Sovereign

The priest looked as if he was about to faint. Gudon reached out and took one of his arms, then helped him retreat into the back room and into a seat. Lynan took the only other seat, on the other side of a narrow table, and nodded to Gudon and Ager. His two companions straightened the priest's chair so Hern was forced to look directly at Lynan.

'And I am?'

'You are Prince Lynan Rosetheme.'

'Almost,' Lynan said. 'I am King Lynan Rosetheme.'

'Ah,' the priest said, and looked away from Lynan's gaze.

'We need a map of the region,' Lynan went on. 'I want every town and village marked on it. I also want any other features peculiar to the area that you know of.'

'Peculiar features?'

'Well, there is a gorge, I believe, some leagues west of here. You could put that on, for example.'

'Elstra Gorge,' Father Hern said, his voice tight.

'Pretty place,' Lynan said. 'I believe.'

'Yes.'

'Have you any paper? Pens? I'm afraid I didn't travel with any.'

The priest stood up, but Ager forced him back down with some force. Everyone heard the heavy jingling come from one of the priest's pockets.

'Don't get up, Father Hern. Gudon will get them for you.'

'In the cupboard behind you.'

Gudon went to the cupboard and scrabbled around before returning with some roughly cut square sheets of paper as well as pen and ink. He placed them before the priest.

'Leave out no detail,' Lynan said. 'Even if you think it is unimportant.'

'May I ask what this is for?' Father Hern asked.

'No.'

The priest unscrewed the ink bottle, dipped the pen and started, quickly sketching in the Barda River, then the gorge and Esquidion, then filling the spaces in between with other names. He paused after a few minutes and considered his work, added a few other items, then slipped the paper across to Lynan.

Lynan blew on it to dry the ink and picked it up. He thought the scale was pretty right, judging by where he placed the gorge and Esquidion in relation to the river, but he did not know the area as well as Gudon and he handed the map to the Chett. Gudon scanned it and nodded.

'It is good work, Father,' Lynan said. 'You were well trained. Did you learn under Primate Giros Northam?'

'No. The primate did not do a lot of teaching when I was a novice. It was the time of the Slaver War, and he was involved in other things.'

'As were my friends here,' Lynan said. 'I was too young, of course.'

'Your father served valiantly.'

'You knew him?'

'Only by reputation. I saw him once with your mother… Queen Usharna.'

'Did you admire him?'

'Very much,' Father Hern said quickly, and Lynan believed him. 'No one in our Church could help admiring the man who destroyed the slavers.'

Lynan nodded, pursed his lips. 'For his sake, then, I may not kill you.'

The priest froze, his hands gripping the arms of his chair so tightly his knuckles went white. 'I'm sorry if I've done something to offend you, Pri—King Lynan—'

'Stand up!' Lynan ordered, and Father Hern stood up, 'Empty your cloak pockets!'

'My cloak pockets?'

'Empty them.'

He did; first the left, some chalk, dried fruit, flint and steel; then the right, a single leather bag.

'Open the bag and empty it.'

Gold and silver coins spilled, rolled and clinked on to the table. Lynan picked one up and studied it. 'Haxan.'

Father Hern's face went white.

'Where is she?'

'She?'

'Queen Charion. Where is she?'

'I've never seen Queen Charion. I couldn't even tell you what she looks like.'

'I see. How long have you lived in Esquidion?'

'Lived here? About ten years.'

Lynan turned to Gudon. 'Return to the column. Bring it in. Burn this town to the ground. If anyone resists, kill them.'

Lasthear took Jenrosa to a smithy she had discovered in the poorer section of Daavis, which possessed a small furnace and produced iron household goods. Lasthear asked the blacksmith if she could demonstrate to Jenrosa her magik, while he worked.

'Magik?' the smithy asked nervously.

'To speed up your work and improve the quality of the iron.'

The smithy grinned then and readily agreed.

Lasthear said to Jenrosa, 'If you try to do both—make the furnace work more efficiently and improve the quality of the iron—you will greatly increase the stress you place on yourself without necessarily succeeding. It is best to concentrate on getting the magik right for one or the other.'

Lasthear stood as near to the furnace as possible and started a chant. Whether it was the magik or simply his belief in the chant's efficacy, the blacksmith began working more energetically. In a short period he made two ladles and a cooking pot. Lasthear withdrew from the smithy to cool down. Sweat poured off her.

'Why don't you take your shirt off?' Jenrosa asked.

'What, here?' Lasthear asked, widening her arms to include the city. 'Amongst all these strangers?' She was astounded.

'But at the High Sooq—'

'At the High Sooq I was working with my people. They have seen naked magikers working next to foundries all their lives. Here everyone wears clothes all the time.'

'Maybe you could start a new fashion,' Jenrosa said, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

'Or a riot,' Lasthear countered.

Jenrosa's smile broadened. 'Well, at least you wouldn't get so hot.'

Lasthear harrumphed and led the way back to the furnace. The new ladles and cooking pot had been placed on a workbench for the blacksmith's son to finish off. The blacksmith looked eagerly at Lasthear. 'What next, Madam Magiker?'

'Have you something especially difficult or expensive to make?'

The man scratched his head. 'Begging your pardon, but everything's difficult in a small furnace like this. Inherited it from my da, o'course, like most in my line, and seeing as how I'm wedged between Orvin the Baker with his oven and Milt the Tanner with his vats, there's no room left to expand—'

'Or something expensive?' Lasthear prompted.

'Well, the last big job I did was a mirror base for some cheap lady near the palace. Cheap for her, I mean. It paid off nearly all my debts—'

'But you have nothing like that now?'

'No, except for a new pan for Orvin next door who wants to try out a flatter loaf.'

'What's so expensive about that?'

'Not expensive so much as extra difficult. It can't have ribbing or beading on the bottom, and has to be the right size. I keep on putting it off until I have more time, but the time don't come and Orvin's getting impatient.'

'He's not the only one,' Lasthear said under her breath. 'Let's do it now. I'll help you.'

The blacksmith grinned and started preparing for the task.

'I'm going to be using the second kind of chant,' Lasthear told Jenrosa. 'Although it takes more concentration to get right, it's slower and more evenly paced and in the end doesn't make you as tired… or sweaty.'

Lasthear started singing, and the blacksmith, instead of setting to with urgent energy, fell in with the pattern of the chant. He worked carefully, methodically, but never tiring, and Jenrosa wondered if the chant had an effect on the blacksmith as much as on the fire.

Jenrosa moved from the side to stand behind the blacksmith, taking care not to get in the way of his swinging hammer, and stared into the furnace. The flames whipped around inside their cage, driven by nature and magik, the heat buffeting Jenrosa like an invisible sea. She found herself almost hypnotised, and without meaning to she started picking up the chant, her voice rising and falling in time with Lasthear's. After a while she noticed there was something in the furnace that was neither flame nor ingot, something that writhed with the fire but was apart from it, more substantial. She tried to focus on the shape and her voice changed without her meaning it to, becoming deeper, stronger, and Lasthear's own voice followed like a stream running into a river.