The Emperor's Mage

by Clark Bolton

  “Well said, Ich-Mek. Now return to your fiancée! You should get to know her better while you have the time.”

  Ich-Mek bowed low again, then moved as quickly as he dared toward Yi-La, who was standing with eyes downcast near a far corner of the chamber. He came to stand silently beside her, until Ober-Toss chose to leave.

  “I’m sorry, Yi-La,” Ich-Mek said with a bow to her.

  “Why, Ich-Mek?” she asked with a confused look on her face.

  He could see she had no idea what the conversation had been about, and the more he thought about it, the more he decided he didn’t really know either. Why worry about me if I have no future, he asked himself.

  The next day, rehearsals were repeated several times. The six of them were encouraged to walk among the other students as they sat resting between activities. Ich-Mek felt like a lord as he walked among the members of his form. They would reach out to him, and even kiss his hand when he allowed it. It raised his spirits, and made him smile continuously. This suddenly came to an end, however, when he noticed a figure standing near one of the many columns that supported the open-air assembly area. The figure had drawn his attention with a short wave.

  It was Bose, he was almost sure of this. The boy then ducked down to join a group of other silver-robed boys several steps away. Immediately the boy blended in with the others, and looked to have drawn the attention of no one else.

  Ich-Mek stood frozen for a few moments in indecision before deciding he needed to confirm for himself if this was indeed Bose. With robes fluttering behind him he made his way past other dragon-students, who were attending to their own forms. When he saw that it was indeed Bose who was now sitting and talking with the boys around him, Ich-Mek slowly approached.

  Before he could say a word to his friend, Bose came to his knees and reached out to grasp his hand. Ich-Mek then felt scraps of rice-paper being secretly pushed into his pocket.

  “Press them to your palms before the ceremony,” Bose whispered frantically as he pushed his head into Ich-Mek’s robes to muffle what he was saying. “Promise me you will!” Bose pleaded.

  Ich-Mek tried hard not to look around too much, and wasn’t sure if he was being watched closely at the moment. His heart was racing and his robes suddenly felt very hot. He reached halfway into his pocket, but then forced himself to stop before he drew attention to himself.

  “You can’t be here,” he whispered down at his friend as tears began to well up in his eyes.

  Bose shook his head then pleaded, “Promise me you will! Tang made them…they will give you heart!”

  “Heart?” Ich-Mek echoed as he looked around.

  So far, no one was paying him any special attention. Bose had made sure his actions were not out of place – several students had done the same to the dragon-boys and dragon-girls.

  “Promise me!” Bose begged again.

  “Yes,” Ich-Mek replied as he dared to wipe his eyes on the sleeve of his robes.

  After a brief smile and a nod, Bose declared, “I’m going to the cave, Ich…with Tang…and I’m not coming back.”

  Ich-Mek shook his head in disbelief before looking around again to see if he was watched. Bose had dropped hints of this plan before, but Ich-Mek hadn’t thought he would actually see it through.

  “Why?” Ich-Mek hissed, before adding, pleadingly, “You should go to your post when the cycle ends.”

  “It’s too late for me!” Bose insisted in a harsh whisper. “Just come to the cave afterwards.”

  Trying not to think about what “afterwards” meant, Ich-Mek then forced himself to step away, walking slowly back toward the front of the dragon-hall.

  He then spent some time sitting and worrying as recitals began again. At some point he stopped looking toward where he thought Bose stood, so as not to draw attention to his friend. No one came to him, and no one cried out in outrage at the presence of an unwelcome student, and so when the rehearsal ended he retired to his alcove.

  Chapter 8

  The dragon-students had been provided with clean gowns, and Pus-Don servants had come to wash Ich-Mek’s hair, and his hands and feet as well. He felt numb to the attention, and when he saw that Yi-La and the other two girls were being attended to in a similar fashion, he watched closer than perhaps he should have. The girls were having their long hair bound in an elaborate fashion, with long, brightly colored needles sticking high into the air. The girls were provided with new sandals – a type he had never seen before that would make the girls appear much taller, he was sure.

