The Treachery Of A Weasel

by Robert Blanchard

  The king was suddenly in front of me. In his outstretched hand was a leather scroll case with what appeared to be magical runes imprinted on it. “This arrived here a few days ago. No one knows where it came from. A guard reported that it wasn’t there one moment, and the next, it just appeared.” In his other hand, he handed me a small, thin piece of paper. “This was attached to it.”

  I unfolded the piece of paper, reading the small writing that was scrawled on it:

  Aidan of Delmar

  Everything Baladir had just told me only made me more weary of what was inside that scroll case.

  I pulled the top off of the scroll case, and pulled out a piece of very fine, expensive-looking paper. The scroll was sealed with black wax, emblazoned with the insignia of a hand holding a fireball.

  Using my dagger to carefully detach the wax, I unrolled the scroll, and read the very elegant handwriting:

  Aidan,

  A matter of utmost importance has come to our attention. A man came to the Tower of Magi claiming to be a mage apprentice. When we inquired as to why we had never seen him before, he replied that he was not from this time. He told us his story of how he came to be here, and even for the world of magic, we found his story to be quite fantastic. He left the city before we could verify his story. This man, named Timor, mentioned your name and we request your presence as soon as possible.

  Also, I know that you are quite aware of the controversy surrounding the mages during this delicate time. Your presence in Longhaven would also be appreciated to help us deal with the threat of Sirak.

  Kindest regards,

  Narissara

  Head of the Mage’s

  Counsel

  After reading it once, I skimmed it through one more time, then sighed very deeply, feeling quite irritated. I didn’t know exactly what Timor expected when he attempted to make his status known during this time. As the letter said, times were delicate, especially for the mages, who had (justly or unjustly) come under fire for Sirak’s actions in Delmar. No one could be trusted.

  I handed the letter to Lady Mirabelle, then turned to King Baladir, who was watching me with mystified intent. “You didn’t read that?” I asked him.

  The king shook his head.

  After Iskandor was finished, he handed it back to me, and, after a few moments of reluctance, I handed the letter over to my former king. Baladir accepted it with a look of gratitude, then read it over carefully—I watched as his eyes moved to the bottom of the paper, then back to the top, through to the bottom again. When he finally finished, his eyes were wide with astonishment and confusion. “This is the mage that saved my life?”

  I nodded.

  Baladir paused thoughtfully before continuing. “If it will help, I will send a letter over with you, referencing his valor.”

  Just the thought of Baladir even attempting to help me made my skin crawl. But I tried to remain as polite as possible. “That is very nice of you, Your Majesty, but it is not needed.”

  “It is no trouble, Aidan.”

  I knew he was trying to be nice and help Timor, but there was also a part of me that believed that he was just doing this to curry favor with me. His insistence was starting to make me angry.

  “Your help is not needed, Majesty.”

  Baladir sighed. “I know how you feel toward me, Aidan, and I don’t blame you. But I feel a responsibility to help this man that saved my life.”

  My anger level kicked up a couple notches. Didn’t he understand the word, “no”?

  “My love,” Mirabelle said, suddenly beside me. “The king just wants to help—”

  I nearly snapped on Mirabelle but held myself in check. “I don’t need or want anything from him.”

  “Aidan,” Baladir said, his voice nearly pleading, “Timor—”

  “That is none of your concern, nor anyone else’s but mine,” I said abruptly. “I thank you for alerting me to this, and if there is no more, Your Highness, I will retire.” Venom spewed from my voice, an invisible, poisonous, emotional mist formed the mental and emotional anguish I’d had to endure—all things I would have never had to deal with but for a decision made by this man standing in front of me. A man I once revered, would have followed blindly to the ends of the world and beyond. I gave a brisk bow, turned and walked away before even waiting for a reply.

  Iskandor, apparently trying to play peacemaker, spoke with anger, the first time he had ever truly used that tone with me. “Aidan! He is your king! Show him the proper respect!”

