The Second Generation

by Margaret Weis

  Chapter Eight

  “King?” Gil repeated in astonishment. He stared at Alhana in disbelief. “Speaker of the Sun and Stars! Me? No, you can’t be serious. I … I don’t want to be king!”

  The woman smiled, a smile that was like winter sunshine on thick ice. The smile lit her face, but did not warm her. Or him.

  “I am afraid that what you want, Prince Gilthas, does not matter.”

  “But you’re queen.”

  “Queen!” Her voice was bitter.

  “My uncle Porthios is the Speaker.” Gil went on, baffled and—though he didn’t admit it—frightened. “I … This doesn’t make sense!”

  Alhana gave him a cool glance, then she turned away, walked back to the window. Parting the curtain, she stared outside, and in the light he could see her face. She had seemed cold and imperious in the shadows. In reality, in the sunlight, she was careworn, anxious, and afraid. She, too, was afraid, though he had the impression that her fear was not for herself.

  I don’t want to be king, Gil heard himself whine, like a child complaining about being sent to bed. He blushed deeply.

  “I’m sorry, Lady Alhana. So much has happened … and I don’t understand any of it. You are saying that Rashas brought me here to crown me Speaker of the Sun and Stars, to make me king of Qualinesti. I don’t see how that’s possible—”

  “Don’t you?” she asked, shifting her gaze. The purple eyes were hard and dark with suspicion.

  Gilthas was shocked. “My lady, I swear! I don’t know … Please, believe me …”

  “Where are your parents?” Alhana asked abruptly. She was looking back outside now.

  “Home, I suppose,” said Gil, a choking sensation in his throat. “Unless my father rode after me.”

  Hope rose in Gil’s heart. Certainly his father would come after him. Tanis would find the invitation, right where Gil had left it (his declaration of his right to do as he pleased). Tanis would ride to the Black Swan and … and discover that Gil had never been there.

  “I let Rashas’s servant have my horse! He … he could have told my parents anything!” Gil sank despondently into a chair. “What a fool I’ve been!”

  Alhana let fall the curtain. She studied the young man intently a moment. Then, coming over, she laid the fingertips of her hand on his shoulder. Her touch was chill, even through the fabric of his shirt.

  “You say that your parents knew nothing of this?”

  “They didn’t, my lady,” Gil admitted shamefacedly. “They told me not to come. I … didn’t listen. I ran away. I left … in the night.”

  “I think you had better tell me the whole story.” Alhana seated herself—erect and regal—in a chair across from him.

  Gilthas did so. He was astonished, at the end of his recital, to see her face relax. She brushed her hand across her eyelashes.

  “You were afraid my parents were behind this!” Gil said in sudden realization.

  “Not behind it, perhaps,” Alhana said, sighing, “but that they approved. Forgive me, Prince. If your father and mother were here, I would beg their forgiveness, too.”

  Reaching out her hand, she clasped his. “I’ve been alone for so long. I began to think everyone I had ever trusted had betrayed me. But we are in this together, it seems.” She squeezed his hand gently, then released it. Sinking back into her chair, she stared unseeing at the curtained window, then sighed again.

  “My father and mother both know I planned to come to Qualinesti. They must know I’m here, no matter what the servant told them. They’ll come after me, my lady,” Gil said stoutly, hoping to comfort her. “They’ll rescue both of us.”

  But Alhana only shook her head. “No, Rashas is far too clever to permit that to happen. He has concocted some means to keep your parents from reaching you.”

  “You make it sound as if we could be in danger! From Senator Rashas? From our own people?”

  She raised her gaze to meet his. “Not your own, Gilthas. You are different. That’s why they chose you.”

  You are part human. The unsaid words hung in the air. Gil stared at her. He knew she had not meant it as an insult, especially not after the praise she had given Tanis. It was a habit of thought, bred into her by thousands of years of self-imposed isolation and the belief—however mistaken—that the elves are the chosen, the beloved, of the gods.

  Gil knew this, yet he felt hot words rise up into his throat. He knew if he said them, it would make matters only worse. Yet …

  Grace under pressure, my dear!

