Destiny

Wind swept through the elves’ camp, snatching at desert gebs and courtly robes, both much patched. The usual ebb and flow of the morning’s work had come to a stop as elves young and old gathered at the only open ground wide enough to hold them, the pass into Inath-Wakenti. They congregated by family or clan, by former trade or station in life, and sat in orderly rows facing an enormous flat-topped granite boulder. Warriors on horseback were drawn up on either side of the slab. Those who had lost their mounts stood on the hillside behind. Still higher up were the griffon riders and their mounts, far enough away so the griffon scent would not alarm the horses.

The leaders of the exiled elves stood on the granite slab: generals Hamaramis and Taranath, Kerian, Alhana, and Samar, commander of Alhana’s royal guard. Porthios stood apart from the rest, at one end of the improvised dais, idly tapping his leg with a stick.

An hour before noon, the last elves filed into place. The crowd quieted. As the silence lengthened, Alhana looked inquiringly at Kerian. The Lioness’s lips firmed with distaste. She would have ceded the task of addressing the crowd to Alhana, but the former queen was adamant. Kerianseray, as wife of the Speaker, had precedence over everyone else present. Kerian had acquiesced; if she refused, she had no doubt Porthios would leap at the chance to assert himself.

True to her word, she had spoken to Gilthas, urging him to allow the army to go to Qualinesti. The discussion had not gone well. Her husband stubbornly held fast to his idea that the nation was too vulnerable to be left without defenders. She reminded him she’d encountered nothing in the valley that could be defeated by massed troops and a small portion of the army would remain with them anyway. Such well-reasoned arguments did not sway him, so she spoke of the advantage of having Porthios far away, where depends on the choice we make, we speak before you all in a he no longer could stir up dissent among their people. Gilthas dismissed this notion with an impatient wave of one hand, and that was when the Lioness’s temper began to fray.

“He wants to be leader in your place, Gil! Are you blind to his intentions?”

They’d kept their voices low out of deference to the crowded conditions in the Speaker’s tent, but her words had fallen into an unlucky lull in the conversations. A few heads turned their way. A glare from the Lioness sent everyone back about his or her business.

“Keep your voice down.”

Kerian was ashamed at having spoken so intemperately, but her husband’s hoarse command rekindled her anger, and the apology she’d intended to make went unsaid. Their conversation ended only moments later. Gilthas was seized by a fit of coughing so intense that his chief healer, Truthanar, rushed to him from across the tent. The elderly Silvanesti pushed Kerian aside in his haste to minister to his patient. She made no demur, only watched helplessly as Truthanar worked to get an elixir between Gilthas’s blue lips. An age seemed to pass before the attack finally ended and Gilthas lay unconscious, but breathing more easily.

Despite his continuing weakness, Kerian had not wanted to delay the gathering any longer. As Alhana said, they simply could not go on as they had been.

Kerian looked out over the multitude of Silvanesti, Qualinesti, and Kagonesti assembled before her and felt a lump form in her throat. From every corner of the old realms they had come, driven out of the lands in which their race had dwelt for millennia. Many had perished during the long journey. Some had been born.

Clearing her throat, she began to speak.

“People of our ancient race! Many twists of fate and fortune have brought us to this place. Thousands have fought and died so we might live. As we honor those who sacrificed for us, we come together now to consider our future. Because so much depends on the choice we make, we speak before you all in a new Sinthal-Elish.”

That was the conclave that established the first elf realm, Silvanesti, and had made Silvanos Goldeneye the first Speaker of the Stars.

Someone in the crowd called, “Where is the Speaker? Where is the Pathfinder?”

Others took up the call. The cries angered Kerian. A furious retort hovered on her lips, but a touch on her wrist drew her attention. Alhana whispered, “They are afraid, niece, not angry. Reassure them.”

As usual her advice was sound, but Kerian’s ire was not easily dismissed. She had no wish to parade her husband’s condition, not before the nation that loved him and certainly not before Porthios’s knowing gaze.

She raised her hands and the cries ceased. “The Speaker knows of this meeting,” she said. Grudging every word, she added, “He is… unwell today. His healers have advised him to keep to his bed.” Truthanar would prefer the Speaker remain in bed permanently, but Kerian wasn’t about to reveal that.