Children of Prophecy

by Glynn Stewart

  “So it comes to this, Accursed One,” she replied with a toss of her. “I will never yield to you.”

  Tal felt a mocking inclination of his head. “I’m afraid you’re wrong, milady,” he said coldly. “You will yield to me and be mine.”

  She laughed. With the great city burning around her ears and faced with evil-made-flesh, she laughed. “Never, Accursed One,” she snarled, gesturing forward the Kingsmen and Battlemagi with her. “We will die before we yield!”

  “So be it.” Tal felt the shift before it happened, an arm snapping up. No fire blazed from it, but a lance of pure chaos.

  The Battlemagi threw up a shield, but the lance cut through it like paper. It blasted into the lady and destroyed that beautiful face forever.

  Tal woke, panting with the effort of not screaming his fear to the world. He slowly controlled his breathing, using the focus exercises he’d learned over the years of dealing with the dreams. This one was different somehow. Who was she? That woman… she was beautiful… He sighed and dragged himself out of bed, careful to put his feet on the rug not the cold stone floor.

  He walked carefully over to the room’s single window. It was still very early in the morning and the light was dim. His look out the window showed the horizon glowing with colors, beautiful and alive. A sigh escaped his lips. There wasn’t much point in going back to bed.

  A few quick steps took him to the wardrobe, a massive construction of local wood. He opened it and pushed the handful of plain black tunics to one side, revealing a set of clothing he’d only worn a handful of times in his life. The black tunic was the same color as the other tunics, but unlike them it was made of silk – and its enspelled weave would turn steel. A white robe, carefully cut to allow the wielding of a sword while it was worn, hung next to the tunic.

  Before his Initiation, he’d spent weeks making these clothes with Shris. They were enspelled with protection and had to be made by the wearer and a Mage of the opposite type. He’d worn them several times while they were making them, to check the fit.

  The only other time had been at his Initiation, when he’d taken his Oath as a Battlemage. As he stood next to the wardrobe, with the light of the dawning sun shining on him, the words popped into his head and he spoke them aloud:

  “I swear to stand between the innocent and destruction,” he avowed quietly to the morning sky, “between Order and Chaos, between innocence and war. I swear to wield death in the defense of life and only in that defense. I swear I shall not wield death for my own gain. I swear to serve and defend those who cannot defend themselves. I swear to be the ultimate order that preserves all. I am the binding; I am the end. I am Death.”

  The solemn words fell into the silence like stones. Tal looked down at his hands, at the sword calluses on them and at the other, stranger, marks that had been left by the wielding of fire and lightning. He sighed and began to pack the formal robes into a pouch to hang on his normal tunic and cloak.

  Within days, he might be called upon to serve his Oath in the only way a Battlemage could: in battle. He would not be found wanting.

  Tal was opening the door to the courtyard when he heard a throat clear behind him. He turned quickly, his hand dropping to the hilt of his sword, only to release the weapon immediately. Shris’dari and the twins Jan’tar and Liv’tar stood in the corridor leading to the main portions of the house, watching him.

  “Leaving without saying goodbye?” Shris’dari teased gently.

  “I didn’t even think of it,” he admitted slowly. “We’ll be back soon, I’m sure.”

  The Life Mage shook her head at the child she’d helped raise. “Never assume you’ll be coming back, Tal,” she told him firmly. “Even the best-laid plans and most heartfelt promises cannot prevent the unexpected. Understand me?” she asked, lifting his chin with her finger.

  “Yes, Shris’dari,” Tal said meekly.

  “Good,” she replied with a smile, then swept him into her arms in a deep hug. Her mouth by his ear, she spoke again. “That said, come back to us, Tal’raen. I love you like one of my own, and it would grieve me if you never returned.”

  Finally, she released him, and Tal faced the older and taller woman squarely. “I promise, I will come back,” he told her. “If I can,” he added a moment later, heedful of her words.

  Shris’dari nodded firmly. “That’s enough for me, child of my heart,” she told him, then stepped aside, allowing Tal to see the twins, both of whom were concealing sniggers.

