The Second Generation

“I am an elf, Tanis,” Dalamar said quietly. “And I am the most dangerous man you know.”

Tanis started to say something, but his tongue froze to the roof of his mouth. His throat constricted, shutting off his breathing. He swallowed, then managed to whisper huskily, “What are you saying? And how do I know I can trust you?”

Dalamar did not immediately answer. He spoke a word, and a wine decanter appeared in his hand. Rising, he walked over to a table on which stood a silver tray and two thin-stemmed crystal glasses. “Will you have some? The wine is elven, very fine, very old, part of the stock of my late shalafi.”

Tanis was on the verge of refusing. It is generally a wise idea never to eat or drink anything while incarcerated in a Tower of High Sorcery with a dark elf wizard.

But Tanis’s “renowned logic” reminded him that he would get nowhere behaving like a thick-headed lout. If Dalamar wanted to dispose of him, the mage would have done so by now. And, then, too, Dalamar had made a subtle inference to Raistlin, his shalafi. Once, Raistlin and Tanis had fought on the same side. Once, Dalamar and Tanis had fought on the same side as well. The dark elf had said something earlier about making plans. Silently, Tanis accepted the glass.

“To old alliances,” Dalamar said, echoing Tanis’s thoughts. He tilted the wine to his lips and took a sip.

Tanis did the same, then set the glass down. He didn’t need a fuzzy head, a fevered brain. Silently, he waited.

Dalamar held his glass to the firelight, studied the wine’s crimson color. “Like blood, isn’t it?”

His gaze shifted to Tanis. “You want to know what is going on? I’ll tell you. The Dark Queen is back in the game. She is arranging her pieces on the board, putting them into position. She has stretched forth her arm, sent out her seductive call. Many feel her touch, many hear her voice. Many are moved to do her bidding—without ever realizing that they are acting for her.

“But then,” Dalamar added wryly, “I’m not telling you anything you don’t already know, am I, my friend?” Tanis took care to look blank.

“Storm’s Keep?” the dark elf pursued. “Surely you haven’t forgotten your visit to Ariakan’s fortress?”

“Why are you telling me these things?” Tanis demanded. “You’re not thinking of changing robes, are you?”

Dalamar laughed. “White is not my color. Don’t worry, my friend. I’m not betraying any of my queen’s secrets. Takhisis understands the mistakes she made in the past. She has learned from them. She won’t repeat them. She is moving slowly, subtly, in ways completely unexpected.”

Tanis snorted. “You’re claiming this business with my son is all a plot of Her Dark Majesty’s?”

“Think about it, my friend,” Dalamar advised. “As perhaps you know, I have little love for Porthios. He cast me, in shame and humiliation, from my homeland. On his orders, I was blindfolded, bound hand and foot, and hauled in a cart, like one of your human slaughter animals, to the borders of Silvanesti. There, with his own hands, he threw me into the mud. I would not weep to see the same happen to him.

“But even I admit that Porthios is an effective leader. He is courageous, swift to action. He is also rigid and inflexible and proud. But these flaws have, over the years, been tempered by the virtues of his wife.

Dalamar’s voice softened. “Alhana Starbreeze. I saw her often in Silvanesti. I was of low caste, she—a princess. I could view her only from a distance, but that didn’t matter. I was a little bit in love with her.”

“What man isn’t?” Tanis growled. He made an impatient gesture. “Get on with whatever point it is you’re making.”

“My point is this—the treaty of the Unified Nations of the Three Races.”

Tanis shook his head, apparently mystified. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Then let me enlighten you. An alliance of the elven kingdoms of Qualinesti and Silvanesti with the human kingdoms of Solamnia, Southern and Northern Ergoth, and the dwarven kingdom of Thorbardin. For nearly five years you and Laurana have worked to bring this about—ever since your clandestine visit to Storm’s Keep. Porthios, urged on by Alhana, has finally agreed to sign. It would have been a powerful alliance.”

Dalamar lifted his delicate hand, snapped his fingers. A spark of blue flame flared around the white skin; a puff of smoke wafted in the air, wavered a moment, then drifted away.

“Gone.”

Tanis regarded him grimly. “How did you find out?

“Ask, rather, my friend, how did Senator Rashas find out?”

Tanis was silent, then he began to swear softly beneath his breath.

“Rashas told you he knew? He betrayed his own people? I can’t believe that, not even of Rashas.”

“No, the senator still has some smattering of honor left in him. He is not a traitor—not yet. He gave me some lame excuse, but I think the truth is fairly obvious. When were the final papers to have been signed?”

“Next week,” Tanis said bitterly, staring into the flickering flames.

“Ah, there.” Dalamar shrugged again. “You see?”