Fletcher

by P. S. Power

  That seemed an overreaction to Anders. Both the boy inside of him, who truly thought that the girl in the picture was as ugly as any girl he’d ever seen and to old Farad, who couldn’t be brought to care what she looked like at all. The idea of a boy being married that young wasn’t new to him. His people had done such from time to time. Then, he’d never gone into that kind of thing at all for himself.

  Running away crying seemed premature. Then, Prince Erold hadn’t done it. He just kept staring at the picture. Getting ready to face the lady herself when she came. On the nice side, it truly did take away from the idea that people might be coming to kill some of them. A thing that he remembered and mentally rehearsed for. After all, the Magician wasn’t really going to be working through him as was claimed. That meant the real protection was going to be up to him and his new skills. That or his ability to be hacked to pieces as Prince Erold ran away.

  Just in case it came up, he mentally practiced yelling run as well. A heroic bellowing of the word, before he was stabbed to death. It was a thing to avoid, if possible. Farad had never been stabbed in his life, always imagining that it sounded painful in all the old tales. None of them ever spoke of it in terms of a light tickle or peaceful slumber coming upon the victim of such things.

  It was almost always described as great pain, or at best as the person merely dying quickly.

  Truly, there had to be others there that could take his place. It was then that it occurred to him what the Queen had in mind. Setting a different boy in place there, perhaps pretending that he was the Prince. Then they could marry and send him back to her land with her. Even if he was put to death, it wouldn’t be the youngest Prince dying. Except that kind of thing would need his cooperation and that of Erold, to make happen.

  The thought was ridiculous given that. Even if he was willing to risk his own death in the matter, it was very unlikely that Erold would do the same. Risking his friend’s life. The boy wasn’t cowardly or lacking in either honor or a sense of duty. Anders on the other hand had a reputation for being lazy and feckless. The kind of person that wouldn’t stand up for anyone else, if it was going to be uncomfortable or difficult.

  Even if it was foolish, he decided to go with that if he were introduced as the Prince. It would be hard to pull off, since too many knew the difference there. Farad didn’t really know if they looked similar at all or not. The boy next to him was light haired, had blue eyes and the beginning of a strong and manly jaw. What he looked like he didn't know. The hair and eyes should more or less match. The clothing didn’t. He was in the nicest thing that he’d ever owned and it was a silken tunic in perhaps the ugliest color of yellow imaginable.

  Erold was in a dark uniform, a blue that held closely to black, with strong buttons of silver on the front and gold thread at the cuffs.

  It probably meant that the Queen had simply intended him to get in the way at the right time and to die, so her son could run away if attacked. That made a lot more sense. A Mother might do a lot to protect her child after all. There had been hinting that he might die if an attack came, even from the Queen. What she hadn’t asked of him was to lie and save her son from marriage.

  A man walked into the room. Breathing heavily, hiding it so as to not seem out of breath and acting calm.

  “The Modroc approach in three carriages and two wagons. They should arrive in one quarter of an hour.” Being professional, the man, who was no one Anders recognized, bowed the whole time he spoke.

  Everyone rose then, leaving their plates. The picture of Princess Sweyn was left on the table, even if it was an amazing feat of magical prowess. Since it was the plan of the day, he walked with Prince Erold. There was no attempt to drag his feet or hesitate, though his face looked a bit like he was expecting to die that day, instead of meet a girl who might be a bit less than perfect through the face.

  As the rest of them moved along as well, with Princess Peri, having recovered herself, moving in to walk along with her husband, Prince Robarts. The King and Queen went first. After their guards. When they got outside, those men moved back, to thirty feet away from the others. There were men with crossbows on the upper wall, who pulled back or more likely ducked down, so that they could still be brought to bear in short order without being a direct threat.

  The coaches that arrived, pulled by four horses each, were painted a matching green color and seemed a bit run down. Their wagons matched each other, though were a golden orange that was the cousin to the shade his clothing was that day, Anders noticed. A thing that was better than what he had on, that way. The royal family stood there, waiting for the carriages to empty, backed by hidden guards, a line of servants and a few onlooking castle folk, who stood well back.

  In the distance stood Depak Sona, looking out of place in his green robes. He was too fancy and bright for the people he was standing with.

  From the green monstrosities, which really weren’t nice at all, close up, several people stepped out. Ten of them at first. That was the Princess Sweyn herself, two ladies that seemed a bit prettier than the large boned Princess and seven men, each in black and gold, with their faces covered.

  They didn’t even wait for introductions to take place before all of the men rushed forward. Not at Erold or the King at all. As blades slipped from sleeves and back sheaths, all of them shining along the edges, the first to move tried to stab one of the girls that was standing near the Princess. He was nearly there to make the first blow when Anders screamed.

  “Lod-hom-fen!” His pointed finger indicated the assassin just before his knife could touch the girl in the white dress.

  Rather than murder the maid, the assassin was picked up off his feet and thrown at least ten feet backward, into three of the others who also seemed intent on killing the same girl.

