The Second Generation

Chapter One

The last ringing echoes of the chimes, hanging in the clock tower of the Temple of Paladine, were punctuated by the sounds of shutters closing, doors slamming shut, keys turning in locks, and the shrill protests of disappointed kender, who had been discovered poking about among the shelves and were now being tossed into the streets. Six strikes of the bell brought the day’s business to an end. Shopkeepers set about closing for the night; last minute buyers were eyed with impatience and hustled out of the stores as soon as their cash was in hand.

“Close up, Markus,” Jenna told her young assistant.

He promptly left his seat at the entrance and began to draw the heavy wooden shutters over the pane glass windows.

The shop darkened. Jenna smiled. She enjoyed her work, but she liked this time of day best. All the customers were gone, the din of their voices quieted, and she was alone. She paused to listen to the stillness, to breathe in the smells that would have told Jenna—had she been blind and deaf—that she was in a mageware shop: the perfume of rose petals; the spicy smells of cinnamon and clove; the faint, sickening odor of decay, of bats' wings, and turtle skulls. The smell was always strongest this time of day. The sunlight brought forth the various fragrances, and the darkness enhanced them.

Markus appeared in the doorway.

“Anything else I can do for you, Mistress Jenna?” he asked eagerly.

He was newly hired and already in love with her. Hopelessly in love, as only a nineteen-year-old can be in love with a woman five years his senior. All Jenna’s assistants fell in love with her. She had come to expect it, would have been disappointed—and probably angered—if they had not. Yet she did nothing to encourage the young men, beyond simply being herself, which, since she was beautiful, powerful, and mysterious, was quite enough. Jenna loved another man, and all in Palanthas knew it.

“No, Markus, you may be off to the Boar’s Head for your nightly carousing with your friends.” Jenna grabbed a broom and began briskly sweeping the floor.

“They’re just kids,” Mark said scornfully, his eyes following her every move. “I’d much rather stay and help you clean up.”

Jenna brushed dried mud and a few scattered mint leaves out the door, and brushed Markus playfully along with them. “There’s nothing you can do for me in the shop, as I’ve told you. Best for both of us if you keep out of it. I don’t want your blood on my hands.”

“Mistress Jenna, I’m not frightened—” he began.

“Then you have no sense,” she interrupted, with a smile to take away the sting of her words. “Locked in that case is a brooch that will steal away your soul and take you directly to the Abyss. Next to the brooch lies a ring that could turn you inside out. See those spellbooks on the far shelf? If you were to so much as glance at the inscriptions on the covers, you would find yourself descending into madness.”

Markus was somewhat daunted, but didn’t intend to show it. “Where does it all come from?” he asked, peering into the shadowy shop.

“Various places. That White Robe who just left brought me the brooch of soul-stealing. The brooch is evil, you see, and she would never consider using it. But she traded the brooch to me for several spellbooks that she has long wanted, but could not afford. You remember the dwarf who came this morning? He brought these knives.” Jenna gestured to a display case in which innumerable small knives and daggers were arranged in a fan leaf design.

“Are they magic? I didn’t think mages were permitted to carry weapons.”

“We may not carry swords, but knives and daggers are permissible. And, no, these are not magic, but the dwarves make many items that can later be imbued with magic. A wizard might cast a spell on one of these knives, if he chose to do so.”

The young man said stoutly, “You’re not afraid, Mistress Jenna. Why should I be?”

“Because I know how to handle such arcane objects. I wear the Red Robes. I have taken and passed the Test in the Tower of High Sorcery. When you do the same, then you may come into my store. Until then,” she added, with a charming smile that went to the young man’s head like spiced wine, “you stand guard at my door.”

“I will, Mistress Jenna,” he promised rapturously, “and... and maybe I will study magic ...”

She shrugged and nodded. All her assistants said the same thing when they first came to work for her; none of them ever followed through. Jenna made sure of that. She never hired anyone who had the slightest proclivity toward magic. Her wares would be too strong a temptation for a young mage to resist. Besides, she needed brawn, not brain, to guard her door.

Only those who wore the robes and the few tradesmen who dealt in arcane merchandise were permitted to enter Jenna’s shop, its doorway marked by a sign with three moons painted on it: the silver moon, the red, and the black. Magic-users drew their powers from these moons, and the few stores in Ansalon that dealt in mageware always marked their shops with these symbols.

Most citizens of Palanthas avoided Jenna’s shop; many, in fact, crossed the street to walk on the other side. But there were always a few—either curious or drunk or acting on a dare—who attempted to enter. And, of course, kender. Not a day passed but that Jenna’s assistant had to strong-arm, throttle, or otherwise remove the light-fingered kender from the premises. Every mage in Ansalon knew the story of the Flotsam mageware shop. It had vanished under mysterious circumstances, never to reappear.

Horrified eyewitnesses reported having seen a kender enter just seconds before the entire building winked out of existence.

Markus shuffled off disconsolately down the street, to drown his unrequited love in ale. The fabric merchant next door to Jenna locked his door, then bowed to her in respect as he passed by on his way home. He had not been pleased when she had first moved in next door, but when his sales—particularly of white, black, and red cloth—increased, his protests decreased proportionately.

Jenna wished him a good evening. Stepping inside her shop, she shut her door, locked it, and placed a spell of warding on it. She lived above the shop, keeping her own guard on her wares during the night. Casting a final glance around, she mounted the stairs that led to her quarters.

A knock on the door halted her.

“Go home, Markus!” she called out irritably.

Three nights ago, he had come back to sing love songs beneath her window. The incident had been most embarrassing.

The knock was repeated, this time with more urgency. Jenna sighed. She was tired and hungry; it was time for a cup of tea. She turned, however, and went back down the stairs. Owners of Three Moon Shops were expected to open their stores to any mage at need, no matter what time, day or night.

Jenna opened a small window set into the door and peered out, expecting to see a Red Robe, humbly apologizing for disturbing her, but could he possibly have some cobweb? Or a Black Robe, imperiously demanding bat guano. Jenna was startled and displeased to find two tall and heavily cloaked and hooded men standing on her stoop. The rays of the setting sun glinted on swords, which both wore on their hips.

“You have the wrong shop, gentlemen,” Jenna said in excellent Elvish.

By their slender legs, expensive, well-tooled leather boots, and fancifully designed leather armor, she guessed them to be elves, although their faces were hidden in the hoods of their cloaks.

She was about to slam shut the window when one of the men said, speaking halting Common, “If you are Jenna, daughter of Justarius, head of the Wizard’s Conclave, we do not have the wrong shop.”

“Suppose I am Jenna,” Jenna replied haughtily, though she was now extremely curious. “What do you want of me? If you have a magic item to sell,” she added, as an afterthought, “please return in the morning.”

The two men glanced at each other. She could see the glitter of almond-shaped eyes in the shadows of their hoods.

“We want to talk to you,” said one.

“Talk away,” Jenna said.

“In private,” said the other.

Jenna shrugged. “The street is deserted this time of day. I don’t mean to be rude, but you must know that owners of Three Moon Shops are careful about who they let into their shops. If s for your safety more than mine.”

“Our business is serious, not to be discussed on the street. Believe me, mistress,” the elf added, in a low voice, “we like this no more than you do. You have our word that we will touch nothing!”

“Did my father send you?” Jenna asked, playing for time.

If Justarius had sent them, he would have told her first, and she’d had no word from him in months, ever since their last quarrel. He strongly disapproved of her lover.

“No, mistress,” said the elf. “We come on our own.”

Odd, Jenna thought. One of the elves is Qualinesti, the other Silvanesti. She could tell the difference by their accents, though probably no other human in Solamnia could have done so. But Jenna had spent a great deal of time around elves, one elf in particular.

Long, long ago, the elves had been one nation. Bitter wars, the Kinslayer War, had divided them into two, Qualinesti and Silvanesti. Neither nation had any love for the other. Even now, after the War of the Lance had united every other race on Ansalon, the two elven states—though ostensibly one—were, in reality, farther apart than ever.

Her curiosity aroused, Jenna opened her door and stepped back to permit the elves to enter. She wasn’t the least bit fearful. They were elves, and that meant that they were upstanding, law-abiding, and good to the point of boredom. Plus, she had a spell on her lips that would blow them back out into the street if they tried anything.

The two elves stood together in the very center of the shop. They kept their elbows locked to their sides, fearful of even touching a display case.

They stood near each other—on the defensive—but were studiously careful to avoid touching each other. Allies, but unwilling allies, Jenna guessed. Her curiosity was now almost overpowering her.

“I believe you two gentlemen will be much more at home in my chambers upstairs,” she said, with an impish smile. “I was about to make tea. Won’t you join me?”

The Silvanesti elf had covered his mouth and nose with a handkerchief. The Qualinesti elf had half-turned and come literally eye-to-eye with a jar filled with eyeballs, floating in their protective fluid. He blenched and backed up a step.

Jenna gestured up the stairs. “You will find my chambers quite comfortable. And ordinary. My laboratory is downstairs, in the cellar,” she added, for reassurance.

The elves again exchanged glances, then both nodded stiffly and began to ascend the stairs behind their hostess. The elves appeared vastly relieved to see that Jenna’s small living room looked like any other human’s living room, replete with table and chairs and soft-cushioned couches.

Jenna stirred up the fire and brewed tea, using a leaf mixture imported from Qualinesti.

The elves drank their tea and nibbled at a cookie, for politeness’s sake, nothing more. Jenna made small talk; elves never discussed business while eating and drinking.

The elves made suitable comments but offered nothing of their own, and the conversation dwindled away altogether. As soon as they could, without insulting their hostess, both elves set down their teacups, indicating they were prepared to discuss serious matters. But, now that they were here, they didn’t seem to know where to begin.

Jenna could either let them stew or offer to help. Since she was expecting far more pleasant company later this evening, she wanted these elves gone, and so she prodded them along.

“Well, gentlemen, you’ve come to me—a red-robed magic-user. What is it you need of me? I must tell you, in advance, that I do not travel out of the city. If you want me to work magic, it must be magic that can be done here, within the confines of my own laboratory. And I don’t mix love potions, if that's what you’re in the market for ...”

Jenna knew very well that love wasn’t what they sought—not two bitter enemies, coming to her shop in secret, in the twilight. But it never hurt to feign ignorance.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” said the Qualinesti elf abruptly. “I . . . I. . . ” He snapped his mouth shut, collected his thoughts, and started over. “This is most difficult for me. For us. We have need to talk to . . . someone. A special someone. And we have been advised that you were the one person who might be able to help us.”

Ah, thought Jenna. Well, well, well. Isn’t this interesting. She gave them a sweet and limpid smile. “Indeed? Someone I know? I can’t imagine who that might be. You gentlemen appear to be of high birth. Surely, all doors on Ansalon would be open to you.”

“Not this particular door,” said the Silvanesti elf harshly. “Not the door to . . . ” His voice dropped. “The Tower of High Sorcery.”

“The dark tower,” added the Qualinesti. “The tower located here, in Palanthas. We want to speak... to the master.”

Jenna studied them. Two high-born elves; that much was proclaimed by their expensive clothing, their ornate swords, the fine jewels adorning their fingers and dangling from around their necks. Both elders, too, for though it was sometimes difficult to tell the ages of elves, these two were obviously in their middle years. High-birth, high-rank, longtime enemies, short-time allies. And they wanted to talk to the worst enemy each could possibly have in this world—the Master of the Tower of High Sorcery in Palanthas.

“You want to talk to Dalamar,” Jenna said calmly.

“Yes, mistress.” The Qualinesti’s voice cracked. He coughed, angry at himself.

The Silvanesti, it seemed, had no voice at all. His face was rigid and set, his lips pursed together, his hand tightly clenched over the hilt of his sword. They were both obviously hating this.

Jenna bit her lip to keep from laughing. No wonder these elves had been so intent on privacy. Dalamar was one of their own, an elf of Silvanesti, but he was one who had been exiled, banished from elven society in disgrace. He was what they termed a “dark elf”—one who has been cast out of the light. His crime was the study of evil magic, the donning of the Black Robes. Such a heinous deed could never be condoned in elven society. For these two to even look on Dalamar would be considered a shocking act. To actually speak to him!...

Jenna could hardly wait to hear Dalamar’s reaction. She decided to make these two suffer a little first, however.

“What makes you think that I can gain you such an inter view?” she asked, in all innocence.

The Qualinesti flushed. “We have been informed that you and ... er... the tower’s master (he would not say the name) are friends . . .”

“He was my shalafi.[1] And he is my lover,” Jenna replied, and enjoyed watching the elves squirm.

They again exchanged glances, as much as to say, What can you expect of a human?

The Silvanesti had apparently had enough. He rose to his feet. “Let us end this as swiftly as possible. Can you . . . will you . . . put us in touch with the Master of the Dark Tower?”

“Perhaps.” Jenna was noncommittal. “When?” “As soon as possible. Time is pressing.” Jenna arched a shapely eyebrow. “A word of caution. If you are considering laying a trap for Dalamar—”

The Qualinesti eyed her. “I assure you, madam,” he said grimly, “no harm will come to him.”

“No harm come to him!” Jenna laughed. “Why, what possible danger could you be to Dalamar? He is the most powerful of all the black—robed mages. He is head of the Order of Black Robes, and he will, when my father retires, take over the leadership of the entire Wizards' Conclave.

“Please, I’m sorry. Forgive me,” she added, trying to stifle her laughter. The two were obviously deeply offended. “I was thinking of your safety, gentlemen. A friendly warning. Don’t try any tricks with Dalamar. You won’t enjoy the consequences.”

“Of all the insolence!” The Silvanesti was livid with rage. “We don’t have to—”

“Yes, we do,” said his companion in a low voice. The Silvanesti choked, but kept silent. “When may we meet with the Master of the Tower?” the Qualinesti asked coldly.

“Dalamar agrees to meet with you, you will find him here, tomorrow night, in my chambers. I trust this place will be satisfactory to you? Or perhaps you would rather meet in the Tower of High Sorcery itself? I could sell you a charm—”

“No, mistress.” The elves knew she was mocking them. “This room will be quite suitable.”

“Very well.” Jenna rose to her feet. “I will see you tomorrow night, at about this same time. Pleasant dreams, gentlemen.”

The Silvanesti’s face flushed red. He seemed prepared to strike her, but the Qualinesti halted him.

“Pleasant dreams—what a tactless remark,” Jenna murmured, lowering her eyes to hide her amusement, “considering the terrible tragedy that has befallen Silvanesti. Forgive me.”

She escorted them down the stairs and out the door, kept watch until they had disappeared down the street. When they were gone, she replaced the spell of warding, and—laughing out loud—went upstairs to prepare for her lover’s arrival.

Chapter Two

The two elves were prompt. Jenna admitted them into her shop. Serious, demure, she led them to the stairs. At the foot, however, the elves came to a halt. They both were wearing green silk masks that covered the top half of their faces.

They looked, Jenna thought, decidedly silly, like children dressed in costume for the Festival of the Eye.

“Is he here?” asked the Qualinesti, with dread solemnity.

His gaze went up the stairs. Evening’s shadows had gathered at the top. Undoubtedly the elf saw a different form of darkness, one more solid, more substantial.

“He is,” Jenna replied.

Both elves hesitated, prey to inner turmoil. By even speaking to a dark elf, they were committing a crime that could well bring upon them the same fate—disgrace, banishment, and exile.

“We have no choice,” said the Silvanesti. “We discussed this.”

The Qualinesti nodded. The green silk was sticking to his face. Beads of sweat gathered on his upper lip.

The two mounted the stairs. Jenna started to follow.

The Silvanesti turned. “This conversation is private, madam,” he said harshly.

“You are in my house,” Jenna reminded him.

The Qualinesti hastened to make amends. “Forgive us, mistress, but surely you can understand...”

Jenna shrugged. “Very well. If you need anything, you will find me in my laboratory.”

Dalamar heard the elven voices, heard the light tread of booted feet ascending the staircase. He smiled.

“This is my moment of triumph,” he said softly to the darkness. “I always knew this would happen. Sooner or later, you self-righteous hypocrites, who cast me out in shame and disgrace, would be forced to come crawling back to me, begging for my help. I will grant it, but I will make you pay.” Dalamar’s slender fist clenched. “Oh, how I will make you pay!”

The two elves appeared in the doorway. Both were wearing masks—a sensible precaution, to prevent him from recognizing them—which meant, of course, that he knew them, or at least knew the Silvanesti.

“How long has it been since I was cast out of my homeland?” Dalamar muttered. “Twenty years, at least. A long time to humans, a short time for elves.”

And the memory was burned into his mind. Two hundred years might pass, and he would not forget.

“Please, gentlemen,” Dalamar said, speaking Silvanesti, his native tongue, “enter and be seated.”

“Thank you, no,” said the Qualinesti. “This is not a social call, master. It is strictly business. Let us understand this from the very beginning.”

“I have a name,” Dalamar said softly, his eyes intent on the elves, much to their discomfiture.

They found it difficult to look at him—to look on the black robes, decorated with arcane symbols of power and protection; on the bags of spell components hanging from his belt; on his face—youthful, handsome, proud, cruel.

He was powerful, in control. Both men knew it, but neither man liked it.

“You had a name,” said the Silvanesti. “It is no longer spoken among us.”

“What a pity.” Dalamar folded his hands in the sleeves of his robes. He bowed, prior to making his departure. “Gentlemen, you appear to have wasted your time ...”

“Wait!” The Qualinesti gulped. “Wait, D—Dalamar.” He mopped sweat from his lip. “This is not easy for us!”

“Nor for me,” Dalamar returned coldly. “How do you think it makes me feel to hear, for the first time in all these years, the language of my homeland?” His throat constricted. He was forced to turn away, to stare into the fire, let the heat burn away his sudden, unexpected tears.

Neither answered. He heard them shift uncomfortably.

His unwelcome emotions tamped down, Dalamar turned to face them.

“And so, General, and you, Senator, what do you want of Dalamar the Dark?” he demanded brusquely.

The two stared at him in glowering astonishment, dismayed at his recognition.

“I... I don’t know to whom you are... referring...” The Silvanesti general attempted to bluster his way out.

Dalamar gave the two a sardonic smile.

“Next time you want to travel incognito, I suggest that you, General, remove your ceremonial sword, and that you, Senator, take off your ring of office.”

“I think ... I will sit down,” said the senator, the Qualinesti. He sank into a chair.

The general, the Silvanesti, remained standing, hand on the hilt of the sword that had betrayed him.

“You begin,” the senator said to his companion.

The general crossed his arms over his chest, stood with feet apart. “I must tell you first what I think will be welcome news, even to you, Dalamar."

He spoke the name with the tip of his tongue against his teeth, as if fearful that taking the name into his mouth might poison him. “Silvanesti has at last been reclaimed. Lorac’s evil dream, which held our land in thrall, has been defeated. The few pockets of draconians and goblins holding parts of our land have been routed. Twenty years it took us, but now Silvanesti is ours again. Its beauty has returned.”