  I didn’t even turn around. “He is not my king! What is he going to do … exile me?”

  Silence followed me out of the royal hall.

  ***

  I marched right out of the White Castle and straight into the city. I was infuriated at Baladir, at my friends, at everybody and everything. How could anybody expect me to even be cordial to him after what he had put me through? Because of him …

  I don’t even know what I am. Am I human? Some kind of demon?

  I’m an unknown …

  By force of habit, I walked with my hood up, keeping my ghostly white eyes covered. The majority of the people in Delmar were enamored with me now, but I could still hear the occasional whispers of “freak” or “devil creature.” It made me very subconscious, but I had no choice but to deal with it for the rest of my life.

  I was walking past the residential district when I heard the faint sounds of a little girl crying not too far away. I hadn’t exactly made it a point to spend a lot of time around children in my life, but this didn’t sound to me to be the cry of a child who had been denied a cookie—this child sounded distraught.

  I entered the residential district and headed down the street, my right hand reaching over my shoulder for one of my swords (I’m not sure why—it’s not like I heard any other screaming, fighting, or any other type of commotion). As I walked by, several people who could hear the girl crying—and saw me moving to investigate—followed to see what all of the fuss was about.

  This particular district was one of the nicer living areas of the city—all of them were beautiful, built mostly for the upper class, but this one housed many of the middle class people of the city. The buildings were connected in a large three-quarter square, and the surrounding area was pleasantly decorated with trees, bushes, and rows of flowers everywhere. I remember thinking that it was quite something to walk into a living area and be a bit awestruck even by how the middle class lived.

  Once I entered the square, spotting the problem wasn’t difficult—a crowd of people had congregated around a tree on the right side. I headed over in that direction, and as I approached, the crowd—mostly women and children, their husbands and fathers at work in one of the business districts—turned toward me, pointing and chattering. I couldn’t make out words, but I could see a few scattered looks of fear. I ignored them and made my way to … whatever was going on.

  When I reached the middle of the crowd, I found the little girl, sitting on the ground with her knees folded up to her chest, her arms wrapped around them. Her mother was crouched over her, consoling her. I knelt down beside them, and upon catching her attention, the mother gasped when she saw me before catching herself.

  “Lord Aidan,” she panted. “I’m so sorry …”

  “What seems to be the problem here?” I asked, ignoring her reaction.

  The little girl looked at me slowly with tear-stained eyes, still sobbing harshly. She reached out with one tiny arm, pointing up into the tree. “Kitty.”

  I followed the direction of her finger, and there, through the leaves of the enormous oak tree, I could see a small, gray cat, stuck about halfway up. It had been crying too, but the cat’s crying had been completely drowned out by the girl’s.

  I smiled inwardly to myself, glad in a small way that the girl’s wracking sobs were the result of something that could be easily fixed. Of course, to this little girl, her cat being stuck in the tree was the end of the world for her.

  But I could
take care of that.

  I stood and unsheathed my swords, and for some reason, some of the people in the crowd jumped, gasping—like I was suddenly about to start hacking people to bits for no reason. I couldn’t help but feel offended.

  I turned the swords underhand, handing them to the mother. “Would you hold these, please, ma’am?”

  The mother looked surprised, but she obeyed.

  I knelt down again beside the little girl. “Is it a boy or a girl?”

  She answered between sobs. “A girl. Her name … is Mittens.”

  I nodded. “I’ll get her down.”

  I could easily have leapt up to the branch where the cat was, but there were two issues with that: one, I didn’t want to scare the daylights out of the cat, and two, I didn’t need to freak out the people any more than I usually do just walking down the street.

  Seeking out the lowest branch that could support my weight, I grabbed hold of it, pulling myself up to the next one, then another. The bottoms of my boots were planted on the trunk of the tree, pushing me up higher and higher. My armor, though it was light, dug into my flesh with each move, making my task quite uncomfortable. The crowd below me murmured.

