Spellshift

by Allen Snell

  Morgan brought Garen into her meeting with their Advising Council and introduced him. From that moment on, he felt invisible. They looked only to Morgan with each question. They discussed various contingencies, each depending on whether the Apatten army turned out to be fledgling, modest, or massive. Three of the five were convinced that an expansion of their military was the correct action regardless of the Apatten outcome. Morgan and the other two offered diplomatic alternatives, suggesting how much more stable the kingdom might become if they relied on neighboring defenses.

  Garen had fleeting moments of interest, but he had no insight into running a kingdom or preparing for war. His mind went back to last night, sitting by the river’s edge with Naia. She’d proven she could use deeper magics from the Gate of Choice, and that meant a solution for Drake wasn’t far off. However, Morgan’s caution about using certain kinds of magic left him nervous. He didn’t want that kind of power to change Naia. Too much was changing already. Thankfully, he’d made plans to check back with her in the morning, just briefly. Drake would have some real information he could share by then, too.

  The Council hit a similar stopping point. Too much rested on Drake’s report the next morning. Morgan showed Garen to his luxurious private chambers. There was no shortage of thoughts racing through his head, but they drowned each other out equally.

  He woke on his own as the night sky brightened into dawn. Servants had seen to cleaning his armor and attire while he slept. Garen took simple joy in finding them spotless and odor-free by the door. He strode down to the throne room. He felt powerful and prepared for anything Drake would tell them.

  Morgan stood next to all five councilmen, looking through the tall pane of glass behind the throne. The hazy, dark orange glow rose on the horizon. They turned to face him, and their anxious expressions made Garen’s stomach sink. Drake wasn’t back yet.

  Chapter 26

  “If he hasn’t returned by midday, I’m contacting Micah,” Morgan insisted. “I don’t care about your escalation theory. We’ve lost him before. We’ll find him again.”

  A pale, balding man in formal robes spoke up. “And you believe whatever forces were strong enough to capture or, spirits forbid, murder King Drake are beneath you?”

  “I won’t be alone,” Morgan said, motioning to Garen. “We happen to have the kingdom’s most gifted scout in our company.”

  “It shouldn’t be possible to insult someone using the phrase ‘kingdom’s most gifted,’” Garen said, “but you found a way. I can do a lot better for you than scouting.”

  Garen smiled at Morgan until the realization clicked in her head. “You want to spellshift right to him?” Morgan asked.

  Confused councilmen looked back and forth.

  “Absolutely. You think something bad happened to Drake because, I’m not sure, you’ve probably never seen him fight. I’ve watched one person ever get the best of Drake. Ever. Now, Drake has that guy’s magic plus his own. If he hasn’t returned, it’s because he had to stay and take care of something. I guarantee they’re in more trouble than he is. We just need to know the updated plan.”

  “We would be extremely grateful,” Morgan said, her frantic attitude fading. In seconds, she was back into the proper role she’d maintained since Garen arrived. “But are you sure you want to appear next to someone who might be fighting for his life? Or traveling underground?”

  “Not sure how that second scenario would go. But it beats every other option I’ve heard by a canyon leap.”

  One of the bewildered councilmen spoke up. “I’m still not sure I understand what kind of magic you’re intending.”

  Morgan ignored him. “I’ll explain while you’re gone. But you need to come straight back. I mean it. This doesn’t benefit us if you disappear and join whatever madness he’s caught up in.”

  “I’ll be back before you can say, ‘Garen’s about to hopscotch between worlds.’” And with a toothy grin, he closed his eyes, waved, and vanished. He wondered what kind of stunned expression would fill the room in his absence. Garen pushed the thought aside. He was determined this time to maintain his focus on Drake. A calm and confident warrior. Noble upbringing mixed with a lifetime of hard work and discipline. He was a good man. The kind who complained about the suffering of others but never about his own.

  The strange sensation of movement slowed. He no longer felt himself drawing closer to Drake. He tried to stop focusing on that feeling, lest Kallista scream at him again. He pictured Drake as clearly as he could. His hair, tied back for formal obligations but swaying carelessly in the heat of battle. His knowing smile, often hearing what Garen really meant instead of the strange choice of words that came out of his mouth. His fierce loyalty, just like Morgan.

