“We always protected him,” Tanis said, not realizing he was talking aloud. “Maybe we were wrong. But he was so sick, so fragile.… How could we do otherwise?”
“We raise our children to leave us, Tanis,” Dalamar said quietly.
Startled, Tanis looked at the dark elf. “Caramon said that.”
“Yes, he said it to me, after Palin had taken his test. ‘Our children are given to us for only a short time. During that time, we must teach them to live on their own, because we won’t always be around.’ ”
“Wise words.” Recalling his friend, Tanis smiled fondly, sadly. “But Caramon wasn’t able to follow his dictum, not when it came to his own son.”
He was silent a moment, then said quietly, “Why are you telling me all this, Dalamar? What’s in it for you?”
“Her Dark Majesty has a very high regard for you, Tanis Half-Elven. Neither she nor I consider it conducive to our cause to have your son on the elven throne. I think we would do far better with Porthios,” Dalamar added dryly.
“What about the treaty?”
“That victory is already ours, my friend. No matter what happens among the elves, the treaty is so much scrap paper. Porthios will never forgive the Silvanesti for betraying him. He won’t sign now. You know it. And if the two elven nations refuse to sign, the dwarves of Thorbardin will refuse to sign. And if the dwarves—”
“Hang the dwarves!” Tanis said impatiently. “Does this mean you’ll help me bring Gilthas home?”
“Your son’s coronation is planned for tomorrow,” Dalamar said, raising his wineglass to Tanis in a mocking salute. “It is a solemn occasion, one no father should miss.”
Chapter Ten
Twilight enhanced the beauty of the elven land. The soft, glowing colors of the setting sun shone through the silken curtains, burnished every object in the room with gold. Its beauty was wasted on Gil. Nervously, he paced away the hours.
The house was still. The Kagonesti guards hardly ever spoke, and when they did, it was only briefly and in their own language—a language that sounded like the calls of wild birds. The guards brought in dinner bowls of fruit and bread, wine and water. Then, after a swift searching glance around the room, they left, shutting the door behind them. Alhana could eat nothing.
“This food tastes like ashes,” she said.
Despite his trouble, Gilthas was hungry. He ate not only his meal, but—when he saw she wasn’t going to eat—hers as well.
Alhana smiled faintly. “The resiliency of youth. It is good to see. You are the future of our race.” She pressed her hand against her abdomen. “You give me hope.”
Night was forbidden to truly settle over Qualinesti. The darkness was lit by thousands of tiny sparkling lights, shining in the trees. Alhana lay down, closed her eyes, and tried to find some rest before the evening’s long and possibly dangerous journey.
Gil continued pacing in the darkness, attempting to sort through the confused jumble of his thoughts.
Home! How he had longed to leave it. Now, perversely, he longed to be back.
“Father came after me. I know he did. And maybe I’ve put him in danger.” Gil sighed. “I’ve made a mess of things. Whatever happens to Father will be my fault. He warned me not to go. Why didn’t I listen? What’s wrong with me? Why do I have these horrible feelings inside me? I—”
He stopped. Voices, loud voices, speaking Qualinesti, came floating up from far below. Alarmed, thinking perhaps that Alhana’s plot had been discovered, Gil wondered if he should wake her.
She was already awake, sitting up, her eyes open wide. She listened several moments, then sighed in relief.
“It is only a few members of the Thalas-Enthia—Rashas’s cohorts. They’re planning on entering the senate chambers together, to present a solid front.”
“Then all the senators aren’t behind Rashas?”
“The younger members are opposed to him, though there are too few of them to matter. But many of the elder are wavering. If Porthios were here, there would be no contest, and Rashas knows it.”
“What will happen tomorrow when you’re gone and I’m not here to be crowned?”
Alhana was scornful. “The people will wake to discover that they have no ruler. Rashas will be forced to send for Porthios. The Thalas-Enthia will be chastened and we can get on with our lives—such as they are.”