  Gil heard his mother’s voice, saw her rest her hand on Tanis’s arm. Gil remembered meetings held at their house, remembered watching his mother move with dignity and calm through the storms of political intrigue. He remembered her words to his father, reminding him to remain cool, under control. Gil remembered seeing his father turn red in the face, swallow hard.

  Gil swallowed hard.

  “I think you should tell me what’s going on, my lady,” he said in a low voice.

  “It is really very simple,” Alhana replied. “My husband, Porthios, is being held a prisoner in Silvanesti. He was betrayed by my people. I am being held a prisoner here, betrayed by his people.…”

  “But why?” Gil was perplexed.

  “We elves don’t like change. We fear it, mistrust it. But the world is changing very rapidly. We must change with it—or we will wither away and perish. The War of the Lance taught us that. At least I thought it did. The younger elves agree with us; the elder do not. And it is the elder—like Senator Rashas—who wield the power. I never supposed he would dare go this far, however.”

  “What will happen to you and Uncle Porthios?”

  “We will be exiled,” she said softly. “Neither kingdom will accept us.”

  Gil knew enough of his people to realize that exile for an elf is far worse punishment than execution. Alhana and Porthios would be known as “dark elves”—elves who have been “cast out of the light.” They would be exiled from their homelands, prohibited any communication with their people. They would have no rights anywhere on Ansalon and, as such, would be in constant peril. Rightly or wrongly, dark elves are considered evil. They are hounded, persecuted, driven out of every city and town. They are fair targets for bounty hunters, thieves, and other scum. Not surprising that, in order to survive, most dark elves did seek refuge in the shadow of Takhisis.

  Gil could think of nothing to say that would be of any help or comfort. He looked up at Alhana.

  “Why me, my lady? Why now?”

  “I am with child,” she said simply. “If our baby is born, he or she will be heir to the throne. As it is, should anything happen to Porthios, your mother is rightful heir. But your mother’s marriage to a half-human bastard—”

  Gil sucked in his breath.

  Alhana glanced at him, sympathetic, but not apologetic. “That is how most of the Qualinesti think of your father, Gilthas. It is one reason Tanis Half-Elven has never been eager to return to his homeland. Life here was not very pleasant for him when he was young. It would be worse now. What’s the matter? Didn’t you ever stop to consider this?”

  Gil shook his head slowly. No, he’d never considered his father’s feelings, never thought about Tanis at all.

  I only thought about myself.

  Alhana was continuing, “Your mother’s marriage precludes her from ruling …”

  “But, I’m part human,” Gil reminded her.

  “So you are,” Alhana replied coolly. “Rashas and the Thalas-Enthia do not see that as a problem. In fact, they probably view your bloodline as an asset—to them. Rashas considers all humans weak, tractable. He thinks that, because you are part human, he can lead you around by the nose.”

  Gilthas flushed in anger. He lost control. Fists clenched, he bounced up out of the chair.

  “By all the gods! I’ll show Rashas,” Gil proclaimed loudly. “I’ll show them all. I’ll … I’ll …”

  The door opened. One of the Kagonesti guards, his spear in
his hand, glared suspiciously into the room.

  “Calm down, young man,” advised Alhana in a soft voice, speaking Silvanesti. “Don’t start trouble you cannot finish.”

  Gil’s anger flared, sputtered, then burned out like a gutted candle.

  The Kagonesti eyed him, then began to laugh. He said something to his fellow guard in Kagonesti and shut the door. Gil didn’t speak the Wilder elf language, but the Kagonesti words were mixed with enough Qualinesti to bring a blush of shame to Gil’s cheek. Something about the pup trying to bark like an old dog.

  “So you are saying that even if I am king, I’ll really be their prisoner. Are you suggesting I get used to that, too, my lady?” He spoke bitterly.

  Alhana was silent a moment, then she shook her head. “No, Gilthas. Never get used to being their pawn. Fight them! You are the son of Tanthalas and Lauralanthalasa. You are strong—stronger than Rashas thinks. With such noble blood in your veins, how can you be otherwise?”

  Even if it is mixed blood, he thought, but did not say. He was pleased at her confidence. He resolved to be worthy of it, no matter what happened.

