A Bridge of Realms

by B. T. Narro

  Must be some powerful Ascendant or summoner, Leo figured.

  Soon he was riding alongside his brother and friends. Before he could ask anything about their task, Andar was teasing him again.

  “Skyfire and ash, how long were you in that bath? I thought you might’ve drowned.”

  “Shut up. What do you know about this mission to stop Jaktius Perl?”

  Andar started a few different sentences but stopped himself. “Wait, you weren’t even here for the news about the Orellos.”

  “What news?”

  “A while ago, the king sent his son to the Analytes to see the expanding rift for himself. Mavrim Orello had received many messages from the Analyte king calling for aid, but no action had been taken until now. Gavval Orello spoke with the Analyte king and was advised to venture close to Jaktius Perl. He must’ve been frightened by the sight of the growing rift because he sent a request back to his father for half of all mages to come.”

  “And Mavrim agreed?”

  “It’s hard to believe, I know,” Andar said.

  It was known among all that the king did not send troops anywhere except to stop rebels.

  “So the threat of the rift must be…” Leo stopped to search for the right word.

  “I know,” Andar repeated. “I know.”

  There were no other jokes that day.

  ◆◆◆

  Mavrim Orello had seen a very young man staring at him a little too long. He announced to his men, “Move away from me. You are making this far too obvious.”

  They shifted away and melded into the rest of the line of man walking alongside their horses. They did so without a “Yes, sire,” or any similar response. At least they weren’t stupid men. Mavrim wished he could trust them, but the only two people he could trust now were Karlinda Orello, the “wife” to Mavrim’s son, and Karlinda’s ten-year-old daughter, Fyra, Mavrim’s granddaughter. It was Fyra who Mavrim had sought help from more than three years ago, when his son had tried to orchestrate Mavrim’s demise through poisoning. Mavrim had stumbled into Fyra’s lesson room and collapsed, but first he had told his granddaughter that it was his son—her father—who was poisoning him.

  It didn’t take long after for Mavrim to awake in better health. He had found out that his granddaughter had been separated from her mother for weeks, so Fyra took it upon herself to storm into the kitchen and demand not only to watch all meal preparations for the king but to bring the food and drink to him herself.

  Mavrim assumed that his son had tried in vain to figure out some way to kill Mavrim even after Fyra had involved herself, but no further harm had come to him. It had been years now, but Mavrim still believed another threat was coming.

  Soon after recovering, he had sent his son, Gavval, to Analyte land. It was the only way to stop himself from ordering the death of his only son. Mavrim had stopped loving the thirty-four-year-old man long ago. It was the chaos the hanging would cause that had stopped Mavrim. Besides, he had no proof of the poisoning. Mavrim had killed thousands of rebels for less cause than this, but he was a different man now. He had aged rapidly, no doubt from the poison, but he still had some years left to change the course of humankind.

  He had hoped his son would see Jaktius Perl and realize that there were other concerns on which to better expend his efforts than destroying his own father. Mavrim had ordered Gavval not to return to the human kingdom until he and the Analyte king had come up with a solution that would stop the expanding rift.

  A full year had passed. Mavrim figured his son had spent most of the time in Analyte land drinking and whoring, refusing to even meet with the foreign king. Eventually his mood must’ve changed, for a message did come with a proposed solution.

  The rift was found to be made of pure Esitry. With enough summoners pulling it apart, and enough Ascendants disturbing it with Artistry, it should collapse as all rifts did eventually.

  But other rifts were composed of Artistry in the human realm and Esitry in the dark realm. There was a balance between them. Eventually they collapsed because Esitry within range in the dark realm ran out, and the stalwart link between the energies broke. The portal became unstable and died out.

  Sending half the Ascendants and summoners in Mavrim’s kingdom to Analyte land was a good plan. Esitry sought out Artistry usually. When bonded, one energy could even modify the other’s properties so that a mage wouldn’t recognize it. But there still should be enough of both energies for mages to disrupt them so that the rift collapsed.

  There were only theories as to what had started this rift and why it continued to grow. History told of no events like this one, not even of a single rift of pure Esitry. Mavrim agreed with most experts that KRenn Trange had most likely caused this inadvertently, for the other theories made even less sense. But how KRenn did this was a mystery to all.

  Mavrim could’ve stayed in his castle after ordering so many of his troops to Analyte land, but he was one of the strongest Ascendants in all of Aathon. If he really had changed and wanted to help the world rather than cause more bloodshed, then this was his second test.

  He’d passed the first when his family had decided to send an army to destroy the rebels in Jatn nearly four years ago now. He had ordered his men to send Erisena a message, not to attack, but he knew that order would be ignored. So he had linked FLip Trange to the statue the young man had spent countless hours worshipping and had the statue hoisted high within the keep. He’d held the Artistry strong as FLip lifted up and over the castle wall, where a team of holymen with horses awaited, summoned by Mavrim himself for a meeting that would never take place. They had witnessed FLip flying up over the wall and had escaped with him.

