The Qualinesti

17 — A Home Never Seen

Ulvian kicked his way through the waist-high weeds, batting heavy-headed flowers aside in clouds of yellow pollen. It was easy to see which way his father’s mind was turning. Kith-Kanan was so solicitous of this newcomer, this upstart who claimed to be his son. Not once had he asked after Ulvian’s health, asked how he had fared with the scum of Pax Tharkas. All his attention was for Greenhands. And the power this elf wielded! He’d defeated a wyvern, healed Lord Ambrodel, called a band of centaurs.

The prince didn’t care whether Greenhands was truly his brother or not. All Ulvian was concerned about was making sure he received what he considered to be rightfully his—the throne of Qualinesti. The prince could see where this was leading—it was out with Ulvian, in with Greenhands. No wonder his father hadn’t insisted he return to Pax Tharkas. With Greenhands in the picture, it hardly mattered now where Prince Ulvian went.

By now it was fully night, but the red moon, Lunitari, had risen and shone over the flowering plain, lighting his way. Ulvian knew that his father and the others, mounted on those mad centaurs, would catch up with him. He wasn’t trying to run away; he just couldn’t stand the sight of his father fawning over his supposed son. Ulvian was a prince of the blood, by Astra! Let the Speaker try to favor that green-fingered elf over him. Let him try! Ulvian had friends in Qualinost, powerful friends who wouldn’t stand for such a usurpation.

He halted. Green-fingered elf. Elf. Greenhands was a pure-blooded elf, half Silvanesti, half Kagonesti. Humans, elves, and dwarves all lived together in peace now in Qualinesti, but there were always tensions among them. Ancient prejudices were hard to erase. What if Greenhands found favor among a majority of senators because of his purely elven heritage?

Ulvian realized he was stroking his bearded chin. The beard was just one more sign of his mixed blood, of the human heritage that flowed from the mother he had idolized.

If Greenhands were gone, everything would be all right.

So get rid of him.

Ulvian shook his head. It was as if someone had said those words in his mind.

Someone did.

“Stop it!” he said aloud. “What is happening to me? Am I bewitched?”

No, it is I who speaks to you.

“Who are you?” he yelled at the star-laden sky.

We spoke once before. The night Drulethen died, remember? You saved me from the fire.

The voice. Low and softly feminine. Inserting a hand into his shirt, Ulvian felt the onyx amulet there. It was warm from being next to his skin. He drew it out and stared at it in the red moonlight.

“Are you a spirit imprisoned in the amulet?”

I am the amulet itself. Once I served Drulethen. Now I serve you.

A slow smile spread over the prince’s face. His fingers closed tightly around the stone. “Yes! Then your power is mine?”

It will be in time.

“Tell me what to—” Ulvian broke off suddenly. He heard loud swishing noises, as if made by many legs striding through the grass. He shoved the amulet back inside his shirt.

A pair of riderless centaurs appeared. The black one who had been Ulvian’s mount said, “Ho, little cousin. We were sent to look for you. Uncle Speaker wants you back. Will you come?”

Ulvian regarded them with distaste but replied, “I will come.”

The centaur approached him, and the prince climbed on his back. They went bounding away in the grass until they caught up to the rest of the party, hardly a mile distant. The other riders were slumped forward, sleeping. Only Kith-Kanan was awake.

“There’s no reason to run away, Ullie,” he said softly. “I’m not taking you back to punish you.”

Ulvian gripped the belt that formed his centaur’s harness. He forced himself to ask the difficult question. “Why are you taking me to the city, Father?”

“Because I want you there. Putting you in prison only taught you to make friends with criminals like Drulethen. I shall try to give you the guidance I should have given you when you were younger.”

Guidance. He would give Ulvian guidance while installing that rustic on the Throne of the Sun. “That won’t be necessary, Father.” Ulvian’s voice was firm in the darkness. “I intend to pursue a different course once we get back home.” Kith-Kanan studied his son. Darkness and distance separated them from each other, and it was hard to read Ulvian’s expression.

