Paul Thompson - The Qualinesti

“Majesty, did Lady Verhanna announce the coming of your newfound son?” asked Kemian. Kith-Kanan shook his head. “Then why are they cheering him?”

“My people know who he is,” said the Speaker confidently. “They can see it in his face, in his bearing. They are cheering the next Speaker of the Sun.”

Lord Ambrodel grinned. Ulvian, just behind the general, heard every word his father said, but he plodded resolutely onward. Every joyous cry, every tossed bouquet, was yet another nail driven into the coffin of his desires.

They paraded past the Hall of the Sky. The slopes of the hill were likewise covered with Qualinesti, shouting and cheering. Each tree boasted several children who had climbed up for a better view.

In the square before the Speaker’s house, Verhanna, Rufus, and Tamanier Ambrodel waited, flanked on both sides by the household servants and the remaining Guards of the Sun. Kith-Kanan went ahead of Greenhands, who hesitated at the foot of the steps. The Speaker stepped briskly up to the landing in front of the polished mahogany doors. He clasped arms with Tamanier Ambrodel and received a salute from Lord Parnigar, who had kept order in his absence. Kith-Kanan turned and faced the crowd, which gradually fell silent in expectation of a speech.

“People of Qualinost,” he proclaimed, “I thank you for the warmth of your greeting. I am weary, and your affection makes me strong again.

“I have been to the high mountains, first to inspect the Fortress of Peace, later to put an end to an evil sorcerer who had long plagued those regions. Now that I have returned, I do not plan to leave you again any time soon.”

He smiled and fresh cheers erupted from ten thousand throats. The Speaker held up his hands.

“More than that, I have brought with me someone new, someone very close to me. A long time ago, when I was merely the second son of the Speaker of the Stars, I had a wife. She was Kagonesti.”

There were loud hurrahs from the wild elves in the crowd. “Our time together was short, but our love was not in vain. She left for me a most precious gift—a son.” The multitude held its collective breath as Kith-Kanan descended the mahogany steps and took Greenhands by the hand. He led him up to the landing.

“People of Qualinost! This is my son,” Kith-Kanan shouted, his heart full. “His name is Silveran!”

Through the roar that followed, Verhanna stepped close to her father and asked, “Silveran? Where did that name come from?”

“I chose it on the way here,” said Kith-Kanan. He held his son’s green-hued hand aloft. “I hope you like it, Son.”

“You are my father. It is for you to name me.”

“Silveran! Silveran!” the crowd chanted.

Kith-Kanan wanted very much to tell his people the rest of it. Silveran was his heir; he would be the next Speaker of the Sun. But he couldn’t simply announce his decision, though he knew in his heart that Silveran was the best and wisest choice. Many people had to be consulted, even his political foes. The stability of the Qualinesti nation came first, even before his personal pride and happiness. He knew, too, that Ulvian would take the news very hard.

After receiving the cheers of the crowd for some time, Kith-Kanan led his family into the Speaker’s house. Rufus and the Ambrodels, father and son, followed. The crowd began to disperse.

“Sire, what am I to do with the, ah, centaurs?” asked Tamanier, as the Kothlolo crowded up the steps to the double doors.

“Make them comfortable,” Kith-Kanan replied. “They have done me a signal service.”

Tamanier looked askance at the band of rowdy centaurs who filled the antechamber. Their unshod hooves skidded on the smooth mosaic and polished wood floor, but they moved in eagerly, delighted by the strange sights and sensations of the Speaker’s house. As Kith-Kanan ascended the steps on his way to his private rooms, his castellan sent for troops of servants to deal with the centaurs. Amidst all the hubbub, no one noticed Prince Ulvian slip away from the royal family and disappear through the rear of the antechamber.

The prince strode furiously down the corridor that led to the servants’ quarters, to a room used by the household scribes. The room was windowless and stood empty, as he knew it would be; everyone was in the streets, celebrating. When he shut and bolted the door, Ulvian had complete privacy. He turned up the wick on a guttering lamp and sat down at the scribes’ table. With shaking hands, he took the amulet from his clothing and set it on the table before him.

“Speak,” he said in a loud whisper. “Speak to me!”

Ulvian could barely form the words, so angry was he. Angry and, though he could hardly admit it even to himself, afraid. The prince was terrified by the adulation and acceptance Greenhands had received from the people of Qualinost. First he’d been banished to Pax Tharkas to be beaten and humiliated by the grunt gang, then he’d been terrorized by a lying sorcerer, and now, when all that he wanted should be within his grasp, now there was Greenhands.

The amulet was silent. The only voices Ulvian could hear were those of the people in the streets outside, still rejoicing.

“Are you trying to drive me mad?” he shrieked, flinging the onyx talisman against the far wall. It bounced off and rolled away. Ulvian buried his face in his hands.

I am not your servant. I do not come when ordered, said a haughty, cold voice inside the prince’s head.

He raised up with a jerk. “What? Are you there?”

You must learn self-discipline. This anger of yours gets out of control and serves you ill. Drulethen did not lose his temper so readily.

Ulvian got down on his knees and felt under the shelves loaded with scrolls. His fingers found the amulet. It was warm to the touch, like a living thing.

“Dru wasn’t so superior,” said the prince, shifting around to sit on the floor.

Yes, I know, his killer is the one who has stolen your birthright.

Ulvian set the amulet on the floor. “Greenhands,” he said with a sneer. “Now called Silveran—as if he deserves a royal name.”

He is your father’s son, but there is more to him than his ancestry. The power dwells within him. It is a danger to us.

“What power?”

The ancient power of order, which brings life to the world. It is not of the gods, but a more elemental force.

The prince shook his head. “This theology means nothing to me. All I want is what I was promised from birth: my place on the throne!”

Then Greenhands must die.

Put so bluntly, the idea gave Ulvian pause. He pondered the possibility for a long time and finally said, “No, Greenhands must not die. No matter how subtly it was done, suspicion would fall on me. That must not happen. I want this upstart discredited, not killed. I want the people, including my father, to want me on the throne.” His jaw clenched, he added in a whisper, “Especially my father.”

It was the amulet’s turn to fall silent. Then it said, You are a worthy successor to Drulethen.

Ulvian smiled, basking in the praise. “I shall surpass that lowborn sorcerer in every way,” he said smugly.

“I am most pleased to meet you, Prince Silveran.”

Senator Irthenie bowed to Kith-Kanan and his son. They were in the outer hall of the Thalas-Enthia tower. The Speaker was about to present his newest son to the senators of Qualinesti, and he knew they weren’t going to be as enthusiastic as the common folk had been.

The Kagonesti woman studied Silveran closely. He was dressed in a simple white robe, with a green sash at his waist. His long hair shone in the late morning sunlight that poured through the windows. “The public display yesterday was very clever,” said Irthenie. “How did you accomplish it?”