Alone and free, the great golden eagle flew.
Vilmos had always been different from other children. His powers separated him and he knew and understood this as bitter reality. Other children wouldn’t play with him. He was an outcast, and he had been ever since the fateful day he had mistakenly loosed his magic during Three Village Day two summers ago.
A tear rolled down his cheek. The blue flames were the cause of all his anguish. Two summers ago he had nearly killed Willig of Olex Village. Over a game of catch-and-seek, the big boy had pinned him down and had beaten him mercilessly—Willig was a poor loser. Vilmos had used his only means of protection and now he was cast out, alone, forsaken by all—except by Lillath who loved him with a mother’s devotion.
He didn’t care, thought Vilmos, as he soared above the valley. He knew who he was. He was himself and that was all that mattered. Besides, now he didn’t have to go to those silly celebrations and he no longer had to take lessons with Willig or Erik, the other counselors’ sons, either. His father had hired private tutors to continue his education—a difficult undertaking since there were few in the land that could read or write with much skill.
A mocking grin broke the internal corners of his mind. Temporarily the image of the great eagle and the valley faded. Many tutors had come and gone since that terrible day. Yet his current teacher, Midori, was warm and generous. She did not overtax him with studies like the others. And although Vilmos did like her, he still had tried to frighten her away with his use of magic, as he had those before her. He had even resorted to his most resourceful trick—levitation: the floating of objects. The prank had only brought laughter and was ignored, to his utter dismay and befuddlement.
Devious thoughts clustered in his mind—scaring off another teacher would surely even out the score with his father. The frustration on Vil’s face would suffice as repayment for many chastisements—besides, it had taken a long time to find this newest teacher. He would use the blue flames, the blue flames that he had unleashed upon the unsuspecting boy, the blue flames that scorched and decimated, the blue flames that stemmed from his anger. He allowed the thought to settle upon his mind in a fanciful way.
However, the tutor had been so kind to him. It suddenly seemed an injustice to think such thoughts about her. Could he really hurt her? he wondered.
She was unlike any other teacher he had ever had. In fact, he usually enjoyed her visits very much. With effort, the thoughts slipped away before the anger that would sweep him away found him.
The transition back to the valley was made with a single folding of thoughts one on top of the other. The eagle with its stout, generous wings soared above the pristine valley. Floating on a pleasant pocket of air, sinking to the valley floor, scouring for prey, it filled Vilmos with life.
Vilmos did not know that in this form he also breathed life into a creature nearly as old as the valley itself.
Brother Liyan closed his eyes and listened to Seth’s tale. After the council meeting Brother Seth had wandered the halls aimlessly and caught himself from time to time staring down from above his own thoughts as if he were aloof from them, and during one such time he remembered Brother Galan. She had been waiting for him since early afternoon.
Seth returned to the room they shared then and did a thing he claimed not to understand. Galan was sitting on the edge of her bed, running a comb through her long hair. He sat beside her and the next thing he knew his lips were pressed against hers.
Immediately afterward, Seth fled the room and in his confused state of mind, said he knew of only one person he could turn to. Brother Liyan had been meditating in his private chambers and, without announcement, Seth burst into the room and in one great rush of thoughts explained all that had happened since he left the hall.
Liyan opened his eyes. Brother Seth, you have hardly committed an unforgivable transgression.
Seth sent Liyan tortured thoughts. These ideals of Man corrupt my thinking.
Brother Liyan had been Seth’s mentor for only one season now, his appointment at Queen Mother’s request. Just now he understood what it must have been like enduring the teachings of the seven orders and after every phase of the training beginning anew like a child and always in training with children. He was suddenly less afraid of the mysterious and powerful Red. It is Mother-Earth herself that corrupts your thinking… Have you never been beyond Kapital or Sanctuary?
I have traveled the canals of the city from end to end with Sailmaster Cagan, and I have traveled the road to Sanctuary. Is there anything beyond that I would care to see?
It seemed that Brother Liyan also understood why Seth had fought so hard in High Hall. Seth was genuinely afraid of venturing into the world and Liyan had perhaps discovered the one thing that could bring true fear to one of the Red. The whole of the world, Brother Seth, the whole of the world. Sights so marvelous you could hardly begin to imagine them all. And never forget that what you call Kapital, the people call Leklorall.
Liyan sent Seth a mental image, the green of a forest against the backdrop of a white-capped mountain, the sky so blue it was almost purple. That is our ancient home. Is it not truly beautiful?
What of my act? Is my mind perverted?
I should think so, said Liyan, quickly adding before Seth could fly into a panic, but I do think it is treatable.
I am being serious and you mock me?
Brother Seth, I will tell you a secret I have never told another. Liyan paused and collected his thoughts. Tears came to his eyes, for now he also understood why Queen Mother had appointed him as Seth’s mentor. Just as you fear what you do not know, the unknown in the world, I have always feared the Brothers of the Red. In fact, terror is a better word to describe the emotion—
That is an emotion we are trained to evoke.