Verhanna and Rufus had ridden ahead to prepare Qualinost for the Speaker’s return and to quell any panic at the sight of wild centaurs entering the city. Kith-Kanan, Kemian, and Ulvian rode together at the head of the little column. Behind them walked Greenhands and the other, riderless centaurs. The green-fingered elf had dismounted several hours earlier, claiming he needed the touch of the living soil on his bare feet.

They topped a treeless rise. Without being told to do so, Koth stopped. Kith-Kanan asked, “What’s the matter, my friend?”

“That place yonder. Is that your city?” asked the awed centaur, pointing ahead.

“That is Qualinost,” the Speaker replied proudly. “Have you never been to a city before?”

“Nay—the smell of so many two-legs is hard for us to bear.”

Kemian raised his hand to cover his mouth and smiled. Five days with centaurs hadn’t made any of them more used to the powerful aroma the creatures gave off.

In the clear air, the capital city of the western elves seemed close enough to touch. The soaring, arched bridges hung from the sky like silver rainbows. The Tower of the Sun was a molten gold spire, a flame leaping from the trees on the plateau. Kith-Kanan could feel the centaur’s muscles tensing.

The sight of Qualinost had brought silence to the boisterous band. A feeling of joy filled the Speaker’s heart.

“Onward, cousins,” said Koth at last, lurching into motion. They descended the rise and soon entered a band of forest land. The centaur leader broke out into song. Rufus and Verhanna would have recognized it, for they had heard it before:

“Child of oak, newly born, Walks among the mortals mild.

Kith-Kanan was intrigued. He let the centaurs sing through the entire song once before he interrupted to ask, “Did you just make that up?”

“An ancient ode, it is,” replied Koth. “Sung by uncles who died before I was a colt. Do you like it?”

“Very much.”

The forest had given way to rolling hills, many tilled by farmers. The dirt road suddenly became paved with pounded cobbles. Other travelers on the road gave the caravan of centaurs wide berth. When they recognized Kith-Kanan, many set up a cheer.

The people grew more numerous. By the time the party reached the high cliffs overlooking the river that formed the city’s eastern boundary, throngs of people had turned out to see the return of the Speaker of the Sun. The added spectacle of their Speaker riding on a centaur only increased their excitement.

The Qualinesti cheered and waved. Amused, the centaurs bellowed back their own hearty greetings. They came to the central bridge over the river, and the Guards of the Sun were drawn up in two lines, holding back the enthusiastic crowds.

“Hail, Speaker of the Sun! Hail, Kith-Kanan!”

Koth’s front left hoof stepped down on the hundred-foot-long, suspended rope bridge. It swayed dizzyingly. He looked down into the deep river gorge and rolled his dark eyes. “Not good, cousin! We Kothlolo are not squirrels, to scamper on high!”

“The bridge is quite safe,” Kith-Kanan countered. “It’s used by hundreds daily.”

“Two-legs are too foolish to be afraid,” he muttered. “But a bargain is a bargain! He threw wide his thick arms and let out a bellow that silenced the assembled Qualinesti. Kith-Kanan tightened his grip on the strap around the centaur’s waist, wondering what this yelling portended.

Still bellowing, Koth tore across the bridge at a blistering gallop, with Kith-Kanan holding on for dear life. The other centaurs set up a similar roar and, one by one, dashed across the bridge. By the time the last one reached the plateau and city gate, the crowds were cheering them on wildly.

“Who is brave? Who is strong? Who is fast?” roared Koth.

“Kothlolo!” answered the massed centaurs in deafening shouts.

Kith-Kanan slid off the horse-man’s back. “My friend, I would walk to the Speaker’s house now to be among my people. Will you follow?”

“Of course! There is a reward waiting. We traveled from Kharolis to city in five days!”

Kemian and Ulvian dismounted also. Flower petals and whole bouquets fell around them. Smiling broadly, Kith-Kanan drew Greenhands forward. “Walk with me,” he said in his son’s ear. Ulvian waited for a similar invitation, but none was forthcoming.