“Congratulations,” Dalamar said, his lip curling in a sneer. “So Porthios led you to victory. Yes, you see, I keep up with the politics of my homeland. Porthios, a Qualinesti, married Alhana, Lorac’s daughter, Silvanesti queen. A united elven kingdom—I believe was what the two had in mind. And for the last twenty years, the Qualinesti Speaker of the Sun, Porthios, has risked his life to save the Silvanesti homeland. And he has succeeded. How have you repaid him for his services?”

“He has been imprisoned,” said the general gravely.

Dalamar began to laugh. “How very elven! Imprison the man who saves your miserable lives. What was his crime? No, let me guess. I know Porthios, you see. He never let you Silvanesti elves forget that it was the Qualinesti who had come to your rescue. He spoke often of how the Qualinesti and the Silvanesti would unite, but implied that it would be the Qualinesti who would rule over their weaker brethren. Am I right?”

“Near enough.” The general was not pleased. He could hear plainly the sarcasm in the dark elf’s voice.

Dalamar turned to the senator. “And how do you Qualinesti feel about this? Your Speaker of the Sun imprisoned?”

The senator gasped, tugged on his mask. “This thing is stifling me.” He drew a deep breath, then spoke carefully, “We have no quarrel with the Silvanesti. Their queen, the wife of Porthios, Alhana Starbreeze, is my guest in Qualinost.”

Dalamar sucked in a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “The things I’ve missed, locked away in my dull tower. A 'guest,' you say. A guest who is undoubtedly weary of your hospitality but finds it difficult to leave. What is her crime?”

“This is not generally known, but Alhana Starbreeze is pregnant.” The senator was nervously twisting his ring of office around and around on his finger.

Dalamar was intrigued. “So, after twenty years, the marriage of convenience has heated up, has it? I’m surprised Porthios found the time. Or the inclination.”

“If the child is born in elven lands,” the senator went on, pretending he hadn’t heard, “while the parents rule, the child will be heir to the thrones of both kingdoms. The unification will be complete.”

“This must not be allowed to happen.” The general’s hand clenched over the sword’s hilt.

“And what do you propose to do to stop it?” Dalamar asked. “Assuming murder is not a consideration.”

The senator stiffened in outraged dignity. His silk mask was wet around the forehead and clung to his face. “Exile. Both of them.”

“I see,” said Dalamar. “Like myself.” His voice was soft, bitter. “Death would be kinder.”

The senator frowned. “Are you implying—”

“I imply nothing.” Dalamar shrugged. “Merely making a comment. But I don’t quite see how I fit into this neat little treasonous plot of yours. Unless you are offering me the rulership of the elves?”

The two regarded him in horror, eyes wide and staring. “Please, gentlemen, you take yourselves too seriously!” Dalamar laughed, reassuring. “I spoke in jest, nothing more.” Both appeared relieved, but still somewhat suspicious. “House Protector will rule Silvanesti, until such time as a member of House Royal is deemed prepared to take over,” said the general. “House Protector has ruled Silvanesti for these past twenty years, while we fought the dream. My people are accustomed to martial law. And they don’t like Porthios.”

“As for the Qualinesti. . . ” The senator hesitated. He glanced uneasily down the staircase.

“Don’t worry,” said Dalamar. “Jenna isn’t the sort to eavesdrop. And, believe me, she has little interest in the politics of the elven kingdoms.”

“This is far too delicate a matter to take the chance of word leaking out,” the senator said, and he beckoned Dalamar near.

The dark elf, looking amused, shrugged and walked over. Coming as close to Dalamar as the senator could without actually touching him, the Qualinesti elf spoke in a low and urgent voice.

Dalamar listened, smiled, and shook his head. “You know, of course, that there will be a problem with the parents.”

“That is where you can be of inestimable help to us,” the senator said.

“You being his father’s friend,” the general added. Dalamar considered the matter. His gaze shifted from one elf to the other, measuring their determination, their resolve. Both bore his gaze stolidly.

“Very well.” Dalamar agreed. “I will deal with my friend, see to it that neither he nor his wife interfere. But my help will cost you.”

The senator waved a deprecating hand. “Our coffers are well filled. Name your price—”

Dalamar scoffed. “What do I need with more wealth than I already possess? I could probably buy and sell Qualinesti itself! No, this is my price.”

He paused, let them sweat, then said softly, “A month in my homeland.”

The senator was startled at first; then, thinking about it, he was relieved. Dalamar was Silvanesti, after all. He would be spending a month in Silvanost.

The general had the same thought. His jaw worked. He was almost gibbering with fury.

“Out of the question!” he managed to snarl. “Impossible! You are mad to ask such a thing!”

Dalamar turned away. “Then, gentlemen, our business is at an end.”

The senator rose swiftly, took hold of the other elf’s shoulder. The two began a heated discussion.

Dalamar, smiling, walked back to the fire. He was seeing, in his memory, the beautiful trees of his homeland. He heard the birds singing, walked among the wondrous flowers. He lay in the fragrant grass, felt the sun warm on his face. He breathed fresh air, ran through lush meadows. He was young, innocent, without stain or shadow....

“A month only,” the senator said. “No longer.”

“I swear by Nuitari,” Dalamar vowed, and enjoyed watching the two wince at his naming of the god of dark magic.

“You will come and go in secret,” the senator continued. “No one must know. No one must see you. You will speak to no one.”

“I agree.”

The senator looked at the general.

“I suppose there’s no help for it,” the general muttered ungraciously.

“Excellent,” Dalamar said briskly. “Our business is concluded satisfactorily. Let us seal it, as custom demands.”

Walking over, he took hold of each elf and kissed each of them on the cheek. The general could barely contain himself. He went rigid at the touch of the cool, dry lips. The senator flinched as though a snake had bitten him. But neither drew back. They had asked for this alliance. They didn’t dare offend.

“Now, my brothers,” said Dalamar pleasantly, “tell me the plan."

Chapter Three

Tanis Half-Elven had been searching throughout his house for his wife. He finally discovered her in the library on the second floor. She was seated near the window, in order to catch the last rays of the afternoon sun. He heard the scratching of her pen across parchment before he saw her, and he smiled to himself.

He had caught her this time.

Soft-footed, he padded up to the door and peered inside. She sat in a pool of sunlight, her head bowed, working with such concentration that he knew he could have stomped up the stairs and she would not have heard him.

He paused a moment to admire her, to realize—awed and wondering—that she loved him as he loved her, a love their years of marriage had strengthened, not diminished.

Her long, golden hair was brushed loose and tumbled over her shoulders, down her back. Usually, these days, she wore her hair pulled back, the shining strands twisted in a chignon at the base of her neck. The severe style suited her; gave her an air of dignity and stature quite useful in negotiations with the humans, who (those who did not know her) sometimes tended to treat the youthful-looking elven woman like a child—well-meaning but interfering in adult affairs.

That generally lasted for only about fifteen minutes, by which time Laurana had them sitting up and taking notice. How could they have forgotten she’d been a general during the War of the Lance? That she had led men to war? Well, twenty-some years had passed, and humans had short memories. When they left her presence, they had remembered. She was the diplomat of the family; her husband was the planner. They worked well together as a team, for Laurana was quick to glide in smoothly where Tanis would have trampled roughshod. And he could offer her insight into the human mind and heart—two areas she sometimes found baffling.

She was beautiful, so beautiful that Tanis’s heart ached to look at her. And they were together. Not for long. The human blood in his veins was burning up the elven. He had already lived far more years than any human, but he would not enjoy the long life span of the elves. Some already mistook Laurana for his daughter. The day would come when they would mistake her for his granddaughter. He would age and die while she remained a relatively young woman. Such a shadow might have darkened their relationship. For them, it deepened it.

And, then, there was Gil. Their son—new life, created from love.

“Got you!” Tanis shouted triumphantly and bounded into the room.

Laurana gasped, jumped. A guilty flush spread over her face. Hastily, in considerable confusion, she attempted to hide the writing by covering the paper with another blank sheet.

“What is that?” Tanis demanded, glaring at her in mock severity.

“Only a list,” Laurana ventured, shuffling more papers on the desk. “A list... of things I have to do while we’re home—No! Tanis, stop it!”

He made a deft grab and snatched the paper out from beneath her hand. Laughing, she tried to recapture it by capturing him, but he backed out of her reach.

“ 'My dear Sir Thomas,' ” he read, ” 'I would once again urge you to reconsider your stance against the Unified Nations of the Three Races treaty—' “

Tanis shook the paper accusingly at his wife. “You were working!”

“Just a letter to Sir Thomas,” Laurana protested, her flush deepening.

“He’s wavering. He’s nearly ready to come over to our side. I thought perhaps a nudge—”

“No nudging,” Tanis intoned. He hid the letter behind his back. “You promised. You made me promise! No work. We’re home at last, after a month on the road. This is to be our time—yours and mine and Gil’s.”

“I know.” As Laurana hung her head, her hair drifted about her in a radiant cloud. “I’m sorry.” She sidled near him, put her hands on his chest, and playfully smoothed his shirt collar. “I promise. I won’t do it again.”

She kissed his bearded cheek. He started to kiss her, but at that moment she reached around him, caught hold of the letter, and snatched it from his grasp. Of course, he couldn’t refuse such a challenge. He caught hold of her and the letter.

The letter eventually fluttered to the floor, forgotten.

The two stood by the window, warm and comfortable in each other’s arms.

“Damn and blast it all!” Tanis swore, nuzzling his chin in his wife’s golden hair. “Look—there’s a stranger riding up the road.”

“Oh, not a guest!” Laurana sighed.

“A knight, by the horse’s trappings. We’ll have to entertain him. I should go down—”

“No, don’t!” Laurana clasped her husband tighter. “If you go, you’ll be courtesy-bound to invite him in and this knight will consider himself courtesy-bound to stay. There goes Gil up to meet him. Gil can handle him.”

“Are you sure?” Tanis was doubtful. “Will he know how to act, what to say? The boy’s only sixteen—”

“Give him a chance,” Laurana said, smiling.

“We can’t afford to insult the knights now, of all times ...” Tanis gently put aside his wife’s arms. “I think I’d better go—”

“Too late. He’s riding away,” Laurana reported.

“There, what did I tell you?” Tanis was grim.

“He doesn’t look insulted. Gil’s coming into the house. Oh, Tanis, we can’t let him think we’ve been spying on him. You know how touchy he is these days. Quick! Do something!”

Laurana hastily sat back down in her chair. Grabbing up a sheet of paper, she began writing furiously. Tanis, feeling foolish, walked across the room and stared at a map of Ansalon, spread out on the table. He was startled and discomfited to see the word Qualinesti leap out at him.

Only logical, he supposed. Whenever he looked at his son these days, Tanis was drawn back to his own childhood. And that brought memories of Qualinesti, the land of his birth—his ignominious birth. All these years, hundreds of years, and the memories still had the power to hurt him. Once again he was sixteen and living in his mother’s brother’s house, an orphan, a bastard orphan.

“Touchy” Laurana had described their son. Tanis had been “touchy” himself at that age. Or, rather, he’d been more like some infernal gnomish mechanical device, the human blood boiling in him, building up steam that either had to find an outlet or explode. Tanis didn’t see himself in his son physically. Tanis hadn’t been frail, like his son. Tanis had been strong, robust, far too strong and robust to suit elven tastes and style. Tanis’s broad shoulders and strong arms were an insult to most elves, a constant reminder of human parentage. He flaunted his human side; he could admit that much now. He’d goaded them into driving him away, then he was hurt when they did so.

It was in more subtle ways that Tanis saw himself in his boy. Inner turmoil, not knowing who he was, where he belonged. Although Gil had said nothing to him—the two rarely talked—Tanis guessed that was how Gil was feeling these days. Tanis had prayed for his son to be spared such doubt and self-questioning. Apparently, his prayers had not been answered.

Gilthas of the House of Solostaran[2], was Tanis’s son, but he was Laurana’s child—a child of the elves. Gilthas was named for Gilthanas, Laurana’s brother (whose strange and tragic fate was never spoken of aloud). Gil was tall, slender, with delicate bone structure, fine-spun, fair hair, and almond-shaped eyes. He was only one-quarter human—his father being half-human—and even that alien blood had been further diluted, it seemed, by the unbroken line of royal elven ancestors bequeathed to him from both sides.

Tanis had hoped—for his son’s own peace of mind—that the boy would grow up elven, that the human blood in him would be too weak to trouble him. He saw that hope dwindle. At sixteen, Gil was not the typical docile, respectful elven child. He was moody, irritable, rebellious. And Tanis—remembering how he himself had bolted—was keeping an extra tight grip on the reins that held his son in check.

Staring hard at the map, Tanis pretended not to notice when Gil came into the room. He didn’t look up, because he knew what he would see. He would see himself standing there. And because he knew himself, knew what he had been, he feared seeing that likeness in his son. And because he feared it, he couldn’t speak of it, couldn’t admit it. And so he kept silent. He kept his head down, stared at the map, at a place marked Qualinesti.

Gilthas knew the moment he entered the room that his parents had been watching him from the window. He knew it by the faint flush of self-consciousness on his mother’s face, by the fact that his father was intensely interested in a map Tanis himself had termed outdated—by the fact that neither looked up at him.

Gil said nothing, waited to let his parents give themselves away. At length, his mother looked up and smiled at him.

“Who were you talking to outside, mapete?” Laurana asked.

The aching, familiar knot of irritation tightened Gil’s stomach. Mapete!

An elven term of endearment, used for a child!

On not receiving an answer, Laurana looked even more selfconscious and realized she had made an error. “Um ... were you talking to someone outside? I heard the dogs barking...”

“It was a knight, Sir Something-or-other,” Gil replied. “I can’t remember his name. He said—”

Laurana laid down her pen. Her manner was calm, and so was her voice. “Did you invite him inside?”

“Of course, he did,” Tanis said sharply. “Gil knows better than to treat a Knight of Solamnia with discourtesy. Where is he, Son?”

Admit it. You watched the knight ride off, Gil told them silently. Do you take me for a complete fool?

“Father, please!” Gil was losing control. “Let me finish what I was saying. Of course, I invited the knight in. I’m not a dolt. I know the proper forms of etiquette. He said he couldn’t stay. He was on his way to his home. He stopped by to give you and Mother this.”

Gil held out a scroll case. “It’s from Caramon Majere. The knight was a guest at the Inn of the Last Home. When Caramon found that Sir William was riding this direction, he asked him to bring this message.”

Coldly, Gil handed the scroll case to his father. Tanis gave his son a troubled look, then glanced at Laurana, who shrugged and smiled patiently, as much as to say, We’ve hurt his feelings. Again.

Gil was being “touchy,” as his mother would say. Well, he had a right to be “touchy.”

A frail and sickly child, whose birth was much wanted and long in coming, Gil had been in ill health most of his life. When he was six, he had very nearly died. After that, his anxious, adoring parents kept him “wrapped in silk,” as the saying went. Cocooned.

He had outgrown his illnesses, but now suffered from painful, debilitating headaches. These would begin with flashes of light before his eyes and end in terrible agony, often causing him to lapse into a state of near unconsciousness. Nothing could be done for the malady; the clerics of Mishakal had tried and failed. Tanis and Laurana were both away from home a great deal of the time, both working hard to preserve the slender threads of alliances which held the various races and nations together after the War of the Lance. Too weak to travel, Gil was left in the care of a doting housekeeper, who adored him only slightly more than did his parents. To them all, Gil was still that frail little boy who had nearly burned up with fever.

Due to his illness, Gil was not permitted to play with other children, supposing there had been any other children living near them, which there weren’t. Tanis Half-Elven liked his privacy, had deliberately built his house far from those of his neighbors. Often alone, left to his own thoughts, Gil had developed many strange fancies. One of these was that his headaches were caused by the human blood in hisveins. He had the nightmarish impression, brought on by the horrible pain, that if he could cut his vein s open and drain out this alien blood, the pain would end. He never spoke of such fancies to anyone.

Laurana was not ashamed of having married a half-human. She often teased Tanis about the beard he wore, a beard no elf male could grow.

Tanis wasn’t ashamed of being half-human. His son was.

Gil dreamt of the elven homeland he had never seen, probably would never see. The trees of Qualinesti were more real to him than the trees in his father’s garden. Gil couldn’t understand why his parents rarely visited Qualinesti, why they never took him with them when they did. But he knew (or believed he knew) that this alienation was his father’s fault. And so the young man came to resent Tanis with a passion that sometimes frightened him.

“There is nothing of my father in me!” Gil would say to himself reassuringly every day, as he peered anxiously into the mirror, fearful that unsightly human hair might start sprouting on his chin.

“Nothing!” he would repeat in satisfaction, surveying his clear, smooth skin. Nothing except blood. Human blood.

And because Gil feared it, he couldn’t speak of it, couldn’t admit it. And so he kept silent.

The silence between father and son had been built brick by brick over the years. It was now a wall not easily scaled.

“Well, aren’t you going to read the letter, Father?” Gil demanded. Tanis frowned, not liking his son’s insolent tone.

Gil waited for his father to reprimand him. The young man wasn’t sure why, but he wanted to goad his father into losing his temper. Things would be said... things that needed to be said ...

But Tanis put on the patient smile he had taken to wearing around his son and removed the scroll from its case.

Gil turned his back. Stalking over to the window, he stared unseeing down on the lush and elaborately laid out garden below. He had half a mind to walk out of the room, but he wanted to hear what Caramon Majere had to say.

Gil had no use for most of the humans he’d met, those who came to visit his parents. He considered them loud, clumsy, and oafish. But Gil liked the big, jovial Caramon, liked his wide, generous smile, his boisterous laugh. Gil enjoyed hearing about Caramon’s sons, particularly the exploits of the two elder boys, Sturm and Tanin, who had traveled all over most of Ansalon in search of adventure. They were now attempting to become the first men born outside of Solamnia to enter the knighthood.

Gil had never met Caramon’s sons. A few years ago, after returning from some secret mission with Tanis, Caramon had offered to take Gil to visit the inn. Tanis and Laurana had refused to even consider it. Gil had been so furious that he had moped about his room for a week.

Tanis unrolled the scroll and was rapidly scanning through it.

“I hope all is well with Caramon,” Laurana said. She sounded anxious. She had not returned to her writing, but was watching Tanis’s face as he read the message.

Gil turned. Tanis did look worried, but when he reached the end, he smiled. Then he shook his head and sighed.

“Caramon’s youngest boy, Palin, has just taken and passed the Test in the Tower of High Sorcery. He is a white-robed mage now.”

“Paladine save us!” Laurana exclaimed in astonishment. “I knew the young man was studying magic, but I never thought he was serious. Caramon always said it was a passing fancy.”

“He always hoped it was a passing fancy,” Tanis amended.

“I’m surprised Caramon permitted it.”

“He didn’t.” Tanis handed her the scroll. “As you will read, Dalamar took the matter out of Caramon’s hands.”

“Why wouldn’t he let Palin take the Test?” Gil asked.

“Because the Test can be fatal, for one thing,” Tanis saiddryly.

