Children of Fire

by Drew Karpyshyn

  Vaaler giggled as they scrambled to their feet, brushing themselves off and bowing toward the royal heir. The boy gave a slight wave of his hand as he’d been taught; the monarchal equivalent to returning their gestures of supplication.

  “Does His Highness require anything?” one of the attendants asked.

  “Water, please,” Vaaler replied.

  His mother had taught him to always be polite, especially to the personal attendants assigned to serve and protect him. They will serve out of duty to House Avareen, she had once explained, but it would be better if they served with pride. And his mother was the Queen, so Vaaler had to do what she said.

  “Shall I fetch you a glass from the kitchen, Your Highness?”

  “I want to get it myself. Please.”

  “As you wish, Your Highness.”

  The two attendants fell into step behind the young prince as he padded down the halls of the vast castle complex. Vaaler barely noticed them. After a lifetime of having attendants always following in his wake, even a lifetime of a mere nine years, he had grown accustomed to their presence.

  “The dream is the same, always the same. Fire, flames, the Destroyer of Worlds. Always the same.”

  Vaaler halted on recognizing his mother’s voice. The halls in the castle often played tricks with sounds, making noises seem much closer or father away than they truly were. But Vaaler could guess the room that was the origin of his mother’s words.

  “Perhaps the dream has some symbolic meaning, my Queen.”

  He knew it was High Sorcerer Andar speaking this time, confirming what he had guessed—his mother was in the council chamber. Vaaler turned down an intersecting hallway, suddenly eager to see his mother’s face. His attendants followed wordlessly behind.

  “If this vision is symbolic, we should consult the ancient texts for possible interpretations.”

  This voice belonged to Drake. He liked Drake. Drake knew how to ride and fight and wrestle. He knew fantastical stories about Tremin and Exter and all the ancient kings; he knew about the Gods’ War and the Cataclysm and the Chaos Spawn. Sometimes he’d talk about the years he spent beyond the boundaries of the North Forest, exploring and adventuring with the humans in the Southlands. And sometimes Drake even let Vaaler practice archery with his bow, as long as the prince promised not to tell his mother.

  Vaaler heard people say Drake was his mother’s consort, but he didn’t know what that meant. He had asked once while Drake was teaching him how to fletch an arrow, but the man had stammered and turned red and hastily excused himself. Vaaler liked it better when Drake was around, so he hadn’t asked again.

  At the door to the council chamber a pair of armed guards stood watch. They stepped aside at the crown prince’s approach, each man giving a slight bow in Vaaler’s direction. Almost subconsciously, Vaaler raised his hand in royal acknowledgment of the gesture.

  “It’s not symbolic. The dream is too consistent to be …”

  His mother trailed off upon catching sight of her son, her right hand unclenching and releasing its grip on the plain gold ring that hung from the chain on her neck. The ring was the symbol of the Avareen House, she had once told Vaaler. She had to wear it because she was the Queen, and one day when he was King he would have to wear it.

  Vaaler wasn’t much looking forward to that. He thought the ring must be very uncomfortable. His mother was always tugging and grabbing at it or wrapping her long, thin fingers around it, hiding it from view with her tight fist pressed up against her chest.

  The Queen crouched down, arms held out to embrace him. Vaaler trotted obediently up and into her loving embrace. Her thin but surprisingly strong arms wrapped around his body, clutching him to her breast. He felt the metal of the ring on her neck pressing through his thin nightshirt, cold against his chest. She held him for a second then pushed him back just far enough to plant a brief kiss on his forehead.

  “What’s the matter, Vaaler dear?”

  “I couldn’t sleep, Mummy.” The words were out before Vaaler even realized his mistake. He wasn’t a little boy anymore; he was supposed to use the proper forms of address now. “I mean, I couldn’t sleep, my Queen.”

  Neither his mother nor the other half a dozen men and women in the room seemed bothered by his breach of royal etiquette.

  “Has the young prince had a nightmare, perhaps?” It was Drake who asked the question.

