‘Spit it out, boy!’ Catoris would yell, and the words would dry up, and Dagorian would stand very still, feeling very foolish.
In all his life he could only recall one moment when his father had shown him affection. And that was after the duel. A nobleman named Rogun had challenged Dagorian. It was all so stupid. A young woman had smiled at him, and he had returned the compliment. The man with her stormed across the street. He slapped Dagorian across the face, and issued a challenge.
They had met on the cavalry parade-ground at dawn the following day. Catoris had been present. He watched the fight without expression, but when Dagorian delivered the killing stroke he ran forward and embraced him clumsily. He remembered the incident now with regret, for instead of returning the embrace he had angrily pulled clear and hurled his sword aside. ‘It was all so stupid!’ he stormed. ‘He made me kill him for a smile.’
‘It was a duel of honour,’ said his father, lamely. ‘You should be proud.’
‘I am sick to my stomach,’ said Dagorian.
The following day he had entered the monastery at Corteswain, and pledged his life to the Source.
When his father died at Mellicane, leading a charge that saved the king’s life, Dagorian had known enormous grief. He did not doubt that his father loved him, nor indeed that he loved his father. But – apart from
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that one embrace – the two of them had never been able to show their affection for one another.
Shaking off the memories Dagorian approached the gates, and saw the crowds waiting patiently outside. They parted and cheered as the Ventrian sorcerer, Kalizkan, made his entrance. Tall and dignified, wearing robes of silver satin, edged with golden thread, the silver-bearded Kalizkan smiled and waved, stopping here and there to speak to people in the throng. Six young children stayed close by him, holding to the tassels of his belt. He halted before a young woman, with two children. She was wearing the black sash of the recently widowed, and the children looked thin and undernourished. Kalizkan leaned in close to her, and lifted his hand towards the cheap tin brooch she wore upon her ragged dress. ‘A pretty piece,’ he said, ‘but for a lady so sad it ought to be gold.’ Light danced from his fingers, and the brooch gleamed in the sunlight. Where it had sat close to the dress the sheer weight of the new gold made it hang down. The woman fell to her knees and kissed Kalizkan’s robes. Dagorian smiled. Such deeds as this had made the sorcerer popular with the people. He had also turned his vast home into an orphanage in the northern quarter and spent much of his free time touring the slum areas, bringing deserted children to his house.
Dagorian had met him only once – a brief introduction at the palace, with twenty other new officers. But he liked the man instinctively. The sorcerer gave a last wave to the crowd and led his children into the park. Dagorian bowed as he approached.
‘Good morning to you, young Dagorian,’ said Kalizkan, his voice curiously high pitched. ‘A fine day, and not too cold.’
The officer was surprised that Kalizkan had
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remembered his name. ‘Indeed, sir. I am told you have prepared a wondrous exhibition for the king.”
‘Modesty forbids me to boast, Dagorian,’ said Kalizkan, with a mischievous grin. ‘But my little friends and I will certainly attempt something special. Isn’t that right?’ he said, kneeling down and ruffling the blond hair of a small boy.
‘Yes, uncle. We will make the king very happy,’ said the child.
Kalizkan pushed himself to his feet and smoothed down his silver satin robes. They matched the colour of his long thin beard, and highlighted the summer sky blue of his eyes. ‘Well, come along, my children,’ he said. With a wave to Dagorian the tall sorcerer strode on.
Dagorian moved out through the gates, and along the highway to where the horses of the officers were stabled. Saddling his chestnut gelding he rode out to where the White Wolf was camped, west of the city walls. The camp itself was largely deserted, since most of the men would be at the celebrations, but there was a handful of sentries, two of whom were standing outside Banelion’s large, black tent. Dagorian dismounted and approached the men.