by Doug Niles
“You bastard!” Porthios threw himself at Rashas, but somehow one of the axemen from the door interposed himself. With a casual swing of the haft of his weapon, the warrior knocked the Speaker of the Sun backward, and Porthios tumbled heavily to the floor.
“Oh, and you may be interested to know that Alhana’s man, Samar, has also been arrested and imprisoned, charged with spying and sentenced to die. I anticipate that the sentence will soon be carried out.”
Porthios growled, slowly rising to his feet. Only the presence of the keen-edged axe prevented him from once again rushing at the hated senator.
“Patience, my prince,” said Konnal, clucking his tongue. “How do you think it looks … two Qualinesti squabbling like children here in the hallowed tower of Silvanost? Surely you have a greater sense of heritage than that.”
“This … this mongrel does not deserve to be called Qualinesti,” Rashas said in scorn, leaning forward as if he’d like nothing more than to spit upon Porthios. “He married outside of his clan. He would devote his life to knocking down the barriers that the gods have seen fit to raise.”
“There are some things, Senator, upon which we can agree,” Konnal noted with a stiff bow. “Now, as to the matter that brings you here? …”
“Yes.” Rashas straightened, with visible effort arranging his facial features into a bland mask. “I have made this journey for a single purpose, Porthios. I require that you relinquish the Medallion of the Sun.”
His hand going instinctively to the golden disk that he wore beneath his tunic, Porthios gaped at the senator. “You’re mad!”
“Hardly … rather, I am a voice of sanity in a world grown increasingly unbalanced.”
“Yet you expect to become to become the Speaker of the Sun, just like that?”
Rashas looked horrified. “Me? Speaker? Of course not!”
“Then what do you want with the medallion?”
“I shall bestow it upon the elf who will become our next Speaker, the elf who will insure that Qualinesti purity remains untainted!”
Konnal looked angry at these words about “Qualinesti purity.” Porthios realized that it was a sign of both men’s fanaticism that they were willing to work together to insure that their two nations remained ever separated. He could only shake his head at such insanity and then stare mutely at the gloating Rashas.
“Surely you are curious. You must want to know who your successor will be!”
“I shall have no successor. Not yet, for surely you know that the medallion must be given willingly in order for the new Speaker to wear it as a sign of office.”
“Oh, you will give it willingly, believe me.”
Porthios felt a chill at the words, and immediately he thought of his pregnant wife, held in Qualinesti under the orders, undoubtedly, of this madman.
“Your time in Silvanesti has perhaps worn heavily on your memory,” Rashas went on, his lips tightening slightly as he failed to arouse a response from Porthios. “You do recall that you have a sister?”
“Lauralanthalasa? Laurana? She’s a remarkable person, a credit to all elvenkind to be sure, but I can’t believe that a stickler for tradition such as you would consider placing a woman on the Speaker’s throne.”
Rashas looked properly horrified again. “Of course not. But are you so out of touch that you failed to hear that she has a son … a strapping youth, almost fully grown by now.”
“Gilthas?” Porthios almost laughed out loud. “He will be your new Speaker of the Sun?”
“Do not underestimate the lad. I think he will do a splendid job … with plenty of guidance from the Thalas-Enthia, of course.”
“Guidance from you, you mean!”
“However you care to phrase it, I’m sure you begin to see the circumstances. It is quite an ideal solution, in truth.”
His jaw clenched, Porthios could barely spit out the words. “I know Gilthas. I have seen him. But he is still a child! And his father is Tanis Half-Elven. Your new speaker would be one-quarter human!”
“It has been many years since you have seen him. He is no longer a child. As to that last matter, it is a trifling thing, especially since the pure blood of House Solostaran runs in his veins, thanks to his mother’s excellent lineage.”
This was too horrifying. The walls spun around, and the room seemed to cant crazily under his feet. Porthios wanted to sit, to gasp for breath, even to vomit. But he wouldn’t give Rashas the satisfaction of witnessing his discomfort. Instead, he masked his inner turmoil with a glare of pure loathing.
