The Qualinesti

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.

“I’ll come back, Father. I will be the Speaker of the Sun!” the prince vowed in ringing tones.

“I hope you will, Son. I hope you will.”

A second crash of thunder finished the confrontation. Merith led the prince reluctantly away.

Hands clasped tightly behind his back, Kith-Kanan returned to his window. Melancholy washed over him in slow, steady waves as he gazed up at the cloudless sky. Then, even as his mind was far away, from the corner of one eye, he spied a bolt of lightning. It flashed out of the blue vault and dove at the ground, striking somewhere in the southwestern district of Qualinost. A deep boom reverberated over the city, rattling the shutters on the Speaker’s house.

Thunder and lightning from a clear sky? Kith-Kanan’s inner torment was pushed aside for a moment as he digested this remarkable occurrence. The time of wonders was indeed at hand.

Twenty riders followed the dusty trail through the sparse forest of maple saplings, most no taller than the horses. Twenty elven warriors, under Verhanna’s command and guided by their new kender scout, Rufus Wrinklecap, rode slowly in single file. No one spoke. The muggy morning air oppressed them—that, and the cold trail they were trying to follow. Four days out of Qualinost, and this was the only sign of slavers they’d found. It hadn’t helped that they’d had to flounder on in three days of total darkness. Rufus warned the captain that the tracks they were tracing were many weeks old and might lead to nothing.

“Never mind,” she grumbled. “Keep at it. Lord Ambrodel sent us here for a reason.”

“Yes, my captain.”

The kender eased his big horse a little farther away from the ill-tempered Verhanna. Rufus was a comic sight on horseback; with his shocking red topknot and less than four feet of height, he hardly looked like a valiant elven warrior. Perched on a chestnut charger that was bigger than any other animal in the troop, he resembled a small child astride a bullock.

During their brief stopover in Qualinost, while the troops were reprovisioned and a horse was secured for him, the kender had bought himself some fancy clothes. His blue velvet breeches, vest, and white silk shirt beneath a vivid red cape made quite a contrast to the armor-clad elves. Atop his head perched an enormous broad-brimmed blue hat, complete with a white plume and a hole in the crown to allow his long topknot to trail behind.

They had passed through the easternmost fringe of the Kharolis Mountains onto the great central plain, the scene of so many battles during the Kinslayer War. Now and then the troop saw silent reminders of that awful conflict: a burned village, abandoned to weeds and carrion birds; a cairn of stones, under which were buried the bodies of fallen soldiers of Ergoth in a mass grave. Occasionally their horses’ hooves turned up battered, rusting helmets lodged in the soil. The skulls of horses and the bones of elves shone in the tall grass like ivory talismans, warning of the folly of kings.

Once every hour Verhanna halted her warriors and ordered Rufus to check the trail. The nimble kender leaped from his horse’s back or slid off its wide rump and scrambled through the grass and saplings, sniffing and peering for telltale signs.

During the third such halt of the morning, Verhanna guided her mount to where Rufus squatted, busily rubbing blades of grass between his fingers.

“Well, Wart, what do you find? Have the slavers come this way?” she asked, leaning over her animal’s glossy neck.

“Difficult to say, Captain. Very difficult. Other tall folk have passed this way since the slavers. The trails are muddled,” muttered Rufus. He put a green stem in his mouth and nibbled it. “The grass is still sweet,” he observed. “Others came from the east and passed through during the days of darkness.”

“What others?” she said, frowning.

The kender hopped up, dropping the grass and dusting off his fancy blue pants. “Travelers. Going that way,” he said, pointing to the direction they’d come from Qualinost. “They were in deeply laden, two-wheeled carts.”

Verhanna regarded her scout sourly. “We didn’t pass anyone.”

“In that darkness, who knows what we passed? The Dragonqueen herself could’ve ridden by clad in cloth o’ gold and we wouldn’t have seen her.”

She straightened in the saddle and replied, “What about our quarry?”

Rufus rubbed his flat, sunburned nose. “They split up.”

“What?” Verhanna’s shout brought the other troopers to attention. Her second-in-command, a Kagonesti named Tremellan, hurried to her side. She waved him off and dismounted, slashing through the tall grass to Rufus. Planting her mailed hands on her hips, the captain demanded, “Where did they split up?”

