Dragons of Winter Night - Margaret Weis [84]
Gilthanas had recovered sufficiently from his wounds to be able to attend the festivities, a small scar on his cheekbone the only sign of his injury. Laurana and her friends wondered at this, for they had seen the terrible blow inflicted upon him by the Silvanesti elf. But when Laurana mentioned it to her father, the Speaker only shrugged and said that the Kaganesti had befriended druids living in the forests; they had probably learned much in the way of healing arts from them.
This frustrated Laurana, who knew the rarity of true healing powers on Krynn. She longed to discuss it with Elistan, but the cleric was closeted for hours with her father, who was very soon impressed by the man’s true clerical powers.
Laurana was pleased to see her father accept Elistan—remembering how the Speaker had treated Goldmoon when she first came to Qualinesti wearing the medallion of Mishakal, Goddess of Healing. But Laurana missed her wise mentor. Though overjoyed at being home, Laurana was beginning to realize that for her, home had changed and would never be the same again.
Everyone appeared very glad to see her, but they treated her with the same courtesy they gave Derek and Sturm, Flint and Tas. She was an outsider. Even her parents’ manner was cool and distant after their initial emotional welcome. She might not have wondered at this, if they hadn’t been so doting over Gilthanas. Why the difference? Laurana couldn’t understand. It remained to her elder brother, Porthios, to open her eyes.
The incident began at the feast.
“You will find our lives much different from our lives in Qualinesti,” her father told her brother that night as they sat at the banquet held indoors in a great log hall built by the Kaganesti. “But you will soon become accustomed to it.” Turning to Laurana, he spoke formally. “I would be glad to have you back in your old place as my scribe, but I know you will be busy with other things around our household.”
Laurana was startled. She had not intended to stay, of course, but she resented being replaced in what was a daughter’s traditional role in the royal household. She also resented the fact that, though she had talked to her father about taking the orb to Sancrist, he had apparently ignored her.
“Speaker,” she said slowly, trying to keep the irritation from her voice, “I have told you. We cannot stay. Haven’t you been listening to me and to Elistan? We have discovered the dragon orb! Now we have the means to control dragons and bring an end to this war! We must take the orb to Sancrist—”
“Stop, Laurana!” her father said sharply, exchanging looks with Porthios. Her brother regarded her sternly. “You know nothing of what you speak, Laurana. The dragon orb is truly a great prize, and so should not be discussed here. As for taking it to Sancrist, that is out of the question.”
“I beg your pardon, sir,” Derek said, rising and bowing, “but you have no say in the matter. The dragon orb is not yours. I was sent by the Knights Council to recover a dragon orb, if possible. I have succeeded and I intend to take it back as I was ordered. You have no right to stop me.”
“Haven’t I?” the Speaker’s eyes glittered angrily. “My son, Gilthanas, brought it into this land which we, the Qualinesti, declare to be our homeland in exile. That makes it ours by right.”
“I never claimed that, Father,” Gilthanas said, flushing as he felt the companions’ eyes turn to him. “It is not mine. It belongs to all of us—”
Porthios shot his younger brother a furious glance. Gilthanas stammered, then fell silent.
“If it is anyone’s to claim, it is Laurana’s,” Flint Fireforge spoke up, not at all intimidated by the elves’ glaring stares. “For it was she who killed Feal-thas, the evil elven magic-user.”
“If it be hers,” the Speaker said in a voice older than his hundreds of years, “then it is mine by right. For she is not of age, what is hers is mine, since I am her father. That is elven law and dwarven law, too, if I’m not mistaken.”
Flint’s face flushed. He opened his mouth to reply, but Tasslehoff beat him to it.
“Isn’t that odd?” remarked