, who came from across the river just this morning,” replied Stankathan. “I brought him over to the tower directly.” Sithas felt a surge of delight, as he did every fortnight or so when a courier arrived with the latest reports from Kith-Kanan. Yet that delight had lately been tempered by the grim news from his brother and the besieged garrison. He looked at the courier as the elf approached and bowed deeply. Besides the dirt and mud of the trail, Sithas saw that the fellow had a sling supporting his right arm and a dark, stained bandage around the leggings of his left knee.
“My gratitude for your efforts,” said Sithas, appraising the rider. The elf stood taller after his words, as if the praise of the speaker was a balm to his wounds.
“What was the nature of your obstacles?”
“The usual rings of guards, Your Highness,” replied the elf. “But the humans lack sorcerers and so cannot screen the paths with magic. The first day of my journey I was concealed by invisibility, a spell that camouflaged myself and my horse. Afterward, the fleetness of my steed carried me, and I encountered only one minor fray.”
The Speaker of the Stars took the scroll and broke the wax seal. Carefully he unrolled the sheet, ignoring Quimant for the time being. The lord stood quietly; if he was annoyed, he made no visible sign of the fact.
Sithas read the missive solemnly.
I look out, my brother, upon an endless sea of humanity. Indeed, they surround us like the ocean surrounds an island, completely blocking our passage. It is only with great risk that my couriers can penetrate the lines—that, and the aid of spells cast by my enchanters, which allow them some brief time to escape the notice of the foe.
What is to be the fate now of our cause? Will the army of Ergoth attack and carry the fort? Their horses sweep in great circles about us, but the steeds cannot reach us here. The other two wings have joined General Giarna before Sithelbec, and their numbers truly stun the mind.
General Giarna, I have learned, is the name of the foe we faced in the spring, the one who drove us from the field. We have taken prisoners from his force, and to a man they speak of their devotion to him and their confidence that he will one day destroy us! I met him in the brief hours I was prisoner, and he is a terrifying man. There is something deep and cruel about him that transcended any foe I have ever encountered.
Will the dwarves of Thorbardin march from their stronghold and break the siege from the south? That, my brother, would be a truly magnificent feat of diplomacy on your part. Should you bring such an alliance into being, I could scarce convey my gratitude across the miles!
Or will the hosts of Silvanost march forth, the elves united in their campaign against the threat to our race? That, I am afraid, is the least likely of my musings—at least, from the words you give me as to our peoples’ apathy and lack of concern. How fares the diplomatic battle, Brother?
I hope to amuse you with one tale, an experience that gave us all many moments of distraction, not to mention fear. I have written to you of the gnomish lava cannon, the mountain vehicle pulled by a hundred oxen, its stony maw pointed skyward as it belches smoke and fire. Finally, shortly after my last letter, this device was hauled into place before Sithelbec. It stood some three miles away but loomed so high and spumed so furiously that we were indeed distraught!