“The fact remains that I wear the medallion. You would have to kill me to get it. And if you do, if you steal it off my body like a ghoul, the power of the Sun enchantment will be broken and a curse will fall up the realm.”
“My dear Porthios, what do you think I am? A barbaric human? I would never jeopardize the future of Qualinesti thus,” Rashas protested, with a great air of wounded dignity. “As I said before, you will give it to me willingly.”
“You are mad!”
“I tell you, no!” The senator’s voice was a snarl, his face suddenly distorted by anger, and Porthios knew that his remark had struck very close to the truth. Laboriously Rashas struggled to regain his composure. He drew a deep breath.
“I do, however, hold your wife and your unborn child under guard in conditions of relative comfort in Qualinesti. If you would like to see Alhana again … if you would have your child breathe his first of the sweet air of Krynn, then you will relinquish the medallion.”
“You dare to threaten the queen?”
“I do what must be done. If harm comes to her, the fault will be yours!”
Porthios looked at Konnal, who was watching the exchange stone-faced. “Alhana is the princess of your people, heir to the throne of Silvanesti!” he exclaimed. “Yet you would be a party to this extortion?”
“It is for the greater good,” Konnal replied, his eyes like ice. “I can see that with the utmost clarity, though I would not expect you, who was arranging a treaty that would betray all the elven realms, to understand such a lofty purpose!”
“I understand the purposes of greed and corruption, of blind ambition and the pure, selfish lust for power. I see those purposes here in you both!” Porthios felt his self-control slipping, and for once he didn’t care. He pointed at Rashas, at Konnal, allowed his voice to rise to a shout that thundered through the chambers, rocked the door on its hinges. “I see the talons of the Dark Queen sinking into you both, pulling you in ways that will doom the elven nations to repeat the mistakes of the past. You are sickening in your sanctimonious posturing, your talk of ‘the greater good’! Shame! Shame on you both!”
Konnal recoiled as if he had been struck, then stepped forward, his hand reaching for his sword. Porthios wished the general would attack him. Even bare-handed as he was, he would have relished the physical release of a fight.
But it was Rashas who remained cool, who laid a hand on Konnal’s arm—a hand that the Silvanesti regarded with disgust, as if it were a venomous spider—and halted the general’s rush toward violence.
“See … see how thick? How he refuses, is unable to see? It’s tragic, really. He was once a wise man.”
The senator stared at Porthios, his expression haughty and contemptuous. “I assure you that I am not bluffing. I will not enjoy causing harm to your wife, but I will do so if you make it necessary. So please, for Alhana’s good and for the well-being of your child, relinquish the medallion.”
The elven prince put his hand to the golden disk he wore on his chest. As he had countless times before, Porthios sensed its unwelcome weight, felt again the burden that came from its presence. How many times he had wanted to give it to someone else, or even to cast it away, let it sink into the murky waters of some trackless swamp.
Yet now, strangely, he found himself coveting the Sun Medallion as he never had before. He would give it to Rashas—he had to, for he knew that the senator’s threat was sincere—but he would hate to p
art with it.
And for a single terrifying instant as his fingers wrapped around the curved disk of ancient gold, his eyes saw down the winding tunnels of the future. There were many paths there, many tracks his life could take. But there was a certainty along them all:
He knew that he would never wear this medallion again.
With a wrenching pull, unmindful of his own gasp of physical and spiritual agony, he tore the thing away, snapped the golden links that held it around his neck. Porthios staggered under the assault on his senses as he reached out his hand, didn’t feel the medallion fall from his nerveless fingers to roll across the floor, trailing its chain with soft clinks as it curled to a rest underneath a couch.
Quickly, but with a gesture of distaste, Rashas dropped to his knees and reached under the divan to seize the medallion. His eyes might have flashed as he raised it to his face, stared at the intricate facets that winked and sparkled like the disk’s namesake, but Porthios saw none of that. His eyes blurred with tears, he slumped at last into a chair and buried his face in his hands.