  Tal glared at them for a long moment, allowing both of them time to subside. The youths’ faces quickly assumed seriousness, mostly unfeigned. Without any noticeable jostling for precedence, Jan’tar stepped forward and offered his arm.

  With a nod, Tal clasped forearms with his oldest friend firmly. “It’s going to be strange without you two,” he told the twins quietly.

  “And for us without you,” Jan’tar admitted. He squeezed Tal’s forearm, then spoke again, his voice formal with remembered words. “A strong bow, a sharp sword and a good horse,” he told Tal.

  “May the hunting be good for us both,” Tal replied, finishing the Ranger’s farewell. The two boys exchanged a nod, and then released each other’s forearms. Tal turned to Liv’tar and offered the other twin his arm in turn.

  “A strong bow, a sharp sword and a good horse,” Liv’tar repeated his brother calmly as he clasped Tal’s forearm.

  “May the hunting be good,” Tal replied again, giving the younger and more self-effacing, if also more hot-headed, of the two twins an extra squeeze. “For all of us,” he finished softly, gazing at his two friends.

  The twins nodded, and stepped aside as Tal turned towards the door. Before he could do more than step forward, however, Kove’tar stepped inside the door.

  “There you are, Tal,” the Ranger boomed out. “I figured Shris’dari wouldn’t let you escape without saying goodbye.”

  Tal bowed his head wordless to the older man’s assessment, and Kove’tar laughed.

  “Don’t worry lad, it’s not a bad thing that people care about you,” he told the youth. “Now, I have a present for you before you leave.”

  All things said and done, Tal was still a teenage boy. He perked up at the thought of a present, which brought another booming laugh from Kove’tar, who drew a long, cloth-wrapped package from behind his back and handed it to him.

  The cloth unwrapped easily, revealing a sword. Not just any sword, either. The blade glistened with a blue wave pattern that marked it as Islander steel, the best to be found. Detailed golden scrollwork covered the hilt, decorating the blade without ever sacrificing one gram of functionality.

  Its beauty took his breath away, but also made it easily recognizable to Tal. It was the sword Kove’tar had borne for as long as he’d known the Ranger.

  “I can’t take this,” he told the older man. “It’s yours.”

  “It was a gift from Det’raen, Car’s father, the day I joined the Rangers,” Kove told him. “It’s served me long and well, and now it should serve another. Take it. I want you to.”

  Tal knew the older man well enough to know there was no use in arguing. He silently unbelted the plain sword he’d been wearing and replaced it with Kove’tar’s Islander blade.

  “Thank you,” he said quietly, and was stunned when the old Ranger offered his arm. He regained sufficient control to clasp it in the Ranger-style.

  “A strong bow, a sharp blade, and a good horse,” Kove’tar told him. “I’ve given you one, the rest are up to you. Keep faith, Tal’raen.”

  “May the hunting be good for us both,” Tal replied formally, then bowed his head to his swordsmaster. “I won’t disappoint you,” he avowed. “I promise.”

  When Car entered the courtyard, he saw that Tal was already there, dressed in the black tunic and cloak that made up the working uniform of the Battlemagi; the cloak was lumped out by his sheathed sword and a small bag he’d tied to his belt. Car wore formal white robes over black clothing and carr
ied his staff, four feet of white oak, tipped with a blood crystal.

  He walked over to Tal, ignoring the brisk autumn chill. He arched his eyebrow as he recognized the sword his apprentice wore, but he’d previously discussed that with Kove’tar. The Ranger had made his gift, so Car simply shrugged mentally and asked “Are you ready?”

  Tal shrugged. “I have Kove’s sword, my robes, my skills, two days food and a spare tunic.” A small grin crossed his face. “I think I’m ready.”

  “Good.” Car turned at the sound of hooves on the cobbles to see Gav’rell riding towards them. “Kingsman Gav’rell.”

  “Hawk Car’raen. Will you two ride with me? At least to the High Roads.”

  “I would, Gav’rell,” Car told the man. “But we will not be riding.”