Arm in arm, Kith-Kanan and Greenhands went down the street, trailed by Kemian, Ulvian, and the centaurs. The upper windows in every tower stood open, and elven and human women waved white linens as the Speaker strode past. The falling flower petals became so thick on the pavement that the underlying cobbles were lost from view. Elves, humans, half-humans, dwarves, and a kender or two cheered and waved all along the sweeping route to the Speaker’s house. Kith-Kanan waved back. He looked at Greenhands. The younger elf seemed dazzled by the sheer size and magnitude of the greeting. The Speaker realized his son had never seen so many people before at once. The noise and outpouring of affection drew them on.

“Majesty, did Lady Verhanna announce the coming of your newfound son?” asked Kemian. Kith-Kanan shook his head. “Then why are they cheering him?”

“My people know who he is,” said the Speaker confidently. “They can see it in his face, in his bearing. They are cheering the next Speaker of the Sun.”

Lord Ambrodel grinned. Ulvian, just behind the general, heard every word his father said, but he plodded resolutely onward. Every joyous cry, every tossed bouquet, was yet another nail driven into the coffin of his desires.

They paraded past the Hall of the Sky. The slopes of the hill were likewise covered with Qualinesti, shouting and cheering. Each tree boasted several children who had climbed up for a better view.

In the square before the Speaker’s house, Verhanna, Rufus, and Tamanier Ambrodel waited, flanked on both sides by the household servants and the remaining Guards of the Sun. Kith-Kanan went ahead of Greenhands, who hesitated at the foot of the steps. The Speaker stepped briskly up to the landing in front of the polished mahogany doors. He clasped arms with Tamanier Ambrodel and received a salute from Lord Parnigar, who had kept order in his absence. Kith-Kanan turned and faced the crowd, which gradually fell silent in expectation of a speech.

“People of Qualinost,” he proclaimed, “I thank you for the warmth of your greeting. I am weary, and your affection makes me strong again.

“I have been to the high mountains, first to inspect the Fortress of Peace, later to put an end to an evil sorcerer who had long plagued those regions. Now that I have returned, I do not plan to leave you again any time soon.”

He smiled and fresh cheers erupted from ten thousand throats. The Speaker held up his hands.

“More than that, I have brought with me someone new, someone very close to me. A long time ago, when I was merely the second son of the Speaker of the Stars, I had a wife. She was Kagonesti.”

There were loud hurrahs from the wild elves in the crowd. “Our time together was short, but our love was not in vain. She left for me a most precious gift—a son.” The multitude held its collective breath as Kith-Kanan descended the mahogany steps and took Greenhands by the hand. He led him up to the landing.

“People of Qualinost! This is my son,” Kith-Kanan shouted, his heart full. “His name is Silveran!”

Through the roar that followed, Verhanna stepped close to her father and asked, “Silveran? Where did that name come from?”

“I chose it on the way here,” said Kith-Kanan. He held his son’s green-hued hand aloft. “I hope you like it, Son.”

“You are my father. It is for you to name me.”

“Silveran! Silveran!” the crowd chanted.

Kith-Kanan wanted very much to tell his people the rest of it. Silveran was his heir; he would be the next Speaker of the Sun. But he couldn’t simply announce his decision, though he knew in his heart that Silveran was the best and wisest choice. Many people had to be consulted, even his political foes. The stability of the Qualinesti nation came first, even before his personal pride and happiness. He knew, too, that Ulvian would take the news very hard.

After receiving the cheers of the crowd for some time, Kith-Kanan led his family into the Speaker’s house. Rufus and the Ambrodels, father and son, followed. The crowd began to disperse.

“Sire, what am I to do with the, ah, centaurs?” asked Tamanier, as the Kothlolo crowded up the steps to the double doors.

“Make them comfortable,” Kith-Kanan replied. “They have done me a signal service.”

Tamanier looked askance at the band of rowdy centaurs who filled the antechamber. Their unshod hooves skidded on the smooth mosaic and polished wood floor, but they moved in eagerly, delighted by the strange sights and sensations of the Speaker’s house. As Kith-Kanan ascended the steps on his way to his private rooms, his castellan sent for troops of servants to deal with the centaurs. Amidst all the hubbub, no one noticed Prince Ulvian slip away from the royal family and disappear through the rear of the antechamber.

