“Indeed. Sometimes the greatest gifts come disguised in the most mysterious fashion,” Rashas agreed.
Gilthas swam long strokes in the clear pool outside the Speaker’s house. For an hour, he cut through the water, back and forth, alternately churning and gliding until he was exhausted. Then he went inside and had a bath in water so hot that it all but scalded his skin. When he got out of the tub, two matronly slaves toweled him with rough enthusiasm, so much so that it seemed as though they scraped away a whole layer of his skin.
Even so, he still felt unclean.
He went to his study, where he closed the door and, despite the late afternoon sun streaming in through the open window, lit an oil lantern and settled in a corner chair. He had a leather-bound tome in his hands, a volume he had recently discovered in the library of this great house. The book was entitled The Vingaard Campaign, and had been scribed by the renowned historian Foryth Teel, assistant to Astinus Lorekeeper himself.
More significant to Gilthas, it was a story about his mother. The events described in the book had occurred only thirty years ago. Foryth Teel wrote a story of war, of a remarkable series of offensive battles during which the Knights of Solamnia had liberated the lands of Northern Ansalon, the territories that had over previous years been crushed under the heel of the dragon highlords.
He had been reading bits and pieces of the book over the last few days, perhaps to remind himself that there had really been a time—and not very long ago!—when the elves had fought for a just cause, battling with courage and heroism against the hordes of the Dark Queen, who sought to subjugate the world underneath a realm of violence, slavery, and savage conquest. At times, he was numbed by a sense of real grief as he thought about how far his people had fallen.
During other passages, he was staggered by a sense of bitter irony. The Emperor of Ansalon, the Highlord Ariakas, had fought for five years, slowly expanding the swath of his conquest across Krynn until, under the leadership of generals such as Gilthas’s mother Laurana, the dragonarmies had been swept backward, finally scattered when their queen had deserted them and their foul temple. Now it was Ariakas’s son, the Lord Ariakan, who led the Knights of Takhisis on a fast and efficient campaign. In a matter of weeks, he had conquered territories that his father had never been able to reach, and now held such firm sway on Ansalon that it was difficult to conceive of any kind of organized resistance.
And then there were times where Gilthas was simply lost in a story of high adventure, when he marveled at the exploits of dragons of gold and silver, of brave warriors—including not only his mother, but also his uncle, Gilthanas, and legendary heroes such as Flint Fireforge—and of the desperate battles that culminated in the magnificent victory at Margaard Ford, a key crossing of the Vingaard River. In the end, he admitted that this was the reason he enjoyed reading the book, for it carried him away with its epic sweep and its dazzling rendition of people, dragons, places, and events.
He wondered if his mother had received his invitation, if she planned to come here. He missed her, longed for her presence and her guidance. It was better for her safety, he told himself, though he realized that her presence would do more to ease his own loneliness than it would for Laurana’s security.
An hour later Kerian knocked, and it was with a rush of pleasure that he closed the leather covers and called for her to enter.
“Hello,” he said, rising and stretching his arms over his head. “I was reading... got lost in the past for a little while.”
“I am glad,” the Kagonesti woman said. “I came to see if you would like some wine before dinner.”
“Yes, that would be splendid.” He noticed that she had brought a pitcher, and she advanced into the room at his answer. “Would you care to have a glass with me?”
“Yes... I would.”
He waited while she poured them each a mug of the pale liquid. When she brought his glass over to his chair, he took it, then followed her to sit beside her on the couch.
“I have had word from my... from the forest,” Kerianseray said. “It arrived just this afternoon.”
“Word from the wild elves? How?” Gilthas asked. He wasn’t aware of any messengers coming to the house.
“I am sorry, my lord, but I am not permitted to discuss that part of my duties.”
Gilthas was surprised by her refusal. Only then did he stop to consider the extraordinary trust she had placed in him merely by revealing the fact that she was able to maintain some sort of surreptitious contact with her tribe.
“Of course. Forgive me for asking,” he said, though a part of him was desperately curious and thought that, if she really did trust him, she should be willing to reveal the details he sought. Still, he decided to let the matter rest for now. “What did you learn?”
“Porthios Solostaran has agreed to meet with you, provided you come to the meeting alone.”
“Yes, of course! That’s wonderful!” he cried, elated.
“I’m glad you’re pleased,” Kerian said, looking happy herself.
Impulsively he put his hands on her shoulders, and this time pulled her close before she could lower her face. His lips found hers, and their kiss was like a bond sealed in fire. Her mouth was slightly open, and Gilthas felt a whirlwind of emotions, new experiences assaulting him, tantalizing him, reaching deep into his soul.
As if he were mired in a dream—a fantastic, wondrously arousing dream—he felt her arms reach around his shoulders, and then she was pulling him closer. She welcomed his kiss, reciprocated with warmth and fire.
And then that fire was everywhere, pouring through Gilthas’s veins, clouding his thoughts, pounding a savage drumbeat in his heart. He drew a breath, the sweetest air he had ever tasted, and pressed harder against her, feeling her falling back as his weight bore her down upon the couch.
Their surroundings disappeared, and he was only aware of the two of them, each wrapped in the other, in bliss and warmth and desire. And for a time, too short a time, Gilthas forgot his throne, forgot the Thalas-Enthia, and was one with the woman he loved.
“Finally the blues did come again for me, three of them. They threatened to kill me if I did not leave.”
“Did you have to fight them?” asked Silvanoshei.
Aeren puffed out his chest. “I was prepared to, as I told you. But they were too many, and they promised to kill me—a promise I knew they would keep.
“So instead, I claimed that I needed time to gather my hoard, that I would leave in a few days and let them have my cave.”
“What happened then?”
“I emerged at the appointed time and flew high and wide, seeking the new tenants of my lair. The air was hot and thick by then, but I looked for a long time.”
“But you didn’t find them?”
“No. I searched, expecting to see them... but it seemed that the blues were gone.”
Chapter Sixteen
Speakers of Past and Present
They left the Speaker’s house in the predawn hours, when the night was at its darkest and activity in the city had almost completely ceased. There were a few patrols of Dark Knights wandering the streets, but by elven standards, these humans made so much noise and their night vision was so feeble that Gilthas and Kerianseray had no difficulty evading the sentries in the vicinity of the Tower of the Sun.
Of course, the magical lights that danced through the city during the night hours were still in evidence, but it seemed to Gilthas that their brilliance had somehow been muted since the coming of the conquerors. Whereas in the past the entire city had seemed to sparkle with brightness, now each lantern existed in a small island of illumination, but the contrast only served to heighten the shadows in the majority of the city that remained unlighted.