The elves murmured among themselves. They were obviously impressed.
Tanis was impressed. From this distance, his son looked every inch a king.
And then Gilthas stepped into a shaft of brilliant sunlight. The father’s loving eye caught the tremor in the young man’s clenched jaw, the pallor of the face, his expression, which was carefully and deliberately blank. Rashas and the white-robed elven wizardess both moved to stand beside him.
“That’s Gilthas. Let’s go.”
Hand on his sword, Tanis started forward. Dalamar caught hold of him, dragged him back.
“What now?” Tanis demanded angrily, and then he saw the look on the dark elf’s face. “What’s wrong?”
“He’s wearing the sun medallion,” Dalamar said.
“What? Where? I don’t see it.”
“It’s hidden beneath his robes.”
“So?” Tanis didn’t understand the problem.
“The medallion is a holy artifact, blessed by Paladine. The medallion’s power protects him from the likes of me. I dare not touch him.”
The dark elf drew near, whispered in Tanis’s ear. “I don’t like this, my friend. What’s Gilthas doing with the sun medallion? Only the Speaker of the Sun and Stars may wear it. Porthios would never give it up voluntarily and, because of its holy properties, the medallion can’t be taken from him by force. Something sinister is at work here.”
“All the more reason to get Gil out! What do we do now?”
“Your son has to take off the medallion, Tanis. And he must do it of his own free will.”
“I’ll see to that!” Tanis said, and again started forward.
“No, wait!” Dalamar cautioned. “Patience, my friend. Now is not the time—not with the cursed White Robe standing near him. Let us see what transpires. The proper moment will come. When it does, you must be ready.”
The half-elf slowly released his grip on his sword hilt. It was his instinct to act, to do, not to wait around. But Dalamar was right. Now was not the time. Restlessly, Tanis shifted from one foot to the other, forced himself to be patient.
Gilthas had come to stand near the side of the rostrum. He was shorter than the elves around him. He would never be the normal height of an elf—a result of his human bloodline. For a moment, he looked undersized, not very kingly.
Rashas prodded him forward, had his hand on Gil’s shoulder.
Gil turned and stared at Rashas coldly.
Smiling, lips tight, Rashas removed his hand.
Turning his back on Rashas, Gilthas walked slowly up to the rostrum. Once he was there, he raised his head and cast one swift, searching, hopeful glance around the room.
“He’s looking for me,” Tanis said. He had his hand on the ring. “He knows I’ll come for him. If he could only see me …”
Dalamar shook his head. “He might accidentally give us away.”
Tanis watched helplessly and saw his son’s hope die.
Gil’s head bowed. His shoulders slumped. Then, drawing a deep breath, he raised his head and stared unseeing, with stoic calm, out into the crowd.
Rashas was getting along with business, moving through it hastily, dispensing with all the ritual and ceremonial trappings elves love.
“The situation is grave. Last night, the Qualinesti guards caught an intruder, a Silvanesti spy!”
The elder elves looked suitably shocked and irate. The young ones exchanged glances, shook their heads.
“The spy was captured and will stand trial. But who knows if he is the only one? Who knows but that he might not be the forerunner of an invasion army! Therefore,” Rashas was talking loudly, practically shouting, “in the interests of this nation’s security, the senate has decided to pursue the only course of action left open to us.
“It is the decision of the Thalas-Enthia that, for crimes against his people, the current Speaker of the Sun and Stars, Porthios of the House of Solostaran, should be stripped of his title. That, further, he shall be exiled, cast out from this land, and from all lands where good men walk.”
“We challenge that ruling!” called a loud voice.
The elder elves were horrified, demanded to know who dared to do such a thing. The group of young elves stood together, defiance hardening their faces.
“The Heads of Household had no say in this,” continued the young elf, his voice rising over the outraged calls for silence. “And therefore we challenge the ruling.”
“This is not a matter for the Heads of Household,” said Rashas in icy tones. “By law, the Speaker determines if an elf is to be cast out. In the case where it is the Speaker himself who has committed a serious crime, the Thalas-Enthia is granted power to stand in judgment.”
