“Mother!” Dartan reddened, but fixed an icy glare on her. His relationship with Aliet was a long standing disagreement between the two of them, and he had no intention of continuing it in front of a complete stranger. Mother simply shrugged her shoulders, her point made.
“Strong feelings, eh?” Alain repeated, stroking his beard. “And her farm has prospered as well as your own,” he mused. He stopped mid-stroke and pointed directly at Dartan. “You do have the gift,” he stated. There was a sense of relief in the smile on the wizard’s face, but it lasted only a moment. Suddenly his image grew dim and his eyes opened wide in surprise. “Damn,” he whispered before disappearing.
* * *
The loud rap on the door broke his concentration, and the image of the small farmhouse dissolved around him. Dartan and his mother faded, leaving Alain alone, seated behind his desk in his own chambers. The fire behind him had grown cold, and he wondered how long he had been gone.
He had significantly more grey hair and wrinkles than the man he had been twenty years ago, but he was still a very far cry from the wizard Dartan had seen. The boy was right, he looked little like himself, but the complaint from his stiff, unused muscles as he turned towards the fireplace made him feel every bit of his age. Perhaps that was why his mind projected such an image of himself. He felt old.
He waved a hand, simultaneously dismissing the thought and bringing the fire up to a roaring burn. Another tap at the door, more insistent this time, reminded him why he was back here. “I know I asked not to be disturbed for any reason,” he grumbled to himself, then stopped. The irritation slowly gave way to caution. If he was being disturbed, there must be a very grave reason for it. Still, if they were bothering to knock, then there was no reason to mask the irritation in his voice.
“Come!” he called out, and the door silently opened the tiniest bit. Alain would not have thought it possible, but Norrick, his servant, managed to squeeze his head through the opening. His face was pale and his eyes wide, but Alain had no illusions of being the reason. Alain may have been demanding, but he had never been harsh. More than cautious, now he was uneasy. The fire behind him dimmed as he gathered his focus.
“So sorry to bother you, sir,” Norrick began.
“Then why do it?” Alain interrupted.
“That would be my fault, wizard.” The door flew open hard enough to crash into the wall, if not for a pile of books and parchments. Norrick was left standing in the middle of the open doorway, neck extended and hand open, as if it were still holding the handle. He was roughly pushed aside by a thin, pale-skinned man. His hair was slicked back against his head, and his small, dark eyes darted over everything in the room as he entered.
“Roal,” Alain said without bothering to disguise the disgust. “Why am I not surprised?”
“Well, you are the Great Wizard,” he replied mockingly while waving his hand grandiosely through the air. “I would be worried if you were surprised,” he added, brushing a pile of papers from a chair, then settling in across from Alain.
“Please,” Alain said flatly through a forced smile, “have a seat.” Truthfully, he was a little surprised by Roal, or rather by the spell surrounding him. He knew Roal had talent, but it had never been so strong. Something about him had changed.
“I hope I’m not interrupting anything important,” Roal stated casually. He leaned forward and added in a loud, exaggerated whisper, “You weren’t napping, were you? I hear naps can be very helpful for people your age.”
“Of course it was important,” Alain said, ignoring the comment. “That’s why I asked not to be disturbed.” Alain looked up at Norrick, who hadn’t moved, but now had a face tinged with red.
“Don’t be too hard on him,” Roal said, noticing the look. “I didn’t really give him a choice.”
“Why are you here?” Alain asked with a sigh. He had already grown tired of Roal.
“I bring a message from King Jarel.”
“Let’s have it then, messenger,” Alain taunted.
Roal merely sneered, too eager to deliver the message to be bothered by name calling. He leaned forward again, but didn’t whisper this time. “Name the heir to the throne … ack.” He stopped abruptly, his tongue suddenly too large for his mouth. Roal’s eyes grew wide as he reached for something hidden under his shirt. Alain watched him struggle for a moment, his mouth opening and closing soundlessly, before releasing his hold. He had seen enough, and the small demonstration was more than sufficient to shake Roal’s confidence in his new found power.
“Or?” Alain prompted the gasping Roal.
