I was king of the canton of Vaire in Vale when I was alive. I came to my throne by virtue of threats and greed, but I tried to be a good king. I wanted to be well remembered. I rode the rounds of my canton yearly, hearing my people’s concerns, and every horse and retainer of my entourage wore ornaments of my own making, most of them gold. I had been a smith, and smiths were honored people; we worked magic with metal, and metal conferred its own ancient magic on us: we were healers, smiths and the sons of smiths. At least, some of us were.… For myself, I wore a breastplate all in chain links, and a chain belt to my sword, and the staghound—the emblem of Vaire—leaping on my helm. I dressed in sober velvets to set off my artistry. Jewels and brooches show better thus. But it was not in such array that Frain first saw me—Frain, my son, who did not know me. Spring had come and was turning into summer, but I was not holding court or preparing to ride through my domain. Mela, my wife of many years, lay ill with a wasting fever, and I stayed constantly in her chamber, seeing no one.
