There were two stories surrounding the medallion, and Elymas hadn’t bothered to confirm either. The first held that the medallion had been a gift from King Revel, as the Earth Skyll had corrected a faulty design in the castle. In return, King Revel had commissioned the finest goldsmith in the land to make a piece of his choosing and Elymas had choose the sun.

            Others argued that the medallion was all that was left of Saar, having been found among his ashes. The disc was powerful, and the light that glowed from within wasn’t from gold but from trapped fire.

            Bunched in the Great Throne Room with the rest, Jessum had allowed himself a furtive appraisal of the medallion. It wouldn’t do to be caught staring.

            “Each of you have been chosen,” Elymas began. Not a booming voice but then, he had no reason to shout. “But how? By whom?”

            His eyes roamed over them. Jessum could feel the vibrations of the bench beneath him; they were all shaking badly. He willed his own limbs into rigidity, digging in his pocket for his rulla dice. He was a good player, and the feel of them was calming.

            “Were you tested against the wind? Were you judged by a witch doctor wearing antlers and smeared with dung?” Elymas pulled a handkerchief from his sleeve and coughed. The cough was contrived, and every apprentice knew he was smelling them. Bunched together and sweating, they were gamy.