  “No, Drake. I was just thirsty. It’s hot in my room.”

  “The summer heat makes sleep difficult for us all,” Andar agreed. Though his tone was kindly, Vaaler sensed something odd about his voice. Almost as if he was disappointed to learn Vaaler hadn’t been awakened by a nightmare.

  “Why didn’t you have one of your attendants bring you a drink?” his mother asked, stroking back the lock of hair that always seemed to fall down over his forehead.

  Vaaler shrugged. “I can do it myself.”

  The prince sensed they had important business to attend to. Business that did not involve him. But for some reason he was reluctant to leave.

  The Queen kissed him once more on his forehead then rose to her feet.

  “Hurry off and get your drink, my love. Then back to bed. You need your sleep, and the Queen must continue to receive the council of her advisers.”

  Normally he would have gone without question. His mother was the Queen; everyone had to do what she said. But Vaaler didn’t want to leave, not yet. His room was hot and stuffy, and the shadows would still be there waiting for him to make his mad dash from the door to the safety of his bed.

  And this was his chance to finally ask the question he could never ask. They had been talking about the dreams when he had come in. He could ask about them now and nobody would wonder how he knew. Nobody would go looking for his secret tunnels in the castle walls.

  “What kind of dreams were you talking about, Mummy? I mean, my Queen?”

  The Queen exchanged concerned glances with her council then turned back to her son. “They are nothing for you to worry about. Mummy has many dreams.”

  “Why don’t I have any dreams?”

  The question hung in the air for a long, long time. Drake shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot; Andar stared down at the floor. One of the other advisers coughed softly into her fist.

  “Now is not the time for this discussion, Vaaler.”

  The Queen’s voice was firm and insistent, but not angry. She never got angry. Not at him. But Vaaler had learned there was no use arguing with her when she used this particular tone of voice. He called it her queen voice.

  “Yes, Mother.” He turned to go.

  “Vaaler, remember your manners.” His mother’s voice was soft and warm once more.

  “Please excuse me for interrupting,” the young prince dutifully recited.

  “’Twas no trouble, Your Highness,” Drake responded.

  The others murmured similar sentiments as Vaaler left to resume his quest for a drink of water. At a word from the Queen the guards closed the doors to the council chamber as soon as Vaaler had stepped out of the room.

  A silence fell upon the council chamber in the wake of Vaaler’s exit. The Queen seemed lost in thought, and none of the others were inclined to break her concentration.

  “When the prince came in I had hoped …,” Andar began at last, but when the Queen glanced up to meet his gaze he trailed off.

  Typically, it was Drake who had the courage to say what had to be said.

  “He should have had a dream by now, my Queen. A vision. Something. You yourself had manifested the Sight by the time you were four.”

  The Queen sighed and gazed down at the floor. “Llewellyn also had the Sight. He understood the vision in ways not known since the days of the Cataclysm. Perhaps if Vaaler’s father yet lived …”

  “My Queen,” Andar reassured her, “your husband was a great Seer and prophet, but you are easily his equal. If anyone … that is, you cannot blame …”

  Realizing Andar had trailed of
f the Queen looked up. “Speak freely,” she said to her advisers. “What is said shall not pass beyond the walls of this council room, but I command you to speak freely.”

  After a deep breath, Andar continued. “Your son will one day sit upon the throne, my Queen. He is the sole heir to the crown. But will he be fit to lead our people?”

  “My son is a bright and capable boy with a good and noble spirit!” Despite her intentions, the Queen’s voice was tinged with the anger of a mother defending her child.

  “Chaos is thin in his veins. There is no blame in this, it happens sometimes. There have been Monarchs in the past who have been weak in the Sight,” Andar said softly, trying to cushion the blow.

  The Queen made no reply. His words were meant to be kind, but the true meaning lay just below the surface. Other Monarchs had been weak in the Sight, but her son was not weak. He was blind. Such a thing was unprecedented in the unbroken line of the Avareen House, descending from Tremin himself through thirty generations.