“Or,” Roal croaked, then coughed and took several deep breaths, returning almost to his normal color. “Or King Jarel will claim it as his own.” He swallowed hard, his face contorted briefly in pain, then leaned back, one eye on the wizard.
The fire behind Alain raged up to a near inferno, casting blinding light and searing heat into the room. Roal raised one hand to shield his eyes, and grabbed at his chest with the other. Alain lowered his hands to the table, bringing the fire back to normal. Roal lowered his arm, but still held tight to his chest. Whatever it was Roal was hiding under his shirt, Alain was positive he had nothing to fear from it in Roal’s hands.
“Bold words,” Alain said, but Roal merely stared. “So, Jarel has a few good years, a few mild winters, and suddenly he’s fit to rule Pavlora? What was it – only 150 that died this winter?”
“One hundred, actually,” Roal answered. Alain raised an eyebrow, and Roal added, “Fifty of them died while defecting. We don’t count them as citizens then. Those belong to you.”
“Fifty, eh?” Alain clarified. “Fifty who would rather try their luck in the mountain winter than remain under your king’s rule for even one more day? What part of that makes him think he’s ready to rule Pavlora?”
“What right have you to the throne?” Roal challenged with a snarl.
“Besides the fact that I have counseled every king and queen who has ruled this land, and am older than any person alive today?” Roal didn’t answer with anything other than a silent stare, which Alain met. “None,” he conceded. “I have no right to the throne, nor do I claim it.” A smug grin spread across Roal’s face, but it didn’t last long. “Do not misunderstand me, messenger.” Alain’s voice slowly rose in volume as he spoke. “I have power and wisdom plenty to rule this land until it sinks back into the ocean from which it came. But, they must be tempered with compassion and patience, of which I have none.” Roal swallowed hard, his hand absently rubbing his neck.
“For someone with no claim or desire,” Roal said, “you certainly seem to be comfortable occupying the throne.”
“I am its guardian and protector,” Alain explained. “When the heir is ready, the throne will be his.”
“And who decides when he’s ready?”
“When he is ready, the heir will make himself known. Until then, we will all wait.”
“It has been nearly two decades, wizard. Everyone grows tired of waiting.” He met Alain’s eyes again. “If he’s not ready by now, I doubt he ever will be.”
Alain paused, squinting his eyes in thought as he regarded Roal for a moment. “Why the sudden interest in the heir, Roal?”
Roal was growing bold again, absently rubbing the talisman hidden under his shirt (forgetting its uselessness from earlier), and lulled by the wizard’s calm tone. “You can’t conquer a kingdom and its people when they don’t have a proper king,” he explained. “They cling to the hope their long lost ruler will come gallantly riding in to save them, instead of just accepting the inevitability of their defeat.” He sighed, then added, “It could take generations to kill the hope of the people.” He paused a moment, then held his hands out. “All of that can be avoided, if you just name the heir and let him take his place on the throne.”
“So that you may swoop in and kill him?” Alain asked, satisfied it sounded as ridiculous when spoken aloud as it had in his head.
“Precisely!”
Roal beamed, then leaned back and folded his hands in his lap.
Alain drew a deep breath, maintaining his calm, trying to let Roal spill as many details as possible. When he felt he could keep his voice even, he asked, “What makes you think I’m going to let you?”
“We’re quite certain you’ll try to stop us,” Roal admitted with a toothy grin as his hand again went to his shirt. “But we’re also sure you’ll have your hands full with something else.”
A loud pop and hiss from the fire were the only physical manifestations of Alain’s intense desire to remove the charm Roal was toying with under his shirt and strangle him with it. It would have satisfied two desires in one action. He would know for certain what Roal had, and he would have removed the nuisance of Roal from this world. The noise made Roal flinch, which was enough to sate the wizard for the moment.
Satisfied his message was delivered, and feeling well past his welcome, Roal rose to leave. “You have one full cycle of the moon, wizard,” he said upon standing. “Place the heir upon the throne by that time, or King Jarel will bring him here on a pike.”
