The Making of a Mage King: White Star

by Anna L. Walls

  She smiled and nodded. “Good, maybe he can control you a little better.”

  “Maybe not,” said Sean, bringing on another bout of coughing. God, my chest hurts.

  She cringed for him and left the tent.

  Elias arrived dressed in his full set of armor, with only a small bag in his hand.

  “What, are you going to war?” asked Sean.

  They both laughed, then Elias began unfastening some buckles. “Na, it’s just easier to wear than it is to carry. I brought some things for you, too.”

  They sat down and Elias opened his bag. “Armelle sent this…” he produced what could only be a bootie made with blue felt and stitched with colorful beads. There wasn’t any particular design he could pick out, but then it was so little; it was only slightly big for his thumb. “She says ‘don’t lose it’, she has the other one and she wants the baby to wear them when he’s born, so you have to bring it back.”

  Next he produced a necklace. The pendant looked a little like the giant flower Sean had created in front of the palace. It was much prettier than the ugly tree had been. “That is something Campi had made,” said Elias. “She said she didn’t figure you wore jewelry, but she thought you might like it. The chain is braided from a lock of her hair.”

  “It’s pretty, but I never was one to wear jewelry.”

  “Cézanne made this for you,” said Elias. It was a simple, unadorned, white silk shirt. Sean liked it and figured he would wear it from time to time.

  “Lindleyan had this made for you.” He presented a new sword belt. It might fit my sheaths…I’ll see.

  “And Sloan made these.” Elias handed Sean a pair of gloves. They fit, but he would have to cut the ends of the fingers off.

  “And to top it all off, there’s this.” He handed over a small piece of paper folded only once. “It’s from Ferris.”

  Sean opened it and read:

  My dear lord;

  Git your skinny ass back here. My father didn’t raise a babysitter and I’ve been doing that for far too long.

  Going stir-crazy

  Ferris

  Sean started to chuckle, but that was a mistake. “Sounds like Ferris needs a change of venue,” he strangled out before another coughing fit took him.

  Elias cringed through the bout then said, “Sounds like you could use some Halls.”

  “Use some…what?”

  “Halls,” repeated Elias. “Cough drops.”

  Sean lit up as he made the connection. Cough drops, oh lord could I use something like that. It took him only a moment to find and bring back a bag of Halls cough drops, and only a moment longer to rip the bag open and pop one in his mouth. He sighed. He liked cherry flavor.

  “Did you pay for that?” asked Elias, grinning.

  “In a way,” said Sean. “I put a silver coin on the cash register right in front of the girl who was trying to figure out why it ka-chinged $1.79 all by itself. I didn’t want to mess up their inventory too much.”

  With little to do before his scouts were ready, Sean elected to do as Mattie suggested and sleep the afternoon away. Such actions usually screwed up his sleep the following night, but then again, maybe it wouldn’t this time; he felt dull and it had little to do with his magic consumption.

  Fathers and Sons

  Whispered reports started to come in of positions achieved shortly before breakfast. None of the men had crossed any sign of recent traffic coming or going from the walled compound they had found, and that had not changed in the short time they had been there. With somewhere in the vicinity of two thousand men inside that compound, there should have been supply wagons coming and going every day, or nearly so. Sean remembered his own view across the plains from the top of the wall. There had been little traffic recently. Who supplied them and how was it done? He might need to go back to the district capital – it already flew his flag – and gather information.

  Sean churned over his information, or lack of it, during breakfast. Elias was watching him, waiting for him to come to a decision, and he was having a hard time of it. He figured he would have to confront them, and he knew how he wanted to do it, that was why Elias was here, but then again, he didn’t know; that was what he was agonizing over. Exactly how should he approach them? Jenny, shaking out a T-shirt of Larry’s, gave him an idea.

  “Cordan, armor everyone up. Time to go be seen,” said Sean, as he turned abruptly to follow his own order.

