by Jaxon Reed
“My sixth daughter, our beautiful Atta, has three potential suitors from three different kingdoms. We will decide which one is best for her before she comes of age. She is our youngest and we will most certainly hate to see her go.”
He smiled fondly at the little girl. Atta looked up, her bright eyes contrasting prettily with her dark hair and brown skin. She smiled back at her father.
King Aldwald cleared his throat again, and refocused on the wizard.
“So, that brings us to Mita.”
The teenager looked up, and blushed, adding a flash of rouge to the dark hair framing her face. She seemed plainer than her younger sister, Oldstone thought. He had not seen the other sisters, but he suspected Mita was likely the least attractive of Crystal Kingdom’s six princesses.
“Rather than pursuing marital matters, Mita is much more interested in martial arts. I have indulged this interest over the years. In fact, I have employed the very best fighting tutors in the land, and some from beyond our borders as well. She is well versed in all manner of combat.”
Oldstone noticed the queen rolling her eyes, and deduced she did not approve of the tomboy nature the princess evidently embraced. The king, on the other hand, by all appearances seemed willing to cater to his daughter’s whims.
“Bring out the combatants!”
Aldwald clapped his hands, and four men stepped out of a doorway onto the dining room’s performance space, each carrying a wooden sword.
Aldwald nodded toward his daughter.
“Let’s show the wizard what you can do, Mita.”
Mita nodded at her father, and stood up from the table. Two of her maidservants hurried over and helped her take off the resplendent crystal-lined dress. Underneath she wore simple white pants and a white blouse. Her little white slippers were reminiscent of a dancer’s, the wizard thought.
Someone handed her a wooden practice sword. She jumped up onto the stage with the men. All five turned toward the king and bowed. He nodded, and gestured with two fingers from his temple in a forward motion. The men rushed the princess.
She knocked away their blows and struck back quickly. One attacker fell, then another. The third advanced toward her and she struck him in the side before whacking the fourth on his head.
They crumpled to the floor and she turned toward the king.
The nobles burst into applause, each standing up and cheering. Mita curtsied.
Aldwald turned to the wizard.
“Well? What do you think?”
Oldstone nodded, and pulled on his beard in consideration. Privately, he felt the four men had held back in their attacks. Perhaps not an unwise measure in light of the royal audience, he mused.
“Could you give me the room, Your Majesty? I would like to test the princess in private.”
“Of course.”
Aldwald clapped his hands and the many lords and ladies made their way toward the exits.
Queen Etta stood up to leave with the younger princess and prince. Oldstone waved her down.
“You should stay, Your Majesty.”
She nodded, and sat back down, but she sent the younger two siblings away with their nannies.
When only the royal couple and their daughter remained, Oldstone waved his hand and produced a small cloud of thick, black smoke. The smoke broke off into four lines, arching over to the stage in streams where they solidified and became four black-clad swordsmen.
“These are what we call facsimiles, Princess. They are not real people. However, these four will attack you with no compunction about holding back, unlike the others you just faced. Each one is more skillful than the next. Let’s see how far you get.”
Her eyes grew wide in realization, and she nodded. She raised her wooden sword and faced the new opponents.
The first approached her and assumed the stance of a Sapphire fighter. She recognized the style, reciprocated, and they traded blows. Her father had hired one of the best fighting tutors the ambassador to the Sapphire Kingdom could find, and he had been a good teacher. A few minutes passed before the princess found an opening, shoving the tip of her sword through her opponent’s defenses. She stabbed him in the chest and knocked him off balance.
The facsimile disappeared in a cloud of black smoke, and she turned to face the next one.
This one attacked her quickly, in a flurry of blades. She defended herself while trying to place the fighting style. She decided it had to be something known as “High Sandstone.” One of her tutors versed in many different styles of swordplay showed her the method once, in a wide-ranging survey of techniques.
Fortunately, he had been careful to explain the strengths and weaknesses of each style, and she had paid attention. She stepped backward again, quickly blocking the many blows the facsimile rained down on her.
She smiled suddenly, remembering what the old swordsman had said about the High Sandstone method. Its adherents tended to exhaust themselves if they could not quickly overcome their opponent.
She maintained a defensive posture, blocking every blow as the attack continued. About the time she began wondering if the wizard’s creations would adhere to normal human conditions, the facsimile slowed.
She became more aggressive, forcing her opponent to spend more energy. He continued slowing, his response times lagging.
At last she reached in for the kill, and the facsimile disappeared in a poof of smoke.
Aldwald looked over toward Oldstone and smiled, then took a sip of wine. Etta stared straight ahead, her arms crossed in disapproval.
The third facsimile approached Mita with a style she had never seen before. She used every ounce of her skill fending off his attacks. He beat her back, and she stumbled as he bore down on her.
One of her best tutors had been a man named Volden, widely considered the greatest fighter in the Crystal Kingdom. A memory flashed back to her from one of his first lessons.
“If you find yourself overmatched by an opponent, Princess, then you must fight dirty to win. Winning, and staying alive, is far more important than fighting fair.”
