Dragons of the Autumn Twilight - Margaret Weis [150]
Within moments, Porthios appeared in the arched doorway. “You are called,” he said sternly.
The companions entered the chamber of the Speaker of the Suns. No human had seen the inside of this building for hundreds of years. No kender had ever seen it. The last dwarves who saw it were the ones present at its construction, hundreds of years before.
“Ah, now this is craftsmanship,” Flint said softly, tears misting his eyes.
The chamber was round and seemed immensely larger than the slender Tower could possibly encompass. Built entirely of white marble, there were no support beams, no columns. The room soared upwards hundreds of feet to form a dome at the very top of the tower where a beautiful mosaic made of inlaid, glittering tile portrayed the blue sky and the sun on one half; the silver moon, the red moon, and the stars on the other half, the halves separated by a rainbow.
There were no lights in the chamber. Cunningly built windows and mirrors focused sunlight into the room, no matter where the sun was located in the sky. The streams of sunlight converged in the center of the chamber illuminating a rostrum.
There were no seats in the Tower. The elves stood—men and women together; only those designated as Heads of Household had the right to be in this meeting. There were more women present than Tanis ever remembered seeing; many dressed in deep purple, the color of mourning. Elves marry for life and if the spouse dies do not remarry. Thus the widow has the status of Head of Household until her death.
The companions were led to the front of the chamber. The elves made room for them in respectful silence but gave them strange, forbidding looks—particularly the dwarf, the kender, and the two barbarians, who seemed grotesque in their outlandish furs. There were astonished murmurs at the sight of the proud and noble Knight of Solamnia. And there were scattered mutterings over the appearance of Raistlin in his red robes. Elven magic-users wore the white robes of good, not the red robes proclaiming neutrality. That, the elves believed, was just one step removed from black. As the crowd settled down, the Speaker of the Suns came forward to the rostrum.
It had been many years since Tanis had seen the Speaker, his adopted father, as it were. And here, too, he saw change. The man was still tall, taller even than his son Porthios. He was dressed in the yellow, shimmering robes of his office. His face was stern and unyielding, his manner austere. He was the Speaker of the Suns, called the Speaker; he had been called the Speaker for well over a century. Those who knew his name never pronounced it—including his children. But Tanis saw in his hair touches of silver, which had not been there before, and there were lines of care and sorrow in the face, which had previously seemed untouched by time.
Porthios joined his brother as the companions, led by the elves, entered. The Speaker extended his arms and called them by name. They walked forward into their father’s embrace.
“My sons,” the Speaker said brokenly, and Tanis was startled at this show of emotion. “I never thought to see either of you in this life again. Tell me of the raid—” he said, turning to Gilthanas.
“In time, Speaker,” said Gilthanas. “First, I bid you, greet our guests.”
“Yes, I am sorry.” The Speaker passed a trembling hand over his face and it seemed to Tanis that he aged even as he stood before them. “Forgive me, guests. I bid you welcome, you who have entered this kingdom no one has entered for many years.”
Gilthanas spoke a few words and the Speaker