  Again, Garen felt paralyzed. This was not a comfortable place to be still. He pushed his mind harder. Drake was humble. The new title and role could never change that. A man who outranked and outperformed every other Spellsword yet still felt at ease following their commands. A servant’s heart. That was the Drake he knew.

  And Drake’s thread was nowhere to be found. Garen had no hands to reach with, but he felt himself grasping for the line that would take him to his friend. He should be moving. He should be beside him. Garen cleared his mind. This shouldn’t be a challenge. He’d spellshifted to Drake just two weeks prior. What was it he thought of then? His dignity? His stiff posture?

  Garen remembered the essence that guided him. He felt the words replay in his mind. “A quiet bottle of honest obligation.” He remembered the thread well.

  It confirmed the fear. That thread had vanished. There was nothing to grasp and travel back upward. Garen’s flailing found only the void where Drake’s soul should connect. He was bitter with desperation to reach deeper and find it. Reach wasn’t the issue. He was looking for a thread that no longer existed.

  The harsh revelation set in. The Apatten’s location must have been a trap. He realized yet another person he cared about had been murdered for their cursed spirit. In a space where Garen only existed as a mind and its emotions, he shook with despair.

  Drake was dead. Like trying to peer into his father’s mind at the moment he passed, Garen was met with nothing. No memories. No last words. No fading echoes of his personality. Only emptiness. And though he had no eyes to fulfill the emotion, Garen’s soul wept.

  The screams of Kallista pulled him from his trance.

  You cannot stay here. Return to me!

  He had the panic of a man suddenly aware he was drowning. He flailed with about as much success. He had to find Drake. The man was changing, after all. Maybe if he thought of the royal, action-driven man he would find him. This was the king who would lead an army into battle against the Apatten. He would be called the savior of his people and save countless more cities.

  Your friend is dead. You will not find him.

  She was wrong. She had to be wrong. No explosion could touch him. No sword could land on him. How could a god like Drake pass this easily? It would take something unknown. Something they couldn’t expect…like a woman who ignored all rules and magic alike. Garen thought of Aethis, but he knew little more than her name. He could spot her in a crowd, but could he pluck her soul from the sea?

  Kallista roared with an intensity he had never known. You must leave! Return to my voice! I am Kallista, daughter of Preya the Will-breaker. I have reduced a hundred men to groveling in my life, and in death, a thousand. Dare to imagine every beauty you have ever seen, wanted, and been unworthy of. Then you will know the steward of your soul!

  He was too afraid to do anything other than follow her commands. If he had a throat, her words would have pulled him by it. The grip was uncomfortable and frightening, but it led him back to where he came. And right when he thought he'd never feel the firmness of solid ground again, he was laying on the throne room floor curled into a ball.

  “Well, that was quicker than even I—” Morgan said, but stopped upon realizing his state. “Oh no.” She knelt down
beside him. Garen refused to unbury his head and make eye contact. “He’s not okay, is he?”

  Garen shook his head violently. He felt like a child, but could offer no alternative.

  Morgan took in a tremored breath. “Is he alive?”

  Garen breathed heavily and shook from head to toe for several minutes before he could respond. Morgan’s calming hand on his back soothed and pained him equally. Eventually, he found the strength to sit up straight.

  “He’s gone,” Garen said as stoically as possible. He wanted to take far longer to mourn, to give respect to a flame snuffed out without warning. But his mind spun. “Micah needs to know. There’s a new threat out there to all of us. And if Aethis has both spirits, we’re about to need those Centralians more than I’d imagined.”

  Morgan spun to the others with instinctual authority. “Councilmen, leave us briefly. Please wait in the antechamber and do not discuss this matter until I summon you back.” The solemn men excused themselves without question or complaint. Even while a hundred new thoughts raced through Garen’s mind, he was stuck on wondering why they took such direct orders from her.