“And who decided Porthios committed a crime?” the young man pursued.
“The Thalas-Enthia,” Rashas answered.
“How convenient!” The young man sneered.
His cohorts backed him up. “Put it to a vote of the Heads of Household,” several shouted.
“We want to hear from Porthios,” a young woman called out. “He should have a right to defend himself.”
“He was offered that right,” said Rashas smoothly. “We sent word to Silvanesti. Our messenger told the Speaker that he had been brought up on charges of treason and that he should return immediately to answer them. As you see, Porthios is not present. He remains in Silvanesti. He disdains not only these proceedings, but his own people.”
“Clever, very clever,” Dalamar murmured. “Of course, Rashas fails to mention the fact that Porthios is locked in a prison cell in Silvanesti.”
Tanis stood watching the proceedings in grim silence. His fear for his son was growing. Rashas, it seemed, would stop at nothing. Dalamar had been right. The senator was now in the clutches of the Dark Queen.
Rashas was forging ahead, “And here is the supreme mark of the disdain of Porthios for his people. Show them, Prince Gilthas.”
Gilthas lifted his head. He appeared to hesitate. Rashas said something to him. Gilthas glanced at the man, loathing and hatred in that glance. Then, slowly, he reached his hand into his yellow robes and drew forth the glittering, golden medallion formed in the image of the sun.
Anger, like a gust of wind, swept through the chamber.
The sun medallion was an ancient, holy artifact, handed down through the centuries from one Speaker to his successor. Tanis had no very clear idea what its powers were. These had long been a well-kept secret among the descendants of Silvanos.
How much did Dalamar know about it? Tanis wondered uneasily. And how he had found out? Not that it mattered. The dark elf was right. Porthios would have never voluntarily relinquished the holy medallion.
The White Robe was whispering in Rashas’s ear. Dalamar tensed, but the White Robe was apparently offering advice, not issuing a warning.
“All has been done in accordance with the law,” Rashas said, “but, if some of our younger and more inexperienced members request a vote, then we will allow it.”
The vote took place. Porthios lost, by a considerable majority. The sun medallion had clinched the matter. In the eyes of the elves, Porthios had renounced his own people. The young elves were the only ones to loyally support the absent Speaker.
Rashas proceeded relentlessly. “Leaderless, we turn to another member of the illustrious lineage of Silvanos. It is my pleasure and honor to present Gilthas, son of Lauralanthalasa, daughter of Solostaran, and the next Speaker of the Sun and Stars.”
At a nudge from Rashas, Gilthas bowed to the crowd politely. He was exceedingly pale.
“The Thalas-Enthia has carefully examined the lineage of Prince Gilthas. We find it completely satisfactory.”
“What about the fact that his father’s a half-human?” One of the younger elves was making a final try.
Rashas smiled benignly. “Surely, in these enlightened times, such a factor should not count against the prince. Don’t you agree?”
The young man scowled, unable to answer. He an
d his cohorts had been neatly caught in their own trap. If they protested against Gilthas further, they would appear as bigoted and rigid as their elders. The young Heads of Household exchanged glances. Then, of one accord, they turned and walked out of the proceedings.
A troubled murmur, like the rumble of thunder, rolled around the chamber. The elves didn’t like this. Some appeared to be having second thoughts. Rashas gave instructions to the White Robe and made a gesture. Apparently, she was being ordered to go after the rebellious members. She seemed to remonstrate, but Rashas frowned. His gesture was repeated, this time more forcibly.
The White Robe, with a shake of her head, left the rostrum and hurried out of the chamber.
“Thank you, Takhisis!” Dalamar breathed.
Tanis offered a similar prayer to Paladine.
The two slipped forward, began moving cautiously through the crowd. “Don’t bump into anyone!” Dalamar warned. “We may be invisible, but we’re not wraiths!”
The elves in the chamber were restless, muttering among themselves.
Rashas saw the situation rapidly deteriorating. Obviously, he had to wrap this up swiftly. He called for silence. The elves gradually settled down, gave him their full attention.
“We will proceed with the Taking of the Vow,” he said, casting a sweeping glance around the chamber.