  He found his hand going constantly to his pocket to fiddle with the two scraps of rice-paper there. When he had gotten the chance to examine them, he had found two rune-sets flawlessly inscribed upon them. He still wasn’t sure what their purpose was, but knew they were runes of enchantment.

  The individual runes were known to him, though they had been drawn as a mirror image. He didn’t know for sure what the rune-sets formed, but guessed that the one might represent a glyph for bravery and courage, and the other perhaps motivation and decisiveness. Clearly they were meant to be printed on the palms of his hands. A short note from Bose had confirmed this, and told him to press his hands to his eyes when the time for selection arrived.

  He knew once placed on his palms the runes would have a limited life, and so he waited until the final opportunity to apply them. It came when he was asked by instructors if he needed to relieve himself before the ceremony began. He asked himself why he was doing this one last time, before carrying out his promise to his friend. Nothing was coming to harm him, he repeated to himself several times.

  The rice-paper he left in the chamber-pot, knowing it would become unreadable in seconds. As he glanced at his freshly tattooed palms, he felt better for some reason. Maybe they were working already, he told himself, as he walked backed to join the others.

  His part in the ceremony was very simple: he had but to stand with the other five until the dancing and singing ended. Then when bidden by the palace-mages they would all walk up the wide steps to the selection chamber. There they would stand alone and be judged after the great sliding doors were closed.

  What would come next he wasn’t sure, as the instructors had been vague about this. If someone was chosen they would be taken away by the palace-mages, he was sure. Those not chosen would remain behind, to then be sent on to favored positions within the nine provinces of Ibu-Jek. The other possible outcome he refused to consider any longer.

  The arrival of the palace-mages came during the singing of a loud chorus by all the students. It was rousing and inspirational, Ich-Mek thought as he joined in and watched the Pus-Don carry in two sedan-chairs, followed by a long stretcher. The two palace-mages in the chairs stepped down onto silver footstools provided for them. They were supported by Pus-Don the whole time, and looked ancient to Ich-Mek.

  The third mage remained on his stretcher, which was left in the precise center of the selection chamber. It was like a large table, and now had the other two mages standing in front of it. Their long wispy beards and high arched hats made them virtually reek with magical competence.

  The ceremony had passed surprisingly quickly for Ich-Mek, and so with trembling knees he found himself walking with the others up the steps toward the mages. The grating of the massive stone doors closing behind him was the last thing he heard before a long silence.

  Not even the Regent was present now. It was just the three ancient mages and the six dragon-students, who obediently went to their knees and remained there, with heads bowed.

  “I am Gang, the Emperor’s mage, and you have earned this right to stand before us,” one of the standing mages declared in a labored voice.

  The second standing mage then spoke. “Welcome, I am Sey-Laht, and I, too, am the Emperor’s mage. I proclaim you have earned this right.”

  The two then turned to the stretcher behind them. It then took a hand from Gang, placed upon the prone man, to get this third mage to speak.

  “Make a
selection,” came the wispy voice of the man on the stretcher.

  “Huehan…we have spoken, and decided against this,” Gang seemed to be reminding the man.

  There was a long pause, which was filled with the labored breathing of at least two of the palace-mages. Finally, Huehan spoke again after a short groan. “I have a ring of which to unburden myself.”

  “No, my friend,” Gang said gently. “Three rings the source-of-golden-light has allowed to enter Key-Tar-Om. We must leave with three.”

  “We will return another cycle, Huehan,” Sey-Laht then assured the prone man. “No judging to tire us this day, so be at rest.”

  The two standing mages then looked to the dragon-students with sympathetic eyes. Ich-Mek saw that he was the only one to glance up to see this. The ritual called for a round of demonstrations, and answering of questions by the dragon-students. This was to display their skills and eligibility for selection. If one student stood out, it was said they would be the one chosen.

  “The ring deserves an audience…” Huehan protested in a hoarse, labored whisper. “The students deserve…life.”