  “I can send word via the relay to Kalyx,” Morgan said. “You don’t look like you’re in any state to be trying that again.”

  “We don’t have a choice,” Garen said, massaging his temples. “We have to put a stop to whoever has those spirits before they realize what they’re capable of. I’ll kill them myself if I have to.”

  “You know that isn’t an option, for your own sanity. If you can pinpoint the location of the strike, we can mobilize as many soldiers as necessary.”

  Garen pushed on his eyes and shook his head. “If they trust the ground they walk on, it’ll be suicide.” Garen took another deep breath. “And can you really do that? There’s definitely something weird going on, because you just gave orders to a herd of stubborn old men, and they didn’t question a word from your mouth. Why is that?”

  “Drake wanted to wait until he returned to explain it. I wish he’d been direct with you.” Morgan fixated on the view outside the window.

  Garen finally stood, his legs a little wobbly, but he needed to step between her and the window to see her face. “What was it?”

  She took her time letting the words form. “The people here adored Drake. The Council had been adamant that he transition toward a permanent role, from steward to king. Between his pedigree, his talents, and his compassion, they believed he could stabilize this region like never before. That meant leaving the Spellswords, though.”

  Garen’s eyes grew wide. “And he was planning on doing it? Did Micah know?”

  “Not yet. And Drake was undecided until a few days ago. I was the one who told him he should stay. I think we have a real chance at peace, and the world is about to need more good leaders and fewer good warriors. He said he’d consider it, but then he gave me a condition, bolder than I’ve ever seen him.” Morgan paused, lost for words. “He asked me to stay with him. To rule beside him.”

  Garen tried to understand by searching her embarrassed expression. “So, co-ruling the kingdom? You’d split it?”

  “He asked me to be his queen, Garen. To marry him. The Council listens to me because they know what I will become.”

  Garen promptly sat back down on the floor, hands covering his pale horror. He felt like an idiot. He’d teased Drake about Morgan once or twice, but he never imagined that he was ready to propose marriage. Garen was speechless to express his sorrow for what she must be feeling.

  “It happened after I’d told him that the world needed better leaders. Refusing would have made me a hypocrite. And I’m starting to understand I could protect Naia just as well from here. To stop wars before they start, instead of inevitably dying beside her. I didn’t give him an immediate yes, but he knew if we fulfill our debts to Micah, I would accept.”

  “And you felt the right…things…” Garen awkwardly tried to phrase it and started over. “You loved him?”

  “Enough,” she said slowly. “Not quite the way he felt about me, but I admired him. Now, I fear the people will look to me, and I don’t have half the mind to govern like him.” Garen saw the first crack in her resolve, a glimpse into the mess of emotions she kept at bay. She stood tall in spite of it. “Still, I will give it that half and more. You speak with Micah. And whether you need a Spellsword or a queen, you’ll know where to find me.”

  Chapter 27

  The sights and sounds overwhelmed Garen when he arrived at Micah’s side. Conversations carried overtop one another. They were in a large chamber within Kalyx’s palace, Spiredal. At the center, an enormous geonode was suspended in a column of water. The stone pulsed a blue light, coloring the room in a shimmering glow. Glass barriers divided the chamber into six partitions surrounding it.

  From what Garen could see of the other five, they seemed relaxed. Only a few well-dressed scribes sat recording information onto scrolls. The partition Garen arrived in was anything but. Within the room stood Micah, four Central Kingdom advisors, and another dozen men and women dressed in everything from servants’ garb to full regalia. They moved and clamored around each other, no one noticing Garen’s intrusion until he caught Micah’s eye.

  “Apparently, if I say his name enough, he’ll show up. Garen,” Micah sighed with irritation, “Why are you here?”

  The rest of the room quieted. All eyes turned to him. He had no idea how to break the news or where to start, especially with this many people suddenly listening.

  Micah proceeded for him. “I assume you’re here about the Western Invasion.”

  Garen couldn’t have heard him correctly. “The what?”

  “I asked Tragus to instruct you, Naia, and Belen to remain with the refugees while the Centralians moved to intercept. Instead, you took the time to travel here, spirits knowing how. So, why are you here?”

