Margaret Weis - The Second Generation

Tanis, struck by the elf’s manner, looked at the captain intently. Was he in agreement with all this? Or was he one of the malcontents? He was young, but then most members of the elven army were young. What did they think about this? Would they back the Thalas-Enthia?... On and on, the questions spun their spiderwebs in Tanis’s brain.

He would have liked to ask, but could think of no way to frame the question. Besides, other soldiers were listening. He might well get the captain in trouble. Tanis mumbled an ungracious thanks.

The captain saluted gravely, then stood waiting to watch Tanis cross the invisible line which divided the elves from the rest of the world.

Tanis took six steps down the path, six steps that were the longest and most difficult he’d ever taken in his life. Six steps, and he was out of Qualinesti. Though the sun shone brightly, his eyes were blinded by tears and a lowering darkness. He heard the captain give a command and heard the soldiers march off.

Tanis wiped his eyes and nose, looked around, and suddenly recalled he was supposed to meet Alhana Starbreeze at this location.

She was nowhere in sight.

“Hey!” Tanis yelled angrily, taking two long, swift strides back toward the border. “Where is Lady Alhana—”

An arrow zipped out the trees, landed at Tanis’s feet. A hairbreadth to the right, and it would have gone through the toe of his boot. He looked up into the trees, but could not see the elven archers. The next arrow, he knew, was aimed at his chest.

“Captain!” he bellowed. “Is this how elves keep their word? I was promised—”

“My friend,” came a gentle voice at his shoulder.

Tanis’s heart lurched. He whipped around and found Dalamar standing at his side.

“I suppose ... I should be used to your dramatic appearances by now,"

Tanis said.

The dark elf smiled. “Actually, I used no magic. I’ve been waiting for you beside the path for the past hour. You were so intent on your shouting that you did not hear me.” He glanced into the leafy branches of the aspen trees.

“Let us remove ourselves from this location. I offer a rather tempting target.

Not that their puny weapons could hurt me, of course, but I do hate wasting my energy.

“I will answer your questions,” he added, seeing Tanis’s frown. “We have much to discuss.”

Tanis cast the elves a final, baleful glance, then accompanied Dalamar in among giant oak trees that stood on the fringes of Darken Wood, now haunted more in legend than in fact. The shadows were cooling. In a clearing, Dalamar had spread a white cloth. There was wine and bread and cheese. Tanis sat down, drank some wine, but couldn’t stomach the food. He kept constant watch on the path.

“I offered Lady Alhana some refreshment before her journey,” Dalamar said, with his irritating habit of answering Tanis’s thoughts. The dark elf settled himself comfortably on a cushion on the grass.

“She’s left then?” Tanis was back on his feet. “Alone?”

“No, my friend. Please, do sit down. I have to strain my neck to look up at you. The lady has a champion, who will accompany her to her destination. Samar is somewhat battered and bloodied, but stalwart and strong for all that.”

Tanis stared, mystified.

“The blood we found on the floor belonged to a Silvanesti warrior-mage,” Dalamar explained. “Samar tried to help Alhana and your son escape. The warrior was being held in a Qualinesti prison as a spy, facing execution. I snatched him right out from under the nose of that White Robe, who’d been sent to guard him.” Dalamar took a sip at his wine. “A most enjoyable experience.”

“Where are they going?” Tanis asked, staring into the trees in the direction of the path that could, for Alhana, lead only to darkness.

“Silvanesti,” said Dalamar.

Tanis protested. “That's crazy! Doesn’t she realize—”

“She realizes, my friend. And I believe we should accompany her. That is why I waited for you. Think a moment, before you refuse. Rashas has looked on the face of rebellion. He knows now that some of his own people may rise up against him. He’s afraid. My dread queen loves those who are afraid, Tanis. Her nails are dug into him deeply, and she will continue to drag him down.”

“What are you saying?” Tanis demanded.

“Only this—it’s bound to occur to Rashas that Porthios is a threat, that exile won’t stop him.”

“That Porthios mustn’t be allowed to live.”

“Precisely. We may already be too late,” Dalamar added offhandedly, with a shrug.

“You keep saying 'we.' You can’t go into Silvanesti. Even with your powers, you’d be hard pressed to fight all the elven magic-users. They’d kill you without hesitation.”

“My people won’t welcome me home with open arms,” Dalamar replied, smiling slyly. “But they can’t stop me from entering. You see, my friend, I’ve been granted permission to visit Silvanesti. For services rendered.”

“You don’t give a damn about Porthios.” Tanis was suddenly angered by the dark elf’s coolness. “What’s your stake in this?”

Dalamar answered with a sidelong glance. “A high one, you may be certain. But don’t expect me to reveal my hand to you. For now, we are partners in this game.” He shrugged again. “What will it be, Tanis Half-Elven? In a snap of my fingers, we could be in your home. You will, of course, want to talk to your wife. Tell Laurana what has happened. She will need to accompany us. She will be most valuable in talking sense to that stiff-necked brother of hers.”

Home. Tanis sighed. He wanted very much to go home, to shut himself up in his fine house and ... do what? What was the point now? What was the use?

“When Alhana reaches Silvanesti,” Tanis said slowly, thinking this through to its bitter conclusion, “the Silvanesti elves will hear of the insult the Qualinesti offered their queen. That will mean bloodshed. Alhana won’t be able to stop it this time. Once, long ago, we elves fought among ourselves. You’re talking about starting another Kinslayer War.”

Dalamar shrugged, unconcerned. “You are behind the time, Tanis. The war has already started.”

Tanis saw the truth of this, saw it with the same vivid clarity he’d seen the vision of Gilthas. Only now, instead of Solinari illuminating the young man’s future, Tanis saw it lit by flame and lightning, saw it stained with blood.

The war would come ... and he would be pitted against his own son.

Tanis closed his eyes. He could see Gil’s face, so young, trying so desperately to be brave, wise....

“Father? Is that you?”

For a moment, Tanis thought the voice was in his mind, that the image of his son had conjured it into being. But the word was repeated, stronger, with a ragged edge of joy and longing.

“Father!”

Gilthas stood on the path, just inside the border of Qualinesti. The white-robed wizardess lurked jealously near him. She did not look pleased to see Tanis. She had obviously not expected to find him here. She laid a firm hand on Gilthas’s arm, appeared ready to whisk him away.

A rustle in the treetops was a warning, all the warning Tanis was likely to receive.

“Tanis!” Dalamar called. “Be careful!”

Tanis ignored him, ignored the White Robe, ignored the elves in the trees with their bows and arrows. He strode toward his son.

Gilthas jerked away from the wizardess’s grasp. She clasped hold of him again, more firmly this time.

An angry flush stained Gilthas’s face, but he swallowed hard. Tanis could see his son choke down his anger, could see—in Gilthas—himself.

Gilthas said something in a low, conciliatory voice.

The White Robe, still looking displeased, removed her hand and backed off. Tanis stepped across the border. Reaching out, he caught hold of his son in his arms.