by Mike Shelton
The man walked down the cobblestone hill and around the stone and cement houses until he entered the merchant district. Eating establishments, a new phenomenon in Gildan, had opened up in this quarter of town. It seemed that more and more of the wealthy, and some not so wealthy citizens, preferred not to cook and eat their meals at home.
Mezar followed the man down the street and into one of the cooking establishments. The man headed to a back room where Mezar couldn’t go without being seen. He went back outside and around the side of the building to try and peer through a window or a crack in the wall. He found a small space to view the table where the man sat.
The man he had followed sat facing him, but the other man, his higher up, sat with his back toward Mezar. He cursed silently at his bad luck. There was no other way to see. The man had on a red cloak with black trousers and knee-high boots. Mezar tried to listen to the two speak. Maybe that would give him a clue as to who it was. He caught a few scraps of words from the man he had followed but mumbled sounds in quiet whispers from the other man. The noise in the establishment was too loud. The stranger waved his hands a few times as he talked, and a glint of light reflected off of one of his fingers. A flicker of familiarity passed through Mezar’s mind, and his stomach fell.
His father, the general, the heir to the throne of Gildan after the Emperor was sitting with his back to Mezar. The implications were mind-boggling, and Mezar’s quick and efficient mind sorted through all he had heard and seen.
Down the back alley, a group of men staggered toward him. He groaned at the distraction. They were drunk and would certainly not leave him alone. He tried to hide behind a crate, but as the men passed, one stopped, leaned over, and puked right in front of Mezar, splashing a few drops on his boots.
“Hey.” One of the other men swayed. “That’s gross, Dial. Look what you did to the nice man.”
The smelled wafted up and met Mezar’s nostrils as he stood up and tried to leave. He didn’t want to be recognized by the two men or by anyone else. “I’m fine.” He started to walk away with his head lowered.
“Hey,” one of the other men yelled, “don’t I know you?”
People in the eating establishment looked out the screened window to see what the noise was. Mezar thought quickly and, with a trickle of power, knocked a few crates into the wall of the building, taking the attention of the drunken men off of him. He ran fast and turned a corner. He had to get to the Emperor and warn him.
Walking the hills up to the palace, he entered with a nod to the guards, then proceeded to his rooms first to freshen up and then to clean off his boots. It wouldn’t be seemly to approach the Emperor in his state. He thought through all he had seen and was ready to present his case when his cousin Lowell came by, flopped onto Mezar’s bed, and started chatting about the weather, food, and girls. His clothes, all frills and lace, were the latest rage among many of the young noble class in Gildan.
This particular cousin was two years younger than Mezar and seemed to want to follow everything he did. If Mezar even hinted at going to talk to the Emperor, his cousin would try and tag along. Well known among the extended family was that Mezar was his grandfather’s favorite. Rumors floated around in some quiet circles that the Emperor would name Mezar his heir over Mezar’s father. The general and the Emperor always seemed to be arguing over something.
After an hour, he convinced Lowell to go and find something for them to eat. As soon as the pesky boy left, Mezar walked with confidence out of his rooms, down the lit granite hallways, and through multiple corridors and floors to the Emperor’s wing of the castle. He didn’t know if the Emperor had guests this evening or not. Approaching the Emperor’s house guards, he slowed. He didn’t want to set off any alarms.
“My Prince.” The head guard nodded his head in a bow.
“Is the Emperor available this evening?” Mezar tried to sound like it was a normal casual visit. He was sure the guards picked up the sound of his heart pounding. News of a potential assassination was certainly not normal. He still couldn’t wrap his mind around the fact that his father was somehow involved.
“The general arrived in the Emperor’s study a few minutes ago.”
Mezar stiffened. “Have they been talking long?” He had to get the general away from the Emperor.
“Not too long.” The guard shrugged. “But you know how it goes with them.” The man smiled at Mezar. Much of the time their arguments would last for hours. The general was much more brash than the Emperor. He always wanted to send troops places, take small pieces of land, and flex the Empire’s muscles to their neighbors. After returning from the Realm after Darius’s surprising coronation, it had taken a lot of pleading and negotiation for Mezar to convince his father to stay out of the Realm and give them time to heal and build. The general seemed even more intent lately to pursuing more power to himself. He had his sights on expanding his nation’s borders and was prepared to do so in a time of the Realm’s weakness, but Mezar had promised Darius that the Emperor would honor peace.
Since then, a new trade document had been signed. Part of Darius’ visit to Gildan in the coming month would be to formally meet the Emperor and sign in each other’s presence the trade deal. The general did not agree and was angry at Mezar for representing the Empire of Gildan to the Realm.
“I will let the Emperor know you are here,” the guard offered. “That may help to speed things along.” The guard smiled knowingly at Mezar.
Mezar nodded back, and in a few minutes, the guard motioned Mezar into the back of the Emperor’s study to wait. The study had always been a favorite room of his. Books and valuables from all over the western world jumped out at him. A few maps were mounted in the corner behind a small setting of comfortable leather-stuffed chairs. A stone fireplace stood off to the side. This was where Mezar and his grandfather had had many chats throughout the years.
