“We’ll make them understand,” growled Sithas, looking to the lord as if he expected Quimant to challenge him. His wife’s cousin remained silent on that point, however.
Instead, Quimant hesitantly offered another suggestion. “We do have another source of troops,” he ventured. “However, they may not meet with the Speaker’s satisfaction.”
“Another source? Where?” Sithas demanded.
“Humans—mercenaries. There are great bands of them in the plains north of here and over to the west. Many of them bear no great love for the emperor of Ergoth and would be willing to join our service—for a price, of course.”
“Never!” Sithas leaped to his feet, livid. “How can you even suggest such an abomination! If we cannot preserve our nation with our own troops, we do not deserve victory!”
His voice rang from the walls of the small chamber, and he glared at Quimant and Ambrodel, as if daring a challenge. None was forthcoming, and slowly the Speaker of the Stars relaxed.
“Forgive my outburst,” he said, with a nod to Quimant. “You were merely making a suggestion. That I understand.” “Consider the suggestion withdrawn.” The lord bowed to his ruler.
The recruits for the griffon-mounted cavalry were sworn in during a sunny ceremony a week after the brothers had arrived in the city. The event was held on the gaming fields beyond the gardens, for no place else in the city provided enough open space for the great steeds and their proud, newly appointed riders to assemble.
Thousands of elves turned out to watch, overflowing the large grandstands and lining the perimeter of the fields. Others gathered in the nearby towers, many of which rose a hundred feet or more into the air, providing splendid vantage.
“I welcome you, brave elves, to the ranks of an elite and decisive force, unique in our grand history!” Kith-Kanan addressed the recruits while the onlookers strained to hear his words.
“We shall take to the sky under a name that bespeaks our speed—henceforth we shall be known as the Windriders!”
A great cheer arose from the warriors and the spectators.
As Quimant had predicted, many scions of noble families had flocked to the call to arms once they learned of the nature of the elite unit. Kith-Kanan had disappointed and angered a great number of them by selecting his troops only after extensive combat tests and rigorous training procedures. Sons of masons, carpenters, and laborers were offered the same opportunities as the proud heirs of the noble houses. Those who were not truly desirous of the honor, or were unwilling or incapable of meeting the high standards established by Kith-Kanan, quickly fell away, consigned to the infantry. At the end of the brutal week of tests, the elven commander had been left with more than a thousand elves of proven courage, dedication, and skill.
“You will train in the use of the light lance, the elven longbow, and the steel-edged longsword. Lances will be wielded in the air or on the ground!” He looked over the assembled elves. They stood, a pair flanking each griffon, wearing shiny steel helms with long plumes of horsehair. The Windriders wore supple leather boots and smooth torso armor of black leather. They were a formidable force, and the training to come would only enhance their abilities. Brass trumpets blared the climax of the ceremony, and each of the Windriders received a steel-edged shortsword, which would be worn throughout the training. They would have to learn fast, Kith-Kanan had warned his new recruits, and he knew that they would.
He looked to the west, suddenly restless. It won’t be long now, he told himself.
Soon the siege of Sithelbec would be broken—and how long after that would it be before the war was won?
20
Kith-Kanan couldn’t sleep. He went for a walk in the Gardens of Astarin, relieved that the griffons had all been moved to the sporting fields. There the creatures rested and enjoyed the fresh meat that the palace liverymen hastily had butchered and carted over to them.
For a time, the elf lost himself in the twists and turns of the elegant gardens. The soothing surroundings took him back to his youth, to untroubled days and, later, to passionate nights. How many times, he reflected, had he and Hermathya met among this secluded foliage?
Anxiously he tried to shrug off the memories. Soon he and Arcuballis would take to the air, leaving this city and its temptations behind. The mere sight of her was a source of deep guilt and discomfort to him.
As if circumstances mirrored his thoughts, he turned a corner and encountered his brother’s wife, walking in quiet contemplation. Hermathya looked up, but if she was at all surprised to encounter him, her face didn’t reveal anything.
“Hello, Kith-Kanan.” Her smile was deep and warm and suddenly, it seemed to Kith, reckless.
“Hello, Hermathya.” He was certainly surprised to see her. The rest of the palace was dark, and the hour was quite late.
“I saw you come to the garden and came here to find you,” she informed him.
Alarms bells went off in his mind as he gazed at her. By the gods, how beautiful she was! No woman he had ever known aroused him like Hermathya. Not even Anaya. He could tell, by the smoldering look in her eyes, that her thoughts were similar.
She took a step toward him.
The instinct to reach out and crush her to him, to pull her into his arms and touch her, was almost overpowering. But at the same time, he had sordid memories of their last tryst and her unfaithfulness to his brother. He wanted her, but he dare not weaken again—especially now, after all that he and Sithas had been through together.
Only with a great effort of will did Kith-Kanan step back, raising his hands to stop her approach.
“You are my brother’s wife,” he said, somewhat irrelevantly.
“I was his wife last autumn,” she spat, suddenly venomous.
“Last autumn was a mistake. Hermathya, I loved you once. I think of you now more than I care to admit. But I will not betray my brother!” Again, he added silently. “Can you accept this? Can we be members of the same family and not torment each other with memories of a past that ought to be buried and forgotten?”
Hermathya suddenly clasped her hands over her face. Her body wracking with sobs, she turned and ran, swiftly disappearing from Kith-Kanan’s sight. For a long time afterward, he stared at the spot where she had stood. The image of her body, of her face, of her exquisite presence, remained vivid in his mind, almost as if she was still there.
Three days later, Kith was ready to embark. His plan of battle had been made, but there remained many things to be done. The Windriders wouldn’t fly to the west for another six weeks. Under the tutelage of their new captain, Hallus, they had to train rigorously in the meantime.
“How long do you think it will take to find Dunbarth?” asked Sithas when he, his mother, and Tamanier Ambrodel came to see Kith-Kanan off. Kith shrugged. “That’s one reason I’m leaving right away. I have to hook up with the dwarves and fill them in on the timetable, then get to Sithelbec before the Windriders.”
“Be careful,” his mother urged. The color had come back into her face since the brothers’ return, and for the past several weeks she had seemed as merry and robust as ever. Now she struggled not to weep.
“I will,” Kith promised, holding her in his arms. They all hoped the war would end quickly but understood that it might be many months, even years, before he could return.
The door to the audience chamber burst open, and the elves whirled, surprised and then amused. Vanesti stood there.
Sithas’s son, not yet a year old, toddled toward them with an unsteady gait and a broad smile across his elven features. In his hand, he brandished a wooden sword, slashing at imagined enemies to the right and left until his own momentum toppled him to the floor. The sword abandoned, he rose and approached Kith-Kanan unsteadily.