The Second Generation

by Margaret Weis

  Rashas bowed. “Sleep well, tonight, Prince Gilthas. You have a busy schedule ahead of you tomorrow. It is not every day that a man is crowned king.”

  With a gesture, the senator summoned one of his Kagonesti servants. “Take His Highness to new quarters—away from the witch. And see to it that he is not disturbed.”

  Chapter Eleven

  All that night, Gil lay in his bed and made plans for morning. It had occurred to him, shortly after he had been escorted to his room, that he and Alhana were worrying over nothing. He knew what to do, how to handle the situation. It was all very simple. He was only sorry he couldn’t tell Alhana that she had nothing to fear.

  Gil rehearsed in his mind several times what he would say to Rashas. Anxiety eased, the young man fell asleep.

  The sound of knocking woke him. He sat up, glanced out the window. It was still dark.

  A Kagonesti guard opened the door, permitting three serving women to enter Gil’s room. One of the women carried a large basin of fragrant rose water; orange blossoms floated on the surface. Another brought in a lamp and food on a tray. The third held—carefully—soft yellow robes, draped over her arms.

  The Kagonesti woman carrying his breakfast was very young, not more than Gil’s age. She was very lovely, too. Her body was not painted, as were the older elves’, either as a matter of taste or perhaps the custom was dying out among the young.4 She had the darkly tanned skin of her people, however, and her hair was burnished gold. Her eyes—by the soft light of the lamp—were large and brown. She smiled shyly at him as she placed the tray of food on the table by his bedside.

  Gil smiled back, not thinking of what he was doing. He was then deeply embarrassed when the two older women laughed, said something in their lilting language. The young girl blushed and moved hastily away from Gil’s bed.

  “Eat. Wash. Dress,” said one of the older women, embroidering her crude Qualinesti speech with darting motions of her hands. “The master will be shortly with you. Before sun rises.”

  “I want to see Queen Alhana,” Gil said firmly, trying to sound as dignified as possible, considering that he was more or less trapped in his bed by these women.

  The Kagonesti woman slid her eyes toward the guard, who was standing watchfully in the door. He frowned, barked a sharp command, and the women hastened out.

  “I want—” Gil began again loudly, but the guard only grunted and slammed the door shut.

  Gil drew a deep breath. Soon, apparently, he must confront Rashas. He went over the words again and again as he performed his morning ablutions. With barely a glance at the yellow robes—the ceremonial robes of the Speaker of the Sun and Stars—Gil put on his traveling clothes, the clothes he had worn to Qualinesti, the clothes he intended to wear home.

  Home! The reminder brought tears to his eyes. He would be so glad to return; he doubted if he’d ever leave again. His gaze went to the tray of food. He remembered the lovely girl who had carried it, remembered her eyes, her smile.

  Well, maybe he wouldn’t leave home for a short while. He would come back here, when all this was over, when Alhana and Porthios were once more rightful rulers. And next time, he would come back with his parents.

  He tried eating breakfast, but gave it up. He sat on the bed, in the lamplit darkness, waiting with impatience for Rashas.

  A tinge of rose-colored light glistened on the windowpane. It was nearly dawn. Gil heard footsteps and then Senator Rashas entered the room. He strode in abruptly, hurriedly, without knocking. The senator’s gaze went first to the robes of the Speaker, lying untouched on Gil’s bed, then to Gil himself.

  He had risen to his feet, was standing respectfully, but certainly not humbly, before the senator.

  “What is this?” Rashas demanded in surprise. “Didn’t the women tell you? … Damn their ears! Those barbarians never get anything right. You are to dress yourself in the robes of the Speaker, Prince Gilthas. Obviously, you misunderstood—”

  “I didn’t misunderstand, Senator,” Gil said, using the formal appellation.

  His hands were cold. His mouth was so dry he feared his voice would crack, which would ruin the effectiveness of his carefully prepared speech. But there was no help for that now. He had to go on as best he could. He had to do what was right, do what he could to make amends for all the trouble he’d caused.

  “I’m not going to be your Speaker, Senator. I refuse to take the vow.”

  Gil paused, expecting Rashas to argue, ridicule him, or even remonstrate and plead.

