The prince of Telior was barely their elder at eleven, but the prodigious size that came of his ancestry made him a good six inches taller even than Jaroan. Lathenskar Northsword had the same keen blue eyes and long dark hair as his father, and a cool name to boot. He was clearly the leader of their little assembly, taking the newcomers on a tour of the nooks and crannies of the echoing caves, but the tall lad appeared to be paying special attention to Jaid, even taking her hand once or twice in a very gentlemanly manner as they skipped across streams or waded knee-deep into pools. Jaroan was getting a fair bit of attention himself. The three girls of Lathenskar’s company – well-dressed, petite little maidens all – didn’t seem fussed that the prince was paying them little heed, focussing their own powers on my brother, the mysterious outlander from the biggest city in the world.
Perhaps I’d have to speed up those talks.
I stood with the king and his men near the top of the rocky incline, not ten feet from the door back to the High Hall, looking down on the kids cavorting below.
“She told me that my son would wed,” his voice took on a sarcastically sinister tone, “the sister of the sorcerer.”
I looked at him, in complete and utter befuddlement. “A few hours ago, I was just passing through. Now my nieces and nephews will be Telese – I’ll have to learn Telese, become Telese… probably die here…”
He laughed, and I couldn’t help but smile, but I knew it was a wan, pathetic little thing.
“Look, before I get started – there’s something you need to know.” I glanced at the guards. “No offence, guys but – King Deymar, is there somewhere we can speak in private again?”
Within moments he was leading me into a small antechamber – the fire had already been well-stoked, and the dark wood-clad walls and rugs exuded warmth. I slid thankfully into a chair near the flames, shutting my eyes and sighing.
The king reached out for the door, murmuring a command that the guards should wait outside – but one of them, a young man with an exceptionally long chin, snapped something back in his own tongue.
“Aurvi Javen! You must speak Mundic for the benefit of our guest,” the king rumbled to his swordsman.
Long-Chin seemed reticent all of a sudden, looking shiftily between his ruler standing in the doorway and me lounging in the chair before the fire.
“Do go on, Sir Javen.” Deymar’s voice hardened. “Your king commands it. I know you speak it.”
“I say,” Long-Chin blurted, glaring at me, “vhy ve must vait outside, again, vhen you are dangerous!”
The king chuckled. “And what’s the answer to that, Lord Raz?”
It shocked me, hearing that form of address used at me – but at least it was Raz, not Kas, receiving the honours this time.
“Err…” I didn’t quite follow what Deymar was getting at. “The answer? You mean, because whether they’re in here or not won’t matter?”
“Thank you.” The king nodded to his youthful guardian. “You were there, Sir Javen, when the captain spoke. You heard what he accomplished. Do you think your blade will avail you – do you think your blade can accomplish his death? I warn you not to try! If he was an enemy, do you think either of us would be alive?”
I waved at him. “Come on, that’s enough. I don’t want them all having nightmares.”
“Majesty – how he speaks to you!” Long-Chin gasped, his pale cheeks flushed rose-red.
“Yet they must understand the balance of power,” the king continued, looking at me but ignoring both of us. “I will not ask you to demonstrate your magic. I know an archmage. I know what they are capable of. The knowledge – it is enough.”
He would be thinking of this ‘Orcan Finfaltik’, probably – the city’s wizard-teacher…
It was likely I was far scarier when I was putting my mind to it.
“I… shouldn’t demonstrate my powers, really.”
“I know.” He looked back to Sir Javen. “I appreciate your loyalty – now wait outside.”
The knight turned away. The king closed the door, sighed deeply, and seated himself opposite me.
“You have an injured leg,” he said at once.
I stared at him in surprise.
“I thought there was something,” he said, “and when I saw you sit down – this was confirmation.” He glanced at my boots, poking out from under the hem of my robe, then blinked as he noticed my left foot’s complete failure to be opaque. “I – is that safe?” he asked in something of a strangled voice.
I grinned at the huge, imposing king who couldn’t even look at an insubstantial foot without cringing.
Yes, pretty damn sure I’m scarier than this Orcan bloke.
“It’s quite safe.” What would be the best way to explain my injury? I didn’t want him knowing this happened since I gained my powers – that would make me look stupid – he was hardly going to know I’d had my powers dampened by the Inceryad-tree of legend, and I could hardly tell him… “Before I became an archmage – some idiot mashed my foot with a rock. But my powers let me take the weight off the foot – it’s sort of half-flying, half-hopping… I hope it doesn’t look too daft. I’m… Yeah.”
A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
I nearly said ‘I’m still trying to get used to it,’ but that would make it look like I’d only just become an arch-sorcerer, wouldn’t it? Would that be for the best?
The moment passed me by.
“It isn’t too noticeable.” He looked away from my foot, back to my eyes. “So, what did you want to talk to me about?”
I chewed the inside of my cheek for a moment, considering where to start.
“… The end of the world?”
His eyes widened, and I sighed, knowing I’d have to start from the beginning.
It turned out that they’d heard rumours in Telior, received word from sailors that things had gone particularly crazy in Mund. They’d even heard about Everseer’s ‘Crucible’, about the Return of the ancient dragons of the Dracofont – but they’d heard a dozen other things too, and, incapable of separating the sound from the noise, the Telese had been none the wiser.
“It’s one to take seriously,” I said. “I can’t let you carry on as if everything’s normal, when I know something you don’t, something important like this. I’m sorry. Please, don’t immolate the envoy.”
He frowned. “Is that something that happens?”
“Just an old-timey saying…”
“And you think this… this hell will stretch across the seas? To Telior?”
I heard the scepticism in his tone.
