by Doug Niles
“Terms! Did he give you terms for our surrender?” cried an elderly senator near the back wall.
Guilderhand nodded and allowed himself the shadow of a smile—a smile that Gilthas thought distorted his ratlike features into something resembling a smug, self-satisfied, and well-fed weasel.
“Can the city be spared a sacking?” cried another elf anxiously.
“I believe that our courageous agent can set your worst fears to rest,” Rashas declared smoothly, thus confirming Gilthas’s suspicion that the senator had spoken to the spy before he made his report to the Thalas-Enthia as a whole.
“Indeed, I hope that I can,” Guilderhand declared. “Fortunately this ring of teleportation allowed me great freedom to move through the enemy camp. After learning all that I could about him—to my considerable reassurance, I promise you all—I presented myself to the lord as an emissary of this hallowed body.”
Of course you did, Gilthas thought bitterly. You didn’t have to wait for that role to be confirmed. You knew your master would support you as long as you did his bidding! He felt himself growing nauseous but forced his feet to remain in place, unwilling to attract attention to his presence here. Also, he had to admit that he was morbidly curious to see what sort of terms the enemy general had proposed.
“Lord Salladac received me most graciously. He is, as you may know by now, currently encamped on the road approaching the north bridge, less than a mile from the city’s gates. His troops, including many blue dragons, are bivouacked in the woods, but they have done so with obvious respect to the hallowed trees of our forest. Only a few trunks have been felled, to clear space for the dragons to sleep, and they are building no more fires than are absolutely necessary for comfort and cooking.”
Gilthas wondered how fires could be necessary for “comfort” in this sweltering summer. Nevertheless, Guilderhand’s information was greeted with quiet murmurs of appreciation throughout the crowd.
“The lord informed me that terms for Qualinesti were identical to those terms offered to Kalaman, a city that has yielded to the Knights of Takhisis, yet still functions with pride and identity intact.”
“How can you call that pride—to hand over your city and your people, to allow a foreign army to occupy and rule you?” demanded a female elf sarcastically. Gilthas recognized her as a radical young senator, Anthelia.
“Nevertheless,” Rashas intervened sternly, “all reports show that the people in that city have been able to maintain their possessions, their freedom, and even most of their significant rights!”
“Except rights such as the freedom to criticize the city’s rulers!” Anthelia retorted angrily.
“In my opinion, the right to criticize one’s ruler is a privilege that all too often lends itself to abuse,” snapped Rashas. “Now I must beg that you remain silent, so that our agent may conclude his report!”
“Let the silence linger here, then!” she shot back. “You’re all very good at that as long as your precious wealth and status remain intact!”
“Guards, remove that woman!” Rashas commanded, and several Kagonesti slaves moved forward from the doors.
“Never mind. I shall remove myself,” Anthelia replied. “I need to get some fresh air. The stink in here is already unbearable, and I have a feeling it’s going to get worse!”
Gilthas stepped out of the way as the slender female stalked through the crowd, which parted like magic before her haughty gaze. She glanced once at the young Speaker, then tossed her head and looked away. Feeling the full brunt of the contemptuous gesture, Gilthas once more withered under the combined onslaughts of guilt and shame.
At the portals to the great chamber, Anthelia spun around and regarded the gathered elves with wild eyes. Her blond hair was unkempt, scattered across her face and shoulders. Her face was twisted with an expression like pain, but it was an agony on a deep and spiritual level.
“I spit on your concept of honor! I spit upon your pretentiousness and your cowardice. Elves of Qualinesti, I spit on you all!”
Shocked, the Thalas-Enthia recoiled in mass as she did just that. The chamber erupted in outraged mutters and angry shouts as the doors slammed behind the departing woman.
Rashas, however, merely shook his head theatrically, a gesture that managed to imply benevolent tolerance for an immature girl and scorn for her radical notions. Once more Gilthas felt his temper rise, and yet once more he knew he was incapable of doing anything to prevent the march of events. Still, he started to push his way through the crowd, determined at last to make his way to the rostrum.
