Chapter Twenty-Six
Pawn to King’s Knight Four
This day, Gerard would meet with Marshal Medan and be coerced into serving the commander of the Knights of Neraka. This day, Laurana would discover that she harbored a spy, perhaps in her own home. This day, Tasslehoff would discover that it is difficult to live up to what people say about you after you are dead. This day, Mina’s army would march deeper into Silvanesti. This day, Silvanoshei was playing a game with his cousin.
Silvanoshei was king of the Silvanesti. He was king of his people, just like the bejeweled and ornately carved bit of alabaster who was king of the xadrez board. A silly, ineffectual king, who could only move a single square at a time. A king who had to be protected by his knights and his ministers. Even his pawns had more important work to do than the king.
“My queen takes your rook,” said Kiryn, sliding an ornate game piece across the green-and-white marble board. “Your king is doomed. This gives me the game, I think.”
“Blast! So it does!” Silvan gave the board an irritated shove, scattering the pieces. “I used to be quite good at xadrez. My mother taught me to play. I could even beat Samar on occasion. You are a far worse player than he was. No offense, Cousin.”
“None taken,” said Kiryn, crawling on the floor to retrieve a foot soldier who had fled the field and taken refuge underneath the bed. “You are preoccupied, that is all. You’re not giving the game your complete concentration.”
“Here, let me do that,” Silvan offered, remorseful. “I was the one who spilled them.”
“I can manage—” Kiryn began.
“No, let me do something constructive, at least!” Silvan dived under the table to come up with a knight, a wizard and, after some searching, his beleaguered king, who had sought to escape defeat by hiding behind a curtain.
Silvan retrieved all the pieces, set the board up again.
“Do you want to play another?”
“No, I am sick to death of this game!” Silvan said irritably.
Leaving the gaming table, he walked to the window, stared out it for a few moments, then, restless, he turned away again.
“You say I am preoccupied, Cousin. I don’t know by what. I don’t do anything.”
He wandered over to a side table on which stood bowls of chilled fruit, nuts, cheese, and a decanter of wine. Cracking nuts, as if he had some grudge against them, he sorted through the shells to find the meats. “Want some?”
Kiryn shook his head. Silvan tossed the shells onto the table, wiped them from his hand.
“I hate nuts!” he said and walked back across the room to the window. “How long have I been king?” he asked.
“Some weeks, Cousin—”
“And during that time, what have I accomplished?”
“It is early days, yet, Cousin—”
“Nothing,” Silvan said emphatically. “Not a damn thing. I am not allowed out of the palace for fear I will catch this wasting disease. I am not permitted to speak to my people for fear of assassins. I sign my name to orders and edicts, but I’m never permitted to read them for fear it will fatigue me. Your uncle does all the work.”
“He will continue to do it so long as you let him,” Kiryn said pointedly. “He and Glaucous.”
“Glaucous!” Silvan repeated. Turning, he eyed his friend suspiciously. “You are always on me about Glaucous. I’ll have you know that if it were not for Glaucous, I would not know the little I do know about what is happening in my very own kingdom. Look! Look there now!” Silvan pointed out the window. “Here is an example of what I mean. Something is happening. Something is going on, and will I hear what it is? I will”—Silvan was bitter—“but only if I ask my servants!”
A man dressed in the garb of one of the kirath could be seen running pell-mell across the broad courtyard with its walkways and gardens that surrounded the palace. Once the elaborate gardens had been a favorite place for the citizens of Silvanost to walk, to meet, to have luncheons on the broad green swards beneath the willow trees. Lovers took boats fashioned in the shape of swans out upon the sparkling streams that ran through the garden. Students came with their masters to sit upon the grass and indulge in the philosophical discussions so dear to elves.
That was before the wasting sickness had come to Silvanost.
Now many people were afraid to leave their homes, afraid to meet in groups, lest they catch the sickness. The gardens were almost empty, except for a few members of the military, who had just come off-duty and were returning to their barracks. The soldiers looked in astonishment at the racing kirath, stood aside to let him pass. He paid no heed to them but hurried onward. He ran up the broad marble stairs that led to the palace and vanished from sight.
“There! What did I tell you, Kiryn? Something important has happened,” said Silvan, gnawing his lower lip. “And will the messenger come to me? No, he will go straight to your uncle. I am king, not General Konnal!”
Silvan turned from the window, his expression dark and grim.
“I am becoming what I most detest. I am becoming my cousin Gilthas. A puppet dancing on another’s strings!”
“If you are a puppet, Silvan, then that is because you want to be a puppet,” Kiryn said boldly. “The fault is yours, not my uncle’s! You have shown no interest in the day-to-day business of the kingdom. You could have read those edicts, but you were too busy learning the newest dance steps.”
Silvan looked at him, anger flaring. “How dare you speak to me like that. I am your—” He checked himself. He had been about to say, “your king!” but realized that in view of the conversation, that would sound ridiculous.
Besides, he admitted, Kiryn had spoken nothing more than the truth. Silvan had enjoyed playing at being king. He wore the crown upon his head, but he would not take up the mantle of responsibility and drape it around his shoulders. He drew in a deep breath, let it out. He had behaved like a child, and so he had been treated like a child. But no more.
“You are right, Cousin,” Silvan said, his tone calm and even.
“If your uncle has no respect for me, why should he? What have I done since I came here but skulk about in my room playing games and eating sweets. Respect must be earned. It cannot be dictated. I have done nothing to earn his regard. I have done nothing to prove to him and to my people that I am king. That ends. Today.”
Silvan threw open the huge double doors that led to his chambers, threw them open with such force that they banged back against the walls. The sound startled the guards, who had been dozing on their feet in the quiet, drowsy afternoon. They clattered to attention as Silvan strode out the door and walked right past them.
“Your Majesty!” cried one. “Where are you going? Your Majesty, you should not be leaving your room. General Konnal has ordered. . . Your Majesty!” The guard found he was speaking to the king’s back.
Silvan descended the long, broad marble staircase, walking rapidly, with Kiryn at his heels and the guards hastening along behind.
“Silvan!” Kiryn remonstrated, catching up, “I didn’t intend that you should take charge this very moment. You have much to learn about Silvanesti and its people. You’ve never lived among us. You are very young.”
Silvan had understood his cousin’s intentions quite welclass="underline" He paid him no heed, but kept walking.
“What I meant,” Kiryn continued, dogging Silvan’s footsteps,
“was that you should take more interest in the daily business of the kingdom, ask questions. Visit the people in their homes. See how we live. There are many of the wise among our people who would be glad to help you learn. Rolan of the kirath is one. Why not seek his advice and counsel? You would find him far wiser than Glaucous, if less pleasing.”
Silvan’s lips tightened. He walked on. “I know what I am doing,” he said.