  “Erold! Get the girls away. I’ll hold here.” He sounded nearly brave. Even as he screamed his one little spell, over and over again. The thing worked to knock them back. Unfortunately, they kept getting back up.

  Then the real fight began.

  Chapter ten

  At first the enemy, in their dark clothing and face coverings, fought in near silence. No one behind Anders was making any noise either, so only his own voice could be heard. That was higher in pitch than the boy really liked as it happened. A bit squeaking and fearful in tone. Even as he screamed and pointed, using new powers that he’d barely experienced in his life to force the attackers back. Many times.

  Holding them at bay.

  Which worked until one of the men in the back, holding a short sword that was different than the two types that he’d seen Erold use, being broad but half the length of either of those blades, shot a line of pure white fire directly at him. The only thing that saved him from dying in that moment was that he’d been halfway through his spell again and in fear flinched and focused both his right main finger and his thoughts over to the fire bringer. That knocked the man slightly to the side, so the gout of death flame missed him, going high.

  That slammed into the castle wall, singeing the very stone there.

  It was that event that started everyone else screaming.

  A problem came up for Anders then. Half of the knife wielding men turned to come at him, throwing things. Two used blades for that, strange things that didn’t seem like eating knives or swords at all. They had two points as they flew at him. The man that was tossing the intense fire was also focused on him for some reason. Probably having to do with the fact that he’d started out screaming and pushing people around.

  Which was fair, given that they’d started it, trying to stab that girl.

  Farad the ancient man of peace and contemplation was at a loss for a few moments. It wasn’t that he feared battle or even death that much, he decided. It was more that the unfamiliar state, trying to work things out under pressure was highly distracting. Having died once, he was perhaps more prepared than most to face it again.

  That meant he came to himself, dodging away from the blades, even as h
e used the one spell he’d been given for the day’s activities.

  Except, he understood as he ran to the side, that wasn’t truly the case. He’d learned to cause water to come out of the air and even Depak Sona had said he might manage a few other, probably slow, effects to happen that day. The basic form of magic was such that by changing one idea in his spell, the action, he could, in theory, gain different responses.

  “Ro-hom-fen!” The first black and gold clad man he pointed at didn’t stop moving on him, even as his shirt started to smolder. In order not to be overwhelmed, even as he skipped backward, trying desperately not to fall down as more than half the attackers tried for him, Anders knocked him back using the first movement spell.

  This all took place inside a few seconds. From the outside it probably sounded like he was rolling spells off his tongue with very little pause, making one attack for every ten steps he took away from the men that tossed things at him. Even as he dodged out of the way.

  Finally, since the smoldering man wasn’t stopping yet and had a nicely sharp looking silver blade as he rushed in, Farad managed to work out something a bit different. Holding his finger out, he screamed, stopping even as death came for him.

  “En-teth-fen!”

  The effect then was far more interesting, since halfway from his finger to the sword that was coming at him, a giant spark, much like a lightning bolt, came into being. It moved directly toward the metal blade, it’s intended target. Even hitting there, the man was thrown back, screaming instead of acting in silence any longer. There was a clatter as the metal of the short sword hit the gray stone.

  Finally, after what seemed like forever, a rain of arrows came from the walls. The men hit didn’t stop instantly, though they all paused for a moment when hit. This worked for all of the would-be killers, except for the one that was trying to burn him alive. That one went dark suddenly, a cloud of pure black covering him.

  Smothering the flames. There was no calling out from behind the mask of that man. He simply fell down. Rather, part of him did that. As Anders looked at where Depak Sona was pointing, causing the fire to end, something large and green separated from the attacker who fell.

  It was translucent, like the legends of ghosts. The being struggled for a bit, thrashing in the cage of darkness, only to slip those bonds after a moment, doing something with a wave of force that picked Depak Sona up into the air, throwing him back with great power and speed. To a height that would likely kill him on the landing.

  Anders readied himself to fight the beast that floated in the air. No one else there seemed ready to use magic on it and the guard rushing in with their swords might not be able to do anything. Then, he knew, he wasn’t likely to be able to do much either.

  Thankfully, off to the side, Depak Sona righted in the air, standing upright, then floated to the ground like a leaf, instead of smacking into it with great force. Even in the distance it was possible to hear him laughing before he called out a very complicated spell.

  There was a scream then. Only it wasn’t that at all. The creature, the glowing green monster that had a huge bulbous head, large eyes and ended in only a tail, instead of legs or something more useful, fled then. Moving away so fast that even the Master Magician couldn’t hold it, though Depak tried very hard to do just that, it seemed.

  The screaming in the background kept going then. Thankfully about half the people that had been standing there had run off. The girls from the carriages for instance. The men and women that had remained in the wagons were about to be slaughtered, even if they hadn’t attacked anyone at all. To Anders that made sense. Even if not with those who had taken violent action in spirit, that couldn’t be easily known.

  Farad called out to the guard, his voice still high pitched and fearful.

  “Hold! There is a trick here! Save these people and do not let them come to harm!” It made sense to him, that old and ancient part of him. Mainly from several of the old tales that spoke of similar things.

