his grief aside, and begun asking questions. “You will call the chief scribe, Ampyx, to you. Then you will dictate an official announcement of your father’s death, and your right of inheritance. You will then order that it be sent by faerie post to be published throughout all of Terah. I have already notified the elders of the seven fjords, the religious, and the New Outlanders in your name. It was necessary, for by custom the Farewell must be done on the third day. I will bring them all here with my magic,” Lara said.
“What will I tell Ampyx?” Taj asked her. “Will you be with me when I speak to him, Mother?”
“I will not be with you,” Lara replied. “Remember it must appear from the start that you are in total charge, my son. Here is what you must dictate to Ampyx. You will say that it is with great sorrow you must bring the news of your father’s death to his beloved people. That as his only natural-born son you have taken the right of inheritance. Then have Ampyx sign this document in the name of Taj Hauk, Dominus of Terah.”
“I will go to the throne room now,” Taj told Lara.
“Aye,” she agreed. Then they both stood, and Lara embraced her young son. “Go,” she said to him.
The boy strode bravely from his mother’s apartments, and hurried through the castle to the official chamber where his father had formally received guests and dignitaries from other worlds. He climbed the dais to the throne of Terah, and, standing before it, called out, “Send for the chief scribe, Ampyx!” To his own surprise his voice did not tremble. And while the chamber appeared empty Taj knew there was always a servant discreetly in attendance there day and night.
“At once, my lord!” a voice called.
Taj sat heavily upon his father’s throne. He wondered how long it would take for him to think of it as his throne. Then he composed himself, and considered the words he would utter to Ampyx. His mother had laid out the boundaries for him, but she knew he was an intelligent boy, and would want to speak from his own heart. Taj smiled. His mother was a very clever woman, and there was much he could learn from her. His grandmother had told him he should not listen to any woman, but rule in his own right. But Taj Hauk knew he needed his mother’s counsel now. His father had with his dying breath put them all in Lara’s charge. Magnus Hauk would not have done such a thing if he had not felt it was the right thing to do.
“My lord?”
Taj raised his head from his thoughts and stood up. “Chief Scribe, I would dictate to you,” he said.
Ampyx immediately sat down cross-legged upon the marble floor and drew out his writing board, parchment, pen and a small stone bottle of ink. “I am ready, my lord.”
“It is with deep sorrow that I announce the sudden death… No. Write, the sudden and accidental death of Dominus Magnus Hauk, this tenth day in the first month of the planting season. His Farewell Ceremony will be held as custom dictates on the third day following his demise. All of his beloved people who can attend are welcome at the castle.” Taj stopped, and considered carefully his next words as the head scribe looked up at him. Then Taj continued. “As Magnus Hauk’s only son I now formally claim the right of inheritance.” He looked to the chief scribe. “Read my words back to me, Ampyx.”
The tiniest of smiles touched the head scribe’s lips, and then he read back the words that had just been dictated to him.
When he had finished the boy added, “Sign it Taj Hauk, Dominus of Terah.” Then considering again he asked ingenuously, “Have I forgotten anything, Ampyx?”
“Nay, my lord. Your words are just as they should be.” He arose from the floor and bowed to the boy. “May I offer you my own condolences, my lord Dominus, on the death of your great father?”
“You may,” Taj replied formally. “I thank you.” Then, remembering, he said, “See my words are published this day throughout the kingdom from the Sea of Sagitta to the Obscura in the New Outlands.”
“It will be as you wish, my lord Dominus.” And, bowing, the chief scribe backed out of the throne room.
“It was nicely done,” Lara said, stepping from behind the tall throne where she had been hidden listening. “And now Ampyx will gossip among the other scribes about the strength of the young Dominus. And they will gossip to their friends and families. It is a good start, Taj.” She held out her arms to him, and he immediately went into them.
“I am so afraid, Mother,” he admitted to her. “Dictating an announcement was easy. Ruling a land is not. Where do I even begin?”
“You begin where your father left off. Rebuilding our merchant fleet ship by ship. Your father wanted our ships to be able to defend themselves, especially now that the secret of our existence is well-known throughout Hetar. The Hetarians have not yet breached our shores. They tried once and failed, but sooner or later they will attempt it once more, my son. You are a boy ruler. Untried. There will be those even here in Terah who will seek to undermine you. You must be strong from this first day, and show no weakness. You are Magnus Hauk’s son.” Lara felt her voice quiver when she said his name. How long had he been dead now? Two hours? Three? She kissed her son’s cheek. His face was smooth, not yet roughened by adulthood. Then she released him from her embrace.
“Where is my father’s body?” Taj asked.
“It has been taken to the Farewell House to be processed for the ceremony,” Lara answered her son. She found it difficult to look at him now, for Taj Hauk was his father’s image. At thirteen he was already at least three inches taller than Lara. He had his father’s long nose, high cheekbones and thin lips. Like Magnus his short hair was dark gold with lighter gold highlights, and his eyes his sire’s turquoise-blue. Suddenly it hurt her heart to gaze upon him.
“I think we should use my uncle’s new vessel,” Taj said. “It will be considered unlucky now. Better to have it convey my father’s body to the sea.”
“I agree,” Lara answered, keeping to herself the fact that she had already decided upon that course of action. Taj would always recall when he thought of this day that first decision he had made without her. She was proud he was beginning to think like a Dominus. And Magnus would be proud, too.
“My aunts must be informed before the official notification is cried,” Taj remarked. “I would do it myself,” he told his mother.
“I will transport you. Which would you visit first?” Lara asked.
“The eldest of my grandmother’s children,” Taj said. “At this time of day Narda will be in her hall working upon her tapestry while her husband, Tostig, plays an endless game of Herder with his eldest son.”
Lara waved her hand. “So you are there,” she said as her son disappeared.
He reappeared in Lord Tostig’s hall, and the sight of the young boy stepping from a haze of green smoke caused his aunt Narda, the eldest of Lady Persis’s children, to shriek with surprise and drop the needle she had been plying.
“Nephew!” she scolded him. “Could you not come to visit in a more conventional manner? This magical transport you have effected is most disconcerting.”
“I come to bring you tragic news, Aunt,” Taj began.
Lady Narda shrieked again, but this time it was a sound of distress. “Mother,” she cried, a hand going to her heart.
“Nay,