Voices rose between the two, and Mezar looked at his father. He was hoping that he had been mistaken at the restaurant. But he was not. His father’s back was to him. He wore a red cloak with black trousers tucked into black knee-high boots. His stomach lurched. His father’s hand flashed with light as a golden ring reflected off of the nearby lamp. He felt his face go pale but starting sweating at the same time.
Mezar looked around the room and for the first time in his life felt out of control. The world tilted, and he breathed in power to settle his dizziness. His mind raced through possibilities and outcomes. None were good. He sucked his breath in too loud, and the two men stopped. His father turned, and they both glanced his way. He willed himself not to faint.
“Mezar,” his father said. “Everything all right?” He smiled a predatory grin.
The prince stood still and willed his beating heart to remain calm.
“Father.” He kept his voice even. “What were you doing talking to that man in the restaurant in the merchant quarters?” He decided a direct approach might be better.
Giving credit to his father, the man barely twitched, but his eyes grew dark.
“Mezar, what is this about?” the Emperor. “Come here closer to me. You know I have a hard time seeing that far anymore.”
“Your Majesty,” Mezar responded, “my father—”
And that was as far as Mezar got.
His father slid across the floor in only a moment’s thought and stood facing Mezar. “You haven’t been invited here, my son.”
Mezar tried to peer around his father toward the Emperor. The man looked confused and sicker than he had the day before. Without warning, Mezar felt a shove of air push him backward. He grunted hard and stood his ground, shoving air back toward his father. Mezar ducked low, rolled to the side, and started to move to protect the Emperor. His father spewed fire toward him. It was treason to use power in such a way in the Emperor’s rooms, but his father didn’t seem to care.
Operating on instincts, Mezar turned around and in defense sent a ball of red fire spiraling toward his father. The general dodged the
fire, letting it explode into the strong walls behind him. Small chips of stone flew in to the air. Mezar glanced at the Emperor whose eyes moved from his son to his grandson and back.
“Mezar!” the general shouted. “Stop this instant. I don’t know what you are thinking. Let’s talk about this.”
Two guards came in to the room, then flattened back against the walls, not wanting to get in the way of two wizards throwing fire at each other. The Emperor stood up and had never appeared as frail to Mezar as he did at that moment. The men, the poison, the plan he had heard alluded to, must already be working. But who would believe his accusations?
Mezar drew all the power from his mind that was allowed in a moment’s thought. He hoped the suddenness of the magic would surprise his father. Without any more thinking, Mezar sent a hurried thought through the air, a thought that for one moment plugged the ears of the guards and his father but amplified his sound to the Emperor.
“Your Majesty, beware of my father,” Mezar shouted. “He is in league with assassins to kill you and to turn his sights northward to take on the Realm.”
The Emperor’s eyes widened, then saddened. He said nothing out loud and gave no other outside appearance that he understood, but Mezar felt that he did. It was all he could do at the moment.
Leaping sideways against the nearest wall, Mezar launched himself off the wall and over the head of his father and dashed out of the room. He would find help and return. He couldn’t let his father get away with this.
His father’s shouts from behind told the young prince his father had countered the spell Mezar had used on him. His father began running behind him, using his power to gain speed. Mezar came to a flight of circular stairs and bounded down them five at a time, reaching the bottom in mere seconds. Sliding around a corner, he ran a short distance to an outside door. Shoving the ceremonial guards aside, he jumped down more steps and ran through the garden courtyards. His father still ran behind, but Mezar was younger, and even though he was less trained in the physical aspects of the power, he had more reserves of potential within him.
Visitors in the gardens stood stunned as the two royal wizards raced through the manicured grounds of the palace. A bolt of fire rushed by Mezar’s head once, shattering a nearby tree. His father yelled after him, but still Mezar ran. A thin tear slid down his face. He had never imagined his father’s lust for power would turn out like this. His behavior was erratic and disturbing.
Entering the noble’s district outside the palace grounds, Mezar focused on the task at hand mapping out in his mind the best route to escape through. It became a clear plan in his head.
A man on a horse came around the corner. Mezar grabbed the man and pulled him to the ground, jumping up on the back of the horse. The horse was fresh and, imbued with additional power from the prince, took off at breakneck speed. Dashing around corners, the general fell too far behind to catch his son.
Suddenly bells heralded from the palace, signifying an attack. That meant all gates out of the city would begin to close. Mezar raced for the closest one, arriving just as the gate closed.
“Open the gate!” he demanded, reigning in the horse.
“But the bells?” questioned the guard.
“Don’t you know who I am?” Mezar amplified his voice.
The guard flushed, bowed, and stumbled in his speech. “Of course, Prince Alrishitar.”
“You don’t think those bells are meant to keep me in, do you?”
The guard began pulling back open the gates. “Of course not, my Prince. But what is happening?”
“An attack from inside the castle.” Mezar twisted the story. “Someone is trying to kill the Emperor. I am going for help. Can I count on you?”
