01 Firstborn.pdf

Dragonlance

~|~ Firstborn ~|~

The Elven Nations Trilogy

Volume One

Paul B. Thompson & Tonya R. Carter

Prelude

Year of the Dolphin (2308 PC)

The great river Thon-Thalas flowed southward through the forests of

Silvanesti. Three-quarters of the way down its length, the broad waterway

branched and twin streams flowed around an island called Fallan. On this island

was the capital city of the elven nation, Silvanost.

Silvanost was a city of towers. Gleaming white, they soared skyward, some

dwarfing even the massive oak trees on the mainland. Unlike the mainland,

Fallan Island had few trees. Most had been removed to make way for the city.

The island's naturally occurring marble and quartz formations had then been

spell-shaped by the Silvanesti, transforming them into houses and towers.

Approaching the island from the west on the King's Road, a traveler could see

the marble city gleaming with pearly light through the trees. At night, the city

absorbed the starlight and moonlight and radiated it softly back to the

heavens.

On this particular night, scudding clouds covered the sky and a chill rain fell.

A brisk breeze swirled over the island. The streets of Silvanost, however, were

full. In spite of the damp cold, every elf in the city stood outside, shouting,

clapping, and singing joyfully. Many carried candles, hooded against the rain,

and the dancing lights added to the strange yet festive air.

A wonderful thing had happened that evening in the capital. Sithel, Speaker

of the Stars, ruler of all Silvanesti, had become a father. Indeed the great

fortune of Speaker Sithel was that he had two sons. He was the father of twins,

an event rare among elves. The Silvanesti began to call Sithel "Twice Blest."

And they celebrated in the cool, damp night.

The Speaker of the Stars was not receiving well-wishers, however. He was

not even in the Palace of Quinari, where his wife, Nirakina, still lay in her

birthing bed with her new sons. Sithel had left his attendants and walked alone

across the plaza between the palace and the Tower of the Stars, the

ceremonial seat of the speaker's power. Though common folk were not allowed

in the plaza by night, the speaker could hear the echoes of their celebrations.

He strode through the dark outlines of the garden surrounding the tower.

Wending his way along the paths, he entered the structure through a door

reserved for the royal family.

Circling to the front of the great emerald throne, Sithel could see the vast

audience hall. It was not completely dark. Six hundred feet above him was a

shaft in the roof of the tower, open to the sky. Moonlight, broken by clouds,

filtered down the shaft. The walls of the tower were pierced by spiraling rows

of window slits and encrusted with precious jewels of every description. These

split the moonlight into iridescent beams, and the beams bathed the walls and

floor in a thousand myriad colors. Yet Sithel had no mind for this beauty now.

Seating himself on the throne he had occupied for two centuries, he rested his

hands on the emerald arms, allowing the coolness of the stone to penetrate

and soothe his heavy heart.

A figure appeared in the monumental main doorway. "Enter," said the

speaker, He hardly spoke above a whisper, but the perfect acoustics of the hall

carried the single word clearly to the visitor.

The figure approached. He halted at the bottom of the steps leading up to the

throne platform and set a small brazier on the marble floor. Finally the visitor

bowed low and said, "You summoned me, great Speaker:' His voice was light,

with the lilt of the north country in it.

"Vedvedsica, servant of Gilean," Sithel said. "Rise."

Vedvedsica stood. Unlike the clerics, of Silvanost, who wore white robes and

a sash in the color of their patron deity, Vedvedsica wore a belted tabard of

solid gray. His god had no temple in the city, because the gods of Neutrality

were not officially tolerated by the priests who served the gods of Good.

Vedvedsica said, "May I congratulate Your Highness on the birth of his sons?"

Sithel nodded curtly. "It is because of them that I have called you here," he

replied. "Does your god allow you to see the future?"

"My master Gilean holds in his hands the Tobril, the Book of Truth.

Sometimes he grants me glimpses of this book." From the priest's expression it

appeared this was not a practice he enjoyed.

"I will give you one hundred gold pieces," said the speaker. "Ask your god,

and tell me the fate of my sons."

Vedvedsica bowed again. He dipped a hand into the voluminous pockets of

his tabard and brought out two dried leaves, still shiny green, but stiff and

brittle. Removing the conical cover from the brazier, he exposed hot coals and

held the leaves by their stems over the dully glowing fire.

"Gilean, the Book! Gray Voyager! Sage of Truth, Gate of Souls! By this fire,

open my eyes and allow me to read from the book of all-truth!"