  Her husband had been a prophet of rare talent, surpassed only by her own remarkable abilities. They were the preeminent Seers among all the nobility of the Danaan Houses. Chaos burned strong and pure within both male and female, and their union was expected to produce an heir whose blood would also be thick with Chaos.

  But somehow the mingling of their rich bloodlines produced a child without the Sight. A beautiful, intelligent, kind, and perfect child save for this one inexcusable flaw. In all their history, the Danaan people had never rebelled against or refused to accept the rightful successor to the throne. But the Danaan people had never been asked to bow down to one such as her son.

  It was Drake who jumped to her defense, as always. He had been there for her when they brought news of her husband’s death in the battle with the manticore. He had led the army out to destroy the creature that had widowed the Queen. He had been there to provide her comfort and support and even love once her mourning time had ended. And he had been there to help her raise Vaaler and teach him all the things only a father can teach a son.

  “We all know Vaaler does not possess the Sight. But his bloodline is pure and Chaos runs deep in the wells of his family. Perhaps he possesses the Gift.”

  There was a murmur of surprise and even disbelief from the advisers at Drake’s bold statement.

  “Surely if he had the Gift we would know by now,” Andar objected. “It’s not something that can be hidden. Other wizards can sense the power dwelling in the child.

  “I was barely three when my own talents were recognized,” the High Sorcerer continued. “It is the same with all the mages who serve in the court: Their Gift was noticed well before they reached the prince’s age.”

  “Perhaps we do not know what to look for,” Drake countered. “Among our people Chaos is strong, and those with the Gift perform magic naturally and at a very early age. But in my travels among the Southlands I encountered many human mages who had not learned to shape Chaos until well into their teens. Maybe Vaaler’s Gift is hidden, locked away like the power of the humans.”

  “Even if it was,” Andar said, “we would not know how to unlock his talents. The rituals we use are very different from the strange arts the humans use to unleash and control their power.”

  “The humans study Chaos and magic in ways foreign to us,” Drake agreed. “The Gift does not come naturally to them. But through years of patience and practice they can unlock power that rivals that of any Danaan sorcerer.”

  Drake hesitated before continuing, as if he was afraid of what he was about to suggest. “In my travels among the humans I encountered many individuals who possessed great knowledge of Chaos and magic. Perhaps if Vaaler were to be given to one of them—”

  “No!” The Queen’s voice was filled with the anger of betrayal. “I will not send my son out among the savages! I will not give him over to the Order to have his eyes plucked from his head!”

  “Please, my Queen,” Drake implored, “hear me out. I would never allow your son to fall into the hands of the Monastery’s butchers. They seek to destroy the Gift, not nurture it. But there are others who wield Chaos among the humans: witches, alchemists, and mages. Near every village lurks a man or woman who uses strange rituals to shape spells. They bring rain or heal the sick; some have the power to forever change the fortunes of those who seek them out. All for a price.

  “The Order tried to wipe these people out during the Purge, but despite their efforts nearly every noble House in the Free Cities employs a wizard or court mage. Often these mages will take apprentices, to nurture their untapped talent and teach them the art of shaping Chaos.”

  “Are you suggesting we offer my son as an apprentice to one of the Houses in the Free Cities?”

  “I would strongly advise the Queen against such a course.” Andar’s interruption was sudden and urgent, but he still maintained the formal speech expected of the High Sorcerer. “The Houses of the Free Cities are in a perpetual state of unrest. Their fortunes rise and fall and rise again on the whims of politics and chance, and they are not above exploiting a situation for their own gain. To deliver the heir to the Danaan throne into the hands of one of these noble Houses would present them with an opportunity to leverage the young prince for promises of alliance and political support from our nation.”

  The Queen was aghast at Andar’s words. “Are you saying the humans would use my son as a hostage against our kingdom?”

  “I have studied the political history of the Free Cities in great detail, my Queen,” Andar reminded her. “Vaaler would be little more than a political commodity for whichever House possessed him. Needless to say, rival Houses would be anxious to acquire such a valuable bargaining chip for their own purposes—or at the very least, to eliminate its presence from the political table. Your son’s life would be in constant danger from both enemies and supposed allies in such a situation.”

