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  Thorakis the Builder waited near the fire, resting in his wheeled chair. Pages waited behind him, on either side, ready to satisfy any need their patron might have. Thorakis looked older than his years would warrant, and his hands trembled when he pointed. His voice, though, remained strong and clear. "Take me to Grimwell."

  The pages moved quickly but smoothly, certain not to jar the ailing genius. They had come to him with their families after the Herald War, seeking food, shelter, and protection from bandits and raiders. Though the Zjhon had ruled the Greatland in an unforgiving manner, they had at least ruled. Their downfall had left the Greatland in chaos. Some of the old families had regained their power, but most had been lost. The once safe countryside had become a place of smoke and death. Either page would give his life for Thorakis and do so knowing his family would remain safe.

  When they reached Grimwell's study, which more resembled a laboratory, the right-hand page, Yoric, shouldered the heavy wooden door open. He knew better than to knock or announce himself. As the arm of Thorakis, to do so would belittle his patron. Grimwell bent over a basin filled with a murky yet glittering solution. The acrid smell of vinegar charged the air along with a coppery tang. A fortune in the orange metal had been worked into heavy wire. The copper reached from the basin to each of the earthenware jars, making the basin look like the body of a giant spider.

  "Wait outside," Grimwell said. Thorakis's eyes narrowed.

  The pages moved without a sound and closed the door as they left. They would wait just far enough away so as not to hear the conversation inside. They knew their place. Others before them hadn't been so wise.

  "You'd best be able to explain yourself, wizard."

  Grimwell finally looked up and acknowledged Thorakis. "Yes, m'lord. Of course."

  "We've precious little gold left, and I'm told you've taken it along with most of the silver and copper. Where is it? You're not drinking again, are you? I heard you were buying large quantities of wine."

  "Spoiled wine, m'lord."

  Thorakis harrumphed. "I see what you've done with my copper. Where's my coin?"

  Grimwell flushed. "The silver coin is here, sir." After ducking beneath the web of copper wire, he opened his strong box and showed Thorakis the silver coins, knowing his lord was very proud of the casting that bore his likeness. Destroying or defacing his likeness was listed among the highest crimes and was enough to land a person in the hammer mill.

  "Where is my gold?" Thorakis asked, leaning forward with an unpleasant gleam in his eye.

  "It's not . . . I mean, I don't have--" The look on Thorakis's face made him reconsider his words. "I've had our most trusted men grind the gold coins to powder."

  Thorakis went rigid and his face flushed.

  "Please, m'lord--" Grimwell stopped when his door rang with a loud knock, which could only be his men. The wizard breathed a mighty sigh of relief when the men carried in the sacks of gold powder. "You asked me to find a way to bring in more gold, m'lord. Please allow me to demonstrate." Grimwell knew the next few moments would bring him either glory or death; there would be no in between. Holding his breath, he carefully poured gold powder into the basin, trying not to react to Thorakis's sharp hiss. After agitating the solution, he pulled a silver coin from his pocket and connected it to a length of copper that had a notch in its end specifically designed to hold a coin by its edge. With trembling hands, he lowered the coin into the solution and prayed Istra and Vestra would not let him down.

  Thorakis leaned forward, almost sitting on the edge of his rolling throne, and his eyes went wide as the silver coin began to gradually change from silver to gold. Thorakis did something he rarely did: he smiled. "You continue to impress me, Grimwell. I fear I may one day have to have you pulped for your insolence, but for today, you are forgiven."

  Grimwell smiled but held his silence, savoring his victory for what it was, despite the threat.

  "What of our ambassadors? Have they properly greeted the old families?"

  Grimwell winced. "Some have, m'lord. Others may have as well, but I am awaiting word of their success. I assure you, m'lord, we'll achieve your will. The extra gold will ensure our success as I can now send additional ambassadors."

  "Do not gloat, wizard."

  "Forgive me, m'lord."

  "Yoric!" Thorakis barked, and his pages soon wheeled him from the room.

  Grimwell smiled.

  Chapter 4

  Fate is most unkind to those who fail to prepare for the worst of circumstances.

  --Edmoor Reese, scribe