The guard saluted the second heir to the throne. “Yes, sir. You can count on us to keep watch.”
“Get a message to my cousin Lowell. ‘Meet me in Salish.’ Tell this to no one. You will be rewarded.”
“Yes, sir. I will go right now.”
Lowell was the one person he knew wasn’t involved in the plot. His cousin was foppish – always concerned with the latest fashions - but extremely loyal to him and the crown. Mezar couldn’t grasp yet how deep his father’s treachery ran. He could only trust his immediate friends.
“Remember, do not tell anyone. In fact, don’t take a direct route to the castle at all.” Mezar hoped this guard did not mention the message to his father or anyone else. Lowell was not well watched, so he figured the guard could get to him, even with the castle being locked down.
Mezar raced through the gates with the horse, leaving a group of bewildered guards closing the gate behind him. He had to find Darius to warn him, but he didn’t know where the King of the Realm was. The visitors from the Realm were still not scheduled for weeks.
Racing northwest on the main road from Gildan, he rode toward Salish. He would make plans there. As a prince in the royal family, in line for the throne, and a wizard, he had resources to call upon if he needed them.
Chapter Six
WHITE ISLAND
Darius stood against the railing of a worn out barge hired in a small village south of Mar. The weather turned rough and wet. Taliana, having grown up around the water in Mar, seemed to handle it fine; however, Roland, the horses, and even the old owner of the vessel stood in bad shape. Darius couldn’t do anything about the weather more than to slightly speed the wind and send small bursts of power to give feelings of reassurance and safety to the passengers.
Through the sideways rain and thick fog, the slow group started to distinguish the faint outlines of the white-salted cliffs, of which White Island got its name. Some of the tensions began to ease at thoughts that they were not going to drown after all. Darius insisted they get to White Island as soon as possible. Now he almost regretted not staying in the coastal village until the storm had passed.
After some time, the wet group pulled up next to a dock on the island. A few poor drenched deck hands ran from a nearby covering to help them and their animals up and out of the barge. Darius traded money with the owner and invited the drenched men into the nearest inn for a hot meal. Darius handed the horses over to some not very enthusiastic young stable boys, and the rest of the group headed into the nearest inn.
“Make way for the King,” Roland announced in a loud voice, drawing unwanted attention to Darius. He sighed, resigned to the fact he could not go anywhere unnoticed anymore. His life was for the people.
The small group in the inn stared at his wet, plastered, youthful body and couldn’t quite decide if it was their sovereign leader or not.
“Your Majesty!” a voice shouted from across the room.
Darius smiled. “Ambassador.” He greeted his best friend in a formal manner.
Kelln El’Han strode across the room, a slight sway of maybe too much drink in his step. The two embraced, but Kelln pulled away with a face.
“You’re all wet!” Kelln stated the obvious. “Aren’t your powers good for anything?”
Feeling a little embarrassed, Darius had not thought about drying himself off with his powers. Having lived eighteen years without knowing about them and then up until the last few months either hiding them or using them sparingly, the King frequently forgot about the usefulness of his power. It was easier to remember if someone else needed help, or if there was something grand going on, but for the smaller mundane things in his life, he was content in trying to be a normal person. Using too much of the power also drained him and made him tired.
To make the point to the small audience, Darius did indeed use his powers to dry his party’s clothes off with a few waves of his hand. It felt like the right thing to do, and he did it, not really knowing how. The quick drying hardly tired him at all. Steam extended off of them, leaving them as dry as before the storm hit. Somehow Roland produced a small traveling coronet for Darius to wear on his head. Darius gave his captain a perplexed look, but Roland just shrugged as if to say that Darius needed to maintain his image at all time
s. The crowd smiled and laughed. Indeed it was their King. They stood and gave small bows before Darius motioned for them to continue their meal.
The men’s eyes moved from their King to the young dark haired beauty accompanying him. Taliana glared at the men, and they looked away from the fire in her young eyes.
“Hello, young wizard Taliana,” said Kelln in a mockingly sweet voice. “Seems like I have only found trouble when I am in your presence.
“Only because trouble seems to follow you.” She smiled sweetly.
After requesting a private dining room from the innkeeper, who was more than happy to oblige his King, Darius began asking Kelln about Mar. He was more than worried that the Preacher had found his way there. Kelln hadn’t found Alessandra yet but seemed sure she was around if her father was.
“Can we trust her?” Darius asked Kelln.
“Darius, I want to so much.”
“But?”
Kelln lowered his eyes. “But I don’t.”
Darius sucked in his breath. “Kelln, if we find her, we will need to take her to Anikari to be put on trial. There is too much she has done now to be pardoned of her crimes.”
“I know.” Kelln sighed.
“And I can’t let the Preacher run free in Mar. I will send troops there to help you capture him. Belor is barely stabilized after what he did there. I can’t have him infect Mar.”
“My father can help,” Tali offered. “The Preacher has contacted him and wants his support. We could work a trap for him, something he can’t stay away from.”