doing?” Damin asked.
“The Song of Gimlorie,” Adrina told him, her eyes fixed on the Kariens, her voice filled with awe.
“That’s simply a legend,” Almodavar scoffed.
“No. It’s real enough. My father tried to get some of the priestesses to perform it in Talabar once. He thought it would guarantee him a legitimate son. None of the temples would even consider the idea, and he offered them a fortune in gold to do it. They all claimed it was too dangerous.”
“So how did Mikel learn it?”
“R’shiel obviously had a hand in that.” Adrina turned to him then, her expression thoughtful. “You know, if the legends are correct, he who sings the Song of Gimlorie is a channel for the gods.”
“I can well believe it,” Damin agreed, thinking of the effect that even catching part of the song had on him.
They waited in silence after that, until R’shiel ordered Mikel to stop singing. Mikel sagged, as if the song had drained him completely. His brother gently gathered the unconscious child up in his arms and together with R’shiel walked back across the plain towards them.
CHAPTER 7
Despite Adrina’s confident assurance that landing in the main courtyard of the Summer Palace was bound to get Hablet’s attention, Brak chose to make a less dramatic entrance into Talabar. He landed his demon-melded dragon some distance north of the capital on a warm, muggy afternoon three days after he left Medalon, and set out for the city on foot.
He was not well prepared for the journey, though he wasn’t worried about his lack of resources. Once he shed his winter layers of clothing, he turned onto the road and began heading south towards the sprawling pink metropolis, secure in the knowledge that several hundred years of living on his wits left him well equipped to handle anything a Fardohnyan could throw at him.
Brak had eschewed his Harshini heritage for many years, but he wasn’t averse to using a little magic when it was for a good cause. As his only cause these days seemed to be aiding the demon child, he felt justified in taking a few liberties with his power that would have horrified his full-blooded cousins.
Since he had no local currency and was notlooking forward to walking all the way to Talabar, he prevailed upon the Lady Elanymire to meld herself into a large uncut ruby. He then traded the ruby to a merchant from a passing caravan, whose eyes lit up with greed when Brak offered him the gem for a horse, a saddle, some basic supplies, and a small bag of coin.
Any guilt Brak may have felt over the transaction vanished when he saw the state of the merchant’s slaves. They were underfed and miserable, their bare feet blistered from trudging the gravelled road in the heat. Even the richly dressed court’esa who sat on the seat of the gaily-covered lead wagon wore a look of abject misery.
Brak rode away on his newly purchased horse content the merchant deserved everything that was coming to him. The following morning, Lady Elanymire popped into existence on the pommel of his saddle, laughing delightedly at the expression on the avaricious merchant’s face when he discovered his prized ruby had vanished.
Fardohnya had a timeless quality about it. The people were still dusky, smiling, dark-haired souls who seemed, if not content, then accepting of their lot in life. It always struck him as odd that the Fardohnyans were so cheerful. Perhaps it was because their king, while grasping, devious and deceitful, at least understood that a happy population was a quiet one. Hablet wisely confined his more outrageous excesses to his court and Fardohnya’s neighbours.
Slaves waved to him as he passed them in fields of rich black loam as they planted carefully tended green shoots of altaer and filganar before the onset of thespring rains. The grains were native to Fardohnya and the staple diet of much of the population. In Brak’s experience, they would grow anywhere there was enough heat and water. Famine was
“The Song of Gimlorie,” Adrina told him, her eyes fixed on the Kariens, her voice filled with awe.
“That’s simply a legend,” Almodavar scoffed.
“No. It’s real enough. My father tried to get some of the priestesses to perform it in Talabar once. He thought it would guarantee him a legitimate son. None of the temples would even consider the idea, and he offered them a fortune in gold to do it. They all claimed it was too dangerous.”
“So how did Mikel learn it?”
“R’shiel obviously had a hand in that.” Adrina turned to him then, her expression thoughtful. “You know, if the legends are correct, he who sings the Song of Gimlorie is a channel for the gods.”
“I can well believe it,” Damin agreed, thinking of the effect that even catching part of the song had on him.
They waited in silence after that, until R’shiel ordered Mikel to stop singing. Mikel sagged, as if the song had drained him completely. His brother gently gathered the unconscious child up in his arms and together with R’shiel walked back across the plain towards them.
CHAPTER 7
Despite Adrina’s confident assurance that landing in the main courtyard of the Summer Palace was bound to get Hablet’s attention, Brak chose to make a less dramatic entrance into Talabar. He landed his demon-melded dragon some distance north of the capital on a warm, muggy afternoon three days after he left Medalon, and set out for the city on foot.
He was not well prepared for the journey, though he wasn’t worried about his lack of resources. Once he shed his winter layers of clothing, he turned onto the road and began heading south towards the sprawling pink metropolis, secure in the knowledge that several hundred years of living on his wits left him well equipped to handle anything a Fardohnyan could throw at him.
Brak had eschewed his Harshini heritage for many years, but he wasn’t averse to using a little magic when it was for a good cause. As his only cause these days seemed to be aiding the demon child, he felt justified in taking a few liberties with his power that would have horrified his full-blooded cousins.
Since he had no local currency and was notlooking forward to walking all the way to Talabar, he prevailed upon the Lady Elanymire to meld herself into a large uncut ruby. He then traded the ruby to a merchant from a passing caravan, whose eyes lit up with greed when Brak offered him the gem for a horse, a saddle, some basic supplies, and a small bag of coin.
Any guilt Brak may have felt over the transaction vanished when he saw the state of the merchant’s slaves. They were underfed and miserable, their bare feet blistered from trudging the gravelled road in the heat. Even the richly dressed court’esa who sat on the seat of the gaily-covered lead wagon wore a look of abject misery.
Brak rode away on his newly purchased horse content the merchant deserved everything that was coming to him. The following morning, Lady Elanymire popped into existence on the pommel of his saddle, laughing delightedly at the expression on the avaricious merchant’s face when he discovered his prized ruby had vanished.
Fardohnya had a timeless quality about it. The people were still dusky, smiling, dark-haired souls who seemed, if not content, then accepting of their lot in life. It always struck him as odd that the Fardohnyans were so cheerful. Perhaps it was because their king, while grasping, devious and deceitful, at least understood that a happy population was a quiet one. Hablet wisely confined his more outrageous excesses to his court and Fardohnya’s neighbours.
Slaves waved to him as he passed them in fields of rich black loam as they planted carefully tended green shoots of altaer and filganar before the onset of thespring rains. The grains were native to Fardohnya and the staple diet of much of the population. In Brak’s experience, they would grow anywhere there was enough heat and water. Famine was
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