No Flame But Mine by Tanith Lee Page A

Any man she lay with took in this seed and then passed it to his own woman. Both my second mother, and Dayad’s second mother, Arok’s wife, received this seed. And so each woman bore a black son.’
    â€˜I commend your story teller’s skill. We like it. That alone may save you from death. But otherwise your tale is like the air that comes from the back gate of a dromaz. It stinks.’
    Fenzi shrugged. It was the tiger cub, gazing at the Simese king, that lifted its lip and gave a miniature growl, which plainly offended the king. He rose, the diamond knife still in his hand.
    At that very instant a woman walked into the hall, and by her side a tall boy about twelve years of age.
    Every head turned. Even that of the incensed king.
    Arok swore very low, and behind him, held firm by warriors among the pillars, the remainder of the Jafn. Not all of them so decorously.
    For the woman, who was herself tall, and voluptuous, had long hair of a red-bronze shade. Exactly as black skin was unknown in Simisey, red hair had been unknown among the Jafn or elsewhere on their continent. Save in one instance only: Lion-wolf, red-haired hero and genocide.
    The woman seemed to take all this mixed attention as her right, used to scrutiny. Mixed ethnicity seemed equally unchallenging. She inclined her head to the Simese king. Gold and silver jewels swung in her rufous tresses.
    The boy though, he looked round at Arok and the Jafn and he too laughed – but not as the king had.
    â€˜Curjai,’ said the king, ‘Curjai, we are—’
    â€˜You are making something of a mistake, sir,’ said the boy called Curjai.
    He was utterly confident yet completely without arrogance. He looked at his king with fearless kindness . Yet no king could allow such an affront even from a beloved son. No king could make a public mistake .
    Nevertheless the king failed to lose his temper. He put down the knife and nodded at the boy. ‘We listen, my son.’
    He was a son then. Even so—
    The boy was extraordinary. Yes handsome certainly, and well made, long of leg, strong, wide-shouldered, his brown-black hair streaming to his waist with jasper clips winking in it. He was brown-skinned like the others. His eyes were rather lighter. But none of that was what caught you. No. This boy – this son – even supernatural Fenzi was gaping at him in recognizing astonishment – this boy was perhaps more than merely unhuman. This boy just conceivably was—
    The boy said, ‘Everything the newcomers say, Father, is true. Oh, except that they brought no women. They have fine women at their garth. Excuse me, sir,’ he added mildly to the staggered and threatened Arok, ‘but we’re to be confided in, when once you accept us. Friends don’t keep secrets from one another.’
    Arok opened his mouth. Before he could let out something sure to spoil the party, Fenzi placed his hand on Arok’s arm. Crazily Arok was aware the cub had started purring. ‘Wait, Chaiord. Don’t you see?’
    â€˜The boy? He’s a mage – he’s an enemy mage.’
    â€˜No, Arok. This one is fully a god.’
    Jemhara had halted in the street. Her way was blocked by something that, initially, she had taken for a natural subsidence of snow or rubble. Now and then walls, whole houses, being largely unmaintained, might collapse.
    But she had made light to see. The lit globe hung in the air and showed her an astounding heap of what she took for gem-stones. Icy pale, yet they were, every one, cut into glittering facets which shot off tiny rays of prismatic colour.
    Nevertheless such an enormous hoard seemed unlikely. They filled all the alley, and piled high up against the sides of dwellings, ending in one huge barricade against the house where she kept her attic. She could see nothing of it save the top of the roof, and there her window too was almost covered over. The depth of the barricade meanwhile