“They would fight over the choicest land,” the speaker said. He rubbed a hand against his left temple. “This is getting nowhere. Surely one of us can come up with a fair and adequate solution.”
No one said anything. Kith-Kanan shifted nervously in his seat. He had said virtually nothing during this session. Something Anaya had mentioned to him once was nagging at him. “I don’t meddle with the forest. I just protect it.” Perhaps that was the answer.
The prince stood quickly. The sudden movement startled everyone; they’d practically forgotten he was there. Sithel looked at his son questioningly, and Kith-Kanan self-consciously straightened the folds of his white robe.
“It seems to me,” he said with dignity, “that the entire problem with the western provinces comes from the fact that new settlers are pushing the old ones out. No one here, I think, would defend such activity.” Sithas and Dunbarth glanced at Teralind. She put her nose in the air and shrugged.
Kith-Kanan moved to the center of the floor. Sithas shifted restlessly as all eyes fixed on his brother. “If everyone is agreed upon the principle that all persons, regardless of race, have a right to settle on empty land, then the problem becomes a simple one—how to protect the legitimate settlers from those who seek to drive them off their land.”
“I sent soldiers once,” said the speaker flatly. “They were betrayed and slaughtered.”
“Forgive me, Father,” Kith-Kanan said, “but from what I have heard of the incident, they were too few and not the right kind of soldiers. If we are going to share the bounty of these lands, then the burden of protecting them must be shared. Soldiers from the city have no stake in the area; they simply obey the orders of the speaker.” The prince looked around at the company. “Do you not see? What’s needed is a local force, a militia, in which the farmer has his own shield and spear with which to protect his land and that of his neighbor.”
“Militia?” said Teralind with interest. Ulvissen was suddenly at her elbow trying to tell her something.
“Arm the farmers?” asked Dunbarth. The brim of his hat had lost its snap and drooped down over his eyes. He brushed it back.
“Peasants with spears would never stand up to mounted bandits,” asserted Sithas.
“They would if they were trained and led by experienced soldiers,” Kith-Kanan countered. He was thinking on his feet now. “One sergeant for each company of twenty; one captain for each band of two hundred.”
“Are you speaking of all settlers in the disputed lands being armed?” asked Dunbarth. “Even those not of elven blood?”
“Definitely. If we arm one group and not another, it’s just an invitation for war. A mixed militia will bind the people together, serving shoulder to shoulder with men of other races.”
“I still say farmers and cow herders will never catch a fast-moving party of raiders,” Sithas said stiffly.
Kith-Kanan’s enthusiasm brought him right up to his brother’s chair. “Don’t you see, Sith? They don’t have to catch the bandits. They only have to be able to fend them off. Why, the ruined village Mackeli and I saw had a sod wall eight feet high all around it. If the villagers had had a few spears and had known how to fight, they all might have been saved.”
“I think it is an excellent idea,” Sithel remarked.
“I like it, too.”
Kith-Kanan swiveled around to see if what he’d just heard was true. Teralind was sitting proudly, hands folded on the lap of her burgundy gown. “I like it,” she repeated firmly. “It puts the responsibility on the people living there.” Behind her Ulvissen was livid with ill-suppressed anger. “No army need be sent in, yours or ours. The emperor will save much money.”
“I have some doubts about the efficacy of such a militia,” Dunbarth put in, “but never let it be said that Dunbarth of Dunbarth wasn’t willing to give it a try!” The dwarf whipped off his bothersome hat. “I smell peace!” he declared, throwing the hat to the shiny marble floor.
“Don’t be hasty,” Sithas warned. His cool voice dampened the growing elation in the hall. “My brother’s plan has its merits, but it doesn’t address the problem of sovereignty. I say, let there be a militia, but only elves may bear arms in it.”
Kith-Kanan looked stricken, and Teralind rapidly lost her serene expression. She said, “No! That’s impossible. Ergoth will not allow humans to live as hostages among an army of elves!”
“Quite right,” said Dunbarth, picking up his hat and dusting it off against his leg.
“We cannot abandon our ancestral right to this land!” Sithas insisted.
“Be still,” the speaker said, frowning. Now it was Sithas’s turn to look aggrieved. “This is a practical business we’re in. If Ergoth and Thorbardin like Kith-Kanan’s proposal, I cannot in good conscience throw away the best chance we have for peace.”
Sithas opened his mouth to speak, but Sithel stifled him with a glance. The prince turned away, his lips pressed together in a thin line.
After a short while, when more specific details were worked out, a basic agreement was reached. Each of the three nations was to provide a corps of experienced warriors to serve as organizers of the new militia. Armories would be set up, where the warrior officers would reside. And in times of trouble all able bodied settlers within twenty miles would present themselves at the armory to receive weapons and leadership. No single nation would command the militia.
“You expect professional warriors to live in the wilderness, shepherding a motley rabble of farmers?” Sithas asked with ill-concealed irritation. “What will keep them in their place?”
Kith-Kanan folded his arms. “Land,” he declared. “Give them a stake in the peace of the country.”
“Give them enough to be worth working,” said Dunbarth, catching the gist of Kith-Kanan’s idea.
“Exactly! Five acres for every sergeant, twenty acres for every captain. A whole new class of gentry will arise, loyal to the land and to their neighbors,” Kith-Kanan predicted.
The speaker ordered the scribes to prepare a draft of the decree. Then, as it was nearly dusk, he adjourned the session. Everyone stood while Sithel went out, looking tired but very pleased. Teralind’s shoulders sagged, and she was supported on the arm of Ulvissen, who did not look at all happy with events. Neither did Sithas as he left. Kith-Kanan was about to start after him when Dunbarth called to him.
“My prince,” he enthused, “Congratulations on your masterful stroke!”
Kith-Kanan watched his twin disappear out the private exit to the palace. “Yes, thank you,” he said distantly.
“I praise the gods for bringing you back,” continued the dwarf, folding his hands across his round belly. “That’s what this problem needed, a fresh perspective.” Dunbarth cleared his throat.
“Oh, your pardon, my lord. I’m being rude,” said Kith-Kanan, turning his attention to the ambassador from Thorbardin.
“Do not trouble about it.” Dunbarth glanced at the rear exit and commented, “Your brother is proud, and he hasn’t yet learned the benefit of flexibility. Your father is wise. He understands.”
The elf prince’s brow furrowed with thought. “I suppose,” he replied uncertainly.
Guards opened the vast double doors of the tower. Beyond the entryway, the red rays of the setting sun painted the world scarlet. Only Dunbarth’s small retinue, two scribes and his secretary, Drollo, remained, waiting patiently for their master.
Dunbarth’s eyes shone as he plopped his hat on his head. “Noble prince, would you dine with me? I have an urge to try some inn in your city tonight—not that the dining is poor in the palace. Far from it! It’s just that I crave some hearty, simple fare.”
Kith-Kanan smiled. “I know a place, right on the river. Fried catfish, cabbage rolls, a suet pudding…”
“Beer?” said the dwarf hopefully. Elves don’t drink beer, so the ambassador hadn’t had any since coming to Silvanost. “I think the innkeeper ought to be able to scratch some up,” Kith-Kanan assured him. The elf prince and the dwarven ambassador walked out the high doors and into the crimson evening.