  When I was about a quarter of the way up the tree, I reached for the next branch with my left hand, but apparently, I misjudged …

  Snap!

  The branch broke, and I lost my balance a bit. Not as big a deal as it seems, since I had a firm grip on another branch with my right hand, and my feet were perched firmly on branches below me. Being up in a tree, I couldn’t have been on more solid ground, but the people underneath gasped as I flailed backward for a moment.

  Well, I’m certainly making their morning … I smiled, shaking my head slightly.

  Finally, after some more climbing, I reached the point where I had seen the cat, only to find that the cat had moved.

  To the other side of the tree.

  “So … you’re too scared to climb down, but not scared enough to stay where you are,” I muttered quietly. “Well, you’re certainly making work for my gold today—which I wasn’t getting for this job in the first place …”

  Sighing in exasperation, I patiently began to maneuver my way across to the other side of the oak tree. Thankfully, the branches on the tree were widely spaced, and my agility made things a great deal easier. The trick was not scaring the cat away.

  I finally reached the branch where the cat was, still moaning in fear, the hair on her back standing up. Mittens was a very pretty gray cat, with faint, black stripes—and white paws, hence the name.

  I inched my way toward Mittens, taking my time so as not to frighten her. I called to her in a quiet, friendly manner, hoping that she would come to me, but the cat didn’t agree with that idea.

  Mittens had cornered herself on the branch. Still, she tried to creep away from me—

  Then I lost my breath, as the cat slipped, clinging to the branch with her front claws—

  And lost her grip, tumbling toward the ground.

  Some of the people below gasped and squealed in terror—

  Instinctively, I thrust my hand out toward the falling cat—

  And she stopped falling, a few feet from the ground.

  The people below cheered.

  Not needing to worry about appearance or the cat’s fear any longer, I leapt from the high tree branch to the ground, managing to keep the cat hovering where it was until I got there. I had to admit, I was proud of myself that I was able to concentrate well enough to do that.

  I walked over to the cat and cradled it, releasing it from its magical hold. Mittens still fought to free herself—apparently she still preferred a long free-fall to the ground than being cradled in the arms of a stranger—but I had a good grip on the flailing feline. I attempted to console the cat, before she clawed my neck off.

  “Shhh … it’s okay, Mittens. You’re alright.” She wasn’t really buying it, but at least she wasn’t trying to tear my face apart.

  When I had her calmed down a little bit more, I handed the cat to the little girl, whose face was bright with glee. She cradled the cat tightly to her chest. “Oh, Mittens, I thought you were gone forever!”

  I smiled as I took in the scene for a moment longer, then I retrieved my swords from the mother. Her heart was in her teary eyes as she thanked me, then watched her daughter, overcome with joy at being reunited with her friend.

  I sheathed my swords, and started to walk away, when suddenly something was clinging to my leg. Startled, I looked down, and saw the little girl hugging the armor around my thigh. “Thank you—thank you so much!” Her body shook with a sob.

  Smiling, I put my hand—red and raw from all of the tree climbing—on her head in a gesture of embrace, then lightly unattached her from my leg and knelt down to her. “You’re very welcome. Now go back to Mittens … she’s had a very scary day too. It’s up to you to calm her down.” My tone was light, reassuring.

  The little girl nodded, and ran off to be with her cat. I turned off and headed through the crowd, which seemed to be much larger than when I had first arrived. Even those who had witnessed what I had just done stared at me with apprehension—no matter what good I did, there would always be people who would look at me differently based on my appearance

  After that, a wave of emotional and physical exhaustion swept over me. It had been a long day, and it had taken its toll. I decided it was time to retire for the night, to rest and think about things.

  ***

  I awoke from a night of broken sleep to find a hulking beast standing over me.

  Startled, I scrambled to stand on top of the bed, crouched, ready to use my powers. Lightning crackled at my fingertips.