Surprisingly, the elves stood back to let him pass, and a wide avenue opened through the council chamber so that he was able to ascend the steps with relative ease. As he took his place on the rostrum, Rashas indicated to Guilderhand that he should keep speaking.
“As I was saying,” the spy resumed, somehow managing to affect an air of wounded dignity, “we have been assured that personal property, including slaves, will be respected. The Thalas-Enthia will continue to meet in this chamber and to have full authority over matters relating to Qualinesti, except when they conflict with matters of the Dark Knights’ security.”
“And what do the Dark Knights get out of this conquest?” Gilthas asked. “Why have they come here?”
“Perhaps I can answer that,” Rashas said. “For, shrewd and observant as our loyal agent is, these were facts he did not discern. However, as I hear more about the developments of this recent ‘war’ ”—he said the word as if the elves should realize that the conflict was in reality nothing more than a big misunderstanding—“the more I realize that the coming of the Dark Knights may, in fact, be a good thing for Ansalon.”
Murmurs of astonishment greeted this statement, but they were muted by those who found some cause for agreement with the senator’s startling remark. The young Speaker of the Sun found nothing agreeable in the statement, however, and turned his eyes upon Rashas with a cold glare.
“Can you explain yourself?” Gilthas asked. “Does this mean that you have chosen to embrace the worship of the Dark Queen?”
“Certainly not!” Rashas was indignant. “Nor, as I understand the terms of this occupation, is the worship of Takhisis a matter that the knights intend to advocate. But think about it, wise elves … think about the events that have marked our world in the last years.” He spoke reasonably, turning his back to Gilthas as he addressed the elder senators in the front rows of the council.
“Haven’t we seen an increase in banditry and brigandage? All across Ansalon, and even here, in Qualinesti? And has there not been a tendency among the youth to scorn the time-honored ways of their elders, to abandon the wisdom that has evolved through centuries, through millennia of life and culture?”
Now his words were greeted with nods of agreement, and Gilthas knew that the senator had them.
“We have all seen the signs of this cultural erosion … the lack of respect shown to those of high rank. Too many fortunes are made easily today, and as a consequence, the hallowed traditions of generations-long dynasties are replaced by upstart youngsters who would as soon spit upon this great tower as honor it with appropriate fealty.”
Who could argue with this eminently reasonable statement? After all, the memory of Anthelia’s angry departure was still at the forefront of everyone’s mind.
“Then, too, there are matters of sedition, such as the treaty our former Speaker and his Silvanesti wife were attempting to impose upon us. They would have broken down the time-honored barriers that make us our own unique people!
“Elves of the Thalas-Enthia, it seems to me that the coming of the Dark Knights is not necessarily the tragedy that we first perceived it to be. Surely they will take steps to guard our highways from bandits, and perhaps, where we are inclined through benevolence and tolerance to put up with outrageous behavior, the knights will see that such outbursts are punished in a way that will prevent them from happening again.”
Once more the lingering sh
ame of Anthelia’s diatribe worked in Rashas’s favor. No elf had been bold enough to lay a hand upon her as she stormed out, but there were many here who would have relished the prospect of seeing her imprisoned, whipped, or even worse.
“Finally, there is the matter of practicality, the knowledge that we simply do not have a force to resist this imminent onslaught. Or, forgive me Honored Speaker.” Now Rashas turned to Gilthas, who stood, white-lipped, behind him. “Did you have success in gathering an army to defend our city.”
“You know very well that I did not,” replied the young Speaker tightly.
Rashas did not even bother to acknowledge the response. “Then I make the following resolution. That we send an emissary to Lord Salladac, empowered to treat with him, and that we make a pact to accept his terms. We will welcome him into our city and treat him with the honor a conqueror deserves, and we will hope that Qualinesti is allowed to flourish under the same circumstances as Palanthas and Kalaman.
“I will ask for a voice vote. Speak if you are in favor of my resolution.”
There was a mutter of assent—not a shout of acclamation, but still a nearly unanimous grumble of elven voices.