  After calling that out several times, one of the guardsmen turned to look directly at him. The man from the bowyers who cared if he was going off to be abused by some noble in the small hours of the morning.

  “What do you see here, Anders?”

  The rest of the men were still closing with the far more common seeming people. Ones who coward away in fear, rather than seeking to fight the armed men who would certainly kill them if they got too close.

  “The attackers went for the Princess. Someone wants these people to die. Probably to start a war! Protect them!”

  Not all the men there did it instantly but after two of the guard called out to protect the dignitaries, the rest, if a bit grudgingly, surrounded them with more than half facing outward, ready to fight for them. The rest were, naturally, prepared to strike them down, if it was an attack from the Modroc in truth.

  For his part Anders panted then, sucking in air as fast as he could, trying not to lose the food he’d had not too long before. That meant bending over and gasping as it all hit him. That didn’t last forever, thankfully. He was able to walk around, over to where Depak Sona stood, looking at the people from the wagons.

  “None of these people are possessed or ring of magic. There is an object in the second to last wagon however that glows to my sight. I need to examine it, if that is a thing that can be safely done?”

  He spoke to Anders, though loudly enough to be heard by the guard that stood there, still seeming ready to fight and kill.

  Rather than press the twelve-year-old boy into service that way, one of the older guard nodded.

  “Let the Magician through. Move the Modroc… Dignitaries back, please. We need to protect them.” There was a muttering under the gray heads breath. No one else was close enough to hear it, other than Anders.

  He’d said something to the effect that it would be safer to kill them all. Which was still possibly true. Only the fact that most of them were older men who seemed to be afraid and a woman in well-shaped dresses, that were, if not rich seeming, at least clean and wrinkle free. Given that they’d all been traveling, that had to be hard to manage.

  Depak Sona moved on the wagon, going to a specific portion of the yellow and orange thing, seeking something as if it were a lode stone that attracted a needle. After a moment, he uncovered a box, which when he worked the lid off showed a sealed earthenware jar. There was jade green glaze on the outside. It was ringed in script, a thing that seemed to be made of strange arcane symbols.

  The thing was tapped, firmly.

  “This contains the heart of the sluagh. The dark beast that rode the man who used magic so well. A dark entity? I think that is what such would be called in this tongue. From what I can tell, this is well constructed. It’s useless now, the death of the body of the man that had created this ending the magic of it.”

  Carrying the thing, he carefully climbed out of the back of the bright colored wagon. The driver of the thing huddled close to his horses. The man, who looked a bit rough, needing a shave, seemed to be dressed up like any common man of Istlan might.

  All of the drivers were, showing that their coaches had been hired for the trip from the port. At least possibly.

  Finally catching his breath, Anders sensibly moved back, toward the now closed door to the castle. The heavy thing was guarded, by two men who both nodded at him. They’d been at the practice yard at times when he’d sat and watched Erold and Captain Ford practice.

  The one on the right, who was around the two decade mark in age spoke first.

  “We need to hold here, until orders come. No one can go in or out until then. We must protect the King and his family.” The words were hard. Clearly meant to tell Anders that he couldn’t go inside to hide under his bed just then.

  Still breathing hard, he nodded.

  “Right. We need to… Everyone guard the castle! If we’re under attack… We need to buy time for the defenders inside.” Then, no doubt seeming foolish and like the child he was in truth, at least in bo
dy, he turned, his back to the guard behind him, right hand up, ready to shout his little spells again.

  Knowing that if that dark entity came back, he was probably going to be the first one to die.

  It seemed to take a very long time for the situation to be worked out. First the men with their crossbows up on the wall had to be called to, the situation as it seemed being explained. Most of the castle folk who were trapped outside picked up simple tools or stones and got ready to fight for their King, even if that was nearly as silly as him doing the same thing.

  Farad understood more though. The reason for what he’d called out wasn’t to claim that they, people armed with rocks and sticks, could do better than the castle guard in protecting them. The whole thing was to show the living Modroc that when attacked, their people, every man, woman and as it turned out that day, poorly clothed child who matched their wagons in color, were ready to fight to the death.

  The Modroc were searched, with gentleness, since the Barquea Ambassador was on hand to suggest it to the men doing the work. The guard even apologized as they did it. A thing which didn’t stop them from doing a good enough job that the lady there and one of the men managed to jump when touched in places that were inappropriate.

  Some of them had blades, but those were all short and seemed to be for eating or common self-defense. A few of those were rather special in their design, having a high level of decoration to them. Those were all taken, though not out of sight, since losing one to theft could start a war.

  Half the remaining morning later the castle doors opened, with Captain Ford coming out first, followed by two older men. They were no one that Anders knew at all. One was dressed in a well-presented version of the castle guard gray outfit. The other man was in a silk doublet and hose. On his feet were slippers instead of proper shoes or boots. His face was clear of facial hair, though wrinkled and cragged with age.

  The older guard looked around first, then spoke to Captain Ford.