The prince strode furiously down the corridor that led to the servants’ quarters, to a room used by the household scribes. The room was windowless and stood empty, as he knew it would be; everyone was in the streets, celebrating. When he shut and bolted the door, Ulvian had complete privacy. He turned up the wick on a guttering lamp and sat down at the scribes’ table. With shaking hands, he took the amulet from his clothing and set it on the table before him.

“Speak,” he said in a loud whisper. “Speak to me!”

Ulvian could barely form the words, so angry was he. Angry and, though he could hardly admit it even to himself, afraid. The prince was terrified by the adulation and acceptance Greenhands had received from the people of Qualinost. First he’d been banished to Pax Tharkas to be beaten and humiliated by the grunt gang, then he’d been terrorized by a lying sorcerer, and now, when all that he wanted should be within his grasp, now there was Greenhands.

The amulet was silent. The only voices Ulvian could hear were those of the people in the streets outside, still rejoicing.

“Are you trying to drive me mad?” he shrieked, flinging the onyx talisman against the far wall. It bounced off and rolled away. Ulvian buried his face in his hands.

I am not your servant. I do not come when ordered, said a haughty, cold voice inside the prince’s head.

He raised up with a jerk. “What? Are you there?”

You must learn self-discipline. This anger of yours gets out of control and serves you ill. Drulethen did not lose his temper so readily.

Ulvian got down on his knees and felt under the shelves loaded with scrolls. His fingers found the amulet. It was warm to the touch, like a living thing.

“Dru wasn’t so superior,” said the prince, shifting around to sit on the floor.

Yes, I know, his killer is the one who has stolen your birthright.

Ulvian set the amulet on the floor. “Greenhands,” he said with a sneer. “Now called Silveran—as if he deserves a royal name.”

He is your father’s son, but there is more to him than his ancestry. The power dwells within him. It is a danger to us.

“What power?”

The ancient power of order, which brings life to the world. It is not of the gods, but a more elemental force.

The prince shook his head. “This theology means nothing to me. All I want is what I was promised from birth: my place on the throne!”

Then Greenhands must die.

Put so bluntly, the idea gave Ulvian pause. He pondered the possibility for a long time and finally said, “No, Greenhands must not die. No matter how subtly it was done, suspicion would fall on me. That must not happen. I want this upstart discredited, not killed. I want the people, including my father, to want me on the throne.” His jaw clenched, he added in a whisper, “Especially my father.”

It was the amulet’s turn to fall silent. Then it said, You are a worthy successor to Drulethen.

Ulvian smiled, basking in the praise. “I shall surpass that lowborn sorcerer in every way,” he said smugly.

“I am most pleased to meet you, Prince Silveran.”

Senator Irthenie bowed to Kith-Kanan and his son. They were in the outer hall of the Thalas-Enthia tower. The Speaker was about to present his newest son to the senators of Qualinesti, and he knew they weren’t going to be as enthusiastic as the common folk had been.

The Kagonesti woman studied Silveran closely. He was dressed in a simple white robe, with a green sash at his waist. His long hair shone in the late morning sunlight that poured through the windows. “The public display yesterday was very clever,” said Irthenie. “How did you accomplish it?”

The elf once known as Greenhands gave her a blank look and said, “I don’t understand. I was very happy when I entered the city. The people were friendly to me. That’s all I know.”

“My son has certain gifts,” Kith-Kanan remarked. “They come from his mother’s side of the family.”

Verhanna, standing back by the wall, raised her eyebrows.

“A very useful talent,” Irthenie said. “But can he rule, Majesty? That is your plan, I know. Can this innocent in a grown elf’s body rule the nation?”

Kith-Kanan adjusted the folds of his creamy white robe distractedly. “He will learn. I—we—shall teach him.”

The rumble on the other side of the thick obsidian wall was the debate already raging about the Speaker’s new son and possible heir. The Loyalists were outraged, the New Landers were doubtful, and the Friends of the Speaker were completely in the dark about what to say or do.

“Where is Prince Ulvian?” Irthenie asked. “Why isn’t he here?”