  Alhana smiled at him reassuringly, then walked again to the window. Parting the curtain, she looked outside.

  It occurred to him, at this moment, that she must be doing something other than admiring the view.

  “What is it, my lady? Who’s out there?”

  “Hush! Keep your voice down.”

  She closed the curtain, then opened it, then closed it. “A friend. I have given him the signal. He saw them bring you in. I have just told him we can trust you.”

  “Who? Porthios?” Gil was suddenly, buoyantly hopeful. Nothing seemed impossible.

  Alhana shook her head. “One of my own people, a young guardsman named Samar. He fought with my husband against the dream in Silvanesti. When Porthios was captured, Samar remained loyal to his commander. Porthios sent Samar to warn me. He came too late; I was already Rashas’s prisoner. But now Samar has completed his arrangements. The Thalas-Enthia meets this evening to plan for tomorrow’s coronation.”

  “Tomorrow!” Gil echoed the word in disbelief.

  “Do not be afraid, Gilthas,” Alhana said. “Paladine willing, all will be well. Tonight, while Rashas is attending the meeting, you and I will escape.”

  Chapter Nine

  “Rashas planned this all very carefully. Of course, Tanis, you were meant to think that draconians had abducted the boy,” Dalamar told him. “You fell into the trap quite neatly. The Wilder elf led the horse into the forest, left it as a tempting bit of bait out in front of the cave. The rest, you know.”

  Tanis was barely listening. Laurana, he thought. She’ll worry when she doesn’t hear from me. She’ll realize something’s wrong. She’ll go to Qualinesti. She’ll put a stop to this.…

  “Ah, you are wondering about your wife,” Dalamar said.

  Discomfited at having his thoughts laid bare, Tanis shrugged, lied. “I was only thinking of sending her a message, telling her I was all right. So she won’t worry …”

  “Yes, of course,” said Dalamar, his half-smile indicating he wasn’t fooled. “The thoughtful husband. You’ll be pleased, then, to know that I’ve already taken care of the matter. I sent one of the servants from the Black Swan with a note for your wife saying that all was well, that you and your son needed time alone together. You should thank me …”

  Tanis replied with a few words in human that were not, in any way, shape, or form, an expression of gratitude.

  Dalamar’s smile darkened. “I repeat, you should thank me. I may have saved Laurana’s life. If she had gone to Qualinost and tried to interfere …” He paused, then shrugged his slender shoulders.

  Tanis had been pacing the room. He stopped in front of Dalamar. “You’re implying she might be in peril? From Rashas and the Thalas-Enthia? I don’t believe you. By the gods, these are elves we’re talking about—”

  “I am an elf, Tanis,” Dalamar said quietly. “And I am the most dangerous man you know.”

  Tanis started to say something, but his tongue froze to the roof of his mouth. His throat constricted, shutting off his breathing. He swallowed, then managed to whisper huskily, “What are you saying? And how do I know I can trust you?”

  Dalamar did not immediately answer. He spoke a word, and a wine decanter appeared in his hand. Rising, he walked over to a table on which stood a silver tray and two thin-stemmed crystal glasses. “Will you have some? The wine is elven, very fine, very old, part of the stock of my late shalafi.”

  Tanis was on the verge of refusing. It is generally a wise idea never to eat or drink anything while incarcerated in a Tower of High Sorcery with a dark elf wizard.

  But Tanis’s “renowned logic” reminded him that he would get nowhere behaving like a thick-headed lout. If Dalamar wanted to dispose of him, the mage would have done so by now. And, then, too, Dalamar had made a subtle inference to Raistlin, his shalafi. Once, Raistlin and Tanis had fought on the same side. Once, Dalamar and Tanis had fought on the same side as well. The dark elf had said something earlier about making plans.

  Silently, Tanis accepted the glass.

  “To old alliances,” Dalamar said, echoing Tanis’s thoughts. He tilted the wine to his lips and took a sip.

  Tanis did the same, then set the glass down. He didn’t need a fuzzy head, a fevered brain. Silently, he waited.

  Dalamar held his glass to the firelight, studied the wine’s crimson color. “Like blood, isn’t it?”