Gil had heard his parents talk about the marriage of Alhana and Porthios. It wasn’t a happy one. Husband and wife rarely saw each other. Porthios was fighting Lorac’s dream in Silvanesti. Alhana spent her time shuttling between the two kingdoms, trying desperately to hold them together. But she spoke of her husband with respect and pride, if not affection.
Gil gazed at her with adoring eyes. I could live off her beauty alone. If she were mine, I wouldn’t need anything else. I could do without water, food. How could any man not love her? Porthios must be a great fool.
A brief burst of cheering erupted from down below. The sound of voices began to diminish.
“They’re leaving,” said Alhana. “Now the guards will relax.”
The house was silent. Then, once certain Rashas was gone, the Kagonesti guards outside their door began to talk and laugh. Spears clattered to the floor. More laughter, and strange clicking sounds.
Puzzled, Gil looked at Alhana.
“Those are sticks you hear, being tossed onto the floor. The Kagonesti are playing a game of their people. They do this whenever Rashas leaves, but don’t imagine they are letting down their guard,” she warned. “They would trade their betting sticks for spears the moment you tried to open that door.”
“Then how are we going to escape?”
It was a long drop to the garden below; Gil had already looked.
“Samar has everything planned,” Alhana said, and would say no more.
Time passed. Gil was edgy, nervous.
“How long will the meeting of the Thalas-Enthia last?”
“Far into the night,” said Alhana quietly. “After all, they are plotting sedition.”
The Wilder elves’ game was becoming increasingly entertaining, judging by the bursts of laughter and the occasional excited, friendly argument. Gil walked over to the door and put his ear to it to hear better. He would like to join in such a game sometime, and wondered how it was played. Sticks clattered; then there would be moments of breath-held silence, followed by a gasp of relief or howls of dismay. At the end, cries of success came from the winners, good-natured swearing from the losers.
Then, suddenly, there was the sound of a strange voice. “Good evening, gentlemen. Who is winning?”
Alhana—deathly pale—rose to her feet. “It is Samar,” she whispered. “Get away from the door! Quickly!”
Gil jumped back. He heard shouts, confused scrambling outside the door—men reaching for their spears. Swift, strange words, spoken in a language that he didn’t understand, halted those sounds, changed them to muffled groans, followed by several thuds, as of heavy bodies tumbling to the floor. And then no more sounds for the space of ten heartbeats—rapid, frightened heartbeats.
The door opened. A young elven warrior strode into the room.
“Samar! My trusted friend.” Alhana smiled at him. Gracious and calm as if she were in her own audience chamber, she extended her hand.
“My queen!” Samar fell to one knee before her. His head bowed in homage.
Gil peered curiously out the door. The Wilder elves were stretched out, comatose, on the floor. Some had their spears still clutched in their hands. What appeared to be a rolled-up piece of parchment was ablaze in the center of the room. As Gil watched, the parchment vanished, consumed by the fire. Thin tendrils of green smoke drifted on the still air.
Gil was about to step out to take a closer look.
“Take care, young man,” Samar warned. Rising swiftly to his feet, he pulled Gil back. “Don’t go anywhere near that smoke, or you’ll be slumbering as peacefully as they.”
“Prince Gilthas, so
n of Laurana Solostaran and Tanis Half-Elven,” Alhana performed the introductions. “This is Samar of House Protector.”
Samar’s gaze—cool and appraising—raked over Gil, who felt suddenly weak and frail in the presence of this seasoned warrior. Samar gave the young man a cold nod, then turned immediately back to his queen.
“All is prepared, Your Majesty. The griffins are waiting to meet us in the wilderness. They were furious when they heard that Rashas had taken you prisoner.” Samar smiled grimly. “I don’t believe he will be riding by griffin back anymore. If you are ready, we should leave at once. Where are your possessions? I will carry them for you.”
“I travel lightly, my friend,” Alhana said. She spread her hands, showed them empty.
“But your jewels, my queen—”
“I have what is important to me.” She placed her hand over a ring she wore upon her finger. “My husband’s token of faith and trust. All else means nothing.”
Samar frowned. “They took your jewels from you, didn’t they, my queen? How dare they?”