“But Caramon plans to let his other sons test for the knighthood,” Gil argued. “That can be pretty fatal, too.”

“The knighthood’s different. Son. Caramon understands battle with sword and shield. He doesn’t understand battle with rose petals and cobwebs.”

“And then, of course, there was Raistlin,” Laurana added, as if that concluded the matter.

“What has his uncle got to do with it?” Gil demanded, though he knew perfectly well what his mother meant. He was in a mood to argue these days.

“It’s natural for Caramon to fear Palin would walk the same dark path as Raistlin took. Though now that seems hardly likely.”

And what path do you fear I’ll walk, Mother, Father? Gil wanted to shout at them. Any path? Dark or light? Any path that leads me away from this place? Someday, Mother... Someday, Father...

“May I read it?” Gil asked petulantly.

Wordlessly, his mother handed the scroll over. Gil read it slowly. He could read human script as easily as elven, but he had some trouble deciphering Caramon’s gigantic, round-handed, and excited scrawl.

“Caramon says here he made a mistake. He says he should have respected Palin’s decision to study magic instead of trying to force him to be something he isn’t. Caramon says he’s proud of Palin for passing the Test.”

“Caramon says that now,” Tanis returned. “He would have said something far different if his boy had died in the tower.”

“At least he gave him a chance, which is more than you will me,” Gil retorted. “You keep me locked up like some sort of prize bird—”

Tanis’s face darkened. Laurana intervened hastily. “Now, Gil, please don’t start. It’s nearly dinnertime. If you and your father will get washed up, I’ll tell Cook that we’re—”

“No, Mother, don’t change the subject! It won’t work this time!” Gil held the scroll tightly, drawing reassurance from it. “Palin’s not much older than I am. And now he’s off traveling with his brothers. He’s seeing things, doing things! I’ve never been farther from home than the fencerow!”

“It’s not the same, Gil, and you know it,” Tanis said quietly. “Palin’s human—”

“I’m part human,” Gil returned with bitter accusation.

Laurana paled, lowered her eyes. Tanis was silent a moment, his lips, beneath the beard, compressed. When he spoke, it was in the infuriatingly calm tone that drove Gil to distraction.

“Yes, you and Palin are near the same age, but human children mature faster than elven children—”

“I’m not a child!”

The knot inside Gil twisted until he feared it would turn him inside out.

“And you know, mapete, that with your headaches, travel would be—” Laurana began.

The knot snapped.

“Stop calling me that!” Gil shouted at her.

Laurana’s eyes widened in hurt and surprise. Gil was remorseful. He hadn’t meant to wound her, but he also felt a certain amount of satisfaction.

“You’ve called me that name since I was a baby,” he continued in a low voice.

“Yes, she has.” Tanis’s face, beneath the beard, was dark with anger. “Because she loves you. Apologize to your mother!”

“No, Tanis,” Laurana intervened. “I owe Gil the apology. He is right.” She smiled faintly. “It is a silly name for a young man who is taller than I am. I am sorry, my son. I won’t do it again.”

Gil hadn’t expected this victory. He didn’t quite know how to handle

it. He decided to ride on, press home the advantage against a weakened opponent. “And I haven’t had a headache for months now. Perhaps I’m rid of them.”

“But you don’t know that, Son.” Tanis was trying hard to control himself.

“What would happen if you fell ill while you were on the road, far from home?”

“Then I’d deal with it,” Gil retorted. “I’ve heard you tell about times when Raistlin Majere was so sick his brother had to carry him. But that never stopped Raistlin. He was a great hero!”

Tanis started to say something. Laurana gave him a warning glance, and he kept quiet.

“Where is it you want to go, Son?” she asked.

Gil hesitated. The moment had arrived. He hadn’t expected the subject to come up quite this way, but it had and he knew he should take advantage of it. “My homeland. Qualinesti.” “Out of the question.” “Why, Father? Give me one good reason!” “I could give you a dozen, but I doubt you’d understand them. For starters, Qualinesti isn’t your home—”

“Tanis, please!” Laurana turned to Gil. “What put this idea into your head, mapet—Son?”

“I received an invitation, a very handsome invitation, very proper and fitting to my station as an elven prince.” Gil emphasized the words.

His mother and father exchanged alarmed glances. Gil ignored them and continued on. “The invitation is from one of the senators of the Thalas-Enthia. The people are having some type of celebration to welcome Uncle Porthios back from Silvanesti, and this senator thinks I should be in attendance. He says my absence from formal occasions like this has been noticed. People are starting to say that I am ashamed of my elven heritage.”

“How dare they do this?” Tanis spoke with barely concealed fury. “How dare they interfere? Who is this senator? The meddling ass. I’ll—”

“Tanthalas, listen to me.” Laurana called him by his full elven name only when the matter was serious. “There’s more to it than that, I fear.”

She drew near him; they spoke together in an undertone. Whispering. Always the whispers. Gil tried to look as if he hadn’t the slightest interest in what they were saying, though he listened closely. He caught the words “political” and “move cautiously” but nothing more.

“This does concern me, you know, Father,” Gil stated abruptly. "You weren’t invited.”

“Don’t speak to me in that tone, young man!” “Gil, dear, this is a very serious matter,” Laurana said, using a soothing note to her son, laying a soothing hand on her husband’s arm. “When did you receive this invitation?” “A day or two ago, when you were both in Palanthas. If you’d been home, you would have known about it.” Again, the two looked at each other.

“I wish you’d told us earlier. What reply did you send?” His mother was clearly nervous, her hands twisted together. His father was furious, but Tanis kept silent. He was being forced to keep silent.

Gil knew himself suddenly, for the first time in his life, in control. It was a good feeling that eased the tight knot in his stomach.

“I haven’t sent my answer,” he said coolly. “I know this is political. I know this is serious. I waited to talk the matter over with you both.”

He had the satisfaction of seeing his parents look ashamed. Again, they had underestimated him.

“You did right, Son. I’m sorry we misjudged you.” Tanis sighed and scratched his bearded chin in frustration. “More than that, I’m sorry you had to be dragged into this. But I guess I should have expected it.”

“We both should have,” Laurana added. “We should have prepared you, Gil.”

Her voice dropped. She was talking to Tanis again. “It’s just that I never thought.. . He’s part human, after all. I didn’t suppose they would ...”

“Of course, they would. It’s obvious to me what they’re after...”

“What?” Gil demanded loudly. “What are they after?” Tanis didn’t seem to hear him, for he continued to talk to Laurana. “I had hoped he would be spared this, that he wouldn’t have to go through what you and I did. And if I have anything to say about it, he won’t.”

He turned to Gil. “Bring us the invitation, Son. Your mother will frame the proper refusal.”

“And that’s it,” Gil said, glaring from one to the other. “You won’t let me go.”

“Son, you don’t understand—” Tanis began, his temper starting to flare.

“You’re damn right I don’t understand! I—” Gil paused. Of course. It was all so simple, really. But he had to be careful. He mustn’t give himself away. He’d stopped talking in midsentence—a stupid move. They might suspect. How to cover it?

Diplomacy, learned from his mother.

“I’m sorry for yelling, Father,” Gil said contritely. “I know you have only my best interests at heart. It was foolish of me to want to go—to visit my mother’s homeland.”

“Someday, Son,” Tanis said, scratching his beard. “When you’re older...”

“Certainly, Father. Now, if you two will excuse me, I have my studies to attend to.” Turning, Gil walked out of the room with dignity. He shut the door behind him.

Pausing outside the door, he listened.

“We’ve known this was coming,” his mother was saying. “If s only right he should want to go.”

“Yes, and how will he feel when he sees the hate-filled glances, the curled lips, the subtle insults...”

“Maybe that won’t happen, Tanis. The elves have changed.”

“Have they, dearest?” Tanis asked her sadly. “Have they really?”

Laurana made no response, at least not one that Gil could hear.

He wavered in his decision. They were only trying to protect him, after all. Protect him! Yes, just as Caramon had tried to protect Palin. He had taken the Test and passed. He’d proven his worth—both to his father and to himself.

Resolve hardened, Gil ran down the hall, took the stairs to his room two at a time. Once inside, he closed and locked the door. He had kept the invitation hidden in a golden filigree box. Reading the invitation again, Gil scanned the lines until he found what he was searching for.

The man’s name meant nothing to Gil, wasn’t important anyway. He dropped the invitation and gazed out his window, down the road that led south.

To the Black Swan.

Chapter Four

Wrapped in his cloak, Tanis Half-Elven was lying on the hard, cold ground. He was sleeping deeply, peacefully. But Caramon’s hand was on his shoulder, shaking him. Tanis, we need you! Tanis, wake up!

Go away, Tanis told him, rolling over, hunching himself into a ball. I don’t want to wake up. I’m tired of it all, so very tired. Why can’t you leave me alone? Let me sleep 'Tanis!”

He woke with a start. He’d slept longer than usual, longer than he’d intended. But his sleep had not been restful, had left him feeling heavy-limbed, fuzzy-brained. He blinked. Looking up, he half expected to see Caramon. He saw Laurana. “Gil’s gone,” she said.

Tanis struggled to shake off the dream, the heaviness. “Gone?” he repeated stupidly. “Where?”

“I don’t know for certain, but I think—” Her voice broke. Wordlessly, she held out to Tanis a sheet of gold leaf paper. Rubbing his eyes, Tanis leveraged himself to a sitting position. Laurana slid onto the bed beside him and put her arm around his shoulder. He read the invitation. “Where did you find this?”

“In... in his room. I didn’t mean to snoop. It was just... He didn’t come down to breakfast. I thought he might be ill. I went to check.” Her head drooped, and tears slid down her cheeks. “His bed wasn’t slept in. His clothes are gone. And this... this... was on the floor... by the window...” She broke down. After a moment’s silent struggle, she regained control of herself. “I went to the stable. His horse is gone, too. The groom didn’t hear or see anything—”

“Old Hastings is deaf as a post. He wouldn’t have heard the Cataclysm. Caramon tried to warn me this would happen. I didn’t listen."

Tanis sighed. Subconsciously, he’d listened. That was what the dream meant. Let me sleep ...

“Everything’s going to be fine, dearest,” Tanis said cheerfully. Kissing his wife, he held her close. “Gil left this behind, knowing we’d find it. He wants us to come after him. He wants to be stopped. This is his rooster crow of independence, that’s all. I’ll find him at the Black Swan—exhausted, but too proud to admit it, pretending he’s going to ride on, secretly hoping I’ll argue him out of it.” “You won’t scold him ...” Laurana asked anxiously. “No, of course, not. We’ll have a man-to-man talk. It’s long coming. Maybe he and I will even spend the night away from home, ride back together in the morning.”

Tanis warmed to the idea. Now that he thought of it, he had never spent the day alone with his son. They would talk, really talk. Tanis would let Gil know that his father understood.

“This might actually prove to be good for the boy, my dear.” Tanis was up, out of bed, and dressing for travel. “Perhaps I should go, too....”

“No, Laurana,” Tanis said firmly. “This is between Gil and me.” He paused in his preparations. “You don’t really understand why he’s done this, do you?”

“No elven youth would do such a thing,” Laurana said softly, the tears shining in her eyes.

Tanis bent down, kissed her lustrous hair. He remembered a half-elven youth who had run away from his people, his home; a half-elven youth who had run away from her. He guessed that she must be remembering the same.

The hunger for change—the human curse. Or blessing.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ll bring him back safely.” “If only he understood! We would sacrifice anything for him. . . ”

Laurana talked on, but Tanis wasn’t listening, not to her. He was listening to the voice of another woman, another mother.

What would you sacrifice for your own son—your wealth? Your honor? Your very life? These were Sara’s words—Sara, surrogate mother of Steel Brightblade.

Chilled, fearful, Tanis remembered the vision. He had not thought about it for years, had put it out of his mind. Once again he stood in the evil fortress of Lord Ariakan, Knight of Takhisis. Dark clouds parted; Solinari’s silver light shone through, giving Tanis a swift glimpse of danger and peril, swirling about his frail son like the driving rain. And then Solinari was swallowed by dark clouds. The vision was gone. And he had forgotten it.

Until now.

“What’s wrong?” Laurana was staring at him, frightened. How well she knew him! Too well...

“Nothing,” he said, forcing a reassuring smile. “I had a bad dream last night, that's all. I guess if s still affecting me. About the war. You know.”

Laurana knew. She had those dreams, too. And she knew he wasn’t telling her the truth, not because he didn’t love her or trust her or respect her, but simply because he couldn’t He had learned at an early age to keep his inner torments and hurts and fears well-hidden. To betray any weakness would give someone the advantage over him. She couldn’t blame him. She’d seen how he’d been raised. A half-human in elven society, he was permitted to live in Qualinesti out of charity and pity. But he had never been accepted. The elves had always let him know he was—and would ever be—an outsider.

“What about Rashas?” she asked, tactfully changing the subject.

“I’ll deal with Rashas,” Tanis said grimly. “I might have known he’d be behind this. Always plotting. I wonder why Porthios puts up with him.”

“Porthios has other worries, my dear. But now that Silvanesti is free of Lorac’s dream, Porthios can finally return home and deal with matters in his own land.”

Lorac’s dream. Lorac had been an elven king, ruler of Silvanesti before the War of the Lance. Afraid that his land was about to fall victim to the invading armies of the Dark Queen, Lorac had tried to use one of the powerful, magical dragon orbs to save his people, his land. Instead, tragically, Lorac had fallen victim to the orb. The evil dragon, Cyan Bloodbane, had taken over Silvanesti, whispered dark dreams into Lorac’s ears.

The dreams had become reality. Silvanesti was a haunted and devastated land, crawling with evil creatures that were both real and, at the same time, a product of Lorac’s fear-twisted vision.

Even after Lorac’s death and the Dark Queen’s defeat, Silvanesti had not been completely freed of the darkness. For long years, the elves had fought the remnants of the dream, fought the dark and evil creatures that still roamed the land. Only now, had they finally defeated them.

Tanis thought of Lorac’s story, thought grimly that it had relevance in this day. Once again, some of the elves were acting irrationally, out of fear. Some of the old, set-in-their-ways elves like Senator Rashas ...

“At least now Porthios has something to take his mind off his troubles—now that Alhana is pregnant,” Tanis said, trying to present a cheerful front, even as he began lacing on his leather armor.

Laurana looked at the armor, which he never wore unless he expected trouble. She bit her lip, but said nothing about it. She continued the conversation, followed his lead.

“I know Alhana is pleased. She has wanted a child for so long. And I think Porthios is pleased, as well, though he tries to act as if fatherhood were nothing special. Just doing his duty by the people. I see a warmth between them that has been missing all these years. I really believe that they are beginning to care for each other.”

“About time,” Tanis muttered. He had never much liked his brother-in-law. Tying his traveling cloak around his shoulders, he picked up a knapsack, then leaned over to kiss his wife’s cheek. “Good-bye, love. Don’t fret if we’re not back right away.”

“Oh, Tanis!” Laurana gazed at him searchingly.

“Don’t be afraid. The boy and I need to talk. I see that no w. I should have done it a long time ago, but I had hoped ...” He stopped, then said, “I’ll send you word.”

Buckling on his sword, he kissed her again, and was gone.

His son’s trail was easy to pick up. Spring rains had deluged Solanthus for a month; the ground was muddy, the horse’s hoofprints deep and clear. The only other person who had ridden this road lately was Sir William, delivering Caramon’s message, and the knight had ridden in the opposite direction, toward Solamnia, whereas the Black Swan was located on the road that led south to Qualinesti.

Tanis rode at a relaxed pace. The morning sun was a slit of fire in the sky, and the dew glittered in the grass. The night had been clear, cool enough to make a cloak feel good, but not chill.

“Gil must have enjoyed his ride,” Tanis said to himself. He remembered, with guilty pleasure, another young man and another midnight journey. “I had no horse when I left. I walked from Qualinesti to Solace in search of Flint. I had no money, no care, no sense. It’s a wonder I made it alive.”

Tanis laughed ruefully, shook his head. “But I was shabby enough that no robber looked twice at me. I couldn’t afford to sleep in an inn, and so I stayed out of fights. I spent the nights walking beneath the stars, feeling that at last I was able to breathe deeply.

“Ah, Gil.” Tanis sighed. “I did the very thing I promised myself a hundred times I would never do. I bound you and fettered you. The chains were made of silk, forged by love, but they were still chains. Yet how could I do otherwise? You are so precious to me, my son! I love you so much. If anything were to happen ...

“Stop it, Tanis!” he sternly reprimanded himself. “You’re only borrowing trouble, and you know what the interest on that debt can cost you. It’s a lovely day. Gil will have a fine ride. And we’ll talk tonight, really talk. That is, you’ll talk, Son. I’ll listen. I promise.”

Tanis continued to follow the horse’s tracks. He saw where Gil had allowed the animal its head, saw signs of a mad gallop, both horse and rider giddy with freedom. But then the young man had calmed the horse, proceeded forward at a sensible pace, not to tire the animal. “Good for you, boy,"

Tanis said proudly. To take his mind off his worry, he began considering what he would say to Rashas of the Thalas-Enthia. Tanis knew the elf well. Near the same age as Porthios, Rashas was enamored of power, enjoyed nothing more than political intrigue. He had been the youngest elf ever to sit on the senate. Rumor had it that he hounded his father until the elder elf finally collapsed under the pressure and relinquished his seat to his son. During the War of the Lance, Rashas had been a burr beneath the saddle of Solostaran, Speaker of the Sun. Solostaran’s successor, Porthios, was now having to cope with this irritant.

Rashas persistently advocated elven isolation from the rest of the world. He made no secret of the fact that, in his opinion, the Kingpriest of Istar had been right in offering bounties on dwarves and kender. Rashas would have made one change, however: He would have added humans to the list.

Which made all this completely inexplicable. Why was this cagey old spider trying to lure Gilthas, of all people—a quarter-human—into his web?

“At any rate,” Tanis muttered into his beard, “this will give me a chance to settle my own score with you, Rashas, old childhood friend. I remember every one of your snide comments, the whispered insults, the cruel little practical jokes. The beatings I took from you and your gang of bullies. I wasn’t allowed to hit you then, but, by Paladine, there’s nobody going to stop me now!”

The delightful anticipation of smashing his fist into Rashas’s pointed chin kept Tanis entertained throughout the better part of the morning. He had no idea what Rashas wanted with his son, but he guessed it couldn’t be anything good.

“If s too bad I didn’t tell Gil about Rashas,” Tanis mused. “Too bad I never told him much of anything about my early life in Qualinesti. Maybe it was a mistake to keep him away from there. If we hadn’t, he would have known about Rashas and his type. He wouldn’t have fallen for whatever clever scheme the senator’s plotting. But, I wanted to protect you, Gil. I didn’t want you to suffer what I suffered. I...”

Tanis stopped his horse, turned the animal around. “Damn it to the Abyss.” He stared down at the dirt road, cold dread constricting his heart.

