Firstborn

by Paul B. Thompson

  Sithas felt an icy mask of resolve fall into place, covering his painful emotions. “I am not upset,” he said coldly.

  “Tosh, I heard you raving to yourself as soon as I came in.”

  He stood and brushed the dust from his knees. “What is it you want?” he demanded again.

  “I heard what happened at the tower today. It doesn’t look good for you, does it? All these days of negotiating for nothing, then Kith solves everything in one day.”

  She was only reinforcing what his bitter heart had been saying. Sithas moved until he was only inches from her. He could smell the rosewater she’d bathed in. “Are you trying to provoke me?” he asked, staring into her eyes.

  “Yes.” He felt her breath on his face when she said it. “I’m trying to provoke you into being a prince and not some sort of high-born monk!”

  He drew away. “You are as tactful as ever, Lady. Leave me to recover my temper. Your advice is not needed or welcome.”

  Hermathya made no move to go. “You need me,” she insisted. “You’ve always needed me, but you’re too stubborn to know it.”

  Sithas swept a hand over the single candle that lit the cubicle. Darkness, save for a stray shaft of light that slipped in around the closed door, claimed the room. He could see the heat outline of Hermathya, her back to the door, and she could hear his quick breathing.

  “When I was a child, I was sent to this temple to learn patience and wisdom. The first three days I was here, I wept all my waking hours because I’d been separated from Kith. I could live without my mother and father, but cut off from Kith... I felt like I’d been cut open and part of me had been torn out.”

  Hermathya said nothing. The diamonds in her ears sparkled like stars in the scant light.

  “Later, when we were older, I was allowed to go home to the palace and visit a few days each month. Kith was always doing something interesting-learning to ride, fence, shoot a bow. He was always better than me,” Sithas said. Resignation was creeping into his voice.

  “There is one thing you have that he hasn’t,” Hermathya said soothingly, reaching out in the dark for Sithas’s hand.

  “What’s that?”

  “Me.”

  Sithas uttered a short, sardonic laugh. “I daresay he could have you if he wanted you!”

  She snatched her hand from his and slapped Sithas hard across the cheek. Her blow stung his face. Forgetting his training, the prince seized his wife roughly and brought their faces together until they were only a finger’s width apart. Even in the dim cubicle, he could see her pale features clearly, and she his.

  She said desperately, “I am your wife!”

  “Do you still love Kith-Kanan?” Despite the coldness of their marriage, Sithas braced himself for her answer.

  “No,” she whispered fiercely. “I hate him. Anything that angers you, I hate.”

  “Your concern for me is touching. And quite new,” he said skeptically.

  “I admit that I thought I might still love him,” she whispered, “but since seeing him, I know it’s not true.” Tremors shivered through her. “You are my husband,” Hermathya declared passionately. “I wish Kith-Kanan were gone again, so he couldn’t ever make you feel small!”

  “He’s never tried to make me feel small,” Sithas retorted.

  “And what if he wins your father’s favor completely?” she parried. “The speaker could declare Kith-Kanan his heir if he felt he would do a better job of ruling than you.”

  Father would never do that!”

  Her lips were by his ear. She pressed her cheek against his and felt his tight grip relax. Quickly she said, “The militia must have an overall commander. Who better than Kith-Kanan? He has the skills and experience for it. With all those square miles to patrol, he could be gone for decades.”

  Sithas turned his head away, and she knew he was thinking about it. A small, triumphant smile played about her lips. “By then,” she murmured, “we will have a son of our own, and Kith could never come between you and the throne.”

  The prince said nothing, but Hermathya was patient. Instead of prompting him further, she laid her head on his chest. His heartbeat was strong in her ear. After a time, Sithas slowly brought his hand up and stroked her copper-gold hair.

  25

  BY NEXT DAWN

  WHEN IT CAME TO THE SPREAD OF IMPORTANT NEWS, THE GREAT city of Silvanost was just like a tiny village.

  By the next morning, word of the tentative agreement between the speaker and the representatives of Ergoth and Thorbardin had penetrated every corner of the capital. The city, and the elven nation itself, seemed to let out a long-held breath. Fear of war had been uppermost in the minds of all the people, followed closely by fear that large numbers of refugees would once more be driven back into the city by the bandit raids.

