Prophecy, Child of Earth by Elizabeth Haydon Page B

accuracy. The impressive feat of manual dexterity caused Sir Francis to shudder involuntarily.
    'What's your name?" demanded the king. His Firbolg blood was not immediately visible, but then nothing was except those unsettling eyes. The emissary decided he was probably of mixed race, as his physical frame did not resemble that of any of the gruesome specimens of the citizenry he had encountered thus far. Obviously standard court etiquette was not going to be the rule of order here.
    'Sir Francis Pratt, Your Majesty, emissary from the court of Lord Cedric Canderre. It is an honor to be here."
    'Yes, it is," said the king. "I doubt you know it yet, but you will. Before we get to points, do you have something you are supposed to say?"
    Sir Francis swallowed his rising ire. "Yes, Your Majesty." There was something inherently repulsive about having to address a Bolg by the title that had not been used since the last true king occupied that throne. "Lord Cedric sends you his congratulations on your ascendancy, and wishes you a long and joyous reign."
    The king smiled; the expression was clear even beneath his cloaked face. "I'm very glad to hear that. Here's how he can assure that my reign is joyous: I want Canderre to perform an economic experiment for me."
    Sir Francis blinked. He had never been addressed so bluntly before. Gen erally the art of diplomacy involved a respected, complicated dance full of ritual and intricacy, like a courtship of sorts. In his youth it had been a game he relished, but as he grew older he had tired of it, and tended to place more of a value on plain-spokenness than he had when he was younger. He found the directness of the monstrous king surprisingly refreshing.
    'What sort of experiment, Your Majesty?"

    The Firbolg king gestured, and two of his minions came forward, one bearing a beautifully carved chair fashioned in a dark wood the color of black walnut but with a deeper, richer luster and an almost blue undertone. The other held a silver tray on which rested a goblet. There was something oddly amusing about the delicacies in hairy Firbolg hands. The chair was placed behind him, the glass before him.
    'Sit."
    'Thank you, Sire." Sir Francis sat and accepted the goblet. He sniffed it surreptitiously, hoping to be subtle, but he could see that the king had noticed what he had done immediately. The wine it contained had an elegant bouquet.
    To make up for his rude action he took a deep drink. He had swallowed before the flavor caught up with him; it was surprisingly good, with a rich, full body and a tang that was barely perceptible. Like most nobles in Canderre, Sir Francis knew wine, and he was impressed by the king's choice. He took another sip. It was a young wine, undoubtedly just a spring pressing, one that needed a little time to reach full maturity, but a bellwether of vines that would produce excellent grapes in a year or two.
    The king motioned again, and two more guards came in, bearing an enormous nautical net. They dropped it on the floor at Sir Francis's feet. He bent to pick up a corner of it and found that he could lift almost all of it, a feat of which he had never expected to be capable. He knew most nets of that size weighed a tremendous amount, but for some reason this one was only a fraction of standard weight. Instantly the value of it was apparent to him.
    'Where did you get this?"
    The Firbolg king sighed in annoyance. "Do not give me the impression that Cedric Canderre sent me an idiot."
    Sir Francis's face flushed. "I'm sorry."
    The giant's face spread into a wide grin, revealing grotesque teeth. "Well, yes, we've thought so all along, but we're far too polite to say so."
    'We made it, obviously. What's your opinion of it, Pratt?"
    'It's amazing." Sir Francis turned the rope net over in his hands. "The workmanship is extraordinary, as is the material."
    The Firbolg king nodded, and signaled once more. A chest was dropped at Sir Francis's feet. The* emissary opened it; what he