“And opposed? …”
Gilthas wanted to shout his own outrage, but he knew there was no use. In truth, what good would it do to resist, when the elven nation could not muster an army, when the people did not have the will to defend themselves? And so he held his silence.
“It is decided, then,” Rashas declared. “The Speaker of the Sun and Stars and I myself shall go to see Lord Salladac on the morrow. With luck, by tomorrow night, we will again be a nation at peace.”
At peace, perhaps … Gilthas’s thoughts were bitter, and tears stung his eyes.
But peace at what price?
Lord Salladac was an imposing figure, taller than an elf and broad-shouldered and massive in a way that was unmistakably human. Gilthas quailed at a momentary image: It was not difficult to imagine this man picking up an elf in his hands and breaking him in two.
But in contrast to his bearlike physique, the lord’s face and words were geniality personified. The two elven emissaries were ushered into his command tent, and he greeted them warmly. Servants offered small glasses of iced wine before withdrawing to leave the trio alone. Seated in comfortable chairs of wood that were ingeniously designed to fold for easy transport, Gilthas and Rashas faced the leader of the invasion force.
“Your terms have been relayed to us,” the senator began without preamble.
“Ah, yes, your emissary … Guilderhand, I believe he was called. He seemed impressed by my display of strength.”
“Would you really have sentenced him to death had you caught him sneaking around your camp?” Gilthas asked.
Salladac chuckled. “Why? In fact, he was quite useful to me. Though I doubt that he suspects the fact, I myself arranged for him to steal that ring of teleportation. I knew that if he had freedom of movement around my camp, he would come to the conclusion that resistance would be futile.”
Gilthas flushed, embarrassed and shamed by the knowledge of how easily the elves had been manipulated.
“After considerable debate,” Rashas said, with a sidelong glare at Gilthas, “the Thalas-Enthia has voted to accept your more than generous terms.”
“Splendid!” declared Salladac, in a manner that reminded Gilthas of a person agreeing to a pleasurable social outing. “I must say that I was fully confident elven wisdom would see the logic of our proposal.”
“Indeed,” Rashas said in the same polite tones. “I am sure, as events transpire, it will become apparent that there are advantages to all sides in this arrangement.”
The young Speaker felt his face flush with shame, but as always when he was in the presence of Rashas, he seemed unable to find the words to articulate his feelings. Better, he decided, to let the senator speak, to let him prostitute his nation and his pride for the sake of this invader’s ambition. Even so, Gilthas felt the history of the moment and knew that he was witnessing a shameful day in the long life of a proud race.
How could Rashas not feel that same humiliation?
But instead, the senator was cheerfully discussing the arrangements for the army’s entrance into the city, promising that splendid lodgings would be made available for Salladac and his chief lieutenants, offering to procure venison for the dragons and fruits and breads for the Dark Knights.
“And the brutes?” Gilthas suddenly asked. He had seen the ranks of blue-skinned, virtually naked warriors arrayed before the general’s command tent. Their appearance had been savage in the extreme, and he had noticed that even Rashas had quailed at their scowling expressions and hulking size. “What do they eat?”
Salladac shrugged. “They are not particular, as you might imagine. Indeed, it is not my intention to lodge them in the city. We have learned that they do not mix well with the nations that we are trying to unite across Ansalon. Of course, they are useful in battle, but we are grateful for occasions such as this, when a nation sees the wisdom of joining our ranks without the need for gratuitous bloodshed. And fortunately much of the land has thus acceded to our inevitable advance.”
“It’s true, then … places like Kalaman have also surrendered to the Dark Knights without fighting?” Gilthas had not fully believed the stories that Guilderhand and Rashas had presented to the senate.
“For the most part, yes. It’s true that the Knights of Solamnia look to put up a good fight at the Tower of the High Clerist. In the end, however, I have no doubt that Lord Ariakan will prevail. Indeed, the outcome of the fight is inevitable.” For the first time, the lord’s genial facade cracked slightly, and his look gave Gilthas a suggestion of the iron-thewed warrior that lived beneath the pleasant exterior. “As it would have been inevitable had you elves been so foolish as to offer resistance.”
