Glaucous was a favorite at court, which was odd considering that he was responsible for many members of the elven court losing their positions, influence, and power. But then, no one ever blamed Glaucous. They blamed Konnal, the one responsible for their dismissal.
Yet, what choice do I have? Konnal would ask himself. These people were untrustworthy. Some of them even plotting against me! If it hadn’t been for Glaucous, I might have never known.
Upon first being introduced into the general’s retinue, Glaucous had ferreted out something bad about every person Konnal had ever trusted. One minister had been heard defending Porthios. Another was said to have once, when she was a youth, been in love with Dalamar the Dark. Still another was called to account because he had disagreed with Konnal over a matter of taxation.
Then came the day when Konnal woke to the realization that he had only one advisor left and that advisor was Glaucous.
The exception was Konnal’s nephew Kiryn. Glaucous made no secret of his affection for Kiryn. Glaucous flattered the young man, brought him little gifts, laughed heartily at his jokes, and was effusive in his attention to him. Courtiers who courted Glaucous’s favor were intensely jealous of the young man.
Kiryn himself would have much preferred Glaucous’s dislike.
Kiryn distrusted Glaucous, though the young man could give no reason why.
Kiryn dared say no word against Glaucous, however. No one dared say anything against him. Glaucous was a powerful wizard, the most powerful wizard the Silvanesti had ever known among their kind, even counting the dark elf Dalamar.
Glaucous had arrived in Silvanost one day shortly after the dragon purge began. He was, he said, a representative of those elves who served in the Tower of Shalost, a monument in western Silvanesti, where lay the body of the druid Waylorn Wyvernsbane. Although the gods of magic had departed, the enchantment remained around the crystal bier on which the hero of the elves lay enshrined. Careful not to disturb the rest of the dead, the elven sorcerers, desperate to regain their magic, had attempted to capture and use some of the enchantment.
“We succeeded,” Glaucous had reported to the general. “That is,” he had added with becoming modesty, “I succeeded.”
Fearing the great dragons that were decimating the rest of Ansalon, Glaucous had worked with the Woodshapers to devise a means by which Silvanesti could be protected from the ravages of the dragons. The Woodshapers, acting under Glaucous’s direction, had grown the tree now known as the Shield Tree. Surrounded by its own magical barrier through which nothing could penetrate to do it harm, the tree was planted in the Garden of Astarin and was much admired.
When Glaucous had proposed to the governor-general that he could raise a magical shield over all of Silvanesti, Konnal had experienced an overwhelming sense of thankfulness and relief. He had felt a weight lifted from his shoulders. Silvanesti would be safe, truly safe. Safe from dragons, safe from ogres, safe from humans, dark elves, safe from the rest of the world. He had put the matter to a vote by the Heads of House. The vote had been unanimous.
Glaucous had raised the shield and become the hero of the elves, some of whom were already talking about building him his own monument. Then plants in the Garden of Astarin began to die. Reports came that trees and plants and animals that lived within the borders touched by the magical shield were also dying. People in Silvanost and other elven villages started to die of a strange wasting sickness. The kirath and other rebels said it was the shield. Glaucous said it was a plague brought to their land by humans before the raising of the shield and that only the shield kept the rest of the populace from dying.
Konnal could not do without Glaucous now. Glaucous was his friend, his trusted adviser, his only trusted adviser. Glaucous’s magic was responsible for placing the shield over Silvanesti and Glaucous could use his magic to remove the shield anytime he wanted. Remove the shield and leave the Silvanesti open to the terrors of the world beyond.
“Mmmm? I beg your pardon? What were you saying?” General Konnal tore his attention from his swans, returned it to Glaucous, who had been speaking all this time.
“I said, ‘You are not listening to me,’” Glaucous repeated with a sweet smile.
“No, I am sorry. There is one thing I want to know, Glaucous. How did this young man come through the shield?” He lowered his voice to a whisper, though there was no one within earshot.
“Is the shield’s magic failing, too?”
Glaucous’s expression darkened. “No,” he replied.
“How can you be certain?” Konnal demanded. “Tell me honestly—have you not felt a weakening of your power over the past year? All other wizards have.”
“That may be. I have not,” Glaucous said coldly.
Konnal gazed at his friend intently. Glaucous refused to meet his gaze and Konnal guessed that the wizard was lying.
“Then what explanation do we have for this phenomenon?”
“A very simple one,” Glaucous returned, unperturbed. “I brought him through.”
“You?” Konnal was so shocked he shouted the word. Many in the crowd halted their conversations to turn and stare.
Glaucous smiled at them reassuringly and took hold of his friend’s arm, led him to a more secluded area of the garden.
“Why would you do this? What do you plan to do with this young man, Glaucous?” Konnal demanded.
“I will do what you should have done,” Glaucous said, smoothing back the flowing sleeves of his white robes. “I will put a Caladon on the throne. I remind you, my friend, that if you had proclaimed your nephew Speaker as I recommended there would be no problem with Silvanoshei.”
“You know perfectly well that Kiryn refused to accept the position,” Konnal returned.
“Due to misguided loyalty to his Aunt Alhana.” Glaucous sighed. “I have tried to counsel him on this matter. He refuses to listen to me.”
“He will not listen to me, either, if that is what you are implying, my friend,” Konnal said. “And might I point out that it is your insistence on maintaining the right of the Caladon family to rule Silvanesti that has landed us in this stew. I am of House Royal myself—”
“You are not a Caladon, Reyl,” Glaucous murmured.
“I can trace my lineage back beyond the Caladons!” Konnal said indignantly. “Back to Quinari, wife of Silvanos! I have as much right to rule as the Caladons. Perhaps more.”
“I know that, my dear friend,” said Glaucous softly, placing a soothing hand upon Konnal’s arm. “But you would have a difficult time persuading the Heads of House.”
“Lorac Caladon plunged this nation into ruin,” Konnal continued bitterly. “His daughter Alhana Starbreeze took us from ruination to near destruction with her marriage to Porthios, a Qualinesti. If we had not acted quickly to rid ourselves of both these vipers, we would have found Silvanesti under the heel of that half-breed, dim-witted Speaker of Suns Gilthas, son of Tanis. Yet the people continue to argue that a Caladon should sit upon the throne! I do not understand it!”
“My friend,” Glaucous said gently, “that bloodline has ruled Silvanesti for hundreds of years. The people would be content to accept another Caladon as ruler without a murmur. But if you put yourself forward as a ruler, there would be months or even years of endless arguments and jealousies, researchings of family histories, perhaps even rival claims to the throne. Who knows but that some powerful figure might arise who would oust you and seize control for himself? No, no. This is the best possible solution. I remind you again that your nephew is a Caladon and that he would be the perfect choice. The people would be quite willing to see your nephew take the position. His mother, your sister, married into the Caladon family. It is a compromise the Heads of House would accept.