Firstborn

by Paul B. Thompson

  Kith-Kanan took a large bite from an apple and regarded the dwarf with some surprise. “Progress? All I heard was a lot of contentious talk.”

  The dwarf flipped up the brim of his hat in order to hoist his golden goblet high. He drained the nectar and wiped the sticky liquid from his mustache. “Reorx bless me, Highness! Diplomacy is not like a hunt. We don’t track down our quarry, pot him, and cart him home to be eaten. No, noble prince, diplomacy is like an old dwarf combing his hair-every hair that comes out in his comb is a defeat, and every one that stays in his head is a victory!”

  Kith-Kanan chuckled and looked around the garden. He missed the weight of a sword at his hip. And even more, he missed the sights and smells of the forest. The city seemed too bright, the air tinged with too much smoke. Odd, he’d never noticed those things before.

  “What are you thinking, Highness?” asked Dunbarth.

  What was he thinking? He returned his gaze to the dwarf. “The praetor’s wife is rather short-tempered, and the praetor himself never speaks. You’d think the emperor would have more able representatives,” Kith-Kanan commented. “I don’t think Lady Teralind does their cause much good.”

  Dunbarth looked for a place to throw the capon leg bone, now that he had cleaned it of meat. A servant appeared as if summoned and collected the refuse. “Yes, well, smooth and subtle she’s not, but a lot can be accomplished by sheer stubbornness, too. Prince Sithas —” Dunbarth quickly recalled to whom he spoke and thought the better of what he had been about to say.

  “Yes?” Kith-Kanan prompted him.

  “It’s nothing, Highness.”

  “Speak, my lord. Truth is not to be feared.”

  “I wish I had Your Highness’s optimism!” A passing servitor refilled Dunbarth’s cup. “I was going to say that Prince Sithas, your noble brother, is a match for Lady Teralind in stubbornness.”

  Kith-Kanan nodded. “It is only too true. They are much alike. Both believe they have right always on their side.”

  He and Dunbarth exchanged some further pleasantries, then the dwarf said an abrupt good-bye. He wanted to mingle with the others a bit, he said, and wandered off aimlessly. But Kith-Kanan could read the purpose in his stride. He shook his head. Dwarves were supposedly bluff and hearty, but Dunbarth was more subtle than a Balifor merchant.

  The prince strolled off on his own, among the head-high hedges of flowering vines and the artfully molded sculptures of boxwood and cedar.

  The vigorous spring seemed to have followed him from the wildwood to Silvanost. The garden was a riot of bloom.

  He thought of the clearing where he and his little family had lived. Had the bees built their hives in the hollow oak yet? Were the flowering trees dropping their blossoms into the pool that was the entrance to Anaya’s secret cave? In the midst of all the splendor and majesty that was Silvanost, Kith-Kanan remembered wistfully the simple life he had shared with Anaya.

  His reverie was broken when he rounded a corner in the hedges and found Hermathya seated alone on a stone bench.

  Kith-Kanan briefly considered turning and avoiding his former lover, but he decided that he couldn’t hide from her forever. Instead of leaving, he went up to her and said hello.

  Hermathya did not look up at him, but gazed off into the blossoms and greenery. “I woke up this morning thinking I had dreamed you returned. Then I asked my maidservant, and she said it was true.” Her voice was low, controlled, and her hair shone in the sunlight. She wore it pulled back in a jeweled clasp, as befitted a high-born, married elf woman. Her pale arms were bare, her skin smooth and unblemished. He thought she was even more beautiful than when he’d left Silvanost.

  She asked him to sit. He declined.

  “Are you afraid to sit next to me?” she said, meeting his eyes for the first time. “It was once your favorite place to be.”

  “Let’s not bring up the past,” Kith-Kanan said, keeping his distance. “That’s over and done with.”

  “Is it?” Her eyes, as always, caught and held him.

  He was intensely aware of her, as near as he was, and she stirred him. What elf could be so close to her flame-bright loveliness and not be moved? However, Kith-Kanan no longer loved Hermathya; he was certain of that.

  “I’ve been married,” he said pointedly.

  “Yes, I heard that last night. Your wife is dead, isn’t she?”

