The Second Generation

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.”

“I know.” As Laurana hung her head, her hair drifted about her in a radiant cloud. “I’m sorry.” She sidled near him, put her hands on his chest, and playfully smoothed his shirt collar. “I promise. I won’t do it again.”

She kissed his bearded cheek. He started to kiss her, but at that moment she reached around him, caught hold of the letter, and snatched it from his grasp. Of course, he couldn’t refuse such a challenge. He caught hold of her and the letter.

The letter eventually fluttered to the floor, forgotten.

The two stood by the window, warm and comfortable in each other’s arms.

“Damn and blast it all!” Tanis swore, nuzzling his chin in his wife’s golden hair. “Look—there’s a stranger riding up the road.”

“Oh, not a guest!” Laurana sighed.

“A knight, by the horse’s trappings. We’ll have to entertain him. I should go down—”

“No, don’t!” Laurana clasped her husband tighter. “If you go, you’ll be courtesy-bound to invite him in and this knight will consider himself courtesy-bound to stay. There goes Gil up to meet him. Gil can handle him.”

“Are you sure?” Tanis was doubtful. “Will he know how to act, what to say? The boy’s only sixteen—”

“Give him a chance,” Laurana said, smiling.

“We can’t afford to insult the knights now, of all times ...” Tanis gently put aside his wife’s arms. “I think I’d better go—”

“Too late. He’s riding away,” Laurana reported.

“There, what did I tell you?” Tanis was grim.

“He doesn’t look insulted. Gil’s coming into the house. Oh, Tanis, we can’t let him think we’ve been spying on him. You know how touchy he is these days. Quick! Do something!”

Laurana hastily sat back down in her chair. Grabbing up a sheet of paper, she began writing furiously. Tanis, feeling foolish, walked across the room and stared at a map of Ansalon, spread out on the table. He was startled and discomfited to see the word Qualinesti leap out at him.

Only logical, he supposed. Whenever he looked at his son these days, Tanis was drawn back to his own childhood. And that brought memories of Qualinesti, the land of his birth—his ignominious birth. All these years, hundreds of years, and the memories still had the power to hurt him. Once again he was sixteen and living in his mother’s brother’s house, an orphan, a bastard orphan.

“Touchy” Laurana had described their son. Tanis had been “touchy” himself at that age. Or, rather, he’d been more like some infernal gnomish mechanical device, the human blood boiling in him, building up steam that either had to find an outlet or explode. Tanis didn’t see himself in his son physically. Tanis hadn’t been frail, like his son. Tanis had been strong, robust, far too strong and robust to suit elven tastes and style. Tanis’s broad shoulders and strong arms were an insult to most elves, a constant reminder of human parentage. He flaunted his human side; he could admit that much now. He’d goaded them into driving him away, then he was hurt when they did so.