  Rashas said nothing. His face was unreadable. He crossed his arms over his chest, waited for Gil to continue.

  Gil licked dry lips. “Perhaps, Senator, you assumed that because my parents didn’t choose to raise me in Qualinesti I have been kept ignorant of my heritage. That is not true. I know all about the ceremony to crown the Speaker of the Sun and Stars. My mother explained it to me. I know that one thing is required. The Speaker must take the vow of his own free will.”

  Gil emphasized the words. The speech was coming easier. He was too absorbed in it to realize that Rashas’s reaction—or nonreaction—might bode trouble.

  “I won’t take the vow,” Gil concluded, drawing in another deep breath. “I can’t be your Speaker. I don’t deserve such an honor.”

  “You’re damn right you don’t,” Rashas said suddenly, softly, with suppressed fury. “You arrogant little half-breed. Your father was a bastard. He never knew the name of the man who rutted with the whore that was his mother. She should have been cast out in her shame. I said as much, but Solostaran was a soft-hearted, doddering old idiot.

  “As for your own mother! What decent elven woman dons armor and rides to battle like a man? I have no doubt she found it most entertaining—surrounded day and night by so many soldiers! Your mother was nothing more than a glorified camp follower. The half-elf was the only man to have her after the others were done with her! With such a heritage, to even let you sniff the air of Qualinesti is a greater honor than you deserve, Prince Gilthas!” Rashas sneered when he spoke the name.

  “And now, by the gods, you have the temerity to refuse—to refuse—to be Speaker! By all rights you should be down on your knees before me, weeping in your thankfulness, that I should pick you up out of the muck and make something of you!”

  Shocked to the core of his being, Gil stared at the senator in appalled horror. He began to shake. His stomach wrenched; he was physically sickened by what he had heard. How could this man be so twisted? How could he think such things, let alone say them? Gil struggled to reply, but anger—choking and hot—caught him by the throat.

  Rashas eyed him grimly. “You are more thick-headed than I had supposed you could be, though I might have expected it. You are most definitely your father’s son!”

  Gil stopped shaking. He stood rigid, his hands clenched tightly behind his back. But he managed a smile. “I thank you for the compliment, sir.”

  Rashas paused, frowning, considering. “I see I am going to have to resort to extreme measures. Remember, young man. Whatever happens, you brought this on yourself. Guard!”

  Grabbing up the robes of the Speaker with one hand, Rashas dug his bony fingers into Gil’s arm and shoved him, stumbling, toward the door. The Kagonesti guard took a firm grip on Gil.

  He struggled to free himself. Rashas said something in Kagonesti. The guard tightened his grip.

  “He’ll break your arm, if I order him to,” Rashas said coldly. “Come, come, Prince.” Again, the sneer. “Stop wasting my time.”

  Rashas led the way out of Gil’s room, up the stairs, back to the part of the house where Alhana Starbreeze was being held prisoner. Before now, Gil had been too furious to think clearly. His anger was starting to be replaced by fear.

  Senator Rashas was obviously insane.

  No, he’s not, Gil realized with a sense of dread. If he were insane, no one would listen to him, no one would follow him. But he truly believes those terrible things he said about my parents. He truly
believes that Alhana is a witch. He believes what he said last night about the treaty, about the elves becoming slaves of the humans. He’s got everything twisted around so that, in his mind, what is good is evil and what is evil is good!

  How is this possible? I don’t understand … And what can I do to stop him?

  They reached Alhana’s chambers. The Kagonesti guards flung the door open at Rashas’s snarling command. He stalked into the room. The Kagonesti guard dragged Gil in after.

  Pulling away from the Wilder elf, Gil made an attempt to recover his dignity. He glared defiantly at Rashas.

  Alhana was on her feet, regarded him with calm disdain. “Well, why have you come here, Senator? Shouldn’t you be proceeding with the coronation?”

  “The young man has proven obstinate, Lady Alhana.” Rashas was smooth, cool. “He refuses to take the vow. I thought perhaps you could persuade him that what he is doing is not in his best interests—or in yours.”

