said Korhien. Again, there was that note of warning in his voice.
chapter three
‘I see you have made progress,’ said Korhien. He walked around the suit of armour, inspecting it but not touching it. The metal suit somehow dwarfed him while simultaneously giving the impression of having been made for someone about his size.
‘Not as much as I would have liked,’ said Father. He eyed the armour the way he would have gazed upon a personal enemy with whom he was about to fight a duel. Tyrion had never seen him look at it this way before. Maybe the presence of Korhien reminded him of something.
As usual Teclis was gazing at it in awe. His magesight was far better than Tyrion’s and he had often helped their father trace the runes on the armour and the flows of magic they were intended to contain. He even claimed to have sometimes seen the faintest flickers of power within it, a thing which had at first intrigued Father but which he had never witnessed himself.
Looking at the three of them now, Tyrion felt excluded, a blind man listening to three artists discussing painting, or a deaf man reading about musical composition.
Korhien looked at the suit once more. ‘When do you think you will be done with it?’
‘Who knows,’ Father responded. ‘I have given up trying to predict that. There have been so many false dawns and broken promises with this.’
‘It is a pity. It looks fine, and would put fear into the heart of Ulthuan’s foes whether Aenarion wore it or not.’
Father glared at his friend. ‘Aenarion wore it. I am certain.’
Korhien nodded soothingly, obviously aware he had touched a nerve with his quiet musing, even if he had not intended to.
‘The spells woven around this armour are old indeed,’ said Teclis. Korhien shot him an amused glance.
‘I am sure the Council of Loremasters will take your word for that, Prince Teclis.’
‘They ought to, if they are not fools,’ said Teclis.
Korhien laughed outright.
‘One son criticises the battle-plans of the greatest of our generals, the other is prepared to dismiss our most learned sorcerers as fools if they do not agree with his assessment of an artefact. Your children do not lack for confidence, Arathion.’
There was no malice in his tone, and yet there was a warning there that Tyrion did not quite know how to interpret.
‘They have been brought up to speak their minds,’ said Father.
‘You have made them in your own image then, which is only to be expected, I suppose. I am not sure it will serve them well in Lothern.’
Tyrion caught his breath. Father had said nothing yet about them being sent to the great seaport. Had Father already agreed to their going? Tyrion supposed he did not have much choice in the matter. If the law required them to be presented because they were of the Blood of Aenarion, presented they would be.
‘When?’ Tyrion asked. His father shot another venomous glance at Korhien and then at Tyrion.
‘Very soon,’ said Father. ‘If I choose to permit it. There are still details to be worked out.’
Tyrion looked at Teclis and smiled. He could sense his brother was as excited as he was by the prospect of seeing one of the greatest of all high elf cities once more, a place where they had not been since they were both small children.
There would be libraries there to consult and they would look upon wonders. They would see the Sea Gates, and the Lighthouse and the Courts. There would be soldiers and ships and tournaments. There would be the palaces of their mother’s family and their own old house. A whole vast dizzying prospect danced before his eyes. Korhien sensed their excitement too and laughed with them, rather than at them.
‘There are many things to be discussed,’ said Father. ‘Before you go. If you go.’
He sounded saddened by the words even as he said them. ‘Before we go,’ said Tyrion. ‘You are not coming with us?’
‘I have been presented at court,’ said Father. ‘I do not feel any great need to meet a Phoenix King and his courtiers again. And I have work to do here. You will be back soon enough.’
He did not look at them as he said this but there was a faint catch to his voice. He turned towards the armour and began to tinker with the scales on the left upper arm.
‘If you will excuse me,’ he said. ‘I will need to get on with it.’