  Gav looked confused. “Then how do you intend to reach Kahir?” he asked.

  “We’re going to fly,” Tal told him with a teenage grin.

  He looked even more confused for a moment, forcing Car to suppress a smile, then he realized with a start. “Shifting,” he said simply.

  “Exactly,” Car confirmed. “We’ll probably be in the High City before you, even with dealing with the mess in Kahir.” Well, probably not, if it’s as messy as I think it is.

  “Well, in that case my lords,” Gav’rell said with a bow, “I bid you a pleasant, uh, flight.”

  This time Car did smile, slightly. “A pleasant journey to you as well, Kingsman,” he said genteelly. The Kingsman nodded and, with a final wave, turned his horse to the road.

  Once the Courier had turned away, Car turned to Tal. “Let’s be off then,” he told his son quietly.

  He watched for Tal’s nod of agreement, then concentrated and Shifted. Spreading his wings, he took to the air and began to circle, waiting for Tal. He didn’t have to wait very long, as Tal followed him up within moments.

  The two hawks circled each other in the sky for a moment, and then set off south.

  That night they landed in a small forest, just out of sight of a small village with an inn. Reaching the village would be a matter of minutes. Though their black tunics would prevent most trouble, Car made certain his sword was visible, made sure that Tal did the same.

  Tal had an abstracted look on his face, one Car had learned to recognize as weariness. He felt the same himself; maintaining a Shift was not easy – and to lose it while flying would be fatal. Flying was not his preferred method of travel. It was merely the fastest safe method.

  Nonetheless, he straightened his tunic. “Come on Tal,” he told the weary youth, “we’ll rest here tonight, then fly on in the morning. We still have a ways to go.” They’d made roughly two hundred miles today, but that left another six hundred before they reached the northwestern border of Kahir.

  His apprentice said nothing, merely nodding and beginning to walk towards the village.

  The innkeeper greeted them at the door. It took him moments to recognize the black tunics of Battlemagi and greet them. “Welcome to our humble inn, Battlemagi,” he said with a low bow.

  “Thank you, friend,” Car replied, inclining his head in return. “Do you have a room for two available?”

  The innkeeper drew his head back in offense. “For Battlemagi?” he snapped. “Of course I have room available. Come, come!”

  He led the way into a dimly lit taproom. A handful of locals and a single travel-stained trader were the only occupants. All of them dipped their heads in respect as they recognized the Battlemagi’s robes.

  Car returned the gestures with a general nod, including everyone in the room, before the innkeeper led them up the stairs to the rooms.

  He stopped at the first door and opened it. “Will this do for your lordships?”

  A quick glance around the room showed two single beds and a small washbasin. The room was plain, but clean, with new linens on the bed. Car nodded. “This will do admirably, innkeeper. How much?”

  “For Battlemagi, milord? One silver four.”

  Car pulled his purse from his pocket and placed two silvers in the man’s hand. “Keep the change, friend.” Even with the extra, he knew he was only paying about two thirds what the man would charge any other traveler.

  “Thank you, Mage.” The innkeeper’s face glowed.

  “We’ll be leaving early in the morning, so we won’t be imposing on you for breakfast,” Car told the man.

  He nodded. “You will sup with us tonight, at least?”

  Car hid a sigh and nodded. “I will pay, of course,” he said softly. These people would try and feed him what they expected a Battlemage to want – and they couldn’t afford to do so without being paid. Which wouldn’t stop them trying.

  “My lord! The meal is included in the price of the room,” the innkeeper insisted, exactly as Car had expected.

  “I insist, friend,” the Hawk replied, his eyes and voice firm.

  “Your will then, Battlemage.” With that, the innkeeper bowed out of the room, probably headed downstairs to arrange the best meal he could.

  “He seems… friendly,” Tal commented, his weariness showing in his voice.

  Car realized with a slight consternation that he’d forgotten the youth had never spent more than an hour Shifted before. Tal was almost certainly much more tired than he was.