“I don’t know!” I probably let too much of my panic into my voice. “I don’t know what’s going to happen! I’m not – I’m no longer one of them. My friends…”
‘Friends.’
Irimar almost killed me by sending me to Zyger, but it was a dubious action at best. I could see the good will in it. In seeking to free me of my destiny, he forged it. Yet he forged it all the same.
Emrelet? Borasir? I was certain they knew nothing of his plans. They… hated me.
Tanra, though.
I missed Tanra.
“Your friends?” he prompted me gently.
Evidently he could tell I’d just rode a wave of emotion, and I felt myself blush.
“My… old friends. I’m sure the archmages I used to know have got a handle on things… I – I knew a champion of Mund, once.”
“Indeed? A champion…” He sounded appropriately impressed. “Let us worry about what we can worry about, and leave that which cannot be changed to the gods. If men survive this Crucible you speak of, they will need kings and lords to guide them. We must act as the adult. Although you know the storm will come, you know not when, and set the table for dinner in any case, no? You are a responsible man. You know of what I speak. We cannot wallow in despair.”
I stared at him.
I can’t stop the storm. But I could – if I were there – I could help stop the Crucible…
His mention of responsibility sickened me to my core.
But my hands were tied, with bonds no wraith could phase through. The twins came first. Always – they had to. My twins. Saff and Tarr, Arxine and Orieg, they couldn’t be my responsibility too. If I returned to Mund, the magisters would lock me away again. I had no special defences against their tricks. Sure, I wasn’t wearing Spirit’s amulet anymore, wasn’t giving him a back-door into my mind – but he or someone else would find a way in, disarm and condemn me in the same stroke.
No. It was beyond my reach.
“I will set my table all the same, and brace myself for the storm,” I murmured.
The king smiled. “A wise man, too.”
I sighed. “Tempered by misdeeds, believe me.”
He looked at me curiously.
“I mean – you aren’t born wise. You have to make mistakes first. I…”
– elven fingers, dripping in red paint, smearing crimson down a wooden wall –
“I’ve done things,” I concluded. “Things I’m not proud of. I… I want to do better again. I want to be myself, again.”
“And here I am, making you change.”
“No!” He was wrong. “No, it’s not that at all. I think you’ve helped –”
“Do not decide today.” King Deymar rubbed his beard in thought. “You are cold and tired. I will have food brought, and men to escort you back to your chosen tavern. Your board and breakfast will be paid. Tomorrow, return here, and I will assemble the Night Order for you. I will get the old wizard out of his roost, too. He has a… a winning personality, you say, yes? You can see what you think. If you still intend to leave, my men will not try to get in your way. But I hope – I hope you will stay.”
I shrugged. “I don’t know how I can say no to that.”
“Good!” The king grinned. “My blow did not err, then.”
“Indeed… well-struck.”
I shook his hand when he offered it. His grip was firm, and, even with only the merest touch of my wraith active, I was fairly certain that his fingers literally sank into my flesh. He didn’t seem to notice, or care – presumably the former.
I caught myself half-bowing as I left his presence – not a full bend from the waist, but still more than a head-nod.
I left to gather the twins, towing a pair of sullen-looking guards in my wake, musing over the king. Deymar was perhaps the smartest highborn I’d ever met, flawlessly recruiting the new archmage – the promise of gold, of challenge and opportunity… But, even more so, it was through his personality. Even without the job offer and Jaid’s storybook romance – he’d successfully brought me, a stuck-in-the-drop Sticktowner, onto his side. A laudable feat, for one so noble of blood.
Was it even right to think of him as highborn? Surely, he came from a mighty lineage that cast him in the light of a latter-day hero, equipped with the sinews and courage of old. But, in truth, there was little by way of luxury apparent here. Little decadence. Deymar was just a tall man with a rumbling voice, desperately trying his best to maintain the order he’d inherited.
By the time I’d collected the twins and got out of the High Hall, I’d decided that I really did want to stay. See how things went.
Maybe even send for Xantaire, Xastur, Orstrum…
At least Jaid wasn’t making it harder. Love was taking it way too far – but infatuation? I’d accept that much. The change that came over her was remarkable.
“Did you see the prince’s ring? He called it a ‘signet’… Is that a Telese word? It’s not, is it? I know I’ve seen it. Did you see the dolphin on it? It was so pretty… I want to see a dolphin. Do you think we could, Ka… Raz? Oh, please. Pleaaaase?
“Oh, did you see when he helped me out of that pool! He almost fell in with me! That would’ve been so funny. Don’t you think? Jar? Sorry, sorry – I mean, Vin…
“And he said he’s the prince of princes. Like, all the other lords – thanes, whatever – a few of them even call themselves kings, you know? – but all of them are loyal to his dad, so all the other princes have to bow to him… well, someday… and he’s not betrothed yet… Kas, how do I get betrothed, exactly? Does he just ask me, and do I just say –”
I interrupted, my voice quiet. “If you could wait for us to be back in our room, before you continue, please, Shirya.” She was becoming far too careless, not even noticing when she was letting her tongue slip. “I think you’re forgetting how dangerous things can get, and how quickly. If we give it away – if they sent a team of you-know-whats –”
“Okay!” She was blushing, her eyes on her feet as we walked, but there was a strange kind of coldness, hardness to her features. “Okay… So, what does ‘signet’ mean?”
I frowned. Other than a noble’s ring…
“I don’t have a clue,” I admitted.
By the time we got back to the Flying Swordfish, she was losing her voice, and me and Jaroan were losing the will to live. The first time she left us alone, visiting the ladies’ room, I rolled over in bed and looked over at Jaroan.
“No regrets?”
He was sitting on his bed, looking out through the window at the sea.
“No,” he replied, not turning. “We’re home.”
* * *