Paul Thompson - Firstborn

“What would you have me do?” Sithel asked. “Place soldiers around all the temples? There are not enough royal guardsmen in House Protector to do that—not to mention that most of them are sons or grandsons of Kagonesti themselves.”

“Perhaps an edict, read in the Market, will convince the outsiders not to attempt to force their way into our holy places,” Firincalos noted. A murmur of approval ran through the assembly.

“All very well for you,” said Miritelisina, high priestess of Quenesti Pah. “How can we who serve the goddess of healing turn away eager supplicants? It is part of our trust to admit the sick and injured. Can we discriminate between Silvanesti and Kagonesti, human, dwarf, and kender?”

“Yes. You must,” declared a voice silent until now.

All heads turned to the speaker’s left, where Sithas had been standing. He had been listening to the different factions present their views. A long time he’d been listening, and now he felt he must speak. The prince stepped down to floor level, with the assembled clerics, and faced his father.

“It is vital that the purity of our temples and our city be preserved,” he said with fervor. “We, the oldest and wisest race of Krynn, the longest lived, the most blessed, must keep ourselves above the hordes of lesser peoples who flood in, trying to partake of our grace and culture.” He lifted his hands. “Where there is not purity, there can be no Silvanost and no Silvanesti.”

Some of the clerics—not those of Quenesti Pah—bowed in appreciation of Sithas’s declaration. Behind them, however, the guildmasters looked distinctly unhappy. Sithel, looking down on his son, was nodding slowly. He looked over the prince’s head at the guildmasters, and bade them come forward.

“Highness,” said the master of the Jewelers Guild, “the outsiders bring many things we in Silvanesti do not have. The dwarves trade us the finest metal on Krynn for our foodstuffs and nectars. The humans bring expertly carved wood, the softest of leathers, wine, and oil. Even the kender contribute their share.”

“Their share of larceny,” muttered one of the clerics. Soft laughter rippled through the tower.

“Enough,” Sithel commanded. His gaze rested once more on his son. “How do you propose we keep the foreigners out of our temples without losing their trade, which our nation does need?”

Sithas took a deep breath. “We can build an enclave here on Fallan Island, outside the city, and confine all trading to that point. No outsiders except valid ambassadors from other countries will be admitted within Silvanost’s walls. If the humans and others wish to pay homage to the gods, let them put up their own shrines in this new enclave.”

Sithel leaned back on his throne and stroked his chin. “An interesting notion. Why should the foreigners agree to it?”

“They do not want to lose the goods they get from us,” Sithas reasoned. “If they don’t agree, they will be turned away.” The clerics looked at him with undisguised admiration.

“A perfect solution!” Zertinfinas exclaimed.

“Proof of the wisdom of the speaker’s heir,” added Firincalos unctuously.

Sithel looked past them to the guildmasters. “What say you, good sirs? Does this notion of my son’s appeal to you?”

It did indeed. If the traders had to land at one specified point on Fallan, then the guilds could more easily impose landing fees on them. The various guildmasters voiced their approval loudly.

“Very well, let the plans be made,” Sithel decided. “The forming of the docks and walls I leave to the guild of master builders. Once the plans are chosen, the forming of the stones can begin.” As Sithel stood up, everyone bowed. “If that is all, then this audience is at an end.” The speaker gave Sithas a thoughtful look, then turned and left the hall by the door behind the throne.

The clerics closed around Sithas, congratulating him. Miritelisina asked him if he had a name in mind for the new trading enclave.

Sithas smiled and shook his head. “I have not considered it in such detail yet.”

“It should be named for you,” Firincalos said exuberantly. “Perhaps ‘Sithanost, the city of Sithas’. ”

“No,” the prince said firmly. “That is not proper. Let it be something the outsiders will understand. ‘Thon-car, village on the Thon,’ something simple like that. I do not want it named after me.”

After freeing himself from the crowd, Sithas mounted the steps and went out the same door by which his father had left. His sedan chair awaited him outside. He climbed in and ordered, “to Quinari, at once.”

The slaves hoisted the carrying bars to their broad shoulders and set off at a trot.

Hermathya was waiting for him. The news had moved quickly through the palace, and she was brimming with delight at her husband’s triumph.

“You’ve won them,” she crowed, pouring Sithas a cup of cool water. “The clerics look upon you as their champion.”

“I said only what I believed,” Sithas noted quietly.

“True enough, but they will remember what you did, and they will support you in the future,” she insisted.

Sithas dampened his fingers in the last drops of the water and touched his face with his fingertips. “Why should I need their support?”

Hermathya looked surprised. “Haven’t you heard? Lady Nirakina has suggested to the Speaker that you be appointed as co-ruler, to share the burden of power with your father.”

Sithas was taken aback. “You’ve been listening from balconies again,” he said with displeasure.

“I have only your interests in my heart,” she said, a trifle coolly.

There was a long silence between them. Not much affection had grown between the firstborn and his beautiful wife since their marriage, and Sithas was growing more skeptical of her devotion with each passing day. Hermathya’s ambition was as obvious as the Tower of the Stars and twice as big.

“I will go and speak with my father,” Sithas said at last. Hermathya moved to join him. “Alone, Lady. I go alone.”

Hermathya turned away from him, her face blazing crimson.

A servant announced the prince, and Sithel gave permission for him to enter. It was mid-afternoon, and the speaker was immersed in a steaming hot pool, his head resting on a folded towel. His eyes were closed.

“Father?”

Sithel opened one eye. “Get in, why don’t you? The water is good and hot.”

“No, thank you.” Sithas took the direct approach. “Father, what is this I hear about mother wanting you to appoint me co-ruler?”

Sithel raised his head. “You do have your spies, don’t you?”

“Only one, and I do not pay her. She works on her own account.”

“Hermathya.” Sithel smiled when the prince nodded. “She has spirit, that girl. I daresay if it were possible she’d want to be co-ruler, too.”

“Yes, and bring the rest of Clan Oakleaf to rule with her. She already replaces palace servers with her own relatives. Soon we won’t be able to walk the halls without tripping over some Oakleaf cousin or other,” Sithas said.

“This is still House Royal,” replied his father confidently.

At that, Sithel sat up, roiling the hot mineral water. He reached for a beaker sitting on the rim of the pool, then shook a handful of brown and white crystals into the water. The steam was immediately scented with a rare, spicy musk. “Do you know why your mother asked me to make you co-ruler?”

“No,” Sithas replied.

“It was part of a compromise, actually. She wants me to call Kith-Kanan home.”

“Kith!” exclaimed Sithas, interrupting his father. “That is an excellent idea!”

Sithel held up a hand. “It would cause great dissent among the clerics and nobles. Kith-Kanan broke some of our most ardent laws. He threatened the very foundations of the House Royal. My anger with him has faded, and I could bring him home—if he would properly apologize. There are many, though, who would oppose my lenience.”