Chapter 1

Galinas

In the south-eastern tip of Rastia lies an ancient mountain range. To the

folk of the villages nestled in their embrace, they are the Marisca Mountains, the houses
of plenty, and their highest peak, Mount Tusalla, is reported to touch the sky. Mid-way
up its fertile slopes lies the little village of Galinas, and in the higher reaches, there is a
small cave. For most of its existence, it was just an ordinary cave, like the many that
dotted the mountainsides. But during a brief time, towards the end of the 3 rd Age, it
became the home of an old man and a boy. It is with them that this story begins.

The boy was in pain. One of the rocks was jabbing into his back, it was hot and he was
thirsty, his legs and shoulders ached, and he didn’t know why he was carrying the rocks
to the cave. When he finally arrived, the old man was sitting outside, calmly smoking his
iilyah pipe.
"Here are the rocks, father," he said, carefully keeping his tone neutral.
"I asked you to take them to the top, Raji," he replied. His voice was like the rasp of old
leather. "This is not the top. Return to me when you have brought them there and emptied
the sack.”
"But it’s very steep and I need to use my hands to climb. How will I bring it up?"
"Raji," Cireon said, "if you realised how stupid your words are, you would laugh at
yourself. Use your head, boy, or there is no point in me teaching you anything further."
Frowning, Raji sat down, drawing his knees up beneath his chin to think. A minute
later, he got up and slipped into the back of the cave to fetch a coil of thick rope. Taking
his small hunting knife from the sheath of stiffened leather at his side, he sliced it into the
appropriate lengths and set to work. Soon, he had slung the sack onto his back once more,
slipping his arms through the ropes he had woven into the fabric to make crude straps.
Cireon said nothing as Raji left the cave again and began to climb the steep hillside.
The sack dragged from his shoulders, threatening always to pull him down, and the straps
of rope sawed cruelly into his skin. He gritted his teeth and struggled on. Then, just after
he had reached the half way point, the worst came to pass. The over-stressed ropes began
to give way, and there was nothing he could do but cling to the rock until they finally
snapped, allowing the sack to bounce and crash its way down to the valley below. He
roared with frustration, and for a wild moment was overcome with the desire to release
his grip and fly out into the air after it. He worked to calm himself, drawing from within
as he had been shown, then began to ease his way back down. He found the sack easily
enough, lodged in a cluster of jagged boulders just off the track beneath the cave, and
once again carried it up to the cave mouth. This time, he deposited half of the load at the
cave, to be carried in a second journey. It took him just over five minutes to clamber up
the cliff, empty the rocks onto the ground, then climb back down again.
When he’d brought up the second load, he sank down in front of the pile he’d made,
massaging his aching shoulders. Below him, the forest was spread out in an undulating
carpet of green interspersed with grey spikes of granite. The sky was empty of clouds, the
mid-summer sun a blazing white ball above. A brisk mountain breeze softened the heat,
bringing with it the smell of blueflowers. He breathed deeply, feeling suddenly happy as
the tension left him and the sweat cooled on his brow.
When he returned to the cave he found the old man , sewing together some skins. "It's
done.”
"Very good, Raji. I want nine more sacks up there by tonight. Off you go now. You may
have a rest after the next four have made their way up that cliff."
"But..."
"Obedience and discipline, Raji. Those are the first principles. Now go." Raji turned
and walked out, too shocked to speak.
By the time five sacks of rocks had been added to the pile at the top of the cliff, Raji’s
shoulders were bleeding. Cireon didn’t speak to him as he passed into the cave to
bandage his shoulders and drink deeply from the waterskin, and he didn’t look back when
the knife slipped from Raji’s trembling grip and clattered onto the ground as he tried to
cut some dried meat. He was equally silent when Raji limped back out of the cave to
continue his task. It was not until later that night, as Raji sat before the fire rubbing
ointment onto the red welts on his shoulders, that they spoke.
"Are you going to tell me?”
 The old man sucked on his pipe, then slowly expelled a thin stream of blue smoke which
hovered in the air a moment before snaking towards the outside. "Discipline, Raji. It is
the essence of energy-weaving. One lapse in concentration, one attempt at a shortcut, one
slip, and it will fail - or worse. You did well today. I think you have displayed the correct
amount of discipline needed to start. The rocks will also be useful for experiments. But be
warned - that was easy compared to what lies ahead.”
Immediately, Raji’s pain was extinguished by a wave of happiness, pride and
excitement. Cireon's thin lips curved into a smile, spreading a web of new wrinkles
around his face.

"I must leave again today. I may be gone for several weeks. Be on the look out for new
people on the mountains and be careful who you speak to," Cireon said.
Opening his eyes and rubbing the sleep from them, Raji sat up on his bed of moss and
rushes. Cireon stood next to him, his worn grey cloak and pack on his shoulders. In his
hand was a long staff of oak wood, topped by a smooth, rounded piece of speckled green
rock. It was a focus stone, used by Mages to increase the power of their energy weaves.
