Demonstorm

often leave his town these days and you know what he used to be like.'

Jonas walked in from the kitchen carrying a tray of bread and meat. He set it down on the table. The Unlcnown ruffled his blond hair.

'Thanks.'

'Hello, Denser,' said Jonas.

'Good to see you, young man. How are-you?'

The tall and very solid lad shrugged. 'All right. The Julatsans ask too many questions. I'd rather be riding my horse.'

'Good points. Pheone is up at the college now. I think she was planning on dropping in to speak to the young man here,' said Denser.

Jonas sighed dramatically. 'Do I have to?'

'It won't last for ever,' said Sol. He patted Jonas's backside. 'Go on now, see if your mother wants anything then you can go and take the horse out if you want. But don't be out after dark.'

'All right.'

Jonas trudged wearily away. The two friends watched him go.

'How old is he?' asked Denser.

'Eight.'

'Five years . . .' Denser shook his head and looked again around the bar at the pictures. 'Is he finding it difficult?'

'Some days,' conceded Sol. 'He's reached a stage where he understands how important he is but he doesn't really understand why. After all, he's only ever seen Sha-Kaan as a friend and protector, never as a key inter-dimensional link.'

'He is only eight.'

'Exactly. He's a quarter the age of the next-youngest Dragonene and like Hirad he's not a mage. It confuses him. It's bound to.' Sol took another sip and then reached for a hunk of bread. 'When you see Pheone, tell her to go easy, will you? Sometimes she forgets herself, I think.'

'I'll certainly mention it.'

Jonas clattered down the stairs and ran out of the back door towards the stables.

'I take it she didn't want anything then?' called Sol after him. He didn't get a reply. 'Children.' He shook his head.

'How's Lady Unknown, then?' Denser cut a thin slice of bread and loaded it with ham.

'Bearing up, thanks. She's due in ten days so she doesn't get around too much but her health is good. Thanks for keeping an eye on her. She's pleased it's going to be another son, by the way. We both are.'

Sol refilled their glasses.

'Have you decided which name, yet?'

'I could only really call him Hirad, couldn't 1?'

'It'll be good to hear that name echoing round again.'

'He'll have plenty to live up to.'

Sol leaned back in his chair. He looked over at his friend, who scratched his grey-flecked beard then reached into his pouch for his pipe and weed. He'd been a tower of strength in the intervening years when Sol had found it very difficult to come to terms with what he'd lost. He'd managed his own grief so much better and been able to sit with Sol night after night until the horror and pain began to fade.

'So, Denser. What really brings you down The Thread from the Mount this wet afternoon? I seriously doubt it was merely social.'

'Ah, glad you asked,' said Denser. He tamped down his pipe, brought a flame to the end of his thumb and lit up. 'I've got a job for you.'

Sol tensed. 'See this fist? Do I have to point out again that I own and run a bar?'

'Hear me out,' urged Denser.

'I'm not leading any more demon-hunter teams into the Black-thornes. I've told you.'

'Sol, no one is asking you to. Suarav and that Wesman with the long and involved name are doing what's necessary. We've not had a raid in Xetesk for, what ... a season and a half? Like I said, hear me out.'

Sol shrugged. 'All right. Sorry.'

'I've just come from the Balaia reconstruction council meeting and we're starting to run into some problems. With Dystran being forced to step down, there's a vacuum building. Whether or not I take over is neither here nor there. The trouble is that some of the

Barons are talking about reinstituting the Korina Trade Alliance. While that's not a bad thing in itself, it starts to divide eastern Balaia.

'Tessaya doesn't like it and neither does Rebraal. I can see their point. After all, Tessaya speaks for the whole of the Wesmen, Rebraal for the elven nation. But here, we're all of a sudden going to have mage and non-mage power blocks. It smacks of the past.'

'So find yourselves someone to unite you. Everyone respects Blackthorne. He's perfect.' Sol drank more wine, washing down his bread.

'But like you say, he doesn't really like to leave Blackthorne and we have to be honest, he's not quite the man he once was.'

There was a long pause. Sol didn't like the way this was heading at all. He stared at Denser, daring him to speak.

'Sol, don't make me say it.' Denser had read his expression.

'You want me to speak for Balaia? Come on, Denser, I'm no diplomat.'

'No, you're not. You're thinking too small. I know you see yourself as the quiet man running his bar with his family in Xetesk. But to everyone of influence in Balaia, and for that matter, the Weslands and Calaius, you're the voice and presence of the East. You survived the demon dimension; you've led the hunt into the Blackthornes; you've been at the centre of so much of the reconstruction planning; you aren't a mage. And you were the centre of The Raven. There's not a man or woman that wouldn't accept you.'

'All right, all right, enough massaging of my ego. You're making me blush. Accept me as what?'

Denser leaned forward and placed his glass down on the table.

'I've been asked to come down here after a unanimous vote of the council meeting. Sol, this country doesn't need a diplomat or a representative. It needs to follow Calaius and the Wesmen. For the first time in our history, we need a leader. You.'

Sol almost dropped his glass. He felt his face flush and his heart race.

'That's quite a step up from bar owner,' he managed.

Denser didn't smile. 'I'm not joking, Sol. Balaia needs stability. We're in danger of reverting back to the old schisms. We have to be

united or what we've been building will be wasted. What The Raven achieved will be wasted.'

'Don't you bring The Raven into this,' snapped Sol.

'Doesn't stop it being true. You are the man who can keep it all together. You know you can. Come to the Mount. Talk to us. Please.'

'I've got a bar to run and a wife to look after. I have a new child on the way and a son who needs me by him right now, I don't have the time and I don't have the energy.'

'And they all need to have a secure future.' Denser poured more wine into Sol's glass. 'Talk to us. See what we have in mind. Think about it.'

Sol looked at Denser and allowed a smile across his face. Anyone else and he would have dismissed the notion out of hand. To this man, though, he owed more than to anyone alive.

'Tomorrow,' he growled. 'Now drink up and get lost. I've got to open up in a couple of hours.'

'Thank you, Sol. You won't regret it, I promise you.'

'Denser, I already am. What the hell do you think I'm going to say to Diera?'

'You'll think of something suitably pithy and persuasive, I feel sure.'

'Go.'

Denser drained his glass and walked back to the door, opening it on the rain sheeting down, pounding on the street. Sol wondered if Jonas had actually gone out. The two men shook hands and Sol pulled Denser into a brief embrace.

'See you tomorrow,' said Denser.

'After lunch, when I've closed.'

Sol watched Denser walk away up The Thread and back to the Mount of Xetesk, pulling his cloak close about him. He shut and bolted the door and walked back through the bar towards the stairs. He paused by Hirad's picture. The barbarian gazed back at him, eyes intense and full of belief, that damned smile on his face.

'What on earth would you think, Coldheart?' he said. 'Probably nothing. Too busy laughing I expect. How does it sound . . . Sol, The Unknown Warrior, Ruler of Balaia. Daft, eh?'

And as he turned away, he could have sworn he saw Hirad nod.