She kicked, lashing out with her foot, and popped the facsimile’s kneecap. He tumbled down with a groan. She jumped over him, slicing at his head with her sword in one swift motion. He disappeared in a cloud of smoke.
The king chuckled in delight.
“You don’t know how much gold I spent to get her to this level, Oldstone.”
The queen harrumphed, tightening her crossed arms. Oldstone pulled his beard thoughtfully and nodded.
The fourth and final opponent approached the princess.
As their swords clacked together, Mita realized she again faced a style with which she was unfamiliar. The facsimile’s steps and posture were completely foreign. She thought it would have been interesting to watch if she weren’t fighting him.
She fended off his first attack, his second attack, then his third completely surprised her. She felt the blunt edge of his wooden sword thump against her ribs, leaving an ugly bruise under her blouse.
The facsimile stopped, turned and bowed toward the wizard, then disappeared in a puff like all the others.
Oldstone clapped, slowly.
“Very good, Princess. Very good, indeed.”
He turned to the king.
“I must say you are correct, Aldwald. She has been trained very well. I am impressed.”
The queen snorted.
“She lost.”
The wizard looked at her and smiled.
“She wasn’t expected to win, Queen Etta. The only question was which one she would lose to. She lost to the highest skill level, one in which she has not yet been trained to fight.”
“She should have lost at the third level. She clearly cheated to defeat your man.”
The wizard nodded in acknowledgement.
“That was impressive, too. It showed clear thinking under pressure. ‘Cheating’ is only the manipulation of reality in order to gain the desired results.”
The queen glan
ced away, choosing not to argue.
Oldstone looked between the king and queen carefully.
“I apologize, Majesties, for bringing up such a delicate subject. But, has she started menstruating yet?”
Etta’s face reddened a bit. Aldwald spoke up.
“No. She’s a late bloomer, and that’s another reason I asked you here to consider her.”
“I see. Yes, that’s good. Princess, please come over here.”
Mita stepped off the performer’s stage and walked toward the wizard and her parents. She stood before their table, still holding the wooden sword at her side.
“Princess, do you know what goes into becoming a battlemaiden?”
She looked down at the floor and considered a moment before answering. Then she looked up and met the wizard’s eyes squarely.
“I think I know some of what goes into it, from what I’ve read. I don’t know everything, though.”
Oldstone nodded, pleased with the answer.
“That is correct. There is a lot you don’t know about the process. I will say this, much of it is unpleasant. You will spend months, years, apart from those you know and love. You will undergo training that is grueling, almost unbearable at times. You will be lonely, and likely unhappy for long periods. There is a lot about training to become a battlemaiden that is neither fun, nor romantic, nor particularly enjoyable.”
He locked eyes with her for a long moment.
“How is your magic?”
She shrugged.
“It’s alright, I guess.”
“Show me your favorite trick.”
She held out her right hand to him, squeezed it into a fist, then opened it palm up. A flower quickly grew from her palm. It reached full height, and blossomed into a pretty white orchard. She plucked it with her left hand, and handed it to the wizard.
He took the flower, and nodded in approval.
“Harvester’s magic is unusual for someone your age. Again, I am impressed.”
He stared at her thoughtfully for a moment. In fact, he reflected, her demonstration probably could not have been duplicated by anyone else in the entire castle.
“Are you absolutely certain this is the path you wish to choose, Princess?”
She took a deep breath. She glanced toward her mother, who remained sitting with her arms crossed. Etta broke eye contact, and looked down at her lap.
Mita looked at her father. He looked back with love in his eyes, and gently nodded encouragement.
Finally, her eyes returned to the wizard.
“If you are willing to take me, Wizard Oldstone, I am willing to go.”
Chapter 3
Stin shut the door to the stairwell quietly behind him. He pursed his lips in a silent whistle at the opulence of the hallway before him. Mahogany inlaid with marble lined the walls. The ceiling featured planks of cedar, imbuing the air with a fresh scent. A long, luxurious carpet stretched along the floor, likely imported at great expense from the Ageless Isles if his experienced eye was correct.
He had half a mind to roll up the carpet, turn around and go back down the stairs and out the door. But he controlled himself. This townhome, belonging to the Duke and Duchess of Windthorn, contained far greater treasure.
He started down the hall and stopped at the first door to his right. He jiggled the handle and found it locked. He was neither surprised nor perturbed.
He pulled a set of lock picks from a hidden pocket in his jacket, and quickly set about adjusting the mechanism’s tumblers.
Stin stood a couple fingers over five and half paces, a modest height. Over the years, he had discovered many benefits to modest height. A tall man, for instance, stood out in a crowd. Everyone noticed him. Short men seemed to be well remembered, and people always associated them with dwarves. But a man of modest height, neither very tall nor very short, could blend in anywhere and become forgettable. And blending in was paramount to Stin’s chosen profession.
Fortunately he was neither blonde nor as pale-skinned as many in Coral, his home country. His skin tone was neutral, neither dark nor light. His hair was a non-descript brown. Everything contributed to blending in, and he could be taken for a native of most any country except Sandstone, where skin tones tended to be much darker than elsewhere.