That explains much, but it is not the point I am trying to make. We all have our fears, and what we fear most is a thing unknown to us. From birth, your kind is secreted away from all of society. By the time you complete your training you are passed youthful adolescence and then we dub you protectors of Queen Mother, never thinking that up until now all your dealings have been with teachers and children.
You were wrong about the Brown Order. They were the chosen warriors only out of necessity. Before the Brown there was always the Red and, since the establishment of the Brown during those dark centuries when brother turned against brother, the Red are still, first and foremost, the warrior-protectors of Queen and people.
Perhaps it is a good thing that Queen Mother wishes you out into the world, and a good thing you studied the ways of Man. Their culture is not so different from our own that you could not learn from it. Liyan paused, though just for a moment. With Elfkind mating instinct often skips generations for reasons only Great-Father and Mother-Earth truly understand. Your feelings are not wrong Seth; they are as natural as wind.
With Brother Galan, I would suggest you follow your instincts, perhaps it will bring good. There is however, one thing you should know, these feelings may never find her… It is one of the tragedies of our kind. For now, you should turn your thoughts on the journey ahead— Brother Liyan put a hand on Seth’s shoulder. —Are you prepared to greet the world? Is the world ready for you?
Adrina still harbored hopes that a messenger had arrived from the Far South. Her father hadn’t been in the study, nor had she seen Chancellor Yi—both sure signs something was afoot. She raced down the hall, down a stairway, along a set of corridors, and then stopped. As she ducked into the shadows of the hall, she covered her mouth to muffle a squeal of glee. Guards were outside her father’s private council chambers.
The door opened. A lithe figure entered the hall and darted away—a messenger. He bore Kingdom insignia; no doubt, he carried a response to the message King Andrew must have just received. Minutes later, a second figure entered the hall—small-statured and obviously fatigued. Adrina watched him pass. He bore no insignia save one on the upturned collar of the cloak draped over his arm. I
t had white and gold bands—a king’s messenger.
Adrina came out of seclusion in the shadows, wandered past the closed chamber doors and tossed a wink to one of the guards standing without. She knew they listened—even when they knew they shouldn’t. She also knew how to make most of them talk, especially the younger man on the right. A number of ways to touch his heart and stir his tongue crossed her mind. Perhaps she would use some of the ploys and deceptive promises she had so recently been taught.
“No man can resist your eyes,” she whispered to herself as the words echoed in her mind.
Another wink delivered, Adrina meandered up the nearby spiral stairs. She knew where she would find that particular young guardsman later. It was to this place that she went, intent on waiting.
She stared down into the deadly stillness of the garden from the balcony where she waited. She had once imagined it contained all the colors of the world, though not now—now it seemed just as dead as everything else around her. Queen Alexandria, her mother, had put the array of gardens together, flower by flower, into one great garden. Now she too was dead: a victim of the cold, uncaring death that shrouded Imtal Proper.
Adrina paced as she waited and chuckled to herself about the pompous little courtier in his purple velvet overcoat and blue silken shirt. He was still attending dinners in the great hall, and still lent an ear to the king’s every word. She laughed at him because she hurt and because there were small tears welling up in her eyes. She laughed until the pain went away and then she laughed a little bit more because the laughter sounded good in her ears.
The sun had already set by the time the young guardsman approached and the tears were long gone. Adrina waited until he passed her and then tossed a well-timed girlish giggle into the air, only then stepping from the shadows.
“Your turn at watch at an end so soon?” she asked.
“Your Highness, you know it is,” said a mild voice, “sunrise and sunset are the times of the changing of the guard.”
“Guardsman Emel,” Adrina said several times. She said this to slight him, and Emel knew this very well, just as he knew they had been friends practically since birth. This was her way of reminding him of his place and also reminding him that he had something she wanted.
“Acting Sergeant,” he said, “now if you’ll excuse me—”
Obviously, he was still angry with her for what she had done to him and in a way, Adrina didn’t blame him.
“—Acting Sergeant Emel, who’d’ve guessed?”
Emel’s pace quickened. “Just until Sergeant Stytt’s group returns from the Free City.”
“From Solntse?” inquired Adrina, “Really from Solntse?”
She collected herself, recovering skillfully her slip in composure. “I could see to it that he is repositioned there permanently.”
She threw the offering at him, hoping he would pounce on it.
Emel deliberately chased away a spark of awe from his face. He could still and quite vividly recall what had happened the last time he had told her things he shouldn’t have. Yet, he couldn’t help wondering if she really could do what she proposed.
“What do you want in return?” he asked.
“Information, that’s all.”
Emel had his own skill of tongue and he knew the exact words to pull Adrina in and seal the offering. She would not get the best of him this time. “Something about trouble, though I’m not exactly sure what. You know how hard it is to hear anything through those damnable stones…”
Adrina thoughts swirled. She quickly equated trouble with excitement. She linked her arm in Emel’s and pulled him to the edge of the balcony, saying nothing until she hid her glee.
“Geoffrey of Solntse owes me a debt, did I ever tell you that?”
“What kind of debt?” Emel called her bluff. He wouldn’t fall for her lies anymore, as he had so many times in the past. He was now an acting sergeant. He must behave accordingly.