  “Most people are,” he told his apprentice. “Battlemagi are the last appeal of men such as him, against criminals, against their lords… against anyone they can’t deal with any other way.” Car shrugged. “Besides, who do you think would be more deserving of your help? Him, or some duke or Earl with his own bodyguards?”

  “Him, of course,” Tal replied instantly, looking oddly up at his master.

  “Exactly,” Car replied with a small smile, proud of the answer. “You think that way and so do the majority of Battlemagi. He, and other men like him, know that. They know that we see them as our first responsibility. That is why they prefer us to anything else. Battlemagi are trusted even over Kingsmen by most common folk.

  “We also have the additional boost of being rare,” he admitted. “An innkeeper like that man, in a town this close to the High Road, will probably see maybe one Battlemage a year.

  “And, on the other hand,” the old Mage continued softly, “they do not see our darker side. A man such as that will have seen perhaps two Judgments in his life, and likely lesser ones at that. They see us as their protectors.” Car sighed. “And because they see us that way, they will do their best for us and we must accept it. Which tonight, means eating with them, tired as we may be.”

  Tal slowly rose to his feet. “I understand, Father.”

  Tal’s impression of Kahir was one of rocks and fields and not much else. The Earldom extended out from the main body of the continent on the peninsula bearing the same name. The peninsula seemed to be made primarily of just rock, but the people of Kahir had spent over two thousand years shaping that rocky peninsula to their will, making it their home. Now, there were few places that didn’t show the hand of man, even from the air.

  Small villages dotted the landscape, each centered in a neat group of walled fields, either gold with wheat or green with grass for livestock. Tal also noted the sight of larger towns, one or two of which could even be called cities.

  As night began to fall, Car screeched and nodded his beak towards one of the smaller villages. Moments later, the two hawks were plummeting towards the ground.

  Within minutes of entering the village, Tal knew something was wrong. Each night they’d stopped on their journey down here, they’d been greeted in much the same way as they had at the first village. Here, mothers were hustling their children indoors at the sight of the two Magi and men slammed their doors and windows shut against them.

  Tal looked around, to find that the main street had emptied since they’d entered the village. “Something’s wrong here, Car,” he said quietly.

  “Indeed,” his master agreed, nodding. He pointed to a building just down the street. “There’s the inn. We’ll see wha
t we can find out there.”

  As they approached the building, Tal heard the sound of the door slamming and bolts going home. He and Car shared a look, then Car knocked on the door.

  It took nearly a minute for the man on the other side to speak. “We’ve no room for the likes of you,” he finally spat in response to the knock.

  Car shrugged, then knocked again. “This is the Battlemage Car’raen and my apprentice,” he said sternly, words that would open any door anywhere in Vishni.

  “Like I said, we’ve no room for the likes of you!” the man barked, but there was a tremor of fear. “Our rooms are for honest folk, not thieves and murderers.”

  Tal looked at Car and mouthed the words: thieves and murderers?

  “Something is very wrong here,” Car said quietly. “Change into your formal robes, Tal. It appears we must begin earlier than expected.”

  “We’re not going to…” Tal trailed off, unwilling to even suggest hurting the innkeepr.

  “No. But if we are to pass Judgment, we must be dressed for the occasion.”

  Tal followed Car back towards the inn, dressed in the white robes over black tunic of his formal uniform. The hilt of the Islander sword was clearly visible and easily reached.

  He glanced nervously at Car. His master was dressed in the same clothes and his sword was just as visible, but he also carried his Mage’s staff – a much more dangerous weapon than any sword.

  They reached the door to the inn, standing side by side. Tal watched as Car lifted his staff and knocked on the door with it, three times. His gestures, even to the number of knocks, seemed oddly formal.

  When Car spoke, his tones were definitely – and coldly – formal. “In the name of the King and the Law, open this door,” he commanded. “The Hawk Car’raen has come to pass Judgment.”

  Tal was using Air to enhance his hearing, so he could hear the rapid inhalation of breath on the other side of the door. A moment later, the bolts slowly slid back and the door opened.