  Alhana rewarded Gil with a warm and approving smile; a smile that eased his fear and filled him with renewed strength, renewed hope. “Quite the contrary. I think the young man has shown remarkable wisdom and courage for one of his years. Obviously, you misjudged him, Rashas. I would not dream of attempting to talk him out of this decision.”

  “I believe you will change your mind, Lady Alhana,” Rashas said smoothly. “As will the young man.”

  Rashas said a few words in Kagonesti. One of the Wilder elf guards put down his spear and removed a bow he wore slung over his shoulder. Rashas gestured at Alhana. The Wilder elf nodded. He drew an arrow from his quiver and began to fit it to the bow.

  Alhana was extremely pale, but not, apparently, from fear. She regarded the senator with a look that might almost have been pitying. “You are being seduced by darkness, Rashas. Stop this course of action before it destroys you!”

  Rashas was amused. “I am not the one in league with the Dark Queen—as you, her servant, should know. I do all in my power to keep the shadows of her wickedness away from my people. Paladine’s holy light shines upon me!”

  “No, Rashas,” Alhana said softly. “Paladine’s light illuminates. It does not blind.”

  His face hard, expression scornful, Rashas turned from Alhana. The senator faced Gil, who was only now beginning to comprehend what was happening.

  “You can’t do … such a thing!” Gil gasped. He stared at Rashas in disbelief. “You can’t …”

  The senator flung the yellow robes of the Speaker at him. “It is time you dressed for the ceremony, Prince.”

  4 The Qualinesti consider the custom of body-painting barbaric and have been working to halt the practice among the Wilder elves, especially those who come to live and work in Qualinesti. The elder Kagonesti adhere rigidly to the old ways, but the younger elves—particularly those who want to remain in Qualinesti—have given up the custom. This has not pleased many of the Kagonesti, who have accused their cousins of attempting to lure their young away from them, perhaps even eradicate the Kagonesti race.

  Chapter Twelve

  The last time Tanis had been in the Tower of the Sun had been during the dark days just prior to the War of the Lance. Evil dragons had returned to Krynn. A new and terrible foe—the draconians—were joining with other servants of the Dark Queen to form immense armies under the captaincy of powerful Dragon Highlords. Victory against such mighty forces seemed impossible. In this tower, the elves of Qualinesti had come together for possibly the last time, to plan the exodus of their people from their beloved homeland.

  Tiny flickering flames of hope had burned steadily through that dark night: Hope in the form of a blue crystal staff and a woman wise and strong enough to wield it; hope in the unlikely form of a merry kender who decided to help in “small ways”; hope in the form of a knight whose courage was a blazing beacon to those who cowered in fear beneath the Dark Queen’s dread wings.

  Goldmoon, Tasslehoff, Sturm—they and the rest of the companions had been with Tanis in this room, in this tower. He sensed their presence with him now. Looking around the chamber of the Speaker of the Sun, he was cheered. All would be well. He glanced up into the dome, at the glittering tile mosaic, which portrayed the blue sky and the sun on one half; the silver moon, the red moon, and the stars on the other.

  “Please the gods,” Tanis prayed softly. “I’ll take you home, my son, and we’ll start over. And this time things will be better. I promise.”

  Dalamar, standing beside Tanis, was also gazing upward. The dark elf gave an amused chuckle. “I wonder if they know that the black moon is now visible on their ceiling?”

  Shocked, Tanis stared. Then he shook his head. “It’s only a hole. A few tiles have fallen out. That’s all.”

  Dalamar gave him a sidelong glance. The dark elf smiled.

  Tanis, uncomfortable, ceased to look at the mosaic.

  The tower’s white marble walls glistened red in the dawn. The huge, round room in which they stood was currently empty, except for a rostrum, placed directly beneath the domed ceiling. People had not yet gathered; they would wait until the sun was completely over the horizon. Tanis and Dalamar had arrived early, traveling the corridors of magic—a brief, but nerve-jolting journey that left Tanis confused and disoriented.

  Before they left the Tower of High Sorcery, Dalamar had given Tanis a ring carved from crystal-clear quartz.

  “Wear this, my friend, and no one will be able to see you.”