He slid off his horse for a better look. The mud, now slowly hardening in the bright sun, told the tale all too clearly. There was only one creature in all of Krynn that left tracks like this: three front claws that dug deep in the ground, a back claw, and the sinuous twisting mark of a reptilian tail.

“Draconians ... four of them.”

Tanis examined the prints. His horse, snuffling at them, shied away in disgust.

Catching the animal, Tanis held its head near the tracks until it became accustomed to the smell. Remounting, he followed the trail. It could be coincidence, he told himself. The draconians could merely be traveling the same direction as Gil.

But Tanis became convinced, after another mile, that the creatures were stalking his son.

At one point, Gil had turned his horse off the trail, led the animal down an embankment to a small stream. At this juncture, the draconians also left the trail. Tenaciously tracking the horse’s hoofprints down to the creek, the draconians trailed the horse along the water’s edge, followed the hoof marks back up to the road.

In addition, Tanis saw signs that the draconians were taking care to keep out of sight. At various points, the clawed footprints would leave the trail and seek the safety of the brush.

This road was not particularly well traveled, but farmers used it, as did the occasional venturing knight. If these draconians were ordinary raiders, living off the land, they would not hesitate to attack a lone farmer, steal his wagon and horses. These draconians were hiding from those who passed along the road; they obviously were on a mission.

But what connection could draconians have with Rashas? The elf had his faults, certainly, but conspiring with creatures of darkness wasn’t one of them.

Fearful, alarmed, Tanis spurred his horse. The tracks were hours old, but he wasn’t far from the Black Swan. The inn was located in the fairly substantial town of Fair Field. Four draconians would never dare venture into a populated area. Whatever their intention, they would have to strike before Gil reached the inn.

Which meant Tanis might well be too late.

He rode along the trail, traveling at a moderate pace, keeping his eyes on the prints—both the clawed prints and those made by Gil’s horse. The young man obviously had no idea he was being followed. He was riding along at an easy walk, enjoying the scenery, reveling in his newfound freedom. The draconians never deviated from their course.

And then, Tanis knew where they would strike.

A few miles outside of Fair Field, the road entered a heavily wooded area. Oak and walnut trees grew thick, their tangled limbs branching across the trail, blocking out the sunlight, keeping the road in deep shadow. In the days after the Cataclysm, the forest was reputed to have been a refuge for robbers and, to this day, was known unofficially as Thieves Acres. Caves honeycombed the hillsides, providing hiding places where men could hide and gloat over their loot. It was the perfect spot for an ambush.

Sick with fear, Tanis left off tracking, urged his horse forward at a gallop. He almost rode down a startled farmer, who shouted at him, wondering what was the matter. Tanis didn’t waste time bothering to answer.

The forest was in sight, a long length of dark green banding the road ahead of him.

The shadows of the trees closed over him; day turned to dusk in the blink of an eye. The temperature dropped noticeably. Here and there, patches of sunlight filtered through the overhanging tree limbs. Compared to the darkness around him, the light was almost blinding in its intensity. But soon even these few glimpses of the sun were lost. The trees closed in.

Tanis slowed his horse. Though he grudged the wasted time, he dared not miss whatever tale the ground had to tell him.

All too soon, he read the story’s end. He couldn’t have missed it, no matter how fast he was riding. The dirt road was churned and cut up to such an extent that Tanis found it impossible to decipher what exactly had occurred. Horse’s hooves were obliterated by draconian claws; here and there he thought he saw the impression of a slender elven foot. Add to this a strange set of claw prints. These looked vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t immediately identify them.

He dismounted, searched the area, and forced himself to be patient, not to overlook the slightest detail. What he discovered brought him no comfort, only increased dread. From the point beyond the churned up mud, no tracks proceeded onward down the road.

Gil had made it this far, and no farther. But what in the name of all that was holy had happened to him?

Tanis went back over the ground, expanded his search into the trees.

His patience was rewarded.

Horse’s hooves had been led off the main road and into the woods.

The hooves were flanked by the draconian claw marks.

Tanis swore bitterly. Returning to his own horse, he tethered the animal on the roadside, then removed his longbow and quiver of arrows from his saddle. He slid the bow over his shoulder and slung the quiver on his back.

Loosening his sword in its sheath, he entered the woods.

All his old skills in hunting and stalking came back to him. He blessed the foresight—or had it been that vision at Storm’s Keep?—that had prompted him to wear his soft leather boots, bring along the bow and arrow that he rarely carried in these days of peace. His gaze swept the ground. He moved through the trees and brush without a sound, treading lightly, careful not to snap a stick, cause a branch to rustle with his passing.

The woods grew deeper, denser. He was a long way from the road, tracking four draconians, and he was alone. Not a particularly wise move.

He kept going. They had his son.

The sound of guttural voices, speaking a language that made flesh crawl and brought back unpleasant memories, caused Tanis to slow his pace. Holding his breath, he crept forward, moving from tree trunk to tree trunk, nearing his prey.

And there they were, or most of them, at least. Three draconians stood in front of a cave, conversing in their hideous tongue. And there was the horse, Gil’s horse, with its fine leather trappings and silken ribbons tied in its mane. The animal was shivering in fear, bore marks of having been beaten.

It wasn’t a trained war-horse, but it had apparently fought its captors. One of the draconians was cursing the animal and pointing to a bleeding slash on a scaled arm.

But there was no sign of Gil. He was probably in the cave with the fourth draconian. But why? What terrible things were they doing to him?

What had they done?

At least Tanis could take cold comfort from the fact that the only blood visible on the ground was green.

He chose his target, the draconian standing nearest to him. Moving more silently than the wind, Tanis lifted his bow, fitted an arrow to it, raised the bow to his cheek, and pulled. The arrow struck the draconian in the back, between the wings. The creature gave a gurgle of pain and astonishment, then toppled over dead. The body turned to stone, held the arrow fast.

Never attack a Baaz with a sword if you can help it.

Swiftly, Tanis had another arrow nocked and ready. The second draconian, its sword drawn, was turning his direction.

Tanis fired. The arrow hit the draconian in the chest. It dropped the sword, clutched at the arrow with its clawed hands, then it, too, fell to the ground.

“Don’t move!” Tanis ordered harshly, speaking the Common language he knew the creatures understood.

The third draconian froze, its sword halfway drawn, its beady eyes darting this way and that.

“I have an arrow with your foul name on it,” Tanis continued. “It’s pointed straight at what you slime call your heart. Where is the boy you took captive back there? What have you done to him? You have ten seconds to tell me, or you meet the same fate as your comrades.”

The draconian said something in its own language.

“Don’t give me that,” Tanis growled. “You speak Common better than I do, probably. Where is the boy? Ten seconds is almost up. If you—”

“Tanis, my friend! How good to see you again,” came a voice. “It’s been a long time.”

An elf, tall, handsome, with brown hair, brown eyes, wearing black robes, emerged from the cave.

Tanis fought to keep the bow raised and aimed, though his hands trembled, his fingers were wet with sweat, and the fear tore him up inside.

“Where is my son, Dalamar?” Tanis cried hoarsely. “What have you done with him?”

“Put the bow down, my friend,” Dalamar said gently. “Don’t make them kill you. Don’t make me.”

Blinded by tears of rage and fear and helpless frustration, Tanis kept the bow raised, was ready to loose the arrow, not caring what he hit.

Clawed fingers dug into his back, dragged him to the ground. A heavy object struck him. Pain burst in Tanis’s head and, though he fought against it, darkness closed around him.

Chapter Five

Gil was riding through a particularly dark and gloomy portion of forest, thinking, uncomfortably, that this would be a perfect place for an ambush, when a griffin sailed down through an opening in the trees and landed on the road directly in front of the young man.

Gil had never before seen one of the wondrous beasts, who were friends to the elves and no other race on Krynn. He was alarmed and startled at the sight. The beast had the head and wings of an eagle, but its rear portion was that of a lion. Its eyes were fierce; its wickedly sharp beak could—according to legend—rip through a dragon’s scales.

His horse was terrified; horseflesh is one of a griffin’s favorite meals.

The animal neighed and reared in panic, nearly throwing its rider. Gil was a skilled horseman; such exercise having been advocated as good for his health, and he immediately reined in the horse and calmed it down with soothing pats on the neck, gentle words of reassurance.

The griffin’s rider—an elder elf clad in rich clothing—watched with approval. When Gil’s horse was under control once again, the elf dismounted and walked over. Another elf—one of the oddest-looking elves Gilthas had ever seen—waited behind. This strange elf was clothed in practically nothing, leaving bare a well-muscled body decorated with fantastic, colorfully painted designs.

The elder elf introduced himself.

“I am Rashas of the Thalas-Enthia. And you, I believe, must be Prince Gilthas. Well met, grandson of Solostaran. Well met.”

Gil dismounted, said the polite words as he’d been taught. The two exchanged the formal kiss of greeting and continued through the ritual of introduction. During this proceeding, the griffin glared around, its fierce-eyed gaze penetrating the forest shadows. At one point, it gnashed its beak, its claws churned the ground, and its lion tail lashed about in disgust.

The elf accompanying Rashas spoke a few words to the griffin, which twisted its head and flexed its wings and seemed to—somewhat sullenly—settle down.

Gil was watching the griffin, trying to keep his horse calm, casting oblique glances at the painted elf servant, and attempting, at the same time, to make the correct, polite responses to the senator. Small wonder he became confused. Rashas noticed the young man’s difficulty. “Permit me to apologize for frightening your horse. It was thoughtless of me. I should have realized that your animal would not be accustomed to our griffins. The horses of Qualinesti are trained to be around them, you see. It never occurred to me that the horses of Tanthalas Half-Elven were not.”

Gil was shamed. The griffins had long been friends of the elves. To be unacquainted with these magnificent beasts seemed to him tantamount to being unacquainted with one’s own kind. He was intending to stammer an apology for his father, but to his astonishment found himself saying something quite different.

“Griffins come to visit us,” Gil said proudly. “My parents exchange gifts with them yearly. My father’s horse is well-trained. My own horse is young—”

Rashas politely cut him off.

“Believe me, Prince Gilthas, I do understand,” he said earnestly, with a glance of cool pity that brought hot blood to the young man’s face.

“Believe me, sir,” Gil began, “I think you mistake—”

Rashas continued on, as if he hadn’t heard, “I thought it might be enjoyable, as well as enlightening, for you to take your first glimpse of Qualinesti from the air, Prince Gilthas. Therefore, on impulse, I flew to meet you. I would be greatly honored if you were to ride back with me. Don’t worry, the griffin can easily carry us both.”

Gil forgot his anger at the insult. He gazed at the wondrous beast with awe and longing. To fly! It seemed all his dreams were coming true at once!

But his elation quickly evaporated. His first concern must be for his horse.

“I thank you for your kind offer, Senator—”

“Call me Rashas, my prince,” the elf interrupted.

Gil bowed, acknowledging the compliment. “I could not leave my horse alone, unattended.” He patted his horse’s neck. “I hope you are not offended.”

On the contrary, Rashas appeared pleased. “Far from it, my prince. I am glad to see you take such responsibilities seriously. So many young people do not, these days. But you won’t have to miss out on the trip. My Kagonesti servant here”—Rashas waved a hand in the general direction of the strange-looking elf—“will return the horse to your father’s stables.”

Kagonesti! Now Gil understood. This was one of the famed Wilder elves, fabled in legend and song. He had never seen one before.

The Kagonesti bowed, indicating silently that nothing would give him greater pleasure. Gil nodded awkwardly, all the while wondering what he should do.

“I see you hesitate. Are you not feeling well? I have heard it said that your health is precarious. Perhaps you should return home,” Rashas said solicitously. “The rigors of the flight might not be good for you.”

That remark, of course, decided the matter.

His face burning, Gil said that he would be pleased to accompany Senator Rashas and the griffin.

Gil gave over the care of his horse to the Kagonesti servant without another thought. Only when he was securely mounted on the griffin did it occur to the young man to wonder how the senator had known Gil had decided to travel to Qualinesti. And how had Rashas known where to meet him?

It was on the tip of Gil’s tongue to ask, but he was in awe of the elder elf, in awe of Rashas’s elegant and dignified air. Laurana had trained her son well, taught him to be diplomatic. Such a question would be impolite, would imply that Gil didn’t trust the elf. Undoubtedly there was a logical explanation.

Gil settled back to enjoy the ride.

Chapter Six

As long as he lived, Gil would never forget his first glimpse of the fabled elven city of Qualinost. A first glimpse, yet a familiar sight to the young elf.

Rashas turned to witness the young man’s reaction. He saw the tears sliding down Gil’s cheeks. The senator nodded approval. He even prevented Gil from wiping the tears away.

“The beauty fills the heart to bursting. The emotion must find an outlet. Let it fall from your eyes. Your tears do you no shame, my prince, but rather great credit. It is only natural that you should weep at the first sight of your true homeland.”

Gil did not miss the senator’s emphasis on the word true, and could only agree with him. Yes, this is where I belong! I know it now. I’ve known it all my life. For this is not my first sight of Qualinost. I’ve seen it often in my dreams.

Four slender spires made of white stone, marbled with shining silver, rose above the tops of the aspen trees, which grew thick within the city. A taller tower, made of gold that gleamed in the sunlight, stood in the city’s center, surrounded by other buildings formed of glittering rose quartz. Quiet streets wound like ribbons of silk among the aspen groves and gardens of wildflowers. A sense of peace settled over Gilthas’s soul—peace and belonging. Truly, he had come home.

The griffin landed in the center courtyard of a house made of rose quartz, decorated with green jade. The house itself seemed delicate, fragile, yet it had, so Rashas boasted proudly, withstood the tremors and fiery winds of the Cataclysm. Gil gazed at the spires, the latticework, the fluted columns and slender arches, and mentally compared this with his parent’s manor house. That house, which Laurana had named “Journey’s End,” was rectangular, with sharp angles, gabled windows, and a high-pitched roof.

Compared to the graceful, beautiful elven homes, Gil recalled his house as bulky and solid and ugly. It seemed... human.

Rashas thanked the griffin politely for its services, gave it several fine gifts, and bid it farewell. Then he led Gilthas into the house. It was more lovely inside than out, if that were possible. Elves love fresh air; their houses are more window than wall, as the saying goes. Sunlight, streaming through the latticework, danced among the shadows to form patterns on the floor, patterns that seemed alive, for they were constantly shifting with the movement of the sun and clouds. Flowers grew inside the house, and living trees sprang up from the floor. Birds soared in and out freely, filling the house with music. Lullabies whispered by gently splashing water from indoor fountains formed a soft counterpoint to the birdsong.

Several Kagonesti elves—tall and heavily muscled, with strange markings on their skin—greeted Rashas with bows and every appearance of deference.

“These are my Wilder elves,” Rashas said to Gil in explanation. “Once they were slaves. Now—in accordance with modern decrees—I am required to pay them for their services.”

Gil wasn’t certain, but he thought uneasily that Rashas sounded rather put out. The elder elf glanced at him and smiled, and Gil concluded the senator had been jesting. No one in this day and age could possibly approve of slavery.

“Only myself and my servants live here now,” Rashas continued. “I am a widower. My wife died during the war. My son was killed fighting with the armies of Whitestone, armies led by your mother, Gilthas.” Rashas gave the young man a strange look. “My daughter is married and has a house and family of her own. Most of the time, I am alone.

“But today I have company, an honored guest staying with me. I hope you, too, my prince, will consider my house your own. I trust you will grace my dwelling with your presence?” The senator appeared eager, anxious for Gilthas to say yes.

“I am the one who would be honored, Senator,” Gil said, flushing with pleasure. “You do me too much kindness.”

“I will show you your room in a moment. The servants are making it up now. The lady who is my guest is most anxious to meet you. It would be impolite of us to keep her waiting. She has heard a great deal about you. She is, I believe, a close friend of your mother’s.”

Gil was mystified. Following her marriage, his mother had retained few friends among the elves. Perhaps this person had been one of his mother’s childhood companions.

Rashas led the way up three flights of gracefully winding stairs. A door at the top opened onto a spacious hallway. Three doors opened off the hall, one at the far end and two on each side. Two of the Kagonesti servants stood outside the far door. They bowed to Rashas. At a signal from him, one of the Wilder elves knocked respectfully on the door.

“Enter,” said a woman’s voice, low and musical, quiet and imper ious.

Gil stood back to permit Rashas to enter, but the senator bowed, gestured.

“My prince.”

Embarrassed, yet pleased, Gilthas walked into the room. Rashas followed behind him. The servants shut the door.

The woman had her back to them; she was standing by a window. The room was octagon-shaped, a small arboretum.

Trees grew in the center, their branches carefully coaxed and trained to form a living ceiling of green. Tall, narrow windows were set into the walls.

These windows were not opened, Gil noticed, but were all closed and draped in silk. He supposed the room’s occupant did not like fresh air.

Two doors—one on each side of the room—led to private chambers off this main one. The furniture, a sofa, table, and several chairs, was comfortable and elegant.

“My lady,” said Rashas respectfully, “you have a visitor.”

The woman remained standing with her back to them a moment longer.

Her shoulders seemed to stiffen, as if bracing herself. Then she turned slowly around.

Gil let out a soft breath. He had never in his life seen or imagined such beauty existed, could be embodied in a living being. The woman’s hair was the black of the sky at midnight, her eyes the deep purple of amethyst.

She was graceful, lovely, ethereal, ephemeral, and there was a sorrow about her that was like the sorrow of the gods.

If Rashas had introduced the woman as Mishakal, gentle goddess of healing, Gil would not have been the least surprised. He felt strongly compelled to fall on his knees in worship and reverence.

But this woman was not a goddess.

“My prince, may I present Alhana Starbreeze—” Rashas began.

“Queen Alhana Starbreeze,” she corrected, softly, haughtily. She stood tall and—oddly—defiant.

“Queen Alhana Starbreeze,” Rashas amended with a smile, as if he were indulging the whim of a child. “Please permit me to present Gilthas, son of Lauralanthalasa of the House of Solostaran ... and her husband, Tanthalas Half-Elven.” Rashas added the last almost as an afterthought.

Gil heard the distinct pause in Rashas’s words, a pause that effectively separated his father from his mother. Gil felt his skin flame in embarrassment and shame. He could not look at this proud and haughty woman, who must be pitying and despising him. She was talking, not to him, but to Rashas. Such was Gil’s confusion that he couldn’t understand what she was saying at first. When he did, he raised his head and stared at her in pleased astonishment.

“...Tanis Half-Elven is one of the great men of our time. He is known and revered throughout Ansalon. He has been awarded the highest honors each nation has to offer, including the elven nations, Senator. The proud Knights of Solamnia bow before him with respect. Revered Daughter Crysania of the Temple of Paladine in Palanthas considers him a friend. The dwarven king of Thorbardin calls Tanis Half-Elven brother—”

Rashas coughed. “Yes, Your Majesty,” he said dryly. “I understand the half-elf has friends among the kender, too.”

“Yes, he does,” Alhana returned coolly. “And considers himself fortunate to have won their innocent regard.”

“No accounting for taste,” Rashas said, his lip curling.