  No, only changed, he thought. But he replied, “Yes, she is.”

  “I thought about you a great deal, Kith.” Hermathya said softly. “The longer you were away, the more I missed you.”

  “You forget, Thya, I asked you to flee with me-and you refused.”

  She seized his hand. “I was a fool! I don’t love Sithas. You must know that,” she exclaimed.

  Hermathya’s hand was smooth and warm, but Kith-Kanan still pulled his hand free of hers. “He is your husband and my brother,” he said.

  She didn’t hear the warning in his statement. She leaned her head against him. “He’s a pale shadow of you, as a prince... and a lover,” she said bitterly.

  Kith-Kanan moved away from the bench. “I have no intention of betraying him, Thya. And you must accept the fact that I do not love you.”

  “But I love you!” A tear trickled down her cheek.

  “If that’s true, then I pity you. I have passed into another life since we loved each other, years ago. I’m not the headstrong young fool I once was.”

  “Don’t you care for me at all?” she asked, her face anguished.

  “No.” he said truthfully, “I don’t care for you at all.”

  One of Dunbarth’s dwarven servants came running through the maze of hedges. “Great prince!” he said breathlessly. “The speaker is recalling the assembly.”

  Kith-Kanan walked away and did not look back at Hermathya, though he could hear her crying until he reached the entrance to the Tower of the Stars.

  When he was out of earshot, Hermathya clenched her eyes shut, squeezing the tears from them. “So be it,” she hissed to herself. “So be it.” She picked up the golden goblet Kith-Kanan had left nearby and bashed the soft metal against the marble bench. The goblet was soon a twisted, misshapen lump.

  *

  The afternoon session dragged on as the three sides tried to decide who would govern the proposed buffer state. It was a tricky question, and every suggestion that came up was debated and discounted. Clerics and guildmasters from the city grew tired of the endless discussion and drifted away, thinning the crowd in the audience hall. After a time, Praetor Ulwen’s head nodded forward. His wife looked like she wanted a long nap herself.

  “I can’t agree to give away mineral rights or crop-growing rights,” Teralind said testily, for the third time. “How do you expect our people to live? They can’t all herd cattle.”

  “Well, your idea to have enclaves belonging to different nations is no solution,” Sithas said, tapping the arm of his chair to emphasize each word. “Instead of one large disputed territory, we’ll have scores of tiny ones!”

  “Separate communities might be the answer,” mused Dunbarth, “if they are able to trade with each other.”

  “They would fight over the choicest land,” the speaker said. He rubbed a hand against his left temple. “This is getting nowhere. Surely one of us can come up with a fair and adequate solution.”

  No one said anything. Kith-Kanan shifted nervously in his seat. He had said virtually nothing during this session. Something Anaya had mentioned to him once was nagging at him. “I don’t meddle with the forest. I just protect it.” Perhaps that was the answer.

  The prince stood quickly. The sudden movement startled everyone; they’d practically forgotten he was there. Sithel looked at his son questioningly, and Kith-Kanan self-consciously straightened the folds of his white robe.

  “It seems to me,” he said with dignity, “that the entire problem with the western provinces comes from the fact that new settlers are pushing the old ones out. No one here, I think, would defend
such activity.” Sithas and Dunbarth glanced at Teralind. She put her nose in the air and shrugged.

  Kith-Kanan moved to the center of the floor. Sithas shifted restlessly as all eyes fixed on his brother. “If everyone is agreed upon the principle that all persons, regardless of race, have a right to settle on empty land, then the problem becomes a simple one-how to protect the legitimate settlers from those who seek to drive them off their land.”

  “I sent soldiers once,” said the speaker flatly. “They were betrayed and slaughtered.”

  “Forgive me, Father,” Kith-Kanan said, “but from what I have heard of the incident, they were too few and not the right kind of soldiers. If we are going to share the bounty of these lands, then the burden of protecting them must be shared. Soldiers from the city have no stake in the area; they simply obey the orders of the speaker.” The prince looked around at the company. “Do you not see? What’s needed is a local force, a militia, in which the farmer has his own shield and spear with which to protect his land and that of his neighbor.”

