Douglas Niles - The Puppet King

The griffons swept closer, and Gilthas could see that these were elves. In the woods beyond them, more griffons were at rest, though some of the creatures lifted their heads or made sharp squawks to acknowledge the arrival of their two fellows.

With a suddenness that almost pitched him from the saddle, Gilthas’s steed swooped down and skidded to a halt on the dry ground at the edge of the lake. Immediately hard-faced elves raced forward, flanking him with swords drawn.

“Get down!” one of them barked. “Quickly!”

Gilthas did so, scrambling from the saddle, kicking out of the stirrups, and somehow coming to rest on his feet. He noticed that Kerianseray had dismounted smoothly and was welcoming the embrace of a tall, fierce Kagonesti. That warrior, whose face, chest, and limbs were covered with the whorls and leaves of black tattoos, stared over Kerian’s head at Gilthas, his expression cold and unreadable.

Trying to summon what he could of his dignity, Gilthas straightened up and looked stiffly over the assembled elves.

These were a mix of wild elves and crudely dressed Qualinesti, the latter wearing leather leggings and cloth tunics to set them apart from the Kagonesti, who wore loincloths. One of the Qualinesti, a golden-haired male with stern features, his mouth locked in a harsh frown, stepped forward from the throng.

Gilthas was certain this was Porthios.

“Greetings, Uncle,” began the young Speaker. “I am grateful that you have agreed to see me.”

“You should be,” Porthios snapped. “For by many accounts, you are the one who has stolen my medallion and my throne, who purports to lead my people but is really the tame lackey of the Thalas-Enthia!”

Gilthas felt the sting of the words, used all his willpower not to recoil. “I had no part in seeking this throne,” he retorted, his eyes searching through the elves beyond Porthios, seeking one particular face. “Instead, it was thrust upon me—after it had already been taken from you!—and I donned the medallion to avoid an even darker alternative.”

“What alternative is darker than betrayal? Than exile?” growled the former Speaker of the Sun.

“The murder of a princess... the loss of an unborn child’s life,” Gilthas said, his tone softening as he found the person he sought. “Hello, my queen. I am glad to see that you are well.”

“Hello, Gilthas,” Alhana replied with a smile. She stepped forward, taking her husband’s arm in a gesture that seemed incongruously tender in contrast to Porthios’s harsh words. “And I am glad to see you healthy as well.”

“Tell me why you wanted to see me,” Porthios demanded, clearly vexed by his wife’s friendliness with the young elf.

“Because I admire what you have done, and I despise what has happened in Qualinesti. You might be interested to know that your victory over a wing of the Dark Knights’ army resulted in a general’s execution. I have heard that Lord Ariakan himself found your attack embarrassing and disconcerting.”

“And who is Lord Ariakan? Is he your new master?” The outlaw captain seemed determined to be rude.

Gilthas stiffened. “My admiration was based on an account of your actions and a genuine interest in seeing if there was something, anything, I could do to help you. However, I have no interest in being insulted and ridiculed. I can leave right now!”

“No,” Porthios growled, “you can’t. Not unless you know how to persuade the griffons to obey you.”

Gilthas felt a nervous surge in his gut and knew that the other elf spoke the truth. Still, he tried to cover his anxiety with bluster. “Am I your prisoner, then? This journey was a ruse on your part to work my capture?”

“Why should we take risks like this? You wouldn’t be worth the trouble,” Porthios said with a sneer.

“Then why am I here?” Gilthas retorted, getting hotter by the second. “Why did you let me come?”

“Because you know things about the Dark Knights... things that I need to know. You were right, in a sense. You might be able to help me.”

“Come, Husband. This is not a matter to be discussed while we stand here and wait for the sun to reach its zenith,” Alhana said gently. She had not let go of his arm, and now she gently pulled him through a half circle while she turned to Gilthas. “Join us for a bite of food... and we can sit, as conferring elves should.” She looked chidingly back to Porthios. “Not stand around like human bulls getting ready to fight a duel.”

Gilthas followed, aware that Kerian was walking behind him, still arm in arm with the glowering Kagonesti warrior. Lining their route into the forest were many other elves, and it did not escape the young Speaker’s notice that there was not a friendly face in the lot.

All of which made Alhana’s graciousness an exceptional relief. She led them to a small clearing, merely a bare patch of forest floor surrounded by the trunks of many massive trees. It was almost as though a natural room had been formed here in the woods. Stern warriors stood at the gaps between the trees, giving some measure of privacy to the elves who entered the enclosed space.

They included Porthios and Alhana, Gilthas, several other elven warriors, and Kerian and the Kagonesti brave who had not left her side since their arrival. Gilthas was further pleased to recognize the warrior-mage Samar, who with Tanis had aided Alhana’s escape. So far as the Speaker had known, Samar had been killed during the queen’s first, ill-fated attempt at escape.

“No... I was saved by healer magic,” Samar explained easily. “And in our second attempt, we were more careful, though I regret that we were not able to get you away with us.”

“Sometimes I wish you had,” Gilthas admitted, allowing himself a moment of glum honesty.

“You tried to escape? ” Porthios asked skeptically “Rashas was holding his prospective Speaker prisoner?”

“I told you, Husband,” Alhana interjected with a touch of exasperation. “It was only the threat against my life that forced Gilthas to take on the medallion and the throne of the Speaker.”

“It’s true,” Gilthas insisted, trying to be pleasant, though he admitted to himself that he was tired of Porthios’s scorn and irritated with the outlaw prince constantly questioning his motives. “Rashas showed me an archer, one of his Kagonesti slaves, who held a bow drawn, an arrow aimed at your wife’s heart. He made it clear that he would give the order to shoot if I showed any hesitation.”

A question suddenly occurred to the young elf, and he fixed his eyes upon Porthios with a hint of challenge. “And that medallion still bore the enchantment of the sun... that meant that you gave it up willingly! Why?”

The prince glowered and flushed, but finally shrugged in resignation. “Rashas used the same tactic against me,” Porthios admitted. “I gave it up to spare Alhana’s life.”

“Then take it back!” Gilthas urged suddenly, impetuously. “I would willingly return it to you, and you can have the throne again!”

Porthios shook his head firmly. “I’m an outlaw, remember? My days of living in Qualinost, in any elven city, are behind me!”

“If that’s the case—if you accept the judgment of the Thalas-Enthia that you’ve been exiled—then why do you choose to dwell in the Qualinesti forests?” Gilthas shot back, his chin jutting forward in challenge.

The older elf blinked, then allowed himself a tight smile. “I see the pup is finding his bark.” His expression darkened. “But my reasons are my own, and I have no intention of justifying them to you.”

Gilthas shrugged. “It’s not necessary that you do. But I would have expected your actions to make a little more sense, that’s all.”