Paul Thompson - Firstborn

Although this statement was of no surprise to Sithel or Sithas, it was a revelation that set the crowd of servants and retainers to buzzing. Sithas turned his back on the hall and spoke to his father in guarded tones. “What is the matter with that fellow? He acts as if he were the advocate for Ergoth!” Sithas muttered.

“Don’t blame Dunbarth. He knows his country will gain the advantage if we and the humans cannot agree. He’s thrown out this rubbish about half-humans to muddy the water. It means nothing,” Sithel commented wisely.

The prince stood aside, and his father rapped for silence once more.

“Let us not confuse matters with talk of bandits and halfbreeds,” Sithel said genially. “There really is only one question—who rules these three provinces?”

“Who rules them in fact, or rules them by a signet pressed to a dollop of molten wax?” Teralind said testily.

“We must have law, Lady, or we shall be nothing but bandits ourselves,” counseled Dunbarth. He smiled behind his curled silver beard. “Well-dressed, rich bandits, but bandits nevertheless.” More laughter. This time Sithel let the laughter build, for it diffused the tension in the tower.

“There is no doubt the Speaker of the Stars bears an ancient claim to the land,” Dunbarth continued, “or that Ergoth has certain rights where so many of its subjects are concerned.”

Sithas lifted his eyebrows at this statement. “Subjects?” he asked quickly. “Are the humans living in the three provinces subjects, therefore, of the emperor of Ergoth?”

“Well, of course,” conceded Teralind. Ulvissen leaned forward to speak to her, but she waved him away. The lady looked perplexed as she realized belatedly that she had contradicted her earlier statement that the bandits were not Ergothians. “What I mean to say is.”

Ulvissen tapped urgently on her shoulder. Teralind turned and snapped, “Stand back, sir! Do not interrupt me!” The seneschal instantly retreated a pace and stood rigidly at attention.

Sithas exchanged a glance with his father, and murmurs arose in the hall. Teralind’s eyes darted around, for she knew she’d made a dangerous admission. She tried to salvage the situation by saying, “There is not a man, woman, or human child in the whole realm of Ansalon who does not owe allegiance to His Imperial Majesty.”

Sithel did not try to speak until the murmuring had subsided. In precise, measured tones, he finally said, “Is it your intention to annex our lands?”

Teralind pushed herself back in her chair and frowned. Beside her, the frail form of Proctor Ulwen moved. He leaned forward slightly and began to shake. Tremors racked his frail body, and Ulvissen moved swiftly to his side. The seneschal snapped his fingers at the human contingent of servants loitering by the grand doors.

“Highness, noble ambassadors, I beg your pardon, but the praetor is seized with an attack,” he announced in an anxious voice. “He must withdraw.”

Dunbarth spread his hands graciously. Sithel stood. “You have our leave to withdraw,” the speaker said. “Shall I send one of our healers to the praetor’s rooms?”

Teralind’s head lifted regally. “We have a doctor of our own, thank you, noble speaker.”

The porters took hold of the rails attached to Ulwen’s chair and hoisted him up. The Ergothian delegation filed out behind him. When they were gone, Dunbarth bowed and led his dwarves out. Sithel dismissed his retainers and was finally alone with his son in the tower.

“Diplomacy is so tiring,” the speaker said wearily. He stood and laid his silver scepter across the throne. “Give me your arm, Sith. I believe I need to rest for a while.”

Tamanier Ambrodel walked beside Lady Nirakina through the palace. They had just come from the guild hall of the stone workers, where Lady Nirakina had viewed the plans for the new Market. It was an orderly, beautifully designed place, but its site and purpose depressed her. “It’s simply wrong,” she told Tamanier. “We are the firstborn race of the world and favored by the gods. As such, it is only right we share our grace with other people, not look upon them as lesser beings.”

Tamanier nodded. “I heartily agree, Lady. When I lived in the wilderness, I saw many kinds of people—Silvanesti, Kagonesti, humans, dwarves, gnomes, kender—and no one lived better than his neighbor for any reason but his own hard work. The land doesn’t care if it’s plowed by human or elf. The rain falls the same on every farm.”

They arrived at the door of Nirakina’s private rooms. Before he left, Tamanier informed her, “I went to see Miritelisina, as you requested.”

“Is she well?” she asked eagerly. “A priestess of such age and wisdom should not be held in a common dungeon.”

“She is well,” Tamanier said, “though unrepentant. She still does not admit to her crime.”

“I do not believe she committed a crime,” Nirakina said with fervor. “Miritelisina was moved by compassion. She only sought to warn the poor refugees of the plan to move them. I’m certain she had no idea they’d riot as they did.”

Tamanier bowed. “I bear the holy lady no ill will. I tell you, though, that she will not repent—even to gain her freedom. Miritelisina believes that by remaining in prison, she will inspire others who want to help the refugees.”

Nirakina gave the young courtier’s arm a squeeze. “And what do you think, Tam? Whose cause do you favor?”

“Do you really have to ask? A short time ago, I was one of the poor wretches—homeless, penniless, despised. They deserve the speaker’s protection.”

“We’ll have to see what we can do to win it,” Nirakina replied warmly.

She went into her rooms, and Tamanier walked away, his step light. With the speaker’s wife fighting for them, the homeless settlers would soon feel the grace of Sithel’s favor. And who knew, perhaps Miritelisina would be freed to resume her good works for the poor.

He left the central tower of the palace and strolled the empty corridor balcony of the east wing.

Suddenly he heard voices. Foreign voices. He’d lived among humans long enough to know their speech.

“—play at this silly game?” complained a woman’s voice, tight with emotion.

“As long as necessary. It’s the emperor’s will,” a man’s strong voice answered.

“The things I do for my father! I hope he appreciates it!”

“He’s paying off your gambling debts, isn’t he?” said the man dryly.

Tamanier knew he shouldn’t eavesdrop, but he was intrigued. He stood very still. Since the humans were in the corridor below him, their voices carried easily to him up the central atrium.

“I don’t trust that Dunbarth,” asserted the woman. “He switches sides like a click beetle.”

“He has no side but his own. Right now Thorbardin isn’t ready for war, so he hopes to play us off against the elves. He’s clever, but I see what he’s doing.”

“He annoys me. So does Prince Sithas. How he stares! They say elves have second sight.” The woman’s voice rose. “You don’t think he’s reading my mind, do you?”

“Calm yourself,” said the man. “I don’t think he can. But if it troubles you, I’ll speak to our friend about it.”

Footsteps echoed on the balcony across the atrium from where Tamanier stood. He tensed, ready to be discovered. The voices below ceased their furtive talk.

Out of the afternoon shadows on the far side of the balcony Tamanier spied the young priest of the Blue Phoenix, Kamin Oluvai. Tamanier was surprised; why was the priest here? Kamin didn’t see him, however, so Tamanier withdrew from the balcony rail. The humans he’d heard were certainly Lady Teralind and Ulvissen, but what did their strange conversation mean?