And for a single terrifying instant as his fingers wrapped around the curved disk of ancient gold, his eyes saw down the winding tunnels of the future. There were many paths there, many tracks his life could take. But there was a certainty along them alclass="underline"
He knew that he would never wear this medallion again.
With a wrenching pull, unmindful of his own gasp of physical and spiritual agony, he tore the thing away, snapped the golden links that held it around his neck. Porthios staggered under the assault on his senses as he reached out his hand, didn’t feel the medallion fall from his nerveless fingers to roll across the floor, trailing its chain with soft clinks as it curled to a rest underneath a couch.
Quickly, but with a gesture of distaste, Rashas dropped to his knees and reached under the divan to seize the medallion. His eyes might have flashed as he raised it to his face, stared at the intricate facets that winked and sparkled like the disk’s namesake, but Porthios saw none of that. His eyes blurred with tears, he slumped at last into a chair and buried his face in his hands.
When he finally looked up, the two elves were gone.
Another week dragged by, a time when autumn roared into full fury. This was a season that came forcefully to Silvanesti, and these were days of unrelieved rain and chill. Porthios looked from his balcony across the city of Silvanost, noting the bleak swath of the gray Thon-Thalas, the shivering quality of the once splendid gardens.
It was as this early cold wave reached its nadir that General Konnal and an escort of axe-wielding elves again came to see Porthios in his chambers atop the Tower of Stars.
“You’re looking well,” the Silvanesti of House Protector declared with apparent sincerity. “You must be getting some sun on your balcony. I had feared that your skin would fade to a wintery pallor, but you still have the healthy tan of an outdoorsman.”
“Praise the gods for small favors,” Porthios replied wryly. “Tell me why you’re here.”
“Such abruptness. Not very elven, wouldn’t you agree?” Konnal looked around archly. “Are you too busy? You have no time for pleasantries or civilized conversation?”
“There’s little either elven or civilized about treachery, coercion, and betrayal,” snapped the prisoner. “And in the glaring presence of these significant traits, I see no need to place a layer of frippery over our interaction. I ask you again, what do you want?”
Konnal shrugged away the insulting tones. “I know you have your sources of information—even a one-eyed elf can read the writing on the wall—but I thought for once I would bring you fresh news.”
Porthios glowered but didn’t respond. Konnal continued as if he had been invited to speak.
“For obvious reasons, you are no longer able to function in your command role. I thought I would be the one to tell you that the senate has appointed a new Military Governor of Silvanesti.”
“Yourself, of course.”
Konnal merely nodded, a mild, polite bow of his head as if he were accepting sincere congratulations. “The baton of rank was found in the Palace of Quinari and bestowed upon me with the proper ceremony. I thought, since the action affects you so directly, that you should be told right away”
If Konnal was expecting to goad Porthios into an outburst, the Qualinesti resolved to disappoint him. Instead, he asked a question that had been lingering in his mind as the days of his imprisonment had grown into weeks.
“What are you going to do with me? In the Tower of Stars, you made lots of noises about a trial—and I warn you, General, I will welcome the opportunity to air my situation in a public hearing.” Porthios derived some small satisfaction from his failure to address Konnal by his official rank.
But the new governor apparently took no notice. “My dear Porthios, of course there will be no trial. Those remarks were all for show, for the benefit of the senate and the nobles—and, of course, to highlight the differences between us.”
“I’m not surprised. You servants of darkness have good cause to fear the light that always shines from the truth.”
For the first time, Konnal revealed a glimmering of his temper. “It is you who serve the darkness, you fool—you who would tear down the legacy of thirty centuries of culture and civilization!”
Porthios smiled, enjoying the flush that darkened Konnal’s stiff features. Casually he asked again, “You didn’t answer my question. What are you going to do with me?”
The Silvanesti lord drew a deep breath, calmed himself with visible effort.
“I have prepared a document. You will read it and affix your signature. After that, you will be free to leave.”
Porthios laughed. “A confession, no doubt? An admission of this treachery you’ve dreamed up?”
Konnal shrugged. “It’s an admission that you sent Silvanesti troops into a massacre, knowing that you would weaken us and leave us vulnerable to control by Qualinesti.”
“You’re insane!”
“No... I’m just determined. And I assure you that your signature is the only thing that will earn you your freedom.”
“You can’t hold me. No walls could hold me without my cooperation! I can see no reason why I should stay here, and thus I inform you that I shall make arrangements to leave at the earliest opportunity.”
Konnal smiled. “I think the guards might have a little to say about that.”
“If you think I have remained here because of your guards, then you are the fool. If departing means escaping, then I assure you that I will escape and return to my own homeland and my own wife.”
“There is another thing you should know. We have received word from Qualinesti—after all, you have good cause to know that the barriers between our two peoples are not as impenetrable as the typical elf might assume. The Thalas-Enthia has been active during this season.”
“I assume Gilthas Solostaran has been sworn in as Speaker of the Sun and Stars.”
“Naturally—but that is not my information.”
“Go on.” Porthios once again felt that sickening nausea, a premonition that he was going to hear some very bad news.
“The Thalas-Enthia, under the leadership of your young nephew, has endorsed the authority of the Sinthal-Elish of Silvanesti regarding the matter of your imprisonment. You are to remain here as our guest for as long as we deem it necessary in preparation for your trial.”
“Which trial, as you told me, shall never occur.”
Konnal shrugged. “A detail, but, yes, I can see where you might deem it important.”
“And if your guards can’t stop me, what force does an edict from a thousand miles away have to hold me in my cage?”
“Just this: The Thalas-Enthia has agreed that if you come to Qualinesti without signing the confession, you will be branded an outlaw. Your property will be forfeit, your legacy forgotten.”
“And if I have signed, then I will be seen as a weakling and a traitor,” snapped the prince.
Konnal shrugged. “Still, you will be free to go anywhere else, do whatever you want. Sign this and be away from here.”
Porthios glared without speaking.
“Here is the document.” The usurper laid the hateful parchment on the table, but Porthios didn’t even look at it. “Sign it and leave with our permission.”
“A traitor only to myself,” Porthios declared bitterly.
“I repeat, it’s the only way you’ll leave.”
“Unless I escape.”
Konnal appeared to think about this response. “I don’t think I can allow that to happen.” With a meaningful gesture, the new governor nodded to the elves who stood at each of his sides.
Porthios looked at the two elves flanking Konnal. Each was a huge, strapping warrior and held his axe as if he knew how to use it—and was more than willing to use it right now. He couldn’t resist a goad.