Rufus took two steps forward and one sideways.

“Here,” he said, pointing at the trodden turf. “Six riders, the same ones we’ve been chasing all along. Two went east. They were elder folk, like the Speaker.” By this, the kender meant the two were Silvanesti. “Two others went north. They smelled of fur and had thick shoes. Humans, I’d say. The last two continued south, and they’re tricky. Barefoot, they are, and they smell just like the wind. Dark elders, and wise in the ways of the chase.”

“What does he mean?” Verhanna muttered to Tremellan.

“Dark elders are my people,” offered the Kagonesti officer. “They probably work as scouts for the other four. They find travelers, or a lonely farm, and lead the slavers there.”

Verhanna slapped her palms together with a metallic clink. “All right. Gather the troop around! I want to speak to them.”

The elven warriors made a circle around their captain and the kender scout. Verhanna grinned at them, arms folded across her chest.

“The enemy has made a mistake,” she declared, rocking on her heels. “They’ve split themselves into three groups. The humans and Silvanesti are headed for their homelands, probably carrying the gold they made selling slaves. Without their Kagonesti scouts, they don’t stand a chance against us. Sergeant Tremellan, I want you to take a contingent of ten and ride after the Silvanesti. Take them alive if you can. Corporal Zilaris, you take five troopers and follow the humans. They shouldn’t give you much trouble. Four warriors will come with me to find the Kagonesti.”

“Excuse me, Captain, but I don’t think that’s wise,” Tremellan said. “I don’t need ten warriors to catch the Silvanesti slavers. You should take more with you. The dark elders will be the hardest to catch.”

“He’s right.” chimed in Rufus. His topknot bobbed as he nodded vigorously.

“Who’s captain here?” Verhanna demanded. “Don’t question my orders, Sergeant. You don’t imagine I need numbers to track the woods-wise Kagonesti, do you? No, of course not! Stealth is what’s needed, Sergeant. My orders stand.”

A rumble of thunder rolled across the plain and was ignored. Without further discussion, Tremellan collected half the warriors and redistributed food and water among them. He formed his group around him while Verhanna gave him final orders.

“Pursue them hard, Sergeant,” she urged. Her blood was up, and her brown eyes were brilliant. “They’ve a week’s head start, but they might not yet know anyone is after them, so they won’t be moving fast.”

“And the border, Captain?” asked Tremellan.

“Don’t talk to me about borders,” snapped the captain. “Get those damned slavers! This is no time for faint hearts or half measures!”

Tremellan suppressed his irritation, saluted, and spurred his horse. The troop rode off through the maple saplings as thunder boomed at their backs.

Verhanna felt a tug on her haqueton. She turned and looked down, seeing Rufus standing close beside her. “What is it?”

“Look up. There are no clouds, ” he said, turning his small face heavenward. “Thunder, but no clouds.”

“So the storm is over the horizon,” Verhanna replied briskly. She left the kender still staring at the clear-blue sky. Corporal Zilaris took his detachment and headed north after the human slavers. Verhanna was watching them recede in the distance when suddenly a bolt of lightning lanced down a scant mile away. Dirt flew up in the air, and the crack of thunder was like a blow from a mace.

“By Astra!” she exclaimed. “That was close!”

The next one was closer still. With no warning, a column of blue-white fire slammed into the ground less than fifty paces from Verhanna, Rufus, and the remaining warriors. The horses screamed and reared, some falling back on their startled riders. Verhanna, still on the ground, kept a tight hand on her straining mount’s bridle. Rufus had just remounted, and when his horse began to snort and dance, the kender climbed onto its neck to get a better hold. His cape flopped over the horse’s eyes, a fortuitous accident, and the beast calmed.

The shock of the lightning strike passed, and the elves slowly recovered. One warrior lay moaning on the ground, his leg broken when his horse fell on him. Verhanna and the others set to binding his shattered limb. Rufus, not being needed, wandered over to the crater gouged by the lightning.