The cleric's voice was stronger now, resonating through the empty hall.

"Open the Tobril! Find for Speaker Sithel the fates of his two sons, born this

day!"

Vedvedsica laid the dry leaves on the coals. They caught fire immediately,

flames curling around them with a loud crackle. Smoke snaked up from the

brazier, thick, gray smoke that condensed as it rose. Sithel gripped the arms of

his throne and watched the smoke coil and writhe. Vedvedsica held up his

hands as if to embrace it.

Gradually the smoke formed into the wavering shape of an open scroll. The

back of the scroll faced Sithel. The front was for Vedvedsica only. The cleric's

lips moved as he read from the book that contained all the knowledge of the

gods.

In less than half a minute the leaves were totally consumed. The fire flared

three feet above the golden brazier, instantly dispelling the smoke. In the flash

of flame, the priest cried out in pain and reeled away. Sithel leaped up from his

throne as Vedvedsica collapsed in a heap.

After descending the steps from the throne platform, Sithel knelt beside the

cleric and carefully turned him over. "What did you see?" he asked urgently.

"Tell me-I command you!"

Vedvedsica took his hands from his face. His eyebrows were singed, his face

blackened. "Five words . . . I saw only five words, Highness," he said

falteringly.

"What were they?" Sithel nearly shook the fellow in his haste to know. "The

Tobril said, 'They both shall wear crowns . . .' "

Sithel frowned, his pale, arching brows knotting together. "What does it

mean? Two crowns?" he demanded angrily. "How can they both wear crowns?"

"It means what it means, Twice-Blest."

The speaker looked at the brazier, its coals still glowing. A few seconds'

glimpse into the great book had nearly cost Vedvedsica his sight. What would

the knowledge of Gilean's prophecy cost Sithel himself? What would it cost

Silvanesti?

1 - Spring-Year of the Hawk (2216 PC)

Clouds scattered before the wind, bright white in the brilliant sunshine. In the

gaps of blue that showed between the clouds, a dark, winged form darted and

wheeled. Far larger than a bird, the creature climbed with powerful strokes of

its broad wings. It reached a height above the lowest clouds and hovered

there, wings beating fast and hard.

The beast was a griffon, a creature part lion, part eagle. Its magnificent

eagle's head and neck gave way to the torso and hindquarters of a lion. A

plumed lion's tail whipped in the wind. Behind the beast's fiercely beaked head

and unblinking golden eyes, the leather straps of a halter led back to a saddle,

strapped to the griffon's shoulders. In the saddle sat a helmeted figure clad in

green and gold armor. An elven face with brown eyes and snow-colored hair

peered out from under the bronze helmet.

Spread out below them, elf and griffon, was the whole country of Silvanesti.

Where wind had driven the clouds away, the griffon rider could see the green

carpet of forests and fields. To his right, the wandering silver ribbon of the

Thon-Thalas, the Lord's River, flowed around the verdant Fallan Island. On this

island was Silvanost, city of a thousand white towers.

"Are you ready, Arcuballis?" whispered the rider to his mount. He wound the

leather reins tightly around his strong, slender hand. "Nowl" he cried, drawing

the reins sharply down.

The griffon put its head down and folded its wings. Down they plummeted,

like a thunderbolt dropped from a clear sky. The young elf bent close to the

griffon's neck, burying his fingers in the dense, copper-hued feathers. The

massive muscles under his fingers were taut, waiting. Arcuballis was well

trained and loyal to its master; it would not open its wings again until told to

do so. If its master so desired, the griffon wouldplunge straight into the fertile

soil of Silvanesti.

They were below the clouds, and the land leaped into clear view. The rich

green canopy of trees was more obvious now. The griffon rider could see the

pines and the mighty oaks reaching up, connecting soil to sky. It was a view of

the land few were ever granted.

He had dropped many thousands of feet, and only a few hundred remained.

The wind tore at his eyes, bringing tears. He blinked them away. Arcuballis

flexed its folded wings nervously, and a low growl sounded in its throat. They

were very low. The rider could see individual branches in the trees, see birds

fleeing from the griffon's rapidly growing shadow.

"Nowl" The rider hauled back sharply on the reins. The broad wings opened

slowly. The beast's hindquarters dropped as its head rose. The rider felt himself

slide backward, bumping against the rear lip of the tall saddle. The griffon

soared up in a high arc, wings flailing. He let the reins out, and the beast

leveled off . He whistled a command, and the griffon held its wings out

motionless. They started down again in a steep glide.

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