When he finally looked up, the two elves were gone.
Another week dragged by, a time when autumn roared into full fury. This was a season that came forcefully to Silvanesti, and these were days of unrelieved rain and chill. Porthios looked from his balcony across the city of Silvanost, noting the bleak swath of the gray Thon-Thalas, the shivering quality of the once splendid gardens.
It was as this early cold wave reached its nadir that General Konnal and an escort of axe-wielding elves again came to see Porthios in his chambers atop the Tower of Stars.
“You’re looking well,” the Silvanesti of House Protector declared with apparent sincerity. “You must be getting some sun on your balcony. I had feared that your skin would fade to a wintery pallor, but you still have the healthy tan of an outdoorsman.”
“Praise the gods for small favors,” Porthios replied wryly. “Tell me why you’re here.”
“Such abruptness. Not very elven, wouldn’t you agree?” Konnal looked around archly. “Are you too busy? You have no time for pleasantries or civilized conversation?”
“There’s little either elven or civilized about treachery, coercion, and betrayal,” snapped the prisoner. “And in the glaring presence of these significant traits, I see no need to place a layer of frippery over our interaction. I ask you again, what do you want?”
Konnal shrugged away the insulting tones. “I know you have your sources of information—even a one-eyed elf can read the writing on the wall—but I thought for once I would bring you fresh news.”
Porthios glowered but didn’t respond. Konnal continued as if he had been invited to speak.
“For obvious reasons, you are no longer able to function in your command role. I thought I would be the one to tell you that the senate has appointed a new Military Governor of Silvanesti.”
“Yourself, of course.”
Konnal merely nodded, a mild, polite bow of his head as if he were accepting sincere congratulations. “The baton of rank was found in the Palace of Quinari and bestowed upon me with the proper ceremony. I thought, since the action affects you so directly, that you should be told right away”
If Konnal was expecting to goad Porthios into an outburst, the Qualinesti resolved to disappoint him. Instead, he asked a question that had been lingering in his mind as the days of his imprisonment had grown into weeks.
“What are you going to do with me? In the Tower of Stars, you made lots of noises about a trial—and I warn you, General, I will welcome the opportunity to air my situation in a public hearing.” Porthios derived some small satisfaction from his failure to address Konnal by his official rank.
But the new governor apparently took no notice. “My dear Porthios, of course there will be no trial. Those remarks were all for show, for the benefit of the senate and the nobles—and, of course, to highlight the differences between us.”
“I’m not surprised. You servants of darkness have good cause to fear the light that always shines from the truth.”
For the first time, Konnal revealed a glimmering of his temper. “It is you who serve the darkness, you fool—you who would tear down the legacy of thirty centuries of culture and civilization!”
Porthios smiled, enjoying the flush that darkened Konnal’s stiff features. Casually he asked again, “You didn’t answer my question. What are you going to do with me?”
The Silvanesti lord drew a deep breath, calmed himself with visible effort.
“I have prepared a document. You will read it and affix your signature. After that, you will be free to leave.”
Porthios laughed. “A confession, no doubt? An admission of this treachery you’ve dreamed up?”
Konnal shrugged. “It’s an admission that you sent Silvanesti troops into a massacre, knowing that you would weaken us and leave us vulnerable to control by Qualinesti.”
“You’re insane!”
“No … I’m just determined. And I assure you that your signature is the only thing that will earn you your freedom.”
“You can’t hold me. No walls could hold me without my cooperation! I can see no reason why I should stay here, and thus I inform you that I shall make arrangements to leave at the earliest opportunity.”
Konnal smiled. “I think the guards might have a little to say about that.”
“If you think I have remained here because of your guards, then you are the fool. If departing means escaping, then I assure you that I will escape and return to my own homeland and my own wife.”