No one said a word in challenge now. Tanis and Dalamar had very nearly reached the rostrum. Gilthas was gripping the rostrum with white-knuckled hands, as if he needed its support to hold him up. He seemed oblivious to what was going on around him. Tanis glided near. He kept fast hold of the magic ring.
Rashas had turned to face Gilthas. “Do you, Gilthas of the House of Solostaran, hereby agree, of your own free will, to take the Vow of the Sun and Stars? To serve your people for the rest of your days as their Speaker?”
Gil’s face was without expression, his eyes lifeless. Moistening parched lips, he opened his mouth.
“No, Son! Stop!” Tanis yanked the ring off.
Gil stared in amazement at his father, who had apparently leapt straight out of nothing.
Tanis grasped hold of his son’s arm. “Take off the sun medallion!” he commanded. “Quickly!”
Dalamar appeared on Gil’s left. The young man looked dazedly from his father to the dark elf. A babble of confused sound broke out, shouts and cries. Gil’s hand closed spasmodically over the medallion.
Rashas, standing next to the young man, said something to him in a low voice.
Tanis ignored the senator. He would deal with him later.
“Gil, take the medallion off,” Tanis repeated quietly, patiently. “Don’t worry! You’ll be safe. I’ve come to bring you home.”
Tanis’s words jolted the young man to action, though not the action Tanis wanted.
Gil pulled himself away from his father’s grasp. The young man was deathly pale, but his voice was strong.
“You are wrong, Father.” Gil glanced at Rashas. “I am already home.”
Rashas began calling out loudly for the guards. At the sound of the commotion, the White Robe wizardess ran into the room.
“Quickly, my friend!” Dalamar urged in a low voice. “Unless you want to see a magical battle that will bring this tower down around our ears!”
“Gil, listen to me,” Tanis began angrily.
“No, Father, you listen to me.” Gilthas was calm. “I know what I’m doing.”
“You’re a child!” Tanis raged. “You have no idea what you’re doing—”
A crimson streak stained Gil’s face, as though Tanis had struck him. Wordlessly, he gazed at his father, silently asking for his trust, for his understanding. The medallion—holy artifact of the elves—gleamed on his breast, its bright light reflected in blue eyes.
How many times, when Tanis was a child, had he looked up to see that medallion gleaming above him, like the sun itself, far out of reach?
“Take that damn thing off!” He stretched out his hand.
White light flashed like the sun itself exploding. Pain burned through Tanis’s arm, pain terrible enough to burst his heart. He was falling. Strong hands caught him, supported him, and a strong voice was chanting strange words.
He heard, as from a far distance, Gilthas say, “I will take the vow. I will be the Speaker of the Sun and Stars.”
Tanis fought to free himself, but the room grew darker, the darkness began to swirl around him, and he realized, in frustrated despair, that he was trapped inside Dalamar’s magic.
Chapter Thirteen
The next instant, Tanis was on his hands and knees, kneeling on a grassy lawn, blinking in the bright sunlight. He was dizzy and half sick, his arm ached, and his hand felt useless and numb. Sitting back on his heels, he stared around. Dalamar stood over him.
“Where in the Abyss are we?” Tanis demanded.
“Hush! Keep quiet!” Dalamar ordered in a low voice. “We are outside Rashas’s house. Put the ring on! Swiftly. Before someone sees us.”
“His house?” Tanis found the ring in a pocket. With his left hand, he struggled to replace the ring on a finger that had no feeling in it. His right arm could move, but it didn’t seem to be his arm. “Why did you bring us here?”
“My reasons will soon become apparent. Keep silent and come with me.”
Dalamar strode rapidly across the lawn. Tanis hurried to catch up.
“Send me back to that chamber. I’ll go alone!”
Dalmar shook his head. “As I told you, my friend, there’s something sinister going on here.”
When they were in sight of the house, Dalamar halted.
A Wilder elf stood guard, blocking the door.
Putting his hand to the side of his mouth, Dalamar called out, speaking the Kagonesti tongue, “Come quickly! I need you!”