  “I am not suggesting we send him to the Free Cities,” Drake countered. “My agents in the Southlands have brought me news of one particular man who could be the answer to our problems. A Chaos mage of immense power who has studied and researched his craft over many decades.”

  “It sounds as if you have been preparing for this for some time,” Andar interjected.

  “Forgive me, my Queen,” Drake said, ignoring the High Sorcerer to address Rianna directly. “I had hoped this day would never come, but I thought it best to be prepared. For Vaaler’s sake.”

  The Queen nodded for him to continue. Drake had clearly overstepped his authority, but he had done it out of affection. She wasn’t about to chastise him for helping her son.

  “What else do you know about this human?” she asked.

  “His name is Rexol. Several of the more prominent families in the Free Cities employ mages who once studied under him, though he himself has no political affiliations. He is rumored to be looking for a new apprentice. And it is well known that he is no friend of the Order.”

  “How can we trust this man?” Andar demanded.

  “His reputation for neutrality is well known,” Drake assured them. “He dwells alone on his grounds near the borders of the Southern Desert, so as to remove himself from the earthly concerns of the various political factions. According to my agents, he quests for what the humans call Old Magic, and he is obsessed with ancient documents that predate the Cataclysm. Such documents are rare among the human kingdoms.

  “We could offer Rexol historical tomes from our libraries should he agree to accept Vaaler as his disciple. Each year Vaaler studies under him we will bequeath a new batch of volumes to Rexol for his use. Should anything happen to the prince, he will see no more of the ancient knowledge we have preserved.”

  “You would protect the safety of my son with the promises of mere books?” The Queen was incredulous, shocked at the cavalier attitude of Drake toward her own flesh and blood.

  “You forget, my Queen: The humans are a young people. They have no history, no ancient learning. From our dealings w
ith the Free Cities we know they hunger for this knowledge; they lust for it. To a man such as Rexol our ancient arcane texts are more valuable than any material wealth.”

  The Queen considered Drake’s words carefully. He was not a man to speak lightly of such things, or to make such declarations without strong evidence to support them. She had learned to trust his judgment. And she knew he cared about Vaaler. Still, the Queen had her reservations.

  “What say the rest of you?” she asked the room.

  “I do not like to send the only heir to the throne out beyond the safety of our kingdom’s borders, but this wizard may be our only hope to discover if your son has the Gift,” Andar conceded. The others murmured their assent.

  The Queen closed her eyes, hoping for a vision to guide her in this decision. She prayed for some sign that her son would be safe in the hands of a human she had never met, a man whose only allegiance was to himself and his lifelong pursuit to master Chaos. She saw nothing but the flames that haunted her dreams, a warning of the destruction of her kingdom. Would it happen in her lifetime? Perhaps in her son’s? Without either the Sight or the Gift, would Vaaler be able to withstand the coming of the Destroyer of Worlds?

  It was a terrible risk, but one she had to take. Vaaler would rule the kingdom one day. Despite her reservations about sending him into these strange lands she had a responsibility to the Danaan people to try to discover if her son had the Gift.

  “So be it,” she said, not even aware her right hand had risen up to clutch the ring dangling from the chain at her throat in a tight fist. “Send a messenger to this Rexol with our offer and terms.”

  Chapter 13

  Beyond the black Monastery walls, the night sky is obscured by thick clouds and sheets of driving rain. In the darkness she can’t see them, but she can sense them. Monsters at the gate.

  The pealing bells that heralded the first light of dawn rang out through the Monastery, waking Cassandra and cutting the all-too-familiar vision short before it could reach its gruesome climax.

  The dream had plagued her for the past several days. She knew by the rules of the Monastery that the Pontiff was supposed to be told whenever someone kept having the same dream. But Cassandra had no intention of telling anyone about what she had seen. Her dreams scared people. That’s why her parents had given her to Rexol; and that’s why he had given her to the Order. Because of her dreams.