Alhana made no response. She was looking at Gil, and now she was frowning, as if a new and unpleasant thought had suddenly occurred to her. Gil had no idea what was going on. He was too dazed, too rattled. To hear such glowing praise of his father, praise given by the queen of Qualinesti and Silvanesti. His father—one of the great men of our time ... proud knights bow to him ... dwarven king calls him brother ... highest honors of each nation".

Gil had never known that. Never known any of that. He realized suddenly that a deafening silence had descended on the room. He was extremely uncomfortable, wished someone would say something. And then he was alarmed.

“Maybe it’s me!” he said to himself, panicked, trying to recall his mother’s lessons in entertaining royalty. “Maybe I’m supposed to be the one making conversation.”

Alhana was studying him intently. Her lovely eyes, turned upon him, effectively robbed him of coherent speech. Gil tried to say something, but discovered he had no voice. He looked from the senator to the queen and knew then that something was wrong.

The sunlight was not permitted to enter this room. Curtains had been drawn across the windows. The shadows had at first seemed cool and restful.

Now they were ominous, unnerving, like the pall that falls over the world before the unleashing of a violent storm. The very air was dangerous, charged with lightning.

Alhana broke the silence. Her purple eyes darkened, deepened almost to black.

“So this is your plan,” she said to Rashas, speaking Qualinesti with a slight accent that Gilthas recognized as belonging to her people, the Silvanesti.

“Quite a good one, don’t you think?” Rashas answered her. He was calm, unmoved by her anger.

“He is only a boy!” Alhana cried in a low voice.

“He will have guidance, a wise counselor at his side,” Rashas replied.

“You, of course,” she said scathingly. “The Thalas-Enthia elects the regent. I will, of course, be happy to offer my services.”

“The Thalas-Enthia! You have that band of old men and women in your pocket!”

Gil felt the knot tighten his stomach, the blood start to pound painfully in his head. Once again, adults were talking over, around, below, and above him. He might as well be one of those trees sprouting up out of the floor.

“He doesn’t know, does he?” Alhana said. Her look on Gil now was one of pity.

“I think perhaps he knows more than he lets on,” Rashas said with a sly smile. “He came of his own free will. He wouldn’t be here if he didn’t want this. And now, Your Majesty”—he said the title with fine sarcasm—“if you and Prince Gilthas will both excuse me, I have pressing business elsewhere. There is much to do in preparation for tomorrow’s ceremony.”

The senator bowed, turned on his heel, and left the room. The servants shut the door immediately on his leaving.

“Want what?” Gil was bewildered and angry himself. “What’s he talking about? I don’t understand....” “Don’t you?” she said to him.

Before he could reply, Alhana turned away. Her body was rigid, both fists clenched, nails digging into flesh.

Feeling like a child who has been shut up in the nursery when the adults are having a party in the living room below, Gil stalked over to the door and flung it open.

Two of the tall, strong Kagonesti elves planted their bodies before the door. Each held a spear in his hand. Gil started to shove between them. The elves did not move.

“Excuse me, perhaps you don’t understand. I’m leaving now,” Gil said politely, but in a stern tone to show them he meant what he said.

He stepped forward. The two said nothing. Their spears crossed in front of the door, in front of him.

Rashas was just disappearing down the staircase.

“Senator!” Gilthas called, trying to keep calm. The flame of his anger was starting to waver in fear’s chill wind. “There’s some sort of misunderstanding. These servants of yours won’t let me out!”

Rashas paused, glanced back. “Those are their orders, my prince. You’ll find the suite of rooms you will be sharing with Her Majesty quite comfortable, the best in my household, in fact. The Wilder elves will provide you with whatever you want. You have only to ask.”

“I want to leave,” Gilthas said quietly.

“So soon?” Rashas was pleasant, smiling. “I couldn’t permit it. You’ve only just arrived. Rest, relax. Look out the windows, enjoy the view.

“And by the way,” the senator added, proceeding down the stairs, his words floating upward. “I’m truly glad you find Qualinesti so beautiful, Prince Gilthas. You’re going to be living here a long, long time.”

“Dalamar!” Tanis beat on the bolted door. “Dalamar, damn you, I know you’re out there! I know you can hear me! I want to talk to you! I—”

“Ah, my friend,” came a voice, practically in his ear. “I’m glad you’ve finally regained consciousness.”

At the unexpected sound, Tanis nearly jumped through a stone wall. Once his heart had quit racing, he turned to face the dark elf, who stood in the center of the room, a slight smile on the thin lips.

“Do stop this shouting. You’re disrupting my class. My students cannot concentrate on their spells.”

“Damn your students! Where is my boy?” Tanis shouted.

“He is safe,” Dalamar replied. “First—”

Tanis lost control. Heedless of the consequences, he leapt at Dalamar, hands going for the dark elf’s throat.

Blue lightning flared, crackled. Tanis was thrown backward. He crashed painfully into the wooden door. The shock of the magic was paralyzing. His limbs twitched; his head buzzed. He took a moment to recover, then, frustrated with his own helplessness, he started toward Dalamar again.

“Stop it, Tanis,” the dark elf said sternly. “You’re acting like a fool. Face the facts. You are a prisoner in the Tower of High Sorcery—my tower. You are weaponless and even if you did have a weapon, you could do nothing to harm me.” “Give me my sword,” Tanis said, breathing heavily. “We’ll see about that.”

Dalamar almost, but not quite, laughed. “Come now, my friend. I told you, your son is safe. How long he remains so is up to you.”

“Is that a threat?” Tanis demanded grimly. “Threats are for the fearful. I merely state facts. Come, come, my friend! What has happened to your renowned logic, your legendary common sense? All flown out the window when the stork flew in?"3

“He’s my son. Those draconians—I was afraid—” Tanis gave up. “How could you understand? You’ve never been a parent.”

“If degenerating into a mindless idiot is what it means to be a parent, I shall certainly take care that I never achieve such a dubious distinction. Please, sit down. Let us discuss this like rational men.”

Glowering, Tanis stalked over to a comfortable armchair, placed near a welcome fire. Even on a warm spring day, the Tower of High Sorcery was dark and chill. The room in which he was imprisoned was furnished with every luxury; he’d been provided with food and drink. His few minor wounds—scratches, mostly, from the draconian’s claws and a bump on the head—had been carefully tended.

Dalamar seated himself in a chair opposite. “If you will listen with patience, I will tell you what is transpiring.”

“I’ll listen. You talk.” Tanis’s voice softened, almost broke. “My son is all right? He is well?”

“Of course. Gilthas would be of little use to his captors if he were not. You may take comfort in that fact, my friend. And I am your friend,” the dark elf added, seeing the angry flash in Tanis’s eyes. “Though I admit appearances are against me.

"As for your son,” Dalamar continued, “he is where he has longed to be—his homeland, Qualinesti. It is his homeland, Tanis, though you don’t like to hear that, do you? The boy is lodged quite comfortably, probably being afforded every courtesy. Only natural for the elves to treat him with deference, respect—since he is to be their king.”

Tanis couldn’t believe he’d heard right. He was on his feet again.

“This is some sort of bad joke. What is it you want, Dalamar? What is it you’re really after?”

The dark elf stood up. Gliding forward, he laid his hand gently on Tanis’s arm.

“No joke, my friend. Or, if it is, no one is laughing. Gilthas is in no danger now. But he could be.”

Once again, Tanis saw the vision he’d seen on Storm’s Keep—dark clouds, swirling around his son. Tanis lowered his head, to hide his burning tears. Dalamar’s grip on him tightened.

“Get hold of yourself, my friend. We don’t have much time. Every minute is critical. There is a great deal to explain. And,” Dalamar added softly, “plans to make."

Chapter Seven

“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!”

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.

“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 dosed 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.

“We always protected him,” Tanis said, not realizing he was talking aloud. “Maybe we were wrong. But he was so sick, so fragile.... How could we do otherwise?”

“We raise our children to leave us, Tanis,” Dalamar said quietly.

Startled, Tanis looked at the dark elf. “Caramon said that.”

“Yes, he said it to me, after Palin had taken his test. 'Our children are given to us for only a short time. During that time, we must teach them to live on their own, because we won’t always be around.' ”

“Wise words.” Recalling his friend, Tanis smiled fondly, sadly. “But Caramon wasn’t able to follow his dictum, not when it came to his own son.”

He was silent a moment, then said quietly, “Why are you telling me all this, Dalamar? What’s in it for you?”

“Her Dark Majesty has a very high regard for you, Tanis Half-Elven. Neither she nor I consider it conducive to our cause to have your son on the elven throne. I think we would do far better with Porthios,” Dalamar added dryly.

“What about the treaty?”

“That victory is already ours, my friend. No matter what happens among the elves, the treaty is so much scrap paper. Porthios will never forgive the Silvanesti for betraying him. He won’t sign now. You know it. And if the two elven nations refuse to sign, the dwarves of Thorbardin will refuse to sign. And if the dwarves—”

“Hang the dwarves!” Tanis said impatiently. “Does this mean you’ll help me bring Gilthas home?”

“Your son’s coronation is planned for tomorrow,” Dalamar said, raising his wineglass to Tanis in a mocking salute. “It is a solemn occasion, one no father should miss."

Chapter Ten

Twilight enhanced the beauty of the elven land. The soft, glowing colors of the setting sun shone through the silken curtains, burnished every object in the room with gold. Its beauty was wasted on Gil. Nervously, he paced away the hours.

The house was still. The Kagonesti guards hardly ever spoke, and when they did, it was only briefly and in their own language—a language that sounded like the calls of wild birds. The guards brought in dinner: bowls of fruit and bread, wine and water. Then, after a swift searching glance around the room, they left, shutting the door behind them. Alhana could eat nothing.

“This food tastes like ashes,” she said.

Despite his trouble, Gilthas was hungry. He ate not only his meal, but—when he saw she wasn’t going to eat—hers as well.

Alhana smiled faintly. “The resiliency of youth. It is good to see. You are the future of our race.” She pressed her hand against her abdomen. “You give me hope.”

Night was forbidden to truly settle over Qualinesti. The darkness was lit by thousands of tiny sparkling lights, shining in the trees. Alhana lay down, closed her eyes, and tried to find some rest before the evening’s long and possibly dangerous journey.

Gil continued pacing in the darkness, attempting to sort through the confused jumble of his thoughts.

Home! How he had longed to leave it. Now, perversely, he longed to be back.

“Father came after me. I know he did. And maybe I’ve put him in danger.” Gil sighed. “I’ve made a mess of things. Whatever happens to Father will be my fault. He warned me not to go. Why didn’t I listen? What’s wrong with me? Why do I have these horrible feelings inside me? I—”

He stopped. Voices, loud voices, speaking Qualinesti, came floating up from far below. Alarmed, thinking perhaps that Alhana’s plot had been discovered, Gil wondered if he should wake her.

She was already awake, sitting up, her eyes open wide. She listened several moments, then sighed in relief.

“It is only a few members of the Thalas-Enthia—Rashas’s cohorts. They’re planning on entering the senate chambers together, to present a solid front.”

“Then all the senators aren’t behind Rashas?” “The younger members are opposed to him, though there are too few of them to matter. But many of the elder are wavering. If Porthios were here, there would be no contest, and Rashas knows it.”

“What will happen tomorrow when you’re gone and I’m not: here to be crowned?”

Alhana was scornful. “The people will wake to discover that they have no ruler. Rashas will be forced to send for Porthios. The Thalas-Enthia will be chastened and we can get on with our lives—such as they are.”

Gil had heard his parents talk about the marriage of Alhana and Porthios. It wasn’t a happy one. Husband and wife rarely saw each other. Porthios was fighting Lorac’s dream in Silvanesti. Alhana spent her time shuttling between the two kingdoms, trying desperately to hold them together. But she spoke of her husband with respect and pride, if not affection.

Gil gazed at her with adoring eyes. I could live off her beauty alone. If she were mine, I wouldn’t need anything else. I could do without water, food. How could any man not love her? Porthios must be a great fool.

A brief burst of cheering erupted from down below. The sound of voices began to diminish.

“They’re leaving,” said Alhana. “Now the guards will relax.”

The house was silent. Then, once certain Rashas was gone, the Kagonesti guards outside their door began to talk and laugh. Spears clattered to the floor. More laughter, and strange clicking sounds. Puzzled, Gil looked at Alhana.

“Those are sticks you hear, being tossed onto the floor. The Kagonesti are playing a game of their people. They do this whenever Rashas leaves, but don’t imagine they are letting down their guard,” she warned. “They would trade their betting sticks for spears the moment you tried to open that door.”

“Then how are we going to escape?”

It was a long drop to the garden below; Gil had already looked.

“Samar has everything planned,” Alhana said, and would say no more.

Time passed. Gil was edgy, nervous.

“How long will the meeting of the Thalas-Enthia last?”

“Far into the night,” said Alhana quietly. “After all, they are plotting sedition.”

The Wilder elves' game was becoming increasingly entertaining, judging by the bursts of laughter and the occasional excited, friendly argument. Gil walked over to the door and put his ear to it to hear better. He would like to join in such a game sometime, and wondered how it was played. Sticks clattered; then there would be moments of breath-held silence, followed by a gasp of relief or howls of dismay. At the end, cries of success came from the winners, good-natured swearing from the losers.

Then, suddenly, there was the sound of a strange voice. “Good evening, gentlemen. Who is winning?”

Alhana—deathly pale—rose to her feet. “It is Samar,” she whispered. “Get away from the door! Quickly!”

Gil jumped back. He heard shouts, confused scrambling outside the door-men reaching for their spears. Swift, strange words, spoken in a language that he didn’t understand, halted those sounds, changed them to muffled groans, followed by several thuds, as of heavy bodies tumbling to the floor. And then no more sounds for the space of ten heartbeats—rapid, frightened heartbeats.

The door opened. A young elven warrior strode into the room.

“Samar! My trusted friend.” Alhana smiled at him. Gracious and calm as if she were in her own audience chamber, she extended her hand.

“My queen!” Samar fell to one knee before her. His head bowed in homage.

Gil peered curiously out the door. The Wilder elves were stretched out, comatose, on the floor. Some had their spears still clutched in their hands. What appeared to be a rolled-up piece of parchment was ablaze in the center of the room. As Gil watched, the parchment vanished, consumed by the fire. Thin tendrils of green smoke drifted on the still air.

Gil was about to step out to take a closer look. “Take care, young man,” Samar warned. Rising swiftly to his feet, he pulled Gil back. “Don’t go anywhere near that smoke, or you’ll be slumbering as peacefully as they.”

“Prince Gilthas, son of Laurana Solostaran and Tanis Half-Elven,” Alhana performed the introductions. “This is Samar of House Protector.”

Samar’s gaze—cool and appraising—raked over Gil, who felt suddenly weak and frail in the presence of this seasoned warrior. Samar gave the

young man a cold nod, then turned immediately back to his queen.

“All is prepared, Your Majesty. The griffins are waiting to meet us in the wilderness. They were furious when they heard that Rashas had taken you prisoner.” Samar smiled grimly. “I don’t believe he will be riding by griffin back anymore. If you are ready, we should leave at once. Where are your possessions? I will carry them for you.”

“I travel lightly, my friend,” Alhana said. She spread her hands, showed them empty. “But your jewels, my queen—”

“I have what is important to me.” She placed her hand over a ring she wore upon her finger. “My husband’s token of faith and trust. All else means nothing.”

Samar frowned. “They took your jewels from you, didn’t they, my queen? How dare they?”

Alhana’s voice was gentle, but stern. “The jewels belong to the Qualinesti people. The matter is trivial, Samar. You are right. We should leave at once.”

The warrior bowed in silent acquiescence. “The downstairs guards, too, are silenced. We will go that way. Cover your nose and mouth, my queen. You, too, Prince,” he ordered Gil curtly. “Don’t inhale the magical smoke.”

Alhana pressed an embroidered silken handkerchief over her face. Gil held the hem of his cloak over his mouth. Samar led the way, his hand on the hilt of his sword. They stepped over the slumbering bodies of the Wilder elves and detoured cautiously around the smoldering ashes of the spell scroll.

When they reached the top of the stairs, Samar brought them to a halt.

“Stay here,” he whispered.

Descending the steps, he looked around, then—satisfied that all was safe—he motioned for Alhana and Gil to follow.

Halfway down the last flight of stairs, Samar suddenly grabbed hold of Alhana, dragged her into the shadows. A fierce look from the warrior and an urgent “Get back!” warned Gil to do the same.

Not daring to breathe, he flattened himself against the wall.

A Wilder elf, this one a female, emerged from a doorway directly below them. She was carrying a silver bowl filled with fruit. Humming a song to herself, she crossed the entry-way, heading for a courtyard, bright with the tiny, sparkling lights. Another Kagonesti servant met the woman at the door. They conferred a few moments. Gil caught the Qualinesti word for “party.” The two disappeared into the courtyard.

Gil was impressed. How in the name of Paladine had Samar heard the woman coming? She moved as silently as the wind on her bare feet, except for that soft song. Gil regarded the warrior with undisguised admiration. Samar was apologizing in an undertone to his queen.

“Forgive me, Your Majesty, for my roughness.”

“There is nothing to forgive, Samar. Let us hurry, before she comes back.”

Swiftly, silently, the three ran down the stairs.

Samar put his hand on the door handle.

The door opened, but it was not the warrior who opened it.

Senator Rashas stood in the doorway.

“What is this?” he demanded in an amazed tone, staring from the warrior to Alhana. The senator’s face went livid with anger. “Guards! Seize them!”

Qualinesti elves, wearing the swords and uniform of the city guard, surged past Rashas. Samar drew his sword, threw himself in front of his queen. The guards drew their swords.

Gil had no weapon, wouldn’t have known what to do with one anyway.

The blood pounded in his ears. He had been almost paralyzed with fear when Rashas first appeared. That fear had evaporated. Gil’s blood burned. He felt light-headed and calm, ready to fight. Tensing, he was about to leap ...

“Stop this madness!”

Alhana flung herself in the midst of the combatants. Her hands, soft and white, grabbed the blade of Samar’s sword and thrust aside the blade of the guard threatening him.

“Samar, put your weapon away,” she ordered, speaking Silvanesti, her voice shaking with emotion and anger.

“But my queen!” he began, pleading.

“Samar! That is my command!” she returned.

Slowly, reluctantly, Samar lowered his sword. But he did not sheathe it.

Alhana turned to face Rashas.

“So this is what it has come to,” she said. “Elf killing elf. Is this what you want, Rashas?”

Alhana held out her hands. Her flesh was cut, bleeding.

Rashas was unmoved, his face hard and cold. The Qualinesti guards, however, looked uncomfortable, lowered their weapons, and backed up a pace. Gil stared at the blood on the queen’s hands and was deeply ashamed of his own bloodlust.

“It is not I who brought us to this pass, my lady,” Rashas said coolly, “but you. By attempting this escape, you have flaunted the lawful decree of the Thalas-Enthia.”