  When Sean came out of his tent again, he found that Cordan had taken his order literally. Everyone, including Mattie and Jenny, though not the children, was dressed in what armor they had, and they were all ready to mount their horses. Even Charles had his horse ready to mount. Seth handed over Prince’s reins and he mounted. Everyone followed his example.

  Sean studied them for a protracted moment as he sucked on a cough drop. “When we get there,” said Sean, loud enough for everyone to hear, “Cordan, I want you to spread the men out on either side of me in single line. Larry and Jenny, I want you to array your soccer teams in a second rank. Dad, I want you on my left. Laon, you’re on my right. Cordan, beside him. Manuel and Leo, in the center of the second rank on either side of Ludwyn. Did I leave anyone out?”

  No one spoke up. Sean opened a gate and they filed through, taking up their positions quickly. He waited until the last of them had found his spot, then with a signal for them to stay where they were, retrieved his flag from his guidon and approached the wall at a walk. As he rode, he affixed a small white flag below the black one, and as soon as his proximity started to cause a stir on the wall, he planted the shaft in the ground and returned to his place in line.

  When he reached the line again, he said, “If they come out to parley, Dad, you’ll come with me; Leo, Manuel, you’ll follow with Ludwyn between you.” He looked at Carris, his much-neglected ex-captain of his uncle’s personal guard; he had positioned himself next to Elias. “You come too. I may want your opinion afterward. Cordan, you are in command here.” He spoke just a hair louder. “If they decide to attack, Larry, Jenny, I’ll be removing the children’s shields. I would appreciate their help, but if they can’t, I’ll understand.”

  Sean turned back to watch the proceedings at the wall. He heard Larry and Jenny whispering to the children. I feel like such a fool bringing children into a battle. He refused to let himself look at them; they looked so small. They are untried and utterly untrained for something like this. They should be going to school. His breath visible in the early morning air told him that winter was fast approaching. Let it end peacefully, he prayed for their sake. Let it end quickly.

  They waited for nearly an hour before the gates opened. Sean had been tempted to go and see what their preparations were, but decided that waiting would be better. It didn’t matter what they decided to do. If it was anything more than a parley, it would be a slaughter, for both sides.

  Men with pikes and bows filed out to take up position not far from the walls, but well within range of his flag. There appeared to be perhaps twice his own number. He could understand the balance since they were on foot and his men were mounted. Sean was certain that every last one of the rest of the men he had seen inside that compound were fully ready to come charging out of those gates at the slightest signal.

  After those men had cleared the gate, ten men on horseback came through and began a walk toward the flag where it waited, fluttering forlornly in the breeze all by itself in the middle of the field.

  Sean started forward too, and those he had indicated went with him. He heard a shifting and a growling chuckle behind him. Why would my uncle be laughing? He might be shielded, but he’s not stupid. He knows exactly what’s behind those walls. He thinks he has the upper hand here. I sincerely hope not. He didn’t see the look of worry on the commander’s face. He didn’t notice the lack of mounted troops. Why were so many of the men on foot facing a mounted foe? They must have been eating their horses for some time, otherwise more horses would have been presented here. No genera
l worth his salt would pit foot against cavalry. He looked around. So much grassland and nothing had been cut; they have very few horses behind those walls.

  As soon as they had come to a halt, face-to-face, Sean removed his helmet and Elias did the same. The commander’s hands hesitated for a moment before doing the same. Sean could see that recognition of Elias had been instantaneous as well as very surprising, as had the sight of the silver circlet on Sean’s forehead.

  After scrutinizing Elias for several minutes, the commander turned to Sean and looked him over with the same attention to detail. “So, you must be Kassandra’s son. You’d be about the right age, I think.” He looked at the jeweled emblem on Sean’s shoulder, then glanced at the flag that furled lazily in the breeze. “Are you also claiming to be the White Star?”

  “That’s what everyone’s been calling me,” replied Sean. “My name is Seanad.”

