“Clearly we have offended the gods,” Senator Xixis said, “though I have no knowledge of what the offense could have been. I propose that offerings be made at once, and that they be continued until these plagues cease.”
“Hear! Hear!” murmured a group of senators sitting on the western side of the chamber. These were known as the Loyalists, because they were loyal to the old traditions of Silvanesti, especially in matters of religion and royalty. Most of the full-blooded elven senators were members of this extremely conservative faction.
Clovanos, senior senator of the Loyalists, descended from his seat to the floor. The Thalas-Enthia met in a squat, round tower, larger in diameter than even the Tower of the Sun, though far less tall. The floor of the meeting chamber was covered with a mosaic map of the country, exactly like the more famous and larger map in the Hall of the Sky. High on the wall, near the ceiling, more mosaics ringed the chamber. These were the crests of all the great clans of Qualinesti.
Clovanos held out his hand to his friend Xixis, and the latter handed him the speaking baton. A rod twenty inches long made of ivory and gold, the baton was passed to whomever was addressing the Thalas-Enthia.
Resting the baton in the crook of his left arm, a signal that he intended to speak at length, Senator Clovanos scanned the assembly. The so-called New Landers sat on the east side of the chamber. They were a loose association of humans, half-humans, Kagonesti, and dwarves who favored new traditions, ones that reflected their mixed society. On the south wall was the middle-of-the-road group that had come to be known as the Speaker’s Friends, people like Senator Irthenie, who preferred to follow the personal leadership of Kith-Kanan.
“My friends,” Clovanos finally began, “I must agree with the learned Xixis. From the strange and terrifying wonders that have been visited upon our helpless world, it is quite obvious that a grave offense has been committed, an offense against the natural order of life, against the gods themselves. Now they seek to punish us. Our priests have divined and meditated; our people have prayed; we ourselves have debated continuously. All to no avail. No one can determine why this should be so. However, very recently I received some information—information that enabled me to ascertain what the dreadful sacrilege was.”
A buzz of speculation swept the chamber in the wake of Clovanos’s words. The senator allowed it to continue for a moment, then said, “The knowledge came to me from a strange place—a place close to the hearts of the Speaker’s Friends.”
“Speak up. I can’t hear you,” Irthenie droned mockingly. A scattering of laughter among the New Landers and Friends made Clovanos’s heat-reddened face grow even more florid.
“My information came from Pax Tharkas,” he said loudly, facing the calm Kagonesti woman, “that folly of a fortress the Speaker puts so much faith in.”
“Get on with it! Tell us what you know!” chorused several impatient senators.
Clovanos brandished the baton. The cries declined. “I received a letter from a friend and fellow Loyalist,” he said with heavy emphasis, “who happens to be at the site of the fortress. He wrote, ‘Imagine my surprise when I saw the Speaker’s son, Prince Ulvian, working as a common laborer in the crudest and most dangerous of jobs’.”
Having thus spoken, Clovanos turned quickly to face Kith-Kanan. The chamber erupted. New Landers and Loyalists stood and shouted at each other. Denunciations flew in the thick, hot air. Only the Speaker’s Friends sat quietly, waiting for Kith-Kanan to deny the report.
Slowly, with great deliberation, the Speaker rose and crossed the floor to where Clovanos had turned to hurl retorts at the ranks of New Landers seated above him. He tapped on the senator’s shoulder and asked for the baton. Clovanos had no choice but to surrender the speaking symbol to Kith-Kanan. Stiffly, his face sheened with sweat, the Silvanesti senator climbed the marble steps to his place among the Loyalists.
Kith-Kanan held the baton over his head until the room grew still. Bare to the waist in the dreadful heat, his tanned chest bore pale scars from wounds he’d received in the great Kinslayer War. A simple white kilt, a wide golden belt, and leather sandals were all he wore, save for the circlet of Qualinost atop his head. Though past midlife, his face growing more lined, the white blond of his hair now more than half silver, the Speaker of the Sun was still as vibrant and handsome as he had been centuries earlier when he led his people out of Silvanesti.
“My lords,” Kith-Kanan said in a firm voice, “what Senator Clovanos tells you is true.”
The chamber grew so quiet that a falling feather would have rung out like a gong. After Clovanos’s longwinded oration, the Speaker’s simple statement seemed blunt and harsh. “My son is indeed working as a slave at Pax Tharkas.”
Xixis leapt to his feet. “Why?” he shouted.
Kith-Kanan turned slowly to face the senator. “Because he was taken during the campaign to stamp out slave-trading and found guilty of helping such traders cross Qualinesti territory.”
Malvic Pathfinder, a human and a New Lander, called out, “I thought the penalty for slave-trading was death.”
A dozen Loyalists booed him.
“No father wishes to sentence his own son to the block,” Kith-Kanan replied frankly. “Ulvian’s guilt was plain, but instead of a useless death, I decided to teach him a lesson in compassion. I believed, and still believe, that once he had experienced the wretched life of a slave, he would never again be able to look upon people as cattle that can be bought and sold.”
Kith-Kanan’s well-muscled frame might have been carved from wood or marble. His proud and noble countenance was so overpowering that no one spoke for some time.
Finally Irthenie broke the silence. “Great Speaker, how long will Prince Ulvian be held at Pax Tharkas?” she asked. Her words, spoken with quiet force, carried to every bench in the chamber.
“He remains at my discretion,” Kith-Kanan replied, facing her.
“It is wrong!” Clovanos countered. “A prince of the blood should not be forced to work as a slave by his own father! This is the offense the gods are punishing us for!” The other Loyalists took up his refrain. The chamber echoed with their outraged cries.
“Your Majesty, will you recall the prince?” asked Xixis.
“I will not. He has been there only a few weeks,” Kith-Kanan answered. “If I freed him now, the only lesson he would have learned is that influence is stronger than virtue.”
“But he is your heir!” insisted Clovanos.
Kith-Kanan gripped the speaking baton tightly, his other hand clenched into a fist. “It is my decision!” he replied, his voice ringing through the chamber. “Not yours!”
All the arguments and accusations ceased abruptly. Kith-Kanan’s blazing gaze was fastened on the unfortunate Clovanos. The senator, his body quivering with anger, stared balefully down at his sovereign. Breaking the tense silence, Xixis said unctuously, “We are naturally concerned for the safety and future of the royal house. Your Majesty has no other heir.”
“Your time, my lords, would be better spent finding ways to soothe the troubles of the common folk, and not interfering with the manner in which I discipline my son!” Kith-Kanan turned on his heel, strode to the door, and departed.
Since the Speaker had taken the baton with him, that meant the Thalas-Enthia session was over. The senators filled the aisles, clustering in small groups to discuss Kith-Kanan’s stand.
There was no debate between Clovanos and Xixis. The two elves were in complete agreement.
“The Speaker will ruin the country,” breathed Xixis anxiously. “His stubbornness has already offended the gods. Does he think he can stand against their will? It will mean the end of us all!”