“Hello,” Gusar said cheerfully. “Is someone crying?”
“We can’t find our house,” wailed an elf girl. “We looked and looked, but we couldn’t see the daisies that grow by our door!”
“Daisies, eh? I know that house. It’s only a few steps more. I’ll take you there.” Gusar extended a gnarled hand. The elf children regarded him with misgiving.
“Are you a troll?” asked the smallest boy, his blue eyes huge in his tiny face.
Gusar cackled. “No. I’m just an old, blind man.” He pointed a thumb over his shoulder. “My friend has a torch to help light your way.”
Kith-Kanan was surprised. He hadn’t realized the old man knew he was still there.
The girl who’d spoken got up first and took the human’s hand. The two boys followed their sister, and together the children and the old human wandered down the lane. Kith-Kanan followed at a distance, until the little girl turned and announced, “We don’t need you, sir. The old one can see us home.”
“Fare you well, then,” Kith-Kanan called. The bowed back of the aged human and the flaxen hair of the elf children quickly vanished in the inky air.
For the first time in days, the Speaker smiled. His dream of a nation where all races could live in peace was truly taking hold when three children of pure Silvanesti blood could fearlessly take the hand of a gnarled old human and let him lead them home.
4 — The Lightning and the Rock
On the morning of what would have been the fourth day of darkness, a ball of red fire appeared in the eastern sky. The people of Qualinost swarmed into the streets, fearfully pointing at the dangerous-looking orb. Within minutes, dread turned to relief when they realized that what they were seeing was the sun, burning through the gloom. The darkness lifted steadily, and the day dawned bright and cloudless.
Kith-Kanan looked out over his city from the window of his private rooms. The rose-quartz towers sparkled cleanly in the newborn sunlight, and the trees seemed to bask in the warmth. All over Qualinost, in every window and every gracefully curving street, faces were upturned to the luxurious heat and light. As the Speaker looked south across his city, the songs and laughter of spontaneous revelry reached his ears.
The return of light was a great relief to Kith-Kanan. For the past three days, he had done nothing but try to hold his people together, reassuring them that the end of the world was not nigh. After two days of darkness, emissaries had arrived in Qualinost from Ergoth and Thorbardin, seeking answers from the Speaker of the Sun as to the cause of the fearful gloom. Kith-Kanan had his own ideas, but didn’t share them with the emissaries. Some new power was rising from a long sleep. Hiddukel had said it was a power older even than the gods. The Speaker did not yet know what its purpose was, and he didn’t want to spread alarms through the world based on his own flimsy theories.
From all over his realm, people poured into Qualinost, clogging the bridges and straining the resources of the city. Everyone was afraid of the unknown darkness. Fear made allies of the oldest enemies, too. From outside Kith-Kanan’s enlightened kingdom came humans and elves’ who had fought each other in the Kinslayer Wars. During the darkness, they had huddled together around bonfires, praying for deliverance.
From his window overlooking the sunlit city, Kith-Kanan mused. Perhaps that was the reason for it—to bring us all together.
There was a soft, firm knock at the door. Kith-Kanan turned his back on the city and called, “Enter.” Tamanier Ambrodel appeared in the doorway and bowed.
“The emissaries of Ergoth and Thorbardin have departed,” the castellan reported, hands folded in front of him. “In better spirits than when they arrived, I might add, sire.”
“Good. Now perhaps I can deal with other weighty matters. Send Prince Ulvian and the warrior Merithynos to me at once.”
“At once, Majesty” was Tamanier’s quiet reply.
As soon as the castellan had departed, Kith-Kanan moved to his writing table and sat down. He took out a fresh sheet of foolscap. Dipping the end of a fine stylus into a jar of ink, he began to write. He was still writing when Ulvian and Merith presented themselves.
“Well, Father, I hope this ridiculous business is over,” Ulvian said with affected injury. He was still clad in the crimson doublet and silver-gray trousers he’d been captured in. “I’ve been bored silly, with no one to talk to but this tiresome warrior of yours.”
Merith’s hand tightened on the pommel of his sword. His cobalt-blue eyes stared daggers at the prince. Kith-Kanan forestalled the lieutenant’s offended retort.
“That’s enough,” the Speaker said firmly. He finished writing, melted a bit of sealing wax on the bottom of the sheet, and pressed his signet ring into the soft blue substance. When the seal was cool, he rolled the foolscap into a scroll and tied it with a thin blue ribbon. This he likewise sealed with wax.
“Lieutenant Merithynos, you will convey this message to Feldrin Feldspar, the master builder who directs the work at Pax Tharkas,” said the Speaker, rising and holding out the scroll. Merith accepted it, though he looked perplexed.
“Am I to give up guarding the prince, Majesty?” he asked.
“Not at all. The prince is to accompany you to Pax Tharkas.”
Kith-Kanan’s eyes met his son’s. Ulvian frowned.
“What’s in Pax Tharkas for me?” he asked suspiciously.
“I am sending you to school,” his father replied. “Master Feldrin is to be your schoolmaster.”
Ulvian laughed. “You mean to make an architect out of me?”
“I am putting you in Feldrin’s hands as a common laborer—a slave, in fact. You will work every day for no wage and receive only the meanest provender. At night, you will be locked in your hut and guarded by Lieutenant Merithynos.”
Ulvian’s confident smirk vanished. Hazel eyes wide, he backed away a few steps, falling to one of the Speaker’s couches. His face was pale with shock.
“You can’t mean it,” he whispered. More loudly, he added, “You can’t do this.”
“I am the Speaker of the Sun,” Kith-Kanan said. Though his heart was breaking with the punishment he was visiting on his only son, the Speaker’s demeanor was firm and unyielding.
The prince’s head shook back and forth, as if denying what he was hearing. “You can’t make me a slave.” He leapt to his feet and his voice became a shout. “I am your son! I am Prince of Qualinesti!”
“Yes, you are, and you have broken my law. I’m not doing this on a whim, Ullie. I hope it will teach you the true meaning of slavery—the cruelty, the degradation, the pain and suffering. Maybe then you will understand the horror of what you’ve done. Maybe then you’ll know why I hate it, and why you should hate it, too.”
Ulvian’s outrage wilted. “How—how long will I be there?” he asked haltingly.
“As long as necessary. I’ll visit you, and if I’m convinced you’ve learned your lesson, I’ll release you. What’s more, I will forgive you and publicly declare you my successor.”
That seemed to restore the prince somewhat. His gaze flickered toward Merith, who was standing at rigid attention, though his expression reflected frank astonishment. Ulvian said, “What if I run away?”
“Then you will lose everything and be declared outlaw in your own country,” Kith-Kanan said evenly.
Ulvian advanced on his father. There was betrayal and disbelief in his eyes, and rage as well. Merith tensed and prepared to subdue the prince if he attacked the Speaker, but Ulvian stopped a pace short of his father.
“When do I go?” he asked through clenched teeth.
“Now.”
A roll of thunder punctuated Kith-Kanan’s pronouncement. Merith stepped forward and took hold of the prince’s arm, but Ulvian twisted out of his grasp.