“He’s sulking,” Verhanna snorted. “I offered to drag him here by his heels, but Father wouldn’t let me.”

“The Speaker has a kind heart and a wise mind. There is real danger in alienating Prince Ulvian and those who support him. I have not served this nation so long to see it torn apart by a dynastic war.”

“Do you think it will come to war?” asked Verhanna, sensitive to the larger issues.

“Not really,” the senator admitted. “The Loyalists want to exploit Ulvian in the name of tradition, for their own greed, but none of them would choose to die for him.”

“I pray you are right,” said the Speaker softly.

The ceremonial doors of the senate swung outward, and the steward of the chamber announced, “The Thalas-Enthia humbly requests that the Speaker of the Sun enter their house and address them.”

The ritual invitation was a signal to Kith-Kanan that the fight was at hand. Adjusting the drape of his clothing once more, the Speaker said quietly to Silveran, “Are you ready, Son?”

The young elf was quite composed, having no conception of the fight that lay ahead. “I am, Father.”

The Speaker raised an eyebrow at Irthenie. “Ready for yet another battle, my old friend?”

Hitching her wide, beaded belt off her narrow hips, the Kagonesti woman replied, “I say give them no quarter, Great Speaker.” Her eyes gleamed.

Kith-Kanan swept into the hushed senate chamber, followed by Silveran, then Irthenie. Verhanna remained outside. As the steward moved to close the huge, balanced doors, she heard the first voices rising in anger from within. Unable to bear the suspense of waiting here but having no desire to sit in on what she considered pointless arguing, Verhanna left the Thalas-Enthia tower and returned to the Speaker’s house.

There she was met by Tamanier Ambrodel, who looked harassed. “Lady,” he pleaded, “if you have any influence with these vulgar centaurs, will you please ask them to get out of the house? They’re wrecking it!”

She winked. “I’ll have a word with uncle Koth.”

The antechamber was in chaos. The centaurs had camped in the open room, changing it from an elegant greeting hall to a fancy stable. Somewhere they’d found some straw, which they had strewn about on the floor to give their hooves better purchase. All the ornamental vases and artfully grown plants had been broken, uprooted, or eaten.

When Verhanna entered, four centaurs were playing catch with a globe of flawless emerald taken from the stair baluster.

She intercepted a toss and caught the emerald. It was weightier than she expected. “Oof !” she grunted, bending low with the ten-inch sphere in her arms.

“Hail, sister cousin!” cried Koth. He sat by the far wall, his legs folded beneath him. A heap of fruit was piled up beside him. On the other side was an equally large pile of gnawed cores. Koth’s face was sticky with juice.

“Hello, uncle,” she said, setting the emerald down on the floor. “You fellows are having quite a good time, aren’t you?”

“This city of yours is paradise!”

The elder centaur burped loudly. “Why, only this morning, I went to the big open place with cousins Whip and Hennoc and found all this lovely fruit!”

She surveyed the small mountain of pears, apples, and grapes. “Did you pay for this, uncle?”

“Pay? Why, as soon as we got to the two-legs who had the fruit, he yelled and ran away! He wanted to make us a gift of this, I am sure.”

Koth polished a dusty pear against his hairy chest and bit into it.

“Look here, uncle. You can’t let all the cousins carry on like this inside the Speaker’s house. It’s, er, causing a bit of a disturbance,” Verhanna said in a kindly tone. “Why don’t you go outdoors? There’s a great deal more room.”

He regarded her with sharp, intelligent eyes. “I think Kothlolo should live under the open sky,” he declared. “City life is making us fat!”

With a few raucous words, he rounded up his band. He spoke a bit longer, and they began to file out of the antechamber.

“You’re not angry, are you?” asked Verhanna as they headed for the doors.

“No, sister cousin. Why should I be? No uncle of mine ever went to a city. I am old and have seen more than I might have seen. I am content.”

Outside, in the square before the Speaker’s house, a group of four Kagonesti elves waited with a small, donkey-drawn cart. Tamanier Ambrodel was talking with one of the Kagonesti. When Verhanna and the centaurs appeared, the castellan approached them.