"I won’t ask you where you are going, nor try to stop you, because you won't listen to
me," Raji began.
"Hopefully, this will be the last trip," Cireon said. “Remember what I have told you
before.” He walked noiselessly towards the exit without waiting for Raji's belated
goodbye.
Raji stared after him. It was clear that something was happening out in the world, but
the old man refused to tell him where he went or why, always repeating the same words.
All comes in good time, Raji. When you reach manhood, the burdens of a man will fall
upon you. Keep practising the weaves I have taught you. You must know them so well
that they form the pattern before you think about it. They must be as natural to you as
breathing or walking. Only then have you achieved mastery and can be counted.
The Talent they shared formed a bond stronger than blood they did not. Raji had never
known his parents, and Cireon claimed to have found him in the jungle as a baby. He had
raised him, protected him and loved him, and then when Raji had turned thirteen, he had
taught him the first weaves. Seven years had passed since, and Raji had learned with
patience and dedication, asking few questions. Now, though, he wanted to know more,
and every time his answers were denied, his frustration mounted.
If he could just remember…he closed his eyes and focused inwards, summoning up as
he had done before, the faint image of a weeping yellow-haired woman - his mother, he
was sure. He concentrated on it, trying to see beyond her immediate presence.
Something clicked.
Danger and fear. A sharp smell. Something was looking for them. His father was a dim
presence, shouting orders but Raji could not see him.
A steady headache was building up in his temples and he stopped. Using the Talent on
his own mind was dangerous. Feeling even more agitated, he decided to go down to the
village. He and Cireon went occasionally to sell skins and meat, and to replenish their
stocks of cereals, but he had never been by himself. It was something to do, and perhaps
he could even learn a little of what was happening in the world.
He fetched a clean tunic and went down to the stream to wash. Afterwards, he hurried
back to the cave, gathering up some flatbread, cured skins and carvings he had made and
dropping them into a sack. He also took with him a waterskin, a long hunting knife and
his staff. Cireon had presented it to him on the day he learned the first of the Great
Weaves. Raji had no idea where it came from or how Cireon had come about it. Like
Cireon’s, it was made of polished oak, the only wood capable of withstanding the energy
flows. There were ancient runes carved down its length which Cireon claimed not to
understand. and at its tip was a deep blue rainstone inset with platinum.
Fully equipped for his journey, Raji set off down the path to the village, whistling a
tune Cireon had taught him.
"You seem to be in a fine mood this afternoon, young fella."
Raji started. The voice had come from the path to his right. It was warm and resonant,
the inflections soft, but the accent was different to that of the villagers.
"No need to fear old Nicky. I'm just a wandering minstrel in search of his fortune," the
voice said. It belonged to an old man, whose snowy white hair and long, drooping
moustache formed a startling contrast to his dark skin. He was dressed in a short blue
tunic and trousers such as Raji had seen men wear in the village. Both were faded and
shabby.
 Raji's gaze strayed up to the knife at the stranger's belt. It was the longest he had ever
seen. A sword, he realised. Raji had once asked Cireon if he’d ever used a sword, but the
old hermit had shook his head, looking horrified. Now, as he regarded the blade, he
realised why Cireon was so averse to them. There was a disturbing feeling of wrong
about the weapon. Behind the old man stood a tall grey horse. Raji had seen a few horses
before in the village, but they didn't look like this one at all. They were much shorter,
with stumpy legs and barrel chests covered in shaggy brown hair.
"Who are you?" Raji asked without relaxing his grip on the staff.
"Nicky, the minstrel, at your service," the old man proclaimed, sweeping a bow, left
foot extended. His graceful movements belied his years, and Raji suddenly felt certain
that he could use his blade well. "I'm on my way to the village of Galinas to see if I can
earn some pennies. I presume you are also travelling there?"
"I might be," Raji replied suspiciously.
Nicky smiled, his blue eyes twinkling. "I see you're not overly given to trusting
strangers. Wise in these troubled times. I assure you I intend no harm, however. May I
have the honour of knowing your name?"
Softening, Raji introduced himself. "I'm going down to the village. You can join me if
you like.” The words had come out before he had thought them and now he started to
worry that he had been foolish.
"Thank you. That would please me greatly. Do you live in the mountains?" Nicky asked
as they began to walk. His stride was strong and purposeful.
"Yes. I've lived there all my life with my father."
"Ah, and is he at home now? ”
“No, he’s gone away for a short time.”
“I see. And don’t you ever feel lonely, all alone up there?”
The question took him by surprise. "Well, I have my father, so I am not alone." He
frowned, thinking harder. “No. No, I don’t think I feel lonely. I’m not sure if I understand
it.”