“Lawful!” Alhana regarded him with disdain. “I am your queen. You have no right to hold me against my will!”

“Not even a queen is above elven law. We know about the secret treaty, Your Majesty. We know that you and the traitor Porthios have plotted to sell us out to our enemies.”

Alhana stared at him, not understanding. “Treaty ...”

“The treaty known as the Unified Nations.” Rashas sneered. “A treaty that would make us slaves!”

“No, Senator. You don’t understand! You have it all wrong!”

“Do you deny that you conducted talks in secret with the humans and the dwarves?”

“I don’t deny it,” Alhana answered with dignity. “The talks had to be kept secret. The matter is too delicate; it is toodangerous. There are things happening in the world you don’t know about. You can’t possibly understand—”

“You are right, my lady,” Rashas interrupted. “I do not understand. I do not understand how you could sell us into bondage, give away our lands.”

Alhana was imperious, calm. “You are a blind fool, but that is beside the point. Our negotiations were legal. We broke no law.”

“On the contrary, my lady!” Rashas was losing patience. “Elven law demands that all treaties be voted on by the Thalas-Enthia!”

“We were going to present it to the senate. I swear this to you—”

“A Silvanesti oath?” Rashas laughed in disdain.

“Forgive me, my queen, for my disobedience,” Samar said in a low voice. Taking hold of Alhana, the warrior shoved his queen protectively into Gil’s arms.

Sword raised, the Silvanesti warrior sprang at Rashas.

The Qualinesti guard closed with him. Steel rang as swords clashed.

Rashas stumbled backward into a safe corner. Gil placed his own body in front of Alhana. She watched in horror, powerless to intervene.

The Qualinesti guards outnumbered Samar four to one. He fought valiantly, but they managed to overwhelm and disarm him. Even then, he fought on. The guards struck him with their fists and the flat of their blades until he fell, senseless, to the floor.

It was the first time Gil had seen blood drawn in violence. He was sickened by the sight and by his own impotent rage.

Alhana knelt beside the fallen Samar.

“This man is badly injured.” She looked up at the Qua linesti. “Take him to the healers.”

The guard turned to Rashas. “Is that your will, Senator?”

Alhana paled, bit her lip.

Rashas was once more in control of the situation. “Take him to the healers. When they are finished with him, throw him into prison. He may well pay for this act of treason with his life. One of you guards, return with me to the senate. I must inform them of what has occurred. The rest of you escort Alhana Starbreeze back to her chambers. No, not you, Prince Gilthas. I want to have a word with you.”

Defiant, Gil shook his head.

Alhana rose, came to him, rested her hand on his arm. “You are a Qualinesti prince,” she said to him earnestly, intently. “And the son of Tanis Half-Elven. You have courage enough for this.”

Gil didn’t quite understand, but it occurred to him that he might bring more trouble down on her if he refused to listen to Rashas.

“Will you be all right, Queen Alhana?” he asked, emphasizing the word.

She smiled at him. Then, walking with dignity, accompanied by her guards, Alhana left the room.

When she was gone, the senator turned to Gil.

“I am deeply sorry for this unfortunate incident, my prince. I take the responsibility completely upon myself. I should never have quartered you with that cunning woman. I should have foreseen that she would coerce you into going along with her treacherous scheme. But you are safe now, my prince.” Rashas was soothing, reassuring. “I will find other quarters for you this night.”

Gil knew what his father would do in this situation. Tanis would have swallowed hard and then he would have slugged Rashas.

Grace under pressure.

Hitting Rashas would solve nothing, however, only make matters worse. Gil knew what his mother would do.

Sighing regretfully, Gil assumed a calm and placid expression that gave away nothing of his thoughts, an expression he’d seen more than once on his mother’s face.

“I thank you for your concern, Senator.”

Rashas nodded, then continued smoothly on. “The members of the Thalas-Enthia want very much to meet you, Prince Gilthas. They asked me to bring you to tonight’s meeting. That is why I returned early. I was sent to bring you to the senate chamber. Fortunate, don’t you think? It shows the gods are with me.”

god, at least, Gil thought grimly. Or should I say goddess?

“But you don’t look well.” Rashas was all sympathetic concern. “Not surprising. You were in grave danger from that conniving female.” He lowered his voice. “There are some who say she is a witch. No, no. Don’t try to talk, my prince. I will convey your apologies to the senate.”

“Please, do that, Senator,” Gil said. He could play this game, too. He only wished he had a clearer understanding of the rules.

Rashas bowed. “Sleep well, tonight, Prince Gilthas. You have a busy schedule ahead of you tomorrow. It is not every day that a man is crowned king.”

With a gesture, the senator summoned one of his Kagonesti servants.

“Take His Highness to new quarters—away from the witch. And see to it that he is not disturbed."

Chapter Eleven

All that night, Gil lay in his bed and made plans for morning. It had occurred to him, shortly after he had been escorted to his room, that he and Alhana were worrying over nothing. He knew what to do, how to handle the situation. It was all very simple. He was only sorry he couldn’t tell Alhana that she had nothing to fear.

Gil rehearsed in his mind several times what he would say to Rashas.

Anxiety eased, the young man fell asleep.

The sound of knocking woke him. He sat up, glanced out the window.

It was still dark.

A Kagonesti guard opened the door, permitting three serving women to enter Gil’s room. One of the women carried a large basin of fragrant rose water; orange blossoms floated on the surface. Another brought in a lamp and food on a tray. The third held—carefully—soft yellow robes, draped over her arms.

The Kagonesti woman carrying his breakfast was very young, not more than Gil’s age. She was very lovely, too. Her body was not painted, as were the older elves', either as a matter of taste or perhaps the custom was dying out among the young.[4] She had the darkly tanned skin of her people, however, and her hair was burnished gold. Her eyes—by the soft light of the lamp—were large and brown. She smiled shyly at him as she placed the tray of food on the table by his bedside.

Gil smiled back, not thinking of what he was doing. He was then deeply embarrassed when the two older women laughed, said something in their lilting language. The young girl blushed and moved hastily away from Gil’s bed.

“Eat. Wash. Dress,” said one of the older women, embroidering her crude Qualinesti speech with darting motions of her hands. “The master will be shortly with you. Before sun rises.”

“I want to see Queen Alhana,” Gil said firmly, trying to sound as dignified as possible, considering that he was more or less trapped in his bed by these women.

The Kagonesti woman slid her eyes toward the guard, who was standing watchfully in the door. He frowned, barked a sharp command, and the women hastened out.

“I want—” Gil began again loudly, but the guard only grunted and slammed the door shut.

Gil drew a deep breath. Soon, apparently, he must confront Rashas. He went over the words again and again as he performed his morning ablutions.

With barely a glance at the yellow robes—the ceremonial robes of the Speaker of the Sun and Stars—Gil put on his traveling clothes, the clothes he had worn to Qualinesti, the clothes he intended to wear home.

Home! The reminder brought tears to his eyes. He would be so glad to return; he doubted if he’d ever leave again. His gaze went to the tray of food. He remembered the lovely girl who had carried it, remembered her eyes, her smile.

Well, maybe he wouldn’t leave home for a short while. He would come back here, when all this was over, when Alhana and Porthios were once more rightful rulers. And next time, he would come back with his parents.

He tried eating breakfast, but gave it up. He sat on the bed, in the lamplit darkness, waiting with impatience for Rashas.

A tinge of rose-colored light glistened on the window-pane. It was nearly dawn. Gil heard footsteps and then Senator Rashas entered the room. He strode in abruptly, hurriedly, without knocking. The senator’s gaze went first to the robes of the Speaker, lying untouched on Gil’s bed, then to Gil himself.

He had risen to his feet, was standing respectfully, but certainly not humbly, before the senator.

“What is this?” Rashas demanded in surprise. “Didn’t the women tell you? ... Damn their ears! Those barbarians never get anything right. You are to dress yourself in the robes of the Speaker, Prince Gilthas. Obviously, you misunderstood—”

“I didn’t misunderstand, Senator,” Gil said, using the formal appellation.

His hands were cold. His mouth was so dry he feared his voice would crack, which would ruin the effectiveness of his carefully prepared speech. But there was no help for that now. He had to go on as best he could. He had to do what was right, do what he could to make amends for all the trouble he’d caused.

“I’m not going to be your Speaker, Senator. I refuse to take the vow.”

Gil paused, expecting Rashas to argue, ridicule him, or even remonstrate and plead.

Rashas said nothing. His face was unreadable. He crossed his arms over his chest, waited for Gil to continue.

Gil licked dry lips. “Perhaps, Senator, you assumed that because my parents didn’t choose to raise me in Qualinesti I have been kept ignorant of my heritage. That is not true. I know all about the ceremony to crown the Speaker of the Sun and Stars. My mother explained it to me. I know that one thing is required. The Speaker must take the vow of his own free will.”

Gil emphasized the words. The speech was coming easier. He was too absorbed in it to realize that Rashas’s reaction—or nonreaction—might bode trouble.

“I won’t take the vow,” Gil concluded, drawing in another deep breath. “I can’t be your Speaker. I don’t deserve such an honor.”

“You’re damn right you don’t,” Rashas said suddenly, softly, with suppressed fury. “You arrogant little half-breed. Your father was a bastard. He never knew the name of the man who rutted with the whore that was his mother. She should have been cast out in her shame. I said as much, but Solostaran was a soft-hearted, doddering old idiot.

“As for your own mother! What decent elven woman dons armor and rides to battle like a man? I have no doubt she found it most entertaining—surrounded day and night by so many soldiers! Your mother was nothing more than a glorified camp follower. The half-elf was the only man to have her after the others were done with her! With such a heritage, to even let you sniff the air of Qualinesti is a greater honor than you deserve, Prince Gilthas!” Rashas sneered when he spoke the name.

“And now, by the gods, you have the temerity to refuse—to refuse—to be Speaker! By all rights you should be down on your knees before me, weeping in your thankfulness, that I should pick you up out of the muck and make something of you!”

Shocked to the core of his being, Gil stared at the senator in appalled horror. He began to shake. His stomach wr.enched; he was physically sickened by what he had heard. How could this man be so twisted?

How could he think such things, let alone say them? Gil struggled to reply, but anger-choking and hot-caught him by the throat.

Rashas eyed him grimly. “You are more thick-headed than I had supposed you could be, though I might have expected it. You are most definitely your father’s son!”

Gil stopped shaking. He stood rigid, his hands clenched tightly behind his back. But he managed a smile. “I thank you for the compliment, sir.”

Rashas paused, frowning, considering. “I see I am going to have to resort to extreme measures. Remember, young man. Whatever happens, you brought this on yourself. Guard!”

Grabbing up the robes of the Speaker with one hand, Rashas dug his bony fingers into Gil’s arm and shoved him, stumbling, toward the door. The Kagonesti guard took a firm grip on Gil.

He struggled to free himself. Rashas said something in Kagonesti.

The guard tightened his grip.

“He’ll break your arm, if I order him to,” Rashas said coldly. “Come, come, Prince.” Again, the sneer. “Stop wasting my time.”

Rashas led the way out of Gil’s room, up the stairs, back to the part of the house where Alhana Starbreeze was being is held prisoner. Before now, Gil had been too furious to think clearly. His anger was starling to be replaced by fear.

Senator Rashas was obviously insane.

No, he’s not, Gil realized with a sense of dread. If he were insane, no one would listen to him, no one would follow him. But he truly believes those terrible things he said about my parents. He truly believes that Alhana is a witch. He believes what he said last night about the treaty, about the elves becoming slaves of the humans. He’s got everything twisted around so that, in his mind, what is good is evil and what is evil is good!

How is this possible? I don’t understand ... And what can I do to stop him?

They reached Alhana’s chambers. The Kagonesti guards flung the door open at Rashas’s snarling command. He stalked into the room. The Kagonesti guard dragged Gil in after.

Pulling away from the Wilder elf, Gil made an attempt to recover his dignity. He glared defiantly at Rashas.

Alhana was on her feet, regarded him with calm disdain. “Well, why have you come here, Senator? Shouldn’t you be proceeding with the coronation?”

“The young man has proven obstinate, Lady Alhana.” Rashas was smooth, cool. “He refuses to take the vow. I thought perhaps you could persuade him that what he is doing is not in his best interests—or in yours.”

Alhana rewarded Gil with a warm and approving smile; a smile that eased his fear and filled him with renewed strength, renewed hope. “Quite the contrary. I think the young man has shown remarkable wisdom and courage for one of his years. Obviously, you misjudged him, Rashas. I would not dream of attempting to talk him out of this decision.”

“I believe you will change your mind, Lady Alhana,” Rashas said smoothly. “As will the young man.”

Rashas said a few words in Kagonesti. One of the Wilder elf guards put down his spear and removed a bow he wore slung over his shoulder.

Rashas gestured at Alhana. The Wilder elf nodded. He drew an arrow from his quiver and began to fit it to the bow.

Alhana was extremely pale, but not, apparently, from fear. She regarded the senator with a look that might almost have been pitying. “You are being seduced by darkness, Rashas. Stop this course of action before it destroys you!”

Rashas was amused. “I am not the one in league with the Dark Queen—as you, her servant, should know. I do all in my power to keep the shadows of her wickedness away from my people. Paladine’s holy light shines upon me!”

“No, Rashas,” Alhana said softly. “Paladine’s light illuminates. It does not blind.”

His face hard, expression scornful, Rashas turned from Alhana. The senator faced Gil, who was only now beginning to comprehend what was happening.

“You can’t do ... such a thing!” Gil gasped. He stared at Rashas in disbelief. “You can’t...”

The senator flung the yellow robes of the Speaker at him. “It is time you dressed for the ceremony, Prince."

Chapter Twelve

The last time Tanis had been in the Tower of the Sun had been during the dark days just prior to the War of the Lance. Evil dragons had returned to Krynn. A new and terrible foe—the draconians—were joining with other servants of the Dark Queen to form immense armies under the captaincy of powerful Dragon Highlords. Victory against such mighty forces seemed impossible. In this tower, the elves of Qualinesti had come together for possibly the last time, to plan the exodus of their people from their beloved homeland.

Tiny flickering flames of hope had burned steadily through that dark night: Hope in the form of a blue crystal staff and a woman wise and strong enough to wield it; hope in the unlikely form of a merry kender who decided to help in “small ways"; hope in the form of a knight whose courage was a blazing beacon to those who cowered in fear beneath the Dark Queen’s dread wings.

Goldmoon, Tasslehoff, Sturm—they and the rest of the companions had been with Tanis in this room, in this tower. He sensed their presence with him now. Looking around the chamber of the Speaker of the Sun, he was cheered. All would be well. He glanced up into the dome, at the glittering tile mosaic, which portrayed the blue sky and the sun on one half; the silver moon, the red moon, and the stars on the other.

“Please the gods,” Tanis prayed softly. “I’ll take you home, my son, and we’ll start over. And this time things will be better. I promise.”

Dalamar, standing beside Tanis, was also gazing upward. The dark elf gave an amused chuckle. “I wonder if they know that the black moon is now visible on their ceiling?”

Shocked, Tanis stared. Then he shook his head. “If s only a hole. A few tiles have fallen out. That’s all.”

Dalamar gave him a sidelong glance. The dark elf smiled.

Tanis, uncomfortable, ceased to look at the mosaic.

The tower’s white marble walls glistened red in the dawn. The huge, round room in which they stood was currently empty, except for a rostrum, placed directly beneath the domed ceiling. People had not yet gathered; they would wait until the sun was completely over the horizon. Tanis and Dalamar had arrived early, traveling the corridors of magic—a brief, but nerve-jolting journey that left Tanis confused and disoriented.

they left the Tower of High Sorcery, Dalamar had given Tanis a ring carved from crystal-clear quartz.

“Wear this, my friend, and no one will be able to see you.”

“You mean I’ll be invisible?” Tanis asked, regarding the ring dubiously, not touching it.

Dalamar slid the ring on Tanis’s index finger.

“I mean no one will be able to see you,” the dark elf replied. “Except myself.”

Tanis didn’t understand, then decided that he didn’t particularly want to understand. Holding his hand awkwardly, not daring to touch the ring for fear of disrupting the spell, he wished impatiently for the ceremony to begin. The sooner started, the sooner over, and he and Gil would be safely home.

The bright sunlight shone through small windows cut into the tower, reflected off mirrors placed in the shining marble walls. The Heads of Household began to file into the chamber. Several walked over to stand directly in front of Tanis. He stiffened, waiting to be spotted. Elves walked very near him, but none paid any attention to him. Relaxing, Tanis glanced over at Dalamar.

He could see the dark elf, and the dark elf could see him, but no one else could. The magic was working.

Tanis searched the crowd.

Dalamar leaned near, spoke softly, “Is your son here?”

Tanis shook his head. He tried to tell himself all was well. It was early.

Gil would probably enter with the Thalas-Enthia.

“Remember the plan,” Dalamar added unnecessarily. Tanis had thought of nothing but the plan all during a long and sleepless night. “I must make physical contact with him in order to magically transport him. Which means we must reveal ourselves. He will be alarmed, may try to break away. It will be up to you to calm him. We must act quickly. If any elven White Robes should see us—”

“Stop worrying,” Tanis said impatiently. “I know what to do.”

The chamber filled rapidly. The elves were excited, tense. Rumors sprouted faster than weeds. Tanis heard the name Porthios pronounced several times, more in sorrow than in anger. Whenever Alhana’s name was spoken, however, it was generally accompanied with a curse. Porthios obviously was a victim of the seductive Silvanesti woman. The word “witch"

was used by several elder elves standing near Tanis.

He stirred restlessly, found it difficult to contain himself. He would have given all his wealth to be able to bang their heads together, knock some sense into these hidebound old fools.

“Easy, my friend,” Dalamar warned softy, resting his hand on Tanis’s arm. “Do not give us away.”

Tanis set his jaw, tried to calm down. An argument erupted on the opposite side of the chamber. Several young elves—who had become Heads of Household on the untimely death of a parent—were in loud disagreement with their elders.

“The winds of change are blowing in the world, bringing new ideas, fresh thoughts. We elves should open our windows, air out our houses, rid ourselves of stale and stagnant ways,” one young woman was proclaiming.

Tanis silently applauded these young men and women, but was sorry to note that their numbers were few, their youthful voices easily shouted down.

A silver bell rang once. Silence fell over the assembly. The members of the Thalas-Enthia were arriving. The other elves made way respectfully for the senators. Clad in their robes of state, they formed a circle around the rostrum.

Tanis searched the group for Gil, but could not find him.

A white-robed mage, a member of the Thalas-Enthia, lifted her head.

She glanced sharply and with lowered brows around the chamber.

“Damn it to the Abyss,” Dalamar muttered, and he plucked Tanis’s sleeve. “Watch out for that wizardess, my friend. She senses something’s wrong.”

Tanis looked alarmed. “Does she see you? Us?”

“No, not yet. I’m like a bad smell to her,” Dalamar said. “Just as she is to me.”

