The King's Might: A Legend of Averdan

Part Five

FIVE

HAMRAT

*****

One

An Interlude of Sorts

"--with four centuries,  stationed here, here, here, and here. I've sent another two legions up, and they should be arriving within the week. We can only hope they aren't too late. We need to start calling up the draft, Sire. Karloi is ready, and the Closed Council in Oot has done what it can. The other provinces..." Alair shrugged. "Well, they've done what they can as well. It was fortunate I was out on Census when I was or we might not have reached them in any time at all...Sire? Father."

And, more sharply. "Father, you aren't even listening."

Lanon shook his head, trying to clear it. "It's awfully cold out here, Alair. Awfully cold."

"I know." Alair touched the King's arm gently. "Cold, and grim. But it's cold everywhere now. Northmage's Breath, they're calling it in the city."

"I've heard." Lanon looked out over the jumbled roofs of Hamrat, sighing. Though the desert sun beat down just as it always had, no heat came from it. He felt the cold in the marrow of his bones. "I am sorry, Alair. My mind wanders often now."

"Mine too, my lord."

Alair took a seat on the bench next to him. "Jalith will come back. I promise you."

"But he goes North!" The words were ripped out of him. "He goes North, even while our people die to keep the North from coming here. My own son! What am I to think, Alair? His blood--"

"His blood calls to him," Alair said. "It doesn't control him. Have faith, Father. He has great love for you and for these lands. If he goes North it is because he must."

"I fear for him."

"I do too." The two men exchanged looks. "I'll keep using the seal, I promise. It's for the best if everyone thinks he came back with me. I understand it all too well."

"I know you do, Alair. I know." Lanon took his hand. "You've been good to me, to come back when you did--even after what I did to you."

"You're my king, and my father. I had no choice." He pressed the older man's hand. "Besides, I too love these lands. I know well what would happen if faith in the First Prince is broken entirely. "

"Then let us stop talking of what we already know, and talk about what might happen," Lanon said, with the ghost of a smile. He bent over suddenly, coughing. Alair steadied him.

"That cough's not sounding any better, my lord."

"It's this blasted cold. It seeps into me." Lanon coughed again, fist over his mouth. "It'll pass, I'm sure."

"Not soon enough," Alair said, smiling slightly. "I don't enjoy hearing you cough your lungs out day after day. The racket keeps the princes in the House of Heirs awake, even."

"As well it should! If I die of it, one of them might have to be King."

The smile dropped from Alair's face. "Don't even speak about it," he said sharply. "I won't hear it."

"And who are you," Lanon reminded him gently, "to tell me what I can and cannot say?"

Alair said nothing.

"So," Lanon prompted. "We must raise a great army, and lead it North. Chari Ironstar has long sent word that she is ready--I only hope we can reach her in time. What of the other Lord Holders?"