“There is another thing you should know. We have received word from Qualinesti—after all, you have good cause to know that the barriers between our two peoples are not as impenetrable as the typical elf might assume. The Thalas-Enthia has been active during this season.”
“I assume Gilthas Solostaran has been sworn in as Speaker of the Sun and Stars.”
“Naturally—but that is not my information.”
“Go on.” Porthios once again felt that sickening nausea, a premonition that he was going to hear some very bad news.
“The Thalas-Enthia, under the leadership of your young nephew, has endorsed the authority of the Sinthal-Elish of Silvanesti regarding the matter of your imprisonment. You are to remain here as our guest for as long as we deem it necessary in preparation for your trial.”
“Which trial, as you told me, shall never occur.”
Konnal shrugged. “A detail, but, yes, I can see where you might deem it important.”
“And if your guards can’t stop me, what force does an edict from a thousand miles away have to hold me in my cage?”
“Just this: The Thalas-Enthia has agreed that if you come to Qualinesti without signing the confession, you will be branded an outlaw. Your property will be forfeit, your legacy forgotten.”
“And if I have signed, then I will be seen as a weakling and a traitor,” snapped the prince.
Konnal shrugged. “Still, you will be free to go anywhere else, do whatever you want. Sign this and be away from here.”
Porthios glared without speaking.
“Here is the document.” The usurper laid the hateful parchment on the table, but Porthios didn’t even look at it. “Sign it and leave with our permission.”
“A traitor only to myself,” Porthios declared bitterly.
“I repeat, it’s the only way you’ll leave.”
“Unless I escape.”
Konnal appeared to think about this response. “I don’t think I can allow that to happen.” With a meaningful gesture, the new governor nodded to the elves who stood at each of his sides.
Porthios looked at the two elves flanking Konnal. Each was a huge, strapping warrior and held his axe as if he knew how to use it—and was more than willing to use it right now. He couldn’t resist a goad.
“Did you only bring two of them? Not very careful, for a cautious politician such as yourself.”
“Two will be enough,” Konnal declared grimly.
“What did he promise you?” Porthios asked the question of the axemen in a tone of idle curiosity. “Jewels? Whores? What’s the price for assassinating an elven prince?”
There was no answer, though the pair of warriors stiffened visibly.
“Your names will go down in history, you know. Did he tell you that? Of course, you might think you’ll be heroes—certainly this craven being, this so-called governor, would want you to think that. But in the end, Astinus Lorekeeper will write the truth. You will be known assassins, murders, wretches.…”
Konnal drew a deep breath. “There is the paper. Sign it and live. I give you the night to consider. Tomorrow I shall demand an answer, and I assure you that my tactics will not be so gentle.”
The dragon looked puzzled. “Why didn’t he just kill Porthios right then? A dragon would have done so.”
Samar turned to the younger elf. “Do you know why?”
“He did not dare to take the political risk. Konnal was, and still is, based on a very treacherous foundation of support.”
Samar nodded. “So he wanted that confession. It would give him legitimacy.”
“And you—did Rashas really have you imprisoned and sentenced to die?” asked the dragon.
“For a short time. I had good help—a mage of black magic and Tanis Half-Elven helped me to escape. It was the three of us who rescued the queen and made our way out of Qualinesti.”
“But you did not return to rescue Porthios?” stated Aerensianic.
“That was our plan,” Samar declared, “but we could not proceed—my queen’s pregnancy was too far advanced. Indeed, we had barely passed the borders of Qualinesti before her labor began.…”
Slight Into Exile
Chapter Eight
Porthios found himself pacing slowly around the large room. He knew beyond doubt that he faced assassination on the morrow. He would never sign the shameful confession, and Konnal couldn’t afford to let him live. Yet despite his bluster to Konnal, he did not have an actual plan of escape. Given time, he could have come up with something, but events were moving faster than his own ability to control them. Therefore, it seemed a certainty that Konnal would have him killed.