  When the new day dawned, rimmed by low clouds and chilly with the threat of rain, the people of Silvanost behaved as if it was a bright, sun-filled day. The nobility, priests, and guildmasters heard cheering as their sedan chairs were carried through the streets.

  Kith-Kanan went into the city that morning on horseback with Lord Dunbarth. It was the prince’s first chance to see Silvanost since his return. His appetite had been whetted when he and the dwarf had dined at the Inn of the Golden Acorn. There, with good food and drink, stirred by the strains of a bardic lyre, Kith-Kanan had rediscovered his love for the city, dormant for all his months in the wildwood.

  He and Dunbarth rode through the crowded streets of the family quarter, where most of Silvanost’s population lived. Here the houses were less grand than the guildmasters’ halls or the priestly enclaves, but they mimicked the styles of the great homes. Beautifully sculpted towers rose, but only for three or four stories. Tiny green plots of land in front of each home were molded by elven magic to support dazzling gardens of red, yellow, and violet flowers; shrubs formed into wave patterns like the river; and trees that bowed and twined together like the braids in an elf maiden’s hair. Nearly every house, no matter how small, was built in imitation of the homes of the great, around a central atrium that held the family’s private garden.

  “I didn’t realize how much I missed it,” Kith-Kanan said, steering his horse around a pushcart full of spring melons.

  “Miss what, noble prince?” asked Dunbarth.

  “The city. Though the forest became my home, a part of me still lives here. It’s like I’m seeing Silvanost for the first time!”

  Both elf and dwarf were dressed plainly, without the fine embroidery, golden jewelry, or other outward signs of rank. Even their horses were trapped in the simplest possible style. Kith-Kanan wore a wide-brimmed hat, like a fisher, so that his royal features would be less obvious. They wanted to see the city, not be surrounded by crowds.

  Together the duo turned off Phoenix Street and rode down a narrow alley. Kith-Kanan could smell the river even more strongly here. When he emerged in the old Market quarter, ruined by the great riot and now under repair, Kith-Kanan reined up and surveyed the scene. The entire marketplace, from where his horse stood down to the banks of the Thon-Thalas, had been razed. Gangs of Kagonesti elves swarmed around the site, sawing lumber, hauling stones, mixing mortar. Here and there a robed priest of E’li stood, directing the work.

  For a large project, like a high tower, magic would be used to shape and raise the stones of the walls and meld the blocks together without need for mortar. In the mundane buildings of the marketplace, more ordinary techniques would be used.

  “Where do all the workers come from?” Kith-Kanan wondered aloud.

  “As I understand it, they’re slaves from estates to the north and west, owned by the priests of E’li,” said Dunbarth without inflection.

  “Slaves? But the speaker put severe limits on the number of slaves anyone could own.”

  Dunbarth stroked his curly beard. “I know it may shock Your Highness, but outside of Silvanost the speaker’s laws aren’t always followed. They are bent to suit the needs of the ri
ch and powerful.”

  “I’m certain my father doesn’t know about this,” Kith-Kanan said firmly.

  “Forgive me, Highness, but I believe he does,” Dunbarth remarked confidentially. “Your mother, the Lady Nirakina, has many times pleaded with the speaker to free the slaves of Silvanesti, to no avail.”

  “How do you know these things? Aren’t they private matters of the palace?”

  The dwarf smiled benignly. “It is a diplomat’s purpose to listen as well as talk. Five weeks in the Quinari Palace exposes one to all sorts of gossip and idle talk. I know the love lives of your servants and who among the nobility drinks too much-not to mention the sad plight of slaves in your own capital city.” With that, Dunbarth’s smile vanished.

  “It’s intolerable!” Kith-Kanan’s horse sensed his rider’s agitation and pranced around in a half-circle. “I’ll put a stop to this right now!”

  He tightened the reins and turned his mount’s head. Before he could ride over to confront the supervising priests, Danbarth caught his reins and held him back.

  “Don’t be hasty, my prince. The priesthoods are very powerful. They have friends at court who will speak against you.”

  Kith-Kanan was indignant. “Who do you mean?”

