Paul Thompson - The Qualinesti

Clovanos brandished the baton. The cries declined. “I received a letter from a friend and fellow Loyalist,” he said with heavy emphasis, “who happens to be at the site of the fortress. He wrote, ‘Imagine my surprise when I saw the Speaker’s son, Prince Ulvian, working as a common laborer in the crudest and most dangerous of jobs’.”

Having thus spoken, Clovanos turned quickly to face Kith-Kanan. The chamber erupted. New Landers and Loyalists stood and shouted at each other. Denunciations flew in the thick, hot air. Only the Speaker’s Friends sat quietly, waiting for Kith-Kanan to deny the report.

Slowly, with great deliberation, the Speaker rose and crossed the floor to where Clovanos had turned to hurl retorts at the ranks of New Landers seated above him. He tapped on the senator’s shoulder and asked for the baton. Clovanos had no choice but to surrender the speaking symbol to Kith-Kanan. Stiffly, his face sheened with sweat, the Silvanesti senator climbed the marble steps to his place among the Loyalists.

Kith-Kanan held the baton over his head until the room grew still. Bare to the waist in the dreadful heat, his tanned chest bore pale scars from wounds he’d received in the great Kinslayer War. A simple white kilt, a wide golden belt, and leather sandals were all he wore, save for the circlet of Qualinost atop his head. Though past midlife, his face growing more lined, the white blond of his hair now more than half silver, the Speaker of the Sun was still as vibrant and handsome as he had been centuries earlier when he led his people out of Silvanesti.

“My lords,” Kith-Kanan said in a firm voice, “what Senator Clovanos tells you is true.”

The chamber grew so quiet that a falling feather would have rung out like a gong. After Clovanos’s longwinded oration, the Speaker’s simple statement seemed blunt and harsh. “My son is indeed working as a slave at Pax Tharkas.”

Xixis leapt to his feet. “Why?” he shouted.

Kith-Kanan turned slowly to face the senator. “Because he was taken during the campaign to stamp out slave-trading and found guilty of helping such traders cross Qualinesti territory.”

Malvic Pathfinder, a human and a New Lander, called out, “I thought the penalty for slave-trading was death.”

A dozen Loyalists booed him.

“No father wishes to sentence his own son to the block,” Kith-Kanan replied frankly. “Ulvian’s guilt was plain, but instead of a useless death, I decided to teach him a lesson in compassion. I believed, and still believe, that once he had experienced the wretched life of a slave, he would never again be able to look upon people as cattle that can be bought and sold.”

Kith-Kanan’s well-muscled frame might have been carved from wood or marble. His proud and noble countenance was so overpowering that no one spoke for some time.

Finally Irthenie broke the silence. “Great Speaker, how long will Prince Ulvian be held at Pax Tharkas?” she asked. Her words, spoken with quiet force, carried to every bench in the chamber.

“He remains at my discretion,” Kith-Kanan replied, facing her.

“It is wrong!” Clovanos countered. “A prince of the blood should not be forced to work as a slave by his own father! This is the offense the gods are punishing us for!” The other Loyalists took up his refrain. The chamber echoed with their outraged cries.

“Your Majesty, will you recall the prince?” asked Xixis.

“I will not. He has been there only a few weeks,” Kith-Kanan answered. “If I freed him now, the only lesson he would have learned is that influence is stronger than virtue.”

“But he is your heir!” insisted Clovanos.

Kith-Kanan gripped the speaking baton tightly, his other hand clenched into a fist. “It is my decision!” he replied, his voice ringing through the chamber. “Not yours!”

All the arguments and accusations ceased abruptly. Kith-Kanan’s blazing gaze was fastened on the unfortunate Clovanos. The senator, his body quivering with anger, stared balefully down at his sovereign. Breaking the tense silence, Xixis said unctuously, “We are naturally concerned for the safety and future of the royal house. Your Majesty has no other heir.”

“Your time, my lords, would be better spent finding ways to soothe the troubles of the common folk, and not interfering with the manner in which I discipline my son!” Kith-Kanan turned on his heel, strode to the door, and departed.

Since the Speaker had taken the baton with him, that meant the Thalas-Enthia session was over. The senators filled the aisles, clustering in small groups to discuss Kith-Kanan’s stand.

There was no debate between Clovanos and Xixis. The two elves were in complete agreement.

“The Speaker will ruin the country,” breathed Xixis anxiously. “His stubbornness has already offended the gods. Does he think he can stand against their will? It will mean the end of us all!”

“He has already cost me plenty,” Clovanos agreed. He couldn’t forget the loss of his towers during the siege of lightning. “If only we could come up with some alternate plan.”

The din in the chamber was considerable. Xixis leaned closer to his ally. “What do you mean?” he asked.

“I can’t speak in certainties,” Clovanos replied, his words barely audible, “but suppose the fortress is finished before the Speaker decides the prince has been re-habilitated? Kith-Kanan has sworn to retire once Pax Tharkas is done; if Prince Ulvian is still under a cloud, another candidate must be found.”

Xixis’s mouse-colored hair was limp with perspiration, and his flowing robe clung to his clammy skin. Blotting his face with one sleeve, his eyes darted around. No one was listening to them.

“Who, then?” he hissed. “Not that dragon of a daughter!”

Clovanos sneered. “Even the open-minded people of Qualinesti would balk at having a half-human female as Speaker of the Sun! No, listen. You are familiar with the name Lord Kemian Ambrodel?” Xixis nodded. Lord Ambrodel was a prominent figure. “He is pure Silvanesti in heritage and a notable warrior.”

“But he is not of House Silvanos!” Xixis cried, and Clovanos shushed him.

“That’s the beauty of my plan, my friend. If we begin a campaign to have Lord Ambrodel named as the Speaker’s heir, then His Majesty will feel compelled to recall Prince Ulvian from Pax Tharkas.”

Xixis regarded his companion blankly.

“Don’t you see?” Clovanos went on. “Publicly the Speaker may denounce his son as a failure, a weak and cruel rogue who deals in slaves. However, Kith-Kanan won’t deny his own family. He cannot, any more than he could have had Ulvian executed. No, the Speaker, for all his harsh words, wants only his own son, the direct descendant of the great Silvanos, to ascend the throne of Qualinesti. If we agitate for another heir, it will force the Speaker’s hand. He must recall the prince!”

Xixis didn’t seem convinced. “I have known the Speaker for two hundred years,” he said. “I fought with him in the great war. Kith-Kanan will do what he thinks is right, not what’s best for his family.”

Clovanos rose to go, smoothing his pale hair back from his face. Xixis stood also. Linking his arm in the arm of Xixis, Clovanos murmured sagely, “We’ll see, my friend. We’ll see.”

“This air is like dragon’s breath!” complained Rufus, sagging on the seat of the cart. Beside him rode Verhanna on her coal-black horse, and behind the kender creaked the other cart containing the freed slaves. Two days had passed, and the sun had burned continuously for a day and a half now.

“Have some water,” Verhanna suggested, licking her dry lips. She passed her waterskin to the kender. He put the spout to his lips and drank deeply. “How far do you think we’ve ridden?” she asked. Without the moons or stars to go by, or even the passage of the sun across the sky, they’d lost track of what hour or day it was.