  “Seanad… Is that all? Just Seanad? Surely they saddled you with something much longer than ‘Seanad’,” said the old man.

  “Of course they did. You should know the rest of it well enough, and if there’s any part of it you don’t know, it doesn’t matter much. I’ve come here to solve your problems.”

  “Solve my problems? What do you know of my problems?” growled the old soldier.

  “Judging from what I’ve seen here today, I must have disrupted things a bit on my last trip through here. Unless I miss my guess, you’re running out of food.”

  Elias looked sharply at Sean.

  There was another chuckle from Ludwyn, which drew the old commander’s attention. Recognition of who the man was, despite the shroud, was followed quickly by the realization that he was tied to his saddle. “He’s your prisoner now. What’s he doing here?” But then, he knew the answer to that question before Sean had to say a thing.

  Sean answered anyway. “I brought him so you could see that he is my prisoner. So you could see that I’m not just an upstart trying to draft backing in a desperate grab for the throne. I already have the throne; I just need to inform the rest of the country.”

  Sean let the man think for a few minutes while he studied the man, and the others who had come with him. They were all trim and clean. None of them looked to be suffering from malnutrition or disease, and Sean hadn’t seen any sign of such when he’d looked through the castle. What he was looking for wouldn’t have been found in the kitchens, so he had never gone there. Perhaps he should have, but it was too late for that now.

  “So, you think you can solve my problems, do you? I don’t see a supply train. Then again, if you’re a Ruhin, I suppose you could just magic something up.”

  Sean had no problem hearing the derision in the man’s voice; he’d made no effort to hide it. “You don’t like mages, do you? I suppose I can understand that, but not all of us are…evil.” The word ‘evil’ was accompanied by an almost imperceptible movement of Sean’s chin toward the shrouded man behind him.

  A look of hardness came over the man’s eyes. “I lost my whole family to the Ruhin name,” he growled.

  Elias shifted, but managed to remain silent.

  “Not your whole family,” said Sean, wanting to see his reaction.

  “No, I can see that now.” He heaved a big sigh. “I’m glad for that much.”

  Sean dismounted, followed belatedly by everyone else in his party except Ludwyn. He passed his horse to Laon and with magic, created a table with enough chairs for the core of them. “Wine or beer?” he asked.

  Elias said, “Wine, red wine.”

  Sean provided the requested wine with enough glasses for them and watched a scowl darken the old man’s face.

  “I’ve given you my name; may I know how you would like to be addressed?” asked Sean, as he poured the glasses full, then held his glass up for a toast.”

  Reluctantly, the man picked up his wine glass. “You can call me Ramire Moselle, I am Elias’s father.”

  Sean clinked his glass gently against Ramire’s. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance Ganio Moselle,” said Sean.

  Ramire almost forgot to continue the ritual and take his sip of wine as he locked eyes with the young man in front of him. “I haven’t heard that address except in the histories. Who taught you the old language?”

  “I know it from Soran, I suppose,” replied Sean. He glanced around at the stiff postures around him. “Listen, ganio, I am my father’s son and I’ll not hide what I am just to make you feel comfortable. You owe me your allegiance and I’m here to ask for it.”

  The man set his glass back on the table gently. “And in return…?”

  “In return we have a unified Ruhin. In return, we stand strong before all comers. In return, we prosper. Just as your ancestors fought beside mine in the Rein Pass, I ask you to fight with me; I ask you to stand at my flank.”

  “You draw on old ties, boy,” growled Ramire as he took another sip of his wine.

  “They aren’t frayed ties, are they?” asked Sean. He too took a sip of the wine. He didn’t much care for red wine.

  Ramire studied the three men who sat across from him, then the two men standing and one man still mounted who stood behind them. “They are, a little.” He turned to Elias. “He took your brother sixteen years ago.”

  Elias stiffened. “Where?” he asked.

  “He took him to the palace, of course, but he’s not there anymore,” said Ramire, looking bitter without appearing to have moved a single muscle.