  Multiple reports had since confirmed that FLip took nearly all the followers of his father when he showed up. His father, the son of KRenn Trange, had been powerless to stop his followers from wanting to leave, for they believed it was the gods themselves who had freed FLip. But FLip’s father tried to stop them nonetheless, fighting against his son in the process. He had been killed because of his choice. FLip had later found the rebels, joining forces with Erisena’s loyalists. All of them were supposed to be somewhere in Analyte land these days, still recruiting in hopes of taking on the human king, Mavrim himself.

  By now, though, they must’ve heard of Mavrim’s plan to destroy Jaktius Perl. If he knew the rebels as well as he thought he did, then they would have put off the task of taking the crown from him. They must now plan to show up at the rift to assist in its destruction, for destroying the rift was far more important than anything else.

  Mavrim would reveal himself when it was over and call for a treaty. He would meet with Erisena and, finally, everything would start to change. He wished he could reveal his identity beforehand, for he sorely missed his private roofed carriage as well as the many, many other benefits of being king. But it was too dangerous for so many reasons. He would have to suffer through this long journey like the rest of his men and women.

  He decided he’d had enough walking for now. He climbed onto his horse on his own, a feat that was once easy but now took an embarrassing amount of effort. He rode past his troops, curiously gazing at all of them. They were his men, but he wondered how many would be loyal if a conflict divided them. Would they side with Mavrim or his son? The king wanted to figure out what he could about them.

  He did not look forward to seeing his son. They had spoken only once since Mavrim’s recovery from the poisoning. Gavval had claimed that he was happy to see his father out of bed finally, and Mavrim had ordered his removal from the castle immediately.

  “You will travel to Analyte land and find a solution to the rift problem,” Mavrim had demanded. “You will not return until a solution is found.” Then he’d turned and walked off. He had not said another word, not even a goodbye to his son, though he did watch from the window of his quarters later that afternoon to ensure that Gavval rode off.

  Mavrim knew his son well enough to predict that Gavval would never
admit to poisoning Mavrim. Even if he knew he could get away with it, Gavval had always been scared of conflict. Unless, of course, that conflict involved a woman who he held power over, like his wife.

  Mavrim suddenly felt something that made him stop his horse as he neared a different section of men among the long line of traveling troops. He recognized Farns, the trainer of young mages, ahead. So these young men and women were the mages in training. Farns himself had a reputation of letting many mages with intentions to rebel go through training anyway, but at least no one believed Farns was responsible. He just didn’t have a spy’s eye for these sorts of things, like Mavrim did. There had been many requests for Mavrim to change the trainer to another mage more capable of weeding out rebels in the making, but that would be the opposite of what Mavrim wanted.

  It was not Farns that made Mavrim stop his horse, though. It was the Artistry around here.

  Mavrim always felt as though he could reach out and grab all the Artistry within a hundred yards, but not now. There was a dense formation of some kind that was too strong. Mavrim gave it a testing pull. It felt like trying to bend metal with his hands.

  He slid down off his horse, wincing from the pain in his knees. A few of the young men and women looked over as if wanting to help. He waved them off to show he was fine. They said something among each other and chuckled.

  What are you doing? Mavrim told himself. Only kings dismiss people like that.

  Mavrim had been a prince before he was a king. He had never learned how to do anything subtly. How was he supposed to tell someone he didn’t need assistance?

  Never mind that now. He tried not to stare at two boys as he walked toward them. It was around them that this Artistry was stubborn and unmoving. What was this?

  He gasped as he realized it was a stalwart link. It seemed to be connecting the two boys. One looked to be a little older, but they appeared similar enough that Mavrim assumed they were brothers. Both were tall in their youth, built well. Their hair was the same shade of brown, though the older boy wore his longer, combed to the sides. A loose cluster of strands framed one side of his face. He looked as if he was capable of revenge if crossed. The other boy seemed more gentle.

  The design of their uniforms told Mavrim they were Ascendants in training. How old were they? Mavrim had trouble placing them, for both had features of young men, like their round chins and thinner arms, but there was wisdom in their eyes. They looked as if they felt they had a great purpose.

  What in Aathon could’ve caused a stalwart link to form between men? The younger one spotted Mavrim staring. Mavrim looked away too late. He looked back to see the younger walking over with his horse in tow. His older brother soon caught up.

  “Hey,” called the younger. “I saw you earlier. I’m Leo.”

  Mavrim shook the boy’s hand. “I’m Maddox,” said the king. “I apologize for staring. I did not wish to be rude.”

  “Ah, you must be rich,” said the other young man. “I’m Andar.”

  Shocked, Mavrim shook Andar’s hand. How did he know Mavrim was rich? He wore a uniform that was just like so many others.

  “It’s your tone and choice of words, sir,” Andar said with a light laugh. Mavrim tried to control his chagrin, for his embarrassment must’ve come out through his expression.

  “We don’t mean to be rude, sir,” said Leo. “Are you a mage?”

  The younger sounded as if he couldn’t be rude if he tried. His tone wouldn’t allow it.

  “I am, yes.”

  “I figured when I saw guards around you. You must be quite strong.”

  Mavrim wondered how many others had assumed the same thing already. He should’ve dismissed his men sooner.

  “I have been training a long time,” he said.