The hole was twenty feet across and nearly as deep. The sides of the pit were black and steaming. Tiny flames licked the dry prairie grass around the rim of the hole. Rufus stamped on the fires he saw and gazed with awe at the gaping pit. A shadow fell over him. He turned to see that Verhanna had joined him.

“Someone’s hurling thunderbolts at us, my captain,” he said seriously.

“Rot,” was her reply, though her tone was uncertain. “It was just an act of nature.” The next flash of lightning came in an instant. Verhanna uttered a brief warning cry and threw herself down. The bolt struck some distance away, and she sheepishly raised her head. Rufus was shading his eyes, staring at the southern horizon.

“It’s moving that way,” he announced.

Verhanna stood up and brushed dirt and grass from her haqueton. Her cheeks were stained crimson with embarrassment, and she was grateful that the kender ignored her nervous dive for cover. “What’s moving away?” she asked quickly.

“The lightning,” he replied. “Three strikes we’ve seen, each one farther south than the last.”

“That’s crazy,” said Verhanna dismissively. “Lightning is random.”

“Ain’t no ordinary lightning,” the kender insisted.

The warriors made their injured comrade comfortable, and when Verhanna and Rufus rejoined them, she ordered one of the warriors to remain with the injured elf to help him back to Qualinost.

“Now we are four,” she remarked as they formed up to resume their hunt. A glance at Rufus caused her to amend her statement. “Four and a half, I mean.”

“Not good odds, captain,” one of the warriors said.

“Even if I were alone, I’d go on,” stated Verhanna firmly. “These criminals must be caught, and they will be.” To the south, where the plain seemed to stretch on endlessly, the flash and crack of lightning continued. It was in that direction the little band rode.

The audience hall of the Speaker’s house was crammed with Qualinesti, all talking at once. The breeze stirred up by the roiling crowd had set the banners hanging from the high ceiling to waving gently. The scarlet flags were embroidered in gold, hand-worked by hundreds of elven and human girls. The crest of Kith-Kanan’s family—the royal family of Qualinesti, not the old line in Silvanost—was a composite of the sun and the Tree of Life.

In the midst of this maelstrom, the Speaker of the Sun sat calmly on his throne while his aides tried to sort out the confusion. However, his inner conflict showed in the small circular movements of his thumbs on the creamy wooden arm of his throne. The wood was rare, a gift from an Ergothian trader who called it vallenwood and said it came from trees that grew to enormous size. Once polished, the vallenwood seemed to glow with an inner light. Kith-Kanan thought it the most beautiful wood in the world. It felt smooth and comforting under his nervously moving fingers.

Tamanier Ambrodel was arguing heatedly with Senators Clovanos and Xixis. “Four towers have been toppled by lightning strikes!” Clovanos said, his voice becoming shrill. “A dozen of my tenants were hurt. I want to know what’s being done to stop all this!”

“The Speaker is attending to the problem,” Tamanier said, exasperated. His white hair stood out from his head as he ran his hand through it in distraction. “Go home! You are only adding to the problem by being hysterical.”

“We are senators of the Thalas-Enthia!” Xixis snapped. “We have a right to be heard!”

All through this mayhem, thunder boomed outside and flashes of lightning, mixed with the bright morning sun, gave the hall eerie illumination. Kith-Kanan glanced out a nearby window. Three columns of smoke were visible, rising from spots where trees had been set afire by lightning. After two days of lightning, the damage was mounting.

Kith-Kanan slowly rose to his feet. The crowd quickly fell silent and ceased its nervous shuffling.

“Good people,” began the Speaker, “I understand your fear. First the darkness came, weakening the crops and frightening the children. Yet the darkness left after causing no real harm, as I promised it would. Today begins our third day of lightning—”

“Cannot the priests deflect this plague of fire?” shouted a voice from the crowd. Others took up the cry. “Is there no magic to defend us?”

Kith-Kanan held up his hands. “There is no need to panic,” he said loudly. “And the answer is no. None of the clerics of the great temples has been able to dispel or deflect any of the lightning.”

A low murmur of worry went through the assembly. “But there is no threat to the city, I assure you!”

“What about the towers that were knocked down?” demanded Clovanos. His graying blond hair was coming loose from its confining ribbon, and small tendrils curled around his angry face.

