The Second Generation

“Nor for me,” Dalamar returned coldly. “How do you think it makes me feel to hear, for the first time in all these years, the language of my homeland?” His throat constricted. He was forced to turn away, to stare into the fire, let the heat burn away his sudden, unexpected tears.

Neither answered. He heard them shift uncomfortably.

His unwelcome emotions tamped down, Dalamar turned to face them.

“And so, General, and you, Senator, what do you want of Dalamar the Dark?” he demanded brusquely.

The two stared at him in glowering astonishment, dismayed at his recognition.

“I... I don’t know to whom you are... referring...” The Silvanesti general attempted to bluster his way out.

Dalamar gave the two a sardonic smile.

“Next time you want to travel incognito, I suggest that you, General, remove your ceremonial sword, and that you, Senator, take off your ring of office.”

“I think ... I will sit down,” said the senator, the Qualinesti. He sank into a chair.

The general, the Silvanesti, remained standing, hand on the hilt of the sword that had betrayed him.

“You begin,” the senator said to his companion.

The general crossed his arms over his chest, stood with feet apart. “I must tell you first what I think will be welcome news, even to you, Dalamar."

He spoke the name with the tip of his tongue against his teeth, as if fearful that taking the name into his mouth might poison him. “Silvanesti has at last been reclaimed. Lorac’s evil dream, which held our land in thrall, has been defeated. The few pockets of draconians and goblins holding parts of our land have been routed. Twenty years it took us, but now Silvanesti is ours again. Its beauty has returned.”

“Congratulations,” Dalamar said, his lip curling in a sneer. “So Porthios led you to victory. Yes, you see, I keep up with the politics of my homeland. Porthios, a Qualinesti, married Alhana, Lorac’s daughter, Silvanesti queen. A united elven kingdom—I believe was what the two had in mind. And for the last twenty years, the Qualinesti Speaker of the Sun, Porthios, has risked his life to save the Silvanesti homeland. And he has succeeded. How have you repaid him for his services?”

“He has been imprisoned,” said the general gravely.

Dalamar began to laugh. “How very elven! Imprison the man who saves your miserable lives. What was his crime? No, let me guess. I know Porthios, you see. He never let you Silvanesti elves forget that it was the Qualinesti who had come to your rescue. He spoke often of how the Qualinesti and the Silvanesti would unite, but implied that it would be the Qualinesti who would rule over their weaker brethren. Am I right?”

“Near enough.” The general was not pleased. He could hear plainly the sarcasm in the dark elf’s voice.

Dalamar turned to the senator. “And how do you Qualinesti feel about this? Your Speaker of the Sun imprisoned?”

The senator gasped, tugged on his mask. “This thing is stifling me.” He drew a deep breath, then spoke carefully, “We have no quarrel with the Silvanesti. Their queen, the wife of Porthios, Alhana Starbreeze, is my guest in Qualinost.”

Dalamar sucked in a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “The things I’ve missed, locked away in my dull tower. A 'guest,' you say. A guest who is undoubtedly weary of your hospitality but finds it difficult to leave. What is her crime?”

“This is not generally known, but Alhana Starbreeze is pregnant.” The senator was nervously twisting his ring of office around and around on his finger.

Dalamar was intrigued. “So, after twenty years, the marriage of convenience has heated up, has it? I’m surprised Porthios found the time. Or the inclination.”

“If the child is born in elven lands,” the senator went on, pretending he hadn’t heard, “while the parents rule, the child will be heir to the thrones of both kingdoms. The unification will be complete.”

“This must not be allowed to happen.” The general’s hand clenched over the sword’s hilt.

“And what do you propose to do to stop it?” Dalamar asked. “Assuming murder is not a consideration.”

The senator stiffened in outraged dignity. His silk mask was wet around the forehead and clung to his face. “Exile. Both of them.”

“I see,” said Dalamar. “Like myself.” His voice was soft, bitter. “Death would be kinder.”

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.”