  Dunbarth’s gaze was level. “I mean your brother, the noble Sithas.”

  Kith-Kanan squinted from under the brim of his hat. “My twin is not a slave driver. Why do you say this to me, my lord?”

  “I only say what is true, Highness. You know the court; you know how alliances are made. Prince Sithas has become the defender of the temples. In turn, the priests support him.”

  “Against whom?”

  “Anyone who opposes him. The priestess Miritelisina, of the Temple of Quenesti Pah, for one. She tried to defend those who fled from the slaughter on the plains. You know of the riot?” Kith-Kanan knew Sithas’s version of the story. He indicated Dunbarth should continue.

  “The riot began because Prince Sithas and the priests, along with the guildmasters, wanted to expel the poor farmers from the city. Miritelisina warned them. They misunderstood her and, believing they were to be sent back to the plains, rioted. For that the priestess was put in prison. The speaker has let her go free, but she continues her work for the poor and homeless.”

  Kith-Kanan said nothing, but watched as three Kagonesti passed by with a ten-inch-thick log braced on their shoulders.

  In each one he saw Anaya-the same dark eyes and hair, the same passion for freedom.

  “I must speak out against this,” he said at last. “It is wrong for one of the firstborn race to own another.”

  “They will not hear you, Highness,” Dunbarth said sadly.

  Kith-Kanan put his horse’s head toward the palace. “They will hear me. If they don’t listen, I’ll shout at them till they do.”

  They rode back at a brisk canter, avoiding the clogged streets in the center of the city and keeping to the riverside roads. By the time they reached the plaza in front of the palace, a light rain had started to fall. Mackeli was standing in the courtyard in his new squire’s livery, a studded leather jerkin and helmet. When Kith-Kanan rode up, Mackeli hurried over and held the prince’s horse while he dismounted.

  “You look splendid,” Kith-Kanan said, sizing up Mackeli’s new outfit.

  “Are you sure this is what squires wear?” asked the boy. He hooked a finger in the tight collar and tugged at the stiff leather. “I feel like I’ve been swallowed by a steer.”

  Kith-Kanan laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. “Wait until you put on your first real armor,” he said exuberantly. “Then you’ll feel like one of our giant turtles has swallowed you!”

  The three left the horses for the servants to stable and entered the palace. Maids appeared with dry towels. Kith-Kanan and Dunbarth made perfunctory swipes at their faces, then handed the cloths back. Mackeli dried himself carefully, all the while eyeing the handmaids with frank interest. The girls, both of whom were about the boy’s age, blushed under his studied gaze, “Come along,” Kith-Kanan scolded, dragging at Mackeli’s sleeve. Dunbarth plucked the towel from his hand and returned it to the servants.

  “I wasn’t finished,” Mackeli protested.

  “If you’d dried yourself any longer, you’d have taken hide and hair off, too,” observed the dwarf.

  “I was looking at the girls,” Mackeli said bluntly.

  “Yes, like a wolf looks at his dinner,” noted Kith-Kanan. “If you want to impress the fair sex, you’d best learn to be a little more discreet.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He means, don’t stare,” advised Dunbarth. “Smile at them and say something pleasant.”

  Mackeli was puzzled. “What should I say?”

  Kith-Kanan put a hand to his chin and considered. “Pay them a compliment. Say, ‘what pretty eyes you have!’ or ask them their name and say, ‘what a pretty name!’ “

  “Can I touch them?” asked Mackeli innocently.

  “No!” exclaimed the two in unison.

  They spotted Ulvissen in the corridor, accompanied by one of the human soldiers. The Ergothian seneschal was handing the soldier a large brass tube, which the man furtively tucked into a leather bag hung from his shoulder. Ulvissen stood up straight when he saw Kith-Kanan. The soldier with the tube saluted and went on his way.

  “How goes it, Master Ulvissen?” the prince asked blandly.

  “Very well, Your Highness. I have dispatched a copy of the preliminary agreement we’ve made to His Imperial Majesty.”

  “Just now?”

  Ulvissen nodded. Behind his beard and graying hair, he looked haggard. Kith-Kanan guessed Lady Teralind had kept him up very late, preparing the dispatch.

