They were queer folk, these elves, he thought as he walked through their midst, their chatter continuing before and behind him but stilling as he passed. All height and no substance they were, thin and shimmering as aspen saplings, but beautiful, too, cloaked in golden light-or so each of them seemed to the dwarf's eyes. Perhaps that was only a trick of the light. Long ago, when the Tower had been constructed, the dwarven craftsmen had arranged a thousand mirrors so that the Tower might always know the light of the sun, no matter what its position in the daytime sky.
The elves, their voices stilled, watched the bearded dwarf with expressions of polite curiosity, and finally, after what seemed an age, Flint found himself standing before the low rostrum in the center of the chamber.
'Welcome, Master Fireforge,' said the elf who stood there. His clear voice held a tone of warmth. The Speaker of the Sun of Qualinesti was tall, even among his people, and his stance on the rostrum gave him still more of an edge. Flint felt physically overwhelmed. The Speaker, a descendant of the hero Kith-Kanan himself, overawed him.
The Speaker smiled, and some of the nervousness fled Flint's stomach. Solostaran's smile was genuine, and it touched his wise eyes-eyes as green as the deepest forest. Flint sighed, feeling more at ease. The chilled glances of the elven courtiers seemed less important. 'I trust your journey was uneventful,' the Speaker said.
'Uneventful! Reorx!' the dwarf expostulated.
He'd been summoned peremptorily from his favorite chair at the Inn of the Last Home by a pair of elven guards and asked to accompany them to the mysterious elven capital, the city that so few nonelves had seen over the last centuries. They had traveled up staircases hidden behind waterfalls, along precipices, and in damp tunnels.
To say the city was well protected was putting it mildly. The peaks to the south of Qualinost loomed so daunting in their height and ruggedness as to give the most determined foe pause. Two converging streams in deep, five-hundred-foot-wide ravines sheltered Qualinost to the west, north, and east. Two narrow bridges-easily cut down in case enemies managed to find their way through the woodlands and forests to the city proper-formed the only passages across the ravines.
The Speaker was waiting for an answer, the dwarf realized. 'Oh. I-uh-fine, thank you. Sir. Sire,' he stammered, trying to recall what Solostaran had asked him. His face blazed even as those of the courtiers gathered around him tightened. His escort bowed and padded away. Flint felt suddenly bereft.
'Have you found our beloved city to your liking?' the Speaker asked politely.
Flint, more comfortable at his forge than in what his mother would have called 'polite company,' found himself once again at a loss for a reply. How to describe his first view of what might well be the most beautiful city on Krynn? The Qualinesti elves celebrated their forest home with buildings that called to mind the aspens, the oaks, of the surrounding forest. Eschewing the ninety-degree angle as a vestige of the too-analytical human mind, the elves created dwellings as varied as nature. Conical, tree-shaped homes and small shops dotted the blue-tiled streets. But the dwellings themselves were built, not of wood, but of rose quartz. In the light of midafternoon, the city had glittered, light refracting from the faceted quartz. Pear, peach, and apple trees bloomed in profusion. Even in the Tower of the Sun, the thick scent of blossoms penetrated.
'The city is beautiful, Sire,' Flint finally said.
His heart sank as several courtiers gasped. What had he done wrong? The Speaker descended from the rostrum and bent toward the dwarf; Flint stood firm but quailed within.
'Call me Speaker,' Solostaran said softly, his voice too quiet to catch the ears of the nearby elves. Flint nodded, and Solostaran straightened again. But one pair of sharp ears had caught the Speaker's words. A giggle, quickly stifled, made the dwarf look behind the Speaker and raised a tremor of annoyance on the Speaker's face. Three young elves-no, one, a resentful-looking lad with auburn-brown hair, was a half-elf, Flint realized- clustered at the back of the rostrum. The Speaker gestured toward the two full elves. 'My children. Gilthanas. And Lauralanthalasa, who needs a lesson in court decorum.' The girl giggled again.
The boy was clearly a young version of his elegant, slender father. And the girl…! Flint had never seen the likes of the elf girl. To say she was lovely would be like calling the sun a candle, Flint reckoned, although he was no poet. She was willow-thin, with eyes the color of new leaves and hair as gold as the morning sunlight. The Speaker narrowed his eyes at her, and the radiant girl pouted. The only creature in the room shorter than Flint, she had the ways of a human child of five or six years of age, but he would bet she was at least ten.