  Conversations restarted around them until a quieter commotion filled the room again.

  “I was out of touch for about a day, which I thought was a meaningless amount of time.” Garen saw the dark bags under Micah’s eyes and knew that his experience would differ.

  “Why did you abandon your assignment?” Micah asked. The judgment in his words unsettled Garen.

  “I was still pursuing my original assignment. I met with Drake.”

  Micah dropped the glare and seemed genuinely confused. “And he was well?”

  “He was great. Morgan, too. The kingdom was happy and secure. They were looking to move against the Apatten today.” Garen felt his eyes welling but held it back. “Soulless city, he didn’t come back. I think the Sanstric set a trap. He’s gone, and I’m terrified Aethis has his spirits.”

  Micah stood motionless for a moment, eyes distant in shock. He closed them and took a minute to breathe. Garen didn’t dare interrupt. The stillness ended abruptly. Micah grabbed the stool in front of him and swung it with all his might. He released it with a scream of rage. It soared toward the glass partition. The wall shattered from end to end, crashing down around them. Patrols from outside the relay chamber came rushing in, swords drawn.

  “Everything’s fine,” Micah responded before any could ask. “At least here anyway. For now.”

  “Do you need anything, Your Highness?” the nearest guard asked.

  “Take me to Amiri. I need to discuss a matter with him privately.” He turned back to the terrified group of operators. “Please send any updates to my personal relay. I’ll respond as I’m able. Garen, with me.”

  Garen nearly had to run with how quickly Micah and the guard walked. “Can you explain what you meant by a Western Inv—”

  “Not out here. Keep up,” Micah snapped back. They reached the geonode-powered lift that took them higher into Spiredal. At the top, guards stepped aside as they marched toward the throne room’s inner court. Amiri saw them enter and stood. The table of highly decorated men and women turned toward the interruption with disdainful glances.

  “Excuse me, if you will,” Amiri said,
casually striding toward them. “I believe urgent news has arrived.”

  Micah wasted no time. “I was wrong. I assumed the earth magic our scouts reported alongside the Apatten meant that Drake was with them. I hadn’t considered the possibility that his life had been taken. It’s far from good news. We lost one of the greatest men in the world today. But if someone other than Drake has those spirits, we’re not facing a full-blown war with the West.”

  Garen still didn’t understand what was happening. Amiri sighed with genuine regret. “That is a heavy loss. The Ambersongs will be devastated. More urgently, with the gifts you’ve described, that kind of rogue could level a city. You were outnumbered sending all of your Centralians already. You think they stand a chance, now?”

  “Can we back up until this makes sense?” Garen asked. “Who was attacked?”

  “Timnar, just yesterday,” Micah answered. Garen recognized the town in question. It was far to the northwest in the Central Kingdom. “With the relay chain broken again, we’re completely cut off from communication with Nhilim. We dispatched messengers by levitrans, but it will take them days to return from the Western Kingdom with news.”

  Amiri stroked his beard and scowled. It was the same resting expression Garen remembered as a kid, albeit with a much shorter beard back then. It was the face of deep, frustrated contemplation. The creases in his brow and at the corners of his eyes were nearly permanent now. The age showed in his face more than his brother next to him. “Our city is preparing its defenses, but Micah insisted that a surprise assault was preferable and sent his own, less prepared soldiers.”

  Despite the tired strain in his voice, Micah spoke with far more faith in the plan. “I don’t care if there’s a thousand of them. Tragus and his Centralians have my full confidence to intercept and outmatch these war puppets. Timnar operators died to give us an estimate of their army’s size. We can stop them from looting every village along the relay.”

  Amiri groaned. “It was a passable plan before we knew Drake’s gifts were in the wind…forgive my expression. Brother, I know you mean well, but you can’t let your losses cloud your judgment. If they’re coming for Kalyx, you should strongly reconsider aiding our fortifications. The people controlling these Apatten have to know that open skirmishes will leave both sides with massive casualties. They can conjure more bodies in ways that we can’t. Please consider recalling your troops’ advance.”