evil. Like people, all must be judged on their actions.’
‘All I know is that the one that cleared the narrows did a good thing. But by Silex, it was huge.’
Dion paused as he remembered the huge reptilian head bursting out of the water. He had one more question for his mother.
‘You said your people were close to the eldren. Why is it some can only change to merfolk, while others become great serpents? Why are furies somewhere between man and dragon, and ogres somewhere between man and giant?’
Thea was pensive for a moment. ‘I don’t know exactly, but I believe it has to do with their power. They can all change to three shapes, one each for sea, land, and air. But whether an eldran shifts to an ogre or giant depends on his innate strength. There are more who shift to the smaller shapes – merfolk, ogres, and furies – than those who can become serpents, giants, and dragons.’
‘Do they change often?’
Thea smiled. ‘I don’t know. I would assume that, given the risk of becoming wild, they only change in times of greatest need. The eldren in the Wilds, most likely, live quite like you and me, although they spurn metal and walls of stone.’
Dion rubbed his chin. ‘It seems we are better as friends, despite what Peithon says. There hasn’t been a wildran attack in years.’
He suddenly heard the booming voice of his older brother, loud enough to roll up the stairs and reach his mother’s chambers.
‘Go,’ Thea said, reaching out to squeeze his hand.
Dion reached the audience chamber just as his father and brother entered. They stood close, side by side, as Nikolas enthused about his latest training methods.
‘With the additional cavalry on the wings, the longer pikes in the center, and small groups of archers arranged behind each phalanx, we would be able to prevent being outflanked while at the same time protecting our center,’ Nikolas was saying.
‘But we would need more horses,’ Markos grumbled.
‘I know. And horses are expensive. I’ll speak with Peithon.’
Dion stood a dozen paces from the throne and waited for them to notice him. His older brother was the first to glance up and see him.
Nikolas was a burly man, six years older than Dion, with a thick torso and muscled arms and shoulders, his body sculpted by years of training with shield, sword, and spear. He had curly black hair and dark eyes framed by bristling black eyebrows. Half of his round face was obscured by his bushy beard and he was several inches taller than Dion. When he spoke his voice could carry to men standing at the far end of the training ground.
‘Dion!’ Nikolas cried. He opened his arms wide as he approached. ‘Brother, did you hear? The magi have spoken. My son is to be named.’
‘Congratulations,’ Dion said, grinning at his brother’s excitement. The two men embraced and Dion winced at the pounding on his back. ‘I’m sure he’ll make a fine warrior.’
‘If the magus chooses iron,’ Nikolas said, holding Dion back as he beamed. ‘But he will. Balal will guide him to the right decision.’
‘Dion,’ King Markos said. He regarded his younger son with cold eyes. ‘You expect to disappear and then return as if nothing happened? You were supposed to be gone for a few hours, not two days. You’ve worried your mother. ’
Dion’s father had once been as tall as Nikolas and he still had the frame of a born warrior, but age had stooped his shoulders and his left leg dragged when he walked. Like Nikolas, he had curly hair and dark eyes, but the king’s hair was completely white. He had a broad, weathered face, with frown lines on his brow and a scraggly white beard. His voice was like gravel compared to Nikolas’s boom.
Both men wore dusty tunics, with only the golden thread woven in their belts marking out their status.
‘Father,’ Dion said, ‘I have news.’
King Markos frowned. ‘We know the narrows are blocked. Others confirmed it after you left.’
‘Yes, but there’s
‘All I know is that the one that cleared the narrows did a good thing. But by Silex, it was huge.’
Dion paused as he remembered the huge reptilian head bursting out of the water. He had one more question for his mother.
‘You said your people were close to the eldren. Why is it some can only change to merfolk, while others become great serpents? Why are furies somewhere between man and dragon, and ogres somewhere between man and giant?’
Thea was pensive for a moment. ‘I don’t know exactly, but I believe it has to do with their power. They can all change to three shapes, one each for sea, land, and air. But whether an eldran shifts to an ogre or giant depends on his innate strength. There are more who shift to the smaller shapes – merfolk, ogres, and furies – than those who can become serpents, giants, and dragons.’
‘Do they change often?’
Thea smiled. ‘I don’t know. I would assume that, given the risk of becoming wild, they only change in times of greatest need. The eldren in the Wilds, most likely, live quite like you and me, although they spurn metal and walls of stone.’
Dion rubbed his chin. ‘It seems we are better as friends, despite what Peithon says. There hasn’t been a wildran attack in years.’
He suddenly heard the booming voice of his older brother, loud enough to roll up the stairs and reach his mother’s chambers.
‘Go,’ Thea said, reaching out to squeeze his hand.
Dion reached the audience chamber just as his father and brother entered. They stood close, side by side, as Nikolas enthused about his latest training methods.
‘With the additional cavalry on the wings, the longer pikes in the center, and small groups of archers arranged behind each phalanx, we would be able to prevent being outflanked while at the same time protecting our center,’ Nikolas was saying.
‘But we would need more horses,’ Markos grumbled.
‘I know. And horses are expensive. I’ll speak with Peithon.’
Dion stood a dozen paces from the throne and waited for them to notice him. His older brother was the first to glance up and see him.
Nikolas was a burly man, six years older than Dion, with a thick torso and muscled arms and shoulders, his body sculpted by years of training with shield, sword, and spear. He had curly black hair and dark eyes framed by bristling black eyebrows. Half of his round face was obscured by his bushy beard and he was several inches taller than Dion. When he spoke his voice could carry to men standing at the far end of the training ground.
‘Dion!’ Nikolas cried. He opened his arms wide as he approached. ‘Brother, did you hear? The magi have spoken. My son is to be named.’
‘Congratulations,’ Dion said, grinning at his brother’s excitement. The two men embraced and Dion winced at the pounding on his back. ‘I’m sure he’ll make a fine warrior.’
‘If the magus chooses iron,’ Nikolas said, holding Dion back as he beamed. ‘But he will. Balal will guide him to the right decision.’
‘Dion,’ King Markos said. He regarded his younger son with cold eyes. ‘You expect to disappear and then return as if nothing happened? You were supposed to be gone for a few hours, not two days. You’ve worried your mother. ’
Dion’s father had once been as tall as Nikolas and he still had the frame of a born warrior, but age had stooped his shoulders and his left leg dragged when he walked. Like Nikolas, he had curly hair and dark eyes, but the king’s hair was completely white. He had a broad, weathered face, with frown lines on his brow and a scraggly white beard. His voice was like gravel compared to Nikolas’s boom.
Both men wore dusty tunics, with only the golden thread woven in their belts marking out their status.
‘Father,’ Dion said, ‘I have news.’
King Markos frowned. ‘We know the narrows are blocked. Others confirmed it after you left.’
‘Yes, but there’s
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