Kith-Kanan put a hand to his chin and considered. “Pay them a compliment. Say, ‘what pretty eyes you have!’ or ask them their name and say, ‘what a pretty name!’ ”
“Can I touch them?” asked Mackeli innocently.
“No!” exclaimed the two in unison.
They spotted Ulvissen in the corridor, accompanied by one of the human soldiers. The Ergothian seneschal was handing the soldier a large brass tube, which the man furtively tucked into a leather bag hung from his shoulder. Ulvissen stood up straight when he saw Kith-Kanan. The soldier with the tube saluted and went on his way.
“How goes it, Master Ulvissen?” the prince asked blandly.
“Very well, Your Highness. I have dispatched a copy of the preliminary agreement we’ve made to His Imperial Majesty.”
“Just now?”
Ulvissen nodded. Behind his beard and graying hair, he looked haggard. Kith-Kanan guessed Lady Teralind had kept him up very late, preparing the dispatch.
“Would you know where my father and Prince Sithas might be?”
“I last saw them in the reception hall, where seals were being put to the copies of the agreement,” said Ulvissen courteously. He bowed.
“Thank you.” Kith-Kanan and Dunbarth walked on. Mackeli, too, drifted past the tall, elder human, looking at him with curiosity.
“How old are you?” asked Mackeli impetuously.
Ulvissen was surprised. “Forty and nine years,” he replied.
“I am sixty-one,” said the boy. “Why is it you look so much older than I?”
Kith-Kanan swung around and took Mackeli by the elbows. “Forgive him, Excellency,” said the prince. “The boy has lived all his life in the forest and knows little about manners.”
“It is nothing,” said Ulvissen. Yet he continued to watch with an intense expression as the prince and the dwarf ambassador hustled Mackeli away.
The reception hall of the palace was on the ground floor of the central tower, one floor below the Hall of Balif. Dunbarth took his leave of Kith-Kanan in the corridor outside. “My old bones need a nap,” he apologized.
Mackeli started to follow the prince, who told him to remain behind. The boy objected, but Kith-Kanan said sharply, “Find some other way to be useful. I’ll be back soon.”
When Kith-Kanan entered, the vast, round room was full of tables and stools, at which scribes were furiously writing. The entire transcript of the conference was being written out in full and copied as quickly as the master scribe could finish a page.
Sithel and Sithas stood in the center of this organized chaos, approving sheets of parchment covered with spidery handwriting. Boys darted among the tables, filling inkpots, sharpening styluses, and piling up fresh stacks of unmarked vellum. When Sithel espied him, he shoved the parchment aside and gestured for the assistant to leave.
“Father, I need to speak with you. And you, Brother,” Kith-Kanan said, gesturing to a quieter side of the hall. When they had moved, the prince asked bluntly, “Do you know that gangs of slaves are working in the city, working to rebuild the Market?”
“That’s common knowledge,” said Sithas quickly. He was especially elegant today, having forsworn his usual robe in favor of a divided kilt and a thigh-length tunic of quilted cloth of gold. His headband, too, was golden.
“What about the law?” asked Kith-Kanan, his voice rising. “No household is supposed to have more than two slaves at a time, yet I saw two hundred or more working away, watched over by clerics from the Temple of E’li.”
“The law only applies to those who live in Silvanost,” Sithas said, preempting his father again. Sithel kept quiet and let his sons argue. He was curious to see which would prevail. “The slaves you saw come from temple estates on the Em-Bali River, north of the city,” added the speaker’s firstborn.
“That’s an evasion,” Kith-Kanan said heatedly. “I never heard of a law that applied only in Silvanost and not to the entire nation!”
“Why all this concern about slaves?” Sithas demanded.
“It isn’t right.” Kith-Kanan clenched his hands into fists. “They are elves, the same as us. It is not right that elves should own one another.”
“They are not like us,” Sithas snapped. “They are Kagonesti.”
“Does that automatically condemn them?”
Sithel decided it was time to intervene. “The workers you saw were sold into slavery because they were convicted of crimes against the Silvanesti people,” he said gently. “That they are Kagonesti is of no significance. Your concern for them is misplaced, Kith.”
“I don’t think so, Father,” his son argued earnestly. “We’re all proud of our Silvanesti blood, and that’s good. But pride should not lead us to exploit our subjects.”
“You have been in the woods too long,” said Sithas coolly. “You have forgotten how the world works.”
“Hold your tongue,” Sithel intervened sharply. “And you too, Kith.” The Speaker of the Stars looked rueful. “I am glad to know both my sons feel so passionately about right and wrong. The blood of Silvanos has not run thin, I can see. But this debate serves no purpose. If the slaves in the Market are well treated and do their allotted work, I see no reason to tamper with the situation.”
“But, Father…”
“Listen to me, Kith. You’ve only been back four days. I know you grew used to much freedom in the forest, but a city and a nation cannot operate like a camp in the wildwood. Someone must command, and others must obey. That’s how a speaker can protect the weak and rule with justice.”
“Yes, Father.” When Sithel explained it like that, it almost made sense. Still, Kith-Kanan knew that no amount of logic and lawful argument would ever convince him that slavery was anything but wrong.
Sithas listened to Sithel’s words with his arms folded in satisfaction. Kith was not as infallible as he seemed, thought the firstborn. Facing down Kith’s sentimental ramblings made him feel every inch the next Speaker of the Stars.
“Now I have a command for you, son,” Sithel said to Kith-Kanan. “I want you to lead the new militia.”
Utter silence. Kith-Kanan tried to digest this. He was just back home, and now he was being sent away. He looked at Sithas—who glanced away—then back at the speaker. “Me, Father?” he asked, dazed.
“With your experience as a warrior and ranger, who better? I have already spoken with Lady Teralind and Lord Dunbarth, and they agree. A speaker’s son, ranger, and a friend of the Kagonesti, you are the best choice.”
Kith-Kanan looked to Sithas. “This was your idea, Sith?”
His brother shrugged. “Clear reasoning pointed to you and no one else.”
Kith-Kanan ran a hand through his tousled hair. The crafty old Dunbarth knew all through their ride this morning and hadn’t said a word. In fact, had he led the way to the Market to show Kith-Kanan the slaves at work there? To prepare him for this?
“You can refuse,” noted the speaker, “if you wish.” He plainly expected no such reaction from his stalwart son.
A rush of images and thoughts flooded Kith-Kanan’s mind. In quick succession he saw the ruined village he and Mackeli had found; Voltorno, roving and plundering at will through Silvanesti; Anaya, mortally stricken, fighting bows and swords with a flint knife; Kagonesti slaves, stripped of their lives.
The prince also heard his own words: “If the people had possessed a few spears, and had known how to fight, they might all have been saved.” Kith-Kanan’s gaze remained on his twin for a long moment, then he looked at the speaker. “I accept,” he said quietly.
With Mackeli at his side, Kith-Kanan spent the next few days interviewing members of the royal guard who had volunteered for the militia. As he had predicted, the lure of free land was a powerful inducement to soldiers who seldom owned anything more than the clothes on their backs. Kith-Kanan could select the very best of them as his sergeants.
A great public celebration had been declared, both to honor the new agreement with Ergoth and Thorbardin and to honor Kith-Kanan’s ascent to command of the new militia of House Protector. The force was already being called the Wildrunners, after the old name given to the armed bands of Kagonesti who had fought for Silvanos during the wars of elven unification.