Surprise was a rare expression for Alain, but he wore it for a moment after Roal’s ultimatum. Roal noticed and leaned tauntingly over the back of the chair. “That’s right, wizard. We know who the heir is, and how to find him.” He stood and walked backwards towards the door. “Put him on the throne. Give him a chance to defend it. Then let his people mourn him when he’s dead.” He turned once he reached the door, and called back over his shoulder as he pushed past Norrick. “One month, wizard, and the decision is no longer yours to make.” Alain remained silent as Roal disappeared down the corridor, and when the door at the far end slammed shut he shifted his glare to Norrick.
“You see,” Norrick began, “this is what happens when you don’t zap someone every once in a while. They forget.”
“You let him in,” Alain reminded him. “Shall I start with you then?”
“Forget I said anything.”
Alain almost laughed. Almost. Jarel’s plans and how he knew about the boy were troubling him. Instead he managed a grunt. “I need to contact the boy again. If I ask to not be disturbed for any reason, does that really mean anything to you?”
Norrick raised his hand. “Even if the castle is burning down around you, you will not be disturbed.” Alain did smile at that, and even allowed himself a small chuckle.
“I only need a few minutes. Hardly enough time for the entire castle to be consumed in flames.”
Norrick returned the smile. “I will see to it, sir. You will not be disturbed.”
“Thank you, Norrick.”
Norrick reached into the room, grabbed the heavy door, and began to swing it close. He stopped abruptly before the door closed completely and looked back at Alain.
“You’re wrong you know,” Norrick said. Alain had already begun preparing his spell and Norrick’s voice broke his focus. He raised an eyebrow in reply. “About the patience, I mean. Obviously not the compassion,” he explained. “You are the most patient person I have ever known.”
“Not with fools,” Alain answered. “And a king must suffer many fools, I’m afraid. Many indeed.” Norrick grinned again, nodded his head, and closed the door.
Alain took a cleansing breath, and the fire dimmed as he drew his focus back to the boy. His eyes closed, his breath slowed, and everything became still and quiet. It lasted less than five seconds. The fire roared back to life and he blew out a frustrated breath of air. Something was bothering him, keeping him here. He closed his eyes again, searching for the problem.
Roal. The image of him grasping at his shirt instantly filled his mind. Roal’s wand lay hidden in its pouch near his waist. Alain had sensed it almost immediately upon his entrance. His chest though, that was quite different. It was as if there was nothing but an empty hole in the middle of Roal. Alain could still feel the lingering void of it in the room, and there was no doubt now. Dragon scale.
Where had Roal managed to find one? If he had actually used the power within it against Alain, things might have gone differently. Fortunately, Roal had only used it to strengthen his own power, which was easily overcome. Still, if Roal had a scale, what else did Jarel have? And what did he plan on doing with it?
You’ll have your hands full with something else. The words echoed in his head.
He shook his head to clear his thoughts. Planning for Jarel could come later. First he needed to deal with the boy. With Dartan. He took a deep breath, focusing again on Dartan, reaching out to him.
It was no good. He dropped his head into his hands and grabbed handfuls of hair in frustration. He had no choice but to follow the distracting thoughts to exhaustion. It was the only way they would leave without a fight.
His mind progressed from the scale directly to the Gateway. Jarel’s plans must involve it somehow, which troubled Alain deeply. He raised his head from his hands, and looked across the room at the packed shelf in front of him. Among the faded book spines, piles of parchment, and dusty trinkets, his eyes found the ornately carved, ivory colored box with the dull gold handles.
Now what am I going to do with you, he wondered. The contents were important, but not what he would need if Jarel was indeed foolish enough to attempt opening the portal. No, stopping him would require a journey. One he wasn’t sure he was up to making. He paused, his mind now returning to Dartan. Full circle.
Either the boy was ready or everyone was dead. His own words echoed in his mind now, and a plan began to form. He was wholly focused on Dartan, and he could feel himself drifting back to the farmhouse where he had left them. The boy had a journey ahead of him, and Alain hoped he was right. He must be ready. They were out of time.
