The human, squatting on the ground to gather his ruined potatoes into baskets, grumbled, “They say it’s because Kith-Kanan has put his own son in chains to help build the fortress at Pax Tharkas.” He still didn’t realize to whom he was conversing. At his harsh words, the elf woman blushed, and Kemian Ambrodel cleared his throat loudly. The human lifted his head.
Even though the Speaker didn’t wear the glitter and gold of state robes, the man recognized him. “Mercy, Your Worship, I’m sorry!” the man gasped. “I didn’t know it was you!”
Grimly Kith-Kanan replied, “Have no fear. I would hear everything my people think of me.”
“Is it true, Majesty?” asked the elf woman meekly. “Did you sell your own son into slavery just to finish that big castle?”
Kemian and Irthenie started to remonstrate with the woman for her blunt query. The Speaker held up his hands to silence them. Patiently he explained what Ulvian had done, and why he had sent him to Pax Tharkas. His earlier wish to keep Ulvian’s crime from public gossip seemed hopeless. Now he felt it was more important for his people to know the truth and not entertain wild imaginings.
While he spoke, more people gathered—peddlers, tinkers, farmers, potters. All came to hear Kith-Kanan’s story of the trouble he was having with his son. To his amazement, they all believed that Ulvian’s exile and the twelve days of marvels were related.
“Where did you get these ideas?” Irthenie asked sharply.
The potato man shrugged. “Talk. Just talk…you know.”
“Shadow talk,” said Kith-Kanan, too faintly for most to hear. Kemian heard, and he glanced at the Speaker.
“Is Lord Kemian Ambrodel to be your son now?” shouted a voice from the crowd. The three mounted elves turned their heads to and fro, trying to spot the one who’d spoken.
“Will Lord Ambrodel be the next Speaker of the Sun?” the same voice demanded.
“Who said that?” muttered Irthenie. No one answered, but others in the crowd took up the cry. Keeping a steady hand on his fractious mount’s reins, Kith-Kanan let the shouting grow a while. He wanted to measure the sentiment of his people.
Kemian, however, could not remain calm. “Silence!” the general roared. “Show respect for the Speaker!”
“Silvanesti!” someone shouted back at him, and it was like a curse. The young warrior, in an agony of embarrassment and anger, looked to his sovereign. Kith-Kanan seemed thoughtful.
“Sire,” said Kemian desperately, “I think you’d best assure them I am not to be your successor!” His voice was tight but earnest.
“Say something,” Irthenie urged from the side of her mouth.
At last the Speaker held up a hand. “Good people,” he said. “The crowd instantly fell silent, awaiting his response. “I understand your concern for the throne. Lord Ambrodel is a faithful and valiant servant. He would make an excellent Speaker—”
“No! No!” the crowd erupted. “No Silvanesti! No Silvanesti!” they chanted. In his own shock at the Speaker’s words, Kemian barely heard their insults.
“Have you forgotten that I am of the royal house of Silvanos?” Kith-Kanan said icily. “No one is more Silvanesti than I!”
“You are the Speaker of the Sun! The father of our country!” a male voice answered. “We don’t want some Silvanesti courtier’s boy to rule us. We want a ruler of your blood or none!”
“Your blood or none!” echoed a large segment of the crowd.
Kemian snatched at his reins, ready to charge into the mass of unarmed Qualinesti and put an end to these insults. Kith-Kanan leaned over and laid a hand on the warrior’s arm. Eyes blazing, Kemian stared angrily at the Speaker, but he didn’t try to evade his grasp. Reluctantly he relaxed, and Kith-Kanan let go of his mailed arm.
“Go back to the Speaker’s house, General,” Kith-Kanan said coolly. “I shall return shortly.”
“Sire!” Kemian saluted and wheeled his prancing horse in a tight half-circle. The traders and farmers scattered from his path. The general let out a yell and spurred his mount. With a loud clatter of hooves, horse and rider tore across the market square and vanished down a curving street.
The people cheered his abrupt departure. Disgusted with them, Kith-Kanan was about to follow Kemian’s exit when Irthenie abruptly got down off her horse.
“I’m too old to stay up that high for so long,” she proclaimed loudly, rubbing her backside with exaggerated care. “For seven hundred and ninety-four years, I walked everywhere I needed to go. Now that I’m a senator, I’m not supposed to walk anywhere.” Those nearest the Kagonesti woman chuckled. “One pays a price to sit in the Thalas-Enthia,” she said gruffly. More people laughed.
Kith-Kanan slackened his reins and sat still, waiting to see what the foxy senator was up to. “You people,” she said loud enough to carry to the fringes of the mob, “you stand here and say you don’t want Kemian Ambrodel as the next Speaker of the Sun. I say, who told you he would be? It’s the first I’ve heard of it.” She stepped away from her dapple-gray horse, deeper into the crowd.
“He’s a fine general, that elf, but you’re right about one thing: We don’t want a bunch of Silvanesti nobles ruling us, telling us we’re not as good as they are. That’s one reason we left the old country, to get away from so many lords and masters.”
Irthenie’s Kagonesti garb blended in well with the crowd, her leather and raw linen against their homespun wool and drab cotton. She literally rubbed shoulders with the people in the square. Irthenie was one of them. “When I was younger and better-looking—” laughter rippled across the plaza— “I was taken from the forest by warriors. They were looking for wives, and their idea of catching one was to drag a net through the bushes and see what they flushed out.” The senator stopped walking when she reached the center of the crowd. Every eye was on her. Kith-Kanan experienced a moment of nervousness at the sight of her small figure hemmed in on all sides by the mob. “I didn’t much want to be a warrior’s woman, so I ran away the first chance I got. They caught me, and this time, they broke my leg so I couldn’t run again. Vernax Kollontine was hardly a loving husband. After he beat me for not washing his clothes often enough and not cooking his supper fast enough, I killed him with a bread knife.”
There was a concerted gasp at this revelation. The Speaker of the Sun seemed just as surprised as his subjects, and he listened to the senator’s tale just as intently. Irthenie held up a hand to calm the crowd, insisting, “No, no, it was a fair fight.” Kith-Kanan smiled.
“The point of this long and boring story is that the Speaker of the Stars at that time, Sithel, ordered me sold into slavery as punishment for my crime. I lived as a slave for thirty-eight years. The great war freed me, and I was in the first band of settlers who came with Kith-Kanan to found Qualinost. This city, this country, is like no other in the world. Here every race can live and work, can worship, and can prosper or not as they please. That’s freedom. That you and I enjoy it is mostly due to that fellow on horseback you see over there. It was his wisdom and judgment that got us here. If you’re pleased with that, then you ought not doubt his wisdom regarding either his son or his successor.”
The square remained quiet after she finished speaking. Only the soft patter of rain accompanied Irthenie’s final words.
“Slavery is an evil, ugly thing,” she concluded. “It degrades not only the slave, but the master as well. Like any good father, the Speaker is trying to save his son from a terrible mistake. You should pray for him as I often do.”
Irthenie walked back through the calmed crowd to her horse. Kith-Kanan handed her the reins, and she climbed into the saddle with a grunt. “Damn leg,” she muttered. “It always gets stiff when it rains.”