"But have you never longed to talk to other people and live among them, to know what
it is like to have friends or hear music being played while you drink beer with men at the
inn?"
 "No, I have everything I need here,” he replied, wondering now if it was true.
"And you have never thought that you might have to leave some day?"
“Perhaps. I don’t know.” He didn’t like the direction the conversation had taken and
changed the subject. "Have you travelled far?"
"Across the ends of the world and back again," Nicky said. Seeing Raji's look of
startled amazement, he laughed again, "Just a phrase us travellers like to use. I’ve
travelled many a league, Raji. I've been in all of the northern kingdoms, and seen the
great Valarian temples, the Bridges of Sirra and the Tower of the Moon. I've sailed on the
greatest ships in the world and even braved the Great Maelstrom. In the Empire I have
visited the Imperial Games and seen the Emperor himself, with all his beautiful wives
and concubines. I have visited the Cren'da'Rian and seen the Imperial Palace. I have
beheld the Pillars of the Sky, the Moonlight Caves and the Dragon's Eye."
Raji’s eyes were widening with each new addition. Some he had heard of, and he knew
their ancient and legendary origins, but others were completely new and exotically
strange. Questions whirled around in his mind but trying to get a grip on one was like
trying to catch a snakefish with your bare hands.
Nicky grinned, "I see you have much to ask me. Well, if it's one thing we minstrels love,
it's telling stories. What would you like to know about first?"
Raji thought for a moment. "What about the Mages. Have you ever seen them?" he
asked eventually.
"Yes, I’ve had the honour of meeting some great Mages.”
“Is it true that the Valarian Mages all live in a great stone tower?”
“Yes and no. The Stone Tower is the seat of the Archmage. There, the young novices
are trained and all the Mages have a home, but many of them are scattered about the
Northern Lands, carrying out their tasks of defending and protecting the people.”
They had come into sight of the village, still a hundred feet below them and surrounded
by green forest. It was little more than a collection of hovels scattered about in no
discernible pattern. There was only one street, little more than a dirt track, which ran
roughly through the centre to the market place. Even from here Raji could see the
village's inhabitants moving about their daily business. It was market day, and the open
square in the centre was full of traders and buyers.
“How about the Great Imperial Legions?”
“A mighty fighting force. The legionaries are dangerous men but many of them are
honourable. I spent some time as minstrel to a division and befriended a few.” Nicky
recounted some of the battles they had fought while they made the final descent into the
village.
As always, its sounds and smells took Raji by surprise - the delicious aroma from the
cookpots mingling with the smell of dried earth and the stink of human waste, the voices
ringing out on the street, the clacking of metal on metal, the grunts and barks and cackles
of animals and birds. Three dirt-streaked boys in bare feet and homespun brown tunics
chased a dog across his path, yelling and waving sticks in their hands. He jumped back in
fright, causing Nicky to laugh.
They came to the main village fountain, around which three girls were chatting. When
they saw him they broke off their conversation and gave him appraising looks. Raji
blushed and looked away, their giggles following him.
"Are you going to the market?" one called after him.
Raji turned back to her. She seemed to be the oldest, and was almost as tall as he, with
long dark brown hair and eyes to match. Like her two friends she wore a long flowing
skirt that reached to her ankles and a short vest. Both were made of cotton and dyed a
dark red colour.
The lead girl laughed. "I asked you a question, won't you answer it?"
"Y-yes, I am going to the market. M-my friend is o..." He looked back but Nicky had
disappeared.
"Since he seems to have left you, why don't we come with you instead?" the girl said,
approaching him and hooking her arm around his free one.
Before Raji could protest, the three girls were leading him towards the market. "So,
what do they call you?"
"J-just Raji. I live in the mountains." His toes squirmed uncomfortably in the dirt.
"All on your own?" she asked incredulously.
"No-I mean yes, of course I do."
"So who was the old man you were with?" said another, whose hair and skin was the
colour of fresh honey.
 "Oh, he's a minstrel."
"We thought that the minstrel was only a rumour. This will be the best Midsummer
Feast we’ve had in years!’ the dark one said excitedly. ‘Let me introduce myself and my
friends. I’m Enla and this is Alimara", she indicated the blonde, "and Tania”. Tania
smiled shyly at him. She was petite, with a pixie-like face and small elfin hands. Raji
returned her smile, feeling himself go redder until he noticed the reciprocal stain on her
cheeks.
They were entering the market place. Crude wooden stalls had been erected around the
perimeter of the square, with people mingling freely among them. In the centre, a
pupeteer was producing shrieks of fear and delight from the children. Bright flags and
banners of all shapes and sizes hung from the windows above, rippling when the soft
breeze blew across them. Outside the inn, a familiar horse was hitched, and moments
later Nicky stepped out, bearing an oddly-shaped leather case. He also carried a
collection of wooden planks and sticks.