“Ahem,” he said. “His Majesty Kith-Kanan would like me to present you with this gift.”

With a sweep of his arm, Tamanier indicated the four elves and cart. “These Kagonesti are farriers. They will teach you and your people about shoeing. The Speaker thought that if your people were shod with iron shoes, you could travel farther and have less problem with worn and cracked hooves.”

Koth descended the steps to the square and approached the chief farrier. “We will wear iron, like elf horses?” he asked with curiosity.

“If it pleases you,” replied Tamanier, nervously stepping back by Verhanna.

The elder centaur lifted a horseshoe from the farriers’ cart. The four Kagonesti farriers regarded the horse-man speculatively, as if already sizing him for shoes.

All at once, Koth yelled and lifted the horseshoe over his head. He spoke a long stream of centaur talk at his band, and they raised a cheer, crowding around the cart.

The four farriers got on their cart and led the band of centaurs away to their smithy. The Kothlolo followed with shouted good-byes and boisterous waves, except for one. A lone centaur remained behind. It was the dapple-gray lady centaur who had carried Rufus from the mountains to the city.

She approached Verhanna. “Sister cousin,” she said slowly, as if searching for words in the unfamiliar Elven language. “Please thank for me littlest cousin Rufus!” She smiled triumphantly but Verhanna lifted puzzled eyebrows at her.

“Thank him? For what?” asked the warrior maiden.

In reply, the lady centaur patted a yellow sash she’d wound around her muscular human waist. After staring at it for a few seconds, understanding dawned on Verhanna. It was the same sash Rufus had used as a centaur harness on their wild ride to the city. The lady centaur had admired it, and the kender must have made her a present of it.

Verhanna smiled and nodded her agreement. The lady centaur whirled in a tight circle, her long white tail swishing out behind her, and trotted off to catch up to her comrades.

The warrior maiden stared after her. For some reason, she found herself wishing she could go back to the plains or the high mountains with them. They had no worries, no responsibilities, and ran wherever the wind took them. In the wilderness, you could fight your enemies with a sword, something Verhanna understood. Here in Qualinost, foes were not so clearly defined, and the weapon of choice was words. She had never mastered that form of battle.

Verhanna sat down on the steps. There were a few people moving across the square, and she watched them go about their daily affairs. To her left, the great spire of the Tower of the Sun glinted brightly. The dark stripe that was the tower’s shadow crept across the square away from the Speaker’s house. In a few hours, at sunset, it would blanket the entrance of the Thalas-Enthia, She wondered how long her father and Silveran would have to argue and maneuver with the crafty senators there. It could be hours or days…perhaps even weeks.

Yes, sometimes the simple life of the wilderness seemed very appealing.

When the meeting broke up, the news radiated outward from the senate hall in ever-widening circles, so that by a few hours after sunset, the entire city knew that the senate had accepted Kith-Kanan’s testimony that Silveran was his true son. The last bit of convincing evidence presented to the senate had been the testimony of the scribe Polidanus, reading from the copied archives of Silvanos the tale of the elf noble Thonmera. Thonmera was one of the original members of the legendary Synthal-Elish, the council that had been the foundation of the first elven nation several millennia ago. It was written that he had been born sixty years after his mother’s official death. Apparently the sorcerer Procax had cast a spell on Thonmera’s mother because she had refused the magician’s offers of love. Procax turned the elf woman into stone. Sixty years later, when Thonmera’s father had the stone image of his dead wife moved to his newly built home, the laborers dropped it. The stone image shattered, and the living infant form of Thonmera was discovered.

The Loyalists were completely defeated. Indeed, the tale of Thonmera undercut their entire position. Senator Clovanos and his cronies had made a great show of proclaiming themselves loyal to the traditions of the elven race. What could be more traditional, Irthenie demanded, than the birth of a member of the great Synthal-Elish?

Throughout the debate, Kith-Kanan sat quietly, not indulging in the raucous verbal maneuvers. The Speaker left it to Irthenie and his other friends to put forth his case. He answered occasional questions put to him, but by and large he remained in the background.

