‘Tyrellan.’
The goblin halted as a shifting man-shape rose from the rocks before him. ‘My lord Battu,’ he said, bowing his head. From his back the babe looked on with wide eyes.
‘I’m glad to see you back,’ said Battu. ‘You’ve been longer than expected.’
‘I was forced to move quietly, lord. And the babe needed to be fed.’
‘Is there a murdered wet-nurse somewhere on the trail behind you?’
‘No, but many farmers wondered why their cows gave no milk the morning after my passing.’
The Battu shape wavered in an unseen wind. ‘What of the other who was with you?’
‘He was killed, lord.’
‘Ah,’ said Battu. ‘I shall have an escort sent from Logale.’
‘They will only slow me.’
‘See that they don’t. I’ll take no chances with the child’s safety. There will be a whelkling waiting to bring you to Skygrip.’
Battu’s shadow loomed forward, losing all human shape, surrounding the boy like the fingers of a claw. The boy looked back curiously, without fear, meeting Battu’s inspection with one of his own. Then Battu withdrew and was gone.
For the first time in weeks, Fahren felt calm. The boy had arrived, safe and well, and now slept in a cot in Fahren’s quarters at the top of the Open Tower. His long blue lashes caressed chubby cheeks, his blue hair grown into a mess of curls.
The door to Fahren’s chambers burst open and in strode the Throne, highly agitated and puffing hard. The Tower steps were unforgiving when one was in a hurry.
‘What is it?’ said Fahren.
The Throne didn’t answer, but moved to the cot. ‘So,’ he said, ‘this is the child of power? He doesn’t look very scary.’
‘He’s three weeks old.’
The Throne grunted, glancing around distractedly.
‘What is it, Naphur?’
‘Battu,’ snarled Naphur. ‘He’s disbanded his troops and war engines. He doesn’t mean to attack.’
Fahren felt his heart sink. That could only mean one thing – the goblin had reached Fenvarrow. The other baby was as good as lost, at least for the moment.
‘So,’ said Naphur, keeping his voice steady, ‘it seems you were right, High Mage. It was a feint, massive and costly, but a feint nonetheless.’
‘And so,’ said Fahren, ‘you are finally curious about what we possess? And what the enemy now possesses?’
The Throne nodded. ‘What do we do with him?’
‘Keep him safe, and watch him grow. The Shadowdreamer must not find him, so his identity will be kept secret.’
‘His hair is blue,’ said the Throne.
‘A simple enough enchantment can take care of that. It’s his eyes I wonder about …’
‘His eyes?’
‘You will see when he’s awake, Throne. They are amber flecked with gold. The child must have some Sprite in his ancestry.’
‘Really? He’s a Sprite?’
‘No, he is human. There are some who still carry an aspect of that ancient bloodline, but it’s always weak. Besides, I think the physical characteristics are all that’s left to him. Any Old Magic would have been destroyed when he was separated from his shadow self.’ Fahren frowned. ‘I’ve been wondering endlessly if this is all meant to be, if each side is meant to have a champion – it does not seem chance that he was born with Old Magic and the only artefact in the world capable of separating him into shadow and light.’
‘I only heard “no”,’ said Naphur.
‘I shall leave his eyes, but change his hair,’ sighed Fahren, used to Naphur’s refusal to even attempt understanding of things magical.
‘What of the parents?’
Fahren took a moment to think about that. ‘Most likely they are dead. My dream showed nothing of them, and nothing’s been found since.’
‘Very well, we shall assume them dead. You will be the boy’s guardian, responsible for his upbringing and education. He shall remain under your roof, so to speak. That is what you want?’
‘Yes, my Throne.’ He was glad to hear Naphur finally treating the matter with the seriousness it deserved.
‘And what of Battu’s child?’ asked Naphur.
‘I don’t know,’ said Fahren. ‘I’m uncertain of many things. Perhaps both sides have a champion, perhaps just one, perhaps neither.’ He sighed. ‘I shall need time to ponder, and I may not have an answer until it is delivered to us by fate.’
Naphur’s jaw tightened.
‘I am worried,’ continued Fahren, ‘that I haven’t sensed anything of magic in him yet.’
‘Who’s to say there’ll ever be any?’ said Naphur. ‘To blazes with magic. Maybe he’ll be a great warrior.’
‘He is the child of power,’ said Fahren flatly.
‘There are all kinds of power.’
‘Your problem, my good Throne, is that you see what you want to see. And though I agree that there are all kinds of power, our world is so governed by magic …I don’t see how someone without the gift can possibly hope to change it.’
‘I hope you appreciate that I find that insulting, even though you’re wrong,’ said Naphur. ‘As the Throne of Kainordas, I don’t have to be magical myself to command you to go off and fight the Shadowdreamer, do I?’
Fahren leaned back in his seat. ‘I suppose not.’ He sighed. ‘Well, for now there is only one thing to decide.’
‘What’s that?’
‘A name, my friend. We should not let wider concerns distract us from the pleasant trivialities of life. The boy requires a name. Something unassuming. I suggest we have some wine while we argue about it.’
Fahren filled two large goblets, and they sat watching the baby in the cot, bickering with each other until the sun began to set. Eventually they came to an agreement.
‘Bel,’ said Fahren, placing a hand on the brow of the sleeping boy. ‘Your name will be Bel.’
The child stirred in his sleep.
A knock at the door made Lalenda start and look up from her book. Books were the only escape from the stark room where she spent her days alone. She was reading about a human girl child, the same age as her, who got up to all kinds of mischief. It was a happy, funny story, although sometimes the thought of such freedom made her weep. When she dreamed of it, waking was all the worse.
Nervously she got off her bed and went to the door. Outside stood a fat Grey Goblin. From the goblin’s short breaths, Lalenda could see that the journey into the depths of Skygrip had taxed her.
‘There a portal door round ’ere?’ the goblin demanded.
‘Yes,’ said Lalenda, staring out from under strands of black tousled hair. ‘Away up the passage by the crystal fountain. It connects to the upper castle.’
‘Old fish-head be damned!’ muttered the goblin. ‘I couldn’t find the blighter. ’Ad to come down all them stairs!’
Her tone seemed to imply that this was Lalenda’s fault. Lalenda wondered who old fish-head was.
‘You Lalenda?’ continued the goblin.
‘Yes, ma’am.’
‘’Is lordship wants to see you immediately. You’d better ’urry, as I took so long to get ’ere.’ Her message delivered, the goblin turned to huff off down the corridor.
Dread filled Lalenda. Since the boy had arrived yesterday with Tyrellan, she’d hoped Battu would forget about her for a while. If only she could make him understand about prophecy, but she didn’t dare try. Her visions seldom concerned Fenvarrow on any broad scale, nor Battu’s future as its ruler.
She went to her dressing table with its cracked mirror, the only furnishing in the room besides the bed. Once, while Lalenda had been sitting at it, she’d had a flash of its former owner – the wife of an Arabodedas counsellor, smearing her lips blue. Now the mirror stood covered in dust. In an attempt to make herself presentable, she tied back her long hair, then rubbed a washcloth over her cheeks to wipe away dust arisen from old pages.