The Theiwar dwarf bore little resemblance to the jovial Dunbarth Ironthumb, of the Hylar Clan, whom Kith-Kanan had met years before. He found Than-Kar’s wide eyes, with their surrounding whites and tiny, beadlike pupils, disturbing—like the eyes of a madman, he thought. The dwarf was filthy and unkempt, with a soiled tunic and muddy boots, almost as if he had made a point of his messy appearance for the benefit of the elven general.
“The Speaker has demanded my presence, and I have come,” announced the dwarf in a tone ripe with insolence.
Kith-Kanan felt an urge to leap from the Speaker’s platform and throttle the obscene creature. With an effort, he held his temper in check.
“My brother has returned from the front,” began Sithas, dispensing with the formality of an introduction. “I desire for you to report to him on the status of your nation’s involvement.”
Than-Kar’s weird eyes appraised Kith-Kanan, while a smirk played on the dwarf’s lips. “No change.” He said bluntly. “My king needs to see some concrete evidence of elven trustworthiness before he will commit dwarven lives to this . . . cause.”
Kith felt his face flush, and he took a step forward. “Surely you understand that all the elder races are threatened by this human aggression?” he demanded.
The Theiwar shrugged. “The humans would say that they are threatened by elven aggression.”
“They are the ones who have marched into elven lands! Lands, I might add, that border firmly against the northern flank of your own kingdom!”
“I don’t see it that way,” snorted the dwarf. “And besides, you have humans among your own ranks! It almost seems to me that it is a family feud. If they see fit to join, why should dwarves get involved?”
Sithas turned in astonishment to Kith-Kanan, though the speaker remained outwardly composed.
“We have no humans fighting on the side of our forces. There are some—women and children, mostly—who have taken shelter in the fortress for the siege. They are merely innocent victims of the war. They do not change its character!”
“More to the point, then,” spoke the ambassador, his voice an accusing hiss,
“explain the presence of elves in the Army of Ergoth!”
“Lies!” shouted Sithas, forgetting himself and springing to his feet. The hall erupted in shouts of anger and denial from courtiers and nobles pressing forward. Than-Kar’s bodyguards bristled and raised their weapons.
“Entire ranks of elves,” continued the dwarf as the crowd murmured. “They resist your imperial hegemony.”
“They are traitors to the homeland!” snapped Sithas.
“A question of semantics,” argued Than-Kar. “I merely mean to illustrate that the confused state of the conflict makes a dwarven intervention seem rash to the point of foolishness.”
Kith-Kanan could hold himself in check no longer. He stepped down from the platform and stared at the dwarf, who was a foot or more shorter than himself.
“You distort the truth in a way that can only discredit your nation!” He continued, his voice a growl. “Any elves among the ranks of Ergoth are lone rogues, lured by human coin or promises of power. Even the likes of you cannot blur the clear lines of this conflict. You spout your lies and your distortions from the safety of this far city; hiding like a coward behind the robes of diplomacy. You make me sick!”
Than-Kar appeared unruffled as he stepped aside to address Sithas. “This example of your general’s impetuous behavior will be duly reported to my king. It cannot further your cause.”
“You set a new standard for diplomatic excess, and you try my patience to its limits. Leave, now!” Sithas hissed the words with thick anger, and the hall fell deathly silent.
If the dwarf was affected by the speaker’s rage, however, he concealed his emotions well. With calculated insolence, he marched his column about and then led them from the Hall of Audience.
“Throw open the windows!” barked the Speaker of the Stars. “Clear the stench from the air!”
Kith-Kanan slumped to sit on the steps of the royal dais, ignoring the surprised looks from some of the stiff-backed elven nobles. “I could have strangled him with pleasure,” he snarled as his brother came to sit beside him.
“The audience is over,” Sithas announced to the rest of the elves, and Kith-Kanan sighed with concern as the last of the anonymous nobles left. The only ones remaining in the great hall were Quimant, the twins, and Nirakina.
“I know I shouldn’t have let him get under my skin like that. I’m sorry,” the general said to the Speaker.
“Nonsense. You said things I’ve wanted to voice for months. It’s better to have a warrior say them than a head of state.” Sithas paused awkwardly.
“What he did say—how much truth was there to it?”
“Very little,” sighed Kith-Kanan. “We are sheltering humans in the fortress, most of them the wives and families of Wildrunners. They would be slain on sight if they fell into the hands of the enemy.”
“And are elves fighting for Ergoth?” Sithas couldn’t keep the dismay from his voice.
“A few rogues, as I said,” Kith admitted. “At least, we’ve had reports of them. I saw one myself in the human camp. But these turncoats are not numerous enough that we have taken notice of them on the field.” He groaned and leaned backward, remembering the offensive and arrogant Theiwar dwarf. “That lout! I suppose it’s a good thing I didn’t have my sword at my side.” “You’re tired,” said Sithas. “Why don’t you relax for a while. This round of banquets and courts and all-night meetings, I’m sure, takes an adjustment. We can talk tomorrow.” “Your brother is right. You do need rest,” Nirakina added in a maternal tone. “I’ll have dinner sent to your apartments.”
The dinner arrived, as Nirakina had promised. Kith-Kanan guessed that his mother had sent orders to the kitchen, and someone in the kitchen had communicated the situation to another interested party. For it was Hermathya who knocked on his door and entered.
“Hello, Hermathya,” he said, sitting up in the bed. He wasn’t particularly surprised to see her, and if he was honest with himself, neither was he very much dismayed.
“I took this from the serving girl,” she said, bringing forward a large silver tray with domed, steaming dishes and crystal platters. Once again he was struck by her air of youth and innocence.
Memories of the two of them together.... Kith-Kanan felt a sudden resurgence of desire, a feeling that he thought had been gone for years. He wanted to take her in his arms. Looking into her eyes, he knew that she desired the same thing.
“I’ll get up. We can dine near the windows.” He didn’t want to suggest they go to the balcony. He felt there was something furtive and private about her visit.
“Just stay there,” she said softly. “I’ll serve you in bed.” He wondered what she meant, at first. Soon he learned, as the dinner grew cold upon a nearby table.
10
Hermathya slipped away sometime during the middle of the night, and Kith-Kanan felt profoundly grateful in the morning that she was gone. Now, in the cold light of day, the passion that had seized them seemed like nothing so much as a malicious and hurtful interlude. The flame that had once drawn them together ought not to be rekindled.
Kith-Kanan spent most of the day with his brother, touring the stables and farriers of the city. He forced himself to maintain focus on the task at hand: gathering additional horses to mount his cavalry forces for the time when the Wildrunners took to the offensive. They both knew that they would, they must, eventually attack the human army. They couldn’t simply wait out the siege.