  “Is he still alive, do you think?” asked Sean, winning a stunned look from both Elias and Ramire.

  “I don’t know,” answered Ramire, a question in his eyes, as he glanced from the young man in front of him to the men who stood behind him again.

  Sean reached his hands out to both Elias and his father. “Think of him. Think of everything you remember about him.”

  Sean found him and knew that he had found another example of his uncle’s favorite creation. He released their hands. “Stay here, and stay very still.” He moved several yards away from everyone.

  Laon guessed what was about to happen and he stepped forward, waving everyone to silence; showing by example to remain absolutely still, ready to spring forward at the slightest need.

  The man Sean brought had been reclining on a bed, but he hadn’t been sleeping. He exploded upright, appearing to scarcely touch the ground, and went for the closest breathing target.

  Sean halted him.

  The man bucked against the restraint while the men behind Sean scrambled for new positions.

  Screaming with unrestrained rage, the man who was supposed to be Elias’s younger brother fought against the invisible bonds that held him tightly while Sean slowly closed the distance between them. “Stand still,” commanded Sean. He purposefully avoided using compulsion. He wanted to see if he might obey a simple command.

  “His name is Gérard,” called Elias.

  “Stand still, Gérard,” said Sean.

  The sound of his name seemed to have some small effect. Gérard hesitated, and it was enough to allow Sean’s touch. Gérard’s next sound was strangled in his throat. Once again, he bucked, but this time it was more like that of a rag doll. Sean continued the healing for several minutes after the man went limp.

  Sean turned around to see that both Manuel and Laon had their swords drawn and were facing the other men across the table, though Laon’s posture said he’d been ready to leap in either direction. Elias and Ramire were both on their feet, though Elias had reached across the table to hold his father still, but now the grip he used was white-knuckled and both their faces were overly pale.

  Belatedly, it occurred to Sean that, though Elias knew of Manuel’s background, he had never seen what he’d gone through. Nor had he been around when Laon had been redeemed. Sean strode back to the table and finished his glass of wine, while the men around him relaxed some. “I can take him back to my camp to recover, or we can take him to your infirmary if you would prefer.”

  Ramire looked at the leathe
r-clad man that hung like a rag doll in the air where Sean had left him. Heavy black leather was strapped around almost every inch of his skin, even his face; there was nothing visible to identify him. “Recover? That looked like pure torture. What did you do? Who is that?” he asked, as he sank into his chair.

  “That is the man you found.” Sean poured himself another splash of wine and gulped it down. “Fortunately, there was enough of him left to identify. If we’re lucky, there will be enough of him left to be your son again when he wakes up.” Sean waved to where Laon and Manuel stood. “They don’t remember much of the ordeal and I never saw much reason to try to make them.”

  Muscles jumped in Ramire’s jaw and he swallowed more than once before gulping his wine as well. “Where was he? I looked…”

  Sean shook his head. “I don’t know exactly.” He waved his hand toward the east. “Off that direction, somewhere in the vicinity of two hundred miles, give or take.”

  “We need to get him in somewhere,” said Elias, speaking softly, as if he were having trouble finding enough air to support his words.

  “Yes… Of course…” Ramire nodded to one of the men with him and the man made a signal in the air. He stood. “I would prefer the infirmary. I have doctors.”

  Sean nodded; he turned to stand visible to Cordan and held his hand up with two fingers extended.

  Cordan sent two men forward. Sean handed Ludwyn’s reins to one of them and said for his ears only, “Tell Cordan that you are all to return to camp, but remain on alert. I’ll make a gate.”

  “What about us?” asked a whispered voice in his ear.

  “Stay where you are,” replied Sean as if talking to his cuff while scraping his hair back with his fingers.

  Cordan signaled to indicate he’d gotten the message, and Sean made the gate for them to file through.

  When they were gone, Sean turned back to the table and poured himself another half glass of wine. He downed it quickly, then made the table go away and turned to the man hanging in the air.