"There's the minstrel!" Alimara exclaimed.
"That's my friend, Nicky," Raji told them, unable to conceal his relief, "Nicky!" he
shouted, disengaging himself from Enla and waving at him.
Nicky heard him and came hurrying over, a smile once more on his lips. "I see you've
found yourself some friends, Raji.” Raji gave him a strained look, and Nicky's grin
widened. "I wondered what became of you back there. Come with me, I've found a nice
spot for us both. If you'll excuse us, girls?" Nicky said with solemn politeness.
Enla’s full red lips pursed together into a pout. "Oh must you go? I was hoping we
might talk longer." Her hands moved defiantly to her hips. Raji took an involuntary step
backward.
"Yes, he does. Now come on Raji, before the places are taken," Nicky said.
"Maybe we’ll see you again tonight at the festival?" Alimara said.
"Yes, maybe," Raji replied vaguely, although he had no intention of staying past
nightfall. "Goodbye." He hurried towards Nicky.
"What are you laughing at?" he asked the minstrel, who was chuckling to himself. The
minstrel let out a huge guffaw, "I have only ever seen such a trapped look on a mouse
that was cornered by a hungry cat. My dear Raji, I see there is a lot you need to learn,
particularly about women."
As they set up in the space Nicky had chosen, Raji received an extensive lecture on
manners. Some of the things involving girls made him blush furiously, which only caused
Nicky to laugh more.
Soon the rickety stall was up, and a canvas sheet supported by four long sticks was
spread over it to keep the sun off. All the places on the shady side of the wall had already
been taken.
"The stall's for you lad, I only need my lute case," Nicky told him, sitting cross-legged
in the dirt beside him. He opened the case and out came the lute. It was made of some
beautiful golden brown wood he had never seen before. Six strings stretched across an
oval-shaped bowl with a hole cut into it, then travelled up a long narrow section which
Nicky grasped in his left hand. He nestled the bowl in his laps and plucked one of the
strings with his fingers. A beautiful, mellow sound resonated from the instrument,
hanging in the air for a moment before fading into the noise of the market-place. He
continued plucking for a while, making adjustments on the strings as he did so. At last he
stopped, a look of satisfaction on his face.
"What you are about to hear, my lad, is some real music.”
His fingers touched the strings again, causing a rippling of sound. Raji listened,
fascinated, as a melody began to form. Then Nicky began to sing. The song was light and
merry, filling the whole market-place as Nicky's agile fingers danced on the strings. Very
soon a crowd was gathering around him and joining in. To Raji, the words made no sense
at all, but he found himself joining in when he became surer of the chorus. The audience
began to clap and stamp in time to the music, their sun-dark faces split open with delight.
"More! More!"
"Sing us "The Lazy Farmer's Boy" a coarse voice called from the back.
Other voices joined the call for the song, and Nicky raised his hands for silence. As
soon as the first echoes of music sounded on the lute, the clamour stopped. After listening
to Nicky play for a while, Raji returned to his task of setting the skins and toys out on his
stall. The minstrel proved to be a valuable asset and drew many people over in his
direction. Both his skins and the figurines he had made of deer antlers and wood sold
well, the latter to parents needing presents for their children on the all-important feast
day. By evening everything was gone, and he packed away the stall, happily humming
along to Nicky’s song. Nicky announced then that he was taking a break until the night’s
festivities had begun, waving down all calls for more with polite firmness.
"I am in sore need of some food after all that, and a good drink also," Nicky said as he
scooped up the coins from his case and transferred them to a hidden pocket under his
cloak. With tender care, he replaced the lute in its case and slung it over his back.
“Yes, me too. I’m going to buy some bread, and maybe something else.” Raji jingled
his fat purse. He had never received so much money before.
Nicky accompanied him as he went off in search of the baker. To his disappointment,
they found the door locked and the shop shut.
"No doubt he's preparing for tonight, probably at the inn. Have no fear lad, I’m sure
you'll be able to buy some from the innkeeper's wife," Nicky assured him, taking his arm
and leading him away.
Cireon had never allowed Raji to enter the large inn, but he felt only momentarily
guilty as they stepped inside. It was filled with the buzz of conversation, punctuated by
occasional shouts and roars of laughter. The room was very large, with wooden tables
and chairs occupied by rowdy groups of men and women. Trampled bullrushes covered
the splintered wooden slats on the floor, and a smell of stale sweat and some other
indefinable odour hung in the air. Looking up, he noticed that stuffed animal heads hung
from the walls as grizzly trophies. He turned his eyes away, revolted by the sight.
Nicky tugged at his arm and they picked their way through the crowd to reach a long
counter running the length of the room. There were many high stools next to it, most of
which were occupied. They managed to find two that were free and pulled them next to
each other by the counter.
"You stay here and mind our places, I'll dispose of those planks and put away my lute."
