Wizards At War

Without warning, she found herself starting to get angry. Here’s one of the most arrogant, self-assured people I know, she thought, and just the thought of going to see his father has him freaked. That’s not the way things should be! As she stepped onto the paving, she squeezed his hand a little.

He gave her a look she couldn’t read. Dairine dropped the hand, unsure whether she’d misstepped, and followed him toward the pair of huge bronze doors that faced the sunset and were emblazoned with the sun.

That sun split before them as the doors ponderously swung open. Dairine put Spot down, and they all walked in.

Their footsteps rang in the huge and echoing space they entered, and their shadows ran far before them down the length of the polished floor, to merge with the dimness at the far end of the severely plain great hall. Use the time to compose yourself, Roshaun said silently.

Like you’re doing? said Dairine. She could feel all too clearly what was going on inside his head. But then that had started to be a problem lately.

Roshaun didn’t reply. But by the time they were actually getting close to the throne, the racket inside his head had started to die down somewhat.

Throne was not the best word for the chair in which that very tall man sat waiting for them. It was backless and had arms that rose from its seat on curving uprights; it sat not on any dais, but on the floor. However, the man sitting in it made it look like a throne by the way he sat, both erect and somehow completely casual about it. He watched them come without moving a muscle, and as they got close enough to get a decent impression, Dairine tried to size him up. His clothes were like Roshaun’s, though in a darker shade of red-orange; his red hair was shorter than Roshaun’s by a couple of feet, and he wore it tied back, so that the angles and planes of a face very much like Roshaun’s, sharp and high-cheekboned, were made more obvious. His eyes, as emerald as Roshaun’s, were more deeply sunken, a little more shadowed by the brows; his face looked both more thoughtful and more dangerous.

Roshaun stopped about six feet from the throne. Dairine half expected him to bow, but he simply stood there, silent, waiting.

Slowly the man stood up. Roshaun locked eyes with him as he did so. His height astounded Dairine; meeting this man’s eyes for long would give even her father a sore neck.

“You came more quickly than I thought you might,” said the man. The voice was like Roshaun’s, a light tenor, somewhat roughened by age.

“This promises to be a busy time for us all,” Roshaun said, “and it seemed discourteous to keep you waiting any longer than necessary.”

Roshaun nodded, and glanced at Dairine. “I would make you known,” he said, “to Nelaid ke Seriv am Teliuyve am Meseph am Veliz am Teriaunst am Antev det Nuiiliat; Brother of the Sun, Lord of Wellakh, the Guarantor—”

Roshaun fell suddenly silent, as if not knowing quite what to say next.

“Guarantor that was,” Nelaid said, looking at Dairine. “It does sound strange, the first time one says it.” And now his eyes were on Roshaun again.

Roshaun swallowed. “Father, this is Dhairine ke Khallahan,” he said, “wizard.”

It’s title enough for me, she thought. She gave Nelaid a very slight nod, thinking that between wizards, even if they were royalty, that was gesture enough. Besides, if I nod too hard, this crown could fall right on the floor. “I am on errantry,” Dairine said, looking up at Nelaid, “and I greet you.”

“I greet you also,” Roshaun’s father said in the Speech. He stepped away from the throne, looked at Roshaun.

“Well, son,” he said, “you were not long in donning the Sunstone, as is your right. This only remains to complete the accession.” And he glanced at the chair.

Roshaun swallowed again. “I wanted to talk to you about that,” he said.

His father tilted his head a little to one side. “I fail to see what could still need discussion,” he said.

Roshaun turned to look back down the length of the hall, toward the doors and straight into the light of the Wellakhit sun, still slowly setting. The light caught strangely in the great gem at his throat, washing out its amber fire and leaving it as colorless as water.

“I will not be staying,” he said, turning back toward his father. “Errantry takes me elsewhere.”

Nelaid nodded, just once, very slowly. “What the Son of the Sun says is, of course, law.” But Dairine could hear something else coming. “From the sound of it, however, you came not to ask me what you should do, but to tell me what you had already made up your mind to do. I suspected as much.”

“Royal sire,” Roshaun said, “I would hardly make such a choice without consulting with the Aethyrs.”