From the rear of the hall, someone called out, “Those calamities are your fault, Senator!”

The mass of elves and humans parted to let Senator Irthenie approach the throne. Dressed, as was her custom, in dyed leather and Kagonesti face paint, Irthenie cut an arresting figure among the more conservatively attired senators and townsfolk.

“I visited one of the fallen towers, Great Speaker. The lightning struck the open ground nearby. The shock caused the tower to fall,” announced Irthenie.

“Mind your business, Kagonesti!” Clovanos growled.

“She is minding her business as a senator,” Kith-Kanan cut in sharply. “I know very well you expect compensation for your lost property, Master Clovanos. But let Irthenie finish what she has to say first.”

A flash of lightning highlighted the Speaker’s face for a second, then passed away. Chill winds blew through the audience hall. The banners suspended above the assemblage flapped and rippled.

More calmly, Irthenie said, “The soil near Mackeli Tower is very sandy, Your Majesty. I recall when Feldrin Feldspar erected that great tower keep. He had to sink a foundation many, many feet in the ground until he struck bedrock.”

She turned to the fuming Senator Clovanos, eyeing him with disdain. “The good senator’s towers are in the southwestern district, next to Mackeli, and they had no such deep foundations. It’s a wonder they’ve stood this long.”

“Are you an architect?” Clovanos spat back. “What do you know of building?”

“Is Senator Irthenie correct?” asked Kith-Kanan angrily. Before the fire in his monarch’s eyes and the dawning disgust evident in the faces around him, Clovanos reluctantly admitted the accuracy of Irthenie’s words. “I see,” the Speaker concluded. “In that case, the unhappy folk who lived in those unsafe towers shall receive compensation from the royal treasury. You, Clovanos, shall get none. And be thankful I don’t charge you with endangering the lives of your tenants.”

With Clovanos thus humbled, the other complainants fell back, unwilling to risk the Speaker’s wrath. Sensing their honest fear, Kith-Kanan tried to raise their spirits.

“Some of you may have heard of my contact with the gods just before the darkness set in. I was told that there would appear wonders in the world, portents of some great event to come. What the great event will be, I do not know, but I can assure you that these wonders, while frightening, are not dangerous themselves. The darkness came and went, and so shall the lightning. Our greatest enemy is fear, which drives many to hasty, ill-conceived acts.

“So I urge you again: Be of stout heart! We have all faced terror and death during the great Kinslayer War. Can’t we bear a little gloom and lightning? We are not children, to cower before every crack of thunder. I will use all the wisdom and power at my command to protect you, but if you all go home and reflect a bit, you’ll soon realize there is no real danger.”

“Unless you have Clovanos for a landlord,” muttered Irthenie.

Laughter rippled in the ranks around her. The Kagonesti woman’s soft words were repeated through the ranks until everyone in the hall was chortling in appreciation. Clovanos’s face turned beet red, and he stalked angrily out, with Xixis on his heels. Once the two senators were gone, the laughter increased, and Kith-Kanan could afford to join in. Much of the tension and anxiety of the past few days slipped away.

Kith-Kanan sat back down on his throne. “Now,” he said, stilling the mirth swelling across the hall, “if you are here to petition for help due to damage caused by the darkness or the lightning, please go to the antechamber, where my castellan and scribes will take down your names and claims. Good day and good morrow, my people.”

The Qualinesti filed out of the hall. The last ones out were the royal guards, whom Kith-Kanan dismissed. Irthenie remained behind. The aged elf woman walked with quick strides to the window. Kith-Kanan joined her.

“The merchants in the city squares say the lightning isn’t in every country as the darkness was,” Irthenie informed him. “To the north, they haven’t had any at all. To the south, it’s worse than here. I’ve heard tales of ships being blasted and sunk, and fires in the southern forests all the way to Silvanesti.”

“We seem to be spared the worst,” Kith-Kanan mused. He clasped his hands behind his back.

“Do you know what it all means?” the senator asked. “Old forest elves are incurably curious. We want to know everything.”

He smiled. “You know as much as I do, old fox.”