The lock clicked open, and he swung the door inward. It revealed a maid’s pantry, with shelves of cleaning supplies, a mop and a broom.
He closed the door quickly, resetting the bolt.
Why lock a room like that? he wondered. It’s not like someone would steal the mop.
He walked briskly down to the next door in the hall, jiggled the handle, then addressed the lock with his picks.
It opened to a modest bedroom, featuring a wardrobe and a chest of drawers. The chest seemed interesting, but again he controlled himself. This was not the room he wanted.
Closing the door, he dusted off his fine jacket. He was attired perfectly for the luncheon taking place below. The jacket appeared to be entirely silken, all the way down to the long tails hanging near the back of his knees. In fact, only the outer shell was silk. The inside had been constructed from much less expensive cotton.
This was a trick in holding down expenses a tailor friend told him many of the lower nobility used. Unless one stepped inside the clothing, there was no outward way to tell the garment was cheaper than its purely silken cousins.
The outer shell was bright red, the color of the Ruby Kingdom. The shade seemed much more garish, he thought, than the more muted orange-red of Coral, but he wore it anyway. One must blend in, after all.
He kept the jacket through all his travels, often employing a local tailor to sew a new silk facade in place, matching the color of whatever kingdom in which he found himself.
The original tailor had crafted several hidden pockets throughout the jacket, and Stin went well armed with three folding knives, a stabbing dagger, two throwing knives, and a set of metal knuckles.
He jiggled the handle on the third door and heard the latch to the stairway open behind him. He froze, then turned to see the butler staring at him in shock. The older man stood a good three or four fingers higher than Stin, hair graying and balding on top.
“I say! The Duchess does not like guests to be up here, milord. The top floor is private.”
A couple of potential replies raced through Stin’s mind, most revolving around trying to find the urinal. But those would not remove the butler from the hallway, an outcome Stin desperately needed.
He smiled graciously at the butler, and walked toward him.
“Yes, yes, I know. That’s why I’m here, in fact.”
The butler’s head snapped back in surprise.
“Yes. You see, her niece, the lovely Nessa . . . you know the one?”
The butler’s back stiffened.
“Of course, milord. I know all the family members of Windthorn quite well.”
“Yes, well, I have no choice but to confide in you, sirrah. Nessa asked me to meet her in the top floor hallway to share a few private words. She assured me this hall would be deserted, and we would have utmost privacy.”
The butler stared down at the floor, and Stin knew he had hit upon a plausible story. Hobnobbing with the upper crust in Ruby City the last several weeks, Stin had learned as much as he could about all the prominent families. Nessa was the wildest daughter in the Windthorn family. Her uncle’s butler could well understand she might want to sneak off with a young man at a party.
Now to prey on his ingrained sense of service, Stin thought.
“My good man, could you do me the finest favor? Could you go back down to the party, and surreptitiously mention to milady that Sir Hemphnor awaits her? No doubt she has found herself caught up in some fascinating conversation. If you could but remind her I await her presence in patience, doubtless she will soon find her way up here.”
The butler’s eyes narrowed and he nodded, coming to the conclusion Stin hoped he would.
“Right away, milord. I s
hall return with her posthaste!”
He hurried back to the stairwell door. As soon as it shut, Stin whipped out his lock picks and worked on the third door.
He sighed in relief when it opened to a library, filled with shelves and tables. Along one side, a giant set of drawers covered the entire wall, reaching up to the high ceiling. Along the other side, an equally impressive bookshelf spread along the wall’s length. Windows covered the far wall, several of them open to allow circulation. Throughout, various valuable books and artifacts sat on tables scattered throughout the room.
“This must be the place.”
He pushed the door shut, locking it behind him, and approached the giant set of compartments to the right. Hundreds and hundreds of drawers lined the wall, reaching up to the ceiling, spreading out across the length of the room in both directions.
He recalled the instructions Felway the Fence had given him: 32D, 61R.
“A combination?” he had asked.
Felway shrugged, and told him, “You’ll know what to do when you see it.”
Someone had hired Felway to obtain the object. Felway hired Stin, in turn. Privately, Stin wondered how much Felway’s employers were paying for the object. Felway had offered Stin a hefty bag of gold to retrieve it. Stin could only guess Felway would earn much more.
He put such thoughts aside.
“Greed kills the thief.”
It was a proverb he tried to live by. No sense getting greedy since one can always steal more later. He had no way of knowing who Felway’s employers were, and thus no way to cut out the middleman. Best to take the gold and move on.
He stared up at the wall of drawers reaching to the ceiling, eyeing the ladder nearby which offered access to the higher compartments.
He stood there a moment, thinking.
Surely this must be it, he thought to himself.
His eyebrows shot up with an epiphany. He started counting down from the top left corner drawer. At eye level, he stopped.
“That’s thirty-two down.”
Next he started counting to the right, walking alongside the drawers until he came to the sixty-first one.
“Sixty-one, right.”