by Mark Anthony
"Arelas?" Solostaran said tentatively. "My brother?"
"Your brother never died, Speaker," Flint said. "Not Arelas. He came to you as Miral."
The mule brayed, breaking Flint's spell, and Miral resumed his chant. A groan sounding like agony came from the division between the mosaic of day and the mosaic of night, at the top of the Tower.
"He slew Lord Xenoth for discovering who he really was," Flint cried, his voice trembling with anger. "He killed Eld Ailea for the same reason. And now he wants to slay you and your children!"
Astoundingly calm, Solostaran simply turned to Miral—to Arelas—and said, "Why?"
Looking down at them, Miral felt the rage he'd been carrying for nearly two hundred years. He lowered his arms and ceased his chant. "They sent me away, Solostaran!" he shouted. "They sent me from Qualinost!"
"You were dying, Arelas," Solostaran replied. "Or so we thought."
"I was ever the more talented, Solostaran," Arelas shouted. "I should have been Speaker. I will be Speaker! And 1 will keep Qualinesti for the pure elves. Now that I have the power of the Gray—
A portion of a marble column that supported the first balcony burst, weakened by Arelas's magic, and sent shards of rock spewing into the chamber. The nobles scattered. Arelas grimaced and threw his hands out, sending a burst of lightning toward the rostrum. Flint hurtled toward Solostaran, knocking the Speaker off the platform. Tyresian threw himself at Laurana, sending her spinning toward the relative safety of the balcony overhang. A block of marble crashed down upon the elf lord, and Laurana screamed.
Porthios burst from the Yathen-ilara.
"Arelas!" Tanis shouted again, and raised his sword.
But the mage laughed. "It won't work, Tanthalas! The sword will not work against me." He threw his arms wide and danced a few steps of glee. "I enchanted it, you see, at the same time I enchanted those arrowheads that you used so well against the tylor and Lord Xenoth." The laughter turned into a coughing spell, and Tanis saw his chance. He sprang at Arelas, slashing with his sword.
But the sword clanged off something in the air and passed harmlessly over the mage's head. Arelas raised his arms, pointedly turned his back on the half-elf, and continued chanting. Another patch of mosaic tile came down.
Arelas leaned over the balcony, one arm drawn back as if to throw another bolt of mage fire at the onlookers.
Tanis tried again. "Miral! Arelas! Gilthanas lives."
Below, off to Tanis's left, he could see Porthios's head snap around, his face ablaze with hope as he learned that his younger brother had not died. Arelas turned, his face terrible, all color gone from his irises.
"He lives?" the mage demanded.
Even though the sword appeared useless against Arelas, Tanis kept it poised before him. "Gilthanas is above you in ascendancy, Arelas," the half-elf shouted. "You will not be Speaker no matter what you do here today."
Arelas quivered, as if he teetered at the edge of the Abyss. Then one arm shot forward, and lightning hurtled toward the half-elf.
Acting purely on instinct, Tanis raised his sword. The mage's bolt struck Elansa's pendant, melting it into drops of steel; a new burst of lightning arced from the sword back to the mage, who screamed with the blow and hurtled from the balcony.
His body burst into flame before it struck the floor of the Tower.
Epilogue
A.C. 308, Late Summer
"But where did he get the power?" Tanis asked again.
Flint shook his head. There were rumors, of course, legends of a source of great chaotic power hidden in caverns deep below Qualinost, but the dwarf was not of a mood to recite legends.
He ordered ale for the both of them. The innkeeper at the Inn of the Last Home brought the beverage to their table in overflowing mugs, and Flint sighed. "Ah, lad, I have longed for this. A comfortable table in the corner of a cozy inn. Real ale, with a kick like Fleetfoot's."
But Tanis wouldn't abandon the subject. They'd been over it ad nauseam during the past three weeks, and they had yet to come to a proper understanding of what had happened.
"Miral—Arelas—killed so many people because he'd been sent from Qualinesti as a child? Flint, that's not reason enough." The half-elf toyed with his mug, twirling it in a wet circle on the wooden table.
The dwarf nodded. "I know, lad. There's some power behind all this, something we don't know about. But there are tales that would explain it."
"The Graystone? That's a myth, Flint." The half-elf's tone was flat. There would be no convincing him.
Flint shook his head and hoisted his tankard, then he smacked his lips. Five days in Solace, and still the taste of a mug of good ale was a fresh treat.
"Flint."
"Now what?" the dwarf grumbled.
Tanis's tone was urgent. "The amulet saved my life. Why didn't it save my mother's? It belonged to her."
They'd been over this, too, during the weeks they'd spent on the trail, Flint rocking along on Fleetfoot and Tanis posting smoothly on Belthar. "I don't believe it was enchanted when Elansa had it, Tanis. I think Ailea had something to do with that."
The mention of Ailea cast a shadow over the friends.
"But I thought she could perform only magical illusions, tricks to amuse children," Tanis disagreed. "And minor magic to use in childbirth. Nothing major."
"We thought Miral was a minor mage, too."
Tanis nodded and was still for a bit. Then a new thought occurred to him. "The mage killed all of them—Kethrenan, Elansa, Xenoth, Ailea. Even Tyresian, when he saved Laurana from the falling marble. And why? So Arelas could eliminate all the heirs between himself and the Speakership. Did he think he could walk out of the rubble of the Tower and announce that he was really Arelas and that they should make him Speaker?"
Flint glowered at Tanis. "I expect he would have found a way." Or perhaps the Graystone would have, he added to himself.
"But . . ."
Flint nudged the half-elf's ale a bit closer to him. "Give it up, lad. Some things you have to take on faith. It made sense to Arelas." When Tanis opened his mouth, Flint held up a hand. "Enough."
They sat silently for a time. Then Flint lifted his mug again. "A toast," he said.
To turn down a toast was an insult. Tanis curled his hand around the handle of the tankard. "A toast," he echoed.
"To Ailea." They exchanged glances and clinked their mugs. "And to future fellowship," Flint added.
Tanis smiled.
"To fellowship," the half-elf agreed.
Scanning, formatting and basic
proofing by Undead.