The White Robe continued to search the crowd, then the silver bell rang out four times. All the elves began to crane their necks, the shorter standing on tiptoe to see over the heads and shoulders of the taller. Their eyes focused on a small alcove adjacent to the central chamber, an alcove Tanis suddenly remembered. In that room, he and his friends had waited until called to the come before old Solostaran, Speaker of the Sun and Stars, Laurana’s father, a man who had been foster father to Tanis.

In that alcove, Tanis knew, with a painful constricting of his heart, was his son.

Gilthas entered the chamber.

Tanis forgot their danger, forgot everything in his concern, his astonishment, and—it must be admitted—his pride.

The little boy who had run away from home was gone. In his place walked a young man, with grave and solemn countenance, a young man who stood upright, tall and dignified in the yellow, shimmering robes of the Speaker.

The elves murmured among themselves. They were obviously impressed.

Tanis was impressed. From this distance, his son looked every inch a king.

And then Gilthas stepped into a shaft of brilliant sunlight. The father’s loving eye caught the tremor in the young man’s clenched jaw, the pallor of the face, his expression, which was carefully and deliberately blank.

Rashas and the white-robed elven wizardess both moved to stand beside him.

“That's Gilthas. Let's go.”

Hand on his sword, Tanis started forward. Dalamar caught hold of him, dragged him back.

“What now?” Tanis demanded angrily, and then he saw the look on the dark elf’s face. “What’s wrong?”

“He’s wearing the sun medallion,” Dalamar said.

“What? Where? I don’t see it.”

“If s hidden beneath his robes.”

“So?” Tanis didn’t understand the problem.

“The medallion is a holy artifact, blessed by Paladine. The medallion’s power protects him from the likes of me. I dare not touch him.”

The dark elf drew near, whispered in Tanis’s ear. “I don’t like this, my friend. What’s Gilthas doing with the sun medallion? Only the Speaker of the Sun and Stars may wear it. Porthios would never give it up voluntarily and, because of its holy properties, the medallion can’t be taken from him by force. Something sinister is at work here.”

“All the more reason to get Gil out! What do we do now?”

“Your son has to take off the medallion, Tanis. And he must do it of his own free will.”

“I’ll see to that!” Tanis said, and again started forward.

“No, wait!” Dalamar cautioned. “Patience, my friend. Now is not the time—not with the cursed White Robe standing near him. Let us see what transpires. The proper moment will come. When it does, you must be ready.”

The half-elf slowly released his grip on his sword hilt. It was his instinct to act, to do, not to wait around. But Dalamar was right. Now was not the time.

Restlessly, Tanis shifted from one foot to the other, forced himself to be patient.

Gilthas had come to stand near the side of the rostrum. He was shorter than the elves around him. He would never be the normal height of an elf—a result of his human bloodline. For a moment, he looked undersized, not very kingly.

Rashas prodded him forward, had his hand on Gil’s shoulder.

Gil turned and stared at Rashas coldly.

Smiling, lips tight, Rashas removed his hand.

Turning his back on Rashas, Gilthas walked slowly up to the rostrum.

Once he was there, he raised his head and cast one swift, searching, hopeful glance around the room.

“He’s looking for me,” Tanis said. He had his hand on the ring. “He knows I’ll come for him. If he could only see me ...”

Dalamar shook his head. “He might accidentally give us away.”

Tanis watched helplessly and saw his son’s hope die.

Gil’s head bowed. His shoulders slumped. Then, drawing a deep breath, he raised his head and stared unseeing, with stoic calm, out into the crowd.

Rashas was getting along with business, moving through it hastily, dispensing with all the ritual and ceremonial trap pings elves love.

“The situation is grave. Last night, the Qualinesti guards caught an intruder, a Silvanesti spy!”

The elder elves looked suitably shocked and irate. The young ones exchanged glances, shook their heads.

“The spy was captured and will stand trial. But who knows if he is the only one? Who knows but that he might not be the forerunner of an invasion army! Therefore,” Rashas was talking loudly, practically shouting, “in the interests of this nation’s security, the senate has decided to pursue the only course of action left open to us.

“It is the decision of the Thalas-Enthia that, for crimes against his people, the current Speaker of the Sun and Stars, Porthios of the House of Solostaran, should be stripped of his title. That, further, he shall be exiled, cast out from this land, and from all lands where good men walk.”

“We challenge that ruling!” called a loud voice.

The elder elves were horrified, demanded to know who dared to do such a thing. The group of young elves stood together, defiance hardening their faces.

“The Heads of Household had no say in this,” continued the young elf, his voice rising over the outraged calls for silence. “And therefore we challenge the ruling.”

“This is not a matter for the Heads of Household,” said Rashas in icy tones. “By law, the Speaker determines if an elf is to be cast out. In the case where it is the Speaker himself who has committed a serious crime, the Thalas-Enthia is granted power to stand in judgment.”

“And who decided Porthios committed a crime?” the young man pursued.

“The Thalas-Enthia,” Rashas answered.

“How convenient!” The young man sneered.

His cohorts backed him up. “Put it to a vote of the Heads of Household,” several shouted.

“We want to hear from Porthios,” a young woman called out. “He should have a right to defend himself.”

“He was offered that right,” said Rashas smoothly. “We sent word to Silvanesti. Our messenger told the Speaker that he had been brought up on charges of treason and that he should return immediately to answer them. As you see, Porthios is not present. He remains in Silvanesti. He disdains not only these proceedings, but his own people.”

“Clever, very clever,” Dalamar murmured. “Of course, Rashas fails to mention the fact that Porthios is locked in a prison cell in Silvanesti.”

Tanis stood watching the proceedings in grim silence. His fear for his son was growing. Rashas, it seemed, would stop at nothing. Dalamar had been right. The senator was now in the dutches of the Dark Queen.

Rashas was forging ahead, “And here is the supreme mark of the disdain of Porthios for his people. Show them, Prince Gilthas.”

Gilthas lifted his head. He appeared to hesitate. Rashas said something to him. Gilthas glanced at the man, loathing and hatred in that glance. Then, slowly, he reached his hand into his yellow robes and drew forth the glittering, golden medallion formed in the image of the sun.

Anger, like a gust of wind, swept through the chamber.

The sun medallion was an ancient, holy artifact, handed down through the centuries from one Speaker to his successor. Tanis had no very clear idea what its powers were. These had long been a well-kept secret among the descendants of Silvanos.

How much did Dalamar know about it? Tanis wondered uneasily. And how he had found out? Not that it mattered. The dark elf was right. Porthios would have never voluntarily relinquished the holy medallion.

The White Robe was whispering in Rashas’s ear. Dalamar tensed, but the White Robe was apparently offering advice, not issuing a warning.

“All has been done in accordance with the law,” Rashas said, “but, if some of our younger and more inexperienced members request a vote, then we will allow it.”

The vote took place. Porthios lost, by a considerable majority. The sun medallion had clinched the matter. In the eyes of the elves, Porthios had renounced his own people. The young elves were the only ones to loyally support the absent Speaker.

Rashas proceeded relentlessly. “Leaderless, we turn to another member of the illustrious lineage of Silvanos. It is my pleasure and honor to present Gilthas, son of Lauralanthalasa, daughter of Solostaran, and the next Speaker of the Sun and Stars.”

At a nudge from Rashas, Gilthas bowed to the crowd politely. He was exceedingly pale.

“The Thalas-Enthia has carefully examined the lineage of Prince Gilthas. We find it completely satisfactory.”

“What about the fact that his father’s a half-human?” One of the younger elves was making a final try.

Rashas smiled benignly. “Surely, in these enlightened times, such a factor should not count against the prince. Don’t you agree?”

The young man scowled, unable to answer. He and his cohorts had been neatly caught in their own trap. If they protested against Gilthas further, they would appear as bigoted and rigid as their elders. The young Heads of Household exchanged glances. Then, of one accord, they turned and walked out of the proceedings.

A troubled murmur, like the rumble of thunder, rolled around the chamber. The elves didn’t like this. Some appeared to be having second thoughts. Rashas gave instructions to the White Robe and made a gesture.

Apparently, she was being ordered to go after the rebellious members. She to remonstrate, but Rashas frowned. His gesture was repeated, this time more forcibly.

The White Robe, with a shake of her head, left the rostrum and hurried out of the chamber.

“Thank you, Takhisis!” Dalamar breathed.

Tanis offered a similar prayer to Paladine.

The two slipped forward, began moving cautiously through the crowd.

“Don’t bump into anyone!” Dalamar warned. “We may be invisible, but we’re not wraiths!”

The elves in the chamber were restless, muttering among themselves.

Rashas saw the situation rapidly deteriorating. Obviously, he had to wrap this up swiftly. He called for silence. The elves gradually settled down, gave him their full attention.

“We will proceed with the Taking of the Vow,” he said, casting a sweeping glance around the chamber.

No one said a word in challenge now. Tanis and Dalamar had very nearly reached the rostrum. Gilthas was gripping the rostrum with white—knuckled hands, as if he needed its support to hold him up. He seemed oblivious to what was going on around him. Tanis glided near. He kept fast hold of the magic ring.

Rashas had turned to face Gilthas. “Do you, Gilthas of the House of Solostaran, hereby agree, of your own free will, to take the Vow of the Sun and Stars? To serve your people for the rest of your days as their Speaker?”

Gil’s face was without expression, his eyes lifeless. Moistening parched lips, he opened his mouth.

“No, Son! Stop!” Tanis yanked the ring off.

Gil stared in amazement at his father, who had apparently leapt straight out of nothing.

Tanis grasped hold of his son’s arm. “Take off the sun medallion!” he commanded. “Quickly!”

Dalamar appeared on Gil’s left. The young man looked dazedly from his father to the dark elf. A babble of confused sound broke out, shouts and cries. Gil’s hand closed spasmodically over the medallion.

Rashas, standing next to the young man, said something to him in a low voice.

Tanis ignored the senator. He would deal with him later.

“Gil, take the medallion off,” Tanis repeated quietly, patiently. “Don’t worry! You’ll be safe. I’ve come to bring you home.”

Tanis’s words jolted the young man to action, though not the action Tanis wanted.

Gil pulled himself away from his father’s grasp. The young man was deathly pale, but his voice was strong.

“You are wrong, Father.” Gil glanced at Rashas. “I am already home.”

Rashas began calling out loudly for the guards. At the sound of the commotion, the White Robe wizardess ran into the room.

“Quickly, my friend!” Dalamar urged in a low voice. “Unless you want to see a magical battle that will bring this tower down around our ears!”

“Gil, listen to me,” Tanis began angrily.

“No, Father, you listen to me.” Gilthas was calm. “I know what I’m doing.”

“You’re a child!” Tanis raged. “You have no idea what you’re doing—”

A crimson streak stained Gil’s face, as though Tanis had struck him.

Wordlessly, he gazed at his father, silently asking for his trust, for his understanding. The medallion—holy artifact of the elves—gleamed on his breast, its bright light reflected in blue eyes.

How many times, when Tanis was a child, had he looked up to see that medallion gleaming above him, like the sun itself, far out of reach?

“Take that damn thing off!” He stretched out his hand.

White light flashed like the sun itself exploding. Pain burned through Tanis’s arm, pain terrible enough to burst his heart. He was falling. Strong hands caught him, supported him, and a strong voice was chanting strange words.

He heard, as from a far distance, Gilthas say, “I will take the vow. I will be the Speaker of the Sun and Stars.”

Tanis fought to free himself, but the room grew darker, the darkness began to swirl around him, and he realized, in frustrated despair, that he was trapped inside Dalamar’s magic.

Chapter Thirteen

The next instant, Tanis was on his hands and knees, kneeling on a grassy lawn, blinking in the bright sunlight. He was dizzy and half sick, his arm ached, and his hand felt useless and numb. Sitting back on his heels, he stared around. Dalamar stood over him.

“Where in the Abyss are we?” Tanis demanded.

“Hush! Keep quiet!” Dalamar ordered in a low voice. “We are outside Rashas’s house. Put the ring on! Swiftly. Before someone sees us.”

“His house?” Tanis found the ring in a pocket. With his left hand, he struggled to replace the ring on a finger that had no feeling in it. His right arm could move, but it didn’t seem to be his arm. “Why did you bring us here?”

“My reasons will soon become apparent. Keep silent and come with me.”

Dalamar strode rapidly across the lawn. Tanis hurried to catch up.

“Send me back to that chamber. I’ll go alone!”

Dalamar shook his head. “As I told you, my friend, there’s something sinister going on here.”

When they were in sight of the house, Dalamar halted.

A Wilder elf stood guard, blocking the door.

Putting his hand to the side of his mouth, Dalamar called out, speaking the Kagonesti tongue, “Come quickly! I need you!”

The guard jumped, turned around, and peered into a grove of aspen trees growing in back of the large house.

Cloaked in magic, Dalamar was standing practically in front of the porch, but his voice had come from the grove.

“Hurry, you slug!” Dalamar called again, adding a favorite Kagonesti insult.

The guard left his post, ran toward the aspen grove.

“One of Raistlin’s old illusionist tricks. I learned much from my shalafi,” Dalamar said, and he glided silently inside the house.

Mystified, unable to imagine what the dark elf was after, Tanis followed.

In the entryway, a Kagonesti woman was busily scrubbing at a large stain on one of the elegant carpets. Dalamar pointed to the stain, drawing Tanis’s attention to it.

The stain was fresh; the water in the servant’s bucket, the rag in her hand, were crimson.

Blood. Tanis’s lips formed the word, he did not speak it aloud.

Dalamar did not reply. He was standing at the foot of a flight of stairs, peering upward. He began to climb, motioned to Tanis to accompany him. The servant, unaware of their presence, continued at her task.

Tanis kept his hand on his sword. He was not particularly good at fighting left-handed, but he would at least have the advantage of surprise. No enemy would see him coming.

They crept up the stairs, walking cautiously, testing each board before setting foot upon it. The house was deathly silent; a single creaking board would give them away. The steps proved sturdy and solid, however.

“Only the finest for Senator Rashas,” Tanis muttered, and he began to climb more rapidly. He was now beginning to have an idea of why they had come.

the top of the stairs, Dalamar held up a warding hand. Tanis halted. A door stood open, revealing a spacious hallway. Three doors opened off the hall, one door at the far end and two on each side. Only a single door-the one at the far end-was guarded. Two Kagonesti, holding spears, stood in front of it.

Tanis glanced at Dalamar.

“You take the man on the left,” said the dark elf. “I’ll take the right. Make your attack swift and silent. There are probably more guards inside the room.”

Tanis considered using his sword, then decided against it. Positioning himself directly in front of the oblivious Kagonesti, Tanis clenched his fist, aimed a swift, sharp jab to the jaw. The Wilder elf never knew what hit him.

Tanis caught the stunned guard as he fell and lowered him silently to the floor. Glancing over, he saw the other Kagonesti asleep on the floor, a scattering of sand over his inert body.

Tanis put his hand on the door handle. Dalamar’s thin fingers closed over the half-elf’s wrist.

“If what I think is true,” Dalamar whispered into Tanis’s ear, “any move to open that door could be fatal. Not to us,” he added, noting Tanis’s look of astonishment. “To the person inside. We will return to the corridors of magic.”

Tanis scowled and shook his head. Walking those “corridors” left him feeling disoriented and slightly nauseous. Dalamar smiled in understanding.

“Close your eyes,” the dark elf advised. “It helps.”

Keeping fast hold of Tanis’s wrist, Dalamar spoke quick words.

Almost before Tanis had his eyes shut, he felt those same ringers dig into his arm, warning him to look around. Opening his eyes, he blinked in the bright light.

He was in a large sunlit arboretum. Seated on a couch near a window was a woman. Her wrists and ankles were bound together with silken cord.

She sat rigidly straight, regal and imperious, her cheeks flushed—not with fear, but with anger. Tanis recognized, with shock, Alhana Starbreeze.

Directly opposite Alhana stood a Kagonesti guard, armed with bow and arrow. The bow was raised, one arrow nocked and ready to fire. The arrow was aimed at Alhana’s breast.

“And they exiled me!” Dalamar said quietly.

Tanis could say nothing. He could barely think coherently, much less speak. He guessed now what threat had been used to induce Porthios to give up the sun medallion—the same threat that had forced Gilthas to accept it.

Horror and outrage, shock and fury, and the dreadful memory of the terrible things he’d said to his son combined to overpower Tanis. He was as numb and useless as his arm. He could do nothing except stand staring in sick and unwilling disbelief.

Dalamar tugged on Tanis’s sleeve, gestured at the Kagonesti guard, who stood with his back to them. The dark elf made a motion with a clenched fist.

Tanis nodded to show he understood, though he wondered what Dalamar had in mind. At the first sound they made, the Kagonesti would fire. Even if they managed to kill him, his fingers might spasmodically unleash the arrow.

Alhana sat unmoving on the couch, staring at death with a disdain that seemed to invite it.

Dalamar, invisible to everyone in the room except Tanis, walked over, came to stand directly in front of the Kagonesti. The arrow was now pointed at the dark elf’s breast. With a sudden movement, Dalamar grabbed hold of the bow, yanked it away from the guard. Tanis—both fists clenched—clouted the guard on the back of the head. The Kagonesti went down without a sound.

Alhana didn’t move, didn’t speak. She gazed at the fallen guard in bewilderment. Unable to see either Tanis or Dalamar, it must have looked to her as if the guard had just fought with himself and lost.

Tanis took off his ring. Dalamar threw off his magical cloak.

Alhana shifted her disbelieving gaze to them both.

“Your Majesty,” Tanis said, hastening to her side. “Are you all right?”

“Tanis Half-Elven?” Alhana stared dazedly at him.

“Yes, Your Majesty.” He touched her hand, let her know he was flesh and blood, and began to untie her bindings. “Did they hurt you?”

“No, I am fine,” Alhana said. She rose hurriedly. “Come with me. We have no time to lose. We must stop Rashas ...”

Her voice died. She had seen the expression on Tanis’s face.

“Too late, Your Majesty,” he said quietly. “When I left, Gilthas was taking the vow. Before that, the Thalas-Enthia decreed that you and Porthios are to be exiled.”

“Exiled,” Alhana repeated.

The blood drained from her cheeks, left her as pale as if it had taken her life with it. Her gaze went involuntarily to Dalamar, a dark elf—the personification of her doom. Shuddering, she averted her gaze, put her hand over her eyes.

Dalamar’s lip curled. “You have no right to turn your face from me, my lady. Not now.”

Alhana flinched. Shivering, she pressed her hand over her mouth and leaned unsteadily on the back of a chair.

“Dalamar—” Tanis began harshly.

“No, Half-Elven,” Alhana said softly. “He is right.”

Lifting her head, the mass of dark hair falling disheveled around her beautiful face, she held out her hand to him. “Please forgive me, Dalamar. You speak the truth. I am now what you are. You saved my life. Accept my apology and my gratitude.”

Dalamar’s hands remained folded in the sleeves of his black robes. His face was ice hard with disdain, frozen by bitter memory.

Alhana said nothing. Slowly, her hand lowered.

