of the Stars. All warriors not engaged in active defense were commanded to gather back at the Quinari Palace immediately.
With weary steps, Samcadaris and Vixa left the rooftop. In the street, scores of Silvanesti were being treated by healers from the temple of Quenesti Pah. A small band of Dimernesti, looking sullen and dejected, were under guard by Samcadaris’s troops. Their gills were shriveled, and most of them swayed weakly where they stood.
“Better give those fellows water,” Vixa advised the captain. “They’ll perish in the dry air.”
Samcadaris ordered that water be brought for the captives, and he appointed half his contingent to remain at the gate for its defense. The rest, somewhat less than two hundred elves, would march back to the Quinari as ordered.
Vixa found Gundabyr sitting up on the pavement, his left arm in a sling. Though pale, he was lively enough to curse the pain as he struggled to his feet.
“Keep still,” she said genially.
He insisted on walking back to the palace with her, and Vixa was glad for his company. The fire in the south had gone out, and clouds obscured the stars. By the time they reached the front steps of the Quinari, the street was alive with torchbearers and armed elves, standing in eerily silent ranks.
“What’s going on?” muttered the dwarf.
Vixa replied out of the side of her mouth, “Nothing good, I’ll wager.”
Samcadaris and his warriors took their places in the ranks, leaving Vixa and Gundabyr at loose ends. Tired and aching, the dwarf lowered himself to sit on the fine stone steps.
“I must find Druzenalis and return his sword,” Vixa said.
“Do that. I’ll stay here and catch forty winks.” He lay down, pillowing his head on his good arm, and sighed. Vixa mounted the steps. She approached several Silvanesti officers and asked for the marshal. None of them said a word, but one pointed to the palace door.
Vixa went inside. She wandered back toward the audience chamber, and as she drew near, the sound of weeping reached her ears. At the entrance to the throne room, she realized that the weeping came from within. Something had happened. Someone important must be dead. An icy hand closed on her heart. Surely it wasn’t the Speaker of the Stars!
As Vixa hurried into the darkened audience hall, she could see shadowy figures standing around the room’s perimeter. Her eyes were drawn to the throne dais. A bier was set up on it, and a corpse laid out, covered by a shroud of blazing red silk. A single figure stood at the bier, with his back to Vixa. She slowed her hurried approach.
“My lord?” she said, her voice weak and uncertain.
The figure turned. It was Agavenes, the chamberlain.
“So, the Qualinesti princess. You live. Not surprising.”
“Who lies there?”
Without a word, Agavenes flicked back the shroud from the corpse’s face.
“Druzenalis!” Vixa exclaimed.
“Yes, the Marshal of Silvanost is dead.” Agavenes’s voice was icy.
“How did it happen?”
“After his humiliation by the Speaker, Druzenalis left the palace and placed himself at the head of his troops. They marched out of Red Rose Gate to confront the enemy in the southern forest. A fire was burning there, and Druzenalis wanted to extinguish it, lest it threaten the city. But it was a trap. The enemy attacked on three sides with fire and sword. Very few Silvanesti escaped.”
“Five thousand brave elves went out. Less than five hundred returned.”
Vixa was horrified. It was a terrible defeat, and it far outweighed their small success at Astarin Gate. She whispered, “Where is the Speaker?”
“With the army at Red Rose Gate. He has taken personal command.” Agavenes held out a skeletal hand. “The sword. Give it to me.”
Vixa drew Longreacher, then hesitated. “No,” she finally said. “I will return it to the Speaker.”
“Impudent girl! Isn’t it enough that you caused the marshal’s death? Or is that your purpose, to weaken and disunite us so that we fall to these barbarians? Are these water-breathing creatures part of some Qualinesti plot to overthrow Silvanost?”
Vixa shoved Longreacher back into her belt. “I have shed blood for your country,” she growled. “Do not trifle with me. I am a princess of the blood of Kith-Kanan. I did not ask for this sword, nor did I steal the marshal’s wits and send him into an obvious trap. This sword belongs to the Speaker of the Stars, and I will not soil it by placing it in your hands!”
She spun on her heel and strode away. Agavenes called after her. “You may have the favor of His Majesty, but this land will not tolerate mongrels and outlanders, no matter how noble some of their ancestors may have been. I will see the end of you, lady!”
Without looking back or raising her voice, Vixa replied, “You may try, Lord Chamberlain.”
Dawn broke, and the city settled into an uneasy rest as the sea elves withdrew into the Thon-Thalas.
Speaker Elendar held a council in the Tower of the Stars. Looking very tired, the Speaker sat, in full martial panoply, on his emerald throne. Clustered on the raised platform before him were clerics representing the great temples. The priests and priestesses wore golden headbands, white robes, and a sash in the color of their patron deity-silver for E’li, red for Matheri, sky-blue for Quenesti Pah, and so on. By ancient law they went unshod, so as to be closer to the sacred soil of Silvanesti. Gathered in the audience hall were high officers of the army, heads of the city guilds, servants, and courtiers. It was easy to see who’d been involved in the battle of the previous night. Gundabyr’s was not the only bandage in evidence.
The Speaker began to talk in a low, even voice. He’d been up all night, conferring with his warlords and sages. There were plans to save Silvanost, he said, but he was not yet ready to reveal the details.
Vixa stepped out of the crowd and asked permission to approach. The Speaker nodded. She drew Longreacher slowly.
“Great Speaker, I would like to return this sword. It is not mine to carry,” she said.
“I am told you acquitted yourself with honor at Astarin Gate, lady. Why shouldn’t you carry the sword of Balif?” he responded, weariness not lessening the deep tone of his voice.
Vixa shook her head firmly. Couldn’t he see the disapproval on the faces of his own people? Agavenes was positively livid.
“This is the blade of the marshal of Silvanost,” she insisted. “It should not be given to another.”
“Today there is no marshal.”
Agavenes spoke out. “Name one, Sire! Give us a new marshal!” Others around the circular chamber took up the cry. The various factions called out suggestions. As the noise increased, the Speaker leaned forward and spoke softly to Vixa.
“Why don’t you keep it, lady? I think you are as much a warrior as any other present. And you are of royal blood.”
“No, Sire!” she hissed fiercely. “Do you want a civil war? Choose a Silvanesti!”
“Who do you suggest?”
Vixa was furious with him for asking such an inappropriate question, for not acting as she thought a Speaker ought. Then she saw the twinkle in his eyes. He was teasing her! She went along with him, saying, “I know few of your officers, Great Speaker, but Captain Samcadaris seems both wise and brave.”
He raised an eyebrow, surprised perhaps that she had actually ventured a choice. However, he considered the idea with a thoughtful expression. “So? Captain to marshal in one bound? Agavenes will expire.” His hazel eyes danced.
The Speaker leaned back in his throne, held up a hand. The tumult in the Tower subsided. When all was quiet, Elendar declaimed, “Summon Captain Samcadaris to our presence!”
The captain entered, looking more than a little surprised. He’d been detailed to stand guard with the royal watch. The summons from the Speaker was most unexpected.
Elendar held out a hand to Vixa. Into it, she placed the hilt of Balif’s sword. She stepped back, and the Speaker bade Samcadaris approach. The captain complied.
