make their laws. I am a loyal Atreskan. I will abide by them.'
'It is a respectful position and one I understand,' said Rensaark. He rose. 'It is in friendship that I give you this warning, praetor. The moment any Conquord soldier places his foot on our soil, we are at war. And that war will include Atreska. None of you will be safe, despite their promises. All will suffer in this pointless conflict. And I will do what I am ordered.'
'I don't understand,' said Gorsal.
Rensaark was at the door. 'It is not too late. Atreska must rise up against the folly marching across its lands. You must turn from the Conquord. They have not the strength to beat us. Stop them from trying. We cannot talk to Yuran; we cannot gain access to him. You can. You are his subjects and he must hear you. Please, Lena, make him see. Before war makes evil out of us all.'
Gorsal stared at the door for an age after he was gone, trying to calm her heart and the shaking in her hands.
Ardol Kessian sat on a grassy slope with Arducius, the vista of Westfallen laid out below them. It was impossible to feel old on a day like today. Golden corn swaying in a light sea-breeze. The orchards packed with ripe citrus and rich colour. The herds of sheep and cattle grazing contentedly or pigs slumbering in the shade. And the vibrant sounds of children's laughter mingled with the distant wash of waves on the shore, the clank of hammer on steel and nail, the sawing of blade on wood.
The young Ascendant was sitting with Kessian under a parasol which shielded them from the worst of the sun's blanket heat. A pitcher of water was at their feet and a half-eaten plate of fruit lay between them. School was over for the day, but for the Ascendants learning was not.
'What do you feel when you test the sky, Arducius?' asked Kessian.
Arducius was a supreme Wind Harker already and not yet nine. Almost as accurate as Kessian himself, he had shown the aptitude from a very early age. Kessian would always remember the first moments fondly. Arducius had not known how to communicate what he felt in the weather and the climate as it modulated around him. It caused him to react in absurdly practical ways. Walking out in his rain leathers on a hot solas day. That was before he worked out the difference in time between his sensing of a weather front and its arrival. Kessian chuckled.
'What's funny?' asked Arducius.
‘I was just thinking about you strolling the streets, sweating in your leather cape and staring at the sky, wondering why it was blue.'
Arducius laughed too, a peal that made heads rise to see. 'They used to say to me, "rain tomorrow, is it?"'
'And you'd get angry and claim it would be today. At five you could look so furious.'
'And you all laughed at me,' said Arducius.
Kessian ruffled his hair. 'Still, they don't laugh now, do they?'
'No,' agreed Arducius. 'Most of them look at me, at all of us, like they are expecting something.'
'Well, they are. We all are.'
And there it was. Eight years old and brilliant in their individual talents. But of the rest . . . the multiple abilities, the elemental manipulation. Not a sign. The Echelon had studied and dissected every one of the elder Gorian's writings, looking for cracks in his theories. They could find none. But the weight was growing in his mind that they were just theories. No concrete evidence existed anywhere.
The questions were beginning to be asked. Whether these four of the ninth strand of the Ascendancy were really the first. Whether the waiting was set to go on. Every day, Kessian prayed to be allowed to live to see it happen and every day he could feel God tugging him harder towards a return to the earth. He had no belief that the recent births into the potential tenth strand would amount to anything. Others were carrying children now. He would not live to see any of them grow to maturity. He was one hundred and forty now and he felt it with every creak of his bones and every missed beat of his heart.
'Are
'It is a respectful position and one I understand,' said Rensaark. He rose. 'It is in friendship that I give you this warning, praetor. The moment any Conquord soldier places his foot on our soil, we are at war. And that war will include Atreska. None of you will be safe, despite their promises. All will suffer in this pointless conflict. And I will do what I am ordered.'
'I don't understand,' said Gorsal.
Rensaark was at the door. 'It is not too late. Atreska must rise up against the folly marching across its lands. You must turn from the Conquord. They have not the strength to beat us. Stop them from trying. We cannot talk to Yuran; we cannot gain access to him. You can. You are his subjects and he must hear you. Please, Lena, make him see. Before war makes evil out of us all.'
Gorsal stared at the door for an age after he was gone, trying to calm her heart and the shaking in her hands.
Ardol Kessian sat on a grassy slope with Arducius, the vista of Westfallen laid out below them. It was impossible to feel old on a day like today. Golden corn swaying in a light sea-breeze. The orchards packed with ripe citrus and rich colour. The herds of sheep and cattle grazing contentedly or pigs slumbering in the shade. And the vibrant sounds of children's laughter mingled with the distant wash of waves on the shore, the clank of hammer on steel and nail, the sawing of blade on wood.
The young Ascendant was sitting with Kessian under a parasol which shielded them from the worst of the sun's blanket heat. A pitcher of water was at their feet and a half-eaten plate of fruit lay between them. School was over for the day, but for the Ascendants learning was not.
'What do you feel when you test the sky, Arducius?' asked Kessian.
Arducius was a supreme Wind Harker already and not yet nine. Almost as accurate as Kessian himself, he had shown the aptitude from a very early age. Kessian would always remember the first moments fondly. Arducius had not known how to communicate what he felt in the weather and the climate as it modulated around him. It caused him to react in absurdly practical ways. Walking out in his rain leathers on a hot solas day. That was before he worked out the difference in time between his sensing of a weather front and its arrival. Kessian chuckled.
'What's funny?' asked Arducius.
‘I was just thinking about you strolling the streets, sweating in your leather cape and staring at the sky, wondering why it was blue.'
Arducius laughed too, a peal that made heads rise to see. 'They used to say to me, "rain tomorrow, is it?"'
'And you'd get angry and claim it would be today. At five you could look so furious.'
'And you all laughed at me,' said Arducius.
Kessian ruffled his hair. 'Still, they don't laugh now, do they?'
'No,' agreed Arducius. 'Most of them look at me, at all of us, like they are expecting something.'
'Well, they are. We all are.'
And there it was. Eight years old and brilliant in their individual talents. But of the rest . . . the multiple abilities, the elemental manipulation. Not a sign. The Echelon had studied and dissected every one of the elder Gorian's writings, looking for cracks in his theories. They could find none. But the weight was growing in his mind that they were just theories. No concrete evidence existed anywhere.
The questions were beginning to be asked. Whether these four of the ninth strand of the Ascendancy were really the first. Whether the waiting was set to go on. Every day, Kessian prayed to be allowed to live to see it happen and every day he could feel God tugging him harder towards a return to the earth. He had no belief that the recent births into the potential tenth strand would amount to anything. Others were carrying children now. He would not live to see any of them grow to maturity. He was one hundred and forty now and he felt it with every creak of his bones and every missed beat of his heart.
'Are
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