Dalamar gave a sigh that was like the wind in the leaves of the aspen trees. His black robes rustled. He touched Alhana’s fingertips, barely brushing them, as if fearing he might inadvertently do her some harm.

“You are wrong, Alhana Starbreeze,” he said quietly. “They may send you from your homeland, term you 'darkelf,' but you will never be what I am. I broke the law. I did it knowingly. I would do it again. They had every right to cast me out.”

Pausing, keeping hold of her hand in his, he looked at her intently, spoke earnestly. “I foresee dark days ahead for you, my lady. If you or your child are ever in need of aid or comfort, and you are not afraid to turn to me, I will do whatever is in my power to assist you.”

Alhana stared at him wordlessly. Then she smiled, pale, wan. “Thank you for your offer. I am grateful. And, I do not believe that I would be afraid.”

“Davat! Where are you?” An angry voice sounded from below. “Why aren’t you at your post? You men, over here!”

“It’s Rashas,” said Tanis, listening. “Probably with more of his Kagonesti slaves.”

Dalamar nodded. “I was expecting him. He must have guessed we’d come here. We could make our stand.” The dark elf looked at Tanis grimly, expectantly. “Fight them...”

“No! There will be no fighting!” Alhana caught hold of Tanis’s sword arm, held him back as he would have drawn his blade. “If blood is shed here, all chance for peace is lost!”

Tanis stood irresolute, his sword half in and half out of its sheath. In the rooms below, Rashas could be heard, dispersing his guards, sending them throughout the house.

Alhana’s grip tightened. “I am no longer queen. I have no right to command. Therefore, I beg of you ...”

Tanis was angry, frustrated. He wanted to fight, would have enjoyed nothing more. “After what they did to you, Alhana? You’ll meekly let them exile you?”

“If the alternative is killing my own people, yes!” Alhana said calmly.

“Make your decision, Tanis!” Dalamar warned. The footsteps were very near.

“You’re too late,” Tanis said, thrusting his sword back into its scabbard. “You know that, Alhana. Too late.”

She tried to speak, but her words came out as a sigh. Her hand slid nervelessly off Tanis’s arm.

“In that case,” said Dalamar, “I will take my leave. Do you travel with me, Half-Elven?”

Tanis shook his head.

The dark elf folded his hands in his sleeves. “Farewell, Queen Alhana. Walk with the gods. And do not forget my offer.”

He bowed to her respectfully, spoke words of magic, and was gone.

Alhana stared at where he had been standing. “What is happening in this world?” she murmured. “I am betrayed by my friends ... befriended by my foes ...”

“Evil times,” Tanis replied, voice bitter. 'The night returns.”

In his vision, the silver moon shone through the storm clouds, its light lasting long enough to illuminate the path, and then was gone, swept away by darkness.

The door burst open. Kagonesti guards ran inside. Two grabbed hold of Tanis by both arms. One guard divested him of his sword; another put a knife to Tanis’s throat. Two more started to take hold of Alhana.

“Traitors! Do you dare lay rough hands on me?” she demanded.

“Until I cross that border, I am your queen.”

The Kagonesti appeared daunted, and they looked at each other uncertainly.

“Leave her be. She will give you no trouble,” Rashas ordered. The senator stood in the doorway. “Escort the witch to the Abanasinian border crossing. By order of the Thalas-Enthia, cast her out.”

Alhana walked disdainfully past Rashas. She did not look at him, as if he were beneath her notice. The Kagonesti accompanied her.

“You can’t send her out into Abanasinia alone, defenseless,” Tanis protested angrily.

“I don’t intend to,” Rashas replied, with a smile. “You, half-human, will accompany her.” He glanced around the room, his brow darkening. “Was this man by himself?”

“Yes, Senator,” the Kagonesti replied. “The evil mage must have escaped.”

Rashas turned his gaze on Tanis. “You conspired with the outlaw wizard known as Dalamar the Dark in an attempt to disrupt the ceremony crowning the rightful Speaker of the Sun and Stars. Therefore, you, known as Tanis Half-Elven, are hereby banished from Qualinesti for life. Such is the law. Do you dispute it?”

“I could dispute it,” Tanis said, speaking Common, a language the guards would not understand. “I could mention the fact that I’m not the only person standing in this room who conspired with Dalamar the Dark. I could tell the Thalas-Enthia that Gilthas did not take that vow of his own free will. I could tell them that you are holding Porthios prisoner, his wife hostage. I could tell them all that. But I won’t, will I, Senator?”

“No, half-human, you won’t,” Rashas replied, also in the human tongue, but spitting the words, as if they left a bad taste in his mouth. “You’ll keep quiet because I have your son. And it would be a pity for the new Speaker to meet an untimely and tragic end.”

“I want to see Gilthas,” Tanis said in Elvish. “Damn it, he’s my son!”

“If by that name, you mean our new Speaker of the Sun and Stars, may I remind you, half-human, that under elven law the Speaker has no father, no mother, no family ties of any kind. All elves are considered his family. All true elves.”

Tanis took a step toward Rashas. A tall Wilder elf stepped protectively in front of the senator.

“At this moment, our new Speaker is receiving the accolades of his people,” Rashas continued coolly. “This is a great day in his life. Surely, you would not want to ruin it by embarrassing him with your presence?”

Tanis struggled inwardly. The thought of leaving without seeing Gil, without having a chance to tell him he understood, that he was proud of him, was intolerable, heartbreaking. Yet, Tanis knew well enough that Rashas was right. The appearance of his half-breed bastard father would cause only trouble, make things far more difficult for Gil than they were already.

And they would be difficult enough.

Tanis let his shoulders sag. He shrugged bitterly, appeared whipped, beaten.

“Take him to the border,” Rashas said.

Tanis started to walk meekly past the senator. Pausing in front of Rashas, Tanis pivoted, rocked forward, and swung his fist. It connected—satisfyingly—with bone.

The senator toppled over backward, crashed into an ornamental tree.

Kagonesti raised his sword.

“Leave him be,” Rashas mumbled, rubbing his jaw. A trickle of blood dribbled from the corner of his mouth. “This is how the servants of evil fight against righteousness. I would not give him the satisfaction of striking back.”

The senator spit out a tooth.

Tanis, nursing bruised knuckles, strode out the door.

He’d been wanting to do that for over two hundred years.

Chapter Fourteen

The griffins refused to answer any form of summons from the Qualinesti elves—another fact that gave Tanis grim satisfaction, though it forced him to make the journey to the border on foot. The distance was not far, however, and Tanis had a legion of bitter, unhappy reflections to keep him company.

His thoughts crowded in around him so thick and deep that he took no notice of where he was. He realized they had reached the border only when the Qualinesti captain brought his men to a halt.

“Your sword, sir.” The captain handed over the weapon in a courteous manner. “The path leads to Haven one way, to Solace another. If you take the fork to the left—”

“I know the damn path,” Tanis told him. Long ago, during the war, he and his companions had taken that path into Qualinesti.

He thrust the sword into its scabbard.

“I was about to advise you, sir, to avoid Darken Wood,” the captain added politely.

Tanis, struck by the elf’s manner, looked at the captain intently. Was he in agreement with all this? Or was he one of the malcontents? He was young, but then most members of the elven army were young. What did they think about this? Would they back the Thalas-Enthia?... On and on, the questions spun their spiderwebs in Tanis’s brain.

He would have liked to ask, but could think of no way to frame the question. Besides, other soldiers were listening. He might well get the captain in trouble. Tanis mumbled an ungracious thanks.

The captain saluted gravely, then stood waiting to watch Tanis cross the invisible line which divided the elves from the rest of the world.

Tanis took six steps down the path, six steps that were the longest and most difficult he’d ever taken in his life. Six steps, and he was out of Qualinesti. Though the sun shone brightly, his eyes were blinded by tears and a lowering darkness. He heard the captain give a command and heard the soldiers march off.

Tanis wiped his eyes and nose, looked around, and suddenly recalled he was supposed to meet Alhana Starbreeze at this location.

She was nowhere in sight.

“Hey!” Tanis yelled angrily, taking two long, swift strides back toward the border. “Where is Lady Alhana—”

An arrow zipped out the trees, landed at Tanis’s feet. A hairbreadth to the right, and it would have gone through the toe of his boot. He looked up into the trees, but could not see the elven archers. The next arrow, he knew, was aimed at his chest.

“Captain!” he bellowed. “Is this how elves keep their word? I was promised—”

“My friend,” came a gentle voice at his shoulder.

Tanis’s heart lurched. He whipped around and found Dalamar standing at his side.

“I suppose ... I should be used to your dramatic appearances by now,"

Tanis said.

The dark elf smiled. “Actually, I used no magic. I’ve been waiting for you beside the path for the past hour. You were so intent on your shouting that you did not hear me.” He glanced into the leafy branches of the aspen trees.

“Let us remove ourselves from this location. I offer a rather tempting target.

Not that their puny weapons could hurt me, of course, but I do hate wasting my energy.

“I will answer your questions,” he added, seeing Tanis’s frown. “We have much to discuss.”

Tanis cast the elves a final, baleful glance, then accompanied Dalamar in among giant oak trees that stood on the fringes of Darken Wood, now haunted more in legend than in fact. The shadows were cooling. In a clearing, Dalamar had spread a white cloth. There was wine and bread and cheese. Tanis sat down, drank some wine, but couldn’t stomach the food. He kept constant watch on the path.

“I offered Lady Alhana some refreshment before her journey,” Dalamar said, with his irritating habit of answering Tanis’s thoughts. The dark elf settled himself comfortably on a cushion on the grass.

“She’s left then?” Tanis was back on his feet. “Alone?”

“No, my friend. Please, do sit down. I have to strain my neck to look up at you. The lady has a champion, who will accompany her to her destination. Samar is somewhat battered and bloodied, but stalwart and strong for all that.”

Tanis stared, mystified.

“The blood we found on the floor belonged to a Silvanesti warrior-mage,” Dalamar explained. “Samar tried to help Alhana and your son escape. The warrior was being held in a Qualinesti prison as a spy, facing execution. I snatched him right out from under the nose of that White Robe, who’d been sent to guard him.” Dalamar took a sip at his wine. “A most enjoyable experience.”

“Where are they going?” Tanis asked, staring into the trees in the direction of the path that could, for Alhana, lead only to darkness.

“Silvanesti,” said Dalamar.

Tanis protested. “That's crazy! Doesn’t she realize—”

“She realizes, my friend. And I believe we should accompany her. That is why I waited for you. Think a moment, before you refuse. Rashas has looked on the face of rebellion. He knows now that some of his own people may rise up against him. He’s afraid. My dread queen loves those who are afraid, Tanis. Her nails are dug into him deeply, and she will continue to drag him down.”

“What are you saying?” Tanis demanded.

“Only this—it’s bound to occur to Rashas that Porthios is a threat, that exile won’t stop him.”

“That Porthios mustn’t be allowed to live.”

“Precisely. We may already be too late,” Dalamar added offhandedly, with a shrug.

“You keep saying 'we.' You can’t go into Silvanesti. Even with your powers, you’d be hard pressed to fight all the elven magic-users. They’d kill you without hesitation.”

“My people won’t welcome me home with open arms,” Dalamar replied, smiling slyly. “But they can’t stop me from entering. You see, my friend, I’ve been granted permission to visit Silvanesti. For services rendered.”

“You don’t give a damn about Porthios.” Tanis was suddenly angered by the dark elf’s coolness. “What’s your stake in this?”

Dalamar answered with a sidelong glance. “A high one, you may be certain. But don’t expect me to reveal my hand to you. For now, we are partners in this game.” He shrugged again. “What will it be, Tanis Half-Elven? In a snap of my fingers, we could be in your home. You will, of course, want to talk to your wife. Tell Laurana what has happened. She will need to accompany us. She will be most valuable in talking sense to that stiff-necked brother of hers.”

Home. Tanis sighed. He wanted very much to go home, to shut himself up in his fine house and ... do what? What was the point now? What was the use?

“When Alhana reaches Silvanesti,” Tanis said slowly, thinking this through to its bitter conclusion, “the Silvanesti elves will hear of the insult the Qualinesti offered their queen. That will mean bloodshed. Alhana won’t be able to stop it this time. Once, long ago, we elves fought among ourselves. You’re talking about starting another Kinslayer War.”

Dalamar shrugged, unconcerned. “You are behind the time, Tanis. The war has already started.”

Tanis saw the truth of this, saw it with the same vivid clarity he’d seen the vision of Gilthas. Only now, instead of Solinari illuminating the young man’s future, Tanis saw it lit by flame and lightning, saw it stained with blood.

The war would come ... and he would be pitted against his own son.

Tanis closed his eyes. He could see Gil’s face, so young, trying so desperately to be brave, wise....

“Father? Is that you?”

For a moment, Tanis thought the voice was in his mind, that the image of his son had conjured it into being. But the word was repeated, stronger, with a ragged edge of joy and longing.

“Father!”

Gilthas stood on the path, just inside the border of Qualinesti. The white-robed wizardess lurked jealously near him. She did not look pleased to see Tanis. She had obviously not expected to find him here. She laid a firm hand on Gilthas’s arm, appeared ready to whisk him away.

A rustle in the treetops was a warning, all the warning Tanis was likely to receive.

“Tanis!” Dalamar called. “Be careful!”

Tanis ignored him, ignored the White Robe, ignored the elves in the trees with their bows and arrows. He strode toward his son.

Gilthas jerked away from the wizardess’s grasp. She clasped hold of him again, more firmly this time.

An angry flush stained Gilthas’s face, but he swallowed hard. Tanis could see his son choke down his anger, could see—in Gilthas—himself.

Gilthas said something in a low, conciliatory voice.

The White Robe, still looking displeased, removed her hand and backed off. Tanis stepped across the border. Reaching out, he caught hold of his son in his arms.

“Father!” Gilthas said brokenly. “I thought you’d gone. I wanted to talk to you. They wouldn’t let me...”

“I know, Son. I know,” Tanis said, clasping his boy close. “I understand. Believe me, I understand it all now.” Hands on Gil’s shoulders, Tanis looked intently into his son’s face. “I do understand.”

Gil’s face darkened. “Is Queen Alhana safe? Rashas assured me that she was, but I made them bring me here to see for myself...”

“She is safe,” Tanis said quietly. His gaze shifted to the White Robe, who stood to one side, her baleful gaze divided between her charge and the black-robed wizard hovering in the shadows. “Samar is with the queen. He will guard her well, as you have reason to know, I believe.”

“Samar!” Gil’s face brightened. “You rescued him? I’m so glad! They were going to make me sign the order for his e xecution. I wouldn’t have done it, Father. I don’t know how”—the youthful face hardened—“but I wouldn’t have.” Tanis glanced at the White Robe. Dalamar could stop her from taking any action. But could he, at the same time, prevent the archers from shooting? They would, however, be reluctant to endanger the life of their new Speaker...

“Gil,” Tanis spoke in Common, “you didn’t take that vow of your own free will. You were coerced into making it. You could leave, now. Dalamar will help us ...”

Gilthas bowed his head. There was no doubt what answer he wanted to give. He looked up with a wistful smile. “I gave the wizardess my word, Father. When I found you here, I promised her I would return with her, if she would grant me permission to... to... tell you good-bye.”

His voice broke. He paused a moment, struggling, then continued quietly, “Father, I heard you once tell Lord Gunthar that, if it had been up to you, you would have never, of your own free will, fought in the War of the Lance. You were drawn into it by force of circumstance. And that was why it made you uneasy to hear people call you a hero. You did what you had to do—what any right-thinking person would do.”

Tanis sighed. Memories—mostly dark—came back to him. His grip on Gilthas tightened. Tanis knew that, in a moment, he would have to let his son go.

“Father,” Gil said earnestly, “I’m not fooling myself. I know I won’t be able to do much to change things. I know Rashas intends to use me for his own evil ends and, right now, I don’t see any way of stopping him. But, do you remember what Uncle Tas said when he told the story about saving the gully dwarf from the red dragon? 'If s the small things that make the difference.' If I can manage, in small ways, to work against Rashas, Father..."

We raise our children to leave us.

Without even knowing it, Tanis had done so. He could see that now, could see it in the face of the boy—no, the man—standing in front of him. He supposed he should feel proud... and he did. But pride was a very small fire to warm his heart-numbing chill of loss.

White Robe was clearly growing impatient. She removed from her belt a jeweled silver wand.

Dalamar, seeing this, called out quietly, “Tanis, my friend, I am here, if you have need of my services.”

Tanis embraced his son one last time. He took advantage of their closeness to whisper. “You are the Speaker now, Gilthas. Don’t forget that. Don’t let Rashas and his kind forget it. Keep fighting him. You won’t fight alone. You saw the young elves who walked out of the meeting today? Win them to your side. They won’t trust you at first. They’ll think your Rashas’s pawn. You’ll have to convince them otherwise. It won’t be easy. But I know you can succeed. I’m proud of you, my son. Proud of what you did this day.”

“Thank you, Father.”

A last embrace, a last look, a last brave smile. “Tell Mother... I love her,” Gil said softly. He swallowed hard. Then, turning, he left his father—and went back to stand beside the White Robe. She spoke a word.

The two were gone.

Without a backward glance—Tanis couldn’t have seen anything anyway, blinking away the tears that blinded him—he walked back across the border. But he held his head high, as would any proud father whose son has just been made ruler of a nation.

He’d keep his head high until night, until darkness. Until he was home. Until he had to tell Laurana that she might never see her beloved son again....

“So,” said Dalamar, keeping in the shadows beneath the oak trees, “you couldn’t talk Gilthas into coming back with you.”

“I didn’t try,” Tanis returned, his voice harsh and grating. “He gave them his word of honor he’d go back.”

Dalamar regarded his friend intently a moment. “He gave them his word”

The dark elf shook his head and sighed. “As I said before, the son of Tanis Half-Elven is the last person Takhisis wanted to see sitting on the elven throne. If it is any comfort, my friend, Her Dark Majesty did not mean things to turn out exactly as they did. She is extremely sorry that we failed.”

Tanis supposed that news should bring him some consolation.

Dalamar removed the cloth, the cushion, the wine, the bread, and the cheese with a wave and a word. He slid his hands into the sleeves of his black robes.

“Well, my friend, have you made a decision? What will you do?”

“What I have to do, I suppose,” Tanis said bitterly. “I can’t let Rashas murder Porthios. And, once Porthios is free, I’ve got to stop him from murdering Rashas and the rest of the Qualinesti—none of which looks very promising.”

He walked out from beneath the oak trees and came to stand on the path that led back to Qualinesti. He looked into the sunlit, quivering leaves of the aspen trees of his childhood home.

“There are so many things I meant to teach you, Gilthas,” Tanis said softly, “so much I meant to tell you. So many things I meant to say....”

Dalamar rested his hand on Tanis’s shoulder. “You may not have said the words aloud, my friend. But I think your son heard you.”

Tanis turned away from Qualinesti, turned toward the path that led to darkness. He turned back to a house that, no matter how many people it held, would always be empty.

“Let's go,” he said.