The Second Generation

Samar frowned. “They took your jewels from you, didn’t they, my queen? How dare they?”

Alhana’s voice was gentle, but stern. “The jewels belong to the Qualinesti people. The matter is trivial, Samar. You are right. We should leave at once.”

The warrior bowed in silent acquiescence. “The downstairs guards, too, are silenced. We will go that way. Cover your nose and mouth, my queen. You, too, Prince,” he ordered Gil curtly. “Don’t inhale the magical smoke.”

Alhana pressed an embroidered silken handkerchief over her face. Gil held the hem of his cloak over his mouth. Samar led the way, his hand on the hilt of his sword. They stepped over the slumbering bodies of the Wilder elves and detoured cautiously around the smoldering ashes of the spell scroll.

When they reached the top of the stairs, Samar brought them to a halt.

“Stay here,” he whispered.

Descending the steps, he looked around, then—satisfied that all was safe—he motioned for Alhana and Gil to follow.

Halfway down the last flight of stairs, Samar suddenly grabbed hold of Alhana, dragged her into the shadows. A fierce look from the warrior and an urgent “Get back!” warned Gil to do the same.

Not daring to breathe, he flattened himself against the wall.

A Wilder elf, this one a female, emerged from a doorway directly below them. She was carrying a silver bowl filled with fruit. Humming a song to herself, she crossed the entry-way, heading for a courtyard, bright with the tiny, sparkling lights. Another Kagonesti servant met the woman at the door. They conferred a few moments. Gil caught the Qualinesti word for “party.” The two disappeared into the courtyard.

Gil was impressed. How in the name of Paladine had Samar heard the woman coming? She moved as silently as the wind on her bare feet, except for that soft song. Gil regarded the warrior with undisguised admiration. Samar was apologizing in an undertone to his queen.

“Forgive me, Your Majesty, for my roughness.”

“There is nothing to forgive, Samar. Let us hurry, before she comes back.”

Swiftly, silently, the three ran down the stairs.

Samar put his hand on the door handle.

The door opened, but it was not the warrior who opened it.

Senator Rashas stood in the doorway.

“What is this?” he demanded in an amazed tone, staring from the warrior to Alhana. The senator’s face went livid with anger. “Guards! Seize them!”

Qualinesti elves, wearing the swords and uniform of the city guard, surged past Rashas. Samar drew his sword, threw himself in front of his queen. The guards drew their swords.

Gil had no weapon, wouldn’t have known what to do with one anyway.

The blood pounded in his ears. He had been almost paralyzed with fear when Rashas first appeared. That fear had evaporated. Gil’s blood burned. He felt light-headed and calm, ready to fight. Tensing, he was about to leap ...

“Stop this madness!”

Alhana flung herself in the midst of the combatants. Her hands, soft and white, grabbed the blade of Samar’s sword and thrust aside the blade of the guard threatening him.

“Samar, put your weapon away,” she ordered, speaking Silvanesti, her voice shaking with emotion and anger.

“But my queen!” he began, pleading.

“Samar! That is my command!” she returned.

Slowly, reluctantly, Samar lowered his sword. But he did not sheathe it.

Alhana turned to face Rashas.

“So this is what it has come to,” she said. “Elf killing elf. Is this what you want, Rashas?”

Alhana held out her hands. Her flesh was cut, bleeding.

Rashas was unmoved, his face hard and cold. The Qualinesti guards, however, looked uncomfortable, lowered their weapons, and backed up a pace. Gil stared at the blood on the queen’s hands and was deeply ashamed of his own bloodlust.

“It is not I who brought us to this pass, my lady,” Rashas said coolly, “but you. By attempting this escape, you have flaunted the lawful decree of the Thalas-Enthia.”

“Lawful!” Alhana regarded him with disdain. “I am your queen. You have no right to hold me against my will!”

“Not even a queen is above elven law. We know about the secret treaty, Your Majesty. We know that you and the traitor Porthios have plotted to sell us out to our enemies.”

Alhana stared at him, not understanding. “Treaty ...”

“The treaty known as the Unified Nations.” Rashas sneered. “A treaty that would make us slaves!”

“No, Senator. You don’t understand! You have it all wrong!”

“Do you deny that you conducted talks in secret with the humans and the dwarves?”

“I don’t deny it,” Alhana answered with dignity. “The talks had to be kept secret. The matter is too delicate; it is toodangerous. There are things happening in the world you don’t know about. You can’t possibly understand—”

“You are right, my lady,” Rashas interrupted. “I do not understand. I do not understand how you could sell us into bondage, give away our lands.”

Alhana was imperious, calm. “You are a blind fool, but that is beside the point. Our negotiations were legal. We broke no law.”