The Second Generation

A silver bell rang once. Silence fell over the assembly. The members of the Thalas-Enthia were arriving. The other elves made way respectfully for the senators. Clad in their robes of state, they formed a circle around the rostrum.

Tanis searched the group for Gil, but could not find him.

A white-robed mage, a member of the Thalas-Enthia, lifted her head.

She glanced sharply and with lowered brows around the chamber.

“Damn it to the Abyss,” Dalamar muttered, and he plucked Tanis’s sleeve. “Watch out for that wizardess, my friend. She senses something’s wrong.”

Tanis looked alarmed. “Does she see you? Us?”

“No, not yet. I’m like a bad smell to her,” Dalamar said. “Just as she is to me.”

The White Robe continued to search the crowd, then the silver bell rang out four times. All the elves began to crane their necks, the shorter standing on tiptoe to see over the heads and shoulders of the taller. Their eyes focused on a small alcove adjacent to the central chamber, an alcove Tanis suddenly remembered. In that room, he and his friends had waited until called to the come before old Solostaran, Speaker of the Sun and Stars, Laurana’s father, a man who had been foster father to Tanis.

In that alcove, Tanis knew, with a painful constricting of his heart, was his son.

Gilthas entered the chamber.

Tanis forgot their danger, forgot everything in his concern, his astonishment, and—it must be admitted—his pride.

The little boy who had run away from home was gone. In his place walked a young man, with grave and solemn countenance, a young man who stood upright, tall and dignified in the yellow, shimmering robes of the Speaker.

The elves murmured among themselves. They were obviously impressed.

Tanis was impressed. From this distance, his son looked every inch a king.

And then Gilthas stepped into a shaft of brilliant sunlight. The father’s loving eye caught the tremor in the young man’s clenched jaw, the pallor of the face, his expression, which was carefully and deliberately blank.

Rashas and the white-robed elven wizardess both moved to stand beside him.

“That's Gilthas. Let's go.”

Hand on his sword, Tanis started forward. Dalamar caught hold of him, dragged him back.

“What now?” Tanis demanded angrily, and then he saw the look on the dark elf’s face. “What’s wrong?”

“He’s wearing the sun medallion,” Dalamar said.

“What? Where? I don’t see it.”

“If s hidden beneath his robes.”

“So?” Tanis didn’t understand the problem.

“The medallion is a holy artifact, blessed by Paladine. The medallion’s power protects him from the likes of me. I dare not touch him.”

The dark elf drew near, whispered in Tanis’s ear. “I don’t like this, my friend. What’s Gilthas doing with the sun medallion? Only the Speaker of the Sun and Stars may wear it. Porthios would never give it up voluntarily and, because of its holy properties, the medallion can’t be taken from him by force. Something sinister is at work here.”

“All the more reason to get Gil out! What do we do now?”

“Your son has to take off the medallion, Tanis. And he must do it of his own free will.”

“I’ll see to that!” Tanis said, and again started forward.

“No, wait!” Dalamar cautioned. “Patience, my friend. Now is not the time—not with the cursed White Robe standing near him. Let us see what transpires. The proper moment will come. When it does, you must be ready.”

The half-elf slowly released his grip on his sword hilt. It was his instinct to act, to do, not to wait around. But Dalamar was right. Now was not the time.

Restlessly, Tanis shifted from one foot to the other, forced himself to be patient.

Gilthas had come to stand near the side of the rostrum. He was shorter than the elves around him. He would never be the normal height of an elf—a result of his human bloodline. For a moment, he looked undersized, not very kingly.

Rashas prodded him forward, had his hand on Gil’s shoulder.

Gil turned and stared at Rashas coldly.

Smiling, lips tight, Rashas removed his hand.

Turning his back on Rashas, Gilthas walked slowly up to the rostrum.

Once he was there, he raised his head and cast one swift, searching, hopeful glance around the room.

“He’s looking for me,” Tanis said. He had his hand on the ring. “He knows I’ll come for him. If he could only see me ...”

Dalamar shook his head. “He might accidentally give us away.”

Tanis watched helplessly and saw his son’s hope die.

Gil’s head bowed. His shoulders slumped. Then, drawing a deep breath, he raised his head and stared unseeing, with stoic calm, out into the crowd.

Rashas was getting along with business, moving through it hastily, dispensing with all the ritual and ceremonial trap pings elves love.

“The situation is grave. Last night, the Qualinesti guards caught an intruder, a Silvanesti spy!”

The elder elves looked suitably shocked and irate. The young ones exchanged glances, shook their heads.