“Well, ah… ah,” began Adrina, stumbling, stuttering, at a temporary loss for words, “a passed down one, actually. One really owed to the crown prince, one he must repay out of duty… and gratitude.”
At his hesitation, she directed probing eyes—it could have been the truth.
Emel didn’t believe her, but he did find it hard to be cross with her, especially when she was so close to him. He could feel her warmth. He missed the friendship they’d had, but he’d never admit it.
“There is a squabble in the Minors again.” Emel used a double-edged slang for the four lesser kingdoms.
Adrina’s eyes went wide. She tightened the link of their arms, pulling him a little closer.
“Between Sever and Vostok,” added Emel, setting his own hook.
“Again?” asked Adrina, “Really?”
“King Peter stepped in… but… that’s all I know. I could hear no more.” Emel broke off intentionally.
“Emel, I’m sorry, really and truly sorry. I shouldn’t have let you take all the blame before. I shouldn’t have let your father send you away to High Road. I missed you the whole of last winter and into spring. I’ve wanted to talk to you since your return, but, but—Oh, if you know anything more, anything at all, you have to tell me. I’m going to die, just shrivel up and die, if I have to remain here in this boredom.”
Adrina paused as her face flooded with emotion.
“Please.”
Emel pulled away from her.
“Fair-weather friend,” he shouted back as he stormed away.
“Emel, please don’t leave. By the Mother, I missed you.”
Hearing this, Emel hesitantly turned to look back at her, a thing he shouldn’t have done. He couldn’t wander long in her eyes without giving in to her desires.
Adrina repeated her plea and Emel swallowed a bit of his pride. “If I tell you the rest of what I know, do you promise to tell no one and can I rely on your word and swear you to secrecy?”
Adrina nodded.
“No, I want to hear you say it.”
“I promise, Emel, I will tell no one.”
“Not even the Lady Isador?”
“Not even Lady Isador.”
“Remember your promise, and that you are only as good as your word.” Emel was hesitant to say more, but he began again just the same. “The rumors of unrest are true. I mean really true.”
He was excited now and did nothing to hide it.
“King Jarom is supposedly behind it all, that is according to that page of King Charles, if you can believe him. He seemed the trustworthy type though. Yet, his kingdom is at stake. Quashan’ garrison is to be roused to full alert status. Can you believe it? I’d give anything be in South Province now. Wow!
“That’s it though, I don’t know any more. I could get into real trouble for telling you this.”
“I will tell no one,” Adrina said, hiding hints of elation in a steady tone.
Emel eyed her.
“Really, I will tell no one, you have my word.”
Adrina touched a spontaneous kiss to Emel’s cheek and walked away, extremely pleased with herself. She tidied this away with rumors of the Bandit Kingdom’s insurgencies around the northern borderlands—proof again that life beyond Imtal was exciting and vibrant. She knew enough about the Alliance of Kingdoms to know that the chances of war were slim, but some good strife always mixed things up a bit. Attendance of court would be more exciting if she knew angry words were going to flare.
The bitter place in King Jarom’s mouth for the Great Kingdom was well known and goading this along would bring her distinct pleasure, if given the chance. She wouldn’t let it get too far though, just enough to stir things up. It was about time that Andrew showed the Minors to their proper place.
Adrina descended a long flowing stairway that lead down into the central gardens and moved along its paths without seeing much of what she passed. When she reached the far end, Adrina stopped for a moment and looked back toward the upper balcony. Barely visible amidst the deepening shadows was
a single figure bent over the railing with arms crossed. Adrina knew it was Emel and she paused for a moment more. The conversation they had just had hadn’t been a conversation between good friends. She had always intended to make up for what she had done to him, but the time had never seemed right.
Feeling tired, the day at an end, Adrina returned to her chambers where she was sure Lady Isador waited. Having avoided the old woman all day, she could endure just about anything right now.
Chapter Four:
Discovery
Imtal palace held an unusual silence even for the late hour of the night. Adrina tossed and turned, enduring a fitful dream from which she had awoken more than once. Dreams had descended upon her normally soft world of slumber of late—one in particular had plagued her sleep for many weeks, though she told no one. On this particular night voices in the hall passing her door wrested her from sleep. The old chancellor with his coughs and sneezes—which at one time she had thought of as endearing, though not now—was the next to pass, followed by the low, baritone moaning of Father Tenuus.
“Sire, please wake,” called out Chancellor Yi with much reverence, “Keeper Martin wishes to speak with you.”
“A keeper,” said King Andrew, rising up in his bed with a slow persistence determined by old age. “At this hour? What is a keeper doing here at this hour?”
“Please sire, Keeper Martin says it is a matter of utmost import.”
The monarch stretched arms to full length and began his long, slow turn to put feet to floor, causing the chancellor to scramble for the royal slippers.
“Keeper Martin did you say?”
“Yes sire, Keeper Martin, head of all the Keepers of the Lore,” said Yi, sighing with relief, as he just barely placed the slippers beneath his sire’s feet as the king touched them to the hard floor.
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