Margaret Weis - The Second Generation

The senator frowned. “Are you implying—”

“I imply nothing.” Dalamar shrugged. “Merely making a comment. But I don’t quite see how I fit into this neat little treasonous plot of yours. Unless you are offering me the rulership of the elves?”

The two regarded him in horror, eyes wide and staring. “Please, gentlemen, you take yourselves too seriously!” Dalamar laughed, reassuring. “I spoke in jest, nothing more.” Both appeared relieved, but still somewhat suspicious. “House Protector will rule Silvanesti, until such time as a member of House Royal is deemed prepared to take over,” said the general. “House Protector has ruled Silvanesti for these past twenty years, while we fought the dream. My people are accustomed to martial law. And they don’t like Porthios.”

“As for the Qualinesti. . . ” The senator hesitated. He glanced uneasily down the staircase.

“Don’t worry,” said Dalamar. “Jenna isn’t the sort to eavesdrop. And, believe me, she has little interest in the politics of the elven kingdoms.”

“This is far too delicate a matter to take the chance of word leaking out,” the senator said, and he beckoned Dalamar near.

The dark elf, looking amused, shrugged and walked over. Coming as close to Dalamar as the senator could without actually touching him, the Qualinesti elf spoke in a low and urgent voice.

Dalamar listened, smiled, and shook his head. “You know, of course, that there will be a problem with the parents.”

“That is where you can be of inestimable help to us,” the senator said.

“You being his father’s friend,” the general added. Dalamar considered the matter. His gaze shifted from one elf to the other, measuring their determination, their resolve. Both bore his gaze stolidly.

“Very well.” Dalamar agreed. “I will deal with my friend, see to it that neither he nor his wife interfere. But my help will cost you.”

The senator waved a deprecating hand. “Our coffers are well filled. Name your price—”

Dalamar scoffed. “What do I need with more wealth than I already possess? I could probably buy and sell Qualinesti itself! No, this is my price.”

He paused, let them sweat, then said softly, “A month in my homeland.”

The senator was startled at first; then, thinking about it, he was relieved. Dalamar was Silvanesti, after all. He would be spending a month in Silvanost.

The general had the same thought. His jaw worked. He was almost gibbering with fury.

“Out of the question!” he managed to snarl. “Impossible! You are mad to ask such a thing!”

Dalamar turned away. “Then, gentlemen, our business is at an end.”

The senator rose swiftly, took hold of the other elf’s shoulder. The two began a heated discussion.

Dalamar, smiling, walked back to the fire. He was seeing, in his memory, the beautiful trees of his homeland. He heard the birds singing, walked among the wondrous flowers. He lay in the fragrant grass, felt the sun warm on his face. He breathed fresh air, ran through lush meadows. He was young, innocent, without stain or shadow....

“A month only,” the senator said. “No longer.”

“I swear by Nuitari,” Dalamar vowed, and enjoyed watching the two wince at his naming of the god of dark magic.

“You will come and go in secret,” the senator continued. “No one must know. No one must see you. You will speak to no one.”

“I agree.”

The senator looked at the general.

“I suppose there’s no help for it,” the general muttered ungraciously.

“Excellent,” Dalamar said briskly. “Our business is concluded satisfactorily. Let us seal it, as custom demands.”

Walking over, he took hold of each elf and kissed each of them on the cheek. The general could barely contain himself. He went rigid at the touch of the cool, dry lips. The senator flinched as though a snake had bitten him. But neither drew back. They had asked for this alliance. They didn’t dare offend.

“Now, my brothers,” said Dalamar pleasantly, “tell me the plan."

Tanis Half-Elven had been searching throughout his house for his wife. He finally discovered her in the library on the second floor. She was seated near the window, in order to catch the last rays of the afternoon sun. He heard the scratching of her pen across parchment before he saw her, and he smiled to himself.

He had caught her this time.

Soft-footed, he padded up to the door and peered inside. She sat in a pool of sunlight, her head bowed, working with such concentration that he knew he could have stomped up the stairs and she would not have heard him.

He paused a moment to admire her, to realize—awed and wondering—that she loved him as he loved her, a love their years of marriage had strengthened, not diminished.

Her long, golden hair was brushed loose and tumbled over her shoulders, down her back. Usually, these days, she wore her hair pulled back, the shining strands twisted in a chignon at the base of her neck. The severe style suited her; gave her an air of dignity and stature quite useful in negotiations with the humans, who (those who did not know her) sometimes tended to treat the youthful-looking elven woman like a child—well-meaning but interfering in adult affairs.

That generally lasted for only about fifteen minutes, by which time Laurana had them sitting up and taking notice. How could they have forgotten she’d been a general during the War of the Lance? That she had led men to war? Well, twenty-some years had passed, and humans had short memories. When they left her presence, they had remembered. She was the diplomat of the family; her husband was the planner. They worked well together as a team, for Laurana was quick to glide in smoothly where Tanis would have trampled roughshod. And he could offer her insight into the human mind and heart—two areas she sometimes found baffling.

She was beautiful, so beautiful that Tanis’s heart ached to look at her. And they were together. Not for long. The human blood in his veins was burning up the elven. He had already lived far more years than any human, but he would not enjoy the long life span of the elves. Some already mistook Laurana for his daughter. The day would come when they would mistake her for his granddaughter. He would age and die while she remained a relatively young woman. Such a shadow might have darkened their relationship. For them, it deepened it.

And, then, there was Gil. Their son—new life, created from love.

“Got you!” Tanis shouted triumphantly and bounded into the room.

Laurana gasped, jumped. A guilty flush spread over her face. Hastily, in considerable confusion, she attempted to hide the writing by covering the paper with another blank sheet.

“What is that?” Tanis demanded, glaring at her in mock severity.

“Only a list,” Laurana ventured, shuffling more papers on the desk. “A list... of things I have to do while we’re home—No! Tanis, stop it!”

He made a deft grab and snatched the paper out from beneath her hand. Laughing, she tried to recapture it by capturing him, but he backed out of her reach.

“ 'My dear Sir Thomas,' ” he read, ” 'I would once again urge you to reconsider your stance against the Unified Nations of the Three Races treaty—' “

Tanis shook the paper accusingly at his wife. “You were working!”

“Just a letter to Sir Thomas,” Laurana protested, her flush deepening.

“He’s wavering. He’s nearly ready to come over to our side. I thought perhaps a nudge—”

“No nudging,” Tanis intoned. He hid the letter behind his back. “You promised. You made me promise! No work. We’re home at last, after a month on the road. This is to be our time—yours and mine and Gil’s.”