Before Raji had time to open his mouth, he was gone. So he awkwardly scrambled
onto the stool, clutching at the counter when it wobbled suddenly. He had never sat on a
chair before, or eaten at a table. He and Cireon always took their meals squatting down
before the fire with their plates on the ground or balanced on their knees.
Presently, Nicky returned and hopped onto the stool. Leaning over and resting his
elbows on the counter, he bellowed, "How's about some food and drink for a thirsty
minstrel and his friend here!"
The word minstrel caught the innkeeper’s attention instantly, and he hurried over to
them.
"What's your pleasure, master minstrel?" the fat, balding man asked. A greasy white
apron was strung around his considerable girth, and his plump face was red and shiny
with sweat.
"What food are you offering?" Nicky asked. His moustache twitched.
"There's lettuce and pepper salad with freshly baked bread, or deer meat cooked in a
prune and wine sauce. Both cost five coppers each. To drink we have Rastian Red,
Kharasian Fire and our own local ale, made by Sheris the brewer. It is excellent, I assure
you," the man said.
"We'll have two flagons of your ale, then. I will take the meat. What would you like to
eat, Raji?" he asked, turning to the boy.
"I'd like some salad," Raji said shyly.
"That'll be one silver and four. I'd prefer if you pay now, because of the festival, you
understand. Too many people could conveniently disappear without paying in this
crowd," he said.
"I understand perfectly. Here you go." Nicky fished out a silver coin and four smaller
copper ones and handed them to the innkeeper, who pocketed them quickly and then
disappeared to fetch their orders.
Seeing Raji start to count out seven copper pieces, Nicky said, "There's no need to pay
me for the food Raji. It's a gift."
Cireon had told him to always accept a gift in good grace, so he put away the purse and
thanked the minstrel. Presently two plates of food were deposited before him, along with
clay tankards brimming with white foam. Nicky instantly reached for the drink, taking a
few large gulps before putting it back down and wiping the foam from his moustache.
Raji did likewise, noticing as he lifted the tankard to his lips that it had a similar smell to
the one that filled the room. He took a large swallow - and coughed violently when the
bitter liquid caught his throat. Through tear-filled eyes, he could see Nicky stifling his
laughter, then fail and let out a huge guffaw.
"Not able to hold your drink, eh?" He lifted his tankard to his lips and took another
gulp, saluting Raji with a grin before he did so.
Determined not to be made a fool of, he picked up the oversized cup again and drank it
down without stopping. It seemed to spread right down to the tips of his toes, bringing a
tingling warmth with it. A moment later, he was swaying on his stool, feeling pleasantly
light-headed.
Wiping the foam off with the back of his hand, he grinned at Nicky. "Who says I can't
hold my drink? You haven't even finished yours yet."
"Hah, just you wait, laddo." Nicky picked up the tankard and drained it. "Innkeeper, fill
these cups would you!" he called. Soon two more drinks were sitting before them.
‘Tell me a story,’ Raji said.
‘What kind of story would you like to hear?’
‘A true story.’
‘All stories are true, my boy. Could you be more specific?’
‘No, some are made-up, like the stories about dragons.’
‘What makes you think they’re made-up?’ Nicky said, eyes twinkling.
Raji became a little irritated. ‘Because dragons don’t exist. They’re not real creatures.
Father told me so.’
‘Where do you think the stories came from then?’
‘From people’s heads, I suppose. I don’t know.’
‘Yes, and you hear them through people’s words. But what way have you verifying that
stories are ‘true’ or not? You have never even left this tiny inconsequential piece of land,
itself part of a vast world whose limits no one knows. ‘
‘Cireon…’ Raji stopped. Cireon did not have authority for Nicky, so how was Raji to
express to him his infallibility? Then he felt idiotic. Hadn’t Cireon himself said many
times always to look beneath the surface of words? ‘So have you seen a dragon, then?’
‘No, not yet. But I know a lot about them.’
‘Okay, then tell me a story about dragons.’
‘This is the story of Gala, the first leader of the dragonpeople in the 1st Age.’
‘The Age of Mists.’
‘Yes, it is well-named, for few people have knowledge of that obscure time. The
homeland of the dragons was Pretaria, in the northern part of Eleusia, the lost continent.’
 Raji nodded. Cireon had told him the story of Eleusia, the elven land, and how it had
been destroyed in the elves’ great battle against the Ilk at the end of the 2nd Age.
‘The dragons were not alone in Pretaria, but lived side by side with an ancient race of
people who were able to speak and ride the dragons. Indeed, it is said that they formed a
special bond with a particular dragon when very young, and neither Pretarian nor dragon
would long outlast the death of the other.’
‘How did they bond the dragons?’
“A clever question, my boy. It is not known how the Pretarians were able to
communicate and bond with the dragons. More than likely it was the result of some
special energy weave that they had learnt.’
‘Were they human?’
