Kindred Spirits

Krynn's creatures: minotaurs, woodland creatures, and gully dwarves, though those last didn't seem to be selling well; the Qualinesti weren't much interested in dressing like short, smelly creatures and carrying a simulated version of the dead rat that spelled the ultimate in gully dwarf accessories. Another vendor sold Flint and Tanis tiny venison sausages on hot, crusty buns, and, finally, they purchased mugs of hot spiced tea-which the dwarf pronounced nearly as good as ale. Tanis's purse was lighter when they emerged on the processional street, but his and the dwarf's bellies were much fuller.

'Now, that's a breakfast to restore a dwarf's health,' Flint said, wiping his greasy fingers carefully on his dark brown breeches. 'Will they still be around for lunch, do you think?' he added hopefully.

'Most likely,' Tanis said, and was opening his mouth to say more when a new commotion off to the north caught his attention. The crowd appeared to thicken, to converge, around the disturbance, and Tanis spied the black and silver plumes of the ceremonial uniforms of the palace guard. He pointed.

'Here come Porthios and the Speaker,' he shouted through the increasing din to Flint, who nodded.

The attendants around Porthios and Solostaran marched at the four corners of a huge square, with the Speaker and his elder son keeping regal pace in the center of the entourage. The crowd parted as the troupe stepped wordlessly through, looking neither right nor left.

Flint was jumping up and down, clutching his right shoulder with his left hand. 'I can't see!' he complained. The crowd thickened around him and Tanis even as he groused, and the jostling soon forced the two apart.

'Flint!' Tanis called. 'I'll meet you back at the shop when it's over!'

But the dwarf had been swept away in the crowd.

Despite the noise as the entourage approached, the crowd grew silent as Porthios and his attendants marched by. 'That's something to remember all your life!' Tanis heard one elven father tell a young daughter, who appeared more interested in the chunk of sugared frybread she was devouring than in the history taking place before her.

Tanis caught his breath at the poise and presence that the Speaker possessed, his face commanding, his shoulders erect in the golden robe that flashed like the gold circlet on his forehead. Next to him, Porthios, dressed in a plain dark green robe, walked nearly as proudly, matching Solostaran step for step.

The half-elf stood stock still as the Speaker and Porthios strode by; pride for them and envy of them battled within him. He wondered who would stand as his parents when the time came for his own Kentommen, or whether his human blood would deny him that right.

The crowd surged off after the Speaker, but Tanis stayed where he was. Then he walked off in the opposite direction.

Shouting oaths, holding his shoulder, and wishing that that doorknob of a half-elf would find him, Flint bumped against several elves. But he was nearly half their height, and he was carried along with them like a leaf in a swollen stream.

Finally, through the moving bodies, he spotted a figure he knew, standing in a doorway about thirty feet away. Flint braced his feet and shouted, 'Miral!' The mage swung toward him, a look of surprise on his face, and gestured the dwarf over, but Flint only shrugged helplessly. If he could have fought his way through a crowd like this, he would have been able to remain back with Tanis.

The tall mage had better luck than he in parting the sea of elves, and Miral's hooded figure soon reached the dwarf and pulled him into another doorway. 'It's easier to attach yourself to something permanent and let the crowd flow around you,' the mage commented with a wry smile. They watched in silence as the elves swirled by in a singing tide of reds, greens, yellows, and blues.

'What happens now?' Flint demanded.

The mage looked startled. 'To whom?' he asked.

'Porthios.' Flint pointed at the departing procession, only the plumes of the guards visible above the throng. 'After he completes his vigil in the Grove.'

'Have you visited Qualinesti for two decades and not learned the ways of the Kentommen?' Miral asked in surprise.

The dwarf grew huffy. 'I've seen small celebrations, but nothing to pay particular attention to.'

'Ah.' The mage nodded sagely and moved out of the doorway, pacing toward Flint's shop. 'Well, after the Kaltatha-that's the three-day vigil that starts today- Porthios will be led from the Grove by three nobles, their identities concealed by black robes, gloves, and masks. The Speaker will not be present. He will have gone into seclusion for meditation and prayer the day before.

'Porthios will be in a gray robe, as will Gilthanas, who will be returning from his one-night vigil in the Kentommenai-kath, overlooking the River of Hope.' Miral broke off his recitation. 'Have you been there?'

Flint nodded.

'The townspeople will pay no attention to either brother,' Miral said. 'It's part of the strictures of the Kentommen.

'I know that,' Flint said. 'Ailea told me. Where does Porthios go?'

The mage resumed, stepping around a child waving a teal and silver banner. 'The three nobles will lead him to a stone chamber hewn deep beneath the palace. It's a shadowed room, and he will be made to sit in a small circle of light in the center.' Miral and Flint skirted a glittering quartz home shaped like an oak; they turned a corner.

'The masked nobles will stand in a triangle around the youth,' Miral said. 'They are the Ulathi, the Gazers, and each is called by a ceremonial name: Tolethra, Ambition; Sestari, Envy; and Kethyar, Pride. Each questions the youth relentlessly, accusing him of self-serving ambition, of coveting the greatness of others, and of foolish pridefulness. With their wrath, goading, mockery, and criticisms, they test the strength of will and the purity of soul that the youth gained in the Grove.'

Flint imagined the scene and shivered. He still preferred his Fullbeard Day party. 'What's the point of the questioning… What's it called?'

'That portion of the Kentommen is called the Melethkanara, or The Heart's Shadow.' ' Miral said. 'The point, as the name implies, is to see if any shadow remains on the youth's heart. If so, he will become frightened, angered, or despairing at their words. To shout, cry, or even flinch means failure in this test. However, if at the end of the trial the youth is still calm and at peace with himself, the Ulathi will simply nod and then depart from the room, leaving the doorway open.'

The dwarf had a sudden sense of where the Speaker had developed the impenetrable mask that fell over his features in times of turmoil. He wondered how Porthios-and, for that matter, Tyresian-would be changed by their own Kentommens.

They had arrived at Flint's shop; there was no sign of Tanis. Flint, grateful-though he'd never admit it-to be able to rest for a few moments on his favorite stone bench, invited Miral in for a visit. Miral agreed, and soon the two were sharing a bag of toasted, salted quith-pa that the dwarf had purchased on the way back from the procession. The dwarf held a tankard of ale in one hand; the mage drank water.

'And how have you been feeling, my friend?' Miral asked. 'Have you learned anything about the ones who set this foul trap?'

Flint shook his head in response to the second question but answered the first by proclaiming himself fit as a dwarf half his age. 'Tanis and Eld Ailea took fine care of me. They fed me nothing but healthy food and drink. It was terrible,' he added glumly.

'And did the potion I left have any effect?' Miral queried. 'I wondered how you would be faring, downing a cup of the tea every hour.'

'Potion?' The dwarf looked bewildered. 'No. Ailea forced enough cold water and milk down me to leave me practically floating-she claimed it would prevent a fever from the wound- but I drank no potions. Unless, of course, she slipped it into the water. I wouldn't put it past her.'

'No, this tea would have been taken warm,' the mage said. 'Ah, well. Perhaps I forgot to leave the herbs. I've been so busy lately that I'm never quite sure whether I've actually done something, or only thought about doing something.'