“I may know a deal more, Kith. There’s talk in the city about Ulvian. He’s missed, you know. His wastrel friends are asking for him, and rumors are rampant.”

The Speaker’s good humor vanished. “What’s being said?”

“Almost the truth—that the prince committed some crime and you have exiled him for a time,” Irthenie replied. A sizzling lightning bolt hit the peak of the Tower of the Sun, just across the square from the Speaker’s house. Since the strange weather had begun, the tower had been struck numerous times without effect. “His exact crime and place of exile remain a secret,” she added.

Kith-Kanan nodded a slow affirmation. Irthenie pursed her thin lips. The yellow and red lines on her face stood out starkly with the next lightning blast.

“Why do you keep Ulvian’s fate a secret?” she inquired. “His example would be a good lesson to many other young scoundrels in Qualinost.”

“No. I will not humiliate him in public.”

Kith-Kanan turned his back to the display of heavenly fire and looked directly into Irthenie’s hazel eyes. “If Ulvian is to be Speaker after me, I wouldn’t want his youthful transgressions to hamper him for the rest of his life.”

The senator shrugged. “I understand, though it isn’t how I would handle him. Perhaps that’s why you are the Speaker of the Sun and I am a harmless old widow you keep around for gossip and advice.”

He chuckled in spite of himself. “You are many things, old friend, but a harmless old widow is not one of them. That’s like saying my grandfather Silvanos was a pretty good warrior.”

The Speaker yawned and stretched his arms. Irthenie noticed the dark smudges under his eyes and asked, “Are you sleeping well?” He admitted he was not.

“Too many burdens and too many anxious dreams,” Kith-Kanan said. “I wish I could get away from the city for a while.”

“There is your grove.”

Kith-Kanan clapped his hands together softly. “You’re right! You see? Your wits are more than a little sharp. My mind is so muddled that I never even thought of that. I’ll leave word with Tam that I’m spending the day there. Perhaps the gods will favor me again, and I’ll discover the reason behind all these marvels.”

Kith-Kanan hurried to his private exit behind the Qualinesti throne. Irthenie went to the main doors of the audience hall. She paused and looked back as Kith-Kanan disappeared through the dark doorway. Thunder vibrated through the polished wooden floor. Irthenie opened the doors and plunged into the crowd still milling in the Speaker’s antechamber.

There were no straight streets in Qualinost. The boundary of the city, laid out by Kith-Kanan himself, was shaped like the keystone of an arch. The narrow north end of the city faced the confluence of the two rivers that protected it. The Tower of the Sun and the Speaker’s house were at that end. The wide portion of the city, the southern end, faced the high ground that eventually swelled into the Thorbardin peaks. Most of the common folk lived there.

In the very heart of Qualinost was the city’s tallest hill. It boasted two important features. First, the top of the hill was a huge flat plaza known as the Hall of the Sky, a unique “building” without walls or roof. Here sacred ceremonies honoring the gods were held. Convocations of the great and notable Qualinesti met, and festivals of the seasons were celebrated. The huge open square was paved with a mosaic of thousands of hand-set stones. The mosaic formed a map of Qualinesti.

The second feature of this tall hill, lying on its north slope, was the last bit of natural forest remaining within Qualinost. Kith-Kanan had taken great care to preserve this grove of aspens when the rest of the plateau was shaped by elven spades and magic. More than a park, the aspen grove had become the Speaker’s retreat, his haven from the pressures of ruling. He treasured the grove above all features in his capital because the densely wooded enclave reminded him of days long past, of the time when he had dwelt in the primeval forest of Silvanesti with his first wife, the Kagonesti woman Anaya, and her brother Mackeli.

His time with Anaya had been long ago…four hundred years and more. Since then he had struggled and loved, fought, killed, ruled. The people of Qualinost were afraid of the darkness and lightning that had fallen upon them. Kith-Kanan, however, was troubled by the impending crisis of his succession. The future of the nation of Qualinesti depended on whom he chose to rule after him. He had to keep his word and step aside. More than that, he really wished to step aside, to pass the burden of command on to younger shoulders. But to whom? And when? When would Pax Tharkas be officially completed?