In the end, by a vast majority, the Thalas-Enthia gave its approval to Silveran as the Speaker’s son. Kith-Kanan did not press right away for the issue of succession, though everyone in the hall had no doubt that was his ultimate goal.

The dying rays of sunlight streamed in the high window slots in the chamber as the session ended. Senators stretched and yawned, rising from their hard marble seats to go to their homes. The Loyalists filed out silently, utterly dejected. Many of the New Landers came forward to offer their congratulations to Kith-Kanan for finding his long-lost son. He remained to speak to all of them, thanking each one personally for his or her vote of confidence.

Finally only Irthenie was left. Her hands shook and her legs were weak from the long, hard afternoon’s work. Kith-Kanan put an arm around her tiny waist and supported her with his strength.

“You’re about to collapse,” he said, concerned. “Shall I send for a litter to carry you home?”

“I can carry myself home,” she snapped, jerking away from his encircling arm. The Speaker of the Sun retreated from the old elf woman’s ire. “I may be tired, but I’m not senile yet!”

“That you are not,” agreed Kith-Kanan. He watched Irthenie’s painful progress up the chamber steps to ground level, then out the open doors. A warm wind blew into the hall, flapping the Speaker’s robe and stirring Silveran’s loose, long hair.

“You’ve been very quiet,” said Kith-Kanan to his son.

“In truth, Father, I haven’t understood one word in ten.” He pressed his hands to his temples. “Never have I heard so many words spoken at one time! It makes my head reel to remember it!”

His father smiled. “The good senators do like to talk. But the wellborn and the important should talk to each other and argue their points of view. It’s far better than settling their disputes with blades, as was the case in Silvanost in my father’s day.”

“Talking is better than fighting,” repeated Silveran, impressing the concept on his mind.

“And right now food is better than both,” Kith-Kanan sighed, putting an arm across his son’s shoulders. “A plump chicken, a loaf of fresh bread, and some fine Qualinesti nectar should do nicely.”

“I’m hungry, too.”

Father and son mounted the shallow steps and passed out of the hall. The rose quartz outer walls of the tower burned in the setting sun, and the full weight of summer leaves tossed back and forth on the trees as the wind stirred through them.

“I will teach you all I know,” Kith-Kanan promised. He held his head up, letting the sun wash over his face. His regal robe, rumpled by the long afternoon of sitting, flashed white satin highlights as he walked. “You will be a great Speaker of the Sun.”

Silveran was quiet for several minutes as they crossed the square toward the Speaker’s house. They were unescorted by warriors and unburdened by pomp. The green-fingered elf lifted his own face to the warmth of the sun and shook his hair out of his eyes.

“Father,” he said, at last, “I believe this is what my mother wanted.”

“I believe so, too,” Kith-Kanan murmured. “I believe you were sent so that the nation of Qualinesti would not die. You are its future.”

As the Speaker and his son moved through the people who were finishing the day’s chores, they were greeted by bows and smiles and happy voices.

“Long live the Speaker,” said a human woman whose arms were laden with freshly cut flowers.

“Long live Prince Silveran!” added two nearby elves.

It was a fine day, a fine evening. At the door of the Speaker’s house, Kith-Kanan saw Tamanier Ambrodel waiting for him. He sent Silveran on ahead into the house. When his son was gone, Kith-Kanan asked his castellan why he was so happy.

“How do you know I’m happy, sire?” asked the surprised Tamanier.

“Your face is an open scroll,” the speaker replied. “I can read your every emotion. Now, what is it?”

“The centaurs have received their reward and left the house,” Tamanier reported.

Kith-Kanan sighed. “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to bid them farewell. They were staunch friends when we needed them. Such allies must be treasured.” He passed a hand before his eyes. “My head aches, Tam. Have the apothecary send up a soothing draft with dinner.”

Tamanier bowed. He watched the Speaker ascend the stairs to his private rooms to join young Silveran for their meal. How old he seems this evening, the castellan thought. The expedition against Drulethen had taken a great deal out of Kith-Kanan. But with a new son and plenty of rest, he would recover quickly.