  “Militia?” said Teralind with interest. Ulvissen was suddenly at her elbow trying to tell her something.

  “Arm the farmers?” asked Dunbarth. The brim of his hat had lost its snap and drooped down over his eyes. He brushed it back.

  “Peasants with spears would never stand up to mounted bandits,” asserted Sithas.

  “They would if they were trained and led by experienced soldiers,” Kith-Kanan countered. He was thinking on his feet now. “One sergeant for each company of twenty; one captain for each band of two hundred.”

  “Are you speaking of all settlers in the disputed lands being armed?” asked Dunbarth. “Even those not of elven blood?”

  “Definitely. If we arm one group and not another, it’s just an invitation for war. A mixed militia will bind the people together, serving shoulder to shoulder with men of other races.”

  “I still say farmers and cow herders will never catch a fast-moving party of raiders,” Sithas said stiffly.

  Kith-Kanan’s enthusiasm brought him right up to his brother’s chair. “Don’t you see, Sith? They don’t have to catch the bandits. They only have to be able to fend them off. Why, the ruined village Mackeli and I saw had a sod wall eight feet high all around it. If the villagers had had a few spears and had known how to fight, they all might have been saved.”

  “I think it is an excellent idea,” Sithel remarked.

  “I like it, too.”

  Kith-Kanan swiveled around to see if what he’d just heard was true. Teralind was sitting proudly, hands folded on the lap of her burgundy gown. “I like it,” she repeated firmly. “It puts the responsibility on the people living there.” Behind her Ulvissen was livid with ill-suppressed anger. “No army need be sent in, yours or ours. The emperor will save much money.”

  “I have some doubts about the efficacy of such a militia,” Dunbarth put in, “but never let it be said that Dunbarth of Dunbarth wasn’t willing to give it a try!” The dwarf whipped off his bothersome hat. “I smell peace!” he declared, throwing the hat to the shiny marble floor.

  “Don’t be hasty,” Sithas warned. His cool voice dampened the growing elation in the hall. “My brother’s plan has its merits, but it doesn’t address the problem of sovereignty. I say, let there be a militia, but only elves may bear arms in it.”

  Kith-Kanan looked stricken, and Teralind rapidly lost her serene expression. She said, “No! That’s impossible. Ergoth will not allow humans to live as hostages among an army of elves!”

  “Quite right,” said Dunbarth, picking up his hat and dusting it off against his leg.

  “We cannot abandon our ancestral right to this land!” Sithas insisted.

  “Be still,” the speaker said, frowning. Now it was Sithas’s turn to look aggrieved. “This is a practical business we’re in. If Ergoth and Thorbardin like Kith-Kanan’s proposal, I cannot in good conscience throw away the best chance we have for peace.”

  Sithas opened his mouth to speak, but Sithel stifled him with a glance. The prince turned away, his lips pressed together in a thin line.

  After a short while, when more specific details were worked out, a basic agreement was reached. Each of the three nations was to provide a corps of experienced warriors to serve as organizers of the new militia. Armories would be set up, where the warrior officers would reside. And in times of trouble all able bodied settlers within twenty miles would present themselves at the armory to receive weapons and leadership. No single nation would command the militia.

  “You expect professional warriors to live in the wilderness, shepherding a motley rabble of farmers?” Sithas asked with ill-concealed irritation. “What will keep them in their place?”

  Kith-Kanan folded his arms. “Land,” he declared. “Give them a stake in the peace of the country.”

  “Give them enough to be worth working,” said Dunbarth, catching the gist of Kith-Kanan’s idea.

  “Exactly! Five acres for every sergeant, twenty acres for every captain. A whole new class of gentry will arise, loyal to the land and to their neighbors,” Kith-Kanan predicted.

  The speaker ordered the scribes to prepare a draft of the decree. Then, as it was nearly dusk, he adjourned the session. Everyone stood while Sithel went out, looking tired but very pleased. Teralind’s shoulders sagged, and she was supported on the arm of Ulvissen, who did not look at all happy with events. Neither did Sithas as he left. Kith-Kanan was about to start after him when Dunbarth called to him.