Gilthas thought of his father and knew that he would have joined the Knights of Solamnia in their heroic defense. He wondered what would happen to Tanis, but he didn’t want to ask the human knight for information.
“Merely a few young hotheads,” Rashas was saying smoothly. “I assure your lordship that the bulk of our population gave no consideration to impulses toward useless violence.”
“I regret to say that is not the case in the western part of your nation,” Lord Salladac said, his tone still stern. “There dwells a horde of elves in your forest that has caused serious harm to the other branch of my force.”
“Porthios?” Gilthas blurted without thinking. “He attacked you?”
“Ah, the rebel of House Solostaran,” the lord replied. “That explains a great deal. Yes, in fact, he led many thousands of elves in a night attack against a legion of Dark Knights. His warriors killed hundreds of troops and destroyed most of the army’s provisions. Not to mention that they slayed three dragons as well.”
At last Gilthas felt some salve to his elven pride. He didn’t know how Porthios could have gained an army of thousands, nor how elves and griffons could hope to kill dragons, but here was proof that the entire race was not craven and cowardly. He strained to keep his face bland, but his heart pounded with the thrilling news.
“Of course,” Salladac continued, “that army was commanded by a lesser lord. He has been summoned back to Lord Ariakan, and has probably already paid for his failure with his life.
“Even so, it is a distressing matter and will command my attention during the next few days. I must attend to this Porthios before I embark for Silvanesti, where I fear that your fellow elves will not prove as wise and accommodating as have you Qualinesti. I trust that such incidents of violence and intractability will prove exceptionally rare, for I must warn you both that although I pride myself on my tolerance, I can only be pushed so far before I start pushing back. And that will lead to consequences that none of us want.”
“Porthios is an outlaw!” Rashas declared. “At the time of your inva—er, arrival—he was the subject of a campaign by our leading general, Palthainon, and h
undreds of Qualinesti warriors. In fact, General Palthainon has only just returned to the city. It occurs to me that he may be able to furnish you with information about the location of the outlaw camp.”
“Good. Send General Palthainon to me at once.”
Rashas nodded eagerly, despite the human’s tone of peremptory command. “I assure you that when he is caught, the elves of the Thalas-Enthia will wholly support whatever punishment you deem appropriate.”
“Splendid!” Lord Salladac was again all happiness and geniality. “I can see that this is the beginning of a fruitful alliance, a relationship that will bring prosperity—and profit—to all sides.”
“Your wisdom obviously is as great as your military acumen,” said Rashas, standing and bowing deeply. “Now, if you will forgive us, we should return to the city and make ready to offer you a fitting welcome.”
Salladac and Gilthas rose, too. The human was effusive in his thanks to the senator, including the Speaker almost as an afterthought. “Shall we say noon tomorrow for our official entrance?” he said in conclusion.
“That is more than enough time,” Rashas agreed.
With an escort of braying dragons and prancing horses, the two elves were led back to the bridge and were finally left by the humans only as they started across the elegant span leading to Qualinost. Gilthas looked down, saw the white rapids churning through the gorge so far below, and had to forcibly shake away an impulse that urged him to leap over the railing and end his life and his shame on the jagged rocks in the deep ravine.
“Does that feel better?”
Kerianseray’s hands massaged the Speaker’s scalp, smoothly combing through the long, golden hair, pressing with soothing pressure against the throbbing points of pain beneath his temples and brow.
“Yes … it helps more than you can know,” Gilthas murmured, allowing his head to roll loosely from one shoulder to the other.
The Kagonesti woman stood behind him at the low couch where he half-reclined, trying to shake off the lingering distaste of his meeting with the Dark Knight lord. The afternoon had been spent in discussion with various senators and nobles, and he faced the prospect of more meetings tonight. But for now, at least, during the hour before sunset, he had been able to retreat to his own house for some much-needed solitude and recuperation.