'And this?' Flint asked, nodding to the half-elf, who reddened and looked away. The dwarf felt suddenly as though he'd embarrassed the lad terribly by calling attention to him. He was older than the other two, and Flint didn't think he was related to them. There was a certain huskiness to his frame where the others were thin as switches, a bit less of a slant to his eyes, and less smoothness to his features. All of it put Flint in more of a mind of some of the human folk back in the village of Solace.
The Speaker spoke smoothly. 'This is my ward, Tanthalas, or Tanis.'
Once again, Flint found himself without words. The boy was obviously uneasy with the attention. At that moment, the adviser that Flint's escort had identified as Lord Xenoth emerged from an anteroom behind the rostrum and slipped in front of the young half-elf. Tanis edged aside. Resentment radiated from the boy like heat from a campfire, but at whom the emotion was aimed, Flint couldn't tell.
The Speaker gestured toward another elf, standing off to the right under one of the carved marble balconies. The elf lord had dark blond hair and square, regular features and might, Flint thought, be considered handsome save for the set of his eyes; they were close together and deep beneath his brow. His face probably glowered even when he was happy, the dwarf conjectured. The elf lord stood with three other equally proud elves, two men and a woman.
'My elder son, Porthios,' Solostaran said proudly. The elf lord inclined his head slightly. Oh ho! Flint thought, that's a prideful one; and probably not too happy having anyone other than a full elf-one with bloodlines pure all the way back to the Kinslayer Wars-in his precious Tower, either.
The Speaker, once again, seemed to be waiting for something. Flint decided that honesty was the best idea.
'I'm afraid I know little enough of noble houses, and of elves even less, though I hope that last will be changing soon,' he said, allowing his shoulders to relax somewhat.
'Why did you accept my summons?' Solostaran asked. His green eyes were so deep that Flint felt momentarily as though no one else were in the rotunda with him. Briefly, the dwarf spied the authority that must have been every Speaker's since Kith-Kanan. I would not want to cross him, he thought.
'I've had time to ponder that, on these last few weeks' journey,' Flint said. 'I must say my chief reason is curiosity.' Lord Xenoth curled a puckered lip and turned aside again, silver robe swishing against the rostrum. 'Curiosity killed the kender,' the elderly adviser said in a stage whisper to the boy and girl the Speaker had called Gilthanas and Lauralanthalasa. Gilthanas snickered. The girl looked askance at the old elf, glanced pointedly away, and sidestepped toward the half-elf, Tanis. Tanis stood unmoving, seemingly unaware of the nearness of the exquisite young girl.
Solostaran gave Xenoth a look that caused the old elf to blanch, drawing a tight smile from the half-elf. When the Speaker turned back to Flint, however, his eyes were kind. 'Curiosity,' he prompted.
'Like most, I had not seen Qualinesti,' Flint explained. 'It's common knowledge that the forests of Qualinesti are nearly impossible for common folk to penetrate. To have escorts offered to me-by the Speaker of the Sun, no less-is a rare honor indeed.' Not a bad speech, the dwarf thought, and the Speaker's slow nod gave him the nerve to push on. 'The craftsmanship of the Qualinesti elves is known throughout Ansalon. Your crafts are prized in Haven, Thorbardin, Solace, and other cities of the region. Truth, I hoped to pick up a few pointers for my own metal work.'
And besides, the dwarf added to himself, the Speaker's envoys had bought so many rounds of ale for Flint's friends at the Inn of the Last Home that the dwarf's head had swum. He had awakened the next morning, his traveling gear packed and slung across the back of a mule. And he had been slung, head and feet drooping, right along with the baggage.
'Do you mean what you've said, Master Fireforge?' the Speaker asked him evenly, and Flint blinked.
'I–I'm not sure what you mean,' he managed to stutter.
'You said you knew little of elves, and that you wished to change that. Is that truly so?'
Flint looked around himself, at the airy Tower, at the golden-haired elves, and at the regal figure of the Speaker, resplendent in his robes of green stitched with gold. The odor of spring blossoms was growing a bit thick,
