Elven Star – The Death Gate Cycle 2. Margaret Weis & Tracy Hickman

Calandra’s younger brother, Paithan, sat in a rocking chair near the desk. He rocked lazily back and forth, a palm fan in his hand, and watched the rotation of the swans’ wings above his sister’s head. Several other fans were visible to him from the study-the fan in the living room and beyond that the fan in the dining area. He watched them all waft through the air and between the rhythmic flutter of the wings and the clicking of the beads of the abacus and the gentle creaking of his chair, he fell into an almost hypnotic trance.

A violent explosion that shook the three-level house jolted Paithan upright.

“Damn,” he said, looking irritably at a fine sifting of plaster [1] that was falling from the ceiling into his iced drink.

His sister snorted and said nothing. She had paused to blow plaster off the page of the ledger, but did not miss a figure. A wail of terror could be heard, coming from the level down below.

“That’ll be the new scullery maid,” said Paithan, rising to his feet. “I better go and comfort her, tell her it’s only father-”

“You’ll do no such thing,” snapped Calandra, neither raising her head nor ceasing to write. “You’ll sit right there and wait until I’m finished so that we can go over your next trip norinth. It’s little enough you do to earn your keep, idling about with your noble friends, doing Orn knows what. Besides, the new girl’s a human and an ugly one at that.”

Calandra returned to her addition and subtraction. Paithan subsided good-naturedly back into his chair.

I might have known, he reflected, that if Calandra’d hire a human at all the girl’d be some little pig-faced wretch. That’s sisterly love for you. Ah, well, I’ll be on the road soon and then what dear Cal doesn’t know won’t hurt her.

Paithan rocked, his sister muttered, the fans whirred contentedly.

The elves revere life and so magically endow it on nearly all their creations. The feathers were under the illusion that they were still attached to the swan. Paithan, watching them, thought that this might be a good analogy for their entire family. They were all under the illusion that they were still attached to something, perhaps even each other.

His peaceful reverie was interrupted by the appearance of a charred, singed, and disheveled man, who bounded into the room, rubbing his hands.

“That was a good one, don’t you think?” he said.

The man was short, for an elf, and had obviously once been robustly plump. The flesh had begun to sag lately; the skin had turned sallow and slightly puffy. Though it could not be told beneath the soot, the gray hair standing up around a large bald spot on his head revealed that he was in his middle years. Other than his graying hair, it might have been difficult to guess the elf’s age because his face was smooth and unwrinkled-too smooth. His eyes were bright-too bright. He rubbed his hands and looked anxiously from daughter to son.

‘That was a good one, wasn’t it?” he repeated.

“Sure, Guvnor,” said Paithan in good-humored agreement. “Nearly knocked me over backward.”

Lenthan Quindiniar smiled jerkily.

“Calandra?” he persisted.

“You’ve sent the kitchen help into hysterics and put new cracks in the ceiling, if that’s what you mean, Father,” retorted Calandra, snapping the beads together viciously.

“You’ve made a mistake!” squeaked the abacus suddenly.

Calandra glared at it, but the abacus held firm. “Fourteen thousand six hundred eighty-five add twenty-seven is not fourteen thousand six hundred twelve. It’s fourteen thousand seven hundred twelve. You’ve neglected to carry the one.”

“I’m surprised I can still reckon at all! See what you’ve done, Father?” Calandra demanded.

Lenthan appeared rather downcast for a moment, but he cheered up almost immediately.

“It won’t be long now,” he said, rubbing his hands. “That last one lifted the rocket above my head. I think I’m close to discovering the proper mixture. I’ll be in the laboratory, my dears, if anyone needs me.”

“That’s likely!” muttered Calandra.

“Oh, ease up on the guvnor,” said Paithan, watching with some amusement as the elf wound his way vaguely around the assortment of fine furnishings to disappear through a door at the back of the dining area. “Would you rather have him the way he was after Mother died?”

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