Margaret Weis - The Second Generation

“Clever, very clever,” Dalamar murmured. “Of course, Rashas fails to mention the fact that Porthios is locked in a prison cell in Silvanesti.”

Tanis stood watching the proceedings in grim silence. His fear for his son was growing. Rashas, it seemed, would stop at nothing. Dalamar had been right. The senator was now in the dutches of the Dark Queen.

Rashas was forging ahead, “And here is the supreme mark of the disdain of Porthios for his people. Show them, Prince Gilthas.”

Gilthas lifted his head. He appeared to hesitate. Rashas said something to him. Gilthas glanced at the man, loathing and hatred in that glance. Then, slowly, he reached his hand into his yellow robes and drew forth the glittering, golden medallion formed in the image of the sun.

Anger, like a gust of wind, swept through the chamber.

The sun medallion was an ancient, holy artifact, handed down through the centuries from one Speaker to his successor. Tanis had no very clear idea what its powers were. These had long been a well-kept secret among the descendants of Silvanos.

How much did Dalamar know about it? Tanis wondered uneasily. And how he had found out? Not that it mattered. The dark elf was right. Porthios would have never voluntarily relinquished the holy medallion.

The White Robe was whispering in Rashas’s ear. Dalamar tensed, but the White Robe was apparently offering advice, not issuing a warning.

“All has been done in accordance with the law,” Rashas said, “but, if some of our younger and more inexperienced members request a vote, then we will allow it.”

The vote took place. Porthios lost, by a considerable majority. The sun medallion had clinched the matter. In the eyes of the elves, Porthios had renounced his own people. The young elves were the only ones to loyally support the absent Speaker.

Rashas proceeded relentlessly. “Leaderless, we turn to another member of the illustrious lineage of Silvanos. It is my pleasure and honor to present Gilthas, son of Lauralanthalasa, daughter of Solostaran, and the next Speaker of the Sun and Stars.”

At a nudge from Rashas, Gilthas bowed to the crowd politely. He was exceedingly pale.

“The Thalas-Enthia has carefully examined the lineage of Prince Gilthas. We find it completely satisfactory.”

“What about the fact that his father’s a half-human?” One of the younger elves was making a final try.

Rashas smiled benignly. “Surely, in these enlightened times, such a factor should not count against the prince. Don’t you agree?”

The young man scowled, unable to answer. He and his cohorts had been neatly caught in their own trap. If they protested against Gilthas further, they would appear as bigoted and rigid as their elders. The young Heads of Household exchanged glances. Then, of one accord, they turned and walked out of the proceedings.

A troubled murmur, like the rumble of thunder, rolled around the chamber. The elves didn’t like this. Some appeared to be having second thoughts. Rashas gave instructions to the White Robe and made a gesture.

Apparently, she was being ordered to go after the rebellious members. She to remonstrate, but Rashas frowned. His gesture was repeated, this time more forcibly.

The White Robe, with a shake of her head, left the rostrum and hurried out of the chamber.

“Thank you, Takhisis!” Dalamar breathed.

Tanis offered a similar prayer to Paladine.

The two slipped forward, began moving cautiously through the crowd.

“Don’t bump into anyone!” Dalamar warned. “We may be invisible, but we’re not wraiths!”

The elves in the chamber were restless, muttering among themselves.

Rashas saw the situation rapidly deteriorating. Obviously, he had to wrap this up swiftly. He called for silence. The elves gradually settled down, gave him their full attention.

“We will proceed with the Taking of the Vow,” he said, casting a sweeping glance around the chamber.

No one said a word in challenge now. Tanis and Dalamar had very nearly reached the rostrum. Gilthas was gripping the rostrum with white—knuckled hands, as if he needed its support to hold him up. He seemed oblivious to what was going on around him. Tanis glided near. He kept fast hold of the magic ring.

Rashas had turned to face Gilthas. “Do you, Gilthas of the House of Solostaran, hereby agree, of your own free will, to take the Vow of the Sun and Stars? To serve your people for the rest of your days as their Speaker?”

Gil’s face was without expression, his eyes lifeless. Moistening parched lips, he opened his mouth.

“No, Son! Stop!” Tanis yanked the ring off.

Gil stared in amazement at his father, who had apparently leapt straight out of nothing.

Tanis grasped hold of his son’s arm. “Take off the sun medallion!” he commanded. “Quickly!”

Dalamar appeared on Gil’s left. The young man looked dazedly from his father to the dark elf. A babble of confused sound broke out, shouts and cries. Gil’s hand closed spasmodically over the medallion.

Rashas, standing next to the young man, said something to him in a low voice.

Tanis ignored the senator. He would deal with him later.

“Gil, take the medallion off,” Tanis repeated quietly, patiently. “Don’t worry! You’ll be safe. I’ve come to bring you home.”

Tanis’s words jolted the young man to action, though not the action Tanis wanted.

Gil pulled himself away from his father’s grasp. The young man was deathly pale, but his voice was strong.

“You are wrong, Father.” Gil glanced at Rashas. “I am already home.”

Rashas began calling out loudly for the guards. At the sound of the commotion, the White Robe wizardess ran into the room.

“Quickly, my friend!” Dalamar urged in a low voice. “Unless you want to see a magical battle that will bring this tower down around our ears!”

“Gil, listen to me,” Tanis began angrily.

“No, Father, you listen to me.” Gilthas was calm. “I know what I’m doing.”

“You’re a child!” Tanis raged. “You have no idea what you’re doing—”

A crimson streak stained Gil’s face, as though Tanis had struck him.

Wordlessly, he gazed at his father, silently asking for his trust, for his understanding. The medallion—holy artifact of the elves—gleamed on his breast, its bright light reflected in blue eyes.

How many times, when Tanis was a child, had he looked up to see that medallion gleaming above him, like the sun itself, far out of reach?

“Take that damn thing off!” He stretched out his hand.

White light flashed like the sun itself exploding. Pain burned through Tanis’s arm, pain terrible enough to burst his heart. He was falling. Strong hands caught him, supported him, and a strong voice was chanting strange words.

He heard, as from a far distance, Gilthas say, “I will take the vow. I will be the Speaker of the Sun and Stars.”

Tanis fought to free himself, but the room grew darker, the darkness began to swirl around him, and he realized, in frustrated despair, that he was trapped inside Dalamar’s magic.

The next instant, Tanis was on his hands and knees, kneeling on a grassy lawn, blinking in the bright sunlight. He was dizzy and half sick, his arm ached, and his hand felt useless and numb. Sitting back on his heels, he stared around. Dalamar stood over him.

“Where in the Abyss are we?” Tanis demanded.

“Hush! Keep quiet!” Dalamar ordered in a low voice. “We are outside Rashas’s house. Put the ring on! Swiftly. Before someone sees us.”

“His house?” Tanis found the ring in a pocket. With his left hand, he struggled to replace the ring on a finger that had no feeling in it. His right arm could move, but it didn’t seem to be his arm. “Why did you bring us here?”