  But the beast, clad in heavy armor, didn’t move a muscle, only stared. The dim light that flowed through the curtains of the window only slightly revealed the bright red falcon that adorned the armor of the White Army.

  The beast chuckled … a familiar chuckle.

  “Lightning usually strikes outside,” the beast said with slight sarcasm.

  Recognizing him immediately, I lowered my guard. “If you were anybody else, Derrick, it would have struck in this room, and you would be dead.”

  “Well, then,” Derrick said brightly, “good thing I’m not somebody else then, huh?” He then chuckled in his usual jovial nature. “I must say that it would have been quite a feat to kill somebody while standing on a bed—I wouldn’t think that happens too often.”

  “We’ll have to go to the Great Library and check out the statistics,” I muttered crossly. “What do you want?”

  Derrick’s fun-loving demeanor changed instantly. “I was … informed about what occurred yesterday—”

  “Derrick,” I said, cutting him off, “you are truly one of my closest friends—but if you came here asking me to apologize to him, you know where the door is—”

  Derrick angrily took a step forward. I had faced down hordes of Ther-lor, as well as some monsterous beasts, and never batted an eye; but an angry Derrick was usually enough for me to second guess myself—he really was an imposing sight.

  “I am not here to deal with your attitude, Lord Aidan,” Derrick said in a calm, but forceful voice. “I know all about your problems with King Baladir, and frankly, I understand them. I know that you’re not in a particularly forgiving mood toward him, and I don’t care. But he is still royalty, royalty that I serve, and you should treat all royalty with respect, even if you don’t agree with them.”

  “You are right on all counts,” I replied evenly, intimidated (I admit), but not backing down. “I refuse to reconcile with him, despite his attempts to patronize me. He can try anything he wants, but I will not yield to him.”

  Derrick’s shoulders seemed to heave as got angrier, and he also seemed to somehow get bigger. “I would have thought Garridan taught you better—”

  “Do NOT speak to me of him!” I screamed, lashing out in anger, not realizing that I had knocked over a dresser with a flower pot resting
on top of it. I immediately became lightheaded, and I staggered back to the corner of the room, sinking down into the corner. I rested my face in my hands, fighting back sobs. “Do not speak to me of him …”

  Derrick was quiet for a few moments, then he spoke very lightly. “You still have those dreams, don’t you?”

  My only response was a slight nod. Derrick was silent for few more moments, but I knew he was thinking of a way to ask for an explanation. I took a few deep breaths, trying to regain control of myself; it worked somewhat. “After the city was saved, I had thought that I had found peace with what happened to Garridan. I had that “vision,” or whatever it was, when I was unconscious, and I had felt that it helped a great deal, to know that Garridan didn’t blame me for his death. But the dreams … they didn’t stop. If anything, they got worse …”

  Once again, Derrick was uneasily silent for a while. “I’m sorry, Aidan. If I had known that, I wouldn’t have spoken about Garridan.”

  I took a few more even breaths, still trying to calm myself. “For the record,” I said in a low voice, “Garridan taught me to respect only those to respect me in return … and the way I was treated by Baladir hardly conveyed any respect, Derrick.”

  Derrick was silent and thoughtful for a few moments, and then he sighed. “I can’t disagree with that, Aidan. He made a horrible mistake, one that he truly regrets. I’m not asking you to shake his hand and forget it ever happened—I’m merely asking that you are respectful in his presence, at least in a formal preceding. Behind closed doors, I don’t care how you act around him.”

  Still sitting against the wall, elbows resting on my knees, I hung my head and put my hands around the back of my neck. Resting there for a moment, I closed my eyes and tried to imagine being in Baladir’s presence, and trying to put the events of my exile in the back of my mind, and be respectful … even just imagining it, I found it very difficult to do. But Derrick, one of the closest friends I’d ever had, who was like a brother to me, was asking. I had to try, at least for him, if nothing else.