Ulvian rubbed his palms together. Despite the cool mountain air, his hands were damp with sweat. “I-I don’t know,” he said faintly. Much as he loathed his current situation, the prince realized that such a plan was risky at best. “When would we leave?” Ulvian asked hesitantly.
“This very night,” Dru said, and Ulvian actually started at the abrupt words. “Both parts of my amulet are in camp. We can break into Feldrin’s tent and get them. Then no power within a hundred miles can stop us.”
The prince sank back slowly on his haunches. Bracing himself with his hands, he said, “Feldrin won’t just hand—”
“With your help, I’ll kill the old stonebreaker,” the sorcerer snapped.
“No.” Ulvian stood up, looking around nervously. “I can’t do that. I can’t murder Feldrin. I plan to be vindicated and pardoned. I won’t murder my way to freedom.”
Dru stood and shrugged expressively. “As you wish, my prince. I’ve been here for many years, you only a short time. After you’ve broken your back working on this damn fortress for a while longer, perhaps you’ll change your mind.”
Ulvian was about to reply when Dru’s head suddenly snapped around, as if he’d heard a strange noise. He held up one hand to forestall Ulvian’s words. “Wait,” he said. “Something’s amiss.”
Ulvian followed the sorcerer to one of the two windows in the barracks. It seemed brighter outside than it should be this late at night. As they watched, it grew brighter still. The outline of the camp became clearer. Silhouetted tents gained distinct features. To Ulvian’s astonishment, the sun appeared in the sky directly overhead. At first, only a faint red glow was visible, but then it blazed more and more brilliantly until the mountain pass was bathed in the full light of noon.
“What—what’s happening?” Ulvian cried, shading his squinting eyes from the sudden glare.
Dru stroked his dirty, pointed chin. “Someone is tampering with the balance of nature,” he said coolly. “Someone—or something—very powerful.”
Men and dwarves emerged from their huts to stare at the bright sky and scratch their heads in wonderment. By the water clocks, it was still two hours till sunrise, yet sunlight flooded the tents.
Dust from the landslide tinted the sky over the Kharolis Mountains rusty red. The gritty fog hung in the still air, unmoving. The day after the avalanche, the sun burned like an orange ball through the haze. It hung fixed at the peak of the heavens. As measured by notched candles and water clocks, several hours had passed, yet the sun had never budged.
“Master Lugrim, what o’clock is it?” called Ulvian to the overseer, whose face was hidden by a dripping dipper of cool water.
Lugrim poured the last few drops on his brow, which was already wet with sweat. “Nigh time to work again,” he growled. “Are you men or camels? How much do you plan to drink?”
“I’m no man,” Splint said acidly, “and I’ll drink how I please.”
“ ‘Tis fearful hot,” added a human named Brunnar in a thick Ergothic accent.
Six hours had passed since the sun’s abrupt appearance, and the temperature had been growing steadily warmer. The air was unusually dead; no breeze wafted through the pass, and no clouds shielded the workers from the sun. Only the ever-present dust diffused the sunlight, coating the workers’ sweltering bodies.
At Feldrin Feldspar’s hut, a crowd of overseers and guild masters had formed. There was much debate over the strange sunrise. Some in the group insisted that work be halted until the heat abated, while others argued that work should continue.
“Our covenant with the Speaker of the Sun calls for us to work till sunset,” the chief mason complained. “We must honor our pledge.”
“Our people can’t work forever,” objected the leader of the carpenters’ guild.
“Quiet, you shortsighted fools!” rumbled Feldrin, waving his hands over his head. “The sun hasn’t moved for hours. Merciful Reorx! A calamity is upon us, and you quibble about schedules and quotas!”
The overseers and masters lapsed into embarrassed silence. Merith appeared and stood on the fringe of the crowd. He’d shed his armor in the heat and wore a lightweight white tunic and baggy gray trousers.
“This must be yet another of the wonders,” said the elf warrior. “Like the darkness, the lightning, and the scarlet rain.”
That set off a fresh wave of contention in the group. Feldrin let them argue a while, then shouted for quiet again.
The chief mason wailed, “What are we to do!”
“Collect all the fresh water you can,” ordered Feldrin. “Fill every pot and jar in Pax Tharkas. Tell the sewing women to make canopies—very large canopies. We will erect them over the quarry walls to shade the workers.”
The master builder loosened his fur mantle and let it fall to the ground. “Let it be done. And tell everyone to get rid of his heavy garments!”
“Do we resume work?” asked Lugrim.
“In two hours, by the water clock.”
Feldrin’s assistants dispersed to carry out his bidding. The trumpets blew, signaling an end to work, and every worker in the pass hurried indoors, out of the broiling sun. Feldrin and Merith watched the teeming site become a ghost fortress in a matter of minutes. The last people in sight were the dwarves who had been working on the parapet of the west tower. They secured their hoist and winch, then ducked inside the massive stone structure. For some time after that, the hoist swung to and fro, the block and tackle creaking loudly.
The sight of the sun-baked, lifeless fortress bothered the master builder. It was unnerving. In a gloomy tone, he said as much to the lieutenant.
“Why so, my lord?” asked Merith, surprised.
“The other marvels were like conjurer’s tricks—they seemed mysterious and impressive, but they were essentially harmless. This is different. A few days of unrelieved sun could be the end of us all.”
Feldrin dabbed sweat from his brow with the sleeve of his yellow linen shirt. “I can’t help but wonder who has the power to do this. Who can stop the course of the sun itself through the sky?”
“Drulethen?” the lieutenant suggested.
“Certainly not,” Feldrin said firmly. “Even if he possessed both halves of his evil talisman, he could never do such a thing.” The dwarf shook his head. I wonder if even the gods themselves…”
“Nothing is beyond the gods,” Merith replied reverently.
“Perhaps. Perhaps.”
The dwarf picked up his discarded cloak and draped it over one arm. Already his salt-and-pepper hair was clinging to his damp face. With a sigh, he said, “I shall retire indoors now. Can’t have my brain getting scrambled in this blasted sun.”
“A wise notion, master. I shall do likewise.”
Elf and dwarf parted company. Merith crossed the winding road to the fortress site alone, the only living thing moving through the entire construction site. Overhead, the hoist continued to sway and creak. The lieutenant thought it a mournful, lonely sound.
8 — Greenhands
Midnight in Qualinost was as bright as any noon. There had been no night at all for two days, and the heat was appalling. Half the public fountains in the city had dried up during the first twenty-four-hour period of the strange daylight. The people of Qualinost filled the courtyards of the great temples, begging the priests and priestesses to intercede on their behalf with the gods. Incense burned and chants rose to the heavens, but the sun burned mercilessly on.
The water clock in the chamber of the Thalas-Enthia showed it was midnight, yet the senators of Qualinesti were all present. Seated in his place of honor on the north side of the circular room, Kith-Kanan listened to the representatives of the people debate the series of marvels they had experienced, including the current dangerous manifestation. Many of the senators bore the signs of lack of slumber; not only were their duties pressing in this time of crisis, but the lack of night made it difficult for many in Qualinost to sleep.