Porthios growled, slowly rising to his feet. Only the presence of the keen-edged axe prevented him from once again rushing at the hated senator.
“Patience, my prince,” said Konnal, clucking his tongue. “How do you think it looks... two Qualinesti squabbling like children here in the hallowed tower of Silvanost? Surely you have a greater sense of heritage than that.”
“This... this mongrel does not deserve to be called Qualinesti,” Rashas said in scorn, leaning forward as if he’d like nothing more than to spit upon Porthios. “He married outside of his clan. He would devote his life to knocking down the barriers that the gods have seen fit to raise.”
“There are some things, Senator, upon which we can agree,” Konnal noted with a stiff bow. “Now, as to the matter that brings you here?...”
“Yes.” Rashas straightened, with visible effort arranging his facial features into a bland mask. “I have made this journey for a single purpose, Porthios. I require that you relinquish the Medallion of the Sun.”
His hand going instinctively to the golden disk that he wore beneath his tunic, Porthios gaped at the senator. “You’re mad!”
“Hardly... rather, I am a voice of sanity in a world grown increasingly unbalanced.”
“Yet you expect to become to become the Speaker of the Sun, just like that?”
Rashas looked horrified. “Me? Speaker? Of course not!”
“Then what do you want with the medallion?”
“I shall bestow it upon the elf who will become our next Speaker, the elf who will insure that Qualinesti purity remains untainted!”
Konnal looked angry at these words about “Qualinesti purity.” Porthios realized that it was a sign of both men’s fanaticism that they were willing to work together to insure that their two nations remained ever separated. He could only shake his head at such insanity and then stare mutely at the gloating Rashas.
“Surely you are curious. You must want to know who your successor will be!”
“I shall have no successor. Not yet, for surely you know that the medallion must be given willingly in order for the new Speaker to wear it as a sign of office.”
“Oh, you will give it willingly, believe me.”
Porthios felt a chill at the words, and immediately he thought of his pregnant wife, held in Qualinesti under the orders, undoubtedly, of this madman.
“Your time in Silvanesti has perhaps worn heavily on your memory,” Rashas went on, his lips tightening slightly as he failed to arouse a response from Porthios. “You do recall that you have a sister?”
“Lauralanthalasa? Laurana? She’s a remarkable person, a credit to all elvenkind to be sure, but I can’t believe that a stickler for tradition such as you would consider placing a woman on the Speaker’s throne.”
Rashas looked properly horrified again. “Of course not. But are you so out of touch that you failed to hear that she has a son... a strapping youth, almost fully grown by now.”
“Gilthas?” Porthios almost laughed out loud. “He will be your new Speaker of the Sun?”
“Do not underestimate the lad. I think he will do a splendid job... with plenty of guidance from the Thalas-Enthia, of course.”
“Guidance from you, you mean!”
“However you care to phrase it, I’m sure you begin to see the circumstances. It is quite an ideal solution, in truth.”
His jaw clenched, Porthios could barely spit out the words. “I know Gilthas. I have seen him. But he is still a child! And his father is Tanis Half-Elven. Your new speaker would be one-quarter human!”
“It has been many years since you have seen him. He is no longer a child. As to that last matter, it is a trifling thing, especially since the pure blood of House Solostaran runs in his veins, thanks to his mother’s excellent lineage.”
This was too horrifying. The walls spun around, and the room seemed to cant crazily under his feet. Porthios wanted to sit, to gasp for breath, even to vomit. But he wouldn’t give Rashas the satisfaction of witnessing his discomfort. Instead, he masked his inner turmoil with a glare of pure loathing.
“The fact remains that I wear the medallion. You would have to kill me to get it. And if you do, if you steal it off my body like a ghoul, the power of the Sun enchantment will be broken and a curse will fall up the realm.”
“My dear Porthios, what do you think I am? A barbaric human? I would never jeopardize the future of Qualinesti thus,” Rashas protested, with a great air of wounded dignity. “As I said before, you will give it to me willingly.”
“You are mad!”
“I tell you, no!” The senator’s voice was a snarl, his face suddenly distorted by anger, and Porthios knew that his remark had struck very close to the truth. Laboriously Rashas struggled to regain his composure. He drew a deep breath.
“I do, however, hold your wife and your unborn child under guard in conditions of relative comfort in Qualinesti. If you would like to see Alhana again... if you would have your child breathe his first of the sweet air of Krynn, then you will relinquish the medallion.”
“You dare to threaten the queen?”
“I do what must be done. If harm comes to her, the fault will be yours!”
Porthios looked at Konnal, who was watching the exchange stone-faced. “Alhana is the princess of your people, heir to the throne of Silvanesti!” he exclaimed. “Yet you would be a party to this extortion?”
“It is for the greater good,” Konnal replied, his eyes like ice. “I can see that with the utmost clarity, though I would not expect you, who was arranging a treaty that would betray all the elven realms, to understand such a lofty purpose!”
“I understand the purposes of greed and corruption, of blind ambition and the pure, selfish lust for power. I see those purposes here in you both!” Porthios felt his self-control slipping, and for once he didn’t care. He pointed at Rashas, at Konnal, allowed his voice to rise to a shout that thundered through the chambers, rocked the door on its hinges. “I see the talons of the Dark Queen sinking into you both, pulling you in ways that will doom the elven nations to repeat the mistakes of the past. You are sickening in your sanctimonious posturing, your talk of ‘the greater good’! Shame! Shame on you both!”
Konnal recoiled as if he had been struck, then stepped forward, his hand reaching for his sword. Porthios wished the general would attack him. Even bare-handed as he was, he would have relished the physical release of a fight.
But it was Rashas who remained cool, who laid a hand on Konnal’s arm—a hand that the Silvanesti regarded with disgust, as if it were a venomous spider—and halted the general’s rush toward violence.
“See... see how thick? How he refuses, is unable to see? It’s tragic, really. He was once a wise man.”
The senator stared at Porthios, his expression haughty and contemptuous. “I assure you that I am not bluffing. I will not enjoy causing harm to your wife, but I will do so if you make it necessary. So please, for Alhana’s good and for the well-being of your child, relinquish the medallion.”
The elven prince put his hand to the golden disk he wore on his chest. As he had countless times before, Porthios sensed its unwelcome weight, felt again the burden that came from its presence. How many times he had wanted to give it to someone else, or even to cast it away, let it sink into the murky waters of some trackless swamp.
Yet now, strangely, he found himself coveting the Sun Medallion as he never had before. He would give it to Rashas—he had to, for he knew that the senator’s threat was sincere—but he would hate to part with it.