‘They were neither human nor elven, but of some other, ancient race. It is not known
who arrived on Eleusia first, elf or Pretarian, but there was initially little contact between
them. The Pretarians were a shy and quiet people, and had no need to expand their
territory, for their numbers were small and they did not reproduce rapidly. Most of them
preferred to live in the prairies and hills, as this was the natural home of dragons.
However, as Pretarian civilisation developed and their numbers grew, squabbles arose
over land and the distribution of resources, until finally a row over pasture lands
threatened to set the four provinces of Pretaria against each other in an unprecedented
war. It was only due to the wisdom of Gala that they were saved.”
“What did she do?”
“She proposed the creation of a great council, the Calin’Preta, to rule over the
provinces. Its members were to be elected democratically from the greatest among them
and would provide organisation and leadership for the people. The first town of the
Pretarians grew around the great hall of the council, and it would eventually become the
most famous and most beautiful city of the Old World. It was named Orisa’Car, the Rose
City, because of the colour of the stones from which it was constructed. Its wide avenues
were lined with trees hundreds of times taller than a man. Ah, to have seen it!” He feel
silent, gazing into the amber liquid in his glass as if he might see the city reflected in it.
Raji said nothing, spellbound by his words and wishing that he too, could have seen the
dragons and the Rose City. Eventually, he asked “What happened to Gala?”
 Nicky looked up at him, a strange sadness in his eyes which made him look older than
he had. “Gala became the first leader of the Calin’Preta and helped to govern Pretaria
wisely for three hundred years.’
‘Three hundred years! That’s impossible!’
‘The Pretarians had very long life spans, even longer than that of the elves. Perhaps it
was on account of the bond to the dragons.’
Did the elves or humans ever try to bond the dragons?’
‘Humans, no. At that time were still very backward, and barely above the level of
beasts. Neither elf nor Pretarian had much to do with them, unless it was as the object of
scholarly curiosity.’
‘What about the elves?’
‘They tried – and failed. But that is a story for another day.” Nicky’s manner suddenly
changed, regaining its earlier joviality. “Finish your drink, lad. It’s time to go outside and
join the party.’
Raji shook his head in disappointment. "I have to leave now, I can’t wait for the
festival.”
"Balderdash, lad. Stay here for the night. You can share my room in the inn. It'll do
you good.”
Intoxicated by the beer, the lively atmosphere and Nicky’s stories, Raji agreed.
Outside, sky had darkened, but the square was lit by torches wedged into the ground and
the huge bonfire which had been constructed in the centre. Adults were drifting into the
square, chatting animatedly, while their children ran about, screaming and laughing. To
one side of the square a small wooden platform had been erected, upon which stood a
single chair.
A burly man with a thick, curling black beard pushed his way over to them and bowed
at Nicky. He wore a long purple robe over his forest green tunic and pants. A long
pendant of gold hung around his neck. "Welcome to Galinas, master minstrel. If it pleases
you to follow me to your seat?”
"Lead on, my lord Mayor," Nicky replied, cradling the lute against his chest.
Not knowing what else to do, Raji followed them through the press of bodies to the
stage he had seen earlier. They mounted a short flight of stairs onto it, and Nicky sat on
the chair, taking out the lute.
"Be a good lad and get me some ale. I'll be getting thirsty soon," he told Raji.
Glad of something to do, Raji hurried towards the opposite corner, where he had seen
several barrels of ale. Two women worked to fill the cups of waiting customers, while a
short man in a tunic of bright red collected their money.
As he made his way back towards Nicky, who was striking up a tune to warm up, he
took some long sips of his drink.
"Thank you, Raji," Nicky said when he had finished his song. He took a few swigs,
then deposited it next to his chair. The Mayor returned and clambered up onto the
platform. He blew a horn, and everyone fell instantly quiet and turned to him expectantly.
"Tonight my fellow friends, we celebrate the feast of Marina, the goddess of summer. I
wish you all a happy night and a season of bountiful plenty." A loud cheer. "Celebrating
with us tonight is the minstrel, Nicky of Dalkiesh. He shall play the Song of Midsummer
for us now," he continued. Another great cheer. Raji noticed that the younger men and
women were making lines facing each other, boy facing girl. He took a swig of beer, no
longer noticing its bitter taste.
"Go ahead and dance," Nicky urged. "All the youngsters do it."
Raji hesitated, but ale defeated his shyness, and he joined the lines at the end,
partnerless. He was not to remain so for long.
"Would you like to share the dance with me?" a soft voice asked at his right. He turned
to see Tania standing next to him. A nervous light shone in her slanted brown eyes, and
her cheeks were flushed. Nevertheless, she met his gaze squarely.
The only warmth he felt on his face this time was that bestowed by the beer. Grinning,
he told he told her he’d be honoured. She smiled back at him, her face lighting up, then
ran to join the line opposite him.