  The two other mages turned back to Huehan and began softly arguing with him. As Ich-Mek listened to the discussion he began to feel a paralysis coming over him. Looking to his left and right, he saw that the others had closed their eyes, as if already accepting failure. Looking down at his hands, he was reminded of the runes there. Feeling no emotion whatsoever, he thought only to fulfill his last promise to the friends he would never see again.

  When he pressed his palms to his eyes his mind was jolted suddenly into an alert state. It was as if someone had poured a bucket of icy water over his head. He then found himself standing up and watching the mages intently, without concern for the consequences. They seemed not to notice as they went on discussing things with low voices.

  “…I have another,” Huehan declared as he brought his hand to a locket around his neck.

  When the mage began to recite arcane-script the other two leaned back slightly, as if expecting something to happen. This allowed Ich-Mek to see the locket transform into a ring, which now hung upon a silver chain around Huehan’s neck.

  “Is this Obek’s ring?” Gang asked with concern.

  “It is,” Huehan replied. “Now we have four.”

  “We have been given permission for only three,” Sey-Laht argued. “Why have you withheld this from us, Huehan?”

  “…Make a selection,” Huehan replied in an exhausted yet insistent voice.

  “We searched for this many times, Huehan,” Gang argued in frustration. “Have you had it all this time?”

  “…Make a selection.” It was all that Huehan would say.

  Ich-Mek looked at his palms again, then looked at the ring dangling from Huehan’s trembling hand. The other five students still had not moved, or even looked up. They weren’t supposed to, he told himself. In fact, he was not supposed to be standing at all. Closing his eyes, he then applied his palms again to his face. Again, his mind cleared.

  “Masters,” Ich-Mek whispered as he approached.

  They seemed not to hear him, and didn’t even notice him until he stood between the two standing ones. Gang then did notice him, and in fact grabbed his hand and forced it open with surprising strength. Seeing the runes there, Gang then let go and seemed to dismiss them as unimportant.

  Before Ich-Mek could drop his hand to his side, Huehan reached out from the stretcher for it. Ich-Mek slowly extended his hand so that the old man could take hold of it. Huehan didn’t have Gang’s strength, and so Ich-Mek had to help the mage pull his hand to the ring. Why the other two mages didn’t stop Huehan, Ich-Mek never learned. They wanted no part of this, he suspected, and in fact turned away.

  It took but a whisper of arcane-script by Huehan to dissolve away the silver chain, thus freeing the ring into Ich-Mek’s hand. Trembling fingers then placed it on the little finger of his left hand. The room seemed to change immediately, though for the life of him, Ich-Mek couldn’t figure out what had actually changed. Things were sharper, he suspected, and he could sense now a myriad of enchantments around him. It was the other three mages, he realized; they literally glowed with magic.

  “The Oath,” Huehan whispered.

  With a nod of understanding, Ich-Mek then slowly went to his knees. It took another press of his palms to his eyes to clear his head enough to start.

  The sound of his own voice seemed to be coming from around him rather than from him. The other students began to move a little as he slowly spoke line after line of the Owesek Oath. When completed, he fell back onto his hands in nervous exhaustion.

  “He cannot return with us,” Gang warned after a long silence dominated the room. Then he went on to proclaim, in a louder voice and with eyes closed, “The ring I do not see!”

  “Nor I!” Sey-Laht then decreed before turning his head away.

  “I accept you, apprentice” was all Huehan said before a sickly death-rattle filled the room. Huehan’s hand then fell from the stretcher, and the man’s own Owesek-ring then slipped from his lifeless finger.

  PLINK! Plink…plink!

  The ring bounced and rolled past Ich-Mek, who was still kneeling on the floor, and then the ring came to rest in front of Lu-Bod. The boy stared at it, as did all the other students. No one moved for several moments, until finally Gang stepped over to claim the ring. But before the mage could grasp it, Ich-Mek snatched it up as a desperate plan formed in his mind. As he did this, Ich-Mek locked eyes brief with Lu-Bod, who seemed to realize too late that his chance at the ring had ended. The look was something that would come to haunt Ich-Mek in later days.

