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9
The Pact
Rain pattered on the dry streets of Qualinost. After three days of continuous
sunshine, the rain was a blessing. The city dwellers, who had so fastidiously avoided the
crimson downpour, stayed outside, luxuriating in the refreshing, clean liquid. The wide,
curving streets were full of people.
Once the rain had abated to a soft shower and cool breezes flowed across his capital,
Kith-Kanan rode with Senator Irthenie and Kemian Ambrodel through the busy streets.
The Speaker of the Sun was surveying the city to see how much it had suffered in the
three days of heat. Qualinost, he was relieved to see, didn't seem to have been much
damaged by the burning sun.
His subjects noticed the Speaker riding among them. They tipped their hats or bowed
as he passed. Here and there, Kith-Kanan came upon a gang of gardeners removing some
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tree or bush that had succumbed to the relentless heat. At the right hand of each of these
groups waited a priest of Astra, ready to plant a new tree in place of the old. No,
Qualinost had not suffered very much.
The market square was less cheerful. Kith-Kanan rode ahead of his two companions
across the almost deserted plaza and saw all the empty stalls and ruined produce lying
trodden on the cobblestones. One merchant, a burly human with a leather apron, was
sweeping up some spoiled potatoes when Kith-Kanan reined in to speak with him.
"Hello there, my good fellow," called the Speaker. "How goes it with you?"
The man didn't look up from his work. "Rotten! All of it rotten! What's a man
supposed to do with five bushels of dried-out, split-open, rotten vegetables?"
Irthenie and Kemian drew alongside Kith-Kanan. "So the sun ruined your crop?"
asked the Speaker sympathetically.
"Aye, the sun or the darkness or the lightnin' or the flood of bloody rain. Makes no
never-mind to me which it was. It happened." The man spat on the damp stones.
An elf woman with a basket of withered flowers under one arm heard their
conversation. With a quick curtsy to her sovereign, she asked, "Why do the gods punish
us so? What sin have we committed?"
"How do you know the gods are punishing anyone? These strange things might all be
signs of some great wonder to come," Kith-Kanan suggested.
The human, squatting on the ground to gather his ruined potatoes into baskets,
grumbled, "They say it's because Kith-Kanan has put his own son in chains to help build
the fortress at Pax Tharkas." He still didn't realize to whom he was conversing. At his
harsh words, the elf woman blushed, and Kemian Ambrodel cleared his throat loudly.
The human lifted his head.
Even though the Speaker didn't wear the glitter and gold of state robes, the man
recognized him. "Mercy, Your Worship, I'm sorry!" the man gasped. "I didn't know it
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was you!"
Grimly Kith-Kanan replied, "Have no fear. I would hear everything my people think
of me."
"Is it true, Majesty?" asked the elf woman meekly. "Did you sell your own son into
slavery just to finish that big castle?"
Kemian and Irthenie started to remonstrate with the woman for her blunt query. The
Speaker held up his hands to silence them. Patiently he explained what Ulvian had done,
and why he had sent him to Pax Tharkas. His earlier wish to keep Ulvian's crime from
public gossip seemed hopeless. Now he felt it was more important for his people to know
the truth and not entertain wild imaginings.
While he spoke, more people gathered peddlers, tinkers, farmers, potters. All came
to hear Kith-Kanan's story of the trouble he was having with his son. To his amazement,
they all believed that Ulvian's exile and the twelve days of marvels were related.
"Where did you get these ideas?" Irthenie asked sharply.
The potato man shrugged. "Talk. Just talk . . . you know."
"Shadow talk," said Kith-Kanan, too faintly for most to hear. Kemian heard, and he
glanced at the Speaker.
"Is Lord Kemian Ambrodel to be your son now?" shouted a voice from the crowd.
The three mounted elves turned their heads to and fro, trying to spot the one who'd
spoken.
"Will Lord Ambrodel be the next Speaker of the Sun?" the same voice demanded.
"Who said that?" muttered Irthenie. No one answered, but others in the crowd took
up the cry. Keeping a steady hand on his fractious mount's reins, Kith-Kanan let the
shouting grow a while. He wanted to measure the sentiment of his people.
Kemian, however, could not remain calm. "Silence!" the general roared. "Show
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respect for the Speaker!"
"Silvanesti!" someone shouted back at him, and it was like a curse. The young
warrior, in an agony of embarrassment and anger, looked to his sovereign. Kith-Kanan
seemed thoughtful.
"Sire," said Kemian desperately, "I think you'd best assure them I am not to be your
successor!" His voice was tight but earnest.
"Say something," Irthenie urged from the side of her mouth.
At last the Speaker held up a hand. "Good people," he said. "The crowd instantly fell
silent, awaiting his response. "I understand your concern for the throne. Lord Ambrodel
is a faithful and valiant servant. He would make an excellent Speaker "
"No! No!" the crowd erupted. "No Silvanesti! No Silvanesti!" they chanted. In his
own shock at the Speaker's words, Kemian barely heard their insults.
"Have you forgotten that I am of the royal house of Silvanos?" Kith-Kanan said icily.
"No one is more Silvanesti than I!"
"You are the Speaker of the Sun! The father of our country!" a male voice answered.
"We don't want some Silvanesti courtier's boy to rule us. We want a ruler of your blood
or none!"
"Your blood or none!" echoed a large segment of the crowd.
Kemian snatched at his reins, ready to charge into the mass of unarmed Qualinesti
and put an end to these insults. Kith-Kanan leaned over and laid a hand on the warrior's
arm. Eyes blazing, Kemian stared angrily at the Speaker, but he didn't try to evade his
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