The guard jumped, turned around, and peered into a grove of aspen trees growing in back of the large house.
Cloaked in magic, Dalamar was standing practically in front of the porch, but his voice had come from the grove.
“Hurry, you slug!” Dalamar called again, adding a favorite Kagonesti insult.
The guard left his post, ran toward the aspen grove.
“One of Raistlin’s old illusionist tricks. I learned much from my shalafi,” Dalamar said, and he glided silently inside the house.
Mystified, unable to imagine what the dark elf was after, Tanis followed.
In the entryway, a Kagonesti woman was busily scrubbing at a large stain on one of the elegant carpets. Dalamar pointed to the stain, drawing Tanis’s attention to it.
The stain was fresh; the water in the servant’s bucket, the rag in her hand, were crimson.
Blood. Tanis’s lips formed the word, he did not speak it aloud.
Dalamar did not reply. He was standing at the foot of a flight of stairs, peering upward. He began to climb, motioned to Tanis to accompany him. The servant, unaware of their presence, continued at her task.
Tanis kept his hand on his sword. He was not particularly good at fighting left-handed, but he would at least have the advantage of surprise. No enemy would see him coming.
They crept up the stairs, walking cautiously, testing each board before setting foot upon it. The house was deathly silent; a single creaking board would give them away. The steps proved sturdy and solid, however.
“Only the finest for Senator Rashas,” Tanis muttered, and he began to climb more rapidly. He was now beginning to have an idea of why they had come.
Reaching the top of the stairs, Dalamar held up a warding hand. Tanis halted. A door stood open, revealing a spacious hallway. Three doors opened off the hall, one door at the far end and two on each side. Only a single door—the one at the far end—was guarded. Two Kagonesti, holding spears, stood in front of it. Tanis glanced at Dalamar.
“You take the man on the left,” said the dark elf. “I’ll take the right. Make your attack swift and silent. There are probably more guards inside the room.”
Tanis considered using
his sword, then decided against it. Positioning himself directly in front of the oblivious Kagonesti, Tanis clenched his fist, aimed a swift, sharp jab to the jaw. The Wilder elf never knew what hit him. Tanis caught the stunned guard as he fell and lowered him silently to the floor. Glancing over, he saw the other Kagonesti asleep on the floor, a scattering of sand over his inert body.
Tanis put his hand on the door handle. Dalamar’s thin fingers closed over the half-elf’s wrist.
“If what I think is true,” Dalamar whispered into Tanis’s ear, “any move to open that door could be fatal. Not to us,” he added, noting Tanis’s look of astonishment. “To the person inside. We will return to the corridors of magic.”
Tanis scowled and shook his head. Walking those “corridors” left him feeling disoriented and slightly nauseous. Dalamar smiled in understanding.
“Close your eyes,” the dark elf advised. “It helps.”
Keeping fast hold of Tanis’s wrist, Dalamar spoke quick words. Almost before Tanis had his eyes shut, he felt those same fingers dig into his arm, warning him to look around. Opening his eyes, he blinked in the bright light.
He was in a large sunlit arboretum. Seated on a couch near a window was a woman. Her wrists and ankles were bound together with silken cord. She sat rigidly straight, regal and imperious, her cheeks flushed—not with fear, but with anger. Tanis recognized, with shock, Alhana Starbreeze.
Directly opposite Alhana stood a Kagonesti guard, armed with bow and arrow. The bow was raised, one arrow nocked and ready to fire. The arrow was aimed at Alhana’s breast.
“And they exiled me!” Dalamar said quietly.
Tanis could say nothing. He could barely think coherently, much less speak. He guessed now what threat had been used to induce Porthios to give up the sun medallion—the same threat that had forced Gilthas to accept it. Horror and outrage, shock and fury, and the dreadful memory of the terrible things he’d said to his son combined to overpower Tanis. He was as numb and useless as his arm. He could do nothing except stand staring in sick and unwilling disbelief.
Dalamar tugged on Tanis’s sleeve, gestured at the Kagonesti guard, who stood with his back to them. The dark elf made a motion with a clenched fist.
The Second Generation Page 42