  It was only two steps from Lu-Bod to Yi-La, and these Ich-Mek crossed by rolling on his hips until he was able to grasp Yi-La’s hand. She closed her hand into a fist almost immediately, as if reflexively refusing to condone his unprecedented behavior. He refused to give up, though, and so forcefully prized her little finger away from the others, causing her to cry out in pain and fear. He was much stronger than her, and so was able to pull her hand to his lap, where he forced the ring upon her finger.

  He slid away from her once the deed was done. She then looked down at the Owesek-ring on her finger in shock, as Ich-Mek tried to reconcile with those around him. “Please forgive me,” he begged of the eyes that focused on him.

  When the mages reached for him, he thought for sure they would take his ring away. Instead they reached past him and pulled Yi-La to her feet. Ich-Mek then watched in disbelief as the mages summoned the Pus-Don, and then left him and the other students, save Yi-La, alone in the selection chamber. Their last words were: “Only three rings may leave Key-Tar-Om.”

  They kept staring at him, and he kept staring up at the windows to confirm night hadn’t yet come. Ich-Mek had tried pounding on all the doors repeatedly, but to no avail. So traumatized by events were the others that they wouldn’t even scream for help as he did every few minutes, until he was hoarse.

  “They’ll let us out in the morning, won’t they?” someone asked.

  Ich-Mek couldn’t think what to say. His fellow captives kept looking at his ring, which he did as well whenever he allowed himself to rest. It clearly made him the leader in their eyes.

  “We have to get out,” he told them eventually, though he couldn’t bring himself to say exactly why yet.

  The students then began suggestion odd things, like staying away from the doors, and being absolutely quiet, so as not to upset the Regent. It was clear to Ich-Mek that they had no idea of what was coming, even though the mages had hinted at it in their arguments amongst themselves. Apparently none of the other students had listened.

  “The palace-mages are angry at you. Why?” Lu-Bod asked after everyone had calmed down for a while.

  “I don’t know,” Ich-Mek replied softly.

  In truth, he really didn’t. Huehan had given the ring to him freely, and had accepted his Oath freely as well. It was Yi-La they should have rejected, he told him
self. True, he had been the one to decide she should wear the ring, but still it seemed unjust somehow. Why both of them hadn’t been left behind was unclear to him.

  “You should not have done what you did,” another dared to state.

  “They would have left us all to die,” Ich-Mek replied in a flat tone.

  There was silence before Lu-Bod proclaimed, “We are not going to die. Not even you, I think.”

  “You should call him Fu-Si,” someone suggested.

  Ich-Mek shook his head at the whole conversation. He didn’t want to be called Fu-Si – that he was sure of. It was a title used to address the illustrations of ancient mages, some of which hung in the classes and dormitories of Key-Tar-Om. It felt like being called deceased.

  He focused his attention again on the windows. Tang had said they were too small to crawl through, and it looked that way to him now. Still, he had to try. Looking around, he could find only a silver footstool that the Pus-Don, in their rush to leave, had neglected to take with them.

  Standing on the stool, he reached up as high as he could toward the window, but it was far out of reach still. He closed his eyes and tried to think of any spells that would help. Tang’s spell-book had had a jump spell in it; in fact, Tang had used it that night many years ago, when the dragon had come for Naun-Bu. It had allowed Tang to reach the window from the outside.

  “I don’t know it,” he muttered aloud as he stepped down.

  The four were watching his every move closely. He walked over to the smaller side door, the one the palace-mages had used. For the dozenth time he tried the unlock cantrip on it. Nothing came of it; not even a click.

  “Lu-Bod, Arn-Pie…come boost me up,” he told them as he put one foot on the footstool.

  They just looked at him in shock. Looking to the two girls, he saw he was going to get even less help there. They were conditioned to defer to the boys, and so only huddled together, waiting.