  “We’re still training,” Leo said. “But we’ve yet to meet a stronger mage—”

  “So let’s duel,” Andar interrupted.

  Leo softly backhanded his brother in the stomach. “He’s joking,” Leo said.

  After letting out a sound of shock from the backhand, Andar grabbed his younger brother in a headlock.

  “Let go!” Leo demanded.

  Andar casually continued the conversation with Mavrim. “How long have you been training?”

  “I will link your toes to your fingers!” Leo warned.

  Andar promptly let go.

  Mavrim was too surprised to speak. Was this how all young men who hadn’t grown up in a castle acted?

  “Don’t mind my brother,” Leo said, straightening his uniform. “He’s just been very bored lately. Have you been training many years, Maddox?”

  “Nearly my whole life,” Mavrim answered truthfully.

  The aggression between them disappeared as the brothers shared a look in which something seemed to be said silently. It almost looked like they had come to an agreement as they both turned back to Mavrim.

  “Do you feel something between us?” Andar asked.

  “So you’re aware of it,” Mavrim said.

  Leo nodded. “But we’ve yet to meet anyone who can tell us what it means.”

  “Not even Farns?”

  “How do you know Farns?” Andar asked. “Did you train with him?”

  Mavrim thought back to his first trainer, a woman Mavrim’s father had warned not to tell anyone that his son was learning to be an Ascendant. She was later beheaded publicly, accused of spreading false rumors that the prince was learning to use Artistry. She had been nothing but kind to Mavrim for years, teaching him everything he knew about Artistry. He was certain she had told no one of their lessons, and he never forgave his father for making an example out of her when rumors did start to spread.

  “No,” Mavrim said. “Farns was probably still learning Artistry before I required training. But I have heard that he is quite skilled. I would expect him to know what a stalwart link means.”

  Leo answered. “He said it formed between us because of similarities that it’s trying to hold onto.” He looked at his brother with confusion. “But we don’t think that’s right.”

  Mavrim was a little surprised these two boys would come to him, a stranger, with questions about their link. But then he remembered how he was after his trainer was murdered. He was already so skilled with Artistry by then that none of the magic instructors had anything new to tell him. He had been desperate to find out more not only about Artistry but about his own capabilities. If a trained mage like himself had come along, he certainly wouldn’t have hesitated to ask the man many questions soon after meeting him.

  These two must not be challenged enough in their training. It made sense, for the army’s official mage training program was known to just teach basic linking. These boys probably could do nothing to manipulate the links of the land or the elements, but most mages couldn’t, either.

  “I must admit,” Mavrim said, “that I have never met two men who are linked in the way you are. I do not know what it means, but that does not mean I am uninterested in finding out. Tell me where the two of you are from and what your life was like before the link, and perhaps we might find an answer. But let us walk as we speak, so the time might tick faster.”

  They perked up at the suggestions.

  It would be a long trip to Analyte land, but old Maddox had found the men he would be walking beside.

  They told him all about their lives in Jatn. Mavrim panicked as he listened because the backstory he’d prepared for Maddox was to be from Jatn as well. He had figured very few mages would be from the poor city. But as he listened to how little time these two brothers had spent with the rich in the city, Mavrim realized his story would pass muster. They spoke of their farm work, of their work in the Bookbinding Guild, and Andar soon told Maddox about his brief time in the Tisary. Eventually, they politely asked about him. The three of them had yet to figure out anything about the stalwart link, but they knew there would be plenty of time for that during the trip.

  Mavrim said he was born in northern Jatn as the son to a p
owerful man in the Farmers’ Guild. He knew the city well enough in those parts to create many anecdotes, from bartering in the town market to dancing and drinking at the Gorging Fish. But the boys were more interested in his training with Artistry than anything else. He told them about his trainer who was murdered one day. Andar stiffened at the news.

  “Did you hear about the murder of the army commander in Jatn?” he asked Maddox.

  “Yes, an awful shame.” It was Mavrim who had pushed to make Rolan Kipper the army commander because he was a man who actually cared about bettering the lives of everyone, not just his loyal army men. “I wish we could’ve caught the person who killed him. I fear it’s too late now.”

  Andar looked as if he might disagree about it being too late, though he did give a hesitant nod eventually.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Leo spent the days traveling with his brother and Maddox. But as soon as word got out about the skilled Ascendant, many of the other trainees had joined their conversations. At some point, Leo had watched Farns come over to listen in. He’d looked at Maddox as if they’d met, then smiled a bit when he learned Maddox’s name. Perhaps there was more to this older Ascendant than Leo knew.

  Leo and Andar’s friend Edward spent much of the time walking with them. The three of them spoke with Maddox about their repetitive training. They described how they linked items together, how Ascendants dueled with Artistry, summoners with Esitry. They talked about how they sparred with sword and sometimes shield, but only the men were required to learn. Most of the female mages used that time to rest or walk about the city. There was a degree of jealously toward them from the men at first, but everyone eventually became used to the situation.

  When Maddox asked if anyone failed the initial test to join, the three of them all mused about Jaimy, the young woman who’d come from Jatn with them only to fail. They had never seen her again.