  “My prince,” he enthused, “Congratulations on your masterful stroke!”

  Kith-Kanan watched his twin disappear out the private exit to the palace. “Yes, thank you,” he said distantly.

  “I praise the gods for bringing you back,” continued the dwarf, folding his hands across his round belly. “That’s what this problem needed, a fresh perspective.” Dunbarth cleared his throat.

  “Oh, your pardon, my lord. I’m being rude,” said Kith-Kanan, turning his attention to the ambassador from Thorbardin.

  “Do not trouble about it.” Dunbarth glanced at the rear exit and commented, “Your brother is proud, and he hasn’t yet learned the benefit of flexibility. Your father is wise. He understands.”

  The elf prince’s brow furrowed with thought. “I suppose,” he replied uncertainly.

  Guards opened the vast double doors of the tower. Beyond the entryway, the red rays of the setting sun painted the world scarlet. Only Dunbarth’s small retinue, two scribes and his secretary, Drollo, remained, waiting patiently for their master.

  Dunbarth’s eyes shone as he plopped his hat on his head. “Noble prince, would you dine with me? I have an urge to try some inn in your city tonight-not that the dining is poor in the palace. Far from it! It’s just that I crave some hearty, simple fare.”

  Kith-Kanan smiled. “I know a place, right on the river. Fried catfish, cabbage rolls, a suet pudding...”

  “Beer?” said the dwarf hopefully. Elves don’t drink beer, so the ambassador hadn’t had any since coming to Silvanost.

  “I think the innkeeper ought to be able to scratch some up,” Kith-Kanan assured him.

  The elf prince and the dwarven ambassador walked out the high doors and into the crimson evening.

  *

  After leaving the Tower of the Stars, Sithas walked through the starlit streets. He wanted to be alone, to think. Anger propelled his steps, and habit steered him to the Temple of Matheri, where so much of his early life had been spent. The crystal dome of the sanctum of the god rose above the sculpted trees like a rising moon, lit a golden yellow from within. Sithas took the steps two at a time. At the door, he dipped his hands in the bowl of rose petals set on a tripod and scattered them on the paving before him.

  In quick, barely audible tones, he said, “Wise Matheri, grant me entrance that I may commune with you.” The buffed wooden doors parted silently, with no hand to stir them. Sithas went inside.

  In the center of the floor, directly under the g
reat dome, the ever-burning lamp of Matheri stood.

  The silent, smokeless flame cast harsh shadows around the circular room. Along the outer edge of the temple were the meditation chambers of the monks. Sithas knew them well. This was where he had lived for thirty years of his life.

  He went to his old cubicle. It was empty, so he entered. Sitting on the hard floor, he crossed his legs. The prince tried to meditate, to find the reason for his resentment of Kith-Kanan’s success. As the priests had taught him, he imagined a dialogue with himself.

  “You are angry, why?” he asked aloud.

  In his mind, he formed a reply. Kith’s suggestion is dangerous to the nation.

  “Is it? Why?”

  It allows the humans to remain on land that rightfully belongs to us.

  “They have been there for years. Is their presence intrinsically bad?”

  The land belongs to the elven nation. No one else.

  “An inflexible attitude. Is this the reason you’re angry?”

  Sithas paused and considered. He closed his eyes and examined closely the feelings that crowded inside his heart.

  No. I’ve been working at father’s side for weeks, discussing, planning, thinking, and re-thinking, yet nothing was accomplished. I should have thought of the militia plan. I have failed.

  “You are jealous of Kith-Kanan.”

  I have no reason to be jealous. I am the speaker’s heir. Yet a short time ago I found myself wishing I hadn’t called him back.

  “Why did you?”

  He’s my brother. I missed him. I thought father might die —

  Before he could ponder his feelings further, the carved rosewood door of the cell swung open.

  Sithas looked up, ready to lash out at whomever would intrude. It was Hermathya.

  “What are you doing here?” he demanded harshly.

  She stepped into the little room. Covered from head to toe in a midnight-black cape, she dropped the hood from her head. Diamonds gleamed faintly from her earlobes.

  “I knew you would be here,” she said in a low voice. “You always come here when you’re upset.”