  His gaze shifted to Tanis. “You want to know what is going on? I’ll tell you. The Dark Queen is back in the game. She is arranging her pieces on the board, putting them into position. She has stretched forth her arm, sent out her seductive call. Many feel her touch, many hear her voice. Many are moved to do her bidding—without ever realizing that they are acting for her.

  “But then,” Dalamar added wryly, “I’m not telling you anything you don’t already know, am I, my friend?”

  Tanis took care to look blank.

  “Storm’s Keep?” the dark elf pursued. “Surely you haven’t forgotten your visit to Ariakan’s fortress?”

  “Why are you telling me these things?” Tanis demanded. “You’re not thinking of changing robes, are you?”

  Dalamar laughed. “White is not my color. Don’t worry, my friend. I’m not betraying any of my queen’s secrets. Takhisis understands the mistakes she made in the past. She has learned from them. She won’t repeat them. She is moving slowly, subtly, in ways completely unexpected.”

  Tanis snorted. “You’re claiming this business with my son is all a plot of Her Dark Majesty’s?”

  “Think about it, my friend,” Dalamar advised. “As perhaps you know, I have little love for Porthios. He cast me, in shame and humiliation, from my homeland. On his orders, I was blindfolded, bound hand and foot, and hauled in a cart, like one of your human slaughter animals, to the borders of Silvanesti. There, with his own hands, he threw me into the mud. I would not weep to see the same happen to him.

  “But even I admit that Porthios is an effective leader. He is courageous, swift to action. He is also rigid and inflexible and proud. But these flaws have, over the years, been tempered by the virtues of his wife.

  Dalamar’s voice softened. “Alhana Starbreeze. I saw her often in Silvanesti. I was of low caste, she—a princess. I could view her only from a distance, but that didn’t matter. I was a little bit in love with her.”

  “What man isn’t?” Tanis growled. He made an impatient gesture. “Get on with whatever point it is you’re making.”

  “My point is this—the treaty of the Unified Nations of the Three Races.”

  Tanis shook his head, apparently mystified. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Then let me enlighten you. An alliance of the elven kingdoms of Qualinesti and Silvanesti with the human kingdoms of Solamnia, Southern and Northern Ergoth, and the dwarven kingdom of Thorbardin. For nearly five years you and Laurana
have worked to bring this about—ever since your clandestine visit to Storm’s Keep. Porthios, urged on by Alhana, has finally agreed to sign. It would have been a powerful alliance.”

  Dalamar lifted his delicate hand, snapped his fingers. A spark of blue flame flared around the white skin; a puff of smoke wafted in the air, wavered a moment, then drifted away.

  “Gone.”

  Tanis regarded him grimly. “How did you find out?

  “Ask, rather, my friend, how did Senator Rashas find out?”

  Tanis was silent, then he began to swear softly beneath his breath. “Rashas told you he knew? He betrayed his own people? I can’t believe that, not even of Rashas.”

  “No, the senator still has some smattering of honor left in him. He is not a traitor—not yet. He gave me some lame excuse, but I think the truth is fairly obvious. When were the final papers to have been signed?”

  “Next week,” Tanis said bitterly, staring into the flickering flames.

  “Ah, there.” Dalamar shrugged again. “You see?”

  Tanis did see. He saw the Dark Queen, whispering her words of seduction into elven ears. Senator Rashas would be shocked to the core of his being at the suggestion that he was being seduced by evil. In his mind, he was acting only for good—the good of the elves, keeping them safe, isolated, insulated.

  All the hard work, all the endless hours of traveling back and forth, all the hard-fought negotiations: convincing the knights to trust the elves, convincing the dwarves to trust the Ergothians, convincing the elves to trust anybody. All gone in a puff of smoke.

  And Lord Ariakan and his dread Knights of Takhisis growing stronger by the hour.

  This was a terrible blow to their hopes for peace, yet, at the moment, all Tanis could think of was his boy. Is Gilthas safe? Is he well? Does he know what Rashas plots? What will he do if he finds out?

  Hopefully, nothing. Nothing rash, nothing foolish. Nothing to put himself—or others—into danger. Gil had never been in any sort of danger or difficulty before now. His father and mother had seen to that. He wouldn’t know how to react.