  “You mean I’ll be invisible?” Tanis asked, regarding the ring dubiously, not touching it.

  Dalamar slid the ring on Tanis’s index finger.

  “I mean no one will be able to see you,” the dark elf replied. “Except myself.”

  Tanis didn’t understand, then decided that he didn’t particularly want to understand. Holding his hand awkwardly, not daring to touch the ring for fear of disrupting the spell, he wished impatiently for the ceremony to begin. The sooner started, the sooner over, and he and Gil would be safely home.

  The bright sunlight shone through small windows cut into the tower, reflected off mirrors placed in the shining marble walls. The Heads of Household began to file into the chamber. Several walked over to stand directly in front of Tanis. He stiffened, waiting to be spotted. Elves walked very near him, but none paid any attention to him. Relaxing, Tanis glanced over at Dalamar. He could see the dark elf, and the dark elf could see him, but no one else could. The magic was working.

  Tanis searched the crowd.

  Dalamar leaned near, spoke softly, “Is your son here?”

  Tanis shook his head. He tried to tell himself all was well. It was early. Gil would probably enter with the Thalas-Enthia.

  “Remember the plan,” Dalamar added unnecessarily. Tanis had thought of nothing but the plan all during a long and sleepless night. “I must make physical contact with him in order to magically transport him. Which means we must reveal ourselves. He will be alarmed, may try to break away. It will be up to you to calm him. We must act quickly. If any elven White Robes should see us—”

  “Stop worrying,” Tanis said impatiently. “I know what to do.”

  The chamber filled rapidly. The elves were excited, tense. Rumors sprouted faster than weeds. Tanis heard the name Porthios pronounced several times, more in sorrow than in anger. Whenever Alhana’s name was spoken, however, it was generally accompanied with a curse. Porthios obviously was a victim of the seductive Silvanesti woman. The word “witch” was used by several elder elves standing near Tanis.

  He stirred restlessly, found it difficult to contain himself. He would have given all his wealth to be able to bang their heads together, knock some sense into these hidebound old fools.

  “Easy, my friend,” Dalamar warned softy, resting his hand on Tanis’s arm. “Do not give us away.”

  Tanis set his jaw, tried to calm down. An argument erupted on the opposite side of the chamber. Several young elves—who had become Heads of Household on the untimely death of a parent—were in loud disagreement wi
th their elders.

  “The winds of change are blowing in the world, bringing new ideas, fresh thoughts. We elves should open our windows, air out our houses, rid ourselves of stale and stagnant ways,” one young woman was proclaiming.

  Tanis silently applauded these young men and women, but was sorry to note that their numbers were few, their youthful voices easily shouted down.

  A silver bell rang once. Silence fell over the assembly. The members of the Thalas-Enthia were arriving. The other elves made way respectfully for the senators. Clad in their robes of state, they formed a circle around the rostrum.

  Tanis searched the group for Gil, but could not find him.

  A white-robed mage, a member of the Thalas-Enthia, lifted her head. She glanced sharply and with lowered brows around the chamber.

  “Damn it to the Abyss,” Dalamar muttered, and he plucked Tanis’s sleeve. “Watch out for that wizardess, my friend. She senses something’s wrong.”

  Tanis looked alarmed. “Does she see you? Us?”

  “No, not yet. I’m like a bad smell to her,” Dalamar said. “Just as she is to me.”

  The White Robe continued to search the crowd, then the silver bell rang out four times. All the elves began to crane their necks, the shorter standing on tiptoe to see over the heads and shoulders of the taller. Their eyes focused on a small alcove adjacent to the central chamber, an alcove Tanis suddenly remembered. In that room, he and his friends had waited until called to the come before old Solostaran, Speaker of the Sun and Stars, Laurana’s father, a man who had been foster father to Tanis.

  In that alcove, Tanis knew, with a painful constricting of his heart, was his son.

  Gilthas entered the chamber.

  Tanis forgot their danger, forgot everything in his concern, his astonishment, and—it must be admitted—his pride.

  The little boy who had run away from home was gone. In his place walked a young man, with grave and solemn countenance, a young man who stood upright, tall and dignified in the yellow, shimmering robes of the Speaker.