* * *
Mother and Dartan stared silently at the empty chair, expecting the wizard to pop back in at any moment. It was Dartan who spoke first.
“Is he coming back?” Mother answered with a shrug, then slowly rose from the table, and began clearing it. Dartan shifted uncomfortably back and forth between Mother and the empty chair, unsure. Too many questions were in his head for him to remain still for long. “What does he want?” he finally asked.
Mother simply gave an irritated, “Hmpf! Wizards!” Dartan was afraid it would be his only answer. Then she turned, looked him squarely in the eye, and pointed that finger at him. “You never know what a wizard wants. All you can be sure of is what he asked.” Dartan waited, expecting her to actually answer his question, but the silence that followed made it clear she had no intention of saying anything more. Probably a habit she picked up from being around wizards for so long.
“What did he ask?” Dartan finally decided to ask. Before she could answer, Mother was interrupted by Alain’s reappearance.
“We are out of time,” he said. The look on his face upon his return was quite different from when he left. There was something there that made him look even less like the Great Wizard Alain he had heard whispers of all his life. Uncertainty.
“As I said before,” Mother reminded him, “he’s not ready.” She had not even bothered to look at Alain, but his reply spun her around faster than Dartan had seen her move in years.
“Ready or not, they come for him.” Mother slowly shook her head, even as she saw the undeniable truth of it in Alain’s eyes.
“He’s just a boy,” she protested quietly.
“You, of all people, know he’s much more than just a boy,” Alain soothed. Mother reluctantly nodded. Alain regarded them both for another moment, then gave one last command before disappearing. “Prepare yourselves.”
The wizard’s reappearance had only raised more questions, but Dartan could see Mother was in no state to answer them. Trying to keep emotion from his voice, Dartan spoke quietly. “What do we do now?”
“Pack.”
Chapter Four
Dartan could still remember when they moved to this farm. Their entire life possessions fit into a single small wagon, pulled by their only horse. It seemed a lifetime
ago, which made it so strange to see the same size wagon still held all of their belongings.
“Well, are you going to stare at it all day,” Mother asked on her way back into the house, “or are you going to help me finish packing?” Truthfully, the packing was all but finished. It had taken the better part of two days, but it was done. Since he was being truthful, he should admit it wasn’t the wagon that had his attention, but the rest of the farm around him.
Things had changed much during their time here. Rugged and stony fields had transformed into rich, tilled soil, and the ramshackle house and barn became sturdy and strong. Now it was changing again. Trees at the field border were beginning to sag, limbs threatening to drag the ground, though they bore no fruit. Crops withered, and cracks appeared in drying soil.
So much for hard work. Even he couldn’t deny magic had a hand in the prosperity of his farm now, though he still wasn’t sure he had anything to do with it. Mother reappeared from the house carrying her last bag, and one of the door hinges broke as she closed it behind her.
“Where exactly are we going?” Dartan called out to her.
“We aren’t going anywhere,” she answered, throwing her last bag onto the wagon. “I’m going to my sister’s house to meet my nieces and nephews.” She stepped close to Dartan, cupped his cheeks in her hands, and looked up at him with wet eyes. “I have no idea where you’re going, but I pray this is not the last time I see you.”
He could have argued, insisted on taking her there himself. Maybe he could have even just refused to believe the wizard. Or, with the same success, he could have tried catching the mountain wind with a net. It all amounted to the same thing – nothing. So, he put his hands over hers, bowed his head, and nodded in silent surrender.
“But, what am I supposed to do without you?” he asked, struggling to keep his own eyes dry. Her response was a gentle laugh.
“You haven’t needed me around for a long time, child.” He shook his head in protest, but she stopped him. “It’s true, and is as it should be.” Again, he nodded consent. “Not to worry, though,” she consoled him with a smile, “you won’t be alone. You’ll have Josie to keep you company.” She whistled and the rich brown horse clopped reluctantly to the barn door and stopped. Dartan swore he could actually hear her dragging her hooves in disapproval. He laughed under his breath as Mother called again to Josie, who responded with little more than a twitch of her ears. Mother saw the laugh and gave him a raised eyebrow.
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