As Nicky's strong voice joined his lute, the young dancers pranced into motion. The
steps of the dance were simple, and and with a bit of stumbling here and there, Raji
managed to fumble his way through it. Soon he was laughing breathlessly with the others
as he skipped and twirled along with Tania.
All too soon the dance was over, and their places taken by others. It was the older ones
who danced this time, egged on by the younger generation.
 "I need a drink," he told Tania, who was still with him. "Do you want one?" Tania's
hand in his was warm and pleasant.
"Water will slake my thirst well enough, but I think you've something stronger in
mind," she replied laughingly, allowing him to pull her through the throngs.
"Nothing but some of this good ale will do for me," he said loudly. "You should try
some."
"I'm not allowed to drink ale, but since it's Midsummer and no one is likely to find out,
maybe I will," she said with a giggle.
He ordered three tankards and handed one to her. "Be careful, it's bitter."
She just laughed at him and took several calm sips, showing no sign of the discomfort
he had felt earlier. Trying not to let his surprise show, he half drained his tankard and
made his way towards Nicky to give him the third one. "Where are we going?" Tania
asked, drink in one hand and Raji in the other.
"To the minstrel. I’m sure he needs a drink even more than I do." Someone shoved into
him from the side, spilling some of the foamy liquid over his hand.
They arrived at Nicky's seat as he was finishing the oldsters dance. The old minstrel
gave Raji a grateful smile when he saw the foaming mug in his hand. "You're a blessing,
Raji. Just what a poor old minstrel like me needs. I see you’ve been successful in the
dance. What's your name, girl?" he asked with a smile. His eyes twinkled at her.
"Tania, master minstrel," she replied.
"Please, call me Nicky. Titles are needless. A minstrel I may be, but no master. Now if
you two scallywags would let me have some peace, I might start the next song," he
replied with a mock frown. His hand waved them off as it might a mischievous puppy.
"Whatever you say, master minstrel," Raji replied with a grin, bowing low before him.
Nicky gave a mock growl of annoyance as he ran off, Tania in tow.
"There is another dance starting now," Tania told him after listening a moment to
Nicky's next song.
Two parallel lines had already formed, the arrangement similar to the previous one.
Raji took position at the end of the line next to a tall man with a powerful build and
curious, fiery red hair. His skin was as red as his hair. When the man turned to look at
him, Raji noticed that his eyes were a sparkling green, and knew instantly that this man
was not from Khan at all, or at least not from his part of the Empire.
The dance began and he forgot about the strange looking man. The steps of this dance
were more complicated than the last, and he stumbled and tripped awkwardly through
them. Next to him, the red head was having the same problems, and was laughing hard, a
great booming laugh that carried clearly over the noise the crowd.
After several hours of dancing and merry-making, everyone made their way to the
bright blaze of the bonfire to listen to more stories and music. The conjurer would also be
making an appearance, along with anyone else who had something to say or show off. He
and Tania took places next to Nicky, especially reserved by the minstrel for them.
Everyone had brought along their own tankards, and several young girls were mingling
among the people and pouring ale into waiting mugs.
"Enjoying yourself, lad?" Nicky asked, smoothing his thick white moustaches. His
white hair shone gold in the light of the fire, his eyes now the colour of burnished copper.
"I never realised that being with other people could be so much fun," Raji replied,
glancing down at Tania with a smile. Her hand tightened around his in response, and she
snuggled closer to his shoulder.
"And I never think there be good people in this Empire," a new voice said from behind
him in Imperial Khanian. His accent was harsh and his words slow and awkward,
marking him instantly as a stranger. As Raji expected, they had been uttered by the
redhead. "I be attack by robbers, lose in the jungle, make run off villages because I
foreign, cheated by merchants and deaded almost by wild beasts. This village...miracle!"
he expostulated, throwing his arms in the air expansively.
Raji’s moved over to make a space for him.
"Thank you, sir," the man replied in a slurred voice, sitting down heavily between him
and Nicky. “My name is Rua Greyson. What is your name?" he put out his hand and
waited expectantly.
Raji looked at Nicky questioningly, unsure of what to do. The minstrel raised an
eyebrow, then put out his hand, miming taking hold of something and moving it up and
down. Hoping he had understood correctly, he took Rua's sweaty hand shook it. "My
name is Raji," he said, trying not to wince at the stranger’s painfully strong grip. "The
minstrel beside you is Nicky, and that's Tania.”
 "Happy to meet you," Rua said. "You start play, minstrel, or sit and look to the fire all
of the day?" he continued.
Not seeming at all offended by his rude manner, Nicky flashed him a white-toothed
smile. "As you wish, warrior." Settling the lute in his lap, he began to play, singing in a
language Raji had never heard before. The song was slow and haunting, like the release
of a terrible and ancient grief, and the audience to fell into a complete silence. Even the
crickets stopped chirping.
When he finished, it was if the whole world let out a sigh. The total silence lingered for
a moment longer, then there came a scattering of uncertain applause.
Nicky wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and smoothed his moustaches again. He
accepted the praise quietly and with calm dignity.
"Good, minstrel, good!" Rua cried, giving him a clap on the shoulder. Nicky winced
away from the blow.
"That was so beautiful and sad. What language were you singing in?" Raji asked.
"That, young Raji, was Elven." he replied.
"What was it about?"
"It is a keening song of the Exiles."
“Exiles?”
“Those who escaped the destruction of Eleusia.”
“Elves! Bah! Children story!” Rua said.
Nicky shook his head, and Raji smiled, remembering their earlier conversation. “Are
there still elves, then?”
“Yes, though they are difficult to find and shun humans.’
Raji opened his mouth to ask another question, but just then the mayor stood up and
announced that Praki the Conjurer would give a performance. He immediately forgot
about the elves and looked to the new arrival, wondering if he really had magic. A
slender man dressed in robes of crimson and gold stepped into the fire and the audience
fell completely silent. Raji watched carefully as he proceeded to make rabbits appear
from his hat and pull out strings of silk handkerchiefs from his pocket. To his
diappointment, it was nothing but sleight of hand.
‘It’s not real magic,’ he muttered.
 ‘What you say?’ Rua asked.
‘It’s not real.’
‘Haha, I know. He’s trickman.’ Rua winked.
‘I could show them some real tricks.’
‘Ah you trickman?’ Rua raised his cup to Raji.
‘No, I’m a real magician.’
‘Go then. Go - show!’
Raji stood up. ‘I too can perform tricks!’ he announced.
The people started to laugh. Others were not so amused.
‘Monkey tricks more like!’ .
‘Sit down, fool boy!’
The beer made him bold. “I’m telling the truth. I’ll show you.”
There were more shouts of derision. Someone threw a clod of dirt in his direction.
Praki raised his hand for them to be quiet. ‘Let the boy show us what he can do. If he
disappoints us, we’ll give him a good dunking to clear his addled mind.’
The crowd roared their approval.
Praki beckoned him into the circle, a cool smile on his face, "All right, then boy. Let us
see what you can do. If you outdo me, I’ll give you a silver piece, but if I prove you a
fool, you’ll have a basin of spicewater poured over your head for your insolence. "
The audience greeted this challenge with more shouts of approval and jokes at Raji’s
expense. Raji ignored them. He was starting to have trouble seeing, and a lethargy was
creeping over him, but he pushed the feeling away, signalling for Praki to start.
With a flourishing bow and wide smile, the conjurer man walked over to a young boy,
and bending over, produced coins from the astonished child's ears and mouth. He then
proceeded to make the coins dance a little jig on his knuckles.
Raji also walked over to the boy, causing coins to appear into his hands from his purse
as he "took" them out of the boy's ears. Instead of making them dance on his knuckles,
however, he used a tiny shred of power to make them spin in a circle around his head and
then skip over the hop around before Praki's astonished eyes. A strange humming
resounded in his ears. With a click of his fingers, he caused the coins to jump into his
pouch one by one. There was a tumultuous round of applause, and it was only when the
audience had gone quiet again that he realised the humming was gone.
Praki, no longer appearing so confident, called for six burning brands of fire. Raji
watched as he juggled the brands, first around in one large circle between his hands, then
forming a smaller one in each hand. He wove them in and out of each other in an
assortment of different patterns, before finally lowering them into his mouth and "eating"
the fire. With a triumphant smile in Raji’s direction, he bowed before the wildly clapping
spectators.
Raji signalled for the six unlit brands, matching Praki's style. Thinking that Raji was
too afraid to juggle lit brands, Praki's smile broadened.
Raji almost laughed at the expression on his face when he lit all six with a snap of his
fingers and began to imitate his juggling tricks in the air. The humming sound
reappeared, louder than before. It increased in volume as he channelled a small amount of
power directly into the brands, sending them skywards. Finally, each of the brands
exploded in a shower of bright sparks that rained down over the startled audience.
The round of applause that followed was deafening, and Raji knew without a doubt that
he'd won. Bowing deeply at the spectators, then at Praki, Raji said, "You were a worthy
opponent Praki, but I had the better teacher."
That was as far as he got, because he suddenly received a bone-breaking clap on the
back. "Well done, Raji. Good, good! Here, have drink." It was the foreigner, Rua. As he
thrust a full tankard into Raji's hands, he slung an arm around his shoulders and took a
deep gulp of his own.
Raji looked around for Nicky, but couldn't find him amid the blur of people.
“That was amazing, Raji,” Tania said, giving him a little kiss on the cheek.
He turned to her and smiled, Nicky forgotten as he lost himself in the glittering light of
her eyes.