Alhana’s voice was gentle, but stern. “The jewels belong to the Qualinesti people. The matter is trivial, Samar. You are right. We should leave at once.”
The warrior bowed in silent acquiescence. “The downstairs guards, too, are silenced. We will go that way. Cover your nose and mouth, my queen. You, too, Prince,” he ordered Gil curtly. “Don’t inhale the magical smoke.”
Alhana pressed an embroidered silken handkerchief over her face. Gil held the hem of his cloak over his mouth. Samar led the way, his hand on the hilt of his sword. They stepped over the slumbering bodies of the Wilder elves and detoured cautiously around the smoldering ashes of the spell scroll. When they reached the top of the stairs, Samar brought them to a halt.
“Stay here,” he whispered.
Descending the steps, he looked around, then—satisfied that all was safe—he motioned for Alhana and Gil to follow.
Halfway down the last flight of stairs, Samar suddenly grabbed hold of Alhana, dragged her into the shadows. A fierce look from the warrior and an urgent “Get back!” warned Gil to do the same.
Not daring to breathe, he flattened himself against the wall.
A Wilder elf, this one a female, emerged from a doorway directly below them. She was carrying a silver bowl filled with fruit. Humming a song to herself, she crossed the entryway, heading for a courtyard, bright with the tiny, sparkling lights. Another Kagonesti servant met the woman at the door. They conferred a few moments. Gil caught the Qualinesti word for “party.” The two disappeared into the courtyard.
Gil was impressed. How in the name of Paladine had Samar heard the woman coming? She moved as silently as the wind on her bare feet, except for that soft song. Gil regarded the warrior with undisguised admiration. Samar was apologizing in an undertone to his queen.
“Forgive me, Your Majesty, for my roughness.”
“There is nothing to forgive, Samar. Let us hurry, before she comes back.”
Swiftly, silently, the three ran down the stairs.
Samar put his hand on the door handle.
The door opened, but it was not the warrior who opened it.
Senator Rashas stood in the doorway.
“What is this?” he demanded in an amazed tone, staring from the warrior to Alhana. The senator’s face went livid with anger. “Guards! Seize them!”
Qualinesti elves, wearing the swords and uniform of the city guard, surged past Rashas. Samar drew his sword, threw himself in front of his queen. The guards drew their swords.
Gil had no weapon, wouldn’t have known what to do with one anyway. The blood pounded in his ears. He had been almost paralyzed with fear when Rashas first appeared. That fear had evaporated. Gil’s blood burned. He felt light-headed and calm, ready to fight. Tensing, he was about to leap …
“Stop this madness!”
Alhana flung herself in the midst of the combatants. Her hands, soft and white, grabbed the blade of Samar’s sword and thrust aside the blade of the guard threatening him.
“Samar, put your weapon away,” she ordered, speaking Silvanesti, her voice shaking with emotion and anger.
“But my queen!” he began, pleading.
“Samar! That is my command!” she returned.
Slowly, reluctantly, Samar lowered his sword. But he did not sheathe it.
Alhana turned to face Rashas.
“So this is what it has come to,” she said. “Elf killing elf. Is this what you want, Rashas?”
Alhana held out her hands. Her flesh was cut, bleeding.
Rashas was unmoved, his face hard and cold. The Qualinesti guards, however, looked uncomfortable, lowered their weapons, and backed up a pace. Gil stared at the blood on the queen’s hands and was deeply ashamed of his own bloodlust.
“It is not I who brought us to this pass, my lady,” Rashas said coolly, “but you. By attempting this escape, you have flaunted the lawful decree of the Thalas-Enthia.”
“Lawful!” Alhana regarded him with disdain. “I am your queen. You have no right to hold me against my will!”
“Not even a queen is above elven law. We know about the secret treaty, Your Majesty. We know that you and the traitor Porthios have plotted to sell us out to our enemies.”
Alhana stared at him, not understanding. “Treaty …”
“The treaty known as the Unified Nations.” Rashas sneered. “A treaty that would make us slaves!”
“No, Senator. You don’t understand! You have it all wrong!”