The grove had no formal entrance, no marked path or gate. Kith-Kanan slowed his pace. The sight of the closely growing trees already calmed him. No lightning at all had touched the grove. The aspen trees stood bright white in the morning sun, their triangular leaves shivering in the breeze and displaying their silvery backs.

The Speaker slipped the hood back from his head. Carefully he lifted the gold circlet from his brow. This simple ring of metal was all the crown Qualinesti had, but for his time in the grove, Kith-Kanan did not want even its small burden.

He dropped the crown into one of the voluminous pockets on the front of his monkish robe. As he passed between the tree trunks, the sounds of the city faded behind him. The deeper he went into the trees, the less the outside world could intrude. Here and there among the aspens were apple, peach, and pear trees. On this spring day, the fruit trees were riotous with blossoms. Overhead, in the breaks between the treetops, he saw fleecy clouds sailing the sky like argosies bound for some distant land.

Crossing the small brook that meandered through the grove, Kith-Kanan came at last to a boulder patched with green lichen. He himself had flattened the top of the rock with the great hammer Sunderer, given to him decades before by the dwarf king Glenforth. The Speaker climbed atop the boulder and sat, sighing, as he drank in the peace of the grove.

A few paces to his right, the brook chuckled and splashed over the rocks in its path. Kith-Kanan cleared his mind of everything but the sounds around him, the gently stirring air, the swaying trees, and the play of the water, It was a technique he’d learned from the priests of Astra, who often meditated in closed groves like this. During the hard years of the Kinslayer War, it had been moments like this that preserved Kith-Kanan’s sanity and strengthened his will to persevere.

Peace. Calm. The Speaker of the Sun seemed to sleep, though he was sitting upright on the rock.

Rest. Tranquility. The best answers to hard questions came when the mind and the body were not fighting each other for control.

A streak of heat warmed his face. Dreamily he opened his eyes. The wind sighed, and white clouds obscured the sun. Yet the sensation of heat had been intense. He lifted his gaze to the sky. Above him, burning like a second sun, was an orb of blue-white light.

It took him only half a heartbeat to realize he was staring at a lightning bolt that was falling directly toward him.

Shocked into motion, Kith-Kanan sprang from the boulder. His feet had hardly left its surface when the lightning bolt slammed into the rock. All was blinding flash and splintered stone. Kith-Kanan fell face down by the brook, and broken rock pelted his back. The light and sound of the bolt passed away, but the Speaker of the Sun did not move.

It was after sunset before Kith-Kanan was missed. When the Speaker was late for dinner, Tamanier Ambrodel sent warriors to the grove to find him. Kemian Ambrodel and his four comrades searched through the dense forest of trees for quite a while before they found the Speaker lying unconscious near the brook.

With great care, Kemian turned Kith-Kanan over. To his shock and surprise, the Speaker’s brown eyes were wide open, staring at nothing. For one dreadful instant, Lord Ambrodel thought the monarch of Qualinesti was dead.

“He breathes, my lord,” said one of the warriors, vastly relieved.

Eyelids dipped closed, fluttered, then sprang open again. Kith-Kanan sighed.

“Great Speaker,” said Kemian softly, “are you well?”

There was a pause while the Speaker’s eyes darted around, taking in his surroundings. Finally he said hoarsely, “As well as any elf who was nearly struck by lightning.”

Two warriors braced Kith-Kanan as he got to his feet. His gaze went to the blasted remains of the boulder. Almost as if he was talking to himself, the Speaker said softly, “Some ancient power is at work in the world, a power not connected with the gods we know. The priests and sorcerers can discern nothing, and yet….”

Something fluttered overhead. The elves flinched, their nerves on edge. A bird’s sharp cry cut through the quiet of the aspen grove, and Kith-Kanan laughed.

“A crow! What a stalwart band we are, frightened out of our skins by a black bird!” he said. His stomach rumbled loudly, and Kith-Kanan rubbed it. There were holes burned through his clothing by bits of burned rock. “Well, I’m famished. Let’s go home.”

The Speaker of the Sun set off at a brisk pace. Lord Ambrodel and his warriors fell in behind him and trailed him back to the Speaker’s house, where a warm hearth and a hearty supper awaited.