  “Would you know where my father and Prince Sithas might be?”

  “I last saw them in the reception hall, where seals were being put to the copies of the agreement,” said Ulvissen courteously. He bowed.

  “Thank you.” Kith-Kanan and Dunbarth walked on. Mackeli, too, drifted past the tall, elder human, looking at him with curiosity.

  “How old are you?” asked Mackeli impetuously.

  Ulvissen was surprised. “Forty and nine years,” he replied.

  “I am sixty-one,” said the boy. “Why is it you look so much older than I?”

  Kith-Kanan swung around and took Mackeli by the elbows. “Forgive him, Excellency;” said the prince. “The boy has lived all his life in the forest and knows little about manners.”

  “It is nothing,” said Ulvissen. Yet he continued to watch with an intense expression as the prince and the dwarf ambassador hustled Mackeli away.

  *

  The reception hall of the palace was on the ground floor of the central tower, one floor below the Hall of Balif. Dunbarth took his leave of Kith-Kanan in the corridor outside. “My old bones need a nap,” he apologized.

  Mackeli started to follow the prince, who told him to remain behind. The boy objected, but Kith-Kanan said sharply, “Find some other way to be useful. I’ll be back soon.”

  When Kith-Kanan entered, the vast, round room was full of tables and stools, at which scribes were furiously writing. The entire transcript of the conference was being written out in full and copied as quickly as the master scribe could finish a page.

  Sithel and Sithas stood in the center of this organized chaos, approving sheets of parchment covered with spidery handwriting. Boys darted among the tables, filling inkpots, sharpening styluses, and piling up fresh stacks of unmarked vellum. When Sithel espied him, he shoved the parchment aside and gestured for the assistant to leave.

  “Father, I need to speak with you. And you, Brother,” Kith-Kanan said, gesturing to a quieter side of the hall. When they had moved, the prince asked bluntly, “Do you know that gangs of slaves are working in the city, working to rebuild the Market?”

  “That’s common knowledge,” said Sithas quickly. He was especially elegant today, having forsworn his usual robe in favor of a divided kilt and a
thigh-length tunic of quilted cloth of gold. His headband, too, was golden.

  “What about the law?” asked Kith-Kanan, his voice rising. “No household is supposed to have more than two slaves at a time, yet I saw two hundred or more working away, watched over by clerics from the Temple of E’li.”

  “The law only applies to those who live in Silvanost,” Sithas said, preempting his father again.

  Sithel kept quiet and let his sons argue. He was curious to see which would prevail. “The slaves you saw come from temple estates on the Em-Bali River, north of the city,” added the speaker’s firstborn.

  “That’s an evasion,” Kith-Kanan said heatedly. “I never heard of a law that applied only in Silvanost and not to the entire nation!”

  “Why all this concern about slaves?” Sithas demanded.

  “It isn’t right.” Kith-Kanan clenched his hands into fists. “They are elves, the same as us. It is not right that elves should own one another.”

  “They are not like us,” Sithas snapped. “They are Kagonesti.”

  “Does that automatically condemn them?”

  Sithel decided it was time to intervene. “The workers you saw were sold into slavery because they were convicted of crimes against the Silvanesti people,” he said gently. “That they are Kagonesti is of no significance. Your concern for them is misplaced, Kith.”

  “I don’t think so, Father,” his son argued earnestly. “We’re all proud of our Silvanesti blood, and that’s good. But pride should not lead us to exploit our subjects.”

  “You have been in the woods too long,” said Sithas coolly. “You have forgotten how the world works.”

  “Hold your tongue,” Sithel intervened sharply. “And you too, Kith.” The Speaker of the Stars looked rueful. “I am glad to know both my sons feel so passionately about right and wrong. The blood of Silvanos has not run thin, I can see. But this debate serves no purpose. If the slaves in the Market are well treated and do their allotted work, I see no reason to tamper with the situation.”

  “But, Father —”

  “Listen to me, Kith. You’ve only been back four days. I know you grew used to much freedom in the forest, but a city and a nation cannot operate like a camp in the wildwood. Someone must command, and others must obey. That’s how a speaker can protect the weak and rule with justice.”