“Do you deny that you conducted talks in secret with the humans and the dwarves?”
“I don’t deny it,” Alhana answered with dignity. “The talks had to be kept secret. The matter is too delicate; it is too dangerous. There are things happening in the world you don’t know about. You can’t possibly understand—”
“You are right, my lady,” Rashas interrupted. “I do not understand. I do not understand how you could sell us into bondage, give away our lands.”
Alhana was imperious, calm. “You are a blind fool, but that is beside the point. Our negotiations were legal. We broke no law.”
“On the contrary, my lady!” Rashas was losing patience. “Elven law demands that all treaties be voted on by the Thalas-Enthia!”
“We were going to present it to the senate. I swear this to you—”
“A Silvanesti oath?” Rashas laughed in disdain.
“Forgive me, my queen, for my disobedience,” Samar said in a low voice. Taking hold of Alhana, the warrior shoved his queen protectively into Gil’s arms.
Sword raised, the Silvanesti warrior sprang at Rashas.
The Qualinesti guard closed with him. Steel rang as swords clashed. Rashas stumbled backward into a safe corner. Gil placed his own body in front of Alhana. She watched in horror, powerless to intervene.
The Qualinesti guards outnumbered Samar four to one. He fought valiantly, but they managed to overwhelm and disarm him. Even then, he fought on. The guards struck him with their fists and the flat of their blades until he fell, senseless, to the floor.
It was the first time Gil had seen blood drawn in violence. He was sickened by the sight and by his own impotent rage.
Alhana knelt beside the fallen Samar.
“This man is badly injured.” She looked up at the Qualinesti. “Take him to the healers.”
The guard turned to Rashas. “Is that your will, Senator?”
Alhana paled, bit her lip.
Rashas was once more in control of the situation. “Take him to the healers. When they are finished with him, throw him into prison. He may well pay for this act of treason with his life. One of you guards, return with me to the senate. I must inform them of what has occurred. The rest of you escort Alhana Starbreeze back to her chambers. No, not you, Prince Gilthas. I want to have a word with you.”
Defiant, Gil shook his head.
Alhana rose, came to him, rested her hand on his arm. “You are a Qualinesti prince,” she said to him
earnestly, intently. “And the son of Tanis Half-Elven. You have courage enough for this.”
GU didn’t quite understand, but it occurred to him that he might bring more trouble down on her if he refused to listen to Rashas.
“Will you be all right, Queen Alhana?” he asked, emphasizing the word.
She smiled at him. Then, walking with dignity, accompanied by her guards, Alhana left the room.
When she was gone, the senator turned to Gil.
“I am deeply sorry for this unfortunate incident, my prince. I take the responsibility completely upon myself. I should never have quartered you with that cunning woman. I should have foreseen that she would coerce you into going along with her treacherous scheme. But you are safe now, my prince.” Rashas was soothing, reassuring. “I will find other quarters for you this night.”
Gil knew what his father would do in this situation. Tanis would have swallowed hard and then he would have slugged Rashas.
Grace under pressure.
Hitting Rashas would solve nothing, however, only make matters worse. Gil knew what his mother would do.
Sighing regretfully, Gil assumed a calm and placid expression that gave away nothing of his thoughts, an expression he’d seen more than once on his mother’s face.
“I thank you for your concern, Senator.”
Rashas nodded, then continued smoothly on. “The members of the Thalas-Enthia want very much to meet you, Prince Gilthas. They asked me to bring you to tonight’s meeting. That is why I returned early. I was sent to bring you to the senate chamber. Fortunate, don’t you think? It shows the gods are with me.”
One god, at least, Gil thought grimly. Or should I say goddess?
“But you don’t look well.” Rashas was all sympathetic concern. “Not surprising. You were in grave danger from that conniving female.” He lowered his voice. “There are some who say she is a witch. No, no. Don’t try to talk, my prince. I will convey your apologies to the senate.”
“Please, do that, Senator,” Gil said. He could play this game, too. He only wished he had a clearer understanding of the rules.
The Second Generation Page 40