Spirit Speaker

I walked through the city, the early morning sunlight casting long shadows on the street. I had taken to travelling every morning to the Weaver's temple, as a professional courtesy. 

It's more than that, and you know it. You've begun to believe in her.

I shook my head, banishing the thought from my head. While that may be true, I could never admit it, the smug look on the Weaver's face would be too much to bear.

I jogged up the steps to the temple, greeted the initiate on vigil, and headed inside, to where the abbot stood, waiting for me. 

"Good morning, Lukas."

"Abbot."

"You keep coming like this, and I'd almost mistake you for a believer."

"She wishes," I said. "Last time I saw her, she punched me in the stomach."

The abbot shook his head. "She's a very physical goddess. Think of the bruises as a symbol of her love. She only punches those she really likes."

"Has she contacted you?"

The abbot shook his head. "Nothing. She's busy, the Seven met up just a few days ago, and she's always grumpy after one of those."

"Very well. Then let me light a couple of candles to let her know I was here, and I'll be on my way."

"As a professional courtesy of course." I didn't like the way the abbot looked at me. 

"You're a hateful little man, you know that?" I told him. 

A look of triumph flashed across his face just for a moment and then was replaced with an amiable smile.

"So I've been told." He handed me a matchbox. "Here you go." 

*

I wandered my way around the market district, watching the various merchants open their shops, or set up their stalls. 

It was still too early to be open, but some of them waved me over when they saw me, each of them placing a black stone on the edge of the stall, or cart. 

I shook my head to most of them, waved back, and continued my journey. 

One of the merchants waved me over. He was a shorter man, with dark skin. He wore traditional desert garb and was in the process of setting out a wide range of different coloured powders. A white stone lay between them.

"New spices just came in." He explained. "This one might interest you."

He held up a small linen bag and handed it to me.

"What is it?" 

"Something new. Many of the merchants down south have begun to trade in it."

"Is it good?"

"It'll certainly blow your socks off." 

"Thank you." I attached the bag to my belt and pointed to a large bowl of golden dust. 

"How much for the Yarot?" 

"I'll give the entire bowl for ten gold."

"Deal." 

I handed the coin over, and the merchant handed the bowl to me.

"Be careful with that stuff, Master Lukas, it packs quite a punch."

"I will," I assured him and continued walking through the market district, before making my way back to the palace. 

The palace was just beginning to wake up as I stepped through the doors. 

I dropped off the spices at the kitchens and headed to the king's office. 

I knocked once, twice, and then two more times in rapid succession. 

"Come in, Lukas."

I opened the door and found the king sitting behind his desk, papers spread across it haphazardly. 

He looked tired. 

"Any news?"

I carefully put the linen bag that the merchant had given me down on the table. 

"It's as you feared, sire. The Desert kingdoms have begun to trade in gunpowder."

The king picked up the bag and looked inside. 

And swore. 

"My sentiments exactly sire. They seem to be gearing up for war."

The king shuddered. "We can't have them at each other's throats, Lukas. Their wars never stay confined to the desert. Just watch, they'll start killing each other, and pretty soon our border posts will have hordes of howling barbarians knocking at the gates."

"They do tend to keep the Khagan's warriors at bay, sire." 

"And without them, we'll be forced to commit more resources to the south, providing even more strength to the border princes." He spat the term. "Princes, they're little more than warlords." 

"You could send a delegation down south sire," I advised. "Let them find a way to broker peace between the kingdoms."

"Or at least a promise that they'll maintain their pressure on the tribes, while they kill each other."

"As you say, sire."

He looked at me speculatively. I raised my hands. "No sire, I can't go. The princess is about to cross a very important threshold in her studies, and I can't be away from her."

"Take her with you."

"Sire?"

"Take her with you. That way we can disguise the delegation as a royal visit."

"It's about to become an active warzone, sire. I question the wisdom in sending the Royal Heir down there now. She'd be a valuable hostage."

The king sighed and rubbed his temples. 

"Then what should I do, Lukas? I don't trust anyone else."

Another knock on the door. 

"Come in." The king sounded as tired as he looked. 

The queen walked in, a stack of paper in her arms.

"Here's yesterday's finished paperwork. Honestly, Elyathan, the piles are getting bigger and bigger every day."

She saw me standing on the other side of the room and greeted me with a warm smile. "Oh, Master Mage, good morning."

I bowed. "Ma'am."

"What's the matter?" She asked, looking at the two of us. "You both look like you lost a fortune at the races."

The king chuckled. "The desert kingdoms are at each other's throats." He leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling. "That means there'll be more raids from the tribes."

"And we'll have to send more resources to the south to protect the border." I chimed in. 

"Which will give the border princes more power."

"And we're trying to avoid that at all costs." 

The queen pursed her lips.

"What have you thought up so far?"

"We thought a delegation might help head off the danger."

"But Lukas refuses to lead it." The king looked at me accusingly. 

"I can't sire. The princess remains my priority."

"You shouldn't refuse your king, Lukas." 

"Then stop giving me orders I have to refuse."

The king shook his head. "See what I have to deal with?" 

The queen laughed. "I'm afraid I have to side with Lukas on this one, beloved." She said, pulling up a chair next to her husband. "We need him here, spearheading the royal council project."

I sighed audibly and glared at the two monarchs who were grinning at me maliciously.

"As you say, majesty."

"So what would you do, Tila?"

The queen pursed her lips in thought. "Why not call Lord Aymsleigh? He's here for the ball, and has a good head on him."

"Lord Aymsleigh?" I didn't know him. I'd never heard of him. Which was odd. 

"He's a cunning old bastard with a slick tongue." The king explained. "Talking to him makes me feel dirty."

"But he's good at what he does." The queen countered. "The man could talk the pants off a nun."

"I don't like it." The king paused and looked at the linen bag morosely. "But I have no choice. Set up a meeting between myself and Lord Aymsleigh. I want him heading south before the end of the day."

I bowed, "As you wish, sire."

"Not you, Lukas. Ask one of the servants to do it."

"Sire?"

"Isn't the lovely Salea waiting for you?"

The queen looked up at me, her expression unreadable. 

"The singer from last night?" She asked, slowly.

"That's the one." 

"It's of no importance majesty," I said, quickly. "I can't let her distract me from my duties."

"Take the day off then." The king replied. "You need to let your hair down every now and then."

"Indeed, Master Mage." The queen agreed. "You can't spend all your time with Anna. You need to have a life. Unless there's something keeping you from enjoying the minstrel's company?"

"Not at this time, no, Your Majesty," I replied carefully. 

"Then what are you waiting for?